Reader One-Shots {ATLA/LOK}

"Focus on the Fight.": Iroh II

"Hey there, your Majesty." You tried to make your voice as sultry as possible. "What'chya up to, handsome?" You leaned against a corner post, sliding your hand up the wood as your hair fell over your face. Only one other man turned to admire you, before quickly turning back to his conversation partner. The attention of the man you were trying to capture remained strongly affixed on his military documents. He didn't reply. You sighed and stepped forward. "Geeeeeneraaaaaaallllll," you placed a hand beside his, covering up the left corner of the map underneath him, before flicking away one of the little plastic ships used for reference. He exhaled, irritated already. He cocked his head to the side and glanced up at you. His arms rested on the hard, wooden surface.

"What do you want, {Y/N}?" You pursed your lips. "I'm extremely busy."

"Same thing as always." You raised your eyebrows repeatedly. "A hot night with my boss." You raised a hand, as a small blue flame filled your palm. "Eh?"

"Hilarious." He stood up, crossing the center of the pavilion, wiping his hands on a scratchy white towel.

"Did you get something on your hand?" You laughed. "What were you doing in here all by yourself, General?"

"Strategizing." He tossed it to the floor. Though, instead of quickly hitting the swirled patterns of the rug, it aerodynamically filtered down, lightly landing near your foot. You bent over and picked it up.

"Oh damn!" You threw it back down after balling it up, and it did the trick. A soft thud accompanied the sound of you groaning in agitation. "There's black stuff all over this! What gives?"

"It's ink." Iroh noted. "I was writing before you knocked over my model."

"Did I mess up your maps?"

"No." He smiled, looking down. You narrowed your eyes. He kept doing it. He looked you up and down several times. His eyes scanned every inch of you. You didn't dislike it, but you were surprised. He generally didn't jest back. It was a one-way thing. It went on too long. Finally, you interjected.

"What?! Iroh! What are you looking at?"

"You." His smile broadened, as a faint pink hue dusted your cheeks. You didn't notice, but he did. He stepped forward, still largely cryptic in his intentions. "How much did your outfit cost?"

"A good ammount. I hate the uniforms in the United Forces. The white pants are so easily stained."

"Hm. Interesting." He placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin, acting increasingly like a curious tutor trying to teach a bemused student, or a scientist observing a confused and startled subject. "And I suppose darker fabrics are more difficult to begrime?"

"What do you-" you glanced down. "Aw DAMN IT!" You swore. "These were not cheap!" He actually laughed at you. You glared at him.

"Hey." He placed a hand on your shoulder. "You did this to yourself." He turned around, nodding in the direction of another captain. "Isamu can help you get that out." You almost growled at his last remark. "Too bad you're not a waterbender, huh?"

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You made up your mind that would be the first and last time you'd fail in your attempts at brilliantly playing Iroh in front of his troops. You'd been doing it for years. It was usually so funny! You were a genius, and you got away with everything! You upped the stakes after that.