i literally cannot

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@cupkiki
i literally cannot
mina ashido who's so clingy it's getting ridiculous sometimes with how much time she spends pressed to her girlfriend's side. she won't let go in any circumstances, even if you have to go to work and will be late just because she doesn't want to pull her hands off of you.
mina ashido who's also getting really whiny when you don't give her enough attention. she's usually not the person to be all pathetic ( in public ), but when her girlfriend refuses to give her a kiss for something as simple as washing dishes? drama will be started! she just really likes kissing you, that's all, so don't be mean :(
mina ashido who would press her abdomen against the back of her hand while fingering you just so her thrusts would be more deep and fast, moving her hips to the rhythm of some song that had been on her mind for the whole day while the sound of your slick insides getting pumped with her fingers is on the background.
mina ashido who's really expressive when it comes to her girlfriend: she can't shut up and won't. she will tell you how much she loves you few times a day, how she adores your smile or the pout you have on your face when you're focusing on something. she will tell everyone about you, even embarrassing stories and moments because for her you were the cutest.
mina ashido who likes it the most when your hands are on her ass. she knows she has a nice body, so are you and literally everybody else. every time you dance ( even in the public space ) she's just waiting for her touchy girlfriend to grab her hips or ass, pure innocent intentions, of course. or when you two kiss! oh, she loves it the most, really. she usually grabs your waist, squeezing it tighter every time your hands find the back pockets of her tiny shorts.
mina ashido who loves being eaten out from the back. well, it mostly because you, her girlfriend, want to have her bend over something to see her pretty long legs twitching and shaking, holding them apart while you are nose deep in her pink pussy. serious business, trust me. especially when she's being a brat and you can just slap her ass a couple of times and see the red marks appear on her soft skin (>/////< " )
like to charge, reblog to cast.
Freakchako and whoever she’s with being condescending with you as a means to rile you up… give me a taste of that freakazoid
-🛸
Jealousy Looks Good on You
🍵⋆。°🍡°⋆. ࿔*:・
summary: bratty!ochako x gf!reader who flirts with monoma all night just to get reader's attention for the repercussion she so desperately needs.
warning/s: wlw smut, mdni, 18+, YURIII, cunnilingus, fingering, strap use, pet names, condescension, slight-degrading, possessiveness, bratty ochako, subby-ochak, masc presenting reader
w/c: 2.6k~
🍵⋆。°🍡°⋆. ࿔*:・
The Class 1-A reunion party was in full swing at a rented rooftop venue downtown. String lights twinkled overhead, music pulsed through hidden speakers, and heroes-in-training (now second-years) laughed loudly over drinks and snacks. You stood near the bar with a mocktail in hand, eyes locked on your girlfriend across the way.
Ochako looked adorable tonight—fluffy pink sweater, short skirt, cheeks already flushed from one spiked punch. She was supposed to be glued to your side. Instead, she’d spent the last twenty minutes laughing with Monoma from Class 1-B.
And Monoma, that smug bastard, was eating it up.
18+ She loves the faces you make when you take her strap. ۶ৎ
You’re on your back in the middle of her soft bed, legs spread wide around her hips, while she hovers above you. The mirror on the ceiling reflects everything back down at you: your flushed chest, the way your thighs tremble, the desperate little twist of your mouth every time she rolls her hips. “Look up, baby,” she whispers, voice low and enticing against your ear. “Watch yourself for me.”
You tilt your head back. The sight makes your stomach flutter: her body moving over yours, the thick strap disappearing inside you with every smooth thrust, your own face twisted in pleasure, lips parted, eyes glassy, cheeks burning. She smiles when she sees you looking. “There she is,” she murmurs, almost fondly. “My pretty girl. Look how fucked out you get for me, baby.”
Her pace stays steady but filthy, hips rolling in that perfect rhythm that hits deep every single time. One of her hands slides up to cup your jaw, gently turning your face so you can’t look away from the mirror. “See that?” she breathes, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “See how your mouth falls open when I go deep? How your eyes get all hazy when I grind against your clit like this?”
You whimper, unable to stop the soft, broken sounds spilling from your lips. She watches your reflection with dark, loving eyes, like she’s memorizing every twitch of your face, every flutter of your lashes.
“You’re so beautiful when you let go,” she says softly, almost a whisper. She leans down to kiss you, slowly, while still fucking you in that same steady rhythm. When she pulls back, her thumb brushes your bottom lip. “I could watch you for hours.” Your thighs start shaking harder around her waist. She feels it and smiles, grinding deeper, slower, making sure you feel every inch.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” she whispers, eyes locked on your reflection. “Let me see that pretty face when you fall apart.” You do — back arching, mouth open in a silent cry as pleasure crashes through you. She keeps moving through it, murmuring soft praises against your skin, completely captivated by the way you look coming on her strap.
When you finally go limp beneath her, she leans down and kisses you again, slow and tender, like she’s thanking you for letting her see you like this. She pulls out gently, then wraps you up in her arms, pressing soft kisses to your forehead while you catch your breath. “My perfect girl,” she whispers, still watching your face in the mirror above. “I love every face you make for me.”
STUPID GIRL .ᐟ .ᐟ
꒰ summary : satoru gojo has a terrible habit of ruining the things she finds pretty.
꒰ content warnings : mdni. fem!gojo x fem!reader, toxic yuri, college au, rich mean girl gojo, bullying, panty stealing, hate sex, jealousy, humiliation, degradation, marking, bruising, biting, rough sex, strap-on, fingering, fingers in mouth, corruption kink. word count 1.9k art creds @cakkezzz on x
fem!satoru!gojo is a bitch, a heinous bitch, some might even say. her family is ridiculously rich. she’s beautiful with snowy white hair, glossy and shining, cut into long layered strands that always look effortlessly messy—but the kind of messy that’s sexy, not unkempt. her eyes are an alluring cyan blue, like uncharted oceans, varying in icy hues and depths, cold enough to make anyone freeze beneath her stare. her skin is a vast expanse of milky porcelain, supple and smooth, utterly flawless without a single blemish.
fem!satoru!gojo is beautiful, feared, and sought after by everyone… yet she’s too busy staring at the shy, quiet girl who rarely speaks, face buried in her phone, earbuds always plugged in—a perfect target for satoru, a new fixation for her.
so wherever you go, satoru follows. annoyingly bitchy as ever and a complete bully, purposely causing you to trip and spill your papers right outside chem—stacks of white sheets scattering across the hallway—just so she has a reason to bend down and help you gather them, sneaking a glance at your soft, dewy tits in that pretty shirt—way too revealing for her liking. i mean, seriously, the guys around here are pigs. she’s just looking out for you.
which is exactly why, during gym next period, she shoves the top you left in your locker—completely unknowing of her malicious plans—as she steals it and shoves it into her bag with every intention of burning it once she gets home… or maybe rubbing it against her aching cunt first. either way, she’s getting rid of it.
fem!satoru!gojo would’ve never expected the effect you have on her, though. so easy to bend to her will, so soft for her, so easy to rile up—yet somehow liking such dirty things, liking when she uses you, leaves you all pretty with marks from her teeth and lips :( cute, really. don’t let that fool you though, you’ll get bitchy with her from time to time, bratty in ways that have her sighing through a nasty grin. satoru just knows how to smack it right off you, in the only way she’s good at.
fem!satoru!gojo who bullies and ridicules you daily.
every time the professor assigns partners, it’s the same thing—papers rustling, names being called, and then her chair scraping back like she already knew. sometimes you think she pays the professor just to partner you together. that, or she has annoying, absurd luck.
“stupid girl,” she mutters as she sits down beside you, not even bothering to look at your face yet, already flipping the assignment over with rough, careless fingers, annoyance clear in her tone. “you really can’t do anything right. you know that’s why we’re always partnered together.”
your skin hums with nerves, tension tightening under the strain in her voice. she notices, like a predator hunting prey—her eyes narrowing on you with something sharp and eerily similar to bloodlust, with her need to ruin you. she’d never admit it, but seeing you all scared and nervous makes her clit tingle with anticipation for when she has you fucked dumb and squirming beneath her, fingers shoved in your mouth as you drool around them like a dumb slut.
a lazy sigh escapes her pretty, glossed lips that always carry a faint sheen of glimmer. her voice is loud enough to carry across the room despite it being merely a lackluster sigh.
“aw, c’mon,” she drawls, leaning back in her chair, long limbs stretching out like she owns the space, nearly kicking the person sitting in front of her. “you’re really gonna stick me with her again, teach?” she rolls her eyes, pointing at your frame as her lips form a bored pout.
people whisper to their respective groups, snickering cascading down the rows of students, disdain reaching your ears. their voices are shrill as they laugh without restraint, full of imprudence and ignorance. not surprising, though—laughter always follows when satoru speaks, even the stupidest of things; everyone here kisses the ground she walks on.
she tilts her head toward the professor, all faux annoyance and boredom, like this is some personal stain to her name.
“she’s just too stupid, really. it’s a shame she’s unteachable, bottom of the barrel, the lowest of them all,” she says casually, like it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. then she glances back at you, a smile forming—shifting into something sharp, vampire-like in the catch of the light, canines pearly white, the grin stretching long and wide, curling into something almost sinister, a full cheshire grin—“isn’t that why you always stick her with me so she can copy whatever the smartest one does and get an A? pfft. that’s low even for you, y/n.”
“don’t worry, though,” she says absentmindedly toward the professor, already leaning in, her perfume cloying and sweet, smelling like something sugary, almost like whipped vanilla and tart berries. sweet yet bitter, perfectly emasculating her sweet tooth, and the sourness that coats her tongue and lingers in her words, her breath skittering down your warm flesh in its feverish wake—spoken like a warning—before she finishes her sentence: “i’ll handle her, professor.”
fem!satoru!gojo who gets meaner when she’s jealous. someone glances at you too long, and she’s already there—cutting in with that lazy smile that never reaches her low, dead-set eyes.
