Uh Oh! Recently, Aizawa has been extremely stressed with juggling hero work and the future of his students! His lack of an emotional output leads him right home, where he feels he neglected his beautiful wife.
CW: FLUFF + NSFW, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, squirting, yearning, teasing, etc. yearning, yearning, yearning, did i mention yearning? Aizawa loves his wife.
WC: 4k
You knew Aizawa’s favorite dish was beef stew on his most stressful days. And these past two months were nothing short of purgatory for him.
Purgatory being the overwhelming pile of duty and responsibility dumped on him with every coming week. Every day would bring forth more training than the last, straining his quirk with the intention to raise the next generation to prove better than the previous.
In short, he's worn out. A dry, wrung out towel left to lie outside.
To make matters worse, he hadn’t seen you, the woman he holds higher than himself, in eons. Of course, he makes arrangements to see you that loophole the UA dorm policy, and he makes sure to fill you in on daily events.
But it just wasn’t enough. Not for him.
“ ‘M home, sweetheart.”
Aizawa drags himself through the front door of yours and his shared home, hooking his key onto the holster as he eyes you in the kitchen.
His shoulders immediately release tension as the scent of layered seasoning waft his nostrils. Aizawa constantly insists you don’t have to do something so sweet and ambitious, yet you act on your own accord.
And he can't help but run his tongue over his teeth in restraint. You look perfect, even from the back. Wrong, especially from the back.
“ Shou’. ” Your nickname for him leaves your lips wrapped in affection. Angling your head over your shoulder to greet him with a sweet smile as your not exactly able to leave the stove.
“I didn’t think the bags under your eyes could get anymore full,” you giggle as you read his exhausted body. Slouched shoulders, heavy eyes and untamed locks.
He pokes his lower lip out. Real funny.
“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” he huffs, unraveling his capture scarf and hanging it beside his key. Rounding the kitchen island and perching his chin over your shoulder—nose nudging into the crook of your neck as his crimson eyes watch you do your magic. “Here I am looking forward to seeing you and the first thing you do is insult me.”
"You know I’m playing with you,” you huff, plating a hefty amount of mixed beef stew and rice. He quietly thanks you. “I even think it’s a look on you.”
“Sometimes I think you pray for my demise.” He speaks into your neck.
“You'll never know.”
His lips purse to add a few, lazy kisses to the side of your smooth neck. Enjoying the scent of cocoa scented lotion he finds there. Aizawa was a man who appreciates the minor details—something as little as a small accessory or even a change in body wash never went unnoticed.
You crane your neck to kiss above his brow, in response he lets out a low purr and takes his plate.
“ ‘M not as exhausted as I was for the past week,” he starts, taking a small trek to the dining room table. “I can actually spend a little time with you, t’night.”
You crack a smile when he makes that revelation. The octave in his voice made it obvious he’s looking forward to spending his crumbs of free time with you. You don’t respond until after you set the lid onto the pot of beef stew.
“You being here is enough to make me feel good," You remark. “Asleep or awake.”
Aizawa then takes his first bite of food to mask how much your words really tug his heart strings.
"Well," He speaks between bites. "I still have to teach tomorrow. I hope it's fine that I just spend a few hours with you in the house."
You hum. "I don't expect you to drag yourself around the city to go to a fancy restaurant with me."
"I know. Just wish I could provide a little m—"
"You’re doing enough, Shou’. I promise."
He blinks, chewing around a mouthful of food as he meets your winsome eyes with his own.
His middle finger idly taps on the metal chopsticks he was using. A tiny tick you noticed he had when he was saying less than he was thinking.
Not only that, but his lower lip slightly poked out. He's frustrated.
"Just saying." He murmurs. Sinking his teeth into a new bite. "I don't want to give you false hope. Though I wish I had some scraps of time every now and then to just ... be here."
You give him a forgiving smile.
"Sometimes I hope you have a little time for me. But I understand you're training a generation of heroes and saving lives." Your lips meet his cheek. "How could my pretty husband get any more badass, huh?"
Aizawa was always thankful you understood his circumstances. You're bold, but you're also perceptive.
One of the billion things he adores about you.
“I promise. One day I’ll take us somewhere. Maybe a different country.”
He angles his face so his nose grazes against yours. You could feel his breath fanning over your lips as he remains unmoving. The tension in the air thickened to the point where it was physical as cotton candy. You smile and nudge your nose against his.
Oh Aizawa loves you so fucking much.
Moments like these are rare, where he just gets to enjoy you.
His eyes flutter shut for a moment, dismissing his food as he gravitates toward your jaw—closing his lips into the space between your chin and neck. You hum and angle your head upward, allowing him more workspace. He nips a small love bite into your skin before kissing over it. Then he leans in for your lips.
You withdraw. Aizawa pauses to search your face. Wondering if he’d done something wrong.
"Finish eating, M'kay?" You run along his inky locks with a few fingers. If he kept doting on you like this, the food would go cold. "Then join me on the couch. I’ll make you feel extra comfortable.”
Aizawa snorts, pecking the inside of your palm.
“You spoil me entirely too much," He murmurs. You snicker at his words instead of denying them. No use, he and you both knew it was true.
You spend the next few minutes setting the living space for Aizawa and you. His favorite pastime activity was lounging around the house, specifically, lounging on you.
The man in question palms his hands onto paper towel after washing and drying the dishes in the sink. It was only fair he did after you went through the trouble cooking.
He’s real uptight with the lack of time he's able to spend with you, especially now that UA enforced the dorm policy. It was on rare nights like this he could organize some short hours to spend with you.
He huffs, ruby eyes drifting over to the open door that leads to the living room.
You're so perfect, and here he is. Managing brief interactions with you. The house is basically yours at this point, and he's just a frequent visitor. Aizawa knows the importance of all he does, yet some nights he still wishes that somehow, he could have you at his hip. Childish, non-logical wishes he’d scold himself for if he wasn’t in love.
But fuck it. He has you tonight. You have him tonight.
He’d be damned if he let an inconvenience get the best of tonight.
Running his blunt nails through his hair, he turns off the kitchen light and stalks off to the living room.
“I really appreciate your work in the kitchen. You know you don’t have t—”
Before he could even pass the doorframe, he pauses.
There you sit.
Quietly filing your nails with your knees against your chest. Pouty lips pursed with the effort of sculpting your nails to be the shape you desire. But what really stole his breath were the pajamas you’re sporting.
You look like a forbidden fruit. Dipped in honey and dangling above his eyes after years of being starved. Wrapped in a tiny, black cami and the smallest black shorts that hug the plushy soft of your thighs. He must’ve been staring for too long, because when his eyes finally snap back to yours, you’re staring right back at him. Amused.
"Didn't think your definition of a relaxing night was spectating, Shou’." You huff a laugh, settling the nail file on the coffee table once his feet finally enter the room.
He offers you a tranquil smile as he lifts his shirt over his skull, “That so bad? That I wanna appreciate my gorgeous, smart, adoring wife?” He questions, tossing his top over the armrest of the couch. Baring his stout body to your curious eyes.
Shrugging, you open your arms. A quiet invitation.
"You can appreciate me physically."
A smile pulls at the corner of his lips. He'd be a damn liar if he said he wasn't looking forward to this. To you.
The cushions dip and Aizawa crawls over your body with the grace of a feline. Not predatory. Worshipful was best fit.
A hushed sigh slips from your husband’s lips as he rests the side of his cheek over your breast, fluttering his crimson eyes shut as tension decays from his muscles. Not wasting a moment, you glide your fingers over his inky locks, fondness swirling through your body when he twitches and lets out a satisfied sigh.
Then a noise rumbles throughout his body.
A low purr. He can’t count the days he’d been looking forward to this. To you.
He nuzzles further into your cleavage. “I just want to enjoy you. Haven’t gotten a moment like this with you in two months, sweetheart.”
Your head dips, planting a chaste kiss to his forehead as the vibrations from his body travel over to yours. He lifts his head with dialated pupils. “I need to know. How have you been,” he shifts, completely dwarfing your body with his own. “With me being absent, and all.”
You hum. The purr his body emits tells you he was vulnerable. Naked. Happy.
“Well.” You start, mirroring his softened eyes. “For one, I got my nails done.”
You bring the sleek of your palm to his face. Aizawa’s crimson gaze flit accross the pink shade with curious, but satisfied eyes.
“Cute. You always did love pink.” He murmurs. Nose bumping against the tip of your nail before he pokes a small kiss to it.
“Anything else?”
You run your nail over his lower lip as a new memory teeters over your tongue.
“I’ve gone out a few times, went to a few … clubs.” You admit. But Aizawa wasn’t the type of man to lack trust in a partner. Especially you.
“A few clubs eh?” He grumbles, peppering more kisses over your neck and up the underside of your jaw. His locks tickling your skin.
“Could’ve sent me a few photos. You know how amazing you look when you doll yourself up.”
“Do I not always look amazing?”
“Don’t start.” Aizawa leans in, his lips closing over yours. You relax immediately, tongue slipping over his own as he shifts himself to sit onto his haunches. Eventually hovering over your upper thighs.
You watch your husband dip beneath your jaw and peck at your collar bone. His messy locks grazing against your skin while he explores the routes he’d left untouched for so long.
“I can’t say it enough, but…” you giggle under your breath as his ear tickles your neck. “I really missed you. Even when I’m proud of all you do I…”
He blinks slow, like a cat expressing affection. Idly biting the inside of his cheek, he waits for you to finish.
“I just wish I you could fall asleep beside me every night. Like, before those dorms were policy.” You breathe. Finally pushing out that quiet burden you never bared to the surface.
Aizawa blinks, digesting your vulnerable words.
Finally, his hand slips aginst the pillow, and cups your soft cheek. His thumb stroking tiny circles into your skin.
“I knew you were keeping in more than what you were telling me.” He murmurs. Watching your face soften into a tiny smile.
He offers a broken smirk of his own.
Then, his free hand glides over your stomach. Down your shorts, and hovers over your crotch. With two fingers, he gently pats over your clothed crotch.
“How’s she been without me, huh?”
Your thigh jumps. You hadn’t been touched by Aizawa in so long, it nearly felt foreign.
Your head shakes with honesty. “Dry.”
Aizawa snorts. A bittersweet response on his end. He didn’t want to leave you with an itch inside you that he could only scratch.
He quietly hooks his fingers onto the elastic of your pajama shorts, poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek.
“You don’t have to…” you start, sensing uncertainty.
“I want to, sweetheart. How long as this pussy gone uneaten?”
He’s serious. You feel the subtle twitch in his pants as his lower half rests against yours. And the look in his eye made it clear he wouldn’t reevaluate his decision.
You scout his expression a while longer before silently nodding. Anticipation boiling beneath your skin.
Aizawa hums. Prying your shorts down your knees and off your ankles with gentle precision.
Pink panties. A classic.
He doesn’t waste another second wafting his thumb over the line of your puffy lips. Softly prodding through the top and grazing the clothed hood of your clit. You bite your lip as electricity sparks your stomach.
“See? You don’t even remember my touch.” He murmurs in thought.
You can’t help the way your thigh instinctively parts when he starts to map your inner lips through the cotton fabric. Eventually, his head sits between your thighs as he shuffles down the couch. It was long enough to fit both his and your bodies (bless Aizawa’s double income).
He hums, placing an unchaste kiss over your inner thigh, eyeing up your reactions as he scatters your skin with affection.
“You’d better make up for lost time,” you huff with sportive undertone. He cracks a smile against your thigh when your fingers dip into his mussed hair.
“I’ve never failed to make you come before. Don’t underestimate my skills.”
His tongue laps over the fabric of the panties—a test. Then he begins to eat you through the garment.
You let out a quiet moan, Aizawa uses his fingers to keep your thighs parted. Watching his spit and your moisture soil your own panties with satisfaction. The outline of you looked delicious under the light, he felt himself twitch in his pants.
“Can I see?”
“Mhm.”
He pries the panties aside. Enjoying the sight of your pussy, gone too long without his touch.
“There it is. My stress reliever.” He swipes his tongue from the rim of your hole, up to the hood of your clit. Bare, naked. Listening to your happy moans, he finally puts his versatile fingers to use and uses his thumb to softly circle the bud that rests snugly above your slit. Then he leans in and wedges his tongue inside.
God, he missed this pussy.
Missed it so much he couldn’t help the grunt that escapes him when he properly tastes you.
“Oh my… god,” you breathe, listening to the wet noise of Aizawa gently munching on you. He’s not usually a messy eater… but he misses his wife. And when he misses his wife, he atones for his absence
Even if it was something intimate and small, like performing oral on you.
“Wan’ me to fuck you with my fingers?” he questions, voice muffled with the effort of tonguing your gummy walls.
“Mhm, please,” you whine, thighs squirming under the firm grip of his free hand. “Fuck me ‘Zawa—mm, no, I need your cock.”
“Not until you squirt on my tongue.”
His response is rhetorical. Your pleasure comes first. A silent rule he engraved into the relationship even when it was first starting its embers.
With hazed eyes, you peek down at him. He spans his big palms over both your inner thighs to spread them further, then he inserts two fingers. Your face twists in pleasure, he prods around until he finds that spongey weak spot, exploiting it until you’re crying out.
Crimson eyes watch you writhe as Aizawa pleasures your gorgeous cunt. Your face and the way your body twists steal his breath so easily, he could marry you 80 times over and still not tire of it.
His fingers exit you with a quiet ' pop! ' While you protest at the loss, he settles on his haunches. His heavy bulge visible as he twirls his finger in gesture.
"Hands and knees. Wanna make all of you feel good."
Rolling onto your stomach, you mange a breathy giggle. "You greedy man."
"Starved. Now show me that cunt, pretty."
You don't even get the chance to breathe. The second you raise the fat of your ass, Aizawa uses his big hands to grab each cheek and drag you back to his insatiable tongue.
His nails mark crescent moons into your skin with his tight grip, Aizawa sloppily grinds his tongue from the tight ring of your ass back down to your eager lips. He murmurs a low 'so fucking good,' that goes unnoticed when you moan over him. Your back arches beautifully, and that's how Aizawa knows your nearing the end.
"Missed you... s’much." You sob, squealing at the feeling of him jamming two fingers through your slit rapidly.
Your slur makes his grip ease. You're so sweet, even like this.
“I know, sweetheart. Let me make you come,” caressing the globe of your ass with a hand, he makes a silent note to himself that you were upset about your time apart.
His tongue darts out to his soiled chin while he angles his fingers, a wet ‘squelch!’ ‘squelch!’ ‘squelch!’ Bouncing accross the walls in the living area as your thighs start to tremble. His nose grazes against one of your cheeks, planting a soft kiss to the soft fat as he focuses on coaxing a mind numbing orgasm from your body.
You don’t even get to warn him. Your brand new nails claw at the arm rest of the couch as you spiral off the edge. You spray, layering his forearm and chest with fluid as you squirm and shudder under the pressure of an amazing orgasm. Something Shouta knew how to expertly pull out of you.
“There you go… so fucking pretty.” Aizawa coos, hushing your whines with strokes along your spine and low praise. His teeth lightly bite into his lower lip as he watches the aftermath; soft panting, the sight of your soaked thighs and the tiny smile you were hiding in your forearm. It all made for a sickly sweet meal that had him pulling you into his arms, smothering the side of your face with apologetic kisses.
“Too rash? Can you do another round sweetheart?” Aizawa questions while you rest against his scarred chest. His hair tickles your shoulders as he leans down and kisses your temple.
Craning your face up to meet eyes, you offer a serene smile. One that he considers therapeutic.
“I said I wanted your dick, didn’t I?” You flutter the daint lashes that flourish your eyes, strength flowing back to your legs. He couldn’t be anymore proud — squirting and then pleading for dick. What a sweet girl he has. No—you have him stretched and skewered around your finger.
Giving you a moment to breathe, he gathers your limp body into his arms and stands without haste. Carrying the both of you over the the bedroom.
“You are insatiable, you know that?”
“You corrupted me.”
His hooded gaze doesn’t stray from yours as he nudges the bedroom door open with a foot, settling you onto the mattress.
There’s something placid about the moment. You voicelessly study his body; the newfound scars that cloak him, his growing stubble and the undeniable lust in his vision.
He shakes his head ever so slightly, because yeah. He fucking wishes he'd get this every night. The banter, the touching, the silent intimacy — what he wouldn't give to have you content like this. Aizawa splays your knees outward to have a non-obscured view of that perfect pussy. Moon kissed with the light that darts through the window and glistening with your past orgasm.
Fuck.
He could eat you out all night, if he really wanted to. But if you wanted dick, dick is what your husband would give you.
"Condom?" He asks, withdrawing his hands to shed his jeans until they pool at his ankles.
You glimpse over your knee and look at him incredulously. You always insist that you're on the pill, yet he's always preaching about responsibility. He snorts to himself.
"Alright, then.."
After fishing his cock out his boxers, he drags the heavy, warm weight along your cunt. Quietly observing the way you squeeze around nothing.
"Shou'..." You whine when he drags out your anticipation.
He hums, having half a mind to make you gag on his middle and ring finger. He wants to be tender tonight, to make love to his wife.
So, he continues to guide his tip along your slit until it catches on your opening — then he slowly guides himself in until you swallow his bulbous tip. You shudder at the familiar feeling, going so long without it that it felt foreign. He soundlessly observes your expression before he pushes more of himself in.
Eventually, the back of your thighs meet the pubic follicles on his pelvis. Aizawa mutters a tiny ‘ fuck ’ as you take him so snugly into your pussy.
He hadn’t even begun moving, and you’re already cock drunk. Your knees on either sides of your ears as Aizawa folds you into a deeep mating press.
“I—shit, Shou’. Please.” You whine. You don’t know what you’re pleading for, but you hope he delivers.
With Aizawa’s locks hanging into your face, he slowly grinds his hips up into yours. You’re mewling, unable to tell one feeling from another as he mutes you with a kiss.
This position forces your knees further against your shoulders — challenging your flexibility as he drove deeper into your body.
“You always take it so—fucking—good,” he accentuates his words with 3 hard thrusts, making you whine and claw for a grip on something. Eventually finding purchase on his back.
He’s grunting, now. Drilling into your poor, overstimulated cunt with calculated thrusts. To stabilize his body, he grips a fist onto the headboard. And fucks you into the sheets. His chest swells with pride when you cry out in ecstasy.
“My sweet girl. Gorgeous fucking wife,” he mumbles a barely coherent string of compliments.
He falters, pressing a large hand on your lower belly. He knows it’s a hard hitter for you, and he never forgets to do it when you’re fucked dumb.
And how right he is, when your orgasm gets swept from beneath your feet. Aizawa curses, sheathing himself balls deep and slowly spilling his seed into your womb. You mewl out a long stream of ‘ thank you ’’s while you milk his cock for all it’s worth.
He's absolutely hypnotized as he comes down from his high. Studying the way his semen beads down to your ass and forms a white ring where you're both connected. He's convinced, right in that moment, you have him under a spell.
He hunches over your body, gently coaxing your legs to fall back into place. Placing lazy pecks to your skin as you settle back into reality.
“You okay?” He questions, pawing at your waist to guide you into his chest. You nod in response, too fucked out to use your tongue for literacy.
Your hands absently trace the muscle of his shoulders as you hold each other, his pale skin stained with red lines caused by your nails.
“I lied.”
You lift your head in curiosity. He's already looking at you.
“This is one of UA’s break weekends. I’ll be back for 4 days.”
You smile, twirling a lock of his black hair between your fingers.
･῾ ᵎ rq ⋆ „erasermic tag-teaming their UA teacher assistant…“
Another stack of paperwork.
You didn’t even hear them come in—not until the classroom door clicked shut, and two very familiar voices cut through the silence.
“Still here?” Aizawa’s voice was dry as ever, but his tone made your spine straighten. “It’s almost 6.”
You didn’t turn. “I just wanted to finish sorting the training assessments—Midoriya’s group submitted late and—”
“And you stayed behind. Again.” Hizashi’s voice was closer. Louder, but laced with concern under the grin. “You know you’re not getting paid for this, right?”
“I don’t mind.” You smiled faintly, still writing. “It’s part of the job.”
“See, that’s the problem,” Aizawa said flatly. “You should mind. Because we do.”
You finally looked up—and immediately regretted it.
Aizawa was standing by the door, arms crossed, that piercing stare locked on you like you were one of his students about to get scolded.
And Hizashi?
Hizashi was already behind your desk, leaning on the surface, eyes flicking over you like he knew every thought in your head.
“I’m fine,” you tried, a little breathless.
“That so?” Aizawa moved closer, deliberate steps. “Then why do you look like you’re about to pass out on your feet?”
“You’re doing too much, sweetheart,” Hizashi added, his voice lower now. “We’ve been watching you run yourself into the ground all week.”
“Class prep. Corrections, Then extra time with the first years.” Aizawa was at your side now, pulling your chair out slightly with his foot. “You don’t even eat lunch half the time.”
“I—”
“Not a request.” Aizawa’s hand gripped your chin. Not rough—but firm. Intent. “Put the pen down.”
You did.
“Good girl,” Hizashi murmured, fingers grazing the back of your neck. “Now let us take care of you for once.”
You barely had time to gasp before Aizawa tilted your head back and kissed you—slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world. Like this was inevitable.
Hizashi’s hands were already working your blouse open, whispering praise between soft, maddening kisses against your throat.
“Worked so hard for us all day,” he murmured, lips brushing your collarbone. “Time to relax, baby.”
They moved in sync. Years of partnership showing, in the way they stripped you bare like a ceremony. In the way they touched you, devoured you like they’d been waiting for this moment.
Aizawa sat down in the chair you’d just vacated and pulled you into his lap, your back against his chest.
“Be still,” he said. “Let Hizashi do the work.”
And god, did he.
Hizashi dropped to his knees between your legs like he belonged there, looking up at you with heat and reverence.
“Let’s see how fast we can make that overworked brain melt, huh?” he teased—and then his mouth was on you, hot and relentless.
Your head fell back against Aizawa’s shoulder with a choked moan. He held you steady, one hand sliding up to palm your breast, the other between your thighs, spreading you wider for Hizashi’s mouth.
“Already shaking,” Aizawa muttered into your ear. “Didn’t take much, did it?”
“Sensitive,” Hizashi grinned, slick on his lips. “Bet she’s been needy all week and too damn stubborn to ask.”
“Typical.”
Their voices, their hands, their mouths—everywhere. You couldn’t tell who was touching you more, who was ruining you faster.
His voice brushed against your ear, low and commanding. “Keep them wide. Don’t move unless we say.”
From the floor, Hizashi grinned up at you between your legs. “Damn, what a view.”
Then his mouth was on you—hot, wet, and hungry, tongue gliding over your folds like he knew exactly what you needed. Because he did. He always did.
