welcome!!!!! I’m ana -> @vianaspoison (sideblog)
╰┈➤ nineteen latina cancer 𖤓 caffeine addict uni student jude duarte's seneschal keith kogane’s wife current hyperfixation: apothecary diaries
midas touch
When She Sees Me j.t.
Are you dating my teacher? j.t.
fresh out the slammer
Don't forget to kiss me w.w.
Forever and Always zuko
ana's adored archive
Whatever you say Teach d.g.
The Prophecy of the Stars t.d.
please be kind on my blog, i do not tolerate any homophobia, racism, islamophobia, xenophobia, hate speech, or anything else along the lines of that.
I was wondering if you ever write The Cruel Prince fics? I saw the quote in your bio and immediately recognized it. Just wanted to ask because Cardan is my wife
Omg hello lovely!!!
I’m so happy you recognized the quote! Tfota is my Roman Empire I adore it so much I’ve read it and talk about it way too much. It’s my fav book series’s of all time. As of right now I don’t write fanfics for them, if I were to write fanfics it would probably be for Jude/Cardan bc I can’t really see myself doing an x reader for that fandom. But thank you so much for asking! If you ever wanna talk about the series I would love to yap about them!!!!
Summary: When Barbara and Cass start training a new Batgirl, Stephanie isn't sure what to think. You're perfect, everything she wants to be and everything she could never have, and your arrival forces Stephanie to confront whether she wants to be you, or be with you
froggi yaps -> lowk this has been sitting in my drafts foreverr because i know it won't do as well as my other dc fics and that made me sad >.< but i love steph and hopefully the other 12 steph enjoyers will like this <3
If you asked Stephanie Brown who Batgirl was, she’d say it depends.
Barbara’s Batgirl was strong, brave, and cunning. A pathfinder, a wonderful hero who saved countless lives and gave everything she had to the life. She was a pioneer, a champion who pathed the way for the rest of them.
Cass’s Batgirl was different, a fresh take on an old hero. Though she’s quiet, though she’s vicious in her fighting, she’s still heroic. She brings a calm sort of comfort wherever she goes.
But if you asked her about herself, she’s not sure what she’d say. She’s a civilian amongst gods, someone dressed in a knockoff costume playing pretend while the others do the real heroic work. A cheap imitation of the real thing.
As far as hero-ing goes for her, she already feels that she doesn’t have much going on. Not that she needs the reminder.
Entering the Batcave, already exhausted from her lack of sleep and the incredibly long day she’s had, she’s not sure what to expect. Maybe the usual arguing amongst Bats, Tim and Damian trading insults like a normal day while Cass sits quietly and reads in the corner.
Definitely not the scene that comes to play out in front of her—Barbara and Cass teaching someone new to spar, someone she’s never seen before who is very much dressed in a rendition of the Batgirl costume. She blinks, rubbing her eyes like the scene will disappear when she does.
It doesn’t.
Her lips purse into a frown. Another Batgirl? Something ugly twists in her chest. She’d fought like hell for this mantle, had done it all on her own against the will of pretty much everybody, and here’s someone new, wearing it with the support of both her predecessors.
She shakes her head, blonde hair bouncing. No, that’s not fair. She forces a smile, stepping up to the mat to watch.
She watches quietly for a few minutes while you trade blows with Cass, watches you fight as hard as you can to keep up with Cass who’s very clearly restraining herself. Cass sweeps a leg, taking you down to the mat easily, your mask bouncing off your face.
You squeak, sitting up and rubbing the back of your head where it hit the mat.
Steph’s eyes widen slightly. You took that hit like a champ, and now, seeing you without the mask, she can’t help but think how pretty you are. That twistiness inside of her only grows heavier.
“Hey, good timing,” Babs calls, waving her over.
Steph tugs down her hood and mask. “Hey, guys.” She strains to keep her voice as cheery as usual, “who’s this?”
Cass introduces the two of you, and Steph can’t help but note the way she already seems warmed up to you. How long has this been going on?
You smile and step forward, offering her a hand. “I’ve heard so much about you!!”
“Hi.” She takes your hand, that same strained smile on her face, and shakes it. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
She can’t help but notice the softness of your palm against hers—not yet calloused by night after night of hard fighting and acrobatics—and the purple sheen on your nails, almost perfectly matched to her costume. Her hand lingers just a moment too long.
“She’s helping us with this drug trafficking operation at the docks,” Barbara explains, and Steph wonders if she can see through the facade she’s putting on. “Cass and I are helping her brush up on her fighting skills.”
She nods thinly, “right.”
“The Batgirl thing is just temporary,” you explain. “I just needed something to conceal my identity and Babs—”
Stephanie winces at the way the nickname rolls off your tongue, like you’ve always been friends.
“—just had this one laying around.” You finish.
You do a little twirl in the costume, the long cape splaying out as you do. Steph can’t help but look you up and down, examining the way the costume seems to fit and accentuate every curve on your body. Her eyes widen slightly. It fits you like a glove.
The three of you get back to your training, leaving Steph to watch on the sidelines. Slowly, she edges her way out until she’s back outside in the Gotham rain.
If you asked Stephanie now who Batgirl was—her version at least—she could only tell you one thing: replaceable.
The Batgirl thing, it seems, is not just temporary, and Stephanie can’t seem to escape you.
She’s gotten used to your presence now—the way you linger nearby on missions, the way you spend more time with Cass than without, the way your eyes occasionally meet hers only for you to look away quickly like it never happened. She’s never quite sure if you’re judging her, or trying to get her attention, or some other third thing she hasn’t thought of yet.
It would almost be sweet, if it didn’t have her feeling so self-conscious.
It’s after patrol one night, the summer sun just beginning to kiss the horizon of Gotham City, when you catch up with her.
“Steph, hey, Steph, wait up!”
She’s tempted, if only for a moment, to speed up and pretend she hasn’t heard. And yet, for some reason, she can’t. You’ve never been anything but perfectly nice to her, and this jealous mean girl act of hers is so high school.
She tugs down her mask, turning to face you. “What’s up?”
“I think Cass and I were going to this cafe this morning for breakfast, do you want to come?” You smile awkwardly, tilting your head to the side, “they have amazing coffee.”
She considers it for a moment, gears whirring in her head. Some coffee and breakfast would be amazing right now, as well as some time with Cass. But you’ll be there, like a constant reminder of everything she isn’t, and she knows she won’t be able to keep up her positive mood the whole time.
She flashes you a weak grin, “I think I’m just gonna go to sleep.”
“Oh,” disappointment flashes behind your eyes. “No worries, sleep well.”
You turn on your heel to leave, approaching the edge of the old warehouse rooftop you’ve been standing on, when suddenly you look over your shoulder. The golden light of the rising sun reflects off your skin, making your eyes glow and your skin shimmer. You look so pretty like this, Steph can’t help but be a little grateful she only sees you at night.
“I’ll get Cass to text you the address,” you say, that familiar hope back on your face, “y’know, in case you change your mind.”
“Thanks.”
Despite what she said, an hour later Steph finds herself freshly showered and digging through her closet.
She pulls out a casual pink sundress and tries it on, standing in the mirror and examining herself. She frowns at her reflection, smoothing her hands over the dress like that’ll make it fit better. It doesn’t.
Discarding it in the growing pile of clothes on her bed, Steph goes back to the drawing more. She pulls different garments out, trying them on only to drop them back in the pile. She always never struggles this much getting ready, least of all for a casual breakfast with friends.
Sighing, she lets herself flop onto her bed, sitting on her mountain of clothes. It’s just a casual outing, Steph, she tells herself. Just pick a damned outfit,
But she can’t, because all she can think about is what you’re going to be thinking. Are you going to look at her with those eyes like you usually do? She wonders what you’ll be wearing, if you’ll be dressed casual or cute or comfortable. Knowing you, it’s probably some perfect combination of the three.
Her eyes flutter closed as she pictures it. You, wearing some comfy practical outfit, hair perfect, sipping on some fancy drink from the cafe. She thinks about how your face will light up when she walks into the cafe, the way you’ll smile and wave at her when she approaches the table.
“Glad you can make it,” you’ll probably say, or some other line of the sort.
Her heart speeds up at the thought, stomach doing a whirlwind. You’re so…perfect, and here she is, sitting in her mess of a room, unable to pick a damned outfit. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.
Tears prick at her eyes. One minute, that’s all she asks. One minute where you’re not constantly on her mind, where she’s not constantly wondering about what you’re doing, who you’re with or how you’ll replace her next.
She doesn’t end up going to the cafe.
Steph’s not sure how she ended up here.
