superbtiti

[superbtiti]

Word count: 1.4k

Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki

A/n: should I write a part 2? Anyway enjoy 🫶🏾

________________

"Can you guys just shut up for one second?" my voice snapped through their noise like a whip. I shot each one of them a sharp glare, my gaze like a knife to their throats.

"Fuck..." I kissed my teeth.

"Y'all giving me a headache..." a frustrated sigh left my mouth, my foot continuously tapping the ground.

They all fell silent after the sudden snap, even Bakugo, who rarely listens to people, kept his mouth quiet. The suffocating silence was broken by the soft, tinny elevator music.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply in an attempt to steady myself. My patience was seemingly thin, exhausted from the intense training session we just completed that had drained every ounce of energy from my body. Being cramped in an elevator with the three boys, whose personalities clash like fire, water, and earth, is definitely not what I am in need of right now.

"Sorry..." Izuku murmured behind me, his voice barely audible.

I opened my eyes and turned my attention to them. Izuku stared at me sympathetically; his hand never stopped fidgeting. Todoroki shifted slightly, keeping his gaze lowered on the ground. "Apologies," his voice monotone, a surprising hint of sincerity.

Bakugo kept his hands in his pockets and avoided my gaze, probably mumbling some dumb shit under his breath.

'Ding.'

We arrive at our destined floor, the elevator doors open. "Whatever," I breathe out, exiting the cramped space.

I slowly walk through the hallway of Endeavor's agency, the echoed footsteps signaling me that the others were following me.

Furthermore, I pushed the door open to the conference room, where we are to meet up to discuss our training progress.

Greeted with a massive screen glowing ominously on the far wall. I took a seat near the center of the table, the others hesitantly sat next to me, Todoroki on my left, his calm presence refreshing after the tension in the elevator, Izuku on my right with his notebook out and ready to scribble, and Bakugo slouched into his seat across from me, the expression on his face saying 'fuck off' loud and clear to anyone who dared to say something.

The heavy tension is visible to other bystanders, like an unwelcome guest.

Endeavor enters the room a moment later. "Alright, children," he began, his tone sharp.

"We're going to go over today's training session. Pay close attention to your performance footage. I want you to identify at least three areas for improvement."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. After hours of laborious training, the last thing I wanted was to sit through footage of every mistake I'd already replayed in my head a hundred times. But Endeavor didn't care about what we wanted—only what we needed to improve.

The screen started displaying our recent exercise. Izuku glided through our training field, dodging attacks, while Bakugo blasted his way through, activating most of the traps and disabling us on his way. Todoroki blocked the explosion thanks to his ice abilities.

Then my own performance came up. I watched myself make mistakes and waste precious time, which only fueled my aggravation and frustration. The unwanted comments of Endeavor not assisting.

"You were too slow there," he let out. "And in lack of critical thinking, we cannot afford such disheveled actions. The time wasted would have been major and could cost a civilian their life in a real situation," he addressed.

The old man does nothing but comment on everything I do, no matter how hard I try, to the point I don't sleep at night to study for the next day. Will he ever be satisfied with what I have to give?

"What an asshat," I muttered, just loud enough for the others to hear. Endeavor's glare cut through me like fire, sharp and burning. I sighed, forcing myself to sit up straighter. "Apologies," I said, though the sarcasm in my voice didn't go unnoticed.

__________

The room dimmed as the screen continued displaying clips of our earlier session. His attention on his performance, Izuku's muttering returned in full force, jotting in his notebook, the sound of his pen scratching the surface of his book aggravatingly. Bakugo, on the other hand, leaned back into his seat, arms crossed while observing his own.

"Izuku," my voice cut sharp, "quit mumbling, it's distracting."

"My bad," he acknowledged, lowering his voice.

"Oi," Bakugo hissed from across the table. "If you’re gonna nag, how about you keep it down as well, huh?"

I shot him a glare. "How about you mind your business and take this seriously."

"Take this seriously?" His voice rose, catching the attention of others. "I don't need your lecture when you’ve been moody and unpredictable since morning, princess. And besides, I already know I’m better than you all."