You cried out, hips jerking instinctively, but Aizawa’s hands were already there—one wrapped around your waist, holding you still, and the other slowly, deliberately sliding up your torso beneath your blouse.
“Easy,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple.
His hand found your breast, cupping it firmly, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened beneath his touch. You whimpered, head falling back onto his shoulder as Hizashi groaned into your cunt, tongue fucking you deep before dragging back up to your clit and sucking—hard.
Your thighs trembled, breath hitching in your throat.
“That’s it,” Aizawa muttered, dragging your bra down so he could pinch your nipple between two fingers. “Feel how sloppy you are for him?”
Hizashi moaned approval, the vibrations from his mouth making your whole body jolt.
“She tastes so fuckin’ good,” he said, voice muffled, tongue teasing your clit in slow, maddening circles. “Bet she’s been dripping for this all week.”
“Of course she has.” Aizawa’s other hand was between your legs now too, spreading you open even further. His fingers never got in Hizashi’s way—they worked in perfect sync, as if this wasn’t the first time they’d done this, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.
“Look at you,” Aizawa murmured, voice like dark velvet in your ear. “Tits in my hands, cunt in his mouth, soaked and shaking like you’re about to fall apart.”
“I—fuck—” You couldn’t even form words anymore.
Hizashi groaned again, messily devouring you as Aizawa rolled your nipple between his fingers and bit your shoulder gently—like a warning.
“You’re not allowed to come yet,” he said flatly. “Not until I say.”
You whimpered, legs trembling as Hizashi’s tongue sped up.
You clawed at Aizawa’s forearms, whimpering, “Please, I can’t—”
“Yes you can,” he murmured in your ear, voice a low growl. “You’ll take it. Give it to us.”
His hand slid from your breast and down your stomach, fingers slipping between your thighs to where Hizashi’s mouth was already working you over. He didn’t push him away. He didn’t slow him down. Instead, he pressed two fingers to your swollen clit and started to circle it in slow, ruthless circles, perfectly in sync with Hizashi’s tongue inside you.
The combination was devastating.
“Oh, fuck—” Your back arched hard against Aizawa’s chest, a sharp cry tearing from your throat.
“That’s it,” he said, voice still calm, still dark. “Let go. Right now.”
Hizashi moaned into you like he was encouraging it, his tongue and lips never breaking rhythm. You felt his fingers dig lightly into your thighs, holding you open as he sucked and licked, devouring every sound you made.
Aizawa’s fingers pressed harder, faster against your clit, and the world went white.
You came with a broken sob, shuddering violently in Aizawa’s lap, hips jerking helplessly against Hizashi’s mouth. He didn’t pull back—he kept licking, kept sucking, swallowing down everything you gave him—until you were gasping, trembling, on the edge of overstimulation.
Aizawa’s free arm banded around your waist, keeping you upright as his fingers slowed just enough to drag out the aftershocks, still circling your throbbing clit.
“Good girl,” he murmured, lips against your ear. “That’s what I wanted. Perfect.”
Hizashi pulled back just enough to grin up at you, his chin glistening, his voice wrecked. “Goddamn, sweetheart. You look so fuckin’ pretty like this.
And still—Aizawa’s fingers on your clit. Still slow, teasing little circles, making you twitch and whine in his lap while Hizashi rubbed his palms up your thighs, clearly ready for another round.
“Don’t think we’re finished,” Aizawa said, voice steady even as you quivered. “We’re just getting started.”
pairing: lando norris x fem!reader (no y/n, established rel.)
warnings: sweet and cliche, p in v, slight dumbification, sleepy soft sex, soft dom lando
wc: 2.7k
summary: lando comes home to his sleepy girlfriend after an exhausting triple-header
ale's note: RACE WEEEEK !!! i tried to write something soft and sweet but you know me i always have to add smut...
also, for everyone asking stalker!osc is coming soooon 🙂↕️
lando has his forehead against the cold taxi window, watching monaco slide past outside in a haze of orange light, thinking about nothing in particular except that he's nearly home.
three weeks. austin, then mexico city, then são paulo, back to back to back, a stretch of paddocks and airport lounges that wrung him dry. it’s been weeks since he’s had you in his arms. he’s had the curve of your spine and the smell of your hair on his mind for the entire length of the triple-header. he’d thought about calling last night, but hadn’t, worried you’d hear how sad he was and start crying too. he’d told the team he was flying back in the morning, but the idea of one more night on a starched hotel pillow, the silence of not-you, made him punch in a last-minute booking and wedge himself into a seat on the earliest possible plane.
it's not complicated. he just missed you.
theres a neurochemical whiplash to the change—from track adrenaline to the slurred, irritable exhaustion of a long haul, from the humidity and heat of brasil to the crispness of the monegasque night. he imagines you, tucking yourself into bed, sleepy. the way you’ll probably cry when you see him because you get emotional when you’re exhausted. the thing about loving someone who tires easily is that you start to get addicted to the way they sag into you. the trust in it, the vulnerbaility. lando is thinking about this as the taxi pulls up in front of the apartment building. he drags his duffel out, thanks the driver in mushy french,then keys himself into the lobby. the lift takes forever. he stands in it with his bag and the pervading stench of airplane and his bajillion unread messages from jon, watcing the floor numbers go up.
he opens the door with a metallic snick, careful and quiet in case you’re asleep. the first thing that hits him is the warmth, so different from the chill outside, and saturated with the scent of your perfume. you must have cooked something earlier, he thinks, something rich and garlicky. he kicks off his shoes, toeing them neatly by the door. he can hear sound from the tv in the living room, light from the screen flickering out into the dimly lit room. he leaves his bag by the door. he'll deal with it later.
and there you are, in the living room, curled on the couch. your cheek is smushed into the leather and your lips are parted, a tiny gloss of drool pooling at the edge of your mouth.
the blanket is half off, exposing your bare thigh. your hair is a wreck, mussed and waterfalling over your face. his throat tightens. he’s not sure what it is—maybe the picture you make, all sweet and oblivious, or maybe the memory of how empty the hotel beds felt these last weeks—but it does something to him.
there’s something in him—a failure of emotional maturity, probably, or maybe just a hole in his own childhood—that has always wanted to keep something soft alive, to have something that needs him. he thinks of you as a baby bird, or sometimes a puppy, all twitchy and sweet and trusting. it’s not meant to be an insult. you’re smarter than him, probably. but you’re still so easily tired by the world, so obviously in need of shelter. he sometimes has this weird need to build a house around you and stand outside all night, knife in hand, just in case.
he kneels by the sofa, reaching out to brush stray locks off your cheek. you don’t stir. he wonders if he can get away with watching you like this forever, but theres this greedy, selfish urge clawing at him. he missed you. he needs you to wake up. he drags his knuckles along your jaw, the softest nudge. you make a small noise, nose twitching, and your eyelids flutter. he strokes your face again, more deliberate. “hey, sleepyhead.”
your eyes flutter open, unfocused and bright. you blink slow, like your brain is still rebooting. it’s disgustingly cute.
“‘lando?” your voice is raspy, a little confused.
“hi, sweetheart,” he whispers back, smiling, “didn’t mean to wake you.” lie.
you stare at him, foggy, and your mouth curls into a half-smile, sleepy and dopey. “you’re not supposed to be home,” you say, like you’re accusing him of something horrible.
“missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t try to hide the way his voice breaks.
you try to sit up, but your limbs are noodles, and you just flop over sideways. he pulls you into his arms instead. you come down easy, melting against him like you want to crawl under his skin. you burrow your head into his armpit, so pliant and so warm that he feels like he could hold you forever.
“i missed you more,” you mumble into his skin. at least that’s what he thinks you say, your words are barely intelligible and slurred with sleep.
he lifts your chin with a finger and looks at you properly. your eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide, and your lips are parted, soft and lush. you look like you’ve just been fucked into oblivion, not like you’ve been napping. he grins, a little wolfish, and you catch it, your eyebrows lifting, “whuh?”.
“you’re just…” he shakes his head, can’t find the right word. “sweet.”
you roll your eyes, but it’s slow, like your brain is wading through syrup. he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and tucks your head back against his shoulder. the clock on the wall ticks to 12.
“you should get to bed,” he whispers, but you only whine, a wordless sound that means you want to stay right here, in his lap.
“i’ll carry you,” he offers, only half-joking, because all he wants is you in his arms, but your answering noise is so eager, he can’t help but smile.
“‘kay,” you say, and he hooks an arm under your knees and another around your back and stands, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you just cling, face buried in his neck, hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. he can feel your smile againt his skin.
he deposits you on the bed, pulling the duvet over you. your hand shoots out for him when he moves away.
“stay,” you whisper.
“i have to shower, sweetheart. i’m disgusting.”
“don’t care,” you slur. “wanna smell you.”
something in his chest squeezes. “5 minutes, yeah?”
you make a vague sound, somewhere between a yes and a snore.
he showers fast, rinsing the smell of recycled air off him. when he comes back, you’re still in exactly the same position, sweet, defencdeless, and completely his. he crawls into bed next to you, pulling your back against hsi chest. you make a pleased sound.
“i love you,” he breathes into your hair, and he’s never meant anything more in his life.
he wants to tell you more, everything. how lonely it is in those hotel rooms, how the world feels sharper and meaner when you’re not with him, how the thing he wants most isn’t the win or the champagne or the cameras but this: you, drooling on him, arms around him, so tired you can barely keep your eyes open but still greedy for his touch. how he could have all of the podiums and the trophies in the world, and how it’d still mean nothing without you.
but he knows you’re about to fall asleep again—he can feel your breath evening out, your muscles going slack—so instead he swallows the emotion down.
he kisses the crown of your head, then your temple, then your lips. you smile in your sleep, making a little blissed-out noise, and lando thinks: if this is what the rest of my life is, i’ll never need anything else.
꩜
lando wakes to sunlight spilling through the blinds. your arm is splayed over his chest, your hand has curled loose around his bicep. there’s a damp spot on his chest where you must have drooled, which makes him smile.
he’s always felt a little sick with how much he loves you. it gnaws at his insides, the affection. sometimes he thinks about you as a child—photos of you with fat cheeks and scraped knees, the stories you tell about getting locked out of the house by your older brother. he gets obsessed with the idea of having known you then. he wants to peel back the years and wrap his arms around every version of you, keep you safe and soft and protected, make sure nothing ever bruises you except the things he can kiss better.
he moves a fraction, and you grunt in protest, wiggling closer back into him. there’s something almost perverse about how easily you fold into him, no friction at all, only this puddling collapse. its like your bones have liquefied in the night. an hour ticks by and evebtually, you shift, eyelids fluttering.
“lando,” you mumble, and then, “lando, don’t let me go.”
he squeezes you and you nestle in. you’ve always been the coldest human alive, and in winter you use him like a hot water bottle. he lets you, likes it even, how you shove your iceblock feet between his legs.
eventually, you begin to stir. it starts with a hand at his waist, searching for him under the sheets. he rolls you to face him, and you blink up at him, dazed in the blue morning light. your hair’s a disaster, and your face is creased from the pillow. he wants to bite you, a little, just to see what you’d do.
you reach for him again, pulling his arm across your chest so his hand lands on your tits. you sigh, content, and it’s so obvious what you want that he has to laugh.
“missed me that much, huh?” he teases, but you don’t rise to the bait. you just push your tits into his palm and shiver, like you’re cold, like you can’t get enough of him. he obliges, thumb brushing over your nipple until it’s hard and you’re making those tiny whimpering sounds he loves.
“lando,” you whisper, drawn out and needy. he’s been waiting weeks to hear you like this.
he kisses you, slow and deep, licks into your mouth until you go slack. you melt, your body going boneless under his touch. he takes his time, kissing you like you’re oxygen. your tongue is lazy, letting him do what he wants, and he does—tilting your head, biting your lip, sucking your tongue until you moan into his mouth.
you whine when he pulls away, hands chasing him in effort to keep him close. he loves that—loves how you go floaty and dumb for him, how your only thought is how to get him closer.
he kisses your jaw, your throat, then slides down to lift your top, taking your nipple in his mouth. you arch, pulling him closer.
“greedy,” he laughs, low in his chest, and you only nod, lost to the sensation. he traces down your ribs, his hand spanning your waist, thumbs hooking into the band of your shorts. you buck up, hips chasing his touch, and he’s so hard it almost hurts, his cock pressed against your thigh.
“you want me?” he murmurs, and he’s a little mean about it because you always say yes, but this time you’re so gone you can’t even speak. you just nod, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth open, panting. he slides his hand down, cups your pussy over the fabric, and you whimper. he can feel the heat leaking through cotton.
“so wet, baby,” he coos, smug, and rubs slow circles through your shorts until you’re grinding desperate against his hand. he wants to see you, wants to fuck you until you can’t walk, but more than anything he wants you to just let go, let him do everything for you.
he slides his palms under the fabric and squeezes your ass. you grind down, making his cock twitch.
“jesus, you’re needy,” he murmurs, almost reverent.
you only make a broken, whimpery sound. he flips you, easy as tossing a pillow, and you let yourself be manhandled. he wants to laugh again, at how much you love being small, how much you love being handled, but it would ruin the spell. your eyes flutter shut, maybe with exhaustion, maybe with pleasure.
“you awake?” lando asks softly, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose.
“’m awake,” you slur, your expression caught between bliss and confusion. “missed you so much.”
“did you now?” he traces the line of your jaw with his tongue, nipping at your earlobe.
“mm. missed you. missed your cock,” you mumble, almost too quiet to hear.
he freezes, then pulls back to look at you. you’re blushing, but smiling, all the same.
“greedy,” he tuts, but the word is thick with lust.
“please?” you manage, and the word is so pathetic, so honest, he has no choice but to oblige you.
he peels your shorts down, and you try to help, barely, lifting your hips just enough for him to slide them off. your cunt is glistening, wet and puffy. he touches you gently, running his fingers over your clit, and you choke out a moan, clutching at his arm.
he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ve got you, sweetheart. just relax.”
“inside?” you look up at him, eyes wide and trusting. “lando, inside, please?”
and fuck, that voice. what else can he do but give you what you are so sweetly begging him for?
he peels off his boxers and lines himself up, presing the head of his cock against you and pushing in slow, savouring every inch of it. you gasp, back arching, hands grabbing for his arms, his shoulders, anything to anchor yourself.
“okay?” he asks, even though you’re already nodding, already grinding back onto him.
“feel so good,” your voice is slow, like you can’t concentrate on all the sensations at once.
he pulls out, thrusts back in, slow and shallow, and watches you come apart under him. you keep making these soft, kittenish sounds, keep scratching shallow lines down his back. he wants to fuck you harder, wants to pin you down and make you scream, but he knows that’s not what you need.
“pretty girl,” he praises, “you’re so fucking pretty. my good girl.”
“please,” you breathe. you’re almost crying, you don’t even know what you’re begging for.
he leans down, mouth at your ear, “you can cum, sweetheart. want you to.”
you do, eyes screwed shut and panting, cunt fluttering around his cock. then you melt, arms falling away. you blink up at him, dazed and grateful, a tiny smile pulling at your lips.
“’s good,” you mumble, then yawn, already half-asleep again.
he’s hasn’t finished, but he doesn’t care. he stays inside, just holding you, more for you than to chase his own pleasure. he thinks about just thrusting back inside you so he can cum—it’d be so quick, so easy—but looking at you, sated and sleepy, he knows he can't ruin that.
you whimper when he tries to pull out, arms and legs locking around him, trapping him inside.
“okay,” he laughs, breathless, so full of love he could burst, “okay, baby. i’ll stay.”
you sigh, content, and in minutes you’re asleep again, still clutching him. he stays inside you, uncomfortably hard, the heat of your cunt making his head swim, but he’s never been so happy.
he’s stuck there, buried in you, and it feels like the only place in the world he’s supposed to be. the room is warm and light, and lando thinks he might die here, in this bed, in this moment, and be happy forever.
you know that trope where it’s princess + knight, but they’ve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because he’s thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
── ✶ before you read: 1.4k words ; female reader ; established relationship ; very unserious influencer reader ; pro hero katsuki ; fluff and banter ; masterlist.
based on this post and amira’s hilarious comment
“Get ready with me to dump my pro hero boyfriend!”
You grin into your phone camera as you prop it up against a bottle of moisturizer on the bathroom counter. Beside you, Katsuki is brushing his teeth. The brushing immediately stops. You watch as his eyes narrow at you through the mirror, stifling a giggle.
“The fuck did you just say?”
You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. “Hi, guys!” you continue cheerfully, waving at the camera. “Today I’m getting ready to break up with my pro hero boyfriend. Some of you might know him as Dynamight—”
“Is this some bullshit new trend online?” He crosses his arms, toothbrush hanging in his mouth as he looks at you unamused.
“—who I’m leaving because, unfortunately, he’s become a huge burden in my life, and I need to cut him loose.”
The toothbrush leaves his mouth, falling into the sink as he gapes, “What?”
You reach for a makeup sponge. “Normally, I would start with skincare, but he buys me the expensive stuff, and since I’m dumping him and won’t have his wallet anymore, I have to make it last. Can’t be wasting it on him, you know?”
“Hah?” he snaps, inching closer as he stares into the camera with furrowed brows. You easily ignore him.
“I’ve been meaning to break up with him sooner, but I just didn’t want to handle all the crying and stuff—from him, not me, just to be clear.”
“I’m not gonna fuckin’ cry over your stupid ass video—”
“Unfortunately, he’s a very emotional person. Very clingy, too.”
“I’m not clingy. You’re the one who spams me with texts while I’m on patrol!”
You dab concealer beneath your eyes as he defends himself against every accusation you make, and it becomes far too difficult to hide your laughter. You let out a soft giggle, and he throws you a very offended glare. (Yes, Katsuki is smart enough to know that this is a silly little joke on your part just to be funny. No, that does not stop him from treating this as a serious matter in which he has to protect his dignity. Lucky for you, that only makes for better views.)
“Now, some people might think breaking up with a pro hero wouldn’t be very smart for my brand, but luckily, mine is very easy to replace.”
“Easy to replace?”
You have to look away from him because the expression on his face is making it ten times harder to pretend to take this seriously, and you’re barely keeping a straight face. “There are lots of blonde men in the world, so I’m sure I’ll easily find someone else to fit the role.”
“Who the fuck are you gonna find better than me, huh?” He challenges, particularly irritated by that statement.
“As you can see, he’s already in denial.”
“Oi! Don’t ignore me!”
“Anger is the next stage of grief.”
The phone is grabbed before you can dab on your blush, and he spins you around, pinning you against the bathroom counter as he gives you a dirty look. You break into a fit of giggles, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press an innocent kiss to the tip of his nose.
“Hi, baby,” you hum.
He raises a brow. “Don’t hi baby me, dumbass. You make sure you tell that camera that you’ll never dump your boyfriend and that there’s no other man—blonde or not—like him, and—”
You roll your eyes, hands cupping his cheeks as you pull him into a soft, slow kiss, cutting his words off effectively. He melts into you, kissing back as soon as your lips touch his, and you like to think that your silly idea only makes him kiss you a little more seriously. A little more meaningful, just to prove something.
“Don’t worry,” you peck the corner of his mouth, “I was just kidding. I’d never dump someone with pro hero money from the number five spot.”
— — — — —
“Get ready with me to get proposed to by my pro hero boyfriend!”
You beam at your phone camera from your vanity. Behind you, Katsuki is sprawled across the bed, one ankle hooked over the other, scrolling on his phone while sipping on his morning coffee. The coffee immediately goes down the wrong pipe.
He chokes, and a terribly strained coughing fit erupts from behind you. You almost feel bad for disrupting his peace on his day off—almost.
“Now, the proposal hasn’t been planned yet,” you explain to your hypothetical audience while reaching for your moisturizer, “but I’ve decided I want it to happen today.”
Another coughing fit. “What?”
“Katsuki, are you okay? You’re coughing a lot today. Do you have a cold?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, woman—what the fuck are you up to this time?”
You give him an innocent smile as you say, “Nothing!”
You’ve decided to keep this little game going for as long as you can—a new scheme whenever you can to keep him on his toes. Partially because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his reactions, but partially because, truthfully, you think seeing a softer, more human side of Katsuki will do him some wonders in the public eye. And what sort of doting girlfriend would you be if you didn’t take your chances at helping his public image?
“Why do you keep lying to your audience through these stupid videos?” he demands.
You gasp. “Lying?”
“Yes, lying,” he gives you a flat look, eyeing you like you’re crazy for denying the accusation.
“Why would this be a lie?” You challenge. Then, dramatically, you gasp, clutching your chest in mock hurt as you hiss, “So are you saying that you don't want to marry me?”
“W-what? I didn’t fuckin’ say that—don’t put words in my mouth—”
“So, I guess this video is now becoming a get-ready-with-me to get dumped, because apparently Katsuki wants to break up with me because he fell out of love with me and found someone new. I think he’s been emotionally cheating on me with someone—a sidekick, I’d bet. Always trust your gut, ladies—your gut never lies.”
“Hah?! You—” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he exhales tiredly and gives you a dry look. “You know what, that’s right. M’fuckin’ dumping your ass.”
You clap a hand over your mouth dramatically. “Everyone cancel him!”
— — — — —
“Get ready with me to make out with my pro hero boyfriend!”
You beam at your phone camera yet again. But today, for the first time in the history of these videos, there is no Katsuki behind you that is staring at you in disbelief or glaring at you in irritation. Instead, Katsuki is sitting on the bed, looking up from his phone as a wide, smug grin spreads across his face.
“Finally,” he says, setting his phone aside. “You thought of a good one.”
You blink. “Wait—”
“No, no, you can’t take shit back now. You wanna make out with your pro hero boyfriend, so that’s what your video is gonna be, baby.”
“Katsuki—”
He stands, hastily walking over as he says in approval, “Now we’re talkin. I like this video idea.”
He materializes in front of you, easily grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you up before he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. His lips start peppering kisses up your throat and along your jaw as he works his way up to your lips. You melt against your will, giggling a little as you hiss (weakly), “Kats! We can’t…you can’t kiss me yet!”
“And why the fuck not, huh? You got some other boyfriend to kiss? Bring ‘im here, I can fight.”
“I have to get ready first,” you huff, shoving him lightly, “that’s the point of a get-ready-with-me? You have to wait till my makeup is done.”
“What’s the point in that?” He hums, pressing a soft, delicate peck to your lips before he murmurs, “s’just gonna be a waste of all your hard work when m’done with you, yeah baby?”
You shiver at the tone in his voice, pupils dilating as you stare at him. His eyes are twinkling with amusement as he gives you a wolfish grin, reaching over and locking your phone, and cutting the camera off from recording. This video might not end up getting posted at all, you think—this one might just break community guidelines.
going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.
pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”
and he just laughs a huff out his nose.
when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”
“how many do you need?” he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.
