Butter Rice

an unfortunate situation arises where this happens; you're chatting happily with zuko before being playfully mean, reaching up to tap nose. zuko's smitten, his smile affectionate as he teases you back, causing you to laugh.

all the while, the men around you are watching you in disdain. their looks judging, almost scathing, as you and zuko remain blissfully unaware. a friend of yours catches you attention and you excuse yourself, placing a quick kiss on zuko's cheek before leaving. there's a brief moment of silence that zuko is about to relax into when one of the men clears his throat.

"pardon me, my lord, but don't you think you're too...lenient with your wife?" he asks and zuko blinks, looks behind him, before gesturing to himself.

"are you talking to me?" zuko replies and the man nods. "i don't understand."

another man speaks up. "well, women are supposed to be seen and not heard, right?" he adds. "unless they're in the bedroom moaning like a bitch in heat then that's acceptable."

the men laugh loudly but zuko doesn't join in, the resting fever of his anger spiking.

"we understand she's the fire lady," another man chimes in. "but she should have some decorum around us and her husband. daring to be so playful with him in public. if she was my wife, i would have slapped her."

the reaction zuko has is visceral, his expression darkening like thunderous clouds. steam begins to stream from his nostrils, his temperature raising as his hands curl into fists. to think that they feel comfortable insulting you in front of him, to degrade his wife because she doesn't conform to their ancient and horrid ways.

they're telling him to be less lenient with you, to snip your wings and lock you in a cage because, apparently, you aren't your own person. apparently, they see you as a piece of property that belongs to him and the very thought makes him horribly ill. it makes him want to scream because why on earth would he silence you?

silence your wonderful voice and amazing opinions? take away your spectacular personality and your fearlessness? he fell in love with you because of you were yourself and now these men think they're entitled to tell him how to love you? no, not love you.

control you.

"i see none of your wives are here," zuko says, after cooling the most of his rage. "how come?"

"oh, i'm divorced." the first man says.

"my wife ran away with the stable boy," the second spits out. "heartless bitch, after everything i did for her."

"i'm not married." the third adds.

"ah." zuko smiles humourlessly. "well, forgive my rudeness, but i don't think i'll be taking advice from two men who can't keep a healthy marriage and one who can't even find a spouse."

all three men go still at the insults, noting the sudden change in zuko's tone—it's dangerous.

"talk about my wife in such a way again and i'll personally see that your lives are made less than pleasant." zuko's gaze is deadly, his power imposing as he stands tall above the three of them. "do i make myself clear?"

the men quickly lower their heads, faces blanched in fear as they stutter, "y-yes, fire lord zuko!"

perfect.

zuko looks towards you, his expression softening when you meet his gaze. you beam happily, waving at him and zuko waves back, smiling.

“i don’t wanna go back out…. im so tired.” grabby hands at him to cuddle you, pouty voice.

he rolls his eyes but leans into it all. big gruff man completely wrapped around your finger.

“‘t’s the post office across the road, right?”

you nod, “yeahhhh. do you think you can get my parcel?”

“course i will. it’s gonna be my last time though. you can’t be orderin’ shit if you don’t wanna collect it.”

but it all goes in one ear and out the other as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“thank you baby.”

he’s warm all over.

also when you do it to compliment him or mid conversation and he ends up doing a big grin .

“you’re so pretty. love your cute nose and long eyelashes.” you say sweetly, head in your lap and he’s looking up at you enamoured.

“you think so?”

✩꒱ something, someone to live for — ft. yuuji itadori .ᐟ

🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ characters are adults. modulo yuuji itadori & fem!reader. smoking, implied age gap, somnophilia sorta, daddy kink -> an aged yuuji itadori finds something worth living for in you.

yes because that’s dada man. big dreamy sigh…

modulo yuuji all rugged and worn out by the world. his eyes ache with exhaustion, the kind that burrows deep within your cheek bones and settles within his sockets. his shoulders sag from the weight of power hanging unevenly between them. yuuji is tired. of the world of everything in it — the killing, the fighting. it never seems to end. it’s encapsulated in time, evidence littered along his body in battle scars and war wounds that only seem to heal with pale jagged lines along his tanned skin.

yuuji leans back against his dresser, muted and murky brown gaze traversing the solitude of his room until he finds something to live for. something like you.

𝓢𝐔𝐀𝐕𝐄

─── ❨ 𝐚𝐝𝐣. ❩ smoothly charming and confident , often in a polished or sophisticated way :: you secretly love the way he attracts you and he knows too well !

content ⸝⸝ aged up . damian al ghul-wayne x fem . reader , oneshot , suggestive , shorter . reader , 1.47wc , this was a request 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒

　It's not like you are dirty-minded or anything — after all, you are a grown woman and capable of controlling yourself for some decorum, someone you should pay your high respect to and as well honour.

People and the world in general shall never know of that one dark side of you, including your fiancé. You are in denial yourself, claiming that this side does not belong to you.

No, never. No one should know. No one shall face.

(Still, no one is surprised when he knows.)

But you couldn't help but feel a little guilty whenever you watch your fiancé do his things — stuff that is considered normal and part of his daily life yet there is this intimate ring around it that you quite weren't able to figure out.