The two of you, trapped in a burning warehouse, surrounded by low level lackeys. She’s not even sure who they work for, their outfits a mess of colours and patterns that she can’t quite make out through the steadily thickening smoke.
Your back is pressed to hers, the warmth of your body seeping through both of your costumes, acting as a comfort. At least, it would be a comfort, if the two of you were in any other situation.
The masked men close in, the roar of the distant fire burning gets louder. Steph’s nerves catch fire, buzzing with the impending promise of action. She bounces on her heels, loosening up her muscles just like she was taught. One more step, one more step and she’s ready.
The heel of the closest man inches forward. Steph pounces. All hell breaks loose.
It’s a blur of action, of fighting her way through the seemingly neverending wave of goons. Her muscles ache, every punch and kick only making the burning under her skin worse. The warehouse gets hotter, the smoke rises, clogging her senses.
Behind her somewhere, the sounds of your own violence echo off the walls. You’ve always been a good fighter—probably better than her—but something in the back of her mind buzzes with worry. Like something bad is going to happen, like she needs to look out for you.
She shakes it away, diving back into the action, trying to ignore the constant nagging in the back of her mind.
She finishes off the last of her men, freezing at the sudden silence. She can’t hear you fighting anymore, can’t see you through the smoky haze. Her heart hammers in her chest. Where on Earth could you have gone?
One second. That’s how long she’s distracted for, maybe less. But one second is all it takes for someone to come up behind her, a forearm pressed over her throat and a leg hooking over her ankles. She’s taken quickly to the ground, back thudding hard against the hard ground.
Stars explode behind her eyes, the wind knocked out of her. Through the haze, she just manages to make out the masked goon above her and the gun barrel shoved inches from her face. She cringes, bracing herself to duck and roll, to do anything but lay here and take it.
And just like that, he’s gone, slammed into the ground by a familiar figure. You’re breathing heavily above Steph, eyes wide behind your mask as you reach a hand to help her up.
She grabs you, letting you tug her to the feet, and the way your hand lingers on hers reminds her of the day you met. Your jaw is slack, worry written across every feature. Steph blinks, letting the air come back to her lungs.
“T-thanks,” she gasps.
“We need to get out of here.”
Steph nods curtly, letting you tug her after you as you search for the exit, only dropping her hand when you brace yourself against the emergency exit and shove hard. Cold night air greets her, filling her burning lungs with sweet relief.
She’s dizzy from the smoke, dizzy from the hit she took. Her lips purse into frown. It’s surely going to leave a big, ugly bruise. Goodbye sundresses.
Standing on the rooftop of the burning warehouse, she watches you approach the edge, scoping out the ground below for any sign of the goons who almost overwhelmed you.
You turn to face her. “Tim called the fire department, they’re on the way.”
She braces her hands on her knees, still lightheaded from the fall. The fall. She forces herself to stand up straight, peeling off her mask and hood. “Where did you go back there?”
“Huh?”
“You—you disappeared, it distracted me. Where did you go?”
She cocks a hand on her hip, waiting for an explanation. She was too busy worrying about you, about your safety, to take care of herself. If it weren’t for your impromptu disappearance, she wouldn’t be coughing her lungs up like an amateur right now.
You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. “One of them tried to get away and—”
“You couldn’t have told me that?” She snaps, walking towards you, closing the gap until you’re inches away. “We’re partners, you’re supposed to tell me these things.”
“I didn’t think I had time!”
“Or you just wanted the glory for yourself,” she spits bitterly.
You pause, lips parting in confusion. She tugs at her hair. Even now, a slight cut on your cheek and sweaty from battle, you still look perfectly cute. She’s sure she must look a complete mess, sweaty and dirty and bruised.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She tucks a sweaty strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Nothing, just—nevermind.”
You shake your head. “No, what did you mean?”
“I mean it’s—it’s—”
Frustration bubbles up in her chest, muscles pulling taut like she’s about to enter another fight. She’s not even sure where she’s going for it, what word vomit she’s about to shove in your face now. You’re inches away, staring at her like a deer in the damn headlights, and she’s the lone car on the road with the choice to hit you or not.
“It’s what?”
“It’s you! Always being so—so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you and—and—”
And that urge buzzes beneath her fingertips, that urge she’s always felt just beneath the surface. The one she felt that day you met, when she’d had that fear you’re replacing her. The one she’s felt every day since when you’re around, the same one she gets before a big fight.
She raises a hand and you don’t even flinch, looking up at her with those damn wide eyes. She’s not sure who’s more confused by what she’s doing—you, or her.
And then she’s kissing you, the taste of smoke heavy on both of you. Her hand reaches to cup your cheek, thumb swiping over the length of your cheekbone. It’s hot and tense and she feels more that she’s trying to eat you alive than kiss you.
She pulls away, taking a big jump back like she’s been burned.
“Steph,” you breathe her name.
She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “No.”
“Stephanie—”
“No, okay? I don’t—I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s shaking slightly, her voice breaking on the words, “I don’t even—I don’t want to see you right now. Okay? Just…just forget it.”
She spins on her heel, bolting over to the far end of the rooftop. She can still taste you on her tongue, like smoke and leftover chapstick and something else buried beneath. She wipes at her mouth and the taste still lingers, follows her down the fire escape at the edge of the roof, chases after her on the way home.
It’s only when she’s in the shower, desperately trying to wash it away, that she feels she can breathe again. What on Earth was that?
Your soap isn’t enough to wash away the smell of smoke on your body, or the taste of Steph’s chapstick lingering in your mouth. You stand under the water for what must be an hour, scrub every inch of your body twice, and still, it doesn’t help. Stephanie’s voice still rings in the back of your head.
You disappeared, it distracted me.
You just wanted the glory for yourself.
Always being so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you.
I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to see you right now.
Coming from Steph of all people, someone you’ve looked up to, pined after, tried to forge a friendship with, the words hurt. They leave you cold and numbed, a new weight in your chest that wasn’t there before the mission.
She’s always been the sun in your eyes, warm and scalding, bright and beautiful, painful to look at. You’ve always gravitated closer to her, done your best to accommodate her, and this is where you end up. With a bitter kiss and more distance between you than there was to start.
You blink the thoughts away, staring into the steam rising from your kettle on the stove. Your phone buzzes, an unfamiliar number popping up on your screen.
Hey, it’s Steph. Can we talk?
You pick up your phone, contemplating opening the message and answering, and yet you can’t. What do you even say to her right now?
You turn off your phone. Let her sit with it for a while.
A while turns into a week. A week of unanswered texts and calls, of attempts by Barbara and Tim and Cass to get the two of you to talk. You shirk your duties as Batgirl, spend as much time as you can locked away at home, far far away from your double life.
Still, Stephanie isn’t one to give up.
The knock at your door comes early in the morning, so early, it rouses you from your sleep. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up in bed, the pink hue of the rising sun greeting you.
Another knock at your door sends you stumbling down the hall, slippers barely on your feet. You squint through the peephole, stomach syncing when you see who it is.
Steph stands there, dressed in low rise jeans that suit her just a little too well and a baby tee. Her hair is still wet, curling slightly at the ends where it’s started to dry. She must have showered and ran over here right after patrol.
You sigh, turning away from the door, fully intent on ignoring her.
“I can hear you,” she calls.
You stop in your tracks.
“I know I screwed up,” she says, “please just hear me out.”
“I thought you didn’t want to see me.”
“You know that’s not what I meant, I almost just died, c’mon.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath. Deep down, you know she has a point. You almost wish she didn’t, if only so you could stop seeing it from her side.
Despite yourself, you turn around and unlock the door, inviting her in.
She looks sad, undereyes sallow like she hasn’t been sleeping properly. She steps on the backs of her shoes, peeling them off before falling you inside.
“Do you want something to drink?”
She shakes her head, blonde strands falling into her face. You settle in on the chair in your living room, Steph settling in on the far end of your couch—the distance between you hurts, but you’re not sure you could take it right now if she was sitting any closer.
“I’m sorry,” she starts.
You nod, tight lipped.
“About everything.”
Everything. She doesn’t say it outright, but you can hear what she hasn’t said: I’m sorry for kissing you.
“I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have said what I said, I was scared and-and frustrated, and I took it out on you and it wasn’t fair.”
You always take it out on me, you’re tempted to say. It lingers on your tongue like her lipgloss from the other night, heavy and toxic and yet filled with something sweet.
“It’s hard, you know?” Her voice cracks on the word, pretty eyes brimmed with tears, “I’ve been Batgirl a while. I-I fought to be Batgirl even when nobody wanted me to be.”
You remember Barbara telling you about that, heard whispers about it from Tim. It was strange to you, you couldn’t possibly imagine a world where Steph isn’t Batgirl. Someone as wonderful and capable as her.