I huffed. "Coulda fooled me. Your so-called 'superiority' caused you to trigger half of the damn traps in the field." I shot back, leaning forward as if it would get my point across more.

The corner of Todoroki's mouth twitched, and I could've sworn he was suppressing a smirk. "Careful, Bakugo," Todoroki chimed in, his voice calm but cutting. "Your temper's showing again."

"Shut it, Icy Hot!" Bakugo snapped, slamming his hands on the table. "You wanna say that again?!"

"Someone's getting heated," I commented provocatively.

"Can we not do this right now?" Izuku complained

"Enough!" Endeavor commanded, his sharp tone silencing the brewing argument. "If you can't keep quiet, you'll be running the course again—together. Am I clear?"

"Hell nah."

"Over my body."

"I'd rather not."

The three of us grumbled varying acknowledgments, izuku remained silent, sinking back into our seats as the instructor resumed the debriefing.

__________

After what felt like an eternity, the meeting finally ended. I stretched as I stood, the stiffness in my shoulders easing slightly. The boys stalled near the exit, clearly waiting for me.

"I'm heading back to the dorms," I informed them.

"Me too," Izuku added. "Need to review some notes."

"Ima go get some food. Careful not to choke on your nerd shit." Bakugo turned away, stepping toward the exit with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Seriously?" I let out an annoyed groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Can't you just shut the fuck up and not insult people everywhere you go?"

He stopped mid-step, turning to glare at me.

"You’ve got a bad mouth, princess. Do you think you’re better than me? And besides, keeps things interesting." he sneered, stepping closer.

My face scrunched up in distaste. "Not every damn thing is a competition." The words shot out of my mouth laced with venom. "How about you start working as a team? Maybe then you'll notice how much of a liability you are," I snapped back, meeting his gaze head-on.

"Good luck with that," Todoroki muttered.

Bakugo’s eyes widened, his hand sparking faintly with explosions.

"Liability?! Say that again, and I'll blow your shit up!"

"Blow me up. I fucking dare you," I countered, my tone daring and condescending.

"Stop this buffoonery, at once!"

Endeavor yelled, fumes steaming from his head. His aggravation and vexation were clear to every living being near his radius, flames emitting from his body. The room turned dead quiet, all eyes snapped to him.

"I can't believe how childish and insolent you are behaving! All of you are far from representing the heroes of our near future," his voice railed through the hallways, his fiery aura intensifying with each word. "I am far from pleased with your actions today, both individually and as a team on the field."

Bakugo clicked his tongue, shoving his hands back in his pockets. Todoroki quietly glared at his father, while Izuku shifted uncomfortably, his gaze falling to the ground.

I swallowed hard, my throat clenching as my mouth ran dry.

Endeavor let out a heavy sigh, the flames on his body dimming slightly. "If this behavior continues, none of you will be fit to graduate, let alone work in the professional hero field. Learn to control yourselves and act like the heroes you claim to want to be."

With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving the four of us in an uncomfortable silence.

Bakugo was the first to break it, muttering, "Tch. Whatever." He stormed out, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

I clenched my fists, the tension in my chest building up as my eyes started to sting, tears threatening to fall.

"I got you," a soft voice said from beside me. I felt a hand on my back, providing me with an all-too-familiar sense of comfort. I turned slightly to meet Izuku's gaze.

"Let's go back to the dorms."

---

[superbtiti]

The afterstorm - ☂️ academy

{takes place in the beginning of 3ss}

{word count: 0.5k}

__________

"I mean what did you think?" Tia asked, her voice sharp with disbelief, shooting Allison a critical glare.

"That she'll still be in her room? Waiting for you? Of course not!" Her arms flew to each side of her hips her stance the one of a mother scolding a child caught red handed.

"Great.." klaus mumbled, throwing his hands in the air, having given up on trying to keep things at bay. "and here I was hoping for some relaxation today"

The air in the room was heavy, saturated with tension

"the moment we interacted with our father, we threw everything out of balance!" Her was raising "we created a paradox- fuck that- a grandfather Paradox to be exact!"

That scentece caught the attention of the rest of the group.

"A what?" Diego's question was left hanging in the air.