I. — PRETTY RINGS AND PRETTY FINGERS ,

Damian was doing it again, after adjusting it numerous times already. You counted and it actually has been a handful of times. It's not like you minded that much — it was just a little distracting for you.

"Especially because the Wayne foundation is such a great funder for those charity events and..."

The longer you listened to their words, the more you wanted to bury yourself into the ground. You blocked out their voices from your mind, a polite smile playing on your face while nodding.

And then — your gaze fell short on your fiancé, how he was barely listening. His attention solely fixated on his hands, pulling his pretty ring off his slender fingers before pushing it back on.

“kats…you…” you pushing him away, swatting at his massive shoulders but it does nothing. “away. too hot.”

you’re not making sense but it’s because your head is still spinning and blood is rushing in your ears.

“why are you pushing me-hey!”

“too hot. i’m- suki move.” with two hands you shove weakly against his chest and despite not having the strength to move him, he follows your shove and rolls onto his back beside you. “too hot. i feel hot.”

nonsense spills from you mouth as you breath deeply, gulping down cold fresh air (it’s hot air but it’s not straight from the lungs of your boyfriend air and that’s exactly what your body needs) vision that had been darkening begins to clear, your head swirling less dramatically.

the mattress shifts beneath you and the next thing you feel is a cold towel pressed against your cheeks. the relief is instantaneous, a sigh punching from your lungs as you feel another cold rag on your bare chest. soaking cotton is dragged over your stomach, down your thighs and over your calves before it is brought back up to your chest.

“better?” katsuki mumbles from beside you, his large hands wiping your searing skin cool with each pass of the towel.

your response is a pleased hum, lazy smile blooming.

your boyfriend continues to swipe cold lines over your heated skin, cleaning up the mess between you thighs in the process.

“need water?”

“mm-hmm.”

“snack?”

“mm-mm”

a water bottle is pressed to your lips. “drink.”

your eyes flutter open to see katsuki above you, red eyes half lidded in contentment. lips wrap around the straw, sucking down ice cold water to soothe the inner fire racing through your veins. he waits until youre done then takes a drink after you.

“almost made me pass out.” you mumble, fingers reaching out to trace random patterns across his muscled thigh.

“from heat or sex?”

“sex.” you dig your fingers into scarred flesh. “then heat but that was cause of the great sex.”

Fever Kisses and High School Musical || Damian Wayne x reader

— Damian goes to your dorm to take care of you while you're sick.

!!: pure fluff. gn!reader, but written with fem! in mind. no use of y/n. college soccer player!Damian. established relationship. reader has the flu. reader loves High School Musical. insignificant OC mentioned. not proofread. +1.1k words.

[dc masterlist] more of soccer player!Damian

Damian had the walk to your dorm memorized by now. For some strange reason, he spent more time in your room than you did in his. Maybe it was because you had the snacks he loved and he didn’t have them in his room. Or maybe it was your bed, which he swore up and down was more comfortable than his, even though they actually had the same kind of mattress. Or because your blankets were softer.

However, today he wasn’t going to your room looking for snacks or a comfortable mattress. Today he was going to your room because he wanted to, to take care of you, even though you had asked him not to come. 

That morning, Damian had sent you a message to make sure you were okay as soon as he noticed you were absent from class. Later, during soccer practice, one of his teammates had pointed out your empty seat in the stands, but you still hadn’t replied to Damian’s messages. It wasn’t until practice ended and Damian stepped out of the locker room shower that he checked his phone and finally saw you’d sent him a message.

Sorry, I’m sick and I’ve been sleeping. Just woke up.

That was the reason Damian was heading to your dorm right now. With a Tupperware container full of soup—Alfred had taught him how to cook before he left for college—in his hand.

Once he stood in front of the door, he heard music coming from inside; you were probably listening to music or watching a movie, just to cheer yourself up. He knocked on the door, but after a few seconds there was no answer, and the music was still playing. You hadn’t heard him, so Damian knocked again. Nothing.

He grabbed his phone from his back pocket and dialed your number. It took you no more than two seconds to answer.

“Hello, my love.” Your voice sounded hoarse on the other end of the line.

“I suppose you don’t hear my knocks, but I’m outside your room, Beloved.” 

That made you get out of bed as fast as you could to open the door, ignoring how exhausted your body felt from the flu.  

Damian was standing in front of you, wearing the soccer team’s sweatshirt he only puts on after practices and games. The one you had stolen a few days ago but today you couldn’t find. It was the nicest and warmest sweatshirt you had ever worn, and it smelled like your boyfriend.

“So you had the sweatshirt.” You accused him, narrowing your eyes.

“It’s my sweatshirt, and I always notice when you try to steal my stuff—you aren’t subtle, Hayati.” 

You could feel his eyes scanning your body: your face flushed from the fever, the pajamas you haven’t bothered to change out of when you woke up, your tangled hair… You were a mess, but in Damian's eyes, you were still beautiful. 

“I brought you soup.” Damian said, once he had stepped inside your dorm, closing the door behind him. “Is Olivia here?” He asked, walking towards the microwave to heat up the soup that had gone slightly cold.