“don’t,” she says simply, like it’s obvious you’re her pet. she should really get you a collar—maybe bedazzle it. she’s thinking a fifteen-carat flawless white diamond set into a pastel leather leash, only the best for her baby. she lets out a small snicker to herself, then pauses—nah… that’s too much.
she can’t stand when another person even throws a glance your way. last time a guy hit on you, she got him expelled. surprisingly easy when you have her money, status, and a last name professors practically bow to.
fem!satoru!gojo leaves bruises where her fingers dig into your flesh, teeth sinking in and puncturing skin in her wake. make her jealous, and it becomes your punishment.
fem!satoru!gojo sees you as something she can have whenever she wants—something she can use, take, ruin. corrupt under her gaze, her fingers knead into your soft doughy skin, as she pulls you into some secluded room, your skin sick with need, goosebumps crawling up your arms. she’s not even bothering to be gentle as she strips you bare.
her touch is confident; she knows she’s in control as her fingers skitter across the skin between your inner thighs, coming to a halt at your clothed core, fingers slipping through and working through your cunt, aware of all your sweet spots, your pussy swallowing her slender digits down to the knuckle as she curls and pumps into your heated core.
and you don’t fight it.
if anything, your body leans into her. chasing her touch.
this weird, hostile, hate-fueled thing between you and satoru is something you willingly take part in. you hate her—her attitude, the way she’s rude, snobby, so stuck-up it makes your blood boil—but she’s also the only one who can fuck three orgasms out of you back-to-back and leave your thighs clenching just from the sight of her sharp, smug grin, too cocky, and all teeth.
and don’t even get started when she pulls out the strap.
she’s mean about it—ruthless, sadistic.
your face is shoved deep into the pillow, barely able to breathe between shallow gasps as her hips snap forward again and again, the brutal force knocking the air from your lungs. the plastic cock drives deep inside you, your panties shoved to the side, your body already sensitive from the way her long fingers teased your clit beforehand. this position she’s got you in—she knows exactly what she’s doing—lets her hit that spot perfectly, every thrust dragging a scraped, broken sound out of you.
the room fills with it. the soft, wet, obscene squelching sound, the constant echo of your greedy cunt taking everything she gives.
“pathetic,” she mutters, voice low and mocking. “going dumb over my cock like this.”
she really believes it, too. she talks like it’s hers, like it’s real, like if she wanted, she could come inside you and leave you completely ruined, full of her seed, leaking with it. god, what a nerd, you think.
“fucking slut for this cock, aren’t you?”
you grip the sheets, nails digging into the fabric, your voice muffled into the pillow. “ngh—fuck, s’toru, it’s too much… i hate you.”
she’s got a crooked smile, teeth dragging over her bottom lip, all need. “nah, baby, your pussy’s telling me different. she’s a real bigggg talker, you know.”
satoru slowly eases the baby blue strap from your tight heat, and your cunt clings—desperate, greedy, almost rotten in the way it sucks her back in. when she finally pulls out, the ridges are coated, slick with your creamy release.
“mm.” she hums, satisfied, a little amused. “see that? you’re painting my shit.”
something shifts in her at the sight—something sharper, more carnivorous—and suddenly she’s rutting into you harder, faster, pushing you up the bed with the force of it. then she slows, dragging it out, letting you feel every inch as your pussy clamps down around her.
she flips you over without warning, forcing you onto your back so you have to look at her.
her white hair is messy, pushed back, strands sticking from sweat. her eyeliner is smudged, lashes pale and catching the light, her expression wrecked in a way she’d never admit you’re the cause of.
her voice comes out rough as she leans in, thumb pressing against your lips before pushing inside your mouth, forcing past your teeth. the second you feel her, you bite down hard, leaving behind tooth-marked petals.
something dark flashes through her sky-kissed eyes—she’s quick with her movements. her hand snaps across your face, sharp and sudden, a sting that burns hot against your skin without quite tipping into real pain.
you just grin at her like a crazy woman. your eyes are glassy, wet with tears pooling along your lashes, your cheeks flushed and overheated from everything she’s dragged out of you. your body’s still trembling, ruined from the way she’s pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, damp strands of hair clinging to your skin, mascara faintly smeared beneath your eyes.
“cocky, aren’t we,” she murmurs.
her fingers shove deeper into your mouth this time, pressing against your tongue, pushing far enough to make you choke, your eyes watering as tears finally spill over. at the same time, her other hand slides down your body, dragging along your slit before slipping your lace panties off completely.
she brings them up, pressing the soft lace to her face, inhaling slow.
“mm… yeah. think i’m gonna keep these,” she says, almost casually. “you don’t mind, do you?” she bats her eyelashes at you, long white lashes fluttering softly, deceptively sweet. yeah, you don’t mind. even if you did, it’s not like you could say anything when she’s looking at you like that—so sickly saccharine it’s almost suffocating.
she doesn’t wait for an answer—just tucks them into her bra like they’re hers now, just like you are, already looking back down at you with that same awful, knowing smirk. yet you catch the way it frays at the edges, faltering beneath your held gaze.
꒰ྀི১ ໒꒱ིྀ masterlist - kofi - emergency comm info!
note . . i love evil women hello !! @kamislop this is for u 😈
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knight toph x princess!reader (pt. 2)
warnings: 18+ dark mature content, sensitive topics!! , sexual assault attempt, slight gore warning?, angsty, knight!toph, sensitive fem!reader, eventual fluff.
summary: as promised, you decide to give your newly assigned knight a chance. well, you mostly try to get on his nerves to have “him” back out and leave you... but life works in mysterious ways.
!!! author’s note: PLEASE read the warnings! a biiit darker than my usual writing, but i want to test the waters.. also this is +4k words, so i hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it!
part 1 here.
⤷ art creds: sleemonkv on X! // toph masterlist
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
alien! batsib! reader headcannons
content batfam & alien! Reader, bruce adopts reader, gn! reader, mantis-like powers (guardians of the galaxy), platonic batfamily x reader, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, sunshine reader, starfire-inspired reader, adoption, homesickness, grief/trauma references (mild), jason's death/trauma implied, bruce's childhood trauma implied, mild mentions of violence/crime
characters bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne, duke thomas, stephanie brown, cassandra cain, clark kent
masterlist
Wc 4k
bruce finds you after a justice league incident where you crash-land in gotham, immediately touch his arm, gasp, and say, “You are very sad and have not slept since the age of eight.”
you are painfully sincere, extremely emotionally perceptive, and have no idea how earth customs work.
you tell people their “internal weather” is gloomy. you call lying “verbal camouflage.” you think handshakes are strange because humans “briefly trap each other’s fingers to prove they are not enemies.”
MY EYES ON YOUR EYES — ˚࿔ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ WALLY WEST X BATSIS
Warning: kissing, cussing, Ramona Flowers inspired reader, reader has colored hair, sex mention, some parts are directly from Scott pilgrim… I think that’s it. Also didn’t fully proofread this one #sorry
For this request. Hope I did your amazing idea justice!! <33
Divider: @saradika-graphics
3.9k words
The first thing Wally West noticed about you was your smile. Your charming, undeniable, smile. How could he possibly miss it?
The second thing he noticed was your beautiful, vibrant hair. He was so zoned in on your smile that he didn’t even notice it at first. How could he possibly miss that? It was this bright pink color at the time. He could only think about how well that color encapsulates you.
And the third thing he noticed is how you seemingly wanted nothing to do with him. You easily passed him off as one of your brother’s annoying friends. Saying the occasional, very quiet and mysterious “Hi,” when you felt the need to. In those moments, he would be so stunned by you to even respond.
When you were very young, if you'd lost something, your mother always told you to retrace your steps.
Lost your favourite toy? Where did you last have it?
Can't find your sparkly pink bike helmet? Go backwards, we'll go to the park and see if you left it there.
But lost your mind in your twenties? Dickmatised by your boyfriend's best-friend? That would be hard to find a way back from.
You tried retracting your steps. Truly, you did. Rifling through memories like a madwoman, trying to pinpoint the exact moment everything seemed to change. When being sure became something you didn't remember how to be and suddenly all you're left with is questions. Endless questions.
You know when it changed for Izuku. Could see it in his eyes the night this whole misalliance started. Staring at his best-friend balls deep inside of you like it's the most beautiful display of erotica he's ever seen. But you and Katsuki? That, you're not sure you'll ever really figure out.
You look for answers in every interaction, every delusional, harmless display of affection. That stupid, late night cigarette that kickstarted this entire thing.
"Katsuki?"
Spiky tufts of blonde hair, dishevelled by wind and the fact he's clearly been running his fingers through it, turn on you to reveal a moonlit face you'd grown to find a strange comfort in over the last 5 years.
"What're you doing out here? You don't even smoke."
The pack between your fingers trembles slightly in the wind. It's bitter enough to warrant a jacket, which you left inside, but just warm enough that the liquor swirling your stomach is enough to keep you from shivering. He eyes the open box, silent in his judgement and you roll your eyes, taking a cigarette between your lips as you fumble for a lighter.
"Quit judging. We don't all deal with our stress by punching the shit out of people for a living."
You're closer now, leaning over the railing beside him as you light the end over the high rise balcony of this fancy, new apartment. Yaoyorozu and Todoroki's house warming party. Though, really it's more Yaoyorozu's, and Todoroki disappeared half way through the night, probably to lock himself in the nearest guest room and avoid socialising altogether. Clearly, you and Katsuki can relate.