“But then you show up and it’s like, what’s even special about me anymore? And you do everything so well, you’re so—so perfect all the damn time, and everyone loves you and it’s like…what’s even left for me?”
Tears brim at your lashes and Steph’s face drops. She frowns, reaching forward like she can stop them from coming. And then you’re laughing, the sweet feeling of relief flooding your chest.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make yo—”
“Do you think I don’t feel that way?”
Her lips part, shock clear on her face. “No,” she mumbles out.
“Do you think I don’t find you perfect and capable and honestly, really fucking intimidating?” You shake your head, “you left some big shoes to fill, Stephanie and—and it hasn’t been easy.”
She laughs, equally as wet and filled with emotion as your own. “You really think so?”
You rise to your feet, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down next to her. She’s so close, you can smell her strawberry scented body wash and the vanilla lotion she put over top of it.
“Yes, god.” You giggle, and it tastes like relief, “I wish you would’ve just told me this before. We could’ve had this talk a long time ago.”
And she laughs with you, the sound like heaven and sunlight and everything you thought you could never reach, and her laugh makes you laugh more. You let your eyes flutter closed, leaning your head back on the couch, ribs starting to ache from the laughing you’re doing.
And then she’s cupping your face and kissing away the laughter, vanilla flavoured chapstick heavy on your tongue. She moves against you, body pressing to yours and pressing you further into the couch.
She pulls away, cheeks flushed. “Does this mean you forgive me?”
You press a hand on the small of her back, pulling her in again. “You might need to do that a few more times.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
Summary & CW: Fluff, friends w/ benefits, based on glue song by beabadobee, yearner wally
Pairing: Wally West x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 0.7k
A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to the anon who requested this and for participating! I hope you all enjoy <3333
This is the best view he’s ever seen.
Wally West was one of the- if not the fastest man alive. He could be anywhere within seconds, allowing him access to the most breathtaking places on the planet.
But right here, with you passed out in his bed? He doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more beautiful.
It was around two in the morning. Realistically, he should be asleep, there were a million things with his name on it once morning comes and you were going to leave early for work. There was just something about you that always enraptured him.
It was impossible for him not to be in a trance when he was around you. He couldn’t help it, he absorbed everything you did, everything you smiled at, everything that made your head tilt to the side.
He was obsessed.
Wally had never met anyone like you. No one laughed the same way you did, they always missed the way your left eye squinted more. No one gave him that look you always wore when he made a stupid joke, the smirk you tried to hide with a raised eyebrow. No one took up all his thoughts like you did, he couldn’t run past a cute animal without stopping to send you a picture.
It was simple.
He was in love with you.
There was no way around it. Despite how much he tried to hide it, he knew.
There was just one small problem.
You weren’t doing the “relationship thing” right now.
After too many shitty dates and even eviler exes, you swore off dating for the rest of the year. There was no hiding his relief when you decided on it. Every time you called him with some nightmare about your antichrist of the month, he bit his tongue till it bled.
And thanks to him, celibacy only lasted you about five weeks.
It was some Thursday night two months ago, you were hanging out on his couch playing Overcooked 2 together. Laughs were mixed in with cursing, orders were echoing off the walls in his crappy apartment. One thing led to another and Wally had saved this level by serving pizza with mere seconds to spare.
When you thanked him, a cheeky grin you knew all too well grew on his face. He tapped his cheek and gave you a, “don’t forget to kiss me.”
Deciding to one up him at his own game, you grabbed his face with your right hand and pressed your lips to his.
It was the most divine kiss Wally had ever blessed to receive. It’s safe to assume the game was forgotten for what remained of the night.
You both talked about it later, the possibility of being more one day. It just wasn’t in the cards right now considering the paths you were currently on. There were cities you wanted to live in, the career ladder you wanted climb, and Wally….
Well, he was saving the world.
He couldn’t promise you that he was going to come home every night. He couldn’t promise that he was always going to be safe. Hell, he couldn’t even promise that he’d always be on the planet.
So for now, this was enough.
Anything that involved, regarded, or even revolved around you was more than anything he could ever ask for. Even if you weren’t his completely, Wally couldn’t think of something he would trade this for.
To see you like this, it was everything. The moonlight bouncing off your back as his fingers traced ran up and down it. Your hair fanned out on the pillow as it caught the perfume you wore. It was almost funny how your limbs were spread all over the mattress. He was notably bigger than you, and yet you still managed to take up 75% of the bed. But he didn’t complain.
Wally would live the rest of his life on the edge of the bed if it meant he woke up tangled with you.
And as a promise to the night, right before he drifts off, he kisses you. Leaning over the mess of your arms, he drops a chaste kiss to the center of your back. A small shiver from you is the only indication that you may have felt it in your dreams.
“I love you.”
The words are breathed onto your spine like they’re tattooed on his.
Then, his head lands on his pillow, your perfume somehow traveled over to this one too. And the last sight he sees as cinnamon lulls him to bed, is the small smile you wore when you slept. That finally brings him enough peace to be dragged into slumber, preparing for another day with you.
I would like to make an ash tray using earthenware and paint/glaze them with lavender haze and Irish luck!! Thank you!
Hello!!!!
Thank you so much for participating in my 1k event and thank you <33333 i had so much fun with this request and hope you like your piece! You can find the fic here :))))
Summary & CW: Fluff, College AU, Pathetic and Yearning Zuko, reader isn't the boggest fan of tea, second person, no use of y/n
Pairing: Zuko x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1.0k
A/N: Another piece out of the kiln! Thank you to @kkbooks0813 for requesting and participating i had so much fun writing for zuko <3 (this is my first piece for him help) If this is rushed and a lil different from the rest of my fics I wrote it on my notes app on a road trip LMAO. I hope you guys enjoy <3
You were starting to consider the university library as your primary residence.
It had been almost six hours since you plopped yourself down at the table, not moving unless your bladder was on the verge of exploding. Your professors must have all conspired against you this semester. Because for some reason that not even the Avatar could explain, all your exams took place within 36 hours of each other.
You had barely scratched the surface of the topics for your second exam, when a takeout cup is placed next to the notebook you were tempted to burn.
Glancing up, the first smile of the day smile pulls at your lips.
Zuko was standing next to your chair, awkwardly hunched over with a faint blush coating his cheeks. In his other hand, he had a takeout coffee cup too. If your assumptions were correct, which they often were, it held a warm jasmine tea swirling as the contents.
“What’s this?” You hum, grin still present as the faint smell reaches you.
He was in the middle of sipping his own drink when he attempted to respond. The tea went down before he swallowed, resulting with a coughing fit ensuing in the previously silent library.
The muffled coughs -that weren’t all that quiet- attracted a few eyes as he brings his fist to his chest. The weak punches are a sad try at allowing him to calm his coughs and clear his throat.
It doesn’t work.
Your chair screeches across the stone floor, pushing yourself to your feet. Your palm lands on his back once, twice, and then he finally recovers.
Coming to his senses again, he feels all the eyes on him. And suddenly, his face is as red as his nation’s colors because of the scene he caused.
A poorly hidden giggle escapes your lips. His attention returns to yours with a sideways glare holding no heat behind it.
“The answer you were looking for before,” pausing for a moment, he clears his throat. His voice was still rough from the minor fit. “It’s black tea. I thought you might want something, considering you most likely haven’t left the library in hours.”
Scoffing, you shove at his arm slightly. When he barely nudges, you purse your lips at him. It was frustrating how strong he actually was. He just smirks back at you.
Choosing to ignore his engorged ego, you sit back down in your chair and motion to the one next to you; a quiet invitation for him to join you. “What makes you say that?”
A single raise of an eyebrow gives you your answer.
“What?”
“Because I know you, I know how you get with exams.” His expression shifts from the smug one he held moments ago to an earnest one when he notices your eye roll. “Indulge me in a break, please. You’ll only work yourself dry if you spend countless hours attempting to engrave information in your head.”
The second sentence halts you. This was a man had never learned how to plead, not even as a boy. He was given everything he asked for if he only requested it. And here he was, almost begging for you to take a break.
As if noticing the intensity of his previous statement, he straightens his back. Breaking eye contact, he moves his wrist in a circular motion mixing the tea with it. “I was also made aware by Sokka that he saw you walking in at eight this morning, while Katara relayed to me that she ran into you an hour ago. Further proving my point.”
“Snitches,” you murmur under your breath.