Your roommate and best friend Olivia was in fact not here. You hadn’t heard of her or seen her since last night, but she was probably studying somewhere around campus or making out with her boyfriend in his room. 

“No, and she probably won’t come until late at night, maybe she won’t come at all. Depends on how freaky she and her boyfriend get.” You said, going back to your bed, wrapping yourself up in your blanket, and opening your laptop again.

Once the soup was heated up Damian gave you the bowl carefully. “Here, you’ll feel better.”

“Thanks babe.” You smiled at him, and kissed his cheek. 

Damian was a caring person, and he cared for you deeply. He felt the need to take care of you while you were sick, to keep you company, do anything just to make you feel better, only because he loved you. He didn’t care if he got sick by staying with you, even if you complained. He was stubborn, and you knew that, that’s why you didn’t say anything when he laid in bed next to you, instead you moved slightly to give him space.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, touching your forehead to measure how high your fever was.

“I’ve been better.” 

“Did you take any medicine?”

“Yes, right before you came, it will make effect anytime soon.” You kept eating the soup until the bowl was empty. Damian took it from your hands and, without leaving his spot on the bed, placed it on your desk.

Then he looked at your laptop’s screen, where a movie was paused. 

“Were you watching High School Musical?" 

“It cures any sickness.” You smiled. 

Since you were a kid, everytime you got sick your parents played High School Musical on the tv for you. It had stuck with you since then, like a tradition. And maybe it had a psychological explanation, but watching the movies really made you feel better.

“Wich one are you watching?” Damian asked.

“I had just finished the second movie, I was going to start the third one when you called me.” You said. “But we can watch something else if you want.”

“No. This is fine.” Damian said, putting his arm around you and bringing you closer to him.

“You’re going to get sick, Damian.” You complained, but didn’t move an inch. Instead you snuggled closer to your boyfriend. 

“Don’t care.” He said, giving you a kiss on your hair.

You started High School Musical 3, and when ‘Now or Never’ started playing and the iconic Troy and Gabriela scene happened, where Gabriela stands up to sing to Troy that she loves him and trusts him to win the game, you turned to look at Damian, whose entire focus was on the musical.

“How would you react if I did that in one of your games?” You looked at your boyfriend.

“Please don't." Damian said. 

You giggled and gave him another kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for coming and staying with me, my love.”

“Of course, I need to make sure you are fine.” Damian said. 

Your smile grew even bigger. You were extremely happy your boyfriend had decided to spend the afternoon with you while you had the flu, instead of doing all the work he had to finish for class. He was risking his own health by choosing to stay next to you, and he preferred that a million times over leaving you alone until you were fully recovered.

“I love you, Damian.” 

“I love you more, Habibti.”

Yes. He was right where he wanted to be.

© llovelygood

A/N: I'm obsessed with soccer player!Damian, expect more to come hihihi.

Snippets of a married life - Damian Al Ghul

The breeze is warm against your cheek as you face the open door leading towards the pool, the water peaceful and untouched.

Your towel hangs over the crook of your arm, soft to the touch.

The weather is perfect, warm enough to allow for the hope for a beautiful day and yet still cool enough to remind you that the sun has yet to reach its peak in the sky.

The sound of your footsteps against the tiles are barely noticeable in the soft breeze, as you waddle over to the edge of the pool.

Pulling your towel open and draping it across the floor, you free yourself from the confines of your linen shorts and shirt.

You adjust the bra of your swimsuit over your chest, slippers falling off your feet and landing next to your towel on the floor.

The water is chilly against your skin, goosebumps poking their heads out before your body adjusts to the temperature.

It takes a few steps before you’re fully submerged in the water, hair fanning out across the surface.

It’s quiet beneath the surface, more so than above it.

Your arms move into a familiar position, legs kicking softly in the water, swimming towards the edge of the pool.

When your fingers graze the glass separating the body of water from the edge of the cliff, your head resurfaces, droplets running down your lashes onto your lips and chin.

Your palms slide across your face, wiping the what water remains from your eyes and sliding into your hairline.

Before you, the beautiful mountains of Damian’s home stretch across the horizon, the tips still covered in snow, even in early June.

Your arms lay over the glass, chin resting on your damp skin as you try to imagine growing up here.

You know, from late night admissions and the soft murmurs of his past in early mornings that Damian’s life was full of scar-worthy training and heavy expectations.

The irony of the comparison between the heavenly views and the suffering he went through in this very home is not lost on you.

You imagine the sound of a much younger Damian’s feet, fat and slippery, slapping against these very same tiles, his mother’s soft laughter following him as his body meets the water. He told you once that this was his best memory, when he was too young to face his grandfather’s brutal expectations, when his full cheeks were a sign of health rather than lack of training.

Your heart breaks as you imagine the boy who once looked at these views and saw more than just beauty and tranquility, the boy whose childhood memories are haunted by the desperate need for approval his grandfather rarely gave.

You’re lost in thought so you don’t notice Damian’s quiet footsteps over the tiles, nor do you notice as he sheds his outer layers, stripping himself down to his shorts before sliding quietly into the water, as if being welcomed by his domain.

His hands are soft as they wrap around your waist but you cannot help flinching at the unexpected disturbance.