He eyes the cigarette between your lips, the way your sticky gloss leaves a pink residue around the paper as you pull it from your mouth and exhale a long puff of smoke. It's hard not to wonder what he's thinking when he looks like this— all cool and collected and mysterious. He turns back to the busy streets below before replying, "Deku buying you the cheap shit now?"
"Hm?" You hum, taking another drag as you study his face from this angle.
"The cigs." He motions toward the paper between your lips with his shoulder, eyes on you once more, "They're not the ones you like. You smoke camels."
You stop mid exhale for a moment, turning the steadily burning cig over in your fingers like you're only just realising that for yourself for the first time too. "Oh. I guess you're right." full exhale, "I picked up the nearest pack to the counter on the way here. Didn't really have a lot of time, you know how Izuku gets about being late."
He hums in acknowledgment at this, a shared experience for the two of you. Except, Katsuki's probably been dealing with Izuku's compulsion to being on time for a lot longer than you have.
There's a beat of silence. Comfortable silence. Cosy silence. The kind you don't often find when Bakugo's around. It leaves you time to study the side of his face, the jagged scar across his cheek that glows in the pale light of the moon and you notice how relaxed his jaw is for once. Just loose enough to soften around the edges, which makes him look almost inviting. You think he looks beautiful like this, mull over the urge to tell him. As friends, of course. You're not sure why you don't.
"You didn't answer my question." You tap the ash over the balcony, avoiding those crimson eyes and the almost definite scrutiny in them. That's just how Katsuki is. Always observing. Always to himself.
"What's that?"
"Why're you out here all alone?" You eye with something dangerously close to concern that makes his chest squeeze uncomfortably and for a moment he almost looks winded as he looks back down onto the amber flashing of the traffic lights down below.
"Not my kind of party."
"No party is your kind of party." you laugh, sweet and melodic, and he glares at you. You hold your hands up in mock surrender, "Not my fault you hate everyone." You sway, only really because the balls of your feet are really starting to hurt in these heels but he watches you like he's ready to catch you if you fall. You know he would, too.
"I don't hate everyone." The grumble he talks in isn't very convincing, which he can tell by the raise of your eyebrows, so he doubles down. "I don't hate you."
You scoff, but it holds no malice, just that light-hearted banter between old friends. "You tolerate me because you love Izuku."
A snort, "See, another person I don't hate."
"So the only two people you don't completely hate are me and your childhood best-friend?"
He pretends to think about it for a second before replying, "Your sister's okay." You really laugh at that— the hearty, unashamed kind— leaning over the railing like a madwoman, head thrown back against his bicep kind of laughter. Katsuki only scrunches his nose, "What's so funny?"
"The only other person you could think of was my sister?" You're wiping invisible tears from the corners of your eyes and he thinks you're being a little dramatic, but he doesn't point it out.
"She's. . .funny." He tries to defend, but it doesn't even sound convincing to his own ears and he cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. You only laugh harder, doubling over until your hands are on your knees and you're practically folded in halve over a joke he didn't even mean to make.
"You've met her once! And all she did all night was make fun of Izuku!"
He simply rolls his eyes, but you don't miss the way the corners of his mouth threaten to pull up into a smile. "Yeah, okay, laugh it up. At least you won't catch me on the front page of a newspaper." Another giggle from you, one that has him wondering if it's always been so easy to make you laugh, and if so why hasn't he heard that kind of laugh from you before?
"Wow, okay. Here you go with the whole 'You're too nice (Y/N), don't talk to strangers (Y/N)' lecture again." You roll your eyes, but your smile doesn't leave.
"Maybe I'm sick'a savin' you." He grunts, and you audibly gasp.
"That was one time! How was I supposed to know that guy wasn't actually looking for the nearest phone box?"
He shakes his head, "He was wearin' a fuckin' balaclava."
"We were outside the club! It was dark!"
"You're just lucky I was standin' outside."
"Oh yeah, my knight in shining armour." You tease, leaning further toward him again just to poke him in the side, which he winces at. You furrow your brows, and he clearly doesn't want you to ask by the way he's shuffling a little further away and avoiding your eye. "Are you hurt?"
"It's nothin'. Just a little scraped up from my last fight."
"Let me see." You press, moving closer until your hands are bunching up the hem of his sweatshirt and he's stopping you with two hands on your wrists.
"I'm fine, don't worry about it."
"I don't believe you." You mumble, pushing the hem further until you're able to catch a glimpse of the blackened skin of his torso. You gasp almost immediately, shoving his clothing further up until he's practically shirtless in front of you, typically pale skin bloomed in shades of yellow, purple and straight up black as he grunts and winces with the strain of the movement. "Fuck, Katsuki, have you had anyone take a look at this?"
"You're lookin' at it right now, aren't you?" If you weren't so concerned, you would've shoved your fingers into his sides over his ability to give such a snarky comment while you're just trying to help.
"You could have internal bleeding, how long have you had this?" You look up at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed, and he knows he doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve this kind of doting, nor the painstakingly gentle glide of your fingers across his abdomen. Featherlight touches lighting sparks across his skin, and if he weren't so focused on the light flooding in from the party still very much in full swing behind you he might have let you do this for as long as you wanted.
But then the doors are sliding open, noise pollution spilling into the quiet cocoon of space the two of you had made for yourselves away from it all and a familiar mess of green curls is stumbling out. So Katsuki does what he does best, he pulls away.
"Baby!" Izuku drawls, attaching himself to your side like he hasn't seen you all night and in seconds it seems you've managed to forget all about Katsuki's injuries. "Been lookin' for you everywhere. Thought you ran away." He mumbles into your skin, nose pressed to where your neck meets your jaw and you laugh— that same mirthful giggle as before— and he knows he deserves even worse for the way his ow smile drops at the scene in front of him.
"I've only been out for like ten minutes, Izu." You chuckle, nails running over his scalp the same way they had run over Katsuki's skin moments prior and he wonders what it would feel like to know you meant it.
"Too long." He sighs, body falling limp in your hold like it's the best thing he's felt all night, which it probably is. You let him breathe you in for a moment before you're catching Katsuki's awkward gaze over the thick block of muscle that is your boyfriend and pushing him upright with a smile that's anything but the slightest bit annoyed at his inebriated behaviour. Just quietly amused, like this whole thing is endearing for you.
He only seems to notice Katsuki when he stands to his full height, eyes lighting up the same way they always did when he was faced with his best-friend and he's quick to pull him into the embrace, mumbling an excited "Kacchan, you're here too!" as he holds the two of you in an uncomfortably close, three-way hug and you're left a tangle of limbs on your friends' balcony.
"Get the fuck off me, nerd." He struggles, but you just smile and wrap your arms around the two of them, like this is the most normal thing you've done all night and he knows deep down if the two of you let him he'd stay here forever. It's only when Bakugo mumbles, "You're crushin' your girlfriend." that Izuku lets up, releasing the two of you from his sweaty embrace in favour of swinging his arm around your shoulder as he sparks up whatever random conversation his drunken brain seems to want to have and the two of you are left shooting eachother lopsided smiles over how adorably drunk your boyfriend is.
But that was normal. At least, you try to convince yourself it was. Glancing over at that familiar mess of curls as it snores a blissful symphony of exhaustion beside you.
You sigh, sitting up and scrubbing your hands across your face. You'd have to look closer. Closer to when this all began and you find yourself circling back to the same night over and over, the night all these fruitless fantasies solidified into something real.
"Bakugo! You showed up!"
Kirishima was one of Izuku's many friends that you decided to love wholeheartedly the first time you had met him way back in university. He had started the conversation with fussing over how in love the two of you were, how you were all Izuku seemed to talk about for the last six months and how excited everyone was to finally be able to put a face to the name. The two of you bonded over your shared affection toward the freckle faced boy pretty quickly, which soon blossomed into a valuable friendship over the years.
Bakugo, however, didn't seem so pleased to see him.
"Yeah, whatever, Shitty hair. I'm not staying for long."
That familiar grumble only made the red head erupt into hearty laughter, slapping an arm around the irritated blonde as he drags him to the private table Mina made sure to book in advance for such a large party.
He spots you and Izuku first, curled up against eachother in the wide booth as you nurse the edge of a half empty wine glass, the drink sparkling in the dim, yellow light. Izuku holds what looks to be some kind of fruity cocktail, which Bakugo refrains from making any sort of comment on as he slides into the booth beside you, that same, lint covered hoodie sliding up his forearms as he glides them across the sticky table.
"Kacchan! How did it go?" Izuku sits up, leaning across you to converse with his friend, who slouches back against the booth like he wants to be anywhere else right now.
"Kicked his ass. The dumb extra gave all that talk just to get knocked out second round."
The table erupts in cheers, a few of the girls holding their glasses up in celebration of his win and he looks down at his grazed knuckles as if to avoid the attention.
"Man, I wish we coulda seen it. Future heavyweight champion Bakugo Katsuki!" Denki cheers once more, waving his glass that spills over the marble tabletop and Sero gets up with a grumble in search of a napkin.
"You didn't give him too hard of a beating though, right?" Mina asks, sliding in to claim Sero's empty spot across the table from the three of you. "I mean, you still let him get up after?"
"Nah. Kid's six foot under. Showed up to invite you guys to the funeral." He jokes, but his face remains sat in that same old scowl despite it.
"I wouldn't put it past you, Bakubro. Sometimes you turn into a beast in the ring." Kirishima returns with a tray of shots, placing them on the table and offering the first to Bakugo, who politely declines.
"Aw, come on, Bakugo! This is your first night out with us in like. . .forever!" Mina whines, and Denki nods beside her.