A breathless laugh sneaks past his lips at your grumbling. It’s the kind that makes you wish you could press pause on life, to truly drink him in. He looked beautiful in this moment. His bangs were falling against his cheek, his hair was neatly tied on the crown of his head, and his smile- oh it was precious. He lacked the wrinkles around his mouth from a childhood spent in misery, but you were set on fixing that. Each time he laughed it was as if a fairy gained her wings or a unicorn was born. It was something so magical and pure, it was like nothing you’d ever seen.
In a split second, it’s over. He’s turning back to you now, and you finally take a sip of your tea.
Ding! Ding! Ding! It was black just like you’d thought.
Another smile creeps on your lips as the liquid trickles down your throat. It was one of the only teas you could stomach that had a substantial amount of caffeine.
Maintaining eye contact over the cup, you see the subtle shift in his expression. It was curious, but his eyes were wider than normal. It reminded you of when children are helping their parents with something, anxious to see if they’ve done it correctly.
When the lid departs from your mouth and he sees your smile, his returns.
“You remembered,” you coo at him and the tips of his ears turn pink. He swiftly looks to his bag, attempting to busy himself with something as he decides on taking his books out.
“It’s hard not too,” he mumbles. “You’ve spend the past two years complaining about the taste of every other tea I’ve managed to get you to try.”
“Awww, so you do listen to me.” The flush spreads to his neck.
“Don’t be me embarrassed, it’s sweet.” Your voice comes out in a sing-song way while your head finds its home on his shoulder. You’re almost positive you can hear the blood rushing to his face.
Fueled by his reaction, you decide to tease him a little more. Lifting your head, your lips find his cheek as they drop the lightest kiss on them before whispering in his ear, “I like it when you listen to me, my prince.”
His face is burning. He never did get used to the title you loved to tease him with. But it was true, he was your prince.
Summary: Life working as a server at The Jasmine Dragon has always been peculiar to say the least. Turns out that lunatic Jet was right; the staff of Ba Sing Sei’s most beloved tea shop were firebenders. Not only that, but the bitter reclusive server boy? He was the disgraced Fire Nation Prince. So maybe you had no right to be shocked when your awkward work crush returned to the shop, with the crown of the Fire Nation perched on his head.
Pairing: Fire Lord Zuko x fem!reader
Word Count: 4.7k~
Content/Warnings: n/a
A/N: Rewatching the third season of ATLA and I just think the episode where Zuko goes on a date with the girl from Ba Sing Sei was so cute it has been living rent free in my mind. i might do a second part to this bc idk if i rlly like the cliffhanger rip
The dull white noise of conversation in the parlor, muffled by the cloth divider in the kitchen’s doorway, lulls your senses as you brew a new pot of tea for the noble who had just arrived. You rarely got to brew the shops’ finest Jasmine tea, the leaves saved for only the most honored guests. Beyond the partition, you could hear Iroh chatting idly with the newcomer, though you couldn’t make out who exactly was on the other end of the conversation.
You’ve been The Jasmine Dragon’s main server for years now, even doing a stint as acting manager when your boss, a man you knew as Mushi then, disappeared with little warning. The locals had been crestfallen to see the shop absent of its jolly owner, but you had made your best effort at keeping the place up and running on your own. Honestly? The most difficult part had been handling the return of Mushi; the whiplash of the admittance that he had been using a fake name, the now constant whispers of the patrons that the fiery young man you had worked with, Mushi’s nephew Lee, was actually the disgraced Prince of the Fire Nation.
It felt bizarre to picture Lee in anything other than his earthy colored uniform and apron with his scowling face, even if you had seen the illustrations of him in the regal garb of The Fire Lord that Iroh brought back with him after travelling home for his nephew’s coronation. The illustration was still pinned up there in the kitchen, the harsh rendition of those soft golden eyes always peering down at you as you worked.
“Fire Lord Zuko; Bringer of the Dawn of a new Fire Nation” Read the script that was scrawled down the side of the scroll. It was the only way you could really be reminded that Lee wasn’t his
real name. In his ink rendering, Zuko was only slightly older than the last time you’d seen him in Ba Sing Sei. As the steam of the teapot swirled gently upwards, you were trying to picture how he might look now.
“How is it going back here?” Iroh’s smiling face emerges from behind the cloth divider, jolting you back to reality.
“Almost finished, would you like me to fetch some pastries too?” You loaded the tea set onto the serving tray, already well aware that your indulgent employer would want a snack to go with the tea.
“That sounds lovely,” you could hear the smile in Iroh’s voice. “I’ll be taking our guest to the private parlor if you would be so kind as to join us once you’re done?” When the graying man sees you nod in response he ducks back out into the shop, leaving you to finish assembling the tray.
It’s not until you emerge back into the main parlor that you realize the ambience of chatter that typically fills the place is hushed. Patrons whisper excitedly at their tables and watch you like hawks as you carry the serving of tea and treats towards the closed private tearoom. The silence rings loud in your ears as you draw the door open to step inside.
The sight of him, sitting elegantly at the low table, knocks the breath from your lungs.
He’s massive; a hulk of toned muscle with posture that made it clear he was royalty. Gone was the wiry boy you had bussed tables with, the slouched awkward teenager trying too hard not to look comfortable in the Earth Kingdom.
“Lee?”
The sound of his old alias brings an amused smile to the Fire Lord’s lips, and you feel your face set ablaze with embarrassment.
“Sorry. Fire Lord Zuko, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” You set the tea tray down on the oak wood table, kneeling to pour two cups of tea.
“It’s nice to see you too.” Zuko’s hands brush yours as you pass him the cup, and he fixes those gentle golden eyes on you.
“I hope my dear Uncle hasn’t been piling too much work on you as of late.”
Iroh scoffs as he scoops the teapot up from the tray and pours a third cup, gesturing for you to join them. You sit hesitantly.
“I wouldn’t have to drown the poor girl in so much work if I could find some other decent help.” He raises an eyebrow at his nephew, as if to imply that running the Jasmine Dragon should take priority over running the Fire Nation.
“Sorry Uncle, if I could trade council meetings for serving tea you know I would do so in a heartbeat.”
You can’t help it. You let out an embarrassing snort, choking on the swig of tea halfway down your throat as you try to hold your laughter. The Fire Lord furrows his brow at you and cocks his head to the side like a confused puppy, which only makes you giggle harder.
“You hated customer service.” You manage between gasps for air.
“Every shift you had something to complain about!”
You cross your arms and scrunch your face into a replica of the scowl he wore for his entire stay in the city and summon your best impression of Lee.
“How insufferable can they get?! They just want Jasmine tea; but they must want it brewed in a crystal teapot with the light of the full moon to imbue it with peaceful energy, because they’re never happy with how I make it!”
Iroh is doubled over with laughter. Zuko drops his face into the palm of his hand, his silky curtain of hair the only barrier concealing the scarlet flush creeping up his neck at your mocking performance.
“They kept saying they could feel my negative energy steeped into it.” He groans pathetically.
“If anyone in all of Ba Sing Sei could have steeped their grumpy energy into someone’s tea, it would be you.”
“Whatever, the point is somehow the Fire Nation nobles are worse.”
“Do they nag you about your negative energy as well?”
The sound of Iroh chuckling at your familiar bickering somehow returns you to your senses. You’re mocking The Fire Lord about his customer service skills, or lack thereof. You open your mouth again to apologize, but Zuko’s expression halts you. He looks at ease, eyes alight with his laughter.
“Politics is just customer service without a friend to complain to.” He shrugs.
“My only real reprieve is my letters to my friends; no one would intercept and read through my correspondence with the Avatar. I treat him like a private journal at this point.”
“You know you’re always welcome here!” Iroh reaches across the table to pat a hand on Zuko’s shoulder reassuringly. “Come visit whenever you need to let off some steam.”
Zuko rolls his eyes, but the smile lingers on his face. “Of course, I can always halt the rebuilding of the Fire Nation, the work on the reparations to the other Nations, the domestic humanitarian efforts; all projects I can put on the wayside. In fact, why don’t I tag in another member of the royal family to help me! Do you think Azula would take an interest in the infrastructure repairs in the Northern Water Tribe?”
A glint of mischief appears in Iroh’s kind eyes. “Alright, so you can’t just take time off to visit your aging uncle. At least spend some time with the lovely ladies of the Earth Kingdom while you’re visiting! Who knows, we may just find you a Fire Lady. That would relieve some of the council’s worry, wouldn’t it? I’m sure they would let up on you a bit if they knew you had at least a chance of producing an heir.”
You choke on your tea for the second time today. Zuko’s face has returned to the embarrassed pink color it was minutes before, and Iroh is grinning smugly as he looks between the two of you. You huff a strangled chuckle, starting to gather the empty dishes back onto the tray. Easiest to take this as your cue to leave; the idea of listening to Iroh rib Zuko about his love life sounded mortifying.