“Did I scare you?” His voice is deep and quiet, barely above a whisper, against your ear.

“Only a little.” You chuckle, turning your head back towards him to place a soft kiss against his cheek.

“I’m sorry, Beloved.” His lips shape around the words against your skin and you cannot help but think back to the boy who could barely bring himself to admit he was wrong, let alone apologise, all those years ago.

“You were gone when I woke up.”

“League business.” His head turns towards your neck, lips ghosting over the muscles of your throat.

“Anything serious?” You hum out, lost to the softness of his mouth.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” His nose nudges your jaw. “What were you thinking about just now?”

You smile softly, a quiet chuckle escaping your lips.

“You, fat and young, running around this house.”

His scoff holds no real heat, as his brows furrow, a look of mock offence taking over his lovely features.

“I was not fat.” His protest is weak, even to his own ears.

“I’ve seen those baby pictures, Dami, you looked like a big roll of dough.”

Now his offence seems genuine, an annoyed scowl taking over his face as you laugh at him.

“I still cannot believe you convinced my mother to show you those albums.”

“I didn’t have to do much convincing, my love, she was happy to offer all the blackmail material!”

Your laugh is delightful, blending with the quiet chirping of the birds.

“Your alliance against me is horror inspiring.” He laughs softly against your damp skin. “But I am glad she has taken a liking to you.” You hum and he carries on after a moment of silence. “Even if that means she keeps stealing your attention from me.”

Your smile is bright as you turn in his arms, your own wrapping around his neck.

“Don’t be jealous, even if it is a good colour on you.” You lean in, lips meeting his softly and he all but melts into your embrace, arms tightening around your back. “My attention is always on you.” You say between kisses, smiling again when his teeth roll your lower lip between them in appreciation.

“I am glad to know that.” He says, guiding your back against the glass as his hands wrap around your thighs, hoisting them against his waist. “I plan to make full use of it.”

Your laugh rings loudly as his head dips back where your neck meets your shoulder.

—

The french toast is soft and sweet, drizzled in honey, the fresh strawberry crunching beneath the pressure of your teeth as you chew happily.

Damian sits next to you, his plate decorated in blueberries and kiwi, the toast growing soggy the longer it remains untouched.

Damian’s nose is buried in a newspaper, the large pages crinkling slightly beneath his soft grip.

“Your breakfast is getting cold, my love.” You say, placing your hand over his, lowering one side of the newspaper.

His questioning gaze meets yours as you raise an eyebrow, eyes flickering down to his untouched plate, the very one he spent fifteen minutes perfecting.

Damian’s sigh is soft as he folds the magazine and places it on the table, his now free hand reaching for the tea set next to his bowl of yogurt.

“It’s cold.” He says, wincing at the now stale taste, placing the teacup back on the plate as you chuckle under your breath.

“I want to go into town today.” You say after a moment of silence.

Damian raises an eyebrow in your direction, mouth chewing softly on the bread.

“There’s a new book shop and I want to buy some new vinyls too.” He hums, nodding. “You can come with, if you’re free.”

Damian sighs softly, waiting until he’s swallowed, washing the toast down with a sip of your orange juice, before nodding again.

“Sure, Habibti. I can come.” Your smile is radiant, reaching for the jug to fill your cup again. “Do you also want to go into the market?”

You hum in approval.

“The apricots were delicious last time. I was thinking of making the jam again. I can bake the cake too if we pick up some flour on the way back.”

“Sounds like a plan.” His grin is soft as he leans towards you, placing his sticky lips against your cheek.

“Your lips are covered in honey.” You tease, pinching his cheek.

“You are imagining things.” He claims, grabbing your orange juice again.

“You know you can pour your own, yes?”

“Yours always tastes sweeter.” You chuckle, taking your cup out of his hold and placing it by your plate again.

The silence that follows is comfortable.

The sun shines into the room through the open doors, the curtains swaying softly in the breeze.

Moments like these are rare, with how hectic both of your lives are.

The bustling cities and unending expectations seem so far away now, tucked away from the world in your husband’s childhood home.

You smile to yourself, watching as Damian’s fork stabs lightly through the kiwi, cringing when the sour taste erupts in his mouth.

“I got a new yoga instructor.” You say, reaching for your juice.

“What was wrong with the last one?”

“I don’t know, but your mother suggested I get a new one.”

He sighs, fighting a smile.

“You know, you don’t have to take every advice she gives you, Beloved.”

“I know.” You protest weakly, watching his arm flex as he reaches for his chai. “Besides, apparently she’s going to open me all the way up, so I can finally get pregnant.”

Damian all but chokes on his drink, doubling over himself as he coughs up the liquid that is no doubt sliding down his wind pipe.

“What?” He rasps out, in between coughs.

“Yeah, your mother’s really hell-bent on me getting pregnant soon.” You say sweetly, running soothing circles over his back.

You try your best not to burst out laughing when he turns his bewildered expression back to you.

“We are not even twenty-six, yet. What does she want?” His tone is so alarmed you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“Grandchildren.” You laugh at his horrified expression again. “She’s not the only one.” He looks at you, confused. “Bruce brought it up the last time we were over for dinner.”