Her arms fell to her side in an exaggerated motion, her voice faltering.

"-I, forget it..I'm starting to sound like five"

She muttered unde her breath.

Her face scrunched as if she had bitten into a sour lime, her brows knitted together, as she felt a shiver run down her spine.

She sighed using her hand to massage her head as a form of relaxation, trying to soothe the raging storm in her mind.

"What is that supposed to mean?"his Sharp and slightly irritated voice cut through the moment, five sat on the barstool he glanced up from his cup in confusion and impatience.

Before she could answer, Alison interjects, her arms crossed in a defensive manner.

"Sorry for hoping my daughter would still be alive!" She snapped back exhaustion and pain lingered in her voice. The weight of everything that has happened going through her mind "After I have lost so much.." Tears threaten to fall from her eyes.

Viktor stepped forward to Alison's defence. "No need to be so harsh on her on, Tia" His voice quiet but solid.

Silence filled the room, the tension being one of an afterstorm as the rain and wind dissipate the heat built up.

Her anger faltered and realization hit her, pity and regret formed in her stomach. She let loose of her irritated tone and stepped closer to her.

"...Alison I-" her voice softer and empathetic than before

"You are hurting- I know, I can see that. But so are we... Do you believe I don't miss my old life? None of us wanted this."

Tia's usual tenacity and assured tone was replaced with the one of vulnerability.

Alison gaze fixed on the ground. No one dared to speak against her, for everyone fell in agreement with her words.

"Look" Tia continued, glazing around at the group. "we have all gone through way too much trauma in the past weeks. Before we make any unnecessary moves.... let's all just take a moment. Calm down, relax a bit, okay?"

For the first time no one argued and collectively agreed. The silence was not comfortable but it wasn't hostile either it was a agreement, it was a start.

[superbtiti]

the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.

[superbtiti]

The Angel Treatment.

It’s more than the Princess Treatment, it’s the Angel Treatment. Both are very similar but the Angel Treatment involves being treated better, having men who are eager to be there for you in your time of need, and being more of an elevated and leveled up woman. I would only want a man to be with a man who knew that being obsessed with me is the way to keep me. If you’re with a man who knows how to treat a woman, it shouldn’t come as a surprise when he texts you telling you that he booked a couples massage at the Ritz Spa and dinner at Nobu afterwards. Angel Treatment isn’t having to tell a man what you expect, it’s him doing it and more without you having to say a single word.

What is an Angel Investor?

The term implies heavy investment. This isn’t a man who’ll send you $800 a week and expect you to be grateful, this is a man who’ll put you up in a $8,000 a month apartment, pay for everything, and want to keep giving you more. Their job is to invest in you so that you grow in value and they do this because they’re HAPPY to see you winning. When I was told that I’d gotten a summer job in NYC, one of my Angel Investors insisted on getting me an apartment and a whole new wardrobe. He also venmos me weekly, we go to dinner, and he's taking me on vacation at the end of the month to celebrate my first year of school starting. He wants to treat me to the finer things in life and so he doesn't make any excuses, he just makes sure I’m provided for.

Why it’s important to ME.

Black women have been treated like the least desirable race for centuries now but we’re not. It’s important to me to feel desired and to be with a man who wants me to know just how much he wants me, is willing to show me, and is willing to invest in me. There’s no point in being with someone who doesn’t deeply desire you, always want to cheer for you, and has the capability to lavish you in gifts. Black women have accepted broken love in too many ways and now’s the time for us to start refusing it. If you know your worth then you don’t go for a sugar daddy, you find an Angel Investor who will give you access to more opportunities, more life, and more money and pleasure. You deserve to be with a man who will roll out the white carpet for you and show you that you’re an angel he’d do anything for.

[superbtiti]

Nah cuz 4+4=8 nd that's what u did

agape- nicholas britell

summary: miles is takin down ur braids 

warnings: Grammarly hates me, the patriarchy, a dash of toxic masculinity, miles being a product of that grrah grah boom type masculinity, aave (no im not translating shit for you yall got access to urban dictionary and its not really a warning), i edited it myself so lmk if there are any mistakes

sueñito- little dream, bonito- handsome/ pretty boy, no me importa- i don't care/ it's not important to me

w/c: 1.5 k

reader's black coded cus im black so deal w it <3

i think this something every black boy be needin deep down

“Stop movin, ma” 

“It’s knotty,” 

“You had these in for how long?” 

