entitled: without incident
summary: All Mako wanted was one nice, normal date, without incident. And then he remembered he was dating Korra, who's secretly dating trouble. —MakoKorra. Canon.
rating: T
disclaimer: I do not own.
foreword: I pretty much wrote this for the ending.
.
.
.
"Korra, what the hell are those?"
Korra followed Mako's stern gaze. "Uh, my heels." Korra took this opportunity to model them for him. They were red, six-inches high, and she sort of fumbled mid-modeling. "Do you like them?" Korra asked expectantly, "Asami helped me pick them out."
Mako looked unimpressed.
"Yeah, I know what they are. But, why are you wearing them?"
Korra rolled her blue eyes. "So I can be taller, silly."
"Your height is just fine," Mako stated flatly.
Korra shook her head. "I don't think you understand Mako," she began, her hands on her hips, "you're not the one who has to arch her neck just to look into your stupid pretty eyes."
The heels were bad news.
But Mako would overlook them because he loved Korra and it was pretty obvious that she was wearing the heels for him, even though she would probably rather eat worms than admit it willingly.
And moreover, Mako wanted them to have at least one nice, normal date. One without incident and without them arguing over something stupid—like Korra's theory about Iroh secretly being a pirate-vigilante or Korra's other theory about his fangirls trying to give her poison apples.
"You look pretty," Mako remarked. It was his peace offering and it helped that it was the truth.
But he just had to make one thing clear before the chance was lost. "You're doing to die in those heels, though."
"At least I'll die looking fabulous," Korra replied huffily.
.
.
.
Their date had gone from so-so to so-the-gods-were-bored-so-they-ruined-our-date.
It started with the squid dish that looked uncooked at all angles.
That was Korra's fault.
"I told you not to order it," Mako reprimanded, because by the way Korra was moving the squid around her plate with her nose scrunched up meant that she probably wasn't going to eat it.
They ended up sharing his bowl of seafood noodles. (READ: She took it ruthlessly from right under his nose. Literally. She didn't even try to be subtle about it.)
Then the gods-intervention part happened after they left the restaurant.
They were strolling around the main market streets of Republic City when they heard a high-pitched shriek and a "He stole my purse!"
Before Mako could hold onto Korra's hand, she had already slipped from his fingers and was darting—darting in her six-inch heels that she's wearing for the first time ever—in the direction of the robbery.
Well, she caught the guy and returned the purse.
Her reward was some scattered applause, but most notably, a twisted ankle, because—not her greatest moment—she had tripped in her dramatic, mad-dash and face-planted, before it occurred to her that she could just stop the guy by dragging him back with her air-bending.
Give it to the Korra to forget that she's one of the most powerful benders out there.
As Mako carried her on his back due to her well-predicted, grossly swelling, purple-green ankle, something occurred to him.
Something he had forgot to tell her.
"I—"
"Don't say it," Korra warned dangerously. "Don't you dare—"
"—told you so."
"Dammit, Mako!" Korra tried to choke him as he carried her back to his apartment.
.
.
.
Of course he couldn't be normal and fall for a girl.
Instead, he had to fall for ten kinds of trouble and then some.
.
.
.
Once in his bedroom, Mako dropped Korra gently onto the bed.
He proceeded to slip off his shirt—to her utter horror.
"What, uh—" the pink flush was settling nicely on her cheeks, "WAIT. Mako, what are you doing?"
He smirked.
Well, something was going to go right on yet another shitty date added to the tally board.
He leaned down then, arched over her, trapping her beneath him.
"WHAT—"
"This is the whole reason why you wore those stupid heels, right?" Mako moved so that their faces were mere millimeters apart, "So we could be on eye level."
.
.
.
fin.