"You won the fight man, now's the time to let loose a little!"
"If Kacchan drank each time he won a fight, this would be an intervention." Izuku chimes in beside you, taking a sip of his drink with his free hand that isn't slung over your shoulders.
Katsuki gives a nod of approval beside you, but you lean forward to push a shot glass each in front of the three of you. One orange, one green and one bright purple with little shimmers floating around inside. "I'm sorry we didn't get to come watch, the least you could do is celebrate the win with us." You suggest, urging him to take his pick.
He thinks for a moment, lips pursed like he's mulling it over before muttering, "Fuck it." and making a grab for the orange glass, downing it in one without waiting for you or Midoriya to take yours alongside him.
The table erupts in cheers again, watching like giddy teenagers as Bakugo swallows hard, face screwing at the bitter taste of the hard liquor disguised as 'sweet' on the menu.
"(Y/N) the Bakugo whisperer! Teach me your ways!" Kirishima laughs, hand slamming the table a few times as you shrug, a coy smile painting your lips.
"Maybe I'm just better than all of you." You tease, fingers wrapping around the pink glass as you nudge Izuku to take the vibrant green beside it, sharing a glance before downing each of your shots in sync with one another.
"Yeah," Bakugo coughs, still processing his own drink, "or maybe she's the only one with a fuckin' brain."
"I dunno, she's been with Midoriya for. . . how many years?" Denki jokes, earning him an elbow from Mina.
You smile at the mention, fingers interlocking with his against your lap, the denim skirt you're wearing riding up slightly with the movement. "Five. Next week."
"Ugh! You two are like. . ultimate couple goals!" Mina gushes, face pressed to her hands against the table like she's witnessing true glory up close.
Izuku smiles at that, turning to press a kiss to your cheek and pull you a little closer to his side, which in turn has the whole table erupting in childish coos. "To many more." He practically beams, retrieving his original glass just to clink it with yours against the table and take another swig, which you return.
More cocktails, a few rounds of karaoke and a boat load of shots later and everyone seems to have found themselves their own little space in the crowded bar.
It's late, probably later than it should've been, and Katsuki has to continuously remind himself that he's supposed to be 'letting loose' and to relax his shoulders each time they wind up by his ears.
He's drunk. Not wasted, he offered to be the sober driver because he didn't trust either of you to make it home in one piece, but enough to feel the tingle in his fingertips as they rest against the thighs of his jeans in the bar stool he's found himself perched upon. Beside him, Deku's humming along to some cheesy pop song he doesn't think he's heard before, umpteenth drink in hand as he sways slightly with every new melody that blasts through the crackly speakers.
You're not far. Maybe about a metre or two away, bent over the bar as you point at the row of colourful bottles behind the barman, dictating which one you'd like to choose for your next round, which you graciously offered to provide for the two boys. Your two boys, as you called it.
It was funny, being called yours. Izuku didn't seem to mind, of course he didn't. He was yours. Had been since the day he sat next to you in his first aid course, vital for becoming a teacher, though you had been pursuing nursing at the time.
Katsuki only became yours by association. He was Izuku's, he knew that. Didn't need to be said, nor addressed. He just was, always had and always would be. Things worked out that way, worked just fine and didn't need to be messed with. But then you came along, and suddenly there was a new person to not completely hate. A new person to laugh at his rude, and probably inappropriate, jokes. A new set of tastebuds to try all his cooking. A new set of his hands to clap and a voice to cheer his name in the stands of a boxing ring. A new place in that cold and withered heart of his to be filled.
You became part of him, because you were part of Izuku. And now, the three of you were part of eachother. He thinks maybe you all share part of the same soul, which he would never admit out loud, because if anyone asked he didn't believe in that corny shit. But he did. Seeing you and Izuku it was hard not to believe two people could be made for eachother, and he thinks maybe you were kind of made for him too.
So hell, if you wanted to claim him as yours, he wouldn't stop you. As long as he got to exist in your guys' orbit.
You shoot them both a smile over your shoulder as you wait for the drinks to be prepared, that same drunk flush in your cheeks he knew meant trouble even on a good day. You're tapping your nails against the bar, waiting patiently like the good girl you are, when a familiar intro has your entire body lighting up.
"Oh my god! It's our song!"
You're darting over to take one of Izuku's hands in yours, pulling him to his feet with no complaints as you fight to take Katsuki's in your other. He lets you hold it, but doesn't budge, shaking his head. "No way. I'm stayin' here."
"Kacchan! Don't be boring! You love this song!" Deku pouts, arm wrapping around your waist on instinct to toy with the hem of your cropped shirt.
"You love this song. I suffer through it every time I give you two a ride because I have to."
"I see you tapping your fingers against the steering wheel every time it plays!" You argue, nodding along with Izuku.
"That's a nervous habit." He grunts, fiddling with the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
"No, that's a nervous habit." You correct, motioning toward his fingers, which quickly flex into balled fists at your acknowledgment. "You tap when you enjoy things!"
"I don't." He practically growls, but the blush across his cheeks gives him away almost immediately and Deku's already dragging him to his feet with a lot more force than you had.
"You so do!" He laughs, already beginning to sway with you as he drags Katsuki with you as collateral. "You tap your feet every time you listen to Foo Fighters!"
It's loud on the dance floor, cramped with sweaty bodies and the three of you have to shout to hear eachother now. "I like the drums!" He tries to argue over the sound, but the two of you have slipped into your own little world, dancing hand in hand to the beat of your favourite song.
He's too stiff too dance. Surprisingly uncoordinated despite his profession, so he settles for watching the two of you instead. You're so close you may as well be part of eachother, chests bumping with each bounce of your heels and laughs mixing into one breath as you twirl and spin around one another. Deku takes your hand in his, extending his arm to spin you once or twice before you're collapsing back against his chest, head thrown back in that same joyful laughter as the night on the balcony.
This goes on for a few more songs and a few more rounds of shots, which Katsuki declines under the excuse of him driving, until he's herding the two of you into his vehicle at god knows what time and grumbling about making sure you get home safe.
He helps you into the backseat, tries to with the help of Deku, who's still reasonably sober compared to you— a mess of flailing limbs and wet kisses pressed to your boyfriend's chubby cheeks as they box you into the backseat.
Katsuki's just about to round to the drivers side, Deku in tow with the passengers seat before you're grabbing him by his collar and begging him to stay with you.
"Don't leave me alone, Izu. Sit with me." You whine, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and he looks a little embarrassed at how publicly you're seconds away from groping him in front of his best-friend, but Katsuki just nods, urging him to join you, which he does, like the dutiful boyfriend he is.
The car rides filled with awkward silence as Katsuki tries to focus on the road, on anything but the way you're practically straddling Izuku in the rearview mirror, legs slung over his lap and your tongue hot against his neck as you sigh into him, sweet little murmurs about how cute he is, how much you love him. All the things that should be done in private.
"Baby, we're in the car." Deku mumbles when you try to turn one chaste peck into multiple open mouthed kisses, practically salivating over him before you've even made it to your side of town.
"He doesn't mind." You whisper, teeth running along his throat in a way that makes him stifle a groan. "Do you, Kacchan?" You lean forward, into the front seat and Bakugo has to grit his teeth to stop himself from swerving off the road.
It's the first time you've called him that. The first time you've called him anything besides his government name and something about it being Deku's name for him that you're using makes his stomach flutter.
His lack of answer is enough for you, and you're plopping yourself right back into Izuku's lap and pulling him in by his hair for a sloppy kiss. "See? I told you. He's a good friend, he doesn't mind."
A good friend. God, if he was a good friend he wouldn't be fighting so hard to stay in control just from watching the two of you like this. Wouldn't be driving one handed just so he can keep adjusting his jeans to make sure neither of you catch a glimpse of the bulge that's threatening to rip out of his zipper. Wouldn't be driving the speed limit just so he gets to keep the two of you in his backseat for longer.
He unlocks the door with a button from the drivers seat when he pulls up outside your shared apartment. Nothing but a soft 'click' of the lock opening to say goodbye. But that, obviously, isn't enough for you.
You're stumbling around to the passenger seat window, knocking on the glass and begging him to roll it down just so you can lean into the glorious smell of his leather seats a little longer and take a deep inhale, sighing out that, "Your car smells so good, Kacchan. Smells like you."
He buffers for a moment. Flexes his hand on the steering wheel and eyes Deku over your shoulder through the passenger seat window like he's asking for permission to accept the compliment.
"Could you help me get her upstairs?" He asks. A genuine favour from his best-friend, for your boys to help put you to bed and he'd be a real asshole if he said no.
So he helps lumber you up four flights of stairs, eventually opting to carry you bridal style up the last two after you and Midoriya nearly rolled down the second. You're babbling the whole time, running your nose along his hairline and taking slow breaths like he's a pack of camels and you're trying to get in as much smoke as possible before he burns out.
"Izu says you smell good, too. Says he likes keeping your sweatshirts 'cause they smell like you. Isn't that cute, Kacchan?"
He ignores you because he doesn't know what else to do. Because Deku's got his back to him, practically marching up the stairs and he can almost feel the scarlet of his cheeks from here. Because a good friend wouldn't embarrass him by acknowledging this. And he's trying so hard to be a good friend.
He only places you back on your feet when you touch down on the floor of your shared apartment and the doors safely closed. Only takes his hands off your waist when he's sure you can stand. Deku still won't make eye contact, and he thinks maybe this is his punishment for letting things carry on so long in the car.
But then you're pressing your face to his chest, nuzzling against him like you've forgotten which one's which and sighing into him, "We love y'so much, Kacchan. You know that, right?"