“For God’s sake.” He mutters, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not getting any younger, I’d like to bounce a grandchild or two on my knee.” You deepen your voice, trying to sound like your father-in-law.

Damian flushes a scarlet so deep it’s visible even under his heavy tan.

“He’s not even that old.” He grumbles and you can see him try to physically slap his blush away, hand falling softly on the back of his neck.

“He seems to disagree.” You chuckle, popping another strawberry in your mouth, trying to ignore Damian’s stare.

He opens his mouth, looking for something to say, but you beat him to it.

“Not yet, Dami.” Your eyes slide over to his face, meeting his gaze. “But soon.”

You try not to laugh as he fights the smile stretching across his full lips, lips that are on you before you can even register that he’s moved from his seat.

“Soon, then.” His voice is so so soft, you try not to melt under his loving gaze, emerald eyes tracing the soft curve of your cheek.

—

The summer sun is hot, even in your thin clothing, but the heaviness of Damian’s hand in yours is comforting, as he carries the books and records you kept handing to him until they almost dropped from his grip, in his other hand.

The umbrellas over the vendor stands do little to ease the scorching sun, but you don’t complain.

When you spot the familiar stall, you pull Damian with you as you make a beeline for it.

The man stood over the fruit with an iced bottle of water you’d kill for, smiles as he recognises your faces.

Your hand slips from Damian’s as you grab the plastic bag hanging from the nail hammered on one of the fruit boxes.

The apricots are ripe under your touch, their gooey softness mashing against one another as they fall into the pink plastic bag.

You hear Damian converse with the vendor as you move from apricots to strawberries to kiwis to big pink tomatoes that always remind you of home.

Moving from one end of the stall to the other, you spot a box of watermelons sitting a little lower than the rest of the fruit.

The skin of it is smooth under your palm as you gently hit the watermelon, checking for the sound.

Damian appears behind your back, repeating your motion until the two of you find one you both like.

Damian grabs another plastic bag, this one bigger than all the rest, waiting for the vendor to weigh your watermelon.

You hand the older man a canary melon to weigh when he slips the watermelon into the awaiting bag.

Before you know it, the two of you are making your way back to the car, while you munch on an unpeeled cucumber to help cool you down.

Your head is hot under your cap when you finally take it off.

Your hand reaches for the AC when Damian starts the engine and the cool air is a welcome relief from the stifling heat outside.

“Did we get everything we needed, Beloved?” Damian looks over at your nodding head before turning the gear and starting to drive.

“It gets so hot here.” You say, slipping your sunglasses off your face.

“Still not used to it after all these years?” He teases, hand resting on your thigh.

“I’m not sure I could ever get used to this heat.” Your hand rests atop his, fingers drawing soft circles on his scarred knuckles.

“We should go to the beach tomorrow.” Damian says, turning at the roundabout.

You smile, imagining the sound of the waves splashing against the sand and the smell of the salt in the air.

“Sounds like a plan.” Your voice is almost a whisper, as your free hand reaches for the radio, the familiar tunes filling the car.

-

The drive up to the house is quiet, safe for the music at a low volume.

Damian looks over at your figure and smiles when he sees you dozing off, head resting against the window.

His hand is still on your thigh and your hand is still on his, where you were playing with his fingers before falling asleep.

When he drives past the gates and shifts the car into Park, Damian’s thumb traces over the soft skin of your thigh before slipping carefully from under your grip.

Damian carries the produce, along with your books and vinyls, into the house, which is quiet besides the soft breeze created by the open windows and the front door.

He slips back into his seat, moving your sleeping head away from the window, resting it against the headrest, unclicking your seatbelt.

When he reaches for you from the now open door of your side, your head falls against his chest, eyes blinking open lazily as he picks you up and closes the car door behind him with the kick of his foot.

“Thanks.” You mumble into his chest and you can feel the low chuckle against your cheek from deep within him.

You settle into him, expecting a long walk up to your room when he places you down softly against the sofa.

Your eyes flutter open and you see Damian reaching for the new vinyls, picking the cover he most fondly remembers from his childhood and placing it under the needle of the turntable.

A soft voice fills the sunroom, the flowers above you saving you from the hot light of the sun.

When you turn your attention back to him, Damian is walking out of the room, only to walk back in soon after with two plates a bowl of washed fruit.

The china is placed on the low wood table and Damian slips under your legs, placing them on his lap before he starts peeling the peaches and the apples that glisten red under the sunlight.

You watch him with half-lidded eyes, waiting for him as he cuts the fruit into the thin slices that remind you of your mother’s sweet kiss against your cheek in the summer.

When he’s done, he taps your leg, motioning you to sit up.

You sink into his side when you do and he hands you a plate of fruit.

“Eat the apple first.” He commands softly, placing a kiss against your hairline.

The apple crunches under your teeth and decide that you’d rather eat the peaches.

The sticky juice of it runs down your chin and Damian wipes it away with his thumb, bringing it to his lips to lick away the moisture.

“It’s sweet.” He comments and you nod, sinking into him further.

He chuckles quietly and takes the plate from your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he feeds you a slice.

