⊹₊ 𐔌 🏎️ THIS IS FORMULA 1 DRIVE TO SURVIVE ! ★ 🏁 aali ⋆ she her ⋆ twenty five ! mdni - nsfw + dark content is featured. writing blog for @tteokdorokimain ! now that's podium, baby ! my alter ego's smiling. watch me - watch me !? my heart shouts. like an x-game, you’ll start to drive me crazy. now i’ve got adrenaline running through my veins. p1 in katsuki's heart ! ♡ i do not take requests.
usually people overreact with hyping up stuff on the internet but one thing that can never be hyped up too much is men moaning and whimpering and gasping and breathing heavily and stammering and grunting and huffing and—
Izumi’s fingers tightened around her brush. “Daddy.”
Still nothing.
You watched from your place nearby, already sensing the incoming disaster—and, very deliberately, not interfering.
“I’m serious about Uncle Iroh!” Izumi snapped, slamming her hands onto the table. Ink trembled in its dish. “You’re just sitting there with your book, and I’m trying to write to him and you know I don’t know how to spell!”
Zuko blinked, finally lowering the book just enough to look at her. “…You seemed busy.”
“I am busy!” she shot back immediately. “That’s why I need help!”
You pressed your lips together, shoulders shaking slightly.
Across the table, several scrolls were spread out in what Izumi clearly believed was a highly official system. Ink smudged her fingers.
One brush had been abandoned entirely—clearly defeated.
Zuko sighed quietly and closed his book, setting it aside. “…Alright,” he said. “What are you trying to write?”
Izumi huffed, dragging the scroll toward him with unnecessary force. “It says,” she began, pointing at the uneven ink, “Dear Uncle Iroh, Dad is not taking things seriously—”
“I am taking things seriously.”
“—and I think you should come back and fix it.”
You let out a quiet, traitorous laugh. Both of them looked at you. Zuko, mildly offended.
Izumi, deeply betrayed. “This is not funny,” she said.
“It’s a little funny,” you admitted.
“It is not,” she insisted, crossing her arms—an expression so identical to Zuko’s that it was almost unsettling.
Zuko noticed too. His mouth twitched despite himself. “…I’m taking things seriously,” he repeated, a little more defensively.
“Then help me spell,” Izumi said flatly.
A pause.
Zuko leaned forward slightly. “Alright. What word?”
Izumi straightened, all business again. “‘Important.’”
“…You almost had that one.”
“I did not,” she snapped. “That’s why I’m asking.”
You shifted closer, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “We can help you together,” you said gently.
Izumi hesitated—just for a second—before nodding once. “Fine,” she said. “But we have to do it properly.”
“Of course,” Zuko murmured.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Properly.”
“…Properly,” he echoed.
A beat passed as the three of you leaned over the scroll. Ink. Paper. Quiet concentration.
Izumi carefully rewrote the first line, tongue peeking out slightly in focus. "Dear Uncle Iroh" She paused, then glanced up.
“…How do you spell ‘miss’?”
“…M–I–S–S,” he said quietly.
Izumi nodded, writing it down with great care.
I miss you.
Izumi leaned over the scroll again, carefully adjusting her posture like she was drafting a royal decree. “I got my hair done,” she announced proudly.
You blinked. “Since when?”
Zuko also looked up slightly. “You did?”
Izumi froze. Then slowly turned her head toward him. “See?” she said flatly, pointing at him with the brush. “Daddy, that’s why you’re not in the moment.”
Zuko frowned. “I am in the moment.”
“No,” she said, completely certain. “I showed you my hair but you were too busy looking at mommy’s hair instead.”
Silence. You choked. Zuko slowly turned his head toward you. “…I was?”
“I noticed,” Izumi added helpfully, already writing again like the conversation was closed.
You raised both hands defensively. “In my defense, I didn’t do anything.”
Zuko looked unconvinced. Izumi, meanwhile, continued writing with intense focus, tongue poking out slightly. “Anyway,” she muttered, “Uncle Iroh needs to know important updates.”
Zuko leaned back slightly. “Such as… your hair appointments?”
“Yes,” she said immediately. “It is very important information.”
Zuko rubbed his temple lightly. “I’m sure it is.”
“It is,” she repeated, pressing harder onto the brush like emphasis alone would make it more official. “Because presentation matters.”
You glanced at Zuko. “She’s not wrong.”
He gave you a look.
Izumi lifted her hand suddenly, fingers spread wide. “And I got my nails done.” You smiled.
Zuko leaned forward, squinting slightly. “Since when did you—”
“I showed you,” she cut in immediately, offended.
Zuko paused. “…When?”
Izumi slowly lowered her hand. Then turned to him again with that same deeply unimpressed expression. “When you were not in the moment,” she said. You made a small, strangled sound, quickly turning your face away.