“about ten thousand.”
“how many do you have?”
“three hundred.”
he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks you’re being a little… optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.
“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.
then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”
he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.
“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”
takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.
“it’s also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.”
you were way too drunk, you realized it too late as you stumbled into somebody at some random house party. they caught you by the waist before you could fall. your vision was hazy, your eyes were glassy, but even through your bottle-induced haze, you saw those piercing red eyes staring back at you.
“...you’re pretty.” you muttered stupidly, allowing this familiar stranger to help you slump onto the couch. you couldn’t tell if they were drunk too, or if your compliment had gotten to them, but his face had an undeniable blush spread across it.. “..thanks. you’re drunk.” his voice was gruff, yet soothing. you would hear it all day. you wanted to.
“oh really? i couldn’t tell.”
he let out a scoff at that, seemingly annoyed with you. but he didn't move from his position next to you.
“.. he does this a lot too.” there was a pause after you said that, as if the stranger was contemplating on whether or not to ask further. he brushed a hand through his unruly blonde hair, “who’s he?”
“my ex. he acted juuust like you.” you booped his nose as if for emphasis. “he’d act all tough, but he didn’t leave me. well, i guess he did leave, but that's besides the point.”
you didn’t see anyone next to you for a brief moment, making you think you hallucinated the whole thing, before a bottle of water was abruptly shoved in your face. “drink.”
he slid next to you again like it was natural, his hand moved to go around you by instinct, before he retracted it, you grabbed onto his arm. “..please.”
as if on cue he cradled you to his chest, taking the opportunity to press his head against the top of yours. “you feel like him too.” you mumbled, “sweaty hands and everything.”
he didn’t laugh, but you felt his smile against your head.
it was comforting, the best you’d felt in the months following your break up. you felt the drowsiness overcoming you, prompting you to move your head closer to his chest and lay against his heart. it felt like the same heart that served as your lullaby for years.
“..i hope he misses me.” your eyes were closed, that familiar feeling of comfort and space welcoming you, though the last words that echo through your mind and fuel your dreams sound just like katsuki’s.
it was your birthday, but you didn’t see katsuki at all. he was nowhere to be seen in the morning and only left you a note saying he was gonna be back later. which was weird, because he’d usually be the first one to say “happy birthday” to you using the classic “tch. i wanted to get it over with.” but you knew it wasn’t true. he really wanted to be the first in everything.
including this.
so when you got home from your workplace, you frowned upon entering. the room was dimly lit when you stepped further inside, your brows knitting together in confusion as you slipped your shoes off by the door.
“katsuki?” you called out, looking around the apartment.
then you heard footsteps behind you.
you quickly turned around and saw him standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a birthday cake carefully in his hands. the light from the candles illuminated his features, softening them beneath the warm glow. his crimson eyes flickered towards yours, watching your reaction carefully despite the calm expression he wore.
“kats…?” you stared at him, confused.
he carefully stepped towards you. “i made you somethin’.”
your eyes dropped towards the cake, taking in the smooth cream, the perfectly cut strawberries arranged on top, and the clean frosting work that looked almost too pretty to eat. of course it came out good. this was katsuki, after all.
a smile slowly spread across your lips.
“this is why i haven’t seen you all day?” you chuckled softly, looking back up at him.
“yeah. had to do some shoppin’.” he shrugged casually, though there was a hint of pride in his voice.
he looked adorable like this. hair messy from being in the kitchen all day, sleeves pushed up his forearms, and a faint streak of flour dusted across his cheek that he clearly hadn’t noticed.
your chest tightened a little at the sight.
“c’mon, blow the candles…” he said, smirking suddenly. “or you can blow somethin’ else if you’re in the mood.”
you rolled your eyes immediately, though your laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
“you’re unbelievable.”
“yeah? but you love me.”
you rolled your eyes.
then—
your attention fell towards the cake again. the candlelight flickered softly across your features as you closed your eyes, quietly thinking about your wish.
after a few seconds passed, you opened your eyes and blew the candles out.
smoke curled into the air between you both.
for a moment, katsuki just looked at you silently, his expression softer than before. then he leaned down slightly, one hand brushing against your waist.
“happy birthday, baby.”
a/n: this is for you 🐨 anon and for all the people who have the birthdays around this time :D
contains- HEAVY mentions of vomiting,fat fat TW lots of vomiting containments,if you think it’s ooc scroll,i tried to make him as like grumpy nice as i could,sweet lil boi katsuki,this is how i felt on my molly comedown,fun fact i’ve never had covid,implied female reader
sypnosis- you get sick he gets worried cause your his everything so he’s tweaking balls but it’s super sweet
wc- idk why i write a word count fuck do i know but this shit is pretty long
──────────────────────
bakugo had always thought love was for other people.
for idiots. for people softer than him. people who needed to say it every five seconds, people who built their lives around it.
people stupid enough to let another person hold that much power over them.
he thought he was above it honestly
thought he was too sharp, too angry, too goddamn difficult to ever let someone that close.
and then there was you..
and somehow, somewhere between your sweetness, the softness that grounded him… you lowkey ruined him.
because now everything was you.
his mornings, his nights.
the empty side of his bed when you weren’t there.
the quiet, the noise.
the way he checked his phone too often. the way his chest physically tightened when you sounded even slightly off over text.
it was pathetic.
worse—it was terrifying.
because loving you meant there was now something in this world he could lose.
and bakugo hated losing.
which was exactly why right now, standing in your dorm kitchen at two in the fucking morning.
he looked like he was one more issue away from punching something.
the place was dim except for the stove light over the kettle and the weak yellow glow from the hallway lamp.
his hair was a mess, black tank wrinkled, grey sweats hanging low on his hips, jaw tight enough to crack a tooth
his knee bounced against the cabinet while he waited for the water to boil.
tap. tap. tap.
his arms were crossed so hard it looked painful.
every few seconds, he checked his phone.
every few seconds, he looked toward your bedroom.
every few seconds, his stomach twisted.
you looked awful.
and that was saying something, because he thought you were beautiful in every possible state.
but right now, fever-flushed and half-delirious under blankets, eyes glassy and skin too warm, lips dry, voice weak and scratchy—you looked fragile.
too fragile, and he fucking hated it.
you’d brushed it off yesterday.
“i’m fine, katsuki, it’s probably just a cold.”
bullshit.
by last night you were shaking under blankets, barely eating..
burning up under his palm, too tired to even argue when he showed up with medicine and basically moved himself in.
he’d barely slept.
every hour he was checking your temperature.
making you drink water, forcing medicine into your hand.
standing there with that permanent scowl like if he glared hard enough at the flu it would leave your body out of fear.
the kettle clicked.
he swore under his breath and moved fast, making tea like he was handling explosives.
when he walked back into your room, the sight of you hit him all over again.
curled up in bed, buried in blankets.
hair a mess against the pillow, cheeks warm with fever.
your breathing heavier than usual. your lashes rested against flushed skin.
and even asleep, you looked uncomfortable—small little shifts, restless movements, soft frowns pulling at your face.
his chest tightened so hard it pissed him off.
he set the mug down quietly, walked over body so tense he looks like he was about to explode.
he sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipped under his weight.
his hand moved before he even thought about it rough fingers brushing your forehead, then your cheek.
still too warm.
“fuck’s sake…” it came out quieter than he meant, but still bite to it.
your eyes blinked open slowly, heavy and tired.
“you’re still awake?” your voice was rough, sleepy.
he clicked his tongue.
“obviously. you think i’m gonna sleep while you look like death?”
even sick, you gave him the weakest little smile.
“aren’t you romantic.”
“shut up.” he grumbled, sounder sharper then usual.
but his hand stayed on your face, thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone.
his expression looked irritated, but his eyes gave him away.
sharp red eyes that always looked angry now looked something worse, worried. that seemed like nothing but katsuki worried? shit.
you could see it in the way his shoulders wouldn’t relax, the way his jaw kept clenching.
the way his other hand kept tapping against his thigh.
you reached up weakly, fingers brushing his wrist
“katsuki…”
he hated when you said his name like that.
soft and tired, like you were trying to calm him down. because it meant he was failing at hiding it
“don’t,” he muttered.
“don’t what?” you murmured eyebrows creasing
“don’t do that bullshit where you act like i’m overreacting.”
you blinked at him, not hurt just confused.
he looked away, rubbing a hand over his face.
“you’ve been sick for two damn days and i’ve googled enough symptoms to qualify for a fucking medical degree. if you get any worse, i’m dragging your ass to recovery girl myself.”
you let out the tiniest laugh, immediately followed by a cough.
he was up instantly.
“sit up.”
“i’m fine—” you waved him off
“i said sit up.” his voice was sharper then he intended
but his hands were already gentle, one behind your back helping you up.
the other handing you water. careful.
like you were something breakable and he hated that he had to treat you like it.
you took a sip, he watched a damn hawk.
“more.”
“s’too much..”
“more.”
you drank more, struggling to swallow.
“there. happy?”
“not even a little.” he sounded genuine
he took the glass, set it down, then just… stayed there.
sitting close.
too close to pretend this wasn’t eating him alive.
his fingers dragged through messy blond hair, frustrated.
“i hate this.” he finally sounded less .. angry ..
your voice was quieter now. “me being sick?”
“yes, genius.”
his eyes snapped to yours.
“i hate not being able to do shit. i hate seeing you like this. i hate that i can’t fix it.”
that one slipped out
his mouth shut immediately after, like he regretted saying it.
but you just looked at him
really looked at him, and there it was
beneath the attitude. beneath the sharp mouth and the dry replies and the irritated sighs.
fear, real fear
because bakugo loved like a disaster, silently violently and completely.
and the idea of losing you—even to something small.
something stupid like the flu making your body too weak and your smile too tired..
made something ugly crawl up his spine.
because once you love someone like this, your brain becomes cruel
what if it gets worse
what if you missed something
what if he should’ve come sooner
what if one day it isn’t just the flu
what if one day he can’t fix it
he swallowed hard, angry at himself for even thinking it
it was so stupid he thought, it was a flu and he was acting like you were on the verge of death
your hand found his, warm, you squeezed.
“hey.”
he looked at you, even with the most tense body his eyes looked so soft
“i’m okay.” you tried to push
his laugh was humorless.
“you look like shit.”
“wow okay.”
“you sound like shit too.”
“doing it again!.”
“what? i’m telling the truth..”
even with the dry tone. even with the permanent grudge sitting in his voice like he was personally offended by your immune system, he would not shut up.
he couldn’t! every five minutes—
“did you take the meds?”
“yes.”
“all of them?”
“katsuki—”
“that’s not an answer.”
or
“drink more water.”
“i just did.”
“well drink more??”
or
“are you colder?”
“no.”
“warmer?”
“no.”
“then why do you look worse?”
“because you’re being dramatic and overthinking!!.”
“no it’s because you look like shit.”
he said it like an insult, but his hand was already on your forehead again.
always.
forehead, neck, cheek even the wrist.
checking temperature like he didn’t trust thermometers to do their damn job
his brows pulled tighter every single time, his knee bounced when he sat beside you.
he barely ate because he was too busy making sure you did.
every little sound you made had his head turning, every sigh nd every cough.
every small shift under the blankets.
it was like his body had rewired itself to respond only to you.
and the worst part was, he knew he was being insane.
he knew it.
but knowing didn’t stop the awful pit in his stomach every time your face scrunched in discomfort or your voice came out weaker than usual.
bakugo was good in emergencies.
he was good when buildings were collapsing, when villains were screaming, when everything was on fire.
but this?
you being sick in bed, too warm and too tired and too quiet?
this made him feel fucking useless, and useless made him mean.
so he hovered, exhausted, and impossibly gentle.
by one in the morning, he’d finally passed out beside you welllll not properly
more like his body gave up before his brain did
he was half laying on top of the blankets, one arm still thrown over your waist like even unconscious he refused to let you out of reach.
his face was turned toward you, brows still faintly furrowed even in sleep.
blond hair a complete mess from running his hands through it all day.
the lamp on your bedside table cast soft light over him his breathing was slow finally.
for the first time in hours, you tried not to move too much..
but your stomach turned hard, that awfullll sudden drop.
the kind that gave you barely enough warning, your eyes snapped open.
oh no.
you sat up too fast, one hand slapping over your mouth, the room spinning with it.
the movement was sharp enough that the mattress shifted hard.
and beside you bakugo’s body reacted before his brain did.
his arm tightened first.
then his whole body jolted awake like someone had set off an explosion in the room
his eyes opened fast, wild and unfocused for half a second, still dragged through sleep.
“the fuck—”
his voice was rough, thick with exhaustion from only an hour or two of sleep.
then he saw you sitting upright and shaking, hand over your mouth.
and his heart fucking dropped straight into his stomach all the sleep vanished so fast it was violent.
he was up immediately.
“hey— hey, what’s wrong?? baby what’s wrong—“
his voice changed instantly.
still rough, still him, but stripped clean of the irritation. all sharp concern, his hands were already on you.
one on your back, one on your forehead, then your neck like he could telll from the temperature of your skin what was going on
“talk to me. what happened? you dizzy? fever worse? can’t breathe?”
you shook your head quickly, swallowing hard.
“i— i think i’m gonna throw up.”
his eyes widened.
“shit—“
you looked panicked now, which made him panic harder
“i really think i’m gonna throw up.”
“okay. okay, fine. that’s fine.”
“that doesn’t sound like you think it’s fine.”
“because it’s one in the fucking morning and you look like you’re about to die, excuse me for sounding concerned.”
you made a distressed noise, pressing your hand harder over your mouth.
“katsuki—”
he was already moving.
out of bed. grabbing the nearest thing. water bottle, towel absolutely no plan.
“bathroom. now. c’mon.” like his slow was forgot you were on the verge of throwing up everywhere
you stood too fast and immediately wobbled.
“shit—”
he caught you before you could even stumble properly, one arm wrapping around your waist the other gripping your arm
his face had gone pale under the usual anger
“easy.. easy..— don’t do that.”
“i’m trying not to vomit on your floor.”
“i don’t give a shit about the floor.”
his voice was too fast now
his heart was pounding so hard it made him feel sick too, because rationally, he knew this was normal.
flu fever nausea normal.. but love made people irrational!!
and all his brain could think was wrong wrong wrong.
“you’re okay,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself too. “you’re fine. just breathe i’ve got you.”
you nodded, but your breathing had gone shallow, nervous.
“what if i actually throw up?”
he stared at you, blinking.
“..then you throw up baby. that’s usually how it works.”
“katsuki, i’m serious.”
“so am i..?”
his hand slid to the back of your neck, grounding very warm too
his red eyes locked on yours, wide awake now. scared as hell
“your not allowed to freak out because if you freak out, i freak out, and i’m already about two seconds away from losing my shit so please try and stay calm”
despite everything, you let out the weakest breath of a laugh.
his eyes were wide
not the usual sharp glare, not annoyance, not irritation—just genuine ugly fear sitting raw in his expression.
it almost made you forget your own panic almost..
because your stomach twisted again harder this time sharp enough to make your whole body fold.
“katsuki, i—”
you barely got the words out before you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet.
one hand gripping the seat, the other still pressed over your mouth.
he was down with you instantly so fast it was like he’d been expecting it.
one second standing the next crouched behind you on the cold bathroom floor
one hand flat between your shoulder blades, the other immediately pulling your hair back from your face.
every loose strand every piece
getting it out of the way with shaking fingers that were trying so hard not to shake.
“it’s okay. it’s okay, just let it happen.”
his voice was low now, scarily soft..
trying to be steady for you even while his own heart was slamming so hard it felt painful.
“don’t fight it, baby. just get it out, yeah? i’ve got you.”
you made a miserable little noise, breathing uneven.
your whole body felt hot and shaky and awful throat burning with that horrible creeping feeling
your eyes watered.
“i really, really hate this…”
“i know.” he said quietly
his palm rubbed slow circles into your back
“i know, baby. i know. just breathe.”
another wave hit and you leaned harder over the toilet coughing your body trembling with it.
he moved closer, so close his knee pressed against yours.
his hand stayed firm on your back while the other kept your hair gathered tight
thumb brushing against the side of your head without him even realizing it.
his chest hurt, he hated this hated seeing you like this hated how helpless it made him feel
if there was something to punch, something to fight something to destroy, he’d do it without thinking
but this?
all he could do was kneel on the bathroom floor and whisper you through it.
and somehow that felt harder.
you swallowed thickly, voice small and embarrassed.
“are you gonna hate me if i throw up in front of you.”
the second the words left your mouth his eyes narrowed, not pissed just the typical katsuki look.
immediately though
like the idea offended him on a personal level
“are you out of your mind?” he said still slightly soft
your eyes stayed fixed on the toilet.
feverish glassy
“i’m serious…” you murmured
i mean the thought of .. bakugo .. seeing you vomit your last meals into his toilet was kinda scary ..?
his hand pressed more firmly against your back
“look at me.”
you hesitated
he softened his voice, but only barely.
“baby. look at me.”
slowly, you turned your head enough to see him, the bubble of acidity still in your throat.
and god he looked terrified.
blond hair a complete mess from sleep.. eyes red and wide and awake in the worst way..
jaw tight, worry written all over his face so plainly it made your chest ache.
he looked more scared than you did.
because bakugo didn’t scare easy but this shit ? this had him unraveling.
“listen to me,” he said, quieter now. “i do not give a single fuck about that. not one. if you throw up, you throw up. if you throw up on me.”
a weak laugh caught in your throat, his ahh would still look fine covered in vomit.
he kept going because once he started, he couldn’t stop.
“you think i’m sitting here worried about that? i’m sitting here trying not to think about whether i need to drag your stubborn ass to a hospital at one in the morning.”
his voice cracked at the edges, thinking about having to take you to the hospital ..
“that’s what i’m worried about.”
your eyes stung his thumb brushed under one of them before a tear could fall.
gentler than someone like him should know how to be
“you being sick, looking like shit, throwing up, drooling, whatever disgusting thing your body decides to do right now.. that is not gonna make me love you less dumbass.”
another shaky breath left you.
“your so sweet.”
“yeah dont push it.”
but his mouth twitched barely, watching your head turn toward the bowl as you whined.
“i’ve got you,” he said again, softer this time. “just get it out, baby i’ve got you.”
another sharp wave rolled through you and your body answered before your pride could
you leaned forward hard, one hand gripping the toilet seat so tight your knuckles hurt.
the other bracing against the tile and bakugo stayed right there.
no hesitation, not even a twitch in the broke
his hand firm against your back, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades
the other still keeping your hair pulled away from your face like it was the most natural thing in the world
“that’s it,” he murmured voice low. “don’t fight it. just let it happen.”
your whole body trembled with it miserable and exhausted and embarrassed all at once
it was awful
your eyes watered
your throat burned
you felt disgusting
and through all of it he didn’t so much as flinch didn’t gag or didn’t make a face not even pull away.
if anything he moved closer
because right now the fact that you were throwing up barely registered compared to the absolute horror of seeing you sick like this
his heart felt like it had dropped somewhere near the floor and stayed there
he was too busy listening to every shaky breath every weak sound every cough every little thing that might tell him if you were okay
that was all he cared about
you were all he cared about
not the mess. not the exhaustion, not the middle of the night
you
his hand slid higher up your back, his palm warm through your shirt
“good,” he whispered. “good girl, baby. i know, i know. just get it out.”
he leaned down, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades so soft, barely there
“there you go”
your body shook again little trembles like shocks.
“fuck, i know i know, sweetheart.”
his voice had gone frighteningly sweet
the kind of soft that only ever came out when he was genuinely scared the kind nobody else got to hear
kinda made it obvious just how badly this was getting to him because bakugo only got that gentle when he was terrified.
after the second time your body finally seemed to give up
the worst of it passed leaving you shaky and limp and drained in a way that felt almost unreal.
you let out the weakest groan and, with absolutely no dignity left, dropped the side of your face against the toilet seat.
just gave up. so fucking done. a corpse.
for a second there was silence.
then of course ..
“…that is fucking disgusting.”
your eyes barely opened to the sound of katsukis half sarcastic half genuine voice.
“leave me here.” you weakly whined
his mouth twitched.
“absolutely not.. you look like a dying victorian child.”
“good.”
“your gross”
but he was already reaching for a washcloth
running it under cool water, wringing it out with one hand while keeping half his attention on you like if he looked away for too long something catastrophic would happen.
he came back crouching in front of you this time.
and god the sight of you.
completely exhausted.. hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy and barely open, looking like your soul had physically left your body and taken the last of your dignity with it.
it made his chest ache.
because even looking like this, looking wrecked and miserable and half asleep on a bathroom floor and you were still his favorite thing in the world.
“c’mere.”
his voice was quieter now, still firm
you let him tilt your chin up.
the cloth touched your face, cool against overheated skin.
he wiped your mouth carefully.
like this wasn’t gross or inconvenient like taking care of you was as natural as breathing.
because to him it was.
“open.”
you blinked so weakly
“what?”
“mouth. water. don’t make me repeat myself.”
you muttered something about him being bossy, but obeyed anyway
he handed you the cup, watching like a hawk eyes slightly narrowed like he was studying the way you drank water
“swish.”
you did side eyeing him at the fact his ass we being so for real
“spit.”
you did again giving up.
“again.”
you gave him a tired glare
“are you like enjoying this or something?”
“immensely.”
you did it again
he nodded once satisfied like he’d just completed a military operation.
then he stood turning to flush the toilet and toss the cloth aside, the sound of the flush filled the quiet bathroom.
you had managed to shift enough to sit back against the wall now, legs weakly stretched out, head tipped back against the tile.
you looked half asleep and completely wrung out.
your eyes barely stayed open as you watched him move.
big muscular shoulders tense even now
black tank still wrinkled
blond hair sticking up everywhere from stress and sleep and running his hands through it a hundred times
still hovering and still worrying like a shit
still looking at you like if he blinked too long, he’d miss something important
your voice came out small
“katsuki?”
he looked over immediately eyes doing a full body scan before he replied just to check
“what.”
you swallowed
suddenly shy in the weirdest moment possible but honestly you looked dead as fuck right now so who cares
“do you still love me?”
for once there was
no sharp reply.
no sarcastic comment.
no immediate insult to cover how much he felt
just silence for a second.
then he looked at you, really looked at you like he got lost in the sight infront of him
sitting on the bathroom floor.. sick and exhausted, embarrassed and still somehow worried about something like that.
and something in his expression softened, completely like scarily fucking soft
a small smile against his lips
rare enough to feel like catching lightning
“yeah.. course’ i do baby..”
your eyes stung instantly cause like that’s really your man
he crossed the room like it was nothing, like there was never another possible answer
you made a weak little protest when he leaned down shifting your legs and your body like you weighed nothing
“katsuki, i can walk—”
“you can barely keep your eyes open dickhead”
“rude.”