He rubs a hand over your back. Doesn't know why. Trails his fingers through the ends of your curls and even pulls one around his finger just to feel it bounce back like it was never there. Like this will all be a distant memory tomorrow morning and you'll go back to being his best-friend's girlfriend. That this will have never happened.
Deku's watching him now. Not angry, just quiet. Eyes glassy and kiss-bitten lips parted like he's seeing him for the first time. Like he's watching some sort of puzzle fall into place and suddenly the warmth of your body pressed against him is gone and you're trailing back to Izuku, running your nails over his scalp the way you had before and pressing sloppy kisses to his jawline.
Katsuki thinks he should leave. Knows he should. But he doesn't, stands there like he doesn't know where to put himself, holding eye contact with his best-friend while you lick a long stripe from his jaw to his cheek and break into that familiar grin.
"He can stay, can't he, Izu?" You hum, shooting Katsuki an assessing glance before whispering, "I think he wants to watch."
It's so fucking twisted, which must be why he stays. Must be why he watches you palm his best-friends cock through his jeans, wishes it was his. It's why he obeys when you tell him to, "Sit.", legs spread wide across your sofa as you clamber yourself into his lap, Izuku right behind you, hands trailing your side like he's been waiting for this as you run your nose along his Kacchan's jaw.
"You're so lonely, Kacchan. So sad and lonely. We want to help you." You whisper, and he thinks he feels tears brimming his lash line, eyes falling shut as the first one falls, cascading down his cheek, only to be lapped up by your hot tongue against his skin. "'S okay," you coo, carding gentle fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp just right in a way that makes him preen, groaning to the touch, "You don't have to cry. We've got you."
Your fingers bunch the hem of his sweatshirt, lifting it over his head and he doesn't fight. Raises his arms and lets you pull it off, only to be thrown somewhere and surely be kept by the two of you. The bruise is healing now, more yellow than purple, almost green in places, but still tender enough to warrant care and you are oh so careful with him. Sliding down until you're on your knees between his legs, pressing kiss after kiss along the lean muscle of his abs, across the blood-rushed skin and his head lolls back against the sofa, only to be caught by Izuku's hands in his matted hair, keeping him upright.
"Stay awake, baby. We can't take care of you properly if you don't keep your eyes on us." He chastises, but his voice is so fucking gentle. So fucking sweet and Bakugo thinks this must be some kind of fucked up mind game, some cruel trick to mock him for how badly he wanted this.
"I'm sorry." He chokes out, voice thick with tears but Izuku only shushes him, hand rubbing over his hairline to push his sticky hair from his forehead and run his thumb over the silvery scar there.
"You don't have to be sorry. You never have to be sorry. Not with us."
He nods, because what else is he supposed to do. Glassy eyes trained on the only constant he's ever known as he lets his girlfriend run her tongue over the waistband of Katsuki's jeans. He feels like he's floating, the only part of his body he's still in control of being his hand flexing at his knee. Tensed, like he so desperately wants to make a grab for your hair, and Izuku think it's adorable how much he holds himself back for fear of overstepping a line that isn't even really there anymore.
Does Katsuki know he wants him to fuck you? He fights a grin at the thought. His dumb, fucked out best-friend all flustered when he realises that he's allowed to have this. That he'll willingly give it to him.
Still, he does find it a little inconsiderate that Kacchan's the one getting all the attention. After all, it's him that splits you open almost every night. His cock that you crawl home to, his name that you whisper while you sleep, his couch in the apartment he bought you on the first viewing just because you said you liked the windows, and now Katsuki's about to be the one to claim your mouth first on that very same couch.
All it takes it two firm taps against your shoulder and you're stilling almost immediately, fingers tucked in Katsuki's belt loops as you pull back to look up at your boyfriend, a dopey grin on your face. He smiles, running a soothing hand across your cheek and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear— "Why don't you show him how you do it first, hm? Don't wanna overwhelm him."
You blink up at him a few times— these slow, loving, cat-like blinks— ping ponging between his face and Katsuki's crotch as if mulling the idea over in your head before a wicked smile spreads across your face and you're turning to face him, hands already pawing at his zipper. He laughs, stroking a palm over your scalp to rest at the back of your head as you smile up at him, giddy with anticipation. "Let me sit down first, baby." He takes a seat on the opposite couch, leaving nothing but a small, hickory coffee table between the three of you and pats his thigh expectantly, "C'mere."
You perch in between his knees like this is the only thing you've been waiting to do all day and you almost purr when he caresses your jaw. "Open." He commands, but it isn't rough. Just firm, casually dominating in a way that's almost out of character for him. You obey, even going the extra mile to slide out your tongue and tip your head back. He presses his thumb against the muscle, pushing it flat against your chin with a hum, "That's it. Good girl. Little wider, sweetheart."
You always get like this when you drink. All soft and pliant, begging to be fucked dumb. To be bossed around so that tired little brain of yours doesn't have to put in any work. It's funny really, jarring almost and he gets off on the idea of how stunned Kacchan must be right now. How untoward this must be for him. To see you, the headstrong loudmouth you are, knelt between his knees like a fucking house pet and letting him guide your mouth over his cock.
It's not always like this. Sometimes he's the one kneeling, which is equally just as fun, but it's what makes times like this always so special. They don't come often, so when they do, who is he to deny his sweet girl of what she so desperately needs? What kind of boyfriend would that make him? And now that you have an audience he's only all the more intent on thoroughly pleasing you in front of your guest.
It's messy when you swallow his cock. Drool peeking down the sides of your lips, pooling at the tufts of bright green hair at the base of him and you moan over him when his hand finds the base of your hair, fingers curling through the strands, a gentle reminder that he's there. "Doin' so good, sweet girl. You're so beautiful. So perfect." His hazel eyes twinkle at you, round with adoration and Katsuki nearly chokes on his own tongue when they land on him, "Isn't she, Kacchan?"
His knee jumps, "Yeah. Yeah, she's— she's great." His chest heaves, voice tight like the air burns and Midoriya's brows furrow, unsatisfied.
"Great? Is that—" he moans, loud and unfiltered, when you constrict around the tip of him, never breaking eyes until he's ready to continue. "You can do better than that. I know you can."
"I don't—" he grits his teeth, eyes screwing shut as he presses his feet hard against the parquet flooring in the effort to steady his legs, "Fuck, what do you want me to say?"
He smiles at that, eyes falling back on you, head tilting to the side in that unashamed admiration of the girl beneath him. "I think you're making him nervous, honey." he addresses you directly and you look up, humming in acknowledgment before releasing him with a 'pop.' You sit up a little higher, turning to Katsuki with a wet chin and wide eyes, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before looking back up at Izuku like you're waiting for permission for something. He nods, chin tucked toward Katsuki, "You can help."
You're up in seconds, leaning down to give your boyfriend a passionate kiss, tongue slipping into his mouth and your fingers curling around his jaw before your eyes lock on Katsuki.
They're different now. Smaller, no longer wide with love but narrow with something else. Lust, maybe. Or maybe this is a punishment. A reckoning. Karma for all the late night phone calls, the stolen brushes of skin in dimly lit classrooms, the silent claim he's kept over your boyfriend since they were children that never really went away. Not even after you, not even while craving you just as badly. Whatever it is, you look you're about to eat him alive, and he thinks— knows he's going to let you.
You grip his chin with two fingers and his entire being shifts, world spinning on its axis like your touch has just given him every reassurance he needed to be okay with this now. Just for now. To have his cake and eat it too.
You straddle him again, thick thighs bracketing his hips and he fights off a groan at the heat of your skin through the denim. "Do you want me to help you, Kacchan?" It's a simple question. So fucking simple, but his brain short circuits. He blinks, dumbly, and you pout at him. "We don't have to do anything—"
Two strong hands grip your hips, keeping you flush to him, panic set in the intensity of his hold. "No. I— shit." His voice breaks, he tries to bite it back. "I wanna fuckin' ruin you." The admission flies out of him and his lips set like he wants to drag it back in as soon as it leaves, but your entire body seems to lit up at his confession, head turning over your shoulder to shoot Izuku a look that reads as slightly amused. He nods, slow and convincing, from his position on the couch and it's only then Katsuki registers the steady stroking of his hand over his cock.
You lean in, hands braced against his shoulders and lips brushing his ear with a lazy smirk, "I think it's going to be the other way around."
Izuku always fucks you well. He's slow, considerate, intent full with his touches. Pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with practiced hands after a particularly long and trialling day.
But katsuki? Katsuki fucks like he wants to do damage.
Hips rutting against yours with so much force the couch scrapes across the floorboards a little with each thrust, filling the room with creaks and slaps of wet skin against skin as he groans over you, "Wanted to do this for so long. Fuck, bet you wanted this too, didn't you? Couldn't fuckin' help yourself." His hot breath fans your face with each pant, eliciting spark-like tingles across your skin and all you can do is nod and reach for him, nails scraping along his back in a way that makes him arch his spine, burying himself into you that little bit deeper.
"Shit, you're so tight. Couldn't wait to get me like this, huh? Bet it's all you two freaks think about each time he fucks you." He's babbling, totally pussy drunk and it comes out more volatile than either of you could have expected when he stepped through the front door. "Does he like seeing you like this? Like watching you cream on another man?" Izuku is still sitting directly opposite the both of you, but he hasn't been directly acknowledged by either of you, save for the way your eyes flick to the hand pumping his leaking dick every so often, since Katsuki first slipped it in. You mewl, which isn't a direct denial, but Katsuki still smirks above you, crimson eyes dropping down to watch the way you quiver around him before flitting back up to your face. "Or is it just me? Only me that gets to fuck this pretty pussy while he watches?"