──────•✦•──────
When you stepped behind the partition the next morning, gathering your hair up into your hairpiece to keep it out of the way, you were stopped short by the figure occupying your place at the counter. Zuko had traded his scarlet silk robes for the muted cotton uniform of The Jasmine Dragon. His long hair was pulled into a neat knot at the back of his skull, lacking the gilded hairpiece he had worn yesterday. His calloused fingers handled the ceramics with a delicacy you wouldn’t have expected from him.
The Fire Lord was working his old customer service job.
And he looked obnoxiously good. Not that he hadn’t looked divine in his royal attire; but there was something about how human he looked, with his head free from the weight of a crown and a serving apron tied snugly at his hips, that made him painfully handsome.
“Come now, there’s work to get done!” Iroh bustled past you, the hint of laughter in his voice undisguised as he scolded you. “Help my nephew prepare for the group in the private parlor, would you?”
“Right, okay.” You’re quick to sling your own apron around your waist as you join Zuko at the counter.
“Hope you’ve been thinking happy thoughts while you brew.”
“Of course, all sunshine and rainbows over here.”
The soft chuckle your quip earns you sets loose butterflies in your stomach. It’s strange to have him here again. You feel hyper-aware of his every move, the way he radiates heat in the small kitchen, the sound of his breath as he lights the stove with his fingertips.
You try to let the rhythm of work take you over, to soothe the tension in your chest, and finally feel the weight of his presence lift slightly as you focus on the pastries you’re shaping. You feel more comfortable in the silence of work than the awkward pauses in conversation from yesterday, happy to let the clink of tea sets and the muffled ambience of the parlor be the soundtrack of the space.
The feeling of a hand on the small of your back, feather-light and cautious, jolts you from the flow of work. The warmth of Zuko’s palm bleeds through your shirt as he steps behind you. And then it’s gone, the only evidence of it happening at all is the blush burning bright on your cheeks.
“Sorry; I’ve got a tray of ceramics, didn’t want you to step back and bump into me as I passed.”
He’s balancing a full serving tray of cups on one hand, smiling softly at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, of course.”
Really eloquent today, aren’t you?
The rest of the day passes without a return to your mental sanctuary of workflow. You’re once again painfully aware of every movement Zuko makes, as if the air he shifts with each breath sets your every nerve on fire. When you step into the parlor to deliver a tea set to the newest arrivals, the place is packed. Not with the usual flow of nobles and couples on expensive dates, but with what must be every bachelorette in all of Ba Sing Sei. Their heads snap to the counter when the sound of your footsteps reaches them, fast enough to evoke a sympathetic pang of whiplash in your own neck, but as soon as they register it’s you the return to their whispered gossip. It’s almost unsettling to watch them perk their ears like dogs whenever the cloth divider shifts.
What a bizarre aura for the usually peaceful shop to have. It felt uncomfortable now to know that the patrons were waiting so intently for a glimpse of the Fire Lord.
“You might want to be careful going out there.” You tell Zuko as you duck back into the kitchen. “The ladies are prowling like huntresses.”
Zuko’s golden eyes are narrowed when he looks at you, brows furrowed in what you can only guess is confusion.
“Hm? What do you mean by that?”
You roll your eyes at him. As if he doesn’t know. “The court ladies in the parlor; they aren’t our regulars.”
That gorgeous scarred face stayed clouded by puzzlement, maybe he really hadn’t changed that much. Even when you were teenagers, girls had crowded into the shop to try and flirt with the angsty mysterious barista. His ignorance of their attempts to snatch his attention had only made him a more enticing individual.
“You’ll see when you take the next order out.” You sighed.
The spectacle of throwing Zuko to the wolves was too good to miss, so you lurked behind the counter as he assembled the tea tray you’d tasked him with bringing out. The second he emerged from the kitchen, brows still knit together with confusion, the parlor seemed to buzz with whispers. There was a heaviness to the air itself as the crowd of women watched Zuko cross the room to set the tray down on the nobleman’s table; and when he returned to the counter all hell broke loose. Girls flocked to the counter, all chattering over one another in an attempt to talk to the poor bewildered man behind it.
You were struggling to contain your laughter, wishing you could get a portrait made of the panicked expression on the Fire Lord’s face to tack up next to his royal flyer in the kitchen. But in some dark corner of your heart there was a twinge of jealousy you wished you could extinguish. It was that same childish resentment you had felt towards any dolled-up girl who had come in to the shop years ago asking for “that beautiful boy with the scar”, it felt ridiculous to feel it resurface now.
But through the cacophony of voices, Zuko seemed to pick out your laughter. He glared at you over his shoulder, but it was lacking any real fire behind it. Though he tried to maintain the scowl all the attention had put on his face, it softened at the sight of your smile.
“Don’t look so much like you’re enjoying this.” He pleaded.
“Oh, but I am enjoying it, Your Highness. Besides, wasn’t this the goal your dear uncle had in mind for your visit?”
The look of horror and the deep red shade that took the place of Zuko’s scowl just made you laugh harder.
──────•✦•──────
Iroh and Zuko departed early in the evening, leaving you to close The Jasmine Dragon on your own. You didn’t mind; the quiet of the empty shop was soothing. After all the dishes were set out to dry and the parlor had been swept, you tucked a parcel of leftover teacakes into your bag and began to lock up the shop.
Your heart plummets into your stomach when you turn from locking the front door to see a man leaning against the door frame, and your pulse only slows slightly when you register that it’s Zuko.
“Should you really be lurking outside the tea shop without any sort of royal guard?”
You glance around suspiciously for signs of the soldiers who had accompanied him and Iroh when they left earlier. “Seems kind of unsafe for The Fire Lord to be wandering the Earth Kingdom alone.”
“Should you be making the journey home alone this late at night?” There’s that ridiculous amused smile on his lips again as he quirks an eyebrow at you. “I think you’d be in a bit more trouble than me if someone decided to pick a fight.”
As badly as you want to conjure a rebuttal, you have to admit that he’s right. Compared to him you would be relatively helpless in a fight. His smile remains as he steps away from the door, gesturing for you to follow. The streets of Ba Sing Sei were lit by the gentle green glow of the lanterns strung between the shops lining the street. The only noise that broke the silence was the occasional clatter of a passing wagon and the sound of your footsteps.
What kind of small talk do you make with royalty?
The silence felt like a chasm between you two; your boldness to tease and joke with the Fire Lord now gone despite your best efforts to recall it to use. This was a man you’d spent lunch breaks and evening rushes with. The same guy you had chattered at endlessly a few years ago.
The same boy you’d even had the courage to kiss the last time he had walked you home like this.
You shiver at the unpleasant memory of that night; at the frown he had worn after the kiss, the awkward dodge of your request to go out together after your shift the next day. The way you two had parted had been humiliating; Zuko mumbling something about not being the kind of man you wanted before disappearing the next day after a huge fight with his uncle.
Maybe that was the real problem. Not that Zuko was royalty, or the son of a war criminal, or a close friend of the Avatar, just that he was almost like an ex.
But maybe you were being a bit delusional thinking one kiss would make you important enough to be awkward around.
It takes you an unbearable amount of time to finally speak, a feeble attempt to spark conversation. You feel almost childish asking, sheltered and naïve, but it was all you could think of discussing with him to ease this awkwardness between you two
“What is the Fire Nation like?”
You’ve been curious since Iroh returned from that first visit home, weighed down by spiced treats and beautiful formal garments. The Fire Nation felt to you like a far-off world, untouchable here in a land that hadn’t even been willing to acknowledge it when it had sent armies to its doorstep. You know Iroh would have happily talked of his homeland, but you had just never felt there was a good time to ask; to try and really understand who he and his nephew were. The lunch rush certainly wasn’t the time to ask your boss to divulge such personal things.
“Well, it’s much warmer, though I’m pretty sure you could already guess that much.” Zuko’s voice held no mocking tone, much to your relief.
“It’s a lot of urban area, especially in by the royal capital, shopping districts like this part of Ba Sing Sei. Our buildings are more Imperial style though, with bright red pillars and yellow roof tiles.” He glances sidelong at you, smiling softly with pride. “Lots of Dragon statues. And we throw lots of festivals, as a kid my favorite was the Solstice Revelry. Mother always had to keep me from eating too many spice cakes.”
“I think your uncle brought some of those home; I’d need to be cut off from them too, they were delicious.” Iroh had mentioned they were Zuko’s favorite, chuckling to himself as he reminisced on what you could now assume was an embarrassing story about Zuko eating too many sweets.