“just facts.”
and with stupid unfair ease, he slid one arm behind your back, the other under your knees, and lifted you straight into his arms.
like you weighed nothing .. i say again ..
he’d do it a thousand times and never complain
instinctively, your arms curled around his neck your head falling against his shoulder.
he adjusted you higher against his chest when you shifted holding you tighter.
protective without thinking just his natural way when it came to yoh
your body was finally giving in now, the adrenaline gone just utterly drained
you could hear his heartbeat against his chest
still too fast, still worried but he’s always worried.
“your heart is very fast.”
“mhm.. shhh..”
your eyebrows creased.. rude.
your voice was barely above a murmur, sleepy and soft against his neck trying again whilst his foot pushed the door open
“i love you”
his steps slowed for half a second, just enough to feel it.. his grip tightened
and though his voice was still rough, still unmistakably him there was something quiet in it.
something full
“yeah?” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he carried you back to bed.
“i love you too”
──────────────────────
a/n: nawww so cute — also peep him and that good girl nngggggg daddy
*•̩̩͙✩˚A/N:Okay guys here’s part two! You ask and you shall receive or whatever. Anyways I’m half asleep already so you better enjoy cause I forced myself to stay awake. Yeahh enjoy babes xx
Shoto Todoroki — “You Want Me to Leave?”
You didn’t usually mess with Shoto.
Not because you couldn’t — he was your boyfriend, not a porcelain doll — but because he was usually the one leaving you flustered with his bluntness, quiet observations, and tendency to walk around shirtless after morning showers like it was no big deal.
But today? You were going to get him back.
The apartment was quiet, filled with soft sunlight. Shoto was sitting on the edge of the bed, one socked foot on the ground, the other resting across his knee as he scrolled through messages from the agency. His white-and-red hair was still slightly tousled from his post-shower routine, and the edge of a smile played at his lips as he absentmindedly read through the group chat he barely replied to.
You stood in front of the dresser, digging for comfy clothes, clad in just his oversized shirt and a pair of shorts that were hidden by the hem.
It was the perfect setup.
You turned, keeping your tone even. “Sho? Can you step out for a second? I’m gonna change.”
He didn’t even look up. “I don’t mind.”
You blinked. “I know, but I do. Just for now. Please?”
That got his attention.
His phone lowered slowly. His two-toned eyes flicked to your face, then down to your outfit, and back up again with clear confusion.
“…You want me to leave the room?”
You nodded, biting your lip to keep a straight face. “Just while I change.”
His brows furrowed slightly. “But… I’ve seen you change a hundred times.”
You shrugged. “Still. I want privacy.”
There was a beat of silence.
Shoto blinked. Once.
Then again.
“…Are you mad at me?”
You had to fight every urge to not crack right then. “No! I just… want to change alone.”
Now he looked genuinely concerned. “Did I do something?”
“No. It’s not about you.”
“Then why—”
You sighed dramatically. “Sho, just please step out for a second.”
He stood slowly, frowning, clearly puzzled. “If you’re upset, I’d rather talk about it.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve never been shy before. You’ve literally sat on my lap while in nothing but a thong.”
“Well, maybe I changed.”
A beat.
“You’re lying.”
You froze, staring at him with mock offense. “What?”
He tilted his head just slightly, watching you like a puzzle he was trying to solve. “You’re messing with me.”
He smiled faintly, proud of himself for catching on. “You forget I live with you.”
“So you’re not going to fall for it?”
“I didn’t say that.” He raised an eyebrow, voice smooth. “I just want to know why you felt the need to prank me. I’ve been very good today.”
“You left wet towels on the bathroom floor.”
“…That was a strategic oversight.”
You giggled, but he stepped closer, tilting his head with curiosity.
“Was it payback for when I accidentally walked in on you last week?”
“You didn’t even flinch. You just said ‘nice’ and walked out.”
“It was nice,” he said, deadpan.
You laughed, cheeks heating.
He stopped in front of you now, arms resting gently on either side of your waist, his touch warm even through the shirt.
“You’re really cute when you lie,” he murmured. “But not very convincing.”
“I had you going for a second.”
“Two seconds. Maybe.”
His thumbs traced slow, absent-minded circles at your hips. “But… for the record…”
You looked up, caught off guard by the faint blush rising to his ears.
“If you ever did want me to leave… I’d probably just wait outside the door. Quietly. Staring at the floor.”
You blinked. “That’s… weirdly adorable.”
“I don’t like the idea of you hiding from me.”
“It wouldn’t be hiding.”
“It would feel like it.”
You softened. “Sho…”
“I know it’s stupid,” he added quickly, letting out a quiet breath. “But I like knowing I can be close to you. That you trust me. That you want me there.”
Your hand found his cheek gently, brushing his bangs aside.
“I do,” you said. “I always do.”
“Then don’t prank me again,” he mumbled, almost pouty now. “You looked serious. I thought I messed up.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close. “I’m sorry.”
He hummed. “You can make it up to me.”
“Oh? How?”
He leaned down, his mouth brushing your ear.
“Let me help you change.”
Your face burned. “Shoto—!”
He smiled, just a little smug now. “What? It’s the least you can do.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m yours.”
“Fine. But I pick the music this time.”
He nodded, leading you toward the closet. “As long as it’s not the glitter song.”
“Sho—”
“No glitter song.”
Enji Todoroki — “You want me to… what?”
The hum of fire from the kitchen had faded.
That meant he’d finished dinner.
You stretched on the couch, glancing at the clock. It was already late, and Enji was sticking to his off-duty promise — no agency calls, no patrols, just one quiet evening together. He had cooked for you (like always), showered (like always), and now he was probably in the bedroom, folding towels unnecessarily (like always).
He was still Endeavor — sharp, structured, proud — but the man who lived in your home wasn’t the firestorm on TV. With you, he was quieter. Slower. Awkward, sometimes. Like he wasn’t used to being wanted for anything soft.
That’s why tonight felt like the perfect time to mess with him just a little.
You padded into the bedroom, towel slung around your shoulders, robe tight around your waist. He was at the edge of the bed, reading glasses pushed up on his nose, quietly browsing his tablet. Shirtless, of course — his skin still warm from the shower, hair damp and pushed back.
You stood by the closet, holding a change of clothes in your hand, pretending to look thoughtful.
“Hey, babe?”
His head tilted toward you, one thick brow lifting in silent acknowledgment. He didn’t speak — just waited. That’s how Enji was. No wasted words unless necessary.
“I’m gonna change now,” you said lightly, facing him, playing it casual. “Can you, um… step out for a sec?”
He blinked.
“…Why?”
There it was — the first crack. You bit back a smile.
“I just need to change,” you repeated, hiding your grin behind your voice. “Alone.”
He didn’t move. His jaw flexed, and you could see the gears turning in that sharp, structured brain of his. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but he was the type to assume he’d messed up.
A long silence. He stared at you, unreadable. And then, finally:
“I’ve seen you naked. Multiple times.”
You turned slightly away, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Yeah, but still. I don’t know. Could you just… wait outside for a minute?”
Now he looked genuinely puzzled. His frown deepened, not out of annoyance, but confusion — as if he were running the scenario through his brain and couldn’t find the logic in it.
“You’re uncomfortable changing in front of me now?” he asked slowly. “…Did something happen?”
You almost broke.
“No! I mean, nothing bad.” You waved your hand, trying to be breezy. “I just… feel like it. I don’t know.”
Enji’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, jaw flexing. You could see his brain working overtime. And it was adorable.
“…If I’ve done something to upset you,” he said, voice quieter, “you can tell me. You don’t have to—”
“Oh my god, Enji—no,” you interrupted quickly, walking over to put your hand on his arm. “I’m not upset. I swear. Just… could you step out for a sec?”
Now he was really confused. Like, genuinely stuck.
He looked at the door. Then back at you. Then at the bed. Then back at the closet.
“…You’re not… testing me, are you?” he asked, clearly suspicious now.
You laughed — you had to. “Testing you? What?”
“You’ve never asked me to leave before. I don’t understand.”
That was true. Enji was normally the one who’d politely look away or give you space — until the relationship deepened and boundaries blurred. But now that you were well past that stage, this sudden request threw him completely off balance.
He stepped back slightly. “If this is some kind of… relationship boundary reset, I’ll respect it. I just don’t—” He broke off again. “Are you mad at me?”
That did it. You absolutely couldn’t keep it together anymore. You burst into laughter, doubling over a bit, and Enji looked even more alarmed.
“I’m pranking you, you dummy!”
He blinked.
“You… what?”
“I’m pranking you,” you repeated through laughter. “It’s a trend — telling your husband to leave so you can change, even though it makes no sense. I wanted to see what you’d do.”
He just stared at you.
For a very long time.
“…You’re joking.”
“I just said it’s a prank!”
Enji exhaled, half-relieved and half-exasperated. “You’re playing games now?”
“I had to! You’re so serious all the time.” You grabbed his hand, eyes still sparkling. “You were about to spiral.”
“I was not about to spiral.”
“You were definitely spiraling. You thought I was mad at you!”
He grunted and looked away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. You caught the faintest pink at the tops of his ears.
“…You caught me off guard,” he muttered. “That’s all.”
You grinned, still holding his hand. “You really thought I didn’t want you in the room anymore?”
“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted, eyes softening slightly. “You’ve never asked me that. It felt… abrupt.”
That was his way of saying it unsettled him. Which, okay, made you feel a tiny bit bad. But he also looked so flushed and confused that you couldn’t help but tease him more.
“Aww, poor flamey,” you said, bumping his hip. “Didn’t know what to do with himself.”
Enji gave you a flat look, but you saw the amused twitch in his mouth. You knew that look.
“I could’ve just taken my shirt off right in front of you and ended the prank,” he said casually.
You blinked. “You wouldn’t.”
He leaned a little closer.
“Wouldn’t I?”
Your stomach fluttered — which was not part of the plan. “Enji…”
“I’m still confused,” he continued smoothly. “But I think I know one way to get over it.”
You raised a brow. “Which is?”
“Take your shirt off and make it up to me.”
You stared at him.
He stared right back, face completely serious.
“…That’s not how pranks work, babe.”
He hummed. “You’ve pranked me. That means I win the next move.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re making that up.”
Enji took a slow step closer. “Am I?”
You backed up — just slightly — laughing. “Oh, you’re so full of it!”
“You said I’m too serious,” he said, voice low and amused. “Maybe I should start pranking you back.”
“You wouldn’t survive the chaos.”
“I think I’d manage.”
You watched him with warmth in your chest. He really was trying, even now — adapting to your energy, playing along, letting himself soften for you.
“You’re kind of adorable when you’re confused, you know that?” you said softly, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt.
He sighed, resting his forehead gently against yours. “I hate how much that worked on me.”
“You love it.”
“…Maybe.”
Silence fell again — but this time, it was warm, content. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you leaned into the heat of him. The earlier awkwardness had melted into something tender, familiar.
You buried your face into his chest.
“Still love me, even if I prank you sometimes?” you asked
He held you tighter.
“Always.”
Aizawa Shouta — “You Want Me to Leave? …Why?”
Living with Aizawa was kind of like living with a grumpy cat that secretly loved you.
He never said “I love you” first, never really smiled unless you were half asleep on his chest or struggling to button your coat in the morning. But he’d fix your collar for you, wordlessly. He’d bring coffee without asking. He’d drag himself out of bed at 3am just to warm up the house because you kicked off the blanket in your sleep and now your toes were cold.
Subtle. Careful. Quiet.
So naturally… he was the perfect target for a harmless little prank.
You were in the bedroom, fresh out of the shower in your robe, rifling through the dresser for clean clothes while Aizawa sat on the bed reading some training reports for his class. His hair was loose — his “I’m off the clock, don’t ask me to move” look — and his posture was relaxed, shoulders slouched, one hand resting absently on his thigh.
Perfect.
You cleared your throat. “Hey, babe?”
He didn’t look up. “Hm?”
“…Can you leave the room for a sec? I’m gonna change.”
There was a pause.
He turned a page, deadpan. “Why?”
You shrugged casually, not looking at him. “Just want to change in private.”
His face was deadpan.
“…We’re married,” he said slowly.
You held back your grin. “Still.”
Another long pause. He blinked once.
“You’re shy now?”
You shrugged. “Just not feeling it right now.”
He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, clearly trying to process the situation.
“We’ve literally showered together.”
You spun around with mock-seriousness. “Shouta.”
“Yes?”
“Could you please leave?” you asked with dramatic politeness.
He looked up now, slowly.
“…Are we fighting?”
You held back a grin. “Nope.”
“Did I do something?”
“Not that I can think of.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and he closed the file in his lap.
“I’ve seen you change a hundred times. You’ve changed in front of me without realizing it.”
You gave a shrug and didn’t meet his eyes. “I just want to be alone while I do it this time.”
The silence stretched.
“…Did Hizashi put you up to this?”
Your lips twitched. “No.”
“Do I need to remind you,” he said, voice low and dry, “that I’ve stitched you into your hero costume while you were half-naked in lingerie because we were late to patrol because of how hard of sex we had the night before?”
You snorted.
“I’ve bandaged your ribs. Rubbed medicine on your back. You fall asleep next to me without undergarments.”
“This is a prank.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re lying.” He didn’t even blink. “I’ve interrogated villains more convincing than this.”
You bit your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
Aizawa stood, stretching with a quiet sigh. “Alright, fine.”
You blinked. “Wait—what?”
“I’ll go.”
Now you were thrown. “Seriously?”
He strolled toward the door. “If you’re gonna play games, I’ll go nap on the couch. Let me know when the dramatics are over.”
“No! Wait—Shouta!”
You caught his sleeve as he passed and burst out laughing, tugging him back.
He didn’t resist, but his unimpressed look spoke volumes.
“You’re the worst liar alive,” he said. “You can’t even keep a straight face.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually get up!”
“You pushed it too far.” He raised a brow. “Telling me to leave our room. Like I’m some random guy you barely tolerate.”
You grinned. “You tolerate me.”
“I more than tolerate you,” he muttered under his breath.
You paused.
“…What was that?”
“Nothing.”
You leaned into him. “Say it again.”
He exhaled sharply. “You heard me.”
“No, I need you to say it like you mean it.”
He deadpanned, “You’re annoying.”
You kissed his cheek. “I know. But you love it.”
He grunted, grabbing your waist and pulling you in lazily. “You’re lucky I like difficult women.”
“I thought you didn’t like anyone?”
“You’re the exception.”
Your heart skipped a little at the easy way he said it — so casually, so Aizawa.
You looked up at him and grinned. “So you weren’t mad?”
“I wasn’t mad. I was considering revenge.”
“Revenge?!”
“Hm.” He tugged your robe loose at the collar with a finger. “Something along the lines of making sure you ask me to leave next time. Loudly. Desperately.”
Your breath hitched. “Shouta.”
He shrugged, eyes half-lidded. “You started it.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s completely fair.”
“You play dirty.”
“You like it.”
Damn him.
You turned away quickly, trying to hide your smile — but he reached past you for your clothes from the dresser.
“I’ve seen you wear this shirt three days in a row.”
“It’s comfy.”
“It’s mine.”
You smirked. “So? I like it.”
He handed it to you. “Then keep it.”
You blinked. “What?”
He met your eyes. “It’s yours. You wear it more than I do anyway.”
A pause.
“…You’re giving me your favorite shirt?”
“It’s just a shirt.”
“To you that’s practically a marriage proposal.”
He rolled his eyes but stepped closer, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want a real one?”
You blinked. “Wait—what?”
“I’m kidding,” he said flatly — but the flicker in his gaze said maybe he wasn’t.
Your breath caught. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Shouta—”
“Don’t prank me again,” he muttered. “You’ll give me a complex.”
You grinned, heart fluttering.
“Okay,” you whispered. “Deal.”
Keigo Takami — “You want me to leave? Excuse you?”
Living with Hawks was… exhausting. In a good way.
He was a human golden retriever with wings — constantly hovering, teasing, touching, kissing. If he wasn’t flying off for hero work, he was lounging around shirtless, plucking feathers from his wings with a grin and flicking them at you like darts. He was affectionate to a fault, smug on a normal day, and just a little too proud of himself when he made you flustered.
A thought sparked in your head, mischievous and immediate. You glanced at Keigo, who was distracted checking his phone — probably looking at memes or celebrity hero gossip. Now was your moment.
He was lounging on your shared bed when you stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, towel slung around your shoulders, and robe pulled tight. You padded over to the closet, pretending not to notice the way his eyes followed your every move.
His wings twitched lazily behind him.
“You’re lucky I’m tired,” he mumbled, “or I’d be over there helping you out of that robe.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re always tired.”
“Yeah, but I’m never too tired for you, baby.”
“Mmhm. Can you do me a favor, actually?”
“Anything,” he said, spreading his arms dramatically. “Want me to fly to the moon? Steal Endeavor’s stash of instant ramen? Fight crime shirtless?”
You snorted. “No, just… can you leave the room for a minute?”
His smile froze. “…What?”
“I’m gonna change.”
The silence was immediate.
His brows rose, golden eyes blinking in confusion. “You… want me to leave? So you can change?”
“Yeah.”
You were biting the inside of your cheek now, doing everything in your power not to lose it.
His wings twitched. “You want me… the man you have licked frosting off of his goddamned dick, to leave. So you can change.”
“…Babe.”
You looked at him innocently.
He sat up slowly. “Is this a test? Did I miss a date? Did I say something dumb while I was half-asleep again?”
“Nope.”
“You’re… actually kicking me out of the room?” His wings flared slightly. “Do you have a secret boyfriend you’re changing for? Is that it? Did a villian put you up to this?!”
You cracked. A laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, and his eyes narrowed instantly.
Keigo stared at you like you had just told him he was being drafted into the military. He pointed to the couch. “This couch. That I bought. In the apartment where I pay the rent. Where we sleep next to each other. Naked, might I add.”
Keigo threw his head back and groaned, pacing away from you like he was physically in pain.
"This is a test," he muttered. "You're testing me.
You're trying to kill me. Oh my god."
You turned away just enough to grab your shirt from the basket and hold it to your chest.
"Could you? Just for a sec?"
He froze. "You're serious."
You shrugged.
Suddenly, he was kneeling in front of you with one hand over his heart and the other stretched dramatically into the air.
"Oh, cruel temptress!" he wailed. "You wound me!"
You lost it. Burst out laughing, hiding your face in the clean laundry pile.
"I've been exiled," he continued, standing up and spinning in a circle like a tragic Broadway character. "Banished from the bedroom I so lovingly vacuumed crumbs out of last night.
Tossed aside like a common pervert."
"Kei-stop-" you gasped between laughs.
"No! I'll go!" he declared, already walking backwards toward the hallway with his wings flaring slightly. "'ll stand outside the door like a chaste fool and wait for the sound of a zipper like some kind of shameful husband-in-waiting”
"We're not married," you reminded him, still giggling.
"Oh, but I could be!" he shouted, dramatically flopping onto the bed behind you. "If only I hadn't betrayed your trust by looking at you!"
He peeked up at you from the covers, grinning.
You snorted and tossed a balled-up sock at him.
"You're such a menace."
"Admit it," he said, voice low and cocky now. "You wanted me to react like this."
“Ah-ha.” He pointed at you, grinning. “There it is. You’re messing with me.”
“I almost had you.”
“You had me worried we were breaking up!”
You rolled your eyes, walking over and pushing his shoulder gently. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I am dramatic. But only when I care.” He caught your wrist, tugging you gently between his legs. “You can’t just say stuff like that. You change in front of me all the time. You literally walked around naked last week with your ass-cheeks hanging out while eating ice cream. You said clothes were a ‘societal burden.’”
You rolled your eyes. “You are the worst.”
“Correction,” he said, walking over and kissing your forehead with zero warning. “I’m the worst best husband.”
He wasn’t your husband — yet. But he loved using the title, and you never had the heart to stop him.
He stepped closer. “The room where I’ve seen you change so many times I could recite a time-lapse of your entire wardrobe evolution.”
You cleared your throat, still playing it cool. “Yes.”
You gave him a wide-eyed, innocent smile. “Exactly.”
You smirked. “I wanted to see how fast you’d crumble.”
Keigo leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Joke’s on you. I always crumble for you.”
That actually got you a little flustered. He smirked, clearly noticing.
You tugged on your clean shirt and turned to him, arms crossed. “Alright, drama king. You can stay.”
He rolled over to you in half a second, pulling you into his lap. “Only because I passed the test, right?”
“You absolutely failed the test,” you laughed.
“Nah. I redefined the test,” he said smugly. “And then I got extra credit.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away from him. His hands were warm on your waist, and he kissed the side of your neck gently — less playful now, more genuine.
“I like watching you change,” he murmured. “Not just because you’re hot — which, duh — but because it reminds me I get to see all the parts of you nobody else does.”
Your heart fluttered a little at that. He could be bold and ridiculous, sure — but this was Keigo at his most real.
“I didn’t mean to mess with you too hard,” you said softly.
He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Mess with me all you want, baby bird. I can take it.”
“…Husband,” you teased quietly, nudging his chest.
His whole body stilled for a second — and then a smirk broke across his lips.
Because there's days when it doesn't need to be rough or planned ahead or, really, anything in particular. Not that either of you feel like you do "need" to be a certain way or do a specific thing by now when it comes to having sex– he's good at that, keeping the pressure off while he keeps you turned on– but there's days when Keigo just catches a whim to give you something light, something silly.
So he scatters kisses across your face, along your jaw, down your throat where he adds in little nips at you. Marking you gently, chatting idly, so sweet and simple that it feels casual.
He noses against your stomach; kisses over it, too. Blows a raspberry with golden eyes sparkling at the resulting laugh startled out of your mouth. Sighs happily how "my baby's so pretty, so fuckin' cute, love you so so much, sweetheart, my whole world..."
Your thighs get the same treatment as your neck, peppered in careful bites and kisses, before he pauses to squish his cheeks between them and glance up at you.
"I mean that, y'know," he murmurs, thumbs tracing over your hips with the sort of care that a conservator gives to a fragile painting decades old. "I really, really do. You're everything to me, babe. My whole entire world 'n so much more, I'm so fuckin' lucky to have you."
Keigo seems pleased that he can still make you blush, that he still holds the skill to get you flustered with his earnest expression.
He likes making you feel giddy.
Once he's pulled an orgasm from you slow and saccharine with his mouth, his hands, he mumbles "yes chef thank you chef" and grins proudly when you snicker, "shut up!" and smack him with a pillow.