And all you can do is look up at him with stars in your eyes and imagine this house, filled with so many happy memories that have overridden the bad ones, full of childish laughter and wonder.

And you think his parents may be right, maybe it is time to bring a new addition to the family.

.✦ ݁˖ pregnant!fem!reader, established relationship, other than that just fluff;

zuko had picked you up a thousand times before.

over his shoulder. in his arms. into his lap during slow, lazy afternoons when you were both half-asleep, mumbling nonsense, but still refusing to let go of each other's warmth.

but this time was different.

this time, you were carrying his child.

your child.

"zuko, seriously," you laughed as he still held onto you anyway, stubborn as ever. "i can walk."

"i know you can walk," he muttered, his large hands adjusting carefully around your waist and back, brushing against your robes as if he was recalculating every possible way to hold you safely. "i just—"

he lifted you anyway.

—and immediately let out a strained little grunt.

then the room went completely silent.

the birds outside stopped chirping.

the wind didn't seem to blow anymore.

you blinked slowly.

zuko blinked right back.

for a moment, neither of you said anything.

then his expression dropped.

katsuki a lil tipsy drunk and he calls you from the bathroom like “hey! hic! hey!” and he’s leaning against the wall the phone pressed tightly up against his ear.

“hi baby.” you coo into the phone and he absolutely melts.

“miss you.” sniffle.

“baby i’m right outside the bathroom waiting for you.”

“can you come in?” a whine he’ll never admit to letting out.

you hang up the phone and push the door open, finding him red cheek and teary eyed against the wall. you walk over to him and cup his cheeks, wiping away the tears dripping down his face.

“you’re s’pretty.” he presses his forehead against yours. “can i have a kiss?”

“course.” you giggle.

you reach up and press your lips to his so softly that his breath catches, he lets you lead the kiss, practically gasping and whining into your mouth. you pull back and peck him once more to get the pout off of his face and nudge him over to a stall.

“go pee, i wanna dance.”

“papa, mama says you have a bedtime too, is that true?,” asks your daughter, cute little cherub, genuinely confused. 

katsuki bakugo groans, body weak from all the hero work. 

“yeah, an hour after yours,” replies katsuki. 

just then, your princesses eyes go big and mouth drops, truly amused at the realisation her high and mighty dad goes to bed so early. 

she puts her fingers on his cheeks, tilting her head. katsuki returns the favour, holding her a little closer to him, her head laying on his chest.

“should we brush our teeth together then? it’s almost my bed time,” asks your daughter. 

“whatever you want princess” 

they both go to the bathroom, but just then your daughter motions you over to come brush your teeth with them too. 

“mama, you too!,” 

you walk up to the two of them, your daughter a total carbon copy of katsuki. did your genes even try? they both go to put the toothpaste on their brushes - katsuki’s electric one, and your daughter with her hello kitty one. 

your daughter grabs out your toothbrush too, putting a bit too much on the brush, and hands it to you with the most endearing smile ever. 

“oh thank you, sweetheart” 

katsuki smiles in between the motion of brushing his teeth, usual tough boulder all gone to dust. his hands grab onto your waist, and he pulls you closer to him. even while brushing your teeth he’s clingy. 

your daughter is sitting on the sink, exceptionally precise whilst brushing her teeth. as she goes to spit out the excess, her big curious eyes land on the sight that is you and katsuki blushing at each other. 

“mama and papa are flirting!” yells your daughter. 

“no we are not!”

And even with the group’s tent huddled under a tree’s shade does little to help with the team’s predicament.

“Katara— Can you ice my forehead please?” You’re practically begging at this point, pout on your face as you crawled into the shared tent.

“Katara?”

They don't reserve the right to question the Fire Lord's choices, despite his fairness and kindness. There's still a level of respect that must always be upheld when it comes to the ruler of their great nation.

Still, the people in the room do wonder, even if they can't verbally express their curiosity.

What happened with Fire Lord Zuko?

Is he okay? Has he fallen ill?

Or even worse, has his spouse fallen ill? Because if that is the case, Fire Lord Zuko won't be seen for days until his spouse is properly healed.

It's difficult to not think of the worse case scenarios. To not panic when Fire Lord Zuko, a usually punctual man who takes his duties seriously, doesn't show up for such an important meeting. Choosing instead to send his uncle, the Great General, in his stead.

It's a boiling pot of questions that will never be answered and they're okay with that, as that is life.

Until Iroh clears his throat and says:

"I'll be heading this meeting in the Fire Lord's place as he and his spouse are otherwise...preoccupied this morning."

The whole halls goes deathly still.

Then Iroh grins as he adds:

"Young couples sure can get it going any time, can't they?"

Everyone's jaw in the hall drops.

i imagine bkg learning it in japan or smth like one of those random quirky things about him. he mentioned it in convo casually and you’re like ‘huh????’ so he rents out a pottery studio so both of you can go privately and he can teach you. he sits on the chair with you also on the chair in front of him, in between his thighs and back and ass pressed up against his crotch and chest. guides your hand together moulding the clay 🤤 v romantic and sensual and messy

yeaahhhhh i do see it. i find it funny him just randomly having a skill. i wanna believe he did three classes and was annoyingly good at it that he’s just able to tell people Yeah i can do pottery.

then when he takes you, he is actually good and able to teach you. him KNOWING it’s gonna be an intimate date while if it’s your first time doing it, you think he’s genuinely going to teach you to do some arts and crafts.

you having separate tables but quickly you’re complaining you can’t control your clay. and he’s got his jumper sleeves pulled up to his biceps, forearms and hands all coated in clay.