Zuko was laughing now too, a gentle sound tinged with embarrassment. As if reading your mind, he turns to you and asks, “Did he tell you about the time I tried to command a shop keeper to smuggle me more sweets after my mother asked the vendors to cut me off?”
“Now you have to tell me.” You grinned wickedly at the Fire Lord, eager to hear what was clearly a mortifying story. He grimaced half-heartedly, he was the one who brought it up, so it was only fair he tells you the whole story.
And he did. He confessed, face bright pink the entire time, that when he was a boy, he had eaten enough spice cakes to make himself sick. His mother had given the sweets vendors at next year’s festival strict instruction that he was not to be given any cakes.
“None at all?” you feigned horror, hand pressed dramatically to your chest. “How could they do that to you? Such disrespect!”
Zuko rolled his eyes at you, though the adorable awkward smile he had worn since he began the story stayed present on his lips. “That’s exactly what Azula said. That I couldn’t accept such coddling if I wanted to be respected as a member of the royal family; that it would be shameful to allow the vendors to refuse me service.” He shook his head, his raven hair swinging with the movement.
“I can’t believe I actually took her seriously, but I threw a whole fit at the next stall demanding that they not treat me like a toddler. It made me look even more childish than overeating the year before. Father was furious with me, I’ve never seen Azula look so pleased.”
You’ve done your best not to laugh as he’s been speaking; beneath your amusement you’re surprised he’s been willing to indulge you so far as to share such an embarrassing story. But when Zuko suddenly crosses his arms and halts, morphing his beautiful face into a pout, and begins to recreate his childhood attempt at a demand, you can’t contain yourself. He’s stomping his foot as he complains that he can’t be told no, he’s the Prince of the Fire Nation. You laugh so hard it hurts, and he doesn’t stop his ridiculous display until you’re doubled over and begging him to give you a break.
After minutes of gasping to regain your breath, you finally find your voice again. “Oh, I would have taken that to the grave. I can’t believe Iroh never told me that story.”
“I think he was trying to spare me the embarrassment of you having even more to poke fun at me for. Probably thought it would give me excuse not to visit the Jasmine Dragon.”
“I would have thought you didn’t need excuse to avoid returning to the city,” a slight frown tugs at the corners of your lips. “Didn’t think you would be inclined to visit a place you were miserable in.”
Zuko gave you no response, the silence once more taking weight as you creep slowly closer to the street your apartment was on. You’d likely overstepped in mentioning his discontent living in the earth kingdom, even if it was true.
“I always thought the stars in Ba Sing Sei were beautiful.”
The sound of Zuko’s voice cutting through the din of the night again surprised you. And even more surprising was the admission that he liked something about the city. The fondness in his voice. He had always seemed to harbor a quiet resentment of the city; one you had always attributed to struggling with life as a refugee.
“The stars?” You craned your neck to look up into the sky, at the glimmers of light floating in the ink pool above your heads. They were beautiful, but you couldn’t quite understand what made them any more special than the others in the sky.
“They’re so bright here; in the Fire Nation capital the lanterns are usually kept burning bright late into the evening, so the stars are harder to see. It was one of the things I liked most about this place, even if I would’ve never admitted then that I liked anything about living here.”
“Oh wow, I didn’t realize even the stars in the Fire Nation could be different.”
You finally turn your gaze from the sky to find that Zuko isn’t even looking at the stars. He’s staring at you, smiling like you’ve done something endearing. A betraying blush finds its way onto your face as you knead the back of your neck to ease the strain of twisting it to view the sky.
The two of you continue walking, the silence now a bit more comfortable. You manage to break it occasionally with talk of the shop, of Iroh, and complaints about the customers that come into the shop. Zuko listens like your voice is siren song, never taking his eyes off you. When you reach your apartment, he continues to chat idly with you at the doorstep, easing the anxiety you had been brewing that perhaps you had upset him.
“I missed that sound.” He says suddenly, barely a whisper.
You had been laughing at a joke he’d made about what a pain the Chamberlin would be as a customer. The air in your lungs seems to freeze, like risking a breath would erase the sound of those words. You’re not even sure if he meant for you to hear.
“I missed you.”
You’re almost appalled by the vulnerability of it, that you would confess such a thing so readily. You hadn’t expected to ever see him again, especially once you had been told who he really was, but his absence from the shop had felt massive. Even once Iroh had returned and you weren’t drowning so completely in the loneliness of being in the shop alone.
“I thought you had simply forgotten me in putting your life as Lee behind you. Seeing as you seemed to hate life here so much.”
“I never forgot you.” Zuko didn’t look hurt by your selfish complaint, which almost makes you feel worse. “Even if I was bitter and angry living here, it never meant I wanted to leave you behind. I was so angry because I was lost, I had to find my place in the world.”
He’s looking at you with such sincerity that it’s almost painful to meet his gaze.
“I found myself, I’m less angry now.”
His smile is cautious, like he’s afraid you might run from him. “It’s uh… actually part of why I chose to visit. I thought maybe now that I know who I am and where I belong in the world, I could be deserving of your time.You were another thing I always loved about Ba Sing Sei.”
You feel your mouth drop open. “What?” Your voice is barely a croak, your shock robbing it of any volume. Zuko scrubs awkwardly at the nape of his neck, smiling shyly down at your dumbstruck expression.
“I never really gave you an answer on going on that date you asked about. If I recall correctly, I reacted pretty poorly and then disappeared the next day.” You nod.
“If you’re willing to forgive my broody teenage self for that, I’d really like to have another chance.”
You want to respond, but your brain is short-circuiting. You open and close your mouth, still stunned, trying to force your vocal cords to produce sound. The word yes seems to lodge itself firmly in your throat, unwilling to rise any further, so you just nod again. The smile that takes over Zuko’s face is blinding.
“Amazing. You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this; seeing you again, I mean.”
“Really?” Your voice shakes pitifully, but Zuko still beams at you. “Really.”
“I’ve thought a lot about it too.” You feel sixteen again, blushing and mumbling like you’ve never spoken to a boy before.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to make you sick of me in one night, you should probably get to sleep.”
You unlock the door and turn to step into your home, but before you can shut it, Zuko calls your name. He hovers at the threshold of the apartment steps, brow furrowing briefly before he returns to you in the door frame and takes your hand in his. A whispered gasp escapes you as he presses his lips against your knuckles. Even after he had dropped your hand, the warmth of his touch lingered.
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” The quiet awkwardness you had found so endearing as a teenager had crept its way back into Zuko’s voice. You nod, mute once more, watching as the Fire Lord retreated down the steps with an impish grin on his face.
“Wonderful, sleep well then.” He glances over his shoulder a few more times as his hulking figure shrinks into the distance; you stand there on the steps long past his departure.
I need everyone to read this right the fuck now. I’m down so horrifically bad. This is everything. Clawing at my fucking enclosure omg I need him NEOWWWW
dude i saw the fics you tagged me in (and it was FANTASTIC) and i thought it was someone else but somehow i knew it was you cuz of the way you write 😭😭
anyways i love you and the new user is so cute 😛
Jazzy that is the most beautiful thing anyone has said to me ilysm 😭💗 the fact you recognized my writing is the best compliment. I was actually going to dm you to lyk i switched the user but it slipped my mind
i really REALLY hope im not late omg i just saw this 😔 BUUUUT can i get a candlepot using earthenware and glazed with deer john? omg this 1k event is so freaking creative and so you anyway LOVE YOU AND CONGRATS AGAIN <3333
HELLO DADAAAAA
Thank you for requesting and by the time im responding you did already read it LMAOAO ILYTTT but i hope you enjoyed, you can read it here 😈
Summary & CW: fluff, slice of life, best friends brother, tim takes a nap, he’s also a recovering touch starved man, conversation about suggestive behavior, second person, no use of y/n
Pairing: Tim Drake x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1.0k
A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to @bat2nsignia for requesting (ily dada). This was supposed to be 400 words but here we are LMAO, I hope you all enjoy <3
“Aw man c’mon,” a voice that is all too familiar whines behind you. “I don’t want to see this.”
Tilting your head all the way back on the arm rest, you see Duke Thomas and Stephanie Brown walking into the room. It was shocking, truly, how there seemed to be a thousand rooms in this manor, and you still managed to get found.
Tim had dragged you to the east wing for a nice relaxing afternoon a little over an hour ago.
He compromised by sleeping four hours last night when you woke up for your midnight pee and called him. When he answered the phone, you promptly told him to go to bed or you wouldn’t be coming over today.
Safe to say he was under his sheets shortly after you hung up.
This part of the manor tended to be quieter, there were more libraries and offices that weren’t inhabited often.