Instead of tossing the soft ammunition aside, he tucks it underneath your waist, ever resourceful as he trails his lips back up your body until they reach your own.
SUMMARY: Y/N spent her entire life being reminded she would never be enough—too ugly, too strange, too easy to overlook. She was raised to believe that love was conditional, and that beauty was the only thing that could make a woman worthy of it.
After years of trying to become someone easier to love, she finally succeeds. Then Lando Norris comes into her life and, for the first time, someone looks at her like she’s worth choosing.
TAGS: ANGST, FLUFF, SMUT, LOW SELF-ESTEEM, BODY IMAGE ISSUES, HURT/COMFORT, INTERNALIZED SELF-HATRED, MORALLY GREY FEMALE CHARACTER
WORD COUNT: 11K
NOTE: Hello everyone, first of all, I want to thank you for the support on my previous stories. I’m still new to all of this, and it truly motivate me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy this story, which feels a bit more raw to me than the others since it touches on some difficult topics. Please keep in mind that the main character has gone through significant unresolved trauma in her life, so some of her behavior and decisions may be questionable at times.
masterlist
“You’re ugly, but you’re a calculating bitch, and that gives you an advantage over the pretty girls.”
That was the sentence my mother said to me the day I told her about my insecurities with men.
It might come as a surprise to many that a mother would use such demeaning words to describe her own daughter, but to me, that was normal growing up.
All my life, I grew up not only under the pressure of a mother like mine, but also in the shadow of a sister who was my complete opposite. Lula was the kind of person who looked like every beauty standard had been sculpted into a single human being. Apparently, just like my mother, she believed that gave her the right to humiliate and throw hurtful words whenever she wasn’t happy with me.
The worst part was that I knew they were right. Back then, I was a very ugly child, extremely skinny, and my features were… unusual, to put it in a less hurtful way.
Life at home was difficult, but school was a thousand times worse. I had no friends. I was intelligent, yes, but I never stood out because I was far too shy to let anyone notice. My classmates were cruel to me. The boys would joke around by pretending to be my boyfriends, and everyone would gag at the idea.
One moment that scarred me forever was when my sister brought one of her friends home. When she introduced me, he made a face of surprise mixed with disgust, as if he couldn’t believe someone so beautiful could have such a horrible-looking sister.
That day, I cried alone in my bedroom. Everyone treated me so badly that it felt like being ugly was the worst sin a person could commit.
Things didn’t get any better in high school. The “hey, my friend is in love with you” jokes no longer affected me, but I watched my classmates grow out of their awkward phases and turn into princesses while I remained just as painfully skinny and ugly.
Then my mother did one of the very few loving things she had ever done for me and took me to a doctor. It turned out I had issues with my immune system, which was why I couldn’t gain weight. With medical treatment and proper care, I eventually overcame it.
Puberty finally arrived, and combined with all the sports I played, my body changed dramatically. I became curvier and fit, the soft curves gave me a beautiful ass and gorgeous boobs, and the extreme thinness disappeared with my childhood, never to return again.
By the time I reached university, maturity had made me practically invisible to everyone. The way I dressed certainly didn’t help. And while I preferred invisibility over being harassed with mockery, human beings are social by nature, and loneliness was beginning to take its toll on me.
Sometimes I felt my thoughts drifting toward darker, more troubling ideas. I think part of it also came from the things my mother used to tell me.
With my first job came my first love. At twenty years old, I had sex for the first time and discovered that I genuinely enjoyed it and that I was actually very good at it. His name was Elliot, and he was my supervisor.
I loved him. I truly did. And I felt loved in return, which is why I believed every word he told me.
Eventually, I realized I was being played when I caught him on a date with one of my sister’s closest friends.
And my sister knew absolutely everything.
When I confronted her, she simply shrugged and, with breathtaking cruelty, said:
“Did you really think a man like him would genuinely fall in love with someone like you?” She laughed. “Get your feet back on the ground. Men only go after ugly girls to fuck them because they’re desperate for anyone to pay attention to them. Women like me are the ones they marry and build families with.”
Her words felt like a blade driven straight through my heart. I already knew men were selfish, filthy creatures, so betrayal from one of them wasn’t exactly shocking.
But betrayal from my own sister—my own blood, the person from whom I still expected loyalty, unconditional support, and love despite everything—has no name.
And you may be wondering, why I’m telling you all of this?
So you can understand that all the chaos I went on to create was justified.
(…)
The cruelty my sister showed that day made it painfully clear that she was never going to change and that I could not trust her or anyone else in my family.
That harsh reality hardened my heart. I began to think that maybe I didn’t want to keep letting life beat me down, and that perhaps it was time to unleash the miserable bitch my mother always claimed was hiding inside me.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t be ugly and cruel at the same time, so I decided to stop being ugly.
Or at least become a little less ugly.
The following year, I isolated myself from everyone. I started training and eating healthy again. I became obsessive about taking care of my hair, followed a strict skincare routine twice a day, and began orthodontic treatment that eventually left my teeth perfect.
I also took several etiquette and glamour classes, where I learned things like maintaining proper posture at all times and walking correctly in high heels.
I replaced every single piece of clothing in my closet and made the effort to pay a stylist to help me build an entirely new look.
Every two weeks, I subjected myself to facial cleanings, waxing appointments, and every kind of cosmetic treatment imaginable.
It seemed to be working, but I needed something more drastic.
Every day, I looked at myself in the mirror, and there was always something about my face that still didn’t feel right.
I consulted a plastic surgeon, who confirmed that what I truly needed was a slight adjustment to my jaw and a nose job to improve the balance of my face.
And that was exactly what I did.
My mother didn’t approve because, to her, beauty had to be natural or it simply didn’t exist. So I went through the entire process alone.
By the time I had fully recovered, I looked like a completely different person from the one who had started this transformation.
Physically, at least.
Inside, I was still just as wounded and alone. I felt that even after everything I had done, my life still had no meaning.
During that time, I had moved to a different city for work and managed to make a couple of friends. One of our favorite things to do together was go out partying.
And on one of those nights, I met Lando Norris.
“Are you related to Taylor Hill?” was the first thing he asked after we were introduced.
“What?” I stammered a little. I was so used to being compared to beautiful women as a joke that I couldn’t tell whether he was serious or not.
“Yeah, the model. I mean, you look alike. You have similar features—the eyebrows, the lips, and your eye color,” he continued with a smile.
I looked into his eyes, trying to find even the slightest hint of mockery, but all I found was curiosity and genuine kindness.
“No, I don’t know her,” I finally replied.
“You could be sisters,” he laughed softly.
All I could manage was an awkward little chuckle.
“Do you want another drink?” he asked after noticing I had finished mine.
I hesitated for a moment. No guy had ever bought me a drink before.
“Yeah… why not?”
Lando got up from the couch and headed toward the bar.
I turned to look at my friend Jack, who immediately started making obscene gestures with his hand and mouth, mimicking someone giving a blowjob.
I grimaced in disgust.
Little asshole.
Lando came back a few minutes later and handed me a drink—the same tequila sunrise I had been having before.
“I haven’t seen you around Jack before. How do you know each other?” he asked before taking a sip of his drink.
I explained that we were coworkers and that we got along so well professionally that it naturally turned into a friendship.
“So, are you a psychologist too?”
“No, I’m an engineer, but I don’t work in the field anymore. I’m in the administrative department of a healthcare services company.” I didn’t mention that my grandfather—technically my step-grandfather—owned it.
“Oh. Well, I don’t know much about that, but I guess it must be interesting,” he nodded while looking at me.
“If you think answering requests from grumpy old people is interesting, then yes, I have fun every single day,” I replied sarcastically.
Lando laughed.
“Tell me about your job. Since I studied engineering, I understand the car aspect of F1 a little, but what’s it actually like being a driver?”
“Well, more than a job, I guess it’s my passion. It’s what I love doing most in the world.” Something in Lando seemed to light up as he spoke.
He went on to tell me about racing and which parts of it he loved most.
The two of us became completely absorbed in conversation for the rest of the night. Lando was definitely interesting—and he genuinely seemed like the kind of person who would make a great friend.
“He likes you,” Jack said the moment we got into his car after saying goodbye to everyone else.
“Who?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“What do you mean, who? The man you spent the entire night talking to. Lando Norris, you idiot,” he said as if it were painfully obvious.
“Jack, you’re misreading the situation.”
“I know what I saw, Y/N. That man was practically drooling over you.”
“Of course he wasn’t… and even if he was, I’m not interested in him. At least not like that. My type is completely different from him.”
(…)
“I still can’t get used to your face. You look so… weird.”
I let out a sigh.
“Hi, Mom. I missed you too.”
I hadn’t wanted to come to this “family gathering” because I knew the moment my mother saw me, she would start with her passive-aggressive comments.
My grandfather—technically my step-grandfather—was obsessed with golf. So obsessed, in fact, that he owned shares in one of the largest golf clubs in London.
It was his birthday today, and he had decided to celebrate it here.
And even though I didn’t get along with my family, I had to come no matter what, because he was one of the very few people who genuinely supported me.
“Let’s head to the first hole,” my grandfather instructed. “The earlier we start, the more we’ll get out of the day.”
We split into two golf carts and began our round.
This time it was my mother, my sister, my stepfather, my grandfather, my grandfather’s other son, his wife, and their little boy.
We played until midday before deciding to head back for lunch.
“I’m going to the bathroom for a second. I’ll be right back,” my sister announced before walking away.
“We’ll wait here for you, sweetheart,” my mother replied before turning to me. “Y/N, what have you been doing here in London now that you’re all alone?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I swallowed hard. No matter how emotionally detached I was from her, my mother still intimidated me.
“Working,” I answered simply.
She let out a quiet scoff.
“I don’t understand why you made your father spend all that money sending you to school just for you to never use your degree. What a waste. But then again, nothing about you surprises me anymore,” she scolded.
A sharp pain settled in the center of my chest, but before I could respond, my stepfather spoke for me.
“Mirna, we’re celebrating as a family. Let her enjoy the day. She’s not the first nor the last person who doesn’t work in their field. At least she’s not wasting her life being lazy.”
My mother merely rolled her eyes at her husband’s harsh tone.
It wasn’t common for my stepfather to defend me. He cared about me in his own way, but he preferred not to interfere with my mother’s parenting. Many times, he comforted me when her cruelty crossed the line, though he always limited himself to telling me to try to understand her.
My mother and I were immigrants. We arrived in this country after my biological father became an alcoholic and buried himself in debt. Here, my mother met Roger, and they got married. Some time later, my sister was born.
I suppose part of my mother’s resentment toward me came from how much I resembled my father. Of course, that was never said out loud.
Roger always told me to understand her—that her life hadn’t been easy and that all she wanted was for me to succeed.
“Y/N is my best employee, and I have absolutely no complaints about her, Mirna. Don’t worry about her. She’s a very level-headed girl,” my grandfather added.
My mother simply shook her head with quiet disdain.
Her attention shifted toward my sister, who had apparently come back from the restroom and was now chatting animatedly with a man whose face I couldn’t properly see because he had his back turned to us.
Finally, my sister took him by the arm, and the moment he turned around, both of them started walking toward our table. The second I got a better look at him, my eyes widened in surprise.
“This is my family,” my sister introduced proudly, still holding onto his arm. “Family, this is my friend Lando.”
Her voice carried unmistakable excitement.
She began introducing us one by one, and the moment Lando’s eyes landed on me, his expression mirrored my own surprise.
“Y/N, it’s good to see you again.” He took my hand, giving it a small shake without losing his smile.
My sister’s smile faltered for a split second.
Almost imperceptibly.
But I noticed.
“You know each other?” she asked after recovering herself as though nothing had happened.
My mind immediately started moving faster.
She likes him.
That’s why she introduced him like that—like he was her future husband and not just a friend.
Pathetic.
“Yeah, we have some mutual friends,” Lando answered naturally.
My sister let out a small, obviously forced laugh.
“What a surprise… such a small world.”
Her eyes shifted toward me, and the smile she gave me was painfully tense.
I’ve got you, bitch.
“Yeah, that’s true. Lando is great company,” I replied this time.
The twisted thoughts that sometimes haunted me began to resurface. A plan was slowly forming in the darkest part of my mind.
My mother always said I was a calculating bitch.
I suppose it was finally time to make her proud and show her just how far I could go.
(…)
“Just the person I was looking for,” I said the moment I sat down across from the only person who could help me right now.
Jack lowered his glasses slightly so he could look at me over the frame.
“Missed me?” he asked sarcastically.
“Of course I did,” I replied in a sweet voice.
“Okay, now I’m actually getting a little scared.”
“You’re so dramatic. I just wanted to talk to you about… life, friendships, entertaiment, you know, very casual things.”
“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms while studying me more carefully. “What does the lady want?”
“I just wanted to ask you a few things. You know… about your friend Lando.”
Jack burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked flatly.
“I thought you said you weren’t interested and that he wasn’t your type.”
“I never said otherwise. I just want to know more about him,” I replied, pretending it wasn’t a big deal.
“Alright then, what do you want to know?” He took off his glasses and placed them on the table between us.
“How often do you see him? I mean, do you hang out regularly or are you more like one-of-those-friends-you-see-once-a-year?”
“And why exactly do you want so many details?” His brow furrowed suspiciously.
“Just answer me, please?” I pressed my hands together pleadingly and stuck out my lower lip in an exaggerated pout.
Jack let out a sigh before answering.
“Well, I couldn’t really tell you exactly. We see each other pretty much whenever he’s in London. At least we try to.”
“And when is he coming back?”
“Y/N, I’m not answering another question until you tell me what’s going on or admit that you like him.” His voice was firm and final.
I knew that if I told Jack what I was actually planning, he would look at me like I was completely insane.
So I lied.
“Fine. I like him. I think he’s cute,” I answered, giving him exactly what he wanted to hear.
“You know what? I still don’t believe you.”
Indignation rushed through my body.
“It’s true.”
“Really? Since when?”
“I saw him again at the golf club over the weekend, and I got a better look at him. He’s actually very…” I paused, searching for the right words. “Charming. And really handsome too,” I finished.
“You know I still don’t buy any of this, but whatever. I’ll answer your question. He’s coming to my birthday party. You’re lucky.”
Excitement buzzed through my body. Finally, for once, luck seemed to be on my side.
“Thanks, Jack. I’d kiss you right now if it were professionally acceptable.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grabbed his glasses and pointed them at me. “You owe me an amazing birthday gift for the favor I just did for you—and for the ones I’m about to do.”
“Expect nothing less from me.”
We both stood up, and I took the opportunity to give him a hug that Human Resources would fully approve of.
I walked back to my desk replaying the plan forming inside my head.
My sister was the one who owed me the most. Her humiliation had crossed every limit I had, and it was finally time for me to strike back.
It was obvious she liked Lando, and I knew that in her airheaded little mind she was already imagining a relationship with him. She was so predictable it barely took effort to figure her out.
That night at the bar, when Lando and I talked for hours, I had felt his interest in me too. At the time, I dismissed it—mostly because of my insecurities—but now it was something I could use to my advantage.
I was going to make sure Lando and I slept together. My sister didn’t need to know, but if my assumptions about him were correct, he would never entertain her romantic fantasies after getting involved with me. His conscience wouldn’t allow it.
And just like that, the little fantasy bubble my sister was living in would burst. Knowing her the way I did, she would spiral into a depressive state for quite a while.
It was a simple plan.
Maybe even a stupid one.
But effective.
There was absolutely no way anything could go wrong.
(…)
Two weeks later, it was finally Jack’s birthday, and in true Jack fashion, he decided to celebrate it at a rooftop bar.
Earlier that same day, he had confirmed that Lando would actually be there.
So, for the occasion, I decided to wear black. The stylist I had hired once told me the color looked perfect against my tanned skin.
When I finished getting ready, I looked at myself in the mirror.
The black silk dress clung to my body with a soft, fluid drape. The halter neckline left my shoulders bare, while the open back dipped down to the curve of my waist, held together only by two thin straps tied behind my neck. The dress was absurdly short, brushing the tops of my thighs and barely covering my ass.
I paired it with impossibly high black patent heels, delicate straps wrapped around my ankles and open toes. Simple, elegant, and painfully uncomfortable.
I wore my hair in a low bun and left my curtain bangs loose to make my face appear slimmer.
My makeup was light. I still struggled to experiment with it. The ugly-girl complex wouldn’t let me. I was embarrassed by the thought of people seeing me as an ugly woman trying too hard to be beautiful.
I was giving myself one final look-over when the intercom buzzed. It was the security guard announcing that someone had arrived to pick me up.
When I got downstairs, I was met with a car I didn’t recognize. I was just about to turn around and ask the guard if there had been some mistake when the driver’s window rolled down, revealing none other than Lando in the driver’s seat.
Jack, I love you, you son of a bitch.
I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my lips, and when Lando noticed my reaction, he smiled just as brightly.
“Lando, I wasn’t expecting you,” I said as I climbed into the passenger seat.
“Jack asked me to come pick you up, and I couldn’t really say no.”
Lando was dressed in black pants, a white sweater, and an open jacket layered over it. His curly hair fell slightly over his forehead. He had a beautiful smile—and even prettier eyes.
If I believed something serious could ever happen between us, I would probably allow myself to like him.
But that was almost impossible.
Lando was successful, attractive, and surrounded by thousands of beautiful women—women who, most importantly, were naturally beautiful.
So I settled for the idea of simply sleeping with him and ruining my sister’s life in the process.
We arrived at the bar, and almost immediately someone shoved a drink into our hands. Jack didn’t believe in warm-ups. He always went straight for the main event: drinking and dancing until he collapsed.
I sat down on a small couch while Lando wandered off to greet half the room. He clearly had that effortlessly popular-boy energy—the kind of person everyone naturally liked.
Meanwhile, I sat there alone, not speaking to anyone. Jack and Lando were the only people I knew in that place, and even though I had promised myself I would enjoy the night, my old demons decided to pay me a visit.
My thoughts turned dark.
I was an idiot. Of course my plan would never work. Lando would never truly look at someone like me, and even if he did, my sister would still go on with her life making mine hell.
I was stupid. All the effort I put into changing myself physically should have gone into something actually worthy. My mother was right. My sister was right. My classmates were right.
“Hey, why the long face?” Lando asked as he sat down beside me.
I snapped out of my thoughts, trying to hide the burning sensation gathering behind my eyes. I inhaled slowly, attempting to steady my breathing.
By then, Lando’s expression had already shifted into one of concern.
“I’m okay. The drinks are just a little strong,” I said, lifting my half-empty glass.
He didn’t seem convinced.
“Okay… if you want, I can get you something lighter.” He gestured toward the bar behind us with his thumb.
“No, don’t worry about it. I think I should probably stop drinking.”
I was ridiculous. My life was pathetic and meaningless.
I would probably be better off dead.
Apparently, my face betrayed my thoughts because Lando’s expression softened even further with worry.
“Do you want to go downstairs and get some air?” he asked, getting up before I could answer.
He took my hand and guided me toward the elevator.
Downstairs, we sat on a wooden bench near the parking lot.
“Aren’t you cold? It’s the middle of December, and you don’t even have a jacket.” He slipped off his own and draped it over my shoulders.
It was the first time a man had ever done that for me.
That made two firsts I had experienced with Lando.
I laughed softly.
“What?” he asked with a smile.
“Nothing. I’m just kind of a disaster,” I muttered, wiping my nose with the palm of my hand. At this rate, I was probably going to catch a cold.
“Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that. Everybody has bad moments.” One of his hands rested on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“My whole life has been a bad moment,” I laughed humorlessly.
“Well, don’t let tonight become one too.” His hand slid down to my bare back, rubbing slow comforting circles against my skin. “Come back upstairs with me, okay? I promise you’ll have fun.”
“Okay,” I answered after a moment of hesitation.
To hell with my plan.
My sister wasn’t worth it.
I was going to get drunk tonight, and tomorrow I’d go right back to drowning in my self-destructive little hole.
We went back upstairs and immediately started drinking again. We danced until my feet nearly bled. Around three in the morning, the party finally started dying down, and it was time to head home.
“I’ll take you home,” Lando whispered into my ear.
I simply nodded.
I was completely wasted.
We made our way down to the parking lot and headed toward his car. Once inside, I settled into the passenger seat, waiting for him to start the engine.
But Lando stayed still, his hands resting on the steering wheel before he slowly turned to look at me.
The intensity of his gaze made me uneasy.
“What?” I asked.
Without saying a word, he leaned toward me and pressed his lips against mine.
I froze in surprise for a second before finally kissing him back. Slowly, the kiss deepened.
His tongue brushed against my lips one last time before we finally pulled apart, our eyes meeting in the dim light of the car.
“I really like you, Y/N,” he whispered.
Change of plans.
The plan was back in motion.
(…)
Throughout my life, I had found myself in ridiculous situations. Even though I tried to avoid them, God seemed to have made me into some kind of experiment, using me to test just how much humiliation a person could endure before finally exploding.
Tonight, however, the situation was ridiculous in a completely different way.
And far from embarrassing me, it felt unbelievably good.
Lando drove with one hand while the other tangled itself in my long dark hair. My warm mouth wrapped around his large cock had him letting out quiet little moans (don't try this at home). I sat in the passenger seat, but the upper half of my body was bent over toward Lando’s seat so I could reach his dick more easily. The position was uncomfortable, but it was worth it just to watch him struggle not to close his eyes from the pleasure.
My neck moved up and down in a steady rhythm. I hollowed my cheeks slightly, and my tongue traced along his length every time I slid him in and out of my mouth.
I knew I was good at this.
During one of my weird phases, I had watched some porn—not because it turned me on, but because I treated it like study material. Which, in hindsight, was admittedly problematic, considering most of it is performative and completely detached from what sex is actually like. Though I only realized that later.
The point was, I had learned a lot.
I knew I could give a good blowjob, that I was flexible enough to handle almost any position, and that all the years of sports had given me enough stamina to ride someone for an hour straight without my legs cramping.
Back to the blowjob.
I took him so deep that the head of his cock brushed against the back of my throat.
“Fuck—”
Lando released my hair just long enough to jerk the steering wheel sharply. The movement was so sudden I had to stop what I was doing. I sat back up and realized he had parked beneath a tree in a dark isolated spot.
“Come here.”
He pushed his seat back, creating more space between himself and the steering wheel. Then he tugged his pants down further until his cock was completely exposed.
I climbed over into his seat and settled between his legs, my back pressed against his chest. Lando cupped my face, and we kissed again.
Suddenly, he shoved me forward. My breasts pressed against the steering wheel, in this position my ass was perfectly angled for him to pull my black thong aside.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered against my ear. “So desperate to have my big cock inside you, huh?”
The sharp smack of his palm against my ass forced a moan out of me.