“cmon i’ll show you.” and drags his chair to sit behind yours.

head on your shoulder, now he’s whispering, back pressed to his chest. wet hands on his wet hands in the clay and it’s like he’s edging and praising at the same time.

“yeah, just like that. just wanna smooth it with your thumb. you wanna do a pot, huh?”

and i think it’s you getting aroused very slowly then all at once. like it’s the dim lights and the lofi music he put on in the background. he’s dressed so cute sexy boyfriendy in his jeans, boots and jumper. he also smells good. sweet masculine musk.

it’s a vibe he’s purposely curated and he knows you’d fall for.

with his head on your shoulder you turn to look at him and he’s immediately like, “you good?” and you feel him pressed behind you. not hard (yet) but he’s there, his whole body holds you. so it’s just a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“hm yeah. this is an adorable date.” you whisper back, and he smirks slowly.

“wanted to do somethin’ fun with you. we stay home often.” he replies, a kiss on the corner of your jaw.

and it is slow, sensual and romantic. his hands over yours, basically doing the job for you but it feels like you’re doing it. the clay is wet and cold but he’s hard and warm behind you.

you moaning that your white vest is stained with clay flecks so he just cups both your breasts with his clay hands. it’s a risky move from him. you could get mad or laugh.

luckily the second option, paired with whines, “why’d you do that!!”

then you’re spinning around on your stool to face him, right up close.

“why’d you wear a wool jumper to pottery. i can’t even get you back,” you roll your eyes.

bakugou doesn’t care, pulls off the item with his clay hands to leave him in a black muscle tank.

you grin, wet hands on him. first his arms, biceps, then you wet your hands again with the clay to press onto his pectorals.

he doesn’t notice it himself at first but, he starts praising you in japanese and it catches you off guard but also turns you on ten times more lol

this is a big nom nom nom to me. big nom nom nom. i was saving this to potentially write but we can talk about it.

defo missionary right. and it’s all slow and SENSITIVE and he’s noisy above you. grunting and groaning. moving hair out of your face so he can look you in the eye. asking him to adjust your leg to put on his shoulder and he’s deep and you’re about it to start crying and wailing about how much you love him.

and it’s not like anything crazy has happened today. he hasn’t seen you in two days and he had a long draining day at work and more draining days to come and he’s missed you. needs to let off this stress. you were all over him, can never get enough of his pretty face and all that he does for you.

and maybe it starts in english like he always is with you. it being your shared language after all. the usual, “i love you so fuckin’ much.” then “shit, feels so good.” “needed this, baby.” “hmm?” “doin’ so well for me.” then he’s making these incoherent sounds. kissing your moans away and nodding to everything you say.

and you’re not sure what exactly makes him switch but it’s when he buries his head in your neck. nipping the thin skin there, bending your legs, deep inside you feel as if he’s in your stomach. now you’ve got no clue what he’s saying. you know it’s his language though.

you only realise after the second phrase. blinking away your watery eyes as you rock into him, crossing your legs tighter around his back.

then he’s mumbling something else. another phrase. repeating a sentence twice into your neck.

you mostly hear him speak it over the phone. to his parents, family and his childhood friends. sometimes the lady at the local asian supermarket. video call meetings with his agency back in japan. sometimes a couple pet name in japanese if he’s feeling cute, he saves that for date nights.

but never during sex in your ear while he’s buried inside you. you clench and his breath hitches.

his voice is deeper, earthier. more natural and flows out without effort or second thought. you can’t even attempt to translate it. perhaps a swear in there somewhere?

“‘tsuki…. baby…,” you don’t mean to whine but there’s no way you can say anything right now and it doesn’t come out with pleasure attached.

he lifts his head up. droopy sleepy eyes, bitten lips. he replies to you with a thrust, one that has you arching your back.

“i don’t know what you’re saying!” you wail, linking your hands around his neck and your boyfriend blinks at you.

“oh s-shit,” he utters, taking hold of your hips to keep you still. it’s as if you can see the memory of a second ago replaying in his mind. “didn’t realise i did that.” then he laughs stuttered and hoarse, “you’ve got me fucked up.”

he drops his eyes to where you’re connected. his cock, coated in your wetness, sliding out of your core before he pushes back in again. your eyes flutter shut when he does, hand reaching out for him, “‘tsuki….”

“was sayin’ you’re beautiful and i love you and i love when we fuck.” he grins like a man insane, which he’d only say he is with how much he loves you. “never wanna leave here with you.”

you’re all breathy, chest rising and falling with an orgasm around the corner. “s-so sappy,” you manage to smile, eyes still closed to catch up, “felt like y-you were keeping secrets from me.”

cw: tipsy bkg, head (m) (ikr how crazy), fluff, smut, established relationship. probably typos. i’ll add borders later.

