I tried a very different approach with this one...

It is definitely an AU, a modern one, and could be set in the same as the one from the last story, althought nothing specifically from Miraculous is mentioned in the following.

There are a little bit of adult topics, though, but nothing grave.

I do not own Avatar The Last Airbender.

Day 2: Momtara / Dadko

Zuko's scowl intensifies when he hears the door closing. Aha, so she's finally home.

After a few seconds, the trapdoor to her room opens, and she stumbles into the darkness of the room.

Zuko twists his mouth in annoyance, but starts to worry at how she seems to have problems with closing the trapdoor.

"Sssshhhh." Katara raises a finger to her lips, and lets the trapdoor close loudly. "Aw, crap. I said ssssshhhhh."

"Care to tell me what you're doing?" he asks then, and lights the lamp next to her armchair, in which he is sitting. The light falls onto him, hopefully showing her how pissed he is.

"What the- Oh, Zuko!" she screeches, throws her arms up, and walks towards him. With very unstable steps.

Great. She is drunk. Something else he has to snarl at her about.

"Have you got any idea what time it is?" he starts.

Katara makes a face, as if she would think very hard. Then she suddenly grins, and points at her digital alarm clock, the digits shining in a light blue.

"It's three twenty-three am!"

Zuko slowly closes his eyes. It's not easy to scold enthusiastic drunks.

"And when did you tell me you'd be back?"

She thinks again. "Uh... Two am?"

"Yeah. Do you have your phone with you?"

Katara seems to realise that he is not up to have fun, but that this is serious. "Yes? Suki and I made very cute selfies. I sent you some."

Now he has to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, you sent me selfies of you in a club with guys dancing around you, while you were wearing that!" he snarls, gesturing towards her clothes.

If he wouldn't care about Katara, he would downright insult her clothes, but he doesn't think she would take that well.

Katara looks down at herself, then back at him and grins. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she slowly approaches him. Now she can suddenly walk without stumbling. "Don't like what you see?" she asks, as her knees press against his.

He has to look up at her to keep looking her in the eyes, and not where her shorts cut between her legs. He definitely likes what he sees, but that is not the point right now. Besides, she is drunk. He shouldn't take anything coming from her right now as serious.

Just the thought of other guys seeing her like that, thinking about her what he's thinking, it makes his insides burn with rage, and coaxes him into destroying something.

"Th-that d-d-doesn't matter," he stutters, and flinches at how hoarse his voice sounds. That's why he quickly looks to the side. "But I bet these guys in the club liked it. And honestly, that is not enough fabric you're wearing. It's undignified. I cannot believe Hakoda let you out like that!"

Her high waisted shorts definitely show the lower half of her behind and accentuate her wide hips and slender waist. The top she's wearing is practically a bikini top, just made of normal fabric. It only covers her breasts, not even fully, since her decollete does show, but at least she's covered at the sides. The straps are also way too thin in Zuko's opinion.

Hakoda probably didn't know what Katara was wearing, as she left the house. When he thinks about it, Hakoda was still working in the restaurant downstairs, as Katara left. That's why both of them didn't see Katara leaving.

Katara pouts and promptly sits down on his lap.

Oh spirits, no, what is she doing? This is not... He can't...

She grabs his hands and pulls them out of their arms crossed position. "Boys are idiots. It's my body, and I can show it how I want to. Besides, it's just very warm in this club, and Azula told me not to wear much..."

Zuko's frown deepens. Azula? Of course she had something to do with it.

"You could have texted that you're staying longer," he says, but it only carries half the anger he originally felt, when she just didn't come back.

"Sorry. But Zuko?"

He reluctantly looks back at her, and feels his heart beating faster, as he stares into her big blue eyes, which actually look annoyed right now.

"Don't get jealous!" She pokes a finger into his chest.

His cheeks start to burn furiously. "Wh-what? I-I'm not jealous, pft."

That would be silly. Zuko is simply looking out for her, because they are friends. He's thankful they took him in, after his father had been sent to prison. So it is his duty to make sure that Katara is fine and to wait for her, when she's coming home later than she said she would. He won't say anything to Hakoda about it, but he has to deal with it himself.

He pulls his hands back from her grasp and wishes she would stand back up, because if she keeps sitting on his lap, right in front of him, in that outfit, she's going to feel some evidence that he indeed likes what he sees.

Katara pouts a little, and then sighs dramatically. "Well, if you're not jealous, I guess I can walk around like this more often."

His jaw clenches, and his hands form fists at her words.