"Just— just you. Only you."
His jaw goes loose, swollen lips parted as a guttural groan rips from his throat. "Yeah, fuckin' right it's only me." a particularly hard thrust knocks the air from your lungs, "Only me."
He's confident now. Cocky just from the way he's got you, dumb on his cock, and it's enough to have him turning over his shoulder with a shit eating grin, addressing Deku directly with, "You watchin', nerd? Look at how fucked out she is, all dumb on my cock." he mutters, turning back just to run his eyes over the way your tits jump with the stuttered breath you take in at his humiliating words.
Izuku smirks, uncharacteristically smug for him. "I think she likes you, Kacchan."
He laughs, breathy and hoarse, "Ya fuckin' think? Clenchin' me like her life depends on it."
You remember now, how something had shifted deep inside your gut. How those boys, your boys, had shifted your entire being.
You think you find it now. Here, in this memory. Of Katsuki between your legs, and Izuku by your side. The best of both worlds, both of your worlds, in one place.
You realise that nothing is lost. Nothing was ever really found. That this was there all along, from the day you were seated next to that bushy browed, green haired boy on the first day of first aid training way back in University. You might not have officially met Katsuki then, but deep down you know you had. That in knowing Midoriya, you knew him too. Because it's possible to love one without loving the other.
And you know now, that it's okay to love both. Because fuck, you do.
❤︎ soft drunk suki. . . katsuki is a big baby when he’s drunk!
thinking about katsuki who had a few drinks while out with kirishima and denki, drinking isn’t something he usually does, katsuki hates when he’s out of his head, he needs to be in control of his senses, and when he’s not it seriously irks him.
but katsuki is also hot headed and stubborn, and he’s very easy to rage bait.. so when denki made some sideways remark about how katsuki couldn’t handle his liquor.. well.. katsuki had to prove him wrong.
which he just barely did. as soon as he got out of the uber, he threw up inside the potted plant outside of your shared apartment. see, katsuki can’t handle his liquor.. maybe if he had paced himself, but katsuki went in hard, drink after drink after drink.. and now he’s stumbling through the hallway into the shared bedroom, door slightly ajar as you wait for him.
“baby.” he slurs, voice rough and unsteady, broad frame lingering in the doorway.
“suki?” you ask, brows furrowed.
he stumbles in fully now, bathed in the warm glow of the lamp beside the bed, a wobbly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. his scar looks more prominent in the dim light, cheeks flushed red, eyes low and hazy.
“are you drunk?” you ask, trying to hold back your giggle, but it slips out anyway.
he scowls, grabbing one of the plush pillows from the bed and tossing it weakly at your head.
“shuddup,” he grumbles, words slightly slurred. “m’fine.”
you laugh, and he’s already crawling into bed, collapsing most of his body weight on top of you. his skin is unusually warm against yours, breath skittering over your neck as he speaks, the sharp tang of alcohol lingering on it.
“s’not drunk—hic—denki said i couldn’t handle shit, so i…” he pauses, brows pinching together like he’s trying to remember his own point.
“proved him wrong.”
you raise a brow. “did you?”
“yeah,” he mutters defensively, burying his face further into your shoulder. “don’t start.”
you hold his head up gently when he tries to melt bonelessly into the crook of your neck again, but your nails drag through his scalp, and he lets out something caught between a grumble and a whimper, eyelids fluttering embarrassingly fast.
he looks beautiful painted in the dim light, softer somehow, gentler under the warm glow. intoxicated katsuki is different than sober katsuki—less sharp around the edges, less guarded. sober katsuki is still soft in the center, it just takes more work to get there, more patience, more pushing past the bark to reach the bite he never really means. but drunk katsuki? drunk katsuki melts like a puddle in your arms.
“whaddya lookin’ at,” he grumbles, words muffled and slightly sloshy, shifting under your hold like a cat pretending it hates attention while very obviously leaning into it.
you smile, eyes glinting with pure adoration. “just how pretty you are.”
his cheeks turn beet red instantly, ears matching a second later. for a moment, a dopey smile pulls at his mouth before he catches himself, replacing it with a grumpy frown instead.
“quit bein’ weird,” he mutters, though there’s no heat behind it. he hides his face in your neck, but you catch the way his brows soften, fondness written all over them.
he peppers you in kisses now, messy little things all over your face, heated pecks pressed sloppily against skin. the haze of alcohol lingers in every movement, clumsy but impossibly affectionate.
“tch. you’re prettier, stupid,” he mumbles against your cheek.
you grin. there he is.
masterlist - kofi - emergency comm info!
note: it’s been years since i’ve wrote for katsuki on my blog.. it feels like it anyways i hope u guys enjoy.. from the queue
taglist: @seraphsmuse @xoxojisu @esilek @candiiee @cvnt4him @panchikogirlfriend @lotusstarr @cupkiki @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @wonubby @dienamiight @sofi4dsam @kawaiiclubdaily @therefore-evermore @luckybibucky @sk1ppy-art @myths-and-ledgends @icanread-icantwrite @changkyunnnie @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation @calliopemanga @izutwos @doubelieveme @ivankinnieclatter @roronoafushiguroaratakahakari @green-orange-bloom @sparklylanddetective @lem-hhn @gaige312 @ryobaby @hrts4cupid @buuxbear @b00rants @v4mp1r3b4tzz @trilxogyyy @loveergirll @searchingfornothinggg @megumisrighttoe @rarebambi @vitya124 @prettisilky take a look at this post to be added, or removed!
The Hero:Girl Dilemma
Summary: Damian’s girlfriend is a little oblivious.
(Potential) Warnings: fluff, angst, kissing, cursing/swearing, established relationship, mention of a rape alarm, a few creepy men, the film they’re watching is Spider man so if Marvel exists in DC in this fic (very controversial) I have no idea what dilemma means tbf so lol
Divider credit to @cafekitsune
Slán go fóill! 💗 Enjoy!
Damian was sat on your bed, sat up against your mountains of pillows, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as some silly Superhero film played on his laptop. The masked hero, hanging upside down on a web, kissed the girl and pulled away. Little did the girl know, he was her next door neighbour of, like, 17 years and she had been his childhood crush.
“I’m sorry, but you’d definitely know.” You commented softly, proud.
“Know what, beloved?”
“You’d know if your boyfriend was Spider-man.”
“They are not in a relationship, she’s dating Harry.” Damian corrects, turning the volume on the laptop down.
“I know, but, if you knew the guy for 17 years, you’d know the sound of his voice. The look of his lips,” You elaborate, throwing your hands up briefly.
Damian had to hold back a smirk. “You’d know, would you?”
“Yes. If you were Spider-man, I’d know it was you. Well, if you spoke to me.” You quipped back confidently.
“So you think if you spoke to each vigilante in Gotham you could pick them out just by their voice?” He questioned incredulously, amused now as you paused the film and sat up to face him.
“I don’t know, maybe. But i’ve never had a run in with any of them. I wouldn’t mind having a run-in with Superman.” You tease, seeing his smirk drop. “Oh, Dami, I’m joking.”
Damian’s ears turn red hot. “Tt. I suppose it’s a good thing Superman is in Kansas, then.”
“It’s not that far. Jon lives in Metropolis.”
“Smallville. What are you getting at, anyway? Superman is pushing 50.” Damian grumbles.
“What, do you not think there’s a sexy superhero out there?”
“No.”
“Not even Catwoman?”
“She is a vigilante.”
“So? She’s still smokin’,” You returned with a mischievous glint in your eyes.
“I like you.” Damian declared finally.
“Aww..I like you too. You’re okay.” He rolled his eyes at your playful tone. “I still stand my by point, i’d know if you were a hero, vigilante, whatever.”
“How would you?”
“I mean, there’s obvious signs - running off in the middle of dates, out in the middle of the night, superpowers.” You list off, as if it were obvious.
“I disagree. People can be very oblivious. How do you think Spider-man got 3 movies? They don’t all find out in the first one.”
“Yeah, but this is a film. A film where this guy’s girlfriend is too dumb to suspect her boyfriend as Spider-man.”
It was a regular Thursday evening, and as you were on your way home from work — a waitressing job at an Italian restaurant — around 9:30, you had felt eyes on your ever since you exited the tram station. You knew better. You had your house keys in one hand, one earphone in and one ear free, and a rape alarm in the other hand. Sometimes that wasn’t enough.
The man had been following you ever since you got off the same tram, but you didn’t dare look back. Just walk fast, stand tall and confident.
Your heart nearly fell to your ass when you heard the footsteps quicken behind you, suddenly louder and closer. Fuck!
Just as you crossed the road of the empty street, you heard a brief shout directed at you, then a pained one.
You glanced back, only to see the creepy man now on his face, ankles tied together by a rope. And fucking Robin stood before him, dissembling his handgun. The man was shouting, before the vigilante punched him into last week. You stood in the middle of the street, frozen, scared.
The man had a gun. Was he planning to kill me? Kidnap me? Worse?
The masked man shot something up at a lamppost, and suddenly the creepy man was hanging from it by his ankles.
Those white eyes met yours. The domino mask did nothing much of hiding his face, but you couldn’t make out much. He stepped toward you, guiding you back into the footpath on the opposite side of the road. “Are you alright, miss? The middle of the road isn’t so safe,” He replied lightly.
You just stared up at him; at the white covering his eyes, the black mask on the curve of his nose, the shape of his lips, the array of spiky hairs, cowlicks and the dark swirls and waves across his head. All of these could be mistaken, lots of people have these features. But he smelt like Damian. Not just the expensive cologne or his body wash, his scent. You knew your boyfriend. “..Miss? Are you hurt—?”
“Damian?”