Zuko stared at her, clearly trying to recall something that absolutely did not happen.
“…I don’t remember that.”
“That’s the problem,” Izumi replied flatly. She went back to the scroll, muttering as she wrote.
I got my hair done and my nails done.
She paused. Looked at her own writing. Then added, very deliberately:
Daddy did not notice.
Zuko leaned in. “…You don’t have to include that.”
“Yes I do,” she said without hesitation. “Because it is part of the report.”
“The report..” you echoed weakly.
“Yes,” Izumi said, completely serious. “Uncle Iroh needs to know what is going on here.”
Zuko exhaled slowly, like he was trying very hard to remain composed. “I am aware of what is going on here.”
Izumi looked up at him. “Then why didn’t you notice my nails?”
Silence.
You turned away again, shoulders shaking.
Zuko opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, carefully, he reached out and took her hand, turning it slightly to look. “…They look nice,” he said.
Izumi narrowed her eyes. “You’re just saying that now.”
“…No, I mean it.”
She studied him for a moment—really studied him—before giving a small, accepting nod. “Okay,” she decided.
Then, immediately back to business: “I will still write it down.” Of course she would. Zuko let out the faintest huff of a laugh, shaking his head as she continued her very official, very serious correspondence.
Izumi dipped her brush back into the ink with renewed focus, posture straightening like she’d just resolved a major political dispute.
“Next,” she muttered, mostly to herself. "Fire.."
Zuko leaned back slightly, watching her now instead of pretending not to.
You stayed close, your shoulder brushing his, both of you quietly observing as she worked.
Izumi’s tongue peeked out again as she wrote, slow and deliberate:
I am
She paused. “…How do you spell ‘practicing’?
Zuko answered this time without hesitation. “P–R–A—”
“I know how to start it,” she interrupted, frowning. “I just don’t know how it ends.”
You smiled softly. “C–I–N–G.”
She repeated it under her breath, then carefully added it to the line, brows furrowed in deep concentration.
I am practicing my firebending and I am getting better.
She sat back slightly, considering. Then added, smaller:
But sometimes it goes too big.
Zuko’s gaze softened almost immediately at that.
Izumi didn’t seem to notice. She just nodded to herself, “Honest,” she said.
“Very,” you murmured.
She tapped the brush lightly against the edge of the ink dish, thinking hard. “…And also,” she added, almost as an afterthought. The brush moved again. Slower this time. Less rigid.
Mommy and Daddy are helping me.
You felt it before you even fully read it—that small shift in the room.
Zuko didn’t move.
Izumi kept going, quieter now, like she wasn’t entirely aware of how much she was saying.
They are very busy but they still stay with me.
Your chest tightened.
Zuko’s hand, resting beside yours, shifted slightly—just enough that his fingers brushed against yours.
Izumi frowned faintly, like she was trying to find the right words for something she didn’t fully understand.
Then, carefully:
They are good at helping even when I don’t know what I need.
She paused again, staring at what she’d written.
Then added one last line, a little messier than the rest:
I like when we are together.
This time, she didn’t say anything after. Just stared at the scroll for a moment… then nodded, like she’d decided it was acceptable.
Zuko let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “…That’s a good letter,” he said quietly.
Izumi glanced up at him. “Of course it is.”
She stared at the scroll for a long moment, as if checking it for errors only she could see.
Then she nodded once, decisively. “Okay,” she said.
Zuko tilted his head slightly. “Okay?”
“I’m done,” she declared. You glanced down.
“All of it?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “It is complete.” She dipped the brush one last time, her movements slower now—less official, more careful. Like even she could tell this part mattered differently.
I hope to see you again soon.
She pressed her lips together, then added:
I miss you.
Her grip on the brush tightened slightly, but she kept going.
I love you.
No hesitation this time. Just certainty.
Izumi lifted her hand, studying the ink as if confirming it was strong enough to hold the feeling. Then she gave a small nod. As if satisfied. She set the brush down. “…Finished,” she announced.
Then Izumi pushed herself up from her chair. First she walked to you. She tugged lightly at your sleeve until you leaned closer. And without any ceremony at all, she pressed a small, quick kiss to your cheek.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
You blinked, smiling softly. “You’re welcome.”
Then she turned.
Walked to Zuko next. He didn’t even have time to straighten before she reached up, grabbed his sleeve like she owned it, and tugged him down slightly. A kiss to his cheek too.
“Thank you,” she repeated, just as seriously.
Zuko froze for half a second. Then, very quietly: “…Anytime.”
Izumi stepped back, satisfied, as if the matter was officially concluded. She looked at the scroll one last time. Then added, almost like an afterthought: “And I expect a response.”
You let out a soft laugh.