Lando took his dick in his hand and began rubbing the tip against the entrance of my pussy.
Slowly, he started sliding it inside me, stretching my walls and drawing a series of moans from my lips.
“Yeah… you love that, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh…” was all I could manage to reply.
Once he was fully inside me, I started moving up and down. Lando gripped my hips with both hands, matching my rhythm and making it easier for me to move. Because of the cramped space, he couldn’t move much himself, so most of the work fell to me.
With every hard drop onto him, the car rocked slightly, and in that tiny space the only sounds were my ass slapping against him and the moans spilling from both of us.
My pace stayed steady; I never once stopped to rest. The angle I was in made Lando’s cock hit deep inside me, enough to make my eyes roll back.
I was so wet I could already imagine a white ring of my fluids forming around the base of his cock.
“Wait, wait…” Lando grabbed my hips to stop me. “I don’t want to come yet.”
He took a few deeper breaths, trying to hold back his orgasm.
“Alright… now.”
He gave my ass a hard slap.
I decided to shift positions a little. I lifted both legs until they were bent, resting my bare feet on either side of Lando’s thighs. My back pressed completely against his chest. It looked like a mix between an Asian squat and a reverse cowgirl — the best I could manage in such a tight space.
Lando immediately understood what I wanted. Once he saw I was fully settled, he thrust back into me with full force. I resumed moving up and down, now with a little more difficulty, but without slowing for even a second.
Lando tilted my face toward his and started kissing me. At the same time, one of his hands found my nipple while the other began rubbing my clit.
The sensations were overwhelming, I could feel my orgasm building fast.
“Yes… just like that…”
Only moans escaped my lips, and I could barely keep my eyes open.
With a few more breathless cries, I came. My legs started trembling from the intensity of the orgasm.
Seeing the pleasure twisting through my body, Lando couldn’t hold back much longer. After only two more thrusts, he came too.
“Fuck!” he groaned as warm spurts spilled from him.
Somehow, I managed to climb back into my seat. Our breathing was ragged, and the heat radiating from our bodies had completely fogged up the windows.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever ridden me like that before,” he said with a straight face.
So serious that it made me laugh, and he quickly joined in.
“Want to come back to my place?” he asked, his eyes lingering on my bare chest.
I shrugged lightly.
“Why not?”
(…)
The next day, Sunday, I woke up with a horrible headache, fully prepared to run out of Lando’s apartment and disappear forever before he could wake up.
The problem was that Lando had gotten up long before I did and walked into the bedroom carrying breakfast before I could make my escape.
We ate together, and after a while, I finally managed to relax a little. We talked about trivial things, both carefully avoiding the obvious elephant in the room.
Later, I showered, Lando lent me some of his clothes, and then he drove me home. I wanted to say goodbye with a hug, but he was faster and kissed me instead.
Today is Monday, and just as I predicted, I came down with the flu. My whole body felt miserable and sluggish.
I still had to come to work.
The first person I saw was Jack, who immediately looked me up and down with an all-knowing grin.
Asshole.
I threw myself completely into work, so much that I entirely forgot to get up and find something to eat.
Turns out I didn’t need to.
With a quiet little laugh, Jack placed a paper bag in front of me that very obviously contained food.
“And what miracle is this?” I asked in surprise.
“Not from me, so don’t get too excited.”
Confused, I opened the bag and found several containers inside. One of them held soup.
“It’s from your new boyfriend,” he confessed mockingly.
My cheeks instantly started turning red, which only made Jack laugh harder.
“That’s what good pussy does to a man,” he said while walking away.
I nearly choked on my soup.
Son of a bitch.
I finished lunch and threw myself back into work. Nepotism may have secured me the position, but it certainly wouldn’t keep me in it, so I had to work hard.
I was focused on replying to a request when my phone buzzed with a message notification.
When I checked it, it was from an unknown number.
X: Hope you liked the soup. Jack told me what your favorite kind was. Get well soon ❤️
X: By the way, it’s Lando.
ME: Hi, Lando 😅
ME: Thank you so much for the soup and the good wishes. I’m already feeling a little better 🥰❤️
LANDO: glad to hear that
LANDO: I’m on vacation for the next few weeks
LANDO: I was thinking maybe we could go to the Christmas market together. What do you think?
I stared at my phone for a couple of minutes, unsure of what to reply.
The plan was supposed to end once I slept with Lando. Going out with him afterward had never been part of it.
Lando was sweet, and he treated me well, but deep down I knew I didn’t really want a relationship with someone at his level. That would expose me to situations even harsher than the ones I had lived through.
There was a difference between my family humiliating me and calling me ugly and the entire world doing it.
I wouldn’t survive that.
I preferred remaining invisible to everyone and living a quiet life.
But somewhere inside me, there was still a small desperate desire to experience the things I never got to have, and this was probably the biggest one of all.
I had never experienced what it felt like to go on a real date with someone. I mean, I thought I had been in a relationship with Elliot, but according to him, that had only existed in my head.
He had never made an effort to do anything because he knew I would settle for the bare minimum.
I thought about it a little longer and realized… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
The plan had already succeeded, but if I had the chance to take things a little further, why wouldn’t I?
ME: I’d love to. When?
That Saturday, Lando came to pick me up at my apartment. We were both dressed comfortably this time—and properly bundled up. My flu had already passed its worst stage, but the moment we arrived at the Christmas market, Lando insisted on buying me a scarf.
“To protect your throat from the cold.”
We wandered through the crowds, stopping every so often at little stalls to eat sweets and drink hot chocolate. Overall, it was a really lovely evening, and I laughed more than I had in a very long time.
The cherry on top was ending the night moaning while Lando penetrated me mercilessly in his bed.
I would repeat it all over again without hesitation.
(…)
By the time New Year’s came around, I assumed my “relationship” with Lando would quietly fade into oblivion.
Instead, the opposite happened.
He seemed more and more interested in spending time with me.
And honestly, I always said yes whenever he invited me out or asked me to hang out because I genuinely enjoyed being around him.
I also had to admit that the sex played a big part in it too. We had an unreal kind of sexual chemistry.
The months passed quickly, and before I knew it, it was already March, and Lando had to leave for Australia to start the season. He seemed excited because things were looking promising with both the team and the car.
The day after saying goodbye to him, I had to attend a dinner my grandfather had organized, which of course meant my entire family would be there.
Throughout dinner, my sister seemed oddly downcast, and apparently I wasn’t the only one who noticed because my mother eventually asked her what was wrong. She only gave a vague answer.
I didn’t pay much attention to it. Her problems meant nothing to me, and frankly, I couldn’t care less about whatever she was going through. As long as she wasn’t dying, I figured she could deal with things on her own.
“Y/N, can you ask your mother to bring another bottle of wine? They’re in the kitchen,” my stepfather asked.
“Yeah, of course.”
I got up and headed toward the back of the house where the kitchen was, but just before walking in, I heard my sister’s shaky voice and instinctively stopped.
“I just don’t understand what happened. I mean, he seemed interested. I thought maybe we could become something more, but…” Her voice cracked at the end.
“But what?” my mother urged gently.
“But when I talked to him and told him how I felt, he just apologized and said he was dating someone and didn’t want to confuse things. He said he only saw me as a friend.” A quiet sob escaped her mouth.
“Oh, sweetheart… better men will come into your life.”
“Mom, it’s Lando Norris. I highly doubt anyone compares to him.”
My heart stopped for a second.
She was talking about Lando.
My Lando.
With all the time that had passed and the strange turn my plan had taken, I had almost forgotten this whole thing had started because I wanted to hurt my sister.
And apparently, it was working.
Just not in the way I imagined.
Lando is dating someone?
An uncomfortable knot settled in the pit of my stomach.
Why hadn’t he told me?
We were fucking just the day before, and not once had he bothered mentioning that there was someone else.
I couldn’t listen to the rest of the conversation between my mother and sister because my eyes started filling with tears. I went straight to the bathroom, trying to contain the anxiety attack already creeping its way into my chest.
Why would Lando play with me like that?
Why had he been so kind and attentive if all he wanted was to use me?
The answer was obvious.
Because he was a fucking man.
That was all.
A fucking man who saw me as easy prey.
Who saw right through me—through every insecurity and every complex I carried inside myself.
My eyes met my reflection in the mirror.
But then again, what man wouldn’t jump at the chance of having consequence-free sex?
My sister had been right. Men only sleep with the ugly girl because she’s desperate enough to serve them her pussy on a silver plate
And I was still that ugly girl.
No matter how much my exterior had changed, she was still alive inside me.
The following days felt like an out-of-body experience. I was there, but at the same time, I wasn’t. I did everything on autopilot.
Lando had started the season by winning in Australia, and I think he had been waiting for my congratulatory message, because after that, he started texting me relentlessly.
I didn’t answer a single one of them.
You would think that after being ignored like that, he would eventually give up and stop looking for me.
But no.
If anything, he seemed almost insane trying to get me to talk to him.
His messages went from desperate to resigned, then angry, and finally apologetic.
I wanted to reply. In fact, I was using every ounce of self-control not to.
Because if I answered him, I knew I’d lose control and end up telling him everything I overheard, and that would turn into accusations. I couldn’t be shameless enough to accuse him of using me when I had been doing the exact same thing from the very beginning.
“I don’t know what the hell is going on between you and Lando, but you two need to fix it. I can’t deal with his message-spamming, and I definitely can’t keep coming into work every day and seeing your abandoned-puppy face,” Jack said the moment he sat down beside me at lunch.
“Hi, Jack. Nice to see you too.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Y/N. What’s going on? Last I checked, things between you two were going amazingly.”
His expression made it clear he wouldn’t accept anything less than the truth.
I let out a deep sigh.
“The other day, I overheard my sister saying—”
I couldn’t even finish because Jack immediately let out an exasperated groan.
“Your sister is a fucking bitch. I wouldn’t believe a single thing that comes out of her mouth.”
“But… she sounded convincing.”
“I’m sure she did,” he rolled his eyes. “But don’t you think you should at least give him the chance to explain what happened?”
I knew I should.
But I couldn’t demand honesty from someone when I hadn’t given any myself.
“Do it for me, okay? So I can finally get that pain-in-the-ass man off my back.”
I laughed quietly, though there wasn’t much humor in it.
According to the F1 calendar, Lando should be in Japan by now. I calculated the time difference and decided the best thing would be to call him the next morning.
The following day, I woke up earlier than usual so I’d have time to talk to him.
I called his phone.
It rang without an answer.
Maybe he’s busy right now.
The time difference was around eight hours, so I knew he had to be awake already.
I was about to put my phone down and continue with my morning routine when it suddenly started ringing with an incoming call from Lando.
My heart immediately sped up, and my hands began trembling.
I cleared my throat before answering.
“Hello?”
“Y/N… where the hell have you been? I’ve texted you like a hundred times.” His voice sounded desperate.
“I’m sorry, Lando, it’s just…” The words disappeared from my mouth.
“It’s just what? You didn’t even have one minute to say, ‘Hi Lando, I’m fine, I just don’t want you in my life anymore’?” His tone turned sharper.
“It’s not that, Lando.”
“Then what is it? Why did you disappear like that? Did you even think about how that would affect me?”
The accusations kept coming.
“Lando, it’s just… I’m sorry, okay?” was all I managed to say.
“Sorry for what? Give me an actual explanation.”
“Fine. A few days ago, I overheard something about you, and it upset me a little.”
“What did you hear?” he insisted immediately.
“That you were dating someone else. I mean… I know we’re not officially anything, and you don’t owe me explanations, but I’m not willing to be someone’s second option.”
I finally admitted it, trying my hardest not to sound accusatory.
Lando went silent for a moment. The only thing I could hear was his uneven breathing.
“What?” was the first thing he finally said. “Who told you that?”
“My sister,” I admitted softly.
Lando started laughing, though it didn’t sound amused.
It sounded disbelieving.
I stayed quiet, simply listening.
“Okay,” he finally said after a minute. “I think I understand what’s happening now. Your sister and I have some mutual friends, and we used to hang out together sometimes. You know, parties and stuff like that. I saw her as a friend. Nothing more. I swear.”
I stayed silent, my anxiety practically eating me alive while he continued.
“The last week I was in London, we all went out again, and at one point she pulled me aside and told me she liked me.” He paused briefly, almost hesitant. “I never gave her any reason to think something could happen between us, so honestly, I was surprised. I told her I was dating someone and that we could only be friends.”
Another pause.
“Because you and I are dating each other… right?” he finished uncertainly.
I went completely speechless.
Lando and I were dating?
Since when?
I mean, yes, we went out together and spent time together constantly, but he had never officially asked me anything. Unless I was just stupid and didn’t understand how relationships worked.
“Y/N?” Lando’s voice pulled me back to reality.
“Yes—I mean, I don’t know… you never asked me.” My face burned from how stupid I sounded.
“I’m sorry. I know I should’ve been more direct so there wouldn’t be any confusion. I just assumed you already knew.” He sounded oddly shy now. “Y/N… will you be my girlfriend? I know this isn’t exactly ideal, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
My breath caught in my chest.
Lando couldn’t possibly be serious.
How had I even gotten to this point? He wasn’t supposed to mean anything to me. I was only using him to hurt my sister a little.
I thought about saying no.
I really did.
But then another thought followed immediately after:
Why not? (That should be my new life motto btw)
This transformation deserved a grand finale, and what better ending than having someone like Lando Norris by my side?
“Okay… yes. I accept.”
God, I was an idiot.
But I’d figure out later how to deal with the disaster that was inevitably coming with my sister… and with the rest of the world.
Lando let out a long relieved breath.
“I really like you, Y/N. Don’t ever doubt that for a second. I would never play with you or risk what we have.”
A stab of guilt twisted in my stomach.
I was such a bitch.
“Now tell me,” he continued, “what exactly did your sister say?”
A lightbulb practically went off inside my head.
“We were at the dinner my grandfather organized, and as always, she started making fun of me. Saying I was stupid for thinking someone like you would ever want anything to do with someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
“Yes. Someone ugly, awkward, and pathetic like me,” I continued dramatically.
“What the fuck?”
“Then she said you only pretended to care about girls like me and that you would never in your life even touch me with a ten-foot pole because you already had a girlfriend.”
Inside, I was practically cackling like an evil witch.
“Y/N, you know that’s not true. Why would she say something that horrible?”
“Because she hates me. It’s really that simple.”
“And how does she even know you were interested in me? Did you tell her?”
The small smile that had formed on my lips vanished instantly.
“Well… I think she suspected it because I asked her a few questions about you,” I answered, trying to hide the slight tremble in my voice.
When my script started falling apart, I wasn’t nearly as good at lying.
Lando sighed.
“I didn’t think your sister was like that. Maybe I should talk—”
“NO.”
I cut him off before he could finish.
“I mean… I don’t think that’s a good idea. It would just create more problems between us.”
“Alright. I won’t do it only because you’re asking me not to. But I really don’t like that she’s talking so much shit behind people’s backs.”
I let out a small laugh.
“Don’t worry about it. She says plenty of shit to my face too.”
Lando laughed softly.
“Baby, I have to go. I need to get back to work. I’ll call you around noon, okay? Keep your phone close.”
And just like that, we said goodbye.
I replayed the conversation several times while showering and getting dressed.
How was it possible that out of nowhere, I suddenly had a boyfriend?
And not just any boyfriend.
Lando Norris.
My life had become so strange ever since I decided to become pretty—and cruel.
And speaking of cruel, I know lying to Lando about the conversation with my sister was wrong.
Even childish.
Why did I do it? Because I can.
Well… in reality, it was because according to my logic, if Lando and I were going to be in a relationship, then he couldn’t stay friends with my sister.
He was either with me or against me.
And I was willing to do absolutely anything to make sure it never became the second option.
(…)
A few months had passed since that day, and my relationship with Lando was going incredibly well. Even in the middle of the season, Lando always found time to come back to London so we could see each other.
I had also gotten the chance to meet his family and part of his McLaren team, and little by little, we kept growing closer and more attached to one another.
Our relationship still wasn’t public, partly because I was terrified of my family’s reaction and partly because I knew that once the world found out, I would never know what it felt like to be completely invisible again.
And that scared me more than anything.
Lando respected my decision, but it was obvious that, in some way, he wanted me to be present at his races. He was doing incredibly well, and even though half the season was still left, people were already projecting him as the future champion.
Which filled me with pride.
“You should come with me to Silverstone.”
I opened my eyes and lifted my head from Lando’s chest. His hand lazily played with my hair.
“I’m not really sure. What if someone notices?”
“Would that really be so bad?” Lando kissed my forehead before looking at me expectantly.
“No, of course not. It’s just… you know. I’m scared,” I admitted while holding his gaze.
“Y/N, sooner or later it’s going to happen. I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you, but I would like you to be there at my races.” He noticed my hesitation immediately. “Look, if you want, you don’t even have to go near the cameras. We’ll keep you in the garage where nobody will bother you. Okay?”
I thought about it for a little longer, but in the end, I agreed.
It was time to accept that if I wanted to be with Lando, this was going to become my new reality. Sooner or later, I would have to get used to it.
We agreed that I would only attend on Sunday—the race day.
That morning, I nearly lost my mind trying to decide what to wear, how to do my makeup, and what to do with my hair. If this was how every race weekend was going to be, I was genuinely going to lose it.
Eventually, I settled on a short mauve-pink chiffon dress with a deep V-neckline, a ruched bodice, and bishop sleeves that weren’t overly dramatic. The waist was decorated with lace details, and the skirt fell in layered lettuce-edge ruffles.
I paired it with nude stiletto sandals fastened with delicate ankle straps.
I decided to wear only a light layer of makeup and leave my long dark hair loose.
Lando had already given me my paddock passes beforehand and arranged for someone from the team to pick me up and take me directly to the garage. By then, I already recognized several people, so I didn’t feel quite as out of place anymore.
I managed to talk to Lando for a little while before he disappeared into race preparations. Everyone treated me kindly. It was obvious they all knew I was Lando’s new girlfriend.
Once the race started, they insisted on giving me a seat where I could see everything better. The experience oddly reminded me of some of my engineering classes, which made me unexpectedly nostalgic.
During the pre-race broadcast, several cameras kept focusing on the garage.
And that was when it happened.
One of the cameras zoomed in directly on my face. I only realized because I suddenly saw myself on one of the large broadcast screens. I looked up and found the camera pointed straight at me.
I immediately looked away and tried to act natural while subtly hiding behind someone else.
Several people in the garage laughed after noticing my reaction.
How embarrassing.
Lando walked over to kiss my cheek goodbye before the race started, and unfortunately for me, the camera caught that too.
Anyone watching the broadcast at that moment could easily put the pieces together and figure out exactly what was going on.
I tried not to think about it and focused instead on the start of the race.
I would deal with the gossip later.
The race started, and the entire time I felt my heart lodged in my throat. I tried to stay calm, but there were moments when it became almost impossible.
In the end, Lando won the race.
His team wanted me there to greet him afterward, but honestly, I felt like I had enough attention for the day.
After the celebration, we decided it would be best to head back to London immediately. A few weeks of break were coming up, and Lando wanted to enjoy every second of them.
“Are you staying at my apartment?” Lando asked.
“Yes, but I need to stop by mine first to grab a few things.”
“What things? You can just wear my clothes, and tomorrow we’ll pick up the rest.”
“No, I need my skincare stuff. I can’t go to bed without doing it.”
Lando sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes in amusement.
“Alright, alright. Women and their things,” he muttered under his breath.
“Hey.”
Lando answered my complaint with a laugh.
Idiot.
We arrived at my apartment building after about two hours on the road.
We stepped into the elevator, and Lando immediately started kissing me while I tried to push him away. The last thing I wanted was for security to catch us on the cameras.
The elevator doors opened when we reached my floor, and we stepped out still caught up in our playful teasing.
“I always knew you were a fucking jealous bitch.”
My sister’s voice startled me so badly I nearly jumped.
Before I could even react, her palm collided hard against my cheek.
The shock was so intense that I froze completely.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lando snapped instantly. “Who the hell gave you the right to hit her?”
His voice was furious as he stepped directly in front of me protectively.
“You knew perfectly well that I liked him, and you still acted like a slut and crawled into his bed. You’re nothing but fucking trash, and you always have been. That’s why I hate you, and that’s why Mom hates you too.”
Lula ignored every single one of Lando’s questions and kept screaming in my direction instead.
Every word felt like another knife sinking into my already battered heart.
“Are you insane? I’m not going to let you disrespect her like that,” Lando shouted back. All I could see was his back rising and falling sharply with restrained anger.
“Don’t defend her. You have no idea who she really is or what she’s capable of. She’s a miserable bitch who could never stand the fact that I was better than her at everything, so she decided to go after you. Don’t you get it?” Lula was becoming more hysterical by the second, desperately trying to “make him understand.”
“This is who she was before she started pretending to be someone else. She hates me because I’ll always be more beautiful than her, and because ever since we were kids, she’s been nothing more than dirt stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”
Lula shoved a handful of photos toward Lando, who silently began flipping through them one by one.
I barely caught a glimpse of them before all the blood drained from my face.
They were pictures of me as a child and teenager.
Before the surgeries.
Before I learned how to take care of my appearance.
My eyes immediately filled with tears from the humiliation and heartbreak crashing over me.
How much did my sister have to hate me to do something like this?
Was I really that disgusting to her?
Lando stayed quiet for a moment before finally turning toward me.
“Y/N… I’m so sorry.”
His expression was completely serious, while on Lula’s face, a satisfied smile slowly began forming alongside an even more smug look.
Then Lando took the photos in his hands and ripped them apart.
“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with such a fucking bitch your entire life.”
He took my hand and guided me back toward the elevator.
The look on Lula’s face was fucking priceless.
She definitely hadn’t expected her little show to end like that.
(…)
“Y/N, say something. You’re being way too quiet, and you’re starting to worry me.” Lando rested his hand on my thigh, gently massaging it.
We had arrived at Lando’s apartment five minutes ago, and I still hadn’t fully come out of the state of shock my sister’s confrontation had left me in.
“It’s just… I…” I let out a shaky sob.
Lando’s face twisted as though seeing me like this physically hurt him.
“Shh, shh. Easy, baby.” He kissed the top of my head several times while holding me close. “Hey, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. The ones who should feel ashamed are your family for treating you so inhumanely. You were just a little girl. It’s cruel that you had to carry the weight of not fitting beauty standards when you were that innocent.”
Lando’s words felt like a warm embrace around my bruised heart.
“I love you so much, sweetheart.” He pressed more kisses into my hair as my sobs only grew stronger. “Come on, don’t cry anymore. I don’t want your eyes getting swollen. They’re too pretty.”
“Lando… why do they hate me so much?”
Before Lando could answer, the sound of my phone ringing cut through the room.