He froze. His mask moved with his brows, as much as they could, and raised almost comically. What was he meant to say to that? “Uhm..I- Miss, i think you’re mistaken,”
You were still before him, and the silence was killing him. “Do you need help home?”
He walked you home — which he knew wasn’t far — in the most uncomfortable silence ever. He didn’t know what to say, what he could say, and he knew your head was probably wracking itself to make this situation make sense.
Damian stood next to you outside of you home, seeing your knuckles whiten with how tight you were holding the keys.
“..You sure you’re not hurt?”
You ignored him. And you made your way towards the front door.
Damian was going crazy the past few days. Only because you’d been ignoring him. With that, his whole family got the worst of it: the snappy and pissy mood, the ignorance, and he didn’t know who to turn to. He probably should’ve asked Bruce since he was ‘in charge’, but what the fuck does Bruce know about healthy relationships?
After the first day of you ignoring him, he went to your house at a reasonable time; the sun was still out, but unfortunately it was just you home, and you just told him to leave you alone. He was hoping one of your parents would answer the door, at least they would try and convince you to talk to him.
He left you alone after the second day, but he was clawing at himself by that evening — figuratively. He couldn’t throw rocks at your window, realistically, he would either break your bedroom window which was a huge risk or scratch your parents car. All he could do was text you.
Dami 💞
Can i please come over
Dami 💞
It is very important
Beloved please
I won’t come over if you tell me not to
Dami💞
I am outside
I will only leave if you come out here and tell me to
Damian’s chest thudded briefly when he saw your curtains open slightly, and a shadowed version of your face from the dusk outside lighting and the dim lights of your bedroom. He was hopeful.
You opened your bedroom window, staring down at him. “What do you want, Damian?”
She said the whole government name. She was that upset with me? Damian worried.
“..Can we please talk?” He asked, raising his voice a bit so you could hear him.
“What is there to talk about?” You sigh, sitting back on your bed. “You’re Robin.”
“..I am.” Damian confirmed quietly. He didn’t really have nervous habits, because he was taught from a young age not to let anyone see his sentiments, he needed to stay indifferent. But he wouldn’t with you.
His hand instinctively moved up to the back of his head, fingers flicking through the thick and dark strands of the cowlick - probably curled upwards due to his habit. “..Are you upset?”
“I don’t know how to feel,” You mumble, watching him pace like a caged animal. “..I’m sorry for ignoring you, Damian, but- How am I meant to react?”
“If it makes you feel better, no one else knows but my family. And Jon.”
Damian felt his chest squeeze further when you didn’t respond. You didn’t even look at him. “I cannot tell anyone. For their safety. And my own.”
“..Yeah, I got that much.” You answered quietly. “How am I supposed to feel about this? You’re out every night beating up bad guys with guns and knives, that’s pretty fucking nerve wracking.”
“Yes, it is. But it is something i’ve been doing for a long time.” Damian answered with a sigh, seeing your face contort into one of confusion. “How long?”
“..I have kept my childhood a secret from you because it was barely a childhood. Mine was nothing; I had no toy animals or Hot Wheels, we did not celebrate my birthday with balloons and video games, I had no Christmas or Hanukah or Eid,” Damian explained, still fidgeting with his hair. “I told you I grew up in Saudi, that much is true. It was not as glorious as you imagine it to be,”
You stayed silent, wanting to hear this. It seemed like he needed to get it off of his chest. Patting the space next to you, and you grab his hand gently to settle him down. “..I have done horrible things. You will not understand them, or where I came from, and you…You may want to end this relationship, but it is wrong to keep you in the dark.” He would do anything not to tell you, but he’d gone too far at this point. He’s ruined everything he’s built with you, all of the work he’s put into himself being a better person, a more emotional person for your sake.
He told you everything. About the League of Assassins, about his mother and Ra’s, he is not only the heir of Wayne Enterprises but also of the Al Ghul dynasty. He informed you of the things he was forced to do, people he had hurt and killed, what he had received when he refused to do as his grandfather said, and how he was forced to ingest poison every day to build up the immunity, the same with every recreational drug under the sun. He ended up tumbling out that Bruce was Batman, that’s why he was Robin, along with his siblings, which he felt stupid for doing. He’s ruined everything; his relationship with you, his family, his name, his status as Robin and as Bruce Wayne’s son. All for you, all because he wanted to be with you.
Damian didn’t realise there were tears rolling down his cheeks until he felt soft fingers wiping them away. “..I am sorry for lying, and for dropping this on you. I should not have told you,”
“Oh Damian..” He heard you exhale, voice gentle and kind.
“D-Do not pity me, this is my own fault, I will leave you alone from now on—”
“Dami,” He paused when he felt your hands in his, pulling him back onto the mattress. “I’m not upset with you, I..Just stay with me for a bit,” You plead, stroking his knuckles.
He sat back down, stiff and distraught, both of his hands now in his hair and pulling on the strands in a panic.
“Dami, please calm down, I won’t tell anyone.” You promise, your voice so calming and sweet, Damian couldn’t help but feel soothed. A warm hand ran up and down his back, gently prying his hands from his head and cupping his cheeks. “I promise you, the secret is safe…And for what it’s worth, I am so so sorry for what you went through, babe..”
Damian stared at you through cloudy tears, holding your gaze as your words sunk in. “None of that is right, and you didn’t deserve any of it. You didn’t deserve anything less than love, and guidance.”
He held your gaze, still nervous and trembling, but he felt better. A lot better. Like all of the noise, the alertness and the constant thinking had vanished into nothing. Because being with you seemed to soothe everything, and made everything better. “I love you. You hear?”
Damian nodded, tears slowly fading. He knew he didn’t have to say it. He couldn’t say anything right now. He wouldn’t have sacrificed his whole family’s status and big massive secret if he didn’t love you.
His brain stuttered when you reached closer, planting a kiss to his lips. It was simple, lovely and loving. Just enough to distract him. He let out a big exhale before pulling you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist completely and holding you tight, as if he wanted to merge into one. “..Iloveyou.” He whispered, hoarse and a bit sheepish, but he meant it.
im so fucking tired of my job i hate it i hate it I HATE IT OHMYGOD
tired of women being described as sex monsters who fuck everythjng that moves during ovulation
dad!gojo having a girls day with his daughter ⋆·˚༘*
the house is quiet, eerily so. the bright overhead lights that usually greet you are absent, no loud excited squeals from your daughter, no laughter spilling through the house from your husband, the strongest, satoru gojo. although at home, he’s the softest, gentlest, sweetest man you know, he’d go to any extreme to keep you—his beloved wife, and his angel daughter—safe from any harm.
it’s strange.
the silence, that is.
your home is rarely ever quiet. not when satoru fills every room he enters like he was born incapable of indoor volume, not when your daughter inherited every ounce of his personality.
you set your purse down and slip your shoes off, leaving them neatly by the door. for a moment, you wonder if maybe they’ve fallen asleep—like that one time you came home to find satoru and your daughter passed out over a half-finished pint of ice cream, cartoons still playing softly in the background.
but then—
warm golden light pours from your daughter’s princess-themed room, the sound of voices you hold dear drifting faintly through the cracks of the door, soft laughter spilling quietly into the stillness of the house. something warm seeps into your skin and settles against your heart, tucked away inside your ribcage, and you find yourself moving toward the sound.
padding softly down the hallway, your fingertips graze against painted wood as you push the door open.
there, sitting in a room washed in golden hazy string lights and littered with various unicorn plushies, is your eight-year-old daughter, grin bright and eyes nearly twinkling in the same way your husband’s do whenever he’s buzzing with excitement.
she clasps her hands together, the various beaded friendship bracelets around her wrist jingling softly, clearly pleased with her work.
you clear your throat.
her head snaps toward your direction, a wide toothless grin spreading across her face.
“mommy!” your daughter exclaims, all giggles and apple-red cheeks.
satoru turns around now, white hair shining almost iridescent beneath the amber glow. it’s slightly mussed, boyish where it frames porcelain skin, and for a moment it reminds you of when he was a first year, all wild hair and trouble.
“my wife,” he drawls, voice unnecessarily long and dramatic, hand flying to his chest as if he’s suffered some terrible tragedy. “it was so long, i mourned you like a wife grieves her husband sent off to war.”
his piercing blue eyes twinkle with mischief, face littered with various hello kitty stickers, shiny glitter dusted across the black fabric of his shirt.
a grin tugs at your lips, your head tilting rather sarcastically as you cross your arms.
“i was gone for an hour, toru. getting stuff for dinner.”
your pointer finger gestures toward his face, tracing the stickers into constellations.
“plus, it seems our daughter kept you busy.”
he gasps softly, offended.
“our daughter saw me mourning. i mean really, baby, i was already writing letters.” he sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead. “my tears kept making the ink run. seriously, it was bad.”
he sticks his tongue out at you.
your daughter jumps up immediately.
“mommy, daddy’s being dumb again. tell her what actually happened!” she says, glaring over at satoru with all the seriousness a eight-year-old can muster.
he sighs softly before sitting up straighter, pulling a plush pink pillow closer on the floor where he sits at the tiny tea party table.
that’s when you notice it.
your husband’s nails are painted various hues of pink and purple, tiny silver specks of glitter adorning each nail bed.
“did you paint daddy’s nails?” you ask, smiling toward your daughter.
she beams, eyes squeezing shut as she nods eagerly.
“yup! he was not a good customer,” she huffs. “he kept changing his mind about what colors he wanted. it took forever.”
satoru points accusingly.
“well, my nail lady was very impolite,” he argues. “she kept stopping to watch barbie movies.”
you can’t help but giggle.
your husband and daughter truly are one and the same.