He should really stop thinking about her in that way. They are just friends, and more importantly thinking like this is dishonouring her and her kindness. He refuses to see her kindness as anything more than that. And her actions now as anything more than those of a drunk girl.

But then a wicked grin spreads on Katara's lips, which he would have never expected, she leans closer, and presses her upper body to his, her hips to his.

His eyes widen, and he takes deep gasps of air.

"Or what do you think?" she purrs into his ear, her hands running up his arms and shoulders.

What he's thinking? Oh, he's thinking a lot of things right now, but he cannot remember what she was talking about. Swallowing he has to keep his lower body from pressing against her.

"I...," is all he says, clenching his fists to stop himself from touching her. She is drunk, she doesn't know what she's doing, and he cannot use that.

"It doesn't matter, really," she says next, her breath touching his sensitive skin under his ear. "I'll wear what I want to. But there is only one person I'll allow to touch."

Zuko's whole body tenses at her words, and he tries to lean back, to give himself some space, but then she grasps his hands and puts them on her hips, pressing her chest closer to his. He has very big trouble not to press himself against her in return.

He was mad at her, wasn't he? And now he just has to forgive her, forget it, simply because he cannot control his body?

But deciding on an answer is not something he has to do now, as he flinches badly, as her hands press against his rips. Grimacing, he hopes she didn't notice it, but she retreats immediately, as she raises her eyebrows in concern.

"What is it?"

"I... Uh, nothing bad, really."

"Zuko?" she probes, one eyebrow back down to show her skepticism.

"I brought the garbage out earlier, and I heard people saying things...," he admits slowly.

He'd rather not talk about the things he's heard. Those people don't know anything, and he should have really ignored them, but that wasn't so easy. His temper just flared, and the next thing he knew was that he shouted at them, and then started punching them, and getting punched in return. His father might be a sociopathic megalomaniac, but at least he always insisted on Zuko taking his martial arts lessons, so dealing with those three idiots wasn't hard.

"Oh, Zuko," Katara immediately says softly and clasps his face in her hands. "Don't listen to those idiots. You know what they say about your father is not true." She starts to stroke his hair, as if she were calming an animal, but it oddly always helps.

"They didn't say things about my dad. They said ugly things about you. About us, because... Because I live here," he rasps, biting his lip, as the frustration comes back. Hearing them saying those things, and then seeing what she was wearing while being out was just too much for tonight.

"I'm sorry," Katara whispers, and leans forward to hug him. She pulls his head down and continues to stroke his hair.

Zuko immediately turns his head to the side so that his face is not right between her breasts. Only his cheek. He thinks she might not grasp all the strangeness of this situation in her state, but he doesn't object much. He can hear her heart beating, and her soft, warm skin is under his cheek, while he... No, unfortunately, he cannot smell her shower gel, but instead alcohol and smoke. But that doesn't matter much.

"I fought against them, when I heard them," he says.

"Yeah. I thought as much." Pulling back, she stems her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows. "Now take off your shirt, so I can look at your injury."

"It's just a bruise," he murmurs.

"Zuko."

"A black and blue mark."

"Zuko!"

"You're drunk, you cannot do... Ow!"

Her look turns stern, as she clicks her tongue. "Uh-huh," she murmurs, and pulls up his shirt, since he won't do it.

After slightly pressing against his rips, she's finally convinced that he is not hurt beyond a bruise, but still smudges cream from the sink in the corner of her room against his skin. It is painfully cold, and he hisses.

"There. All done. It's good it's just a bruise."

"That's what I've been saying," Zuko growls, and she clicks her tongue again. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, after pulling his shirt back down, he looks off to the side again.

"Say 'thank you, Katara'."

"Thank you, Katara," he grumbles, but lets her guide his face back to her.

He feels surprised, when she presses her face to his, her nose into his cheek, before she sighs tiredly.

"Zuko," she murmurs, and he tenses again, trying to prepare for maybe another attempt at close body connection.

But after a few seconds he can clearly hear her snoring softly.

He doesn't know if he should be relieved or disappointed, as he stands, his arms firmly wrapped around her, and carries her to her bed.

It will be hard to ignore what has happened tonight. With his luck she won't even remember it tomorrow morning, and he will be left craving, wishing, wanting more.

Sighing, he steps back, and watches her calm and relaxed face. Someone like her wouldn't even want him in that way.

So maybe he should hope that she won't remember anything in the morning. Yeah, he'll do that. It will be better this way. Anything else would only complicate their friendship, and make him fall into disfavour with her family.

But deep down, he's still wishing.