Zuko didn’t.
But the corner of his mouth lifted anyway as he reached over, gently steadying the scroll so it wouldn’t roll away.
Izumi was already standing there like she’d just concluded a royal summit.
“Alright,” you said, gently straightening up. “That’s enough excitement for today.”
Zuko nodded once, already half-reaching to gather the scattered brushes and scrolls. “Agreed,” he said. “It’s getting late.”
Izumi froze. Slowly turned her head. “…What?”
You blinked. “It’s bedtime.”
Zuko added, completely calm, “Yes. Time for bed.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“NOOOOO—” Izumi’s entire soul left her body. She threw her arms up like she was personally betrayed by the universe itself, stepping back from the table in pure outrage.
You were unable to hide your smile. “Oh, the joys of parenting.”
Zuko didn’t even look back. “…The joys,” he echoed dryly.
✩꒱ you know what he said to me? he was like, you’re so mean! — ft. eijirou kirishima .ᐟ
🏁 ꒰ ✩ suggestive ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero eijirou kirishima & fem!reader. mean bf kiri and sweet gf reader. protectiveness, possessiveness, sleazy kirishima, subtle dollification, established relationship. -> sometimes your boyfriend likes to make you cry, only to kiss it better in dirty ways later on.
me too me tooo … it really tickles me !!!!! like eijirou with a sweet baby gf who cries so much all of the time. even better if you weren’t like that before you met him, you were sweet but not a pushover except he’s made it so easy to break you down these days, you’re always a few seconds from being on the verge of tears.
it’s like a test to him, to see if eijirou has you well trained enough to always come back to him now matter how far he’s pushed you to your limits.
“you didn’t have to do that.” you snap harshly even though your throat twitches tight as you turn the words over on your tongue. they land with very little bite, lost to the ambience of the city’s night life and the clickclack of your expensive heels against concrete pavement.
kirishima walks a few paces behind, leisurely, but his hazy ruby gaze tracks your movements — he’d never allow you to stray too far from home.
“do what, baby?”
that’s what makes you stop. his careless ease and the sound of a smirk stitching together his voice. eijirou kirishima is amazing at playing pretend — he lets tension roll off of his back as though it were nothing, as if he hadn’t nearly broken several fingers and severed a few nerves of your coworkers hand just for talking to you at the company dinner mere moments ago. your spine straightens but the edges and the lines of the world before you start to blur and smear as though someone has spilled water on your ink. tears bleed through your paper cheeks — where he’d be able to see how distraught you were just by holding you up to the light.
“he’s my coworker, eijirou. he was just being polite.” you sniff, not daring to look up nor force yourself to be level with his eyes. you rummage through your little purse for the car keys you’d sworn you had stashed beside your gloss earlier — because it distracts you from the sweltering heat of the man towering over you. “he’s nice.”
eijirou smiles, dangling silver keys and riot themed key chains before you. they glint tauntingly under the street lamp.
“am i not nice enough to you? is that why you let him get so close?” he teases you further.
denying him would be a lie. eijirou takes care of you, the point where your only concern, really, is breathing. there are groceries stocked in your fridge every weekend thanks to his dime, you get your dream clothes and dress pretty and the pro hero takes you for dinner at least three times a week. to say you live in luxury would be an understatement, every step you take is cushioned by comfort and at first… you loved it. you were pampered a little too much to notice the signs, the slick and grimy version of your boyfriend hiding deep within.
nowadays you grimace when he brings you flowers and cringe when he kisses the back of your hand at a steak dinner — but you’d never leave him, you’re caught like an insect in a treacly web or an ant who’s drowned in sugar water.
“you’re being awful right now, eiji.” you cross your arms instead — keep your honesty close to your chest. you give an inch and eijirou runs a mile because he lives for the way you can’t help but blubber when he makes you mad. it seems that his expression, all pearly white teeth and bright eyes, bleeds into his cheeks and his skin there folds with smile lines. you mirror his opposite — lip drawn into a pout.
the red head circles you, coming to stand before you. his smart leather shoes become a muddled blur alongside the stone grey pavement and atoll, his red is vibrant. like he’s supposed to be the only thing you focus on. “i am, aren’t i?” comes his patronising coo, the sound settling in your chest. “poor baby, i’m just so mean to you and i’m such a bad guy.”