On the second floor study, there was the most comfortable couch you’d ever sat on. One thing led to another and now, Tim was draped across you like a blanket, snoring quietly as he settled into your neck. His arms were locked around your waist with an iron grip, despite being asleep, and he hadn’t moved in forty five minutes.
“Shhh,” you moved the fingers that were carding through is hair to your mouth. “He’s sleeping.”
Thankfully, the whisper yell didn’t wake him. The absence of your fingers did cause him to bury his face further into your neck, missing your soothing touch even in his dreams.
Stephanie’s signature smirk grew on her lips, which had your stomach sinking. Seeing as you were currently trapped under your boyfriend, you were just going to have to sit and suffer whatever terror she felt like inflicting. When she took her phone out of her back pocket, you only managed to bite back a groan for Tim’s sake. You knew where this was going.
She came around the couch and snapped the photo while you frowned, fingers returning to his hair. Duke followed right behind her with his arms crossed and a faux expression of disgust on his face.
“I’m never going to get used to seeing you two together.” He muttered while Stephanie looked way too proud of herself for the blackmail she just acquired.
Rolling your eyes, your head shifts to side landing on the plush arm rest. Raising an eyebrow, you decide to give him a little reminder. “I don’t know why you’re whining, you introduced us.”
“Yeah because I thought you guys would get along, not because I wanted you to suck face.”
Your jaw drops at the tease. “For the record,” you raise a hand to point at him. “I wouldn’t dare to suck face in a shared space of this house. There’s too many cameras in here, and the last thing I need is another uncomfortable conversation with Mr. Wayne.”
Duke bites his lip to hold back a laugh while Stephanie’s hand flies to her mouth, a small action showing that they do genuinely care for Tim’s rare rest breaks. The horrific memory that you tried to burn out of your mind was sure at the front of theirs.
Getting caught by Bruce was in the top ten most humiliating moments of your life. You didn’t return to the manor for a month, and didn’t look Bruce in the eye for three.
Tim and the rest of his family found it funny. You did not.
Then, the air in the room depletes as Tim started shifting around, burying himself deeper into your neck. It was as if someone hit the mute button, even the random noises that occasionally echoed through the manor stopped. The only sound was the small groan Tim let out while moving, probably from shifting the weight onto the shoulder that’s been bothering him for a few weeks.
When he settled back into place and a solid thirty seconds passed without him moving, you looked back at Stephanie and Duke. They unfreeze at your movement and mouth, “we’re going to go” while pointing at the door.
Sparing them a small wave and nod, they practically float out the room. The second the door clicks behind them, you move your head back slightly to look at Tim. He looked so peaceful like this, almost like he was taken out of an oil painting.
Dropping a quick kiss to the beauty mark next to his eyebrow, he hums quietly. You should’ve known that he woke up.
“That’s why you won’t kiss me in the manor anymore?” His voice is groggy and muffled from being pressed against you, but you couldn’t hold back the small laugh you attempted tp mask with a scoff.
“Go back to sleep,” you drop another kiss to his cheek. Hoping to distract him from his initial question, your free hand slips under his shirt and starts scratching his back.
He hums again, his eyes still shut but unrelenting. “I told you, Bruce doesn’t care. He’s caught Dick and Jason doing far worse.”
If it wasn’t for this being a topic of conversation you really didn’t care for, this would’ve been the cutest thing ever.
Your favorite version of Tim was always when he woke up. His eyes were half-lidded from sleep and he was still mumbling all his words. It was a little secret you kept for yourself, but he was also more physical when he was freshly conscious. He pulled you closer to him in bed, kissed you slower, whispered praises into your skin while cataloguing every part of you to his brain.
Not wanting to feed the conversation anymore, you merely hummed again.
That didn’t seem to satisfy him.
“Baby c’mo-”
“If I kiss you, will you go back to sleep?”
You felt the grin against your neck and sighed.
Propping himself up over you, he has the smile that he wore on the night you met. The smile that made you fall in love with him. And all of the sudden, any reason you had for not wanting to kiss him in shared spaces disappeared.
SUMMARY: Jason Todd—Red Hood buys you a birthday cake. But sure, he totally doesn’t care about you.
WARNINGS: slightly suggestive content towards the end
TAGS: yearner!jason my fav, birthdays and birthday cakes, implied sex but NO SMUT, first kiss, love confessions, reader is mentioned to be a smoker(its one line+ its gotham so) and also has a dog, nicknames 'baby', 'hon', 'M'Lady' and 'Sir Jason' act surprised about my knightxroyalty obsession
ᯓ★ NOTES: old one from ao3, i got a really sweet comment that literally listed out all their fav things and i knew i had to post it here too. yes this is a repost from yesterday. also we like this header design?? this ones kinda ass but i have one for a bruce fic and that one's dope,
Red Hood doesn’t have partners. No, no, he works alone. You? You were…just someone he collaborated with sometimes—a lot. Someone he’s comfortable enough to remove his helmet around. Someone he knows well enough to know when your birthday is. But no, you aren’t his partner. He just…tolerates you more than he does anyone else.
Jason didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to make a little mark on his calendar when you mentioned in passing about when your birthday was. He didn’t have to cram himself into a tiny Gotham bakery, list out your favourite flavours and get a cake. He could’ve aborted mission right then and there, turned around back to his warehouse and thrown the cake. But he didn’t.
Instead he’s here, unlocking your apartment door with the spare key you gave him and the cake tucked under his arm. Swinging the door open, he doesn’t see you immediately but can hear the unyielding sound of your fingers clacking away on your keyboard. There’s a soft bark before a furred creature comes running up to him, jumping up, trying to climb him.
”Eri! Don’t annoy Jason!”
”She isn’t annoying me.” His voice comes out distorted through the mask, and as if on queue, the dog turn onto her back. Jason never quite understood why the dog took a liking to him. ‘Animals can sense someone’s true intentions’ is what you had told him once. Whatever that means. Regardless, he gives the creature its belly rubs while balancing the cake in his other hand. “Good girl, good girl.”
After a couple of minutes and a very pleased dog, he stands back up, kicks off his boots and makes his way to you. He finds you exactly where he expects, eyes glued to your computer, nested in the middle of your computer set up and a cigarette in hand. One that he plucks out immediately. “Hey! I just lit that!”
Your eyes snap up to him, eyes wide and eyebrows frowned with a small pout playing on your lips. The light from the screen in front of you illuminates your face, highlighting your features and reflecting off your eyes. “Smoking is bad for your health.”
”So is getting stabbed, shot and poisoned.” You mutter under your breath as you turn back to the screen. You can hear the click and hiss of Jason taking off his helmet. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair as the corner of his mouth twitches up. “What’d you say, princess?”
You turn around to give him a sickly sweet, mocking smile, “Nothing, honey—,” you were about to reply sarcastically, “—Jay!” You gasp as he presents the cake box in front of your face. “Happy birthday, doll.” You squeal, jumping up from your chair. You have to refrain yourself from jumping into his arm and giving him a bear hug, but settling for snatching the box from his hands.
”You remembered!” You sing-song as a giddy smile plays on your lips. The sight of you, hopping around your apartment, smiling like an idiot because of Jason, dressed in what he now recognises as one of his t-shirts that went missing, made Jason…feel. He can’t help but reciprocate the smile as he plops down on your couch as you disappear into the kitchen.
“How was your day? What’d you do?” He calls out, groaning softly as he rolls his shoulder, he was slammed into a wall earlier but he wasn’t going to tell you that. “Well,” You started, walking out the kitchen with two plates, identical slices of cake on both. He opens his mouth to object but you don’t let him get a word out. “Don’t fight me. Eat.”
He shuts up immediately, small smirk on his lips at your orders. He loved it when you got all bossy on him. You pass him a plate, plopping down next to him with your own, the couch dipping with your weight. Your knee presses into the side of his thigh as you two naturally lean towards each other. “Why are you working on your birthday?”
”Someone’s got loads of questions today.” You say, sneaky look on your face, before stuffing your face with cake. Conversation flows as always between the two of you. You laugh and giggle as Jason smirks and gives you smiles big enough to reveal a hint of dimple.
It’s times like this that Jason adored. The domestic ones, the ones that gave him a fleeting sense of normalcy. Moments like this when he can forget about the Joker, Batman, Gotham or anyone outside the walls of your apartment. Somewhere along the conversation, the plates get abandoned and your dog sneaks onto the couch, balancing on both your legs.
Maybe you were drunk on the haze of the moment or maybe you just want to use that as an excuse but you reach out, as you continue telling him about the lunch you went with your friends, your finger twirls the white patch of his hair at the front, curling it into one fine curl.
Jason stills, actively stopping himself from flinching. You continue talking, something about overpriced coffee, but your finger wipes stray sweat from his forehead, flicking it away. There’s a slight flush in his cheeks before he turns his face away abruptly.