“now, what were you going to tell me?” you muse.
satoru sighs, shifting closer. long slender fingers reach for your hand, intertwining with yours while his other hand cradles your daughter’s much smaller one.
his expression suddenly turns grave.
“our daughter,” he says solemnly, voice dipped in the same tone one might use to announce a funeral, “is having boy trouble.”
your daughter’s brows furrow immediately.
without hesitation, she whacks him on the head.
satoru bolts upright, rubbing the back of it dramatically.
“ouch!”
“was having,” your daughter corrects with a pout. “not anymore. plus boys are stupid and have cooties. daddy says.”
satoru beams shamelessly.
“which is why,” he says, nodding sagely, “i suggested we have a girls’ day.”
your daughter nods enthusiastically.
“that’s why daddy’s nails are painted!”
satoru holds his hand up proudly, inspecting the glittery polish.
“and they’re very pretty,” he agrees.
your daughter suddenly hands you a teacup.
“now you can join, mommy!” she cheers.
she looks down, rummaging through a pile of hair clips—strawberries, ladybugs, tiny pink plastic bows scattered everywhere.
“i get to do daddy’s hair next!” she announces excitedly.
before satoru can protest, tiny hands are already gathering strands of ivory hair into uneven pigtails while he pretends to sip from a baby pink teacup, pinky raised with ridiculous elegance.
“i expect pictures,” he says matter-of-factly, glancing toward you. “blackmail material for when she’s older.”
“daddy!”
₊˚⊹ ᰔ masterlist - kofi - emergency comm info!
note: pls i don’t even want kids but i want to procreate w him <3 ☹️ also expect a mini series of this with various characters i rly want to write girl dad choso sobs .. also i hate the gradient coloring in this but im lazy so
taglist: @xoxojisu @seraphsmuse @candiiee @cvnt4him @panchikogirlfriend @lotusstarr @cupkiki @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @wonubby @dienamiight @sofi4dsam @kawaiiclubdaily @therefore-evermore @luckybibucky @sk1ppy-art @myths-and-ledgends @icanread-icantwrite @changkyunnnie @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation @calliopemanga @izutwos @doubelieveme @ivankinnieclatter @roronoafushiguroaratakahakari @green-orange-bloom @sparklylanddetective @lem-hhn @gaige312 @ryobaby @hrts4cupid @buuxbear @unicornbubblefarts @wheez1nmim @vanillaapples @megssleepygirl @da1ntyli1ly @khloefrlsss take a look at this post to be added, or removed!
Something About Us
Pairing: Adult!Katara x Fire bender!Ballerina!Reader
WC: 1.4k
Content: Two rivals who had feelings for each other but realized they couldn't be together. Instead of saying anything, they just fought and secretly admired each other from a distance.
requested by anon
The first time katara saw you, the world felt off, like something had slipped out of place and refused to settle back.
Fire was not supposed to look like that.
It was meant to be loud, harsh, angry, something that swallowed everything in its path. But yours, it burned in soft shades of pink, gentle to the eye, almost pretty, even as it carried enough heat to split the ground beneath your feet.
And you, you did not fight like a firebender.
You danced.
Your body moved in smooth turns, light steps, quiet landings, like the battlefield was a stage only you understood. Every spin you made sent ribbons of pink fire curling through the air, every lift of your arm shaped the flame into something controlled, something graceful.
Katara hated it.
She hated how her eyes followed you without asking, how her focus slipped the moment you stepped forward.
She had faced firebenders before. She knew what to expect. Quick strikes, harsh blows, reckless heat. She had trained for that.
She was not trained for you.
You spun once, slow, almost teasing, your foot brushing the ground as your body turned, and the fire followed, blooming outward in a soft arc that came straight for her.
Katara reacted late.
Water snapped up in front of her, a shield forming just in time, steam rising between you in a thick cloud. Her heart pounded, louder than it should have been, her breath catching for reasons she refused to name.
When the steam cleared, you were already standing still again, calm, untouched, like the attack meant nothing.
“You’re staring,” you said, your voice quiet, steady, almost amused.
Katara felt heat rise to her face, and it had nothing to do with your flames.
“I’m not,” she said quickly, too quickly, her grip tightening as water curled around her hands.
But you only tilted your head, watching her, like you could see straight through the lie.
Katara moved first this time, forcing herself forward, sending a sharp wave of water rushing toward you. It cut through the space between you with force, fast enough to hit if you stayed still.
But you never stayed still.
You turned.
One smooth spin, your body folding into the movement like it belonged there, and your fire followed, wrapping around her attack, breaking it apart in a swirl of pink light.
It was not just bending.
It was something else.
Katara clenched her jaw, frustration building in her chest, her thoughts slipping every time you moved. You were not just fighting her, you were pulling her in, making her watch, making her lose track of everything else.
“Katara, focus,” Aang’s voice cut through the air, strained, a little breathless as he dodged a stray burst of fire nearby, his staff spinning in his hands as he kept moving.
“I am focused,” Katara snapped back, even as her eyes flickered toward you again, even as her stance faltered for half a second too long.
“You’re really not,” Toph added, her tone blunt, unimpressed, the ground shifting under her feet as she stomped lightly, sending a ripple through the earth to block an incoming strike. “Your heartbeat’s all over the place. It’s annoying.”
Katara gritted her teeth. “I said I’ve got it.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t sound like it,” Toph shot back, crossing her arms for a second before slamming her heel down again, lifting a slab of rock to intercept another attack. “You’re fighting like you’re at a dance recital.”
Aang winced mid step, glancing between the two of you, then back at Katara. “She kind of has a point,” he said, ducking low as he sent a gust of air forward. “You keep pausing, Katara, that’s not like you.”
“I’m not pausing,” Katara insisted, her voice tighter now, sharper, even as she launched another stream of water, even as her attention slipped right back to you the moment you moved.
You answered with a leap.
For a second, you were in the air, weightless, your body turning as the fire burst around you in a soft circle, glowing, alive, almost unreal. You looked like you belonged to the flame, like it listened to you, like it wanted to stay close.
Katara felt it then, something sharp and quiet in her chest.
Not fear.
Something worse.
“See,” Toph muttered, shaking her head, “she’s doing it again.”
“Katara,” Aang called, more urgent this time, “eyes on the fight, not on her.”
Her focus slipped again, just for a moment, just long enough for you to land closer than she expected, your heat brushing against her skin, close enough that she could feel it, close enough that she forgot to breathe.
“You’re distracted,” you said softly.
Katara pushed back hard, water crashing forward, forcing space between you. This time it hit, sending you sliding back a step, your balance breaking, just for a second.
Relief flickered through her.
Finally.
But even then, you recovered too easily, your foot stepping into place, your posture straightening, like the stumble was nothing, like it had been part of your movement all along.
And Katara, she hated that, hated how even your mistakes looked beautiful.
“I’m not here to admire you,” she said, her voice tight, her chest rising and falling.
You watched her, quiet, your expression unreadable, your eyes steady on hers.
“Then why aren’t you winning?”
The words landed heavier than any attack.
Katara did not answer.
She could not.
Because deep down, she knew.
The fight went on, water against fire, force against grace, but something had already changed. Katara was no longer just fighting to stop you. She was watching, learning, tracing every step you made, every turn, every breath.
She began to see the pattern.
Began to feel it.
And that made her hesitate.
Made her slower.
Made her lose.
“Okay, I’m just gonna say it,” Sokka’s voice cut in from the side, strained, a little panicked as he ducked behind a rock, peeking out with wide eyes. “Is anyone else seeing this, or is Katara actually losing to a ballerina?”
“Sokka, not helpful,” Zuko snapped, his voice low, controlled, even as he stepped forward, fire flaring in his hands as he blocked an incoming strike aimed too close to Katara. “She’s distracted.”
“No, really, I got that part,” Sokka shot back, gripping his boomerang a little tighter. “I’m just concerned about the fact that the distraction is, you know, twirling pink fire.”
Zuko didn’t answer right away, his eyes flicking toward you for a brief second, watching the way you moved, the way your flames followed like they were part of you.
“…It’s precise,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself, before his expression hardened again. “Katara, focus.”
“I am focused,” Katara called back, her voice sharper now, even as her next attack faltered at the edges.
“You’re not,” Zuko said, more firmly this time, stepping closer, placing himself just slightly between you and her for a moment. “You’re reacting to her, not controlling the fight.”
Sokka leaned out again, squinting. “Also, not to pile on, but you’re kind of staring again.”
“I am not staring!” Katara snapped, her face burning, her frustration rising, even as her eyes betrayed her for a split second, flickering right back to you.
“Wow, okay, definitely staring,” Sokka muttered.
The fight kept going.
When it ended, you did not strike her down.
You stepped back instead, your arms lowering, the pink fire fading softly around you, like it was never meant to hurt, like it only existed to be seen.
“You’ll lose again,” you said, your voice quieter now, almost thoughtful, “if you keep watching instead of fighting.”
Katara stood there, frozen, water slipping from her hands, her pulse still racing.
Behind her, she could hear Aang land lightly, his breath uneven, and Toph exhale in quiet frustration.
“We’re having a talk after this,” Toph muttered.
“Yeah,” Aang added, softer, but still firm, “we really are.”
Off to the side, Sokka let out a long breath. “I have several questions,” he said, rubbing his face.
“Later,” Zuko said shortly, though his gaze lingered on you for half a second longer than it should have before he looked away.
She should have moved.
She should have attacked again.
She should have stopped you.
But she didn’t.
She just watched as you turned away, your steps light, your back straight, your presence fading into the distance like a performance that had already ended.
And somehow, that felt worse than losing.
Because she knew, deep down, that this was not the last time.