“stop it.” you simper like a child, going on to deny the cotton words he puts in your mouth. “i — gosh — i never even said that.”
god, you feel like a child. being scolded for a lie you never told and he relishes in the way you shrink down to feel smaller than you are next to him. his sweet, sweet girl who takes being picked on like a champ.
kirishima bends to your height, head tilted to the side as he regards you with a blameless expression. “are you crying? you know, you’re real pretty when you cry.” the world would never believe you if you told on him. that their manly hero who strikes with red is no better than a high school bully.
he twirls the hem of your pale pink dress — a romantic sight to passers by. a sneering jab to you. a threat that sends a thrilling shiver down the segments of your spine that hardly helps you to stand tall. “c’mere.” kirishima mocks your pout — puckering up. “can i kiss you?”
you nod more with bambi eyes glossed over with angel’s tears. the hero stands high and mighty then, rough palms melding to the curves of your hips so that he can better drag you into him. they provide warming comfort where his eyes are cold and cruel — bemused by the silent snivels you weakly attempt to swallow down.
irregardless you’re magnetised to eijirou — standing on your tippy toes, craning your neck, lips pressed to his like you’ve sealed them with a promise. his thick, hot tongue swipe over the seam in an attempt to pry you open because you’re a flower. something precious and winds towards him and blooms just for him. he tastes like whatever sweet cocktail had happened to pass him by at the dinner table — syrup and sugar coated lies and love held underneath his tongue. he’s mean to you, yes, but oh does he adore you.
he kisses you like he owns you, right there amongst twinkling city lights and strangers passing by. you think you’ll learn to live with that, being his property, belonging to someone with enough power to protect. he’ll push and poke you but never away. always within reach, always so that he can lead you home.
you mewl in frustration when kirishima lets your lips go — following a filthy smack.
red riot laughs. “you told me to stop.”
“didn’t mean it.” you’re honest.
“you never do.” his grip steadily traverses your back, two hands enough to map out the entire expanse. “wanna take you home. be all over you. will you let me?”
…
he doesn’t take kind to your silence. “words, sweet thing. talk to me.”
“yes, you can take me home. i-i’d like that.” nodding again like a dumb little thing, you link your arms behind kirishima’s head — fingers finding purchase in his ruby mane. you bring him back to you.
eijirou pats your cheek. just once, not enough to be considered a slap. “and what else?”
“‘m talkin’ eijirou, i am!” you huff, close to stomping your feet. the tantrum brews like a tropical storm just off the coast — warm, with rain cloud tears that bring a sense of humidity in the form of arousal. kirishima gives you a pointed look and then: “i’m sorry for calling you mean.” you say in defeat, batting your eyelashes apologetically.
once more, he smiles — fond this time. “that’s right baby girl,” then he chuckles, growling at the little nip you give to his bottom lip. “when we get home, i want you on your stomach. ass in the air. no touchin’. i’ll show you how mean i can really be.”
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
NGHHHHHHHHHHHH taking a nap between both of them… dead asleep because they are big and warm. kiri playing with the hem of your underwear while you snooooze and deku kissing the back of your neck mumbling somethin about how you must want to be used …….
you know who is also so large you can sleep on top of him like he's a mattress......................yuuji
can you please … can you please leave me be
he’s so big and dada man… lied on his back and lets you curl up on his chest for a snooze. i bet yuuji runs so warm too, so he uses one hand to rub up and down your back or in circles and the other to scroll on his phone. entertainment whilst you use him to finally try and fix your sleep schedule. cheek pressed into his fat plush tits im sighing im sick … and then if you wake up … he’s shushes you like a baby … coos “nonono baby… shh back to sleep…”
JUST THINKING ABOUT men who lean their heads down to listen to what you have to say because of the height difference, humming along to your words, accidentally nosing against your cheek because he knows it flusters you before murmuring, "keep talking, sweet girl. i'm listening."
sae has you pressed down against the bed, fucking into you so hard until kaiser swears the mattress concaves in. you're moaning so loud he's half worried the neighbors might hear.
"if you don't like it, give her back to me." kaiser snaps, leaning down to kiss you softly on the forehead.
you wrap your arms around him, gripping him hard as you whine and come all over sae's cock.
sae pulls out only to bring his mouth between your thighs, lapping up your slick until the numbness becomes overstimulation, until one of your hands comes down to press to his head with a cry.
"don't hurt her." kaiser almost rips you out of sae's grasp, it's a near thing, but sae grabs at you first.
"she likes it." he flips you around so kaiser can see, your back to sae's chest. he slips his fingers inside of you, tapping on your clit all at once. "see? she's dripping all over."
and then a realization passes over sae's face. "you really do like her."
"ha? she's my girlfriend, you dipshit."
"yeah, i know. i just…" lots of people in sae's team have girlfriends, but the way kaiser treats you -- he holds your face carefully as you fall forward towards kaiser, like you might do to a teacup.
"sorry." sae says it with such a strange amount of sincerity that it has kaiser narrowing his eyes. "if i had known, maybe i wouldn't have asked."
it’s actually embarrassing how much kissing turns me on, the needy grabbing, soft moans in each others mouths, when you just can’t get enough of each other😩😩