We both looked toward it, and I felt my stomach drop.
Mom.
I wasn’t ready to face her.
But Lando, clearly determined to end this nightmare once and for all, picked up the phone, put it on speaker, and handed it to me.
“Hello?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.
“You ungrateful little bitch. How could you do something like this to your sister?” My mother’s voice exploded through the speaker, full of rage.
“Mom, I—”
I couldn’t even finish before she launched at me again.
“Never in my life did I think I’d end up raising enemies under the same roof. Your heart is rotten, and I’ve always known it. End whatever the hell you have going on with that man right now and get on your knees to apologize to your sister. It’s the very least you can do. I always knew you’d turn out exactly like your worthless father, a shameless wh—”
Lando snatched the phone from my hand before she could finish. He turned off the speaker and pressed the phone against his ear.
“Your daughter isn’t going to do a fucking shit, and you can go fuck yourself.”
Without another word, he hung up.
Then he powered off my phone completely and tossed it onto the couch.
I stared at him with my mouth hanging open.
The sheer shock of what had just happened made me burst into laughter even as tears continued streaming down my face.
What the actual fuck had just happened?
“Are you okay?” Lando looked at me with an expression caught somewhere between concern and amusement.
“Yeah, it’s just… I never thought I’d see you like that.”
“Neither did I. But I think we both have the right to lose our minds a little after everything that just happened.”
I stared at him while he reached over to wipe away my tears.
“I love you, Lando,” I finally confessed.
“And I love you more, sweetheart.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against my lips. “Now come on. Let’s go get your things. You’re never going back there.”
The next day, we flew to the Maldives to forget about everything and everyone.
At least for a few days.
I still felt emotionally drained and had little desire to do much of anything, but Lando encouraged me to go out and explore with him. We ended up scuba diving and riding around on the hotel’s bicycles.
Very Pinterest-worthy.
That afternoon, we sat together watching the sunset by the shore.
I was sitting between his legs, my back pressed against his chest while his arms wrapped around me.
“What would you think about living in Monaco?” he asked after a long silence.
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Lando Norris, are you asking me to move in with you?” I teased.
“Yes. Why not?” he replied simply. “I want you all to myself. I want to have you beside me all the time.”
“Are you serious?” I pulled away from his arms and turned to face him.
“When have I ever not been serious with you?” He leaned back against his hands casually.
“It’s just… I don’t know. I have a life in London. I have my job there too.” I tried to come up with more reasons why I should stay, but I couldn’t find many. I no longer had a family there, and I could always visit Jack whenever I wanted.
“You can find a better job. Or not work at all if that’s what you want. I’ll take care of you.”
“You say it like it’s that easy,” I muttered.
“Because it is. With me, you never have to fight to earn anything. I’ll give it to you without thinking twice.”
The seriousness in both his voice and expression made my chest tighten.
“Okay… so we move in together, and then what?” I asked lightly, not expecting the answer that came next.
“We get married.”
He said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Lando…” I was left completely speechless.
“After the season ends,” he continued calmly. “I love you, and I don’t want to waste time. I want us to become one.”
“You can’t possibly be serious.”
(…)
He was serious.
Very serious.
Now I stood alone in a room, reflecting on what my life had become over the past year.
It was December again.
But not the same December.
This one carried a different kind of sadness.
I looked at myself in the mirror once more, and the woman staring back at me felt like a complete stranger. My old insecurities no longer haunted me the way they once had.
Now it was different emotions tearing me apart.
I carefully examined my appearance one last time.
The white dress flowed around my body in a fluid, asymmetrical silhouette. A single draped strap wrapped delicately over one shoulder while layers of semi-transparent chiffon sculpted my figure almost like art, emphasizing the crossing fabric at my waist. A slit along the skirt revealed flashes of my leg as I walked, extending into a soft train that brushed the floor behind me.
On my feet were beautiful pearl-white heels that were surprisingly comfortable.
My hair was styled into a classic low bun, covered by a veil made of sheer, weightless tulle that floated softly around me. The dramatic scalloped trim was embroidered with silver embellishments, translucent bugle beads, and shimmering crystals shaped like delicate organic patterns, almost like a halo resting above my head.
In my hands, I held a compact bouquet of white peonies tied tightly with satin ribbon.
And on my ring finger rested a piece of jewelry that caught the light with every slight movement of my hand. An oval-cut champagne diamond surrounded on each side by two delicate pear-cut diamonds, all perfectly set on a yellow gold band.
The ring Lando Norris had given me the moment we arrived in Monaco.
So yes.
As you can probably imagine…
Today was my wedding day.
And all I could feel was sadness.
Sadness because only two people were here with me today: my grandfather—whom I invited under the condition that he wouldn’t tell the rest of the family—and Jack, who honestly counted as both Lando’s guest and mine.
Sadness because I was about to marry a man who deserved far better than a life with someone like me.
Sadness because after a painful amount of introspection, I realized my mother had been right about one thing.
My heart was not pure.
And even knowing that, I was still going to give it to someone who expected to find innocence in it.
My thoughts never cleared, and carrying the full weight of my emotions, I walked toward the altar.
Alone.
Because even though my grandfather was there, I had decided that was how I wanted it.
Lando waited for me at the altar in a custom-tailored suit made specifically for the occasion. His smile was radiant, his eyes shining with excitement the moment he saw me.
The ceremony started.
And the priest’s words struck something so deep inside my chest, that for a brief moment, I questioned whether this was truly what I wanted.
Maybe I should let him go.
Maybe he deserved a life with someone who could genuinely make him happy.
But the thought alone nearly brought me to tears.
The mere idea of losing him felt unbearable.
I wasn’t perfect.
But I was willing to spend the rest of my life trying to become worthy of the love of someone who, for the first time ever, loved me without conditions.
“…Y/N?”
I lifted my gaze and found the priest staring at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.
summary: you and lando had a one night stand and kept a secret. now you're introduced by a mutual friend and have to deal with the tension. +18. mndi.
word count: 3.1k
author's notes: alexa play sticky feat. glorilla. i wrote this a few weeks ago and i had a revelation that i'm a whore for any type of secret relationship. so this worked out perfectly with 1. dean and allie (ughhhghghhg) 2. the other post i've scheduled for next week hehehehe (basically same concept of this one but w/ jimin!!!!)
masterlist
Three months ago.
Three months since I photographed an F1 driver for my work.
Three months since he somehow talked me into giving him my number while shamelessly flirting between shots.
I remember thinking he probably does that all the time, and yet somehow I still ended up at his apartment.
His bed.
His kitchen counter.
His shower.
That night lived rent-free in my head for days afterward, but we never really talked about it. I decided it was a mistake. Not exactly professional behavior on my part.
So I ask him to stay between us.
Which brings us to now…
∙ ∙ ∙
It was a beautiful day in Monaco. The summer heat had mellowed into something almost perfect — the kind of weather that makes it very easy to say yes to a villa weekend, even when you'd be the third wheel to Oscar and Lily. The view alone made it worth it. That, and the idea of being somewhere that wasn't my office.
I arrived later than everyone else, as usual. Before I even stepped fully inside, I could already hear Alex and Carlos arguing over a game, music floating somewhere in the background, and a few voices I didn’t recognize.
Lily appeared and grabbed my arm like she'd been waiting at the door.
"Finally," she said, pulling me into a hug.
“Hey, I’m happy to be here,” I say, hugging her tight
"I’m so glad you’re here! let’s go, there are people you haven't met yet."
She steered me toward the patio, doing the quick round of introductions.
“Guys, this is my friend Y/n, she’s the amazing photographer I told you.” I smiled and waved; everyone was mid-conversation and relaxed about it, which I appreciated.
And then, at the end of the table, a familiar face looked up.
That slow, stupid grin, the backwards cap, the exact same eyes that flash into my memory often.
My stomach dropped.
I mean, I did this to myself. Out of every guy in Monaco, I had to hook up with the one in my friend’s inner circle.
I fixed my face as fast as I could and nodded to him with my lips shut tight.
Lily seated me near him. Of course she did.
The table was loud and full and easy — Charles was mid-story about a press interaction, everyone leaning in, which meant I had exactly zero excuses not to look natural. I poured myself a drink, laughed at the right moments, and avoided the left side of my peripheral vision with the focus of someone defusing something.
He was quiet about it, at least.
Just that slow energy that pulls my attention like a magnet. Every now and then, I looked up, and he was already watching me, with this expression like he was very entertained.
I looked away every time. Quickly. The truth is, I don’t know how to act around him.
Later, I drifted toward the bar to mix drinks for the girls. It was a good excuse. Pretending to be busy to avoid giving myself up.
I was halfway through when I felt him appear at the corner of my eye, leaning on the counter with his elbows, completely unbothered.
"Do you take orders?" he asked.
"Sure," I said, keeping my eyes on the glass. "What do you want?"
He glanced around, just briefly, and lowered his voice just enough. "I think you know what I like."
I stilled for half a second. Torturing me seemed to be his way to entertain himself.
Lily and Alexandra chose that exact moment to arrive, Lily still laughing at something from the other side of the patio. I straightened up and handed over the drink I'd been making, grateful for the interruption.
"Wait, Lando, did you meet Y/N? She’s an incredible photographer," Lily asked, leaning her hip against the counter and looking between us. "I realized I didn't properly introduce you."
Lando tilted his head, his gaze dragging across my face like a physical touch. He took a slow sip of whatever was in his glass, his eyes never leaving mine. "I was just wondering about that myself," he murmured. "You look incredibly familiar. Have we met before?"
I focused very hard on slicing a lime, my fingers trembling slightly against the blade. "I don’t think so," I said, keeping my tone flat, professional.
"Maybe you saw her in that shoot you were talking about it" Alexandra suggested, blissfully unaware as she stirred her drink with a straw.
"Maybe," Lando said, though he didn't look at Alexandra. I felt his eyes burning on me.
…
The evening softened, people split into smaller groups, music got quieter, I stopped attempting to win games, and the drinks started to kick in. Lando’s presence becomes more comfortable. By the time the house was mostly settled, I was alone on the patio, watching a boat move slowly in the dark water below.
I heard him before I saw him.
"Doesn't seem like either of us is calling it a night," he said, his hands were holding a glass almost empty, his shirt was a bit more wrinkled, and his hair was now without his cap and a bit messier.
"Apparently not."
He stood beside me for a moment, looking out in the same direction I was. "Do you want to go for a swim?"
"I don't think we should."
"Why?"
"It's almost two in the morning."
"And?" He tilted his head. "Didn't we just agree we’re not the early bird type?"
I rubbed the back of my neck. The water in the pool looked peaceful and inviting. Swimming actually sounded nice. "I don’t have my swimsuit on, and I’m afraid that if I go to my bedroom, I would actually stay there, so...."
He looked at me, narrowing his eyes, like that might be the least convincing argument he’s ever heard.
"There’s nothing I hav-you're making it very hard not to say something dirty to you."
"Then don't."
"Ok. But we’re swimming then."
The pool faced the city and the docks, the lights of Monaco stacked up the hillside in the distance. Lando left his watch and glass on a side table and started taking off his shirt in a way that shouldn’t register as important but absolutely did. I looked away. I'm mostly sure he noticed.
I slipped off my jeans and top, grateful in a very specific way for my choice of underwear, and dove in before I could overthink it.
When I surfaced, he was still on the steps, inching in like the cold water was a personal attack.
“Oh my god, you’re the one to convince me to swim and not even going for a proper dive?” I teased
"I didn't think it through."
I laughed as he finally sank in with a sharp exhale.
…
“What got you into photography?” he asks.
“My dad used to take photos all the time, he had a collection of old film cameras and stuff, and then I started stealing them when I was like thirteen.”
“Stealing?”
“Borrowing without permission.”
He grins. “Oof, rebel.”
“I know, very dangerous.”
He watches me for a second, like he’s trying to picture it.
“You travel a lot for it?”
“Sometimes. Depends on the job.” I shrug. “It’s been mostly Europe lately.”
“Mostly Monaco?”
“For the last four months, yes, exclusive Monaco.”
“Right”
I glance at him, and it’s like for a second he forgot that we met here.
“And you? Do you like it here?”
He leans back at the edge of the pool, resting his head on the border
“I do,” he says. “I like the weather and the fact that most of my friends live here.”
“That’s a safe answer.”
“It’s the true one,” he says
I shake my head, smiling. It got easier in the water. Easier to talk. Easier to forget, for a few minutes, that I was way too embarrassed to be around him. Now it feels natural; it’s nice to actually get to know him.
“So,” he says, and by his tone, I've got an idea of the subject he will bring, "I'm sorry I didn't text you. After."
I glanced at him. He was looking straight ahead, leaning at the pool's edge.
"I didn't know if you wanted to hear from me," he continued. "And then I kept putting it off until it was too late to do it."
I was quiet for a second. Honesty felt the way to go at two in the morning, in cold water, with no one watching.
"I didn't reach out either," I admitted. "What happened was... out of character for me. I got embarrassed. I didn't want to make it awkward."
He frowned. "How come?"
“I mean, it was a one-time thing; I did think you would have thought about it.”
He shakes his head, looking straight. “You’ve got a very optimistic opinion of yourself if you think that night was forgettable.”
His statement caught me off guard. The reminder of our last night together sent a jolt of heat through me.
When he finally looks back at me, there’s no smirk on his face this time. Just something steady.
“Oh,” I say quietly, processing his words. “I just figured…” I start, shrugging a little. “You know. You meet a lot of people. I didn’t exactly assume I’d be… memorable.”
He lets out a soft scoff. “So your solution was to pretend it never happened.”
“More like… hope it politely disappeared.”
He studies me for a second.
“Nah,” he says slowly. “That wasn’t going to happen.”
I bit my lips as I smiled. “Apparently not.”
There’s a brief, comfortable pause before I add.
“Also… if we’re confessing things.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Go on.”
I swirl my hand through the water.
“It wasn’t exactly easy to forget on my side either.”
His expression shifts, he sucks his teeth and raises his brows, “Oh yeah?”
I side-eye him. “You’re acting surprised.”
“I’m acting curious.” The beginning of a smirk settled on his lips. “That’s amazing for my ego,”
“Oh my…shut up,” I push his shoulder lightly as we chuckle
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks as his smile fades a bit
“Go for it.”
“Do you regret it?
I scrunch my nose as I respond, “Not really.”
I surprised myself a little. I'd spent so long convincing myself it was nothing — that I was nothing to him, that he was nothing to me — and somewhere along the way I think I started believing it. It was easier.
But then he looks at me like that, says something like that, and the whole story I've been telling myself just... seems nonsense.
“Good, because if it weren’t for the miscommunication, I would do it all over again,” he casually states
I bite my lips as I confess, “I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”
“Not opposed?”
“I’m trying to sound dignified.”
“You’re doing great.”
I nudge the water toward him with my hand.
“Don’t ruin it.”
He studies me for a second, clearly amused. Then he shrugs lightly.
“Well,” he says, very casually, “good news.”
I narrowed my eyes, waiting for him to say it.
He pushes himself off the edge of the pool, standing in the shallow water.
“I’m free tonight.”
“…you’re unbelievable.”
“And apparently unforgettable,” he winks, sitting at the edge, dripping wet.
I laughed despite myself and looked away.
I floated on my back, arms out, looking up at the sky, enjoying the hum of the water around my ears. I let myself drift for a moment before I righted myself, looking in Lando’s direction, I see his eyes locked on me. Not at my face. At my body.
I shake my head, pushing wet hair out of my eyes as I swim closer to the steps. Climbing out, the night air hits my skin, shivering a little, I look around for something, anything, that could pass as a towel; my clothes aren’t near enough to dry my whole body.
Behind me, I hear Lando getting up as well. There are still droplets of water running down his shoulders. He stands up and shakes his head like a dog.
“Elegant,” I say, wiping my face with my shirt.
“Says the one drying herself in a tiny piece of fabric?” He reaches down to where he dropped his clothes earlier and grabs his shirt from the table, tossing it towards me.
I catch it and pull it over my head. The fabric is soft and way too big, falling to the middle of my tights; it smells like him, and I hate myself for noticing.
“Let’s go inside, you’re cold,” he tilted his head toward the house and extended one hand. I looked at it for a second longer than I needed to. Then I took it.
Inside, we moved quickly and quietly to avoid making the floor even wetter, both of us on the edge of laughing about it without actually laughing. The house was dark and still and felt like a completely different place than it had a few hours ago — smaller somehow, just the two of us moving through it.
We slowed down when we got to the hallway. I stopped outside my door and turned around, and that's when I noticed that he was still holding my hand. Not like he was guiding me, his fingers were around mine tightly, like he had no intention of letting go.
I looked down at it for a second. So did he.
When I looked back up, he was already watching me, close enough that I was aware of every inch between us. The moment just sat there, my heart felt heavy, our eyes were saying something neither of us had said out loud yet. I want you.
His expression was giving me the chance to make the call.
So I did.
I stepped forward and reached up, pulling him down to me. His hands came to my face immediately, steady and certain. The kiss was warm and a little breathless and nothing like the careful distance I was trying to maintain all evening — it was the other version of us, the one that had existed three months ago.
He smiled against my mouth. I felt it before I saw it.
"Took you long enough," he murmured.
"Shut up," I said, pulling his lips into mine as we entered the bedroom.
We stumble inside; the kiss is messier, I part my lips just enough, and his tongue slides in. I taste the alcohol from earlier, warm and fresh. Our bodies are still wet and cold, but inside I can feel the heat growing. His hands land at my waist like it’s a familiar gesture. Lando shuts and locks the door, still holding me tight.
My fingers brush through the damp curls at the back of his head. We’re breathing so hard I can't tell where his breath ends and mine begins. I thought I had a good reason not to do this. Standing here, I can't remember what it was.
“I missed your kiss,” he says against my mouth, his hands slide to my ass, giving a firm squeeze.
His hands move fast, yanking his shirt over my head, sliding down to my stomach, past my navel, his fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear. I lift my hips just enough for him to pull, as the damp fabric slides down my thighs, I unclasp my bra, letting it fall somewhere on the floor.
I grab the front of his shorts—the wet fabric clinging to his hips—and start pulling. He helps, shoving them down his thighs, then kicking them off one foot. Guiding his body to the bed, I push him into it. He takes his boxers off, and his back hits the mattress. I climbed on top of him.
We lined up perfectly, him hard in my entrance, his eyes tracking the progress of my hands touching him and aligning his cock, enough for me to sink on him.
“Of fuck.” A breath sound comes out of Lando’s throat. “Just like that.”
I push down on my knees, straddling my hips deeper. It feels so good that it stuns me. Stretching me, his dick hits the perfect spot inside me, the friction, the sense of fullness, makes my eyes roll back in my head.
“Mhm, yes, Lando…” I whine
I press my palm against his chest for support. One of his hands squeezes my waist as the other holds my breast. I fasten the pace, rocking on his cock, the angle is so deep, my breath hitches, and a desperate, obscene sound escapes my lips.
“Shhh, baby,” Lando hisses.
I bite my lip trying to control myself, but my body reacts involuntarily. My thighs burn, but I keep squeezing him tighter.
Just like he became aware of thoughts, Lando moves swiftly, lifting me off and him.
My knees sink into the mattress, and I arch my back enough so my legs are spread open and my ass is high.
“That’s it, show me how much you want it,” he says into my neck. He adjusts himself behind me and buries himself back inside of me with one thrust. Immediately, my legs tremble. Lando grips my waist, keeping me still and angling his pounds.
I sob and whimper into the back of my hands, powerless. The sound of our bodies frantically slapping against each other takes over my senses. I’m drunk on him, he’s panting my name under his breath, and reaching for between my legs. His finger slips to my swollen clit and rubs me faster.
Then everything inside me clenches, feeling every thick inch of him. When that pressure builds intensely, I can’t hold on anymore. I shatter. Bursting like a dam, my skin is hot, eyelids feel heavy, and Lando’s keeping pounding roughly.
“I’m gonna come.” His words are choppy, my pulse in my neck is hammering when he growls my name, and his cock twitches inside of me.
I’m in a state of haze, still riding the wave of my orgasm. I feel a warm liquid drip out of my pussy as Lando pulls out.
We fall our sweaty bodies into bed, and I give a small laugh. He does too, and for a minute that's all there is — just both of us catching our breath in the dark.
"I'm having a bit of deja vu," he says.
"What—"
"I mean, partial deja vu. For the full experience, we'd need a kitchen, a love seat…"
"Oh, my God." I cover my face with my hands, laughing.
He blows out a sigh, "We're pretty good at this."
“Hate to admit it.”
“I’m serious, there’s something about us, about you…that’s different,”
“That’s the sex talking.”
“It’s not, I promise.”
I turn my head to look at him. He’s gonna be the death of me.
꒰ synopsis ꒱ ✶ katsuki always wondered what the hell his father saw in his old hag of a mother. it takes twenty years, a nasty fight with you, a near-death experience, and a trip to the hospital before he finally gets it
── ✶ word count: 5.8k words ; my drabbles always do this bro
── ✶ before you read: female reader ; pro hero bakugou ; established relationship ; arguing ; (temporary) relationship troubles ; injuries + villain attacks + hospitals (bakugou) ; tame angst with a happy ending! ; communication + resolving arguments ; bakugou’s father makes an appearance ; fluff and banter at the end ; masterlist.
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ at the end of the day i will never not be a sucker for the trope where u argue just before a major life threatening incident occurs
It’s 9:32 PM when Katsuki begrudgingly leaves his patrol area and finally calls it quits for the night.
Patrol was supposed to end an hour and thirty-two minutes ago, but he’s been dragging his feet ever since. Taking the long route. Responding to calls that technically aren’t under his jurisdiction. Circling blocks he’s already cleared twice. Anything to kill time. It’s only when Kirishima actively tells him to get the fuck out and stop interfering with his villain count for the night that Katsuki finally accepts defeat and ends his workday.
Ending his workday means going home. And if he goes home, you’ll be there. And if you’re there, he’ll be reminded of your nasty argument from the other night. And if he thinks about that argument, he’ll have to face the fact that the two of you are still stubbornly refusing to speak to one another until the other apologizes first. It’s a ridiculous standoff—an unnecessary one, and he knows it. But neither of you seems particularly interested in ending it, and now his own apartment has somehow become the last place he wants to be. Every room feels charged with an uncomfortable tension. The living room is awkward. The kitchen is unbearable. Even lying down beside you at night feels weird, so Katsuki would rather avoid the whole thing if he can help it.
If he gets home late enough, you’ll already be asleep. Then he can shower, crawl into bed, and pretend the situation doesn’t exist for a few more hours. It seemed like a solid plan in his mind, but unfortunately, thanks to fucking Shitty-Hair, he has no choice but to head home and hang up his costume.