You pull your hand away and there’s a moment, of uncertainty and hesitation, your words sputter briefly with embarrassment flooding your face before you clear your throat and urge your dog off your laps. “D’you want anything? Whiskey? Or beer?”
“No. I…Uh, I think I’ll get going. I’m sure you have work to do too.” You don’t know what to make of his tone. It’s flat, emotionless and probably also answers any questions you have. You probably have pushed it too far with him, somewhere in all the time you’ve spent together, the lines blurred.
One moment, he’s just some new masked—hooded vigilante in town to set it straight, barking orders at you to hack servers and dig for information. A blink later, he’s just a boy, one that brings you cake and asks how your birthday was. One that listens to you rants away about coffee and brunch and one that your dog stupidly loves.
Or maybe you just romanticised it all.
That was probably your superpower. And overthinking, evidently.
Jason clears his throat and you snap out of your little thought bubble, ones that you retreated into where you felt even the slightest discomfort. Ones that Jason was very familiar with. Now he’s standing next to the door, red helmet in his hand. You blink up at him for a moment, collecting your thoughts.
“I was actually working on your stuff, I’ll send it to you once I’m done.” You trail off, your best fake smile on your lips. How did this interaction escalate like this. A few moments ago, you were warm and comfortable and felt like home. Now you just wanted to jump out of your own skin.
Admittedly, Jason had also gotten comfortable around you. A little too much. He never intended for it to happen, of course, but as cliche as it sounds, your presence just seemed to have thawed its way into his icy heart. And if buying you a cake wasn’t a wake up call enough, that moment back there definitely was.
Anyone, utterly anyone else, and their hand would’ve been cut off. But now, standing next you, all he wants to do is make you do it again, make you run your fingers through his hair, curl and uncurl whatever you want. You’re biting your lip nervously, your arms are crossed across your front, palms running up and down your arms in an attempt to warm yourself—perhaps from uncertainty?
For someone whose mantra is ‘communication is key’, you’re surprisingly quiet. You should thank him, not only for the cake but for sitting and listening to you, but all you can do is stand there with your mouth clammed shut. From somewhere in the apartment, your dog Eri barks, breaking the air of awkwardness for a moment.
“Ahem. Yeah…”
“Yeah.” Jason mirrors. “Happy birthday, again.”
”Thank you, again.”
Jason moves first, his hand, the one not holding the helmet and closest to you, reaches down to pick up his boots but you catch his sleeve. Like a child, you catch the end of his sleeve, tug it softly. His eyes skip to your hand and then back to your face, eyebrows a little high, those mesmerising green eyes a little wide.
”Listen. About earlier, I’m sorry if I spooked you—“
”No, no. It’s not…” Jason interrupts you, a soft sigh as he shuts his eyes and shakes his head. He takes a moment, collecting his thoughts, phrasing it in his head. He tugs his hand out of your hold but captures it right back. You let out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding, his fingers curling around your wrist, gloved thumb running down the back of your hand.
With a soft tug, he pulls you closer, bringing your hand up to his face, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as you let out a soft giggle. “M’Lady.” He lets out a soft chuckle against your hand himself. “Yes, Sir Jason?” There’s back the stupid spark between you pair. A silence, a comfortable one now, sharing grins and standing maybe a little too close.
You can feel his body heat, warm hand massaging circles into the back of yours, Not dropping your hand but lowering the union. “Wasn’t you. Just…got stuck in my head earlier.” His voice is low, a whisper meant just for you as though you were in a room full of people even though it was just you two and your dog.
”You also,” He pauses dramatically, “Look gorgeous.” You can’t help but laugh out, muttering a sarcastic ‘yeah right’. You had dressed up for lunch but now? Your eye makeup was smudged, lipstick gone expect for the lining, hair up all messy and in your pajamas—technically just Jason’s shirt that you were practically swimming in.
“I mean it, baby. You’re always beautiful.”
Oh fuck. You don’t want to acknowledge all the emotions that went through your body at that. Baby. Always beautiful. Okay, okay, okay. Your heart is totally not doing summersaults and you’re totally not blushing from head to toe. Baby. He called you baby. Yeah, you’re being so normal about it, so casual. You were smiling stupid again.
It takes Jason a moment and the blush the envelops you to understand your reaction. “Oh.”
”Well. Thank you, darlin’.” You say as you put on a little British accent. That has both of you bursting out in laughter. You lean in towards him, giggling into his chest. His gloved hand moves up to your elbow, his forehead comes in contact with your hair and yours rests on the hard planes on his chest.
His musky scent engulfs you, motor oil, gunpowder and sweat. His laugh is a little rough but might be your favourite sound in the entire world, no better birthday gift than that. As the sounds of laughter die down a bit, you’re left looking up at Jason, chin on his chest, ghost of a smile etched into your face. You can’t help but admire him.
The usual harsh corners of his face as softened by his smile. His kind eyes, his dimples, his rough stubble from an uneven shave, strong jaw, and that golden heart of his.
Jason really, really hopes you can’t see it. Can’t see it in his eyes, everything he feels for you. Gosh, standing here, he’s so overwhelmed by it all. He can’t believe it, obviously. What is someone like you doing here with someone like him. He wants to take a picture of this exact smile of yours and carry it with him like a solider in war.
Jason doesn’t miss the way your eyes flick to his lips, when they do, your breath hitches of so little and your smile stutters too. He didn’t miss the way the look in your eye when he called you ‘baby’ either.
If this were a movie, a rom com perhaps, this would be the moment when the romantic jazz would commence. Jason’s pull you closer, ask you if he could kiss you, then actually do it.
So he does.
His hand on your shoulder moves to your back, pulling you in ever so slightly. You hum, in some form of agreement. He hesitates, mouth opening and stuttering. But the expectant look in your eyes gives him some confidence. “Can I…” Your smile widens. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes!” You whisper-shout with an eye rolling like it wasn’t obvious. His own smile widens to the max, those beautiful dimples of his making an appearance, before he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your lips.
Your hands snake around his neck, one delving into his hair and pulling him closer. He groans as he feels you dreading through his locks, deepening the kiss, your body closer and basically moulding into his. His hands circle your waist. Your legs lift off the ground as he holds on to you like you weight nothing.
He pulls away for a moment, dazed but content expression on both your faces, only inches apart. “I’ve been waiting for that for a while now.” You whisper. “Oh, really?” Jason’s eyebrows raise up. You nod, eyes darting between his eyes and lips, cheeky smile. “Ever since you showed me your face for the first time. You will not believe the number of times I just wanted to grab you and kiss you senseless.”
“Oh, really?” He repeats, but voice filled with intrigue now. And a hint of disbelief. Sure he’s harboured feelings for you for a while now but…you saying you felt pretty much what he felt was…exhilarating. And a bit scary.
“Really.” One of your hand holds his chin, moving his face to the side to kiss the scar on his cheek. Jason’s eyes snap shut as he takes a deep breath. You pepper kisses, his cheek, jaw, temples of his forehead and back to his lips.
If he wasn’t holding you up, you would’ve collapsed just from the look in his eyes. He’s never looked at you like that, maybe he has and you’ve never noticed. He sets you down briefly, only to grab your thighs and hoist you back up. You yelp but comply immediately, legs wrapping around his waist as your hands wrap around his neck. He says your name softly. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
”Oh” You say in a sharp intake of air, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded. You’re rendered speechless for a few moments. Jason visibly cringes,“Too soon?” he asks. You shake your head, pressing your forehead to his and closing your eyes for a moment.
Your dog, Eri, appears, circling the two of you on the floor, demanding attention. You both chuckle softly, having forgotten about your little furred friend. “Jay?” You say, hands coming up to brush his hair out of his face. “Hm, darling?” he replies, eyes still on Eri. “I love you too.”
His face snaps back to you, eyes wild. You’re obviously taken aback by it. “What? Did you think I wouldn’t say it back—“ Jason cuts you off, shaking his head with a smile. He pulls you back into a deep kiss as you hold his face. You don’t even register that he’s moved, walked the two of you to your bedroom. He kicks the door open, Eri following behind.
He gently lowers you onto the bed as Eri jumps in too, but is airborne and Jason lifts her off the bed. He places the dog down outside your bedroom door as you giggle from your bed. He gives her scratches behind her ear, “Sorry, gorgeous. I need to you give your mom a proper birthday present.”
”Oh? And what is that gift?”
You ask between your laughs as he closes the door and locks your poor dog out. “That depends. How do you want me first?” Earning a whistle from you as he pulls off his shirt and climbs on top of you.