“where…,” there’s a soft slam of your front door, keys being thrown on the table and boots being kicked off. a light stumble with a swear tacked on at the end. “where are you?”

“bedroom!” you call, sitting on your bed to pull up your large pyjama t-shirt to the tops of your thighs and opening your tub of vanilla body cream.

your response gets an incoherent mumble across your flat as there’s more shuffling down your hallway. a jacket being tugged off and… something else?

bakugou katsuki’s head pops through the doorway first. droopy eyes, wrinkled black t-shirt (he did leave here with a jumper so you wonder where that is) and no trousers (jumper is probably where the trousers are).

“did you lose your clothes outside?” you laugh as strong thick legs wade their way towards you.

he moves like a zombie with his fluffy messy hair, slow walk with his arms out to you.

the six foot four pro hero shakes his head at you sloppily, towering over your frame for a second before dropping to his knees between your legs. he rests all his body weight on you, exhausted.

you watch him enamoured, like he’s a dog just trying to show he wants some attention. he circles his arms around your waist and his head drops on your lap, snuggling into you tightly.

Okay, I’m lying he doesn’t hate it, but it’s something he noticed very quickly when you started to get more intimate.

At first he assumed since it was your first time with him you’d do so, second and third time he was a bit rougher with you because he was experimenting new moves with you, but this is the 4th time you’ve done this; have a very over drawn out and loud orgasm and not too long after your eyes begin to get heavy.

You lay beside him for a moment in his arms muttering how much you love him, he kisses your forehead before heading to clean you up, but by the time he gets back you’re sound asleep. He honestly thinks if he didn’t cum before you he wouldn’t have gotten off at all.

All of this is not necessarily an ISSUE. It’s not something he is angry at you for, but he wonders for a moment do you fall asleep to avoid talking to him? Are you embarrassed? Bakugo never slept with anybody that does this so it’s new for him just as it’s all new for you still.

He notices that sometimes you do try to fight the exhaustion from you specifically after cumming from just foreplay, eyes getting heavy, voice getting weak. However, the moment you both finish together while he’s inside you, a small whimper and moan of his name soon trails off to silence, it’s as if somebody knocked you out completely.

It scared him AT FIRST, he shook you awake, but all you did was half heartily giggle and snuggle back into the pillow he soon replaced with his arms for you.

Most men would usually feel a level of pride, being able to fuck you asleep, and he does for a moment but in all honesty he wants a little more—-more of you afterwards.

He’s greedy for this, but he wants you awake, for a little bit. He wants to talk to you, make sure you’re okay, you felt good, a few more kisses . It was because you were a virgin not too long ago and wanted to see if everything was okay for you, but now…

Bakugo’s greedy what can he say.

He’s developed a level of addiction towards you he doesn’t necessarily want to end once the steamy night is over . So this weekend after your date he wants to maybe be more gentle with you, and that he was.

That night you were basically a pillow princess, you didn’t get to do a thing, it was all Bakugo putting in the work for you; feather like kisses, making sure you were more than ready for him to be inside you, talking you through it. Somehow he was more tender than you first time.

“‘Suki…”

“Good girl, let it out…just like that, yeah..”

You cling to his sweaty body that hovered over you, just for a moment. Closing the distance he had you in a bear hug with one arm, biting his lip , fighting the urge to slam himself deeper when he’s feeling your thighs twitch around his hip.

The orgasm washed over your body like a mellow wave, back arched, and eyes rolled back you fall onto some pillows with shallowed breath.

Bakugo sits up to cup your cheek, almost as if he’s searching for something in your eyes, and he was; the sleepiness you were soon about to allow take over. You reach up unknowingly and smile, kissing his face and muttering “I love you’s” like the sap you are, but the moment you lay back down and adjust you feel yourself dosing off again—

“Wait—“ Almost as if his last desperate plea he stops you from shutting your eyes. You scrunch your eyebrows seeing him get up and throw you on his chest ontop of him. You’re a little lightheaded from the sudden movement seeing as you were on your back for an hour and giggle. “Don’t go to sleep yet.”

You didn’t understand and it showed on your face, when he noticed he sucked his teeth, cheeks flushed not only from making love, but from embarrassment, “Y’always fall asleep after sex and…I just wanted to talk to you.”

It was shocking to say the least , your hands play around his broad damp chest, tracing over the tattoo on his bicep you yawn, “I’m sorry…I um…before you I used to…use orgasms as a way of falling asleep when I couldn’t so…kinda became a habit.”

He blinks at you, trying to understand how the hell you get an orgasm without—-

“You used to play with yourself before me?”

Shyly you nod, Though his voice was laced with curiosity he smiled and nipped at his lower lip. It was hot.

He didn’t say anything after that for a moment, but he sat up to kiss you, needily, and sloppy as if what you said stirred him up again.

“I don’t mean to fall sleep right after..sorry.”

“Don’t be, I just thought you was avoiding me or somethin…”

“Never.” Fake pouting you kiss his cheek, ignoring how much hotter it got after doing so you smile, “We can take a shower right now if you want.”

“We can take a quick bath.” He gets up holding you against him on his arm as he gets you both off the bed, “I know your legs are sore, little miss i didn’t move all night.”