Silence. 

“There's your answer right there, mama,”  

“Sorry,” 

“Nun to be sorry for, just hold still,” 

Currently sitting on the bathroom floor criss-cross apple sauce, Miles was sitting on the toilet, your head between his knees, while he was taking down the frizzy lemonade braids that barely hugged your scalp anymore. 

“Miles?” 

He hums in response, rat tail comb in one hand, a tub of coconut oil in the other, threading the tail of the comb through the extensions down your back  

“You’re the prettiest boy in all of Brooklyn,” 

“Shut up” 

“Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,” 

“Nuh-uh,” 

“Fuck you mean ‘nuh uh’? The little freckles all over your cheeks? Cutest things I’ve ever seen, especially how they’re all slightly different shades, like lil polka dots all over your face, gives me a map a’ where to kiss. The little tiny dimple on the left side of your face? Adorable, 10/10, no notes. Also very kissable." He's still now, staring at the back of your head, using bundles strewn over his shoulder, mouth agape. “Them thick and long ass eyelashes? I could stare at ‘em all day, they look like teeny tiny butterfly wings when you rest your eyes.” 

“Shut up,” he whispers, still unmoving, the little dab of coconut oil on his fingers slowly dribbling down his wrist 

“Your mind pretty as hell, too, I like listening to what you have to hear when you let me,” you mumble, pressing tiny kisses into his cargo pant–clad kneecap. 

“Stop doin that shit, ma” 

“What?” 

“Talkin all crazy like that,” 

“I’m not talkin crazy, miles I’m being honest,” 

“You makin me out to be some weak ass lil boy,” 

“Miles.” you turn around abruptly, staring at him dead in the eye. “I’m jus being honest wit you. What's going on?” 

“It’s nothin, ma, turn around”  

“Sueñito. Lemme know what's up,” 

“It’s nothin,” 

You huff, turning around to face the bottom of the sink again. Silence bellows throughout the bathroom, Miles rubbing oil on your braids to detangle them to later drag the comb in once again and throw the discarded hair extension over his shoulder. The only sound between the two of you is the Marvin Gaye spinning on the record player, rooms away, dull basslines thrumming through the apartment. 

“Ion like this,” 

“What?” 

“Whatever jus happened, we talk about what's bothering us,” 

“Ain't nothin botherin me, ma,” 

“Then why you start buggin' the second I get to complimenting you?” 

“Cus ian wit all that girly shit,” 

“Fuck you mean girly shit, I’m jus tryna love up on you Miles,” your nostrils flare as you stare ahead of you.  

“Baby, I’m all for that but–” 

“Miles, did someone tell you boys can't get that?” 

A silence. 

“Baby.” 

“What?” 

“Jus cus you a boy dont mean you don't deserve love,” 

“Aint nobody say allat–” 

“Shut up Ian done,” you say, swiftly turning around and snagging the oil and comb from his hand “jus cus you a boy doesn't mean you don't deserve to feel shit miles. Ion know what it was like wit your last girl, but Ian her. Okay? You allowed to be a person wimme, you know that right?” 

“Ma–” 

“Shut up I still ain't done yet. Miles I’m real, I’m right here. real like you, I promise you I’m not goin nowhere right now,” 

“You done?” 

“Yeah,”  

“C’mere,” he motions to his lap, taking the comb and oil out of your hands and setting them on the tiled floor, laying out the discarded bundles.  

“ ‘s oil all up on my hands” 

“No me importa ma, come up on here,”  

Obeying and wiping the excess coconut oil off your hand, you do. Straddling his lap, and looking into his eyes, examining the twinge of sadness in his eyes. 

“Talk to me, mama,” 

“I want you to know that you deserve love and that you’re allowed to feel some typa way. I want you to talk to me, Miles. I care about you so much and I wanna make sure you’re good. I love hearing you talk, but Ion like havin to beg you to talk to me. I love jus bein in your presence, but I hate feelin like that Miles. I don’t know who told you whatever's going through your head right now but they dead wrong. I wanna know how you be feelin, I wanna know.” 