And judging by the lights still glowing through the windows of his apartment, his luck has officially run out. You’re still awake. Of course.
He trudges in, and there you are—sitting stiffly on the couch in the living room, staring directly at him with your arms crossed and an infuriated glare on your face as you fix him with narrowed eyes. Great.
“Do you have any fucking clue what time it is?” you hiss without missing a beat.
Katsuki should’ve known you’d start nagging the second he walked through the door. Hell, he should’ve turned around and just left the moment he saw the lights on instead of coming in.
“S’not even ten,” he grumbles, kicking his boots off. “Would you fuckin’ drop it—”
“You were supposed to be home almost two hours ago!” Your voice rings through the apartment, sharp and incredulous, and Katsuki is so tired. So exhausted. Too exhausted to deal with this nonsense right now, of all times.
“Yeah, well. Now I’m home. There you go.”
The dismissal only seems to make you angrier. Katsuki practically watches the steam start pouring from your ears as you shoot to your feet, hands planting firmly on your hips. And he just knows your voice is about to get louder.
“That’s it?” you practically screech. He fucking knew it. “You’re out on patrol for an extra two hours, and I hear nothing from you—not even a text saying, I’ll be home late. I’ve been sitting here like an idiot, wondering what the fuck happened, or if you’re okay, and all you can say is now you’re home? Do you just get off on being an asshole or something, Katsuki?”
His shoulders tense immediately as he fixes you with an equally hard glare. There goes his wish for a peaceful, conflict-avoidant night. Of course, as always, you have to drag the conflict right to him and drop it at his feet, spike his temper, and make it ruin his evening. A simple shower and a good night’s sleep was all he wanted. But things are never quite that easy—not with you.
Katsuki feels a dull throb start behind his eyes as he shoots back, “What, was your phone broken or some shit? What exactly held you at gunpoint and stopped you from sendin’ me a text and asking, huh?”
Your jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“I’m not laughin’, am I? Definitely no jokes here.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you scowl, and he snorts. There’s no humor behind the sound, however.
“Yeah, that’s real mature.”
“Oh no—you don’t get to tell me about what’s mature and what isn’t. Cause if you wanna talk about what’s mature, it’s not disappearing for two hours and acting like I’m insane for being worried!”
“I wasn’t disappearing, I was fuckin’ doing my job.”
“You were supposed to be done with that job hours ago!”
“Well, I wasn’t!”
“You have a smart little answer for everything, don’t you, Katsuki?” you smile sarcastically, “just think you’re so smart and above it all, huh?”
Katsuki doesn’t know if it’s the headache that’s been creeping on him, or the rage, or the pure adrenaline in his system, but he does know that for a short, fleeting second, all he saw was red.
“Holy fuck, do you ever listen to yourself?”
Your expression hardens instantly. “No, I think you should listen to yourself. You might hear an idiot if you do.”
The apartment goes quiet. Dangerously quiet.
“You know what?” he says coldly, “forget this. I’m goin’ the fuck to sleep—I’ve dealt with enough bullshit tonight—”
You throw your hands in the air, exasperated. There is a flash of hurt on your face that makes his chest ache, but the sharp stab of pain doesn’t last for long because as quickly as his heart bleeds, his mind makes him forget. It only lets him focus on the anger and the irritation and the way you’ve ruined his night, just like you ruined the one before.
“Every single time I tell you something bothers me, you act like it’s a personal attack, and then you just dismiss me like I don’t matter—”
“Maybe I wouldn’t dismiss shit if every conversation with you didn’t turn into a fuckin’ laundry list of grievances you got with me!”
“You only take everything I say as a complaint because you refuse to communicate!”
“Because not everything needs to be a damn discussion like we’re in therapy!”
“Right,” you laugh bitterly. “Silly me. God forbid I expect basic consideration from you.”
Something ugly flashes across his face. He knows it. Katsuki knows that when he’s mad, he turns ugly—he’s always been that way. It’s the only way he knows how to be. For the longest time, he thought you were the only person he could hide it from. That you were the only person he could fight the urge to get ugly from because you are just that special.
But Katsuki is who he is, and he’s learned that he’s a special kind of ugly just for you.
“Basic consideration?” he barks. “You’re sayin’ I’m not considerate?”
“No, sometimes you fucking aren’t and—”
“Oh, that’s fuckin’ rich! I break my back every day keeping this city safe—”
“Well, if the city is the only thing you can be considerate for, why the fuck are you even here?”
It’s silent as soon as the words leave your mouth. Katsuki goes completely still. He can feel it the second it happens—the way his expression shuts down. The way the anger drains out of his face and leaves behind something colder. Something worse. Something so ugly, he has to get out of here before you see it and realize he isn’t worth it. Isn’t worth you.
“Yeah,” His voice is flat. “Why am I here, right? You know, you can just tell me to leave next time, it’d be a lot fuckin’ easier for you.”
“Katsuki—”
“No.” He grabs the strap of his duffel bag that carries his guantlets from where he’d dropped it by the door, throwing it over his shoulder as he bends down to lace his boots up again.
“Katsuki, that’s not what I meant.”
“Sure.”
“I was angry—”
“Clearly, you’re always fuckin’ angry at me. I’m always doin’ something the fuck wrong, aren’t I? Nothin’ I do is enough?”
Stop, stop, stop. His mind is screaming, begging him not to do this. To get out. To leave and fight that hideous part of him down until he’s far enough that you never, ever have to see it.
“Katsuki, don’t do this right now—”
“Do what?” His voice rises more than it should. Stop—stop now. But he can’t. The ugliest of him is already taking surface and showing his truest of colors. “What exactly am I supposed to say here, huh?” You flinch. He needs to fucking stop, but he doesn’t. “Because apparently, when I stay late to save people, I’m an asshole. When I’m home, I’m an asshole. I breathe, I’m an asshole. I exist, I’m an asshole.”
“That’s not—”
“So what’s the answer?” His laugh is bitter and so, so cold that he doesn’t recognize this version of himself. Not with you. He wants to stop desperately, but he can’t. Because Katsuki is an ugly, hideous, despicable person deep down. No amount of heroism on the surface can hide that part of him that’s on the inside, not from you. “Since you’ve got everything figured out, you tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”
“Katsuki, let’s just sit down and—”
He shakes his head. For a second, he wants it to hurt. He wants it to hurt for you. Stop, stop, stop— “Y’know what? I’m done.”
His hand closes around the doorknob, and your voice comes out shaky and panicked as you whisper, “Katsuki, please just sit down and—”
“I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this shit anymore.”
Then he yanks the door open and walks right back out, slamming it hard enough behind him to rattle the picture frames on the wall.
────────────────────────
Katsuki is six when he first asks his father what the fuck the old man even sees in the hag that is his mother. He remembers the conversation vividly.
“Dad, why did you marry Mom? She’s grumpy and old, and she yells all the time,” little Katsuki asks, crossing his tiny arms over his chest. “Why d’you even like her?”
Masaru nearly chokes on his tea. “Katsuki,” he coughs. “Your mother isn’t old. You shouldn’t say that—it’s rude.”
“But she is,” he huffs. “She smells like an old lady, too.”
“Well, if she’s old, then I’m even older,” Masaru points out, taking another sip. “So that can’t be a very good reason not to like her.”
“Well, she’s mean.”
“She’s not mean,” his father chuckles, thoroughly amused.
No matter how many times he sees it, Katsuki doesn’t understand it—the way his father gets that dumb, starry-eyed look whenever Mitsuki comes up. She’s always in a bad mood, and if she isn’t, she’s probably due for one within the next thirty minutes. Why his father would choose to marry such a sour lady is completely beyond his six-year-old comprehension.
“She yelled at me this morning,” he sulks.
“You tried to use your explosions inside the house,” Masaru reminds him, leveling him with a pointed look. “We talked about that. Rules are rules for a reason, young man.”
Katsuki pouts harder. His father is supposed to take his side.
“But she still yelled. And it was mean,” he argues back stubbornly. Masaru only smiles into his tea, shaking his head with fond amusement. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then Katsuki presses again, “So what do you even like about her?”
The question seems to catch Masaru off guard. He pauses, thinking. “Well,” he says slowly, “she’s funny.”
Katsuki blinks. His father cannot possibly be serious. “Mom?”
“Yes.”
“She’s funny?”
“Very.”
“No, she isn’t,” Katsuki says immediately, deeply offended by the blatant lie.
Masaru laughs, “She is.” Katsuki stares at him like he’s completely lost his mind. Masaru only smiles wider. “She’s honest, too. You always know what she’s thinking.”
“That’s because she says whatever she thinks.”
“Exactly.”
“And she says it loud.”
“That’s true.”
“She says it really loud, Dad.”
Masaru nods solemnly, sighing. “Also very true, son.”
“She should shut up,” Katsuki huffs. His father fixes him with a stern look at that, and he shrinks back just a little.
“We do not say that about our mother, Katsuki.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes but slumps deeper into his chair all the same. “Fine.”
“Your mother is wonderful,” his father says. “She works hard. She cares about people. She loves our family—she loves us. One day, you’ll see that. And when you do, I think you’ll appreciate her a lot more.”
Katsuki picks at the food on his plate, turning the words over in his head.
His mother does love him—he knows that much, even if she is annoying. She remembers all the snacks he likes and somehow always comes home with them without him ever having to ask. Whenever he asks for money, she gives him more than he requested—even if it usually costs him an irritatingly painful pinch to the cheek. She wakes up early to bathe him despite complaining about losing sleep because he prefers morning baths to evening ones.
His mother loves him; he knows that to be true. But it’s only true because she is his mother, and he is her son. Mothers love their sons—it’s the rules. Why his father would willingly choose to love that woman remains completely incomprehensible, however, in his mind.
“Mom is super annoying,” he says bluntly.
Masaru’s smile softens. “I suppose sometimes she can be, yes.”
“See?” Katsuki perks up immediately, his entire face screaming, gotcha!
“But,” Masaru continues, “I’m sure I annoy her, too.”
Katsuki deflates on the spot.
More than that, he simply cannot imagine such a thing being possible. His father is calm and nice and makes good food. Katsuki thinks lots of women would like his father—women who also would not find Masaru annoying. The only person allowed to find Masaru annoying is Katsuki himself, and that’s because his father makes rules that Katsuki has to follow. He thinks he’s earned that right.
His mother, however, has no such excuse.
“She gets annoyed with you?” he asks incredulously.
“Of course. Every day, I’m sure there’s something I do that annoys her at least a little.”
“Then why does she like you?”
Masaru thinks for a moment, carefully choosing his words, trying to explain this odd phenomenon that is love. “Because loving someone isn’t about finding a person who never annoys you,” he says finally. “It’s about finding someone who still sees your value even when you’re annoying. Someone who chooses you anyway. Does that make sense?”
His nose wrinkles immediately. “No.” His father stifles a chuckle when Katsuki adds, “That sounds dumb.”
“Maybe,” Masaru hums, eyeing him with bright, endeared eyes.
“I’m not gonna marry someone annoying when I’m all big. Because I’m smart!”
That earns him a full laugh from his father. It’s the kind of laugh that makes Masaru lean forward and wipe at the corner of his eye. In fact, he laughs so hard he nearly spills his tea. “You say that now,” his father says, setting his mug down, “but that’ll change. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“No, I won’t,” Katsuki grumbles. He doesn’t appreciate that he’s not being taken seriously.
“I think you will, son.”
“I definitely won’t.”
Masaru only smiles. He looks at Katsuki the way adults always do when they think he’s young and silly and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. And Katsuki hates that look. He’s smart—excellent, even. Just the other day, he caught his teacher’s mistake during subtraction when nobody else in his class noticed. At this rate, he’s well on his way to being smarter than most adults.
He absolutely knows what he’s talking about.
“Well, we’ll just have to see, Katsuki. If I’m right, you’ll take me out for ramen someday. Deal?”
“Fine,” Katsuki huffs, puffing out his chest confidently. “But you’ll never see that ramen.”
────────────────────────
Twenty years later, Katsuki sometimes wonders if he’s going to have to admit he was wrong and take the old man out for ramen after all.
You are, without question, the most annoying, irritating, vein-popping individual he has ever met. It’s like every decision you make is carefully calculated to inconvenience him specifically.
He has to keep an extra jacket in his car because you never check the weather before leaving the house. He has to double-check your grocery lists before you go shopping because if he doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget the one thing you actually need. He has to make sure you take your vitamins. Every night, he has to remind you to take your makeup off before bed because, apparently, that responsibility has become his problem—and if you wake up the next morning with mascara smeared under your eyes because you didn’t listen to him, then somehow you still find a way to blame him for not wiping it for you.
You are annoying. Every single fucking day, you annoy him. You annoyed him yesterday. You’ve annoyed him today. You’ll annoy him tomorrow. And he’ll tell you exactly that—he’ll call you a dumbass, and tell you to get your life together. Complain about the ridiculous thing you did this time, and accuse you of going out of your way to make his life harder on purpose. But after that, despite it all, he will still love you.
Twenty years later, now that he’s older, Katsuki realizes he understands what his father meant. That loving someone doesn’t happen because they never annoyed him—loving someone happens because they annoyed him, and he still, despite that, sees nothing but the good.
He loves you. You are annoying and drive him up a wall, but Katsuki knows that you are good. The greatest good that there might ever be, and he might have just ruined it. He probably fucked it all up and lost all the good he had. All the good he’s ever wanted. All the good that he’s wanted to keep for the rest of his life and cherish.
The second the apartment door slams shut behind him, Katsuki regrets it. He regrets being the reason behind that look on your face. That brief flash of panic in your eyes right before he left. That way that your voice sounded when you said his name.
He can’t get it out of his head as he walks out of your building. “Fuck,” He runs a hand through his hair and keeps walking.
The only friends he’d willingly see right now are working, his parents are definitely sleeping (and would ask too many questions he doesn’t want to answer, even if they weren’t), and he is nowhere near calm enough to go back upstairs and just go home.
But his patrol route is still active. So instead of going home and into bed like a normal person who has morning patrol, Katsuki leaves his apartment building behind and heads toward work.
By the time he gets suited up again, it’s almost eleven. By the time it’s midnight, he’s still out. By the time it’s 1 AM, he should call it a night.
Instead, however, he keeps moving. One more block turns into one more street. Anything to keep himself from going home or thinking about the argument. About the way you looked at him. About the things he said. About the shit he ruined for sure.
His thoughts are loud enough in his head, turning him deaf to everything else. He misses things he normally wouldn’t—things like suspicious shadows and warning shouts from another hero.
By the time Katsuki realizes what’s happening for what it is, the villain goes down easily enough—too easily. He curses himself for being so naive, so rash. He’s been fighting as a pro for years. He was a war veteran before he was even a legal adult, for crying out loud. Still, despite all that, the second Katsuki realizes something is wrong, it’s already too late.
The construction site groans around him—metal screeches against metal, and his head snaps upward. All he sees is the upper half of the structure collapsing before he loses his balance and collapses with it.
“Shit—”
The explosion leaves his palms a fraction of a second too late, and he doesn’t go propelling forward the way he’s supposed to. The half-built building comes down, and Katsuki goes down with it.
Then everything goes dark.
────────────────────────
It’s 2 AM when you see it on the news. Kirishima sends you a text asking if you’d heard what happened, and by the time you’ve spammed him with messages asking what the hell he was even talking about, he’s gone silent. Something in your gut knows that he’s not answering because he’s too busy rescuing. Too busy being a hero.
Your heart tells you that the person he has to be a hero to tonight just so happens to be Katsuki.
The first report you see hits the news at 2:13 AM. The anchor’s voice is as smooth and polished as ever as she delivers the words that send your whole world crumbling around you.
“We are receiving breaking reports of a major incident involving Pro Hero Dynamight.”
The footage that floods the screen makes you fall to your knees and muffle your sobs behind a shaky palm—collapsed concrete and emergency responders and heroes rushing in and out of the wreckage. The camera zooms toward the ruined construction site, and Katsuki’s body is nowhere to be seen on the screen. You don’t quite know if that’s a good thing or bad.
“Dynamight was reportedly responding to a villain incident when a structural collapse occurred. We are told he is trapped beneath the rubble. Emergency responders are currently on the scene, conducting rescue operations.”
At 2:37 AM, the hospital gives you a call as his emergency contact. You’re sick to your stomach, not sure how you’ll make the drive there when Kirishima finally texts you again.
Kiri <3: I already told his parents. They’re on their way so don’t worry about it
Kiri <3: One of my sidekicks is outside your apartment. They’ll drive you down there
Kiri <3: I still have to handle the aftermath and finish patrol so I won’t be there I’m sorry
Kiri <3: Keep me updated?
You: Don’t apologize Kiri idk what I’d do without u
You: Thank you and pls be safe
You: I’ll lyk things as soon as I find out
Kiri <3: Take it easy okay?
Kiri <3: He’s come back from worse. It’ll be alright
——
Kirishima’s sidekick gets you to the hospital efficiently, but you are still at your wits’ end by the time you can rush out of the passenger seat and bolt through the sliding doors.
Some part of you is grateful you didn’t have to drive here yourself because you know you would’ve sped dangerously over the limit, missed half the red lights, and probably would’ve gotten yourself pulled over. At the same time, you wish you could’ve been the one behind the wheel, just to get here faster.
“I’m here to see Kats—um, Dynamight,” you say in a rush. “Dynamight…I meant Dynamight.”
The woman at the front desk looks at you with a raised eyebrow, already typing away at her screen as she blandly says, “Valid ID, please.”
You curse under your breath, fumbling through your purse for your wallet, and then fumbling through your wallet for your ID like your hands suddenly don’t belong to your body anymore.
When you practically shove it toward her in your haste, she takes it too calmly for your racing heart and inspects it for a moment. Then looks at her screen. Then back to your ID. Then she types for what feels like an agonizing eternity before she finally hands the card back and says, “Fourth floor, room twelve. He’s stable, but he has some serious injuries that they’ll have to monitor and heal slowly due to his stamina—”
You’re already moving before she finishes. You’re bolting toward the elevators, heart slamming so hard it hurts. The ride up to the fourth floor is torturously slow. When you finally get out of the elevator, you’re halfway down the hallway before you even register the security guard stepping in front of you.
“ID.” Again. Of course. You suppose it is a good thing security is tight for the pro hero unit—even if it does add to your piling weight of anxiety. When you clumsily pull it yet again, he checks it for another cruelly long stretch of time, glancing between the card and the device in his hands before finally saying, “Go ahead.”
You’re already moving.
By the time you reach room twelve, your hands are shaking so badly you can barely hold yourself still. For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. Would Katsuki even want to see you? Is he fed up with you? Would you just make his already terrible night even worse?
You aren’t sure.
You don’t know why you’re in the predicament you’re in right now. You don’t know how you got here or why things escalated the way that they did. You don’t know what you do wrong to push his buttons the way you seem to, to upset him the way that he gets. You think you’re doing the right thing—that you’re doing what’s right for both of you—but somehow, you always seem to mess it up. Always seem to say the wrong thing. Always seem to ruin whatever good the two of you have managed to build between you.
But you love Katsuki, and if nothing else, you know that he loves you too, and you need to see him. So you force down the bile in your throat and push the door open. The first thing you notice when you see him is the bandages wrapped tightly around him. One arm heavily secured in a cast. Gauze lining his shoulder and collarbone that makes your stomach drop in a sick, immediate lurch. Machines hum quietly beside him, keeping track of his vitals.
You never see Katsuki hurt like this—he’s always been practically invincible when he’s on the field, always taking things down before they have a chance at even touching him. And then your brain, cruelly, supplies the thought: but he is not invincible. Not always.
“Katsuki,” you whisper, eyes already welling with tears.
He’s looking at you the second the door opens—but his tired eyes soften with relief, just a little, when they land on you. “You came,” he says, voice rough.
“Of course I came,” you say, sharper than you mean to. How could he think you wouldn’t? How far have you let things go that he could genuinely believe you wouldn’t show up for him? “What the hell happened?”
He sighs, almost embarrassed. “Just…work ‘n shit.”
You sniffle, and he lifts his good arm toward you. That’s all it takes.
You’re at his side in an instant, squeezing into the small space beside him on the hospital bed and curling yourself against his chest. You’re careful not to disturb any of the machines surrounding him, but you can’t stop thinking about how wrong this feels. How you shouldn’t be the one being comforted right now. How he’s the one lying in a hospital bed, yet somehow he’s still the one rubbing your back and soothing your tears.
“I thought you were gonna die,” you sob. “I—I saw the rubble, and Kiri stopped texting back and...and I thought you got crushed.”
“M’not fuckin’ dying, babe,” he huffs, sounding mildly offended. “A stupid building isn’t killin’ me. That’s a dumbass way to go.”
“You don’t know that,” you shake your head. “You can’t promise that.”
“Listen—”
“And I was sitting there watching the news and thinking the last conversation I ever had with you was that stupid fight,” you continue, looking up at him with trembling lips.
His eyes soften. “I know, but—”
“And I don’t care about the argument anymore,” you say, your voice shaking harder now. “I don’t care about being right or winning or being apologized to first—I should’ve texted you, you’re right. You...you probably felt like I didn’t care, but I do. I care so much, and I love you more than anything.”
You take a breath that does absolutely nothing to steady you. Katsuki is trying to wipe your tears away with one weak arm.
“I love you too—”
“I just want you to talk to me,” you sob. “I know I’m annoying, and I nag and scold and get onto you all the time, and I’m trying not to do that as much—really, I am! But I just...I wish you’d tell me things, too. Y’know? I am the one person you’re supposed to do that with, Katsuki,” you add, your voice cracking all over again. “But sometimes, it feels like I’m the last person you want to do that with.”
His expression tightens. “That’s not—”
“And I want us to work because I’ve never liked someone so much—it stresses me out. Because I love you and I want this to work, and the thought of it not working makes me so anxious I wanna throw up, and...and you act like talking to me is harder than getting crushed under a fucking building—”
“Baby.” He squeezes your cheeks together and silences you as he pulls your face closer, pressing a kiss to your puckered lips. “You talk a lot, y’know that?”
You huff at him immediately, tears spilling down your cheeks even faster. “That is so rude, given the—”
“I’m sorry about the fight,” he interrupts. You pause, and he takes the opportunity to keep going, despite looking painfully uncomfortable the entire time. “And for...walkin’ out ‘n shit. That was fucked up. I don’t talk to you like I should. You’re right. S’weird for me, and I hate it sometimes. I don’t know how to just...say shit like you do. Okay?” He sighs. “But m’gonna try more because you’re right—I need to talk to you. But you gotta get outta your head so much—” He gives your forehead a small jab with his finger. You sniffle and swat his hand away with a watery scowl. It earns the faintest grin from him. “We’re gonna work,” he