“Why you even talk like this to me?” 

“Cus I’m your girl, n I like to kiss up on you and love all up on you,” 

At this, he averts his eyes, trying to escape your gaze, his breath audibly speeding up. 

“Mm mm, don't do that Miles. Please breathe,” 

You plead, subconsciously pressing your middle three fingers under his jaw trying to measure his heart rate. Almost as a reflex to hide from you, he shrugs your hand away from under his jaw and pulls his hoodie over his mouth.

“Nah nah, don't hide from me neither,”  

“Ain’t nobody hidin from you,” 

“Jus cus you a boy don’t mean you don't deserve them random ass cuddles, or someone to tie up your durag or wash your hair. It don’t mean you shouldn't get flowers or hugs or them lil hickies behind your ear. Don't mean you not allowed to be sad or mad or wanna cry. Now Ion know who told you or made you feel that way but they dead wrong Miles. You allowed to feel with me,” 

“Ian some lil boy runnin around though, that shit ain't for me,” 

“If you wasn't supposed to feel and acknowledge your feelings, why would you be able to feel them? They there for a reason,” 

Still straddled on his lap, he looks up at you with the tiny leverage you have on him. His eyes are big and doe-like, almost as if he’s scared to make this next step, say this next sentence.” 

“Ion know why,” he mumbles, voice soft and scared. suddenly he’s kissin up on you, gripping anything he can get his hands on, like he’s making up for lost time, lost feelings. It's urgent and a little rough, though his lips are soft and velvety, a twinge of menthol chapstick on them.  

“Yo yo yo, slow down. Ian goin nowhere” you whisper into his mouth, nails gently raking across his neck “ ‘m right here Miles, see?” you ask, guiding his hands to feel on the left side of your chest, right above your heart. “ ‘s my heart under there, I'm right here okay? I’m real, Miles I swear,” 

“You’re real?” he whispers, breath shaky and uneven fisting the thin fabric of your camisole under the evergreen zip-up, in an attempt to feel more of your heart. 

“You allowed to feel your feelings the same way you feel my heart,” 

He still looks astonished, scared, and frozen. suddenly it wasn’t him you were talking to anymore. it was the scared little Brooklyn boy who had all these feelings stored away inside him, unsure of what to do or who to show them to.  

“ ‘m sitting right here miles. I’m your girl, okay? This is real, and you are real,” 

“I’m real?” tears begin to swim in his eyes. 

“You’re real miles. and those feelings in that big heart of yours? Those are real too. And if you let me, I wanna hear all of 'em.”  

His body stills once more against you, a small tear gliding down his cheek. 

“I love you,” 

And then he’s sobbing. 

“Sshh, hey it's okay” you whisper, holding him close to your chest. “I love you so much I can’t hardly breathe when I'm around you. It’s okay and you're okay, Miles. I’m real and this is real and you. You are real.” you mumble into his braids, holding him with the protectiveness of a mother with a small child. 

He just sat there, his head buried in your chest as he cried quietly, letting everything out. You just sat and let him cry and vent through his tears. All the things he had bottled up, discouraged to show to anyone. Sooner or later the tears slow to a stop, his face puffy and hot. 

Gently tugging the ends of his braids, he looks up at you. 

“You feel better sueñito?” you ask, dragging the cuff of your sweater to dry his face and pressing butterfly kisses to his cheeks in its wake. He did nothing but nod lazily, seemingly lighter, and nuzzling his face into your chest. 

“Lemme finish wiping up your face n then you can be all up on me, bonito, okay? 

He just nodded, dropping his head back to rest against the bathroom wall, the half-taken-out braids on your scalp no longer th task at hand. Reaching behind him you grab a baby wipe and swipe the tears and snot off his face, leaving his skin with a glossy finish. Holding his chin up, you look dead in his eyes. 

“You so beautiful Miles.” 

And this time, he nods. 

🩷 reblogs are always appreciated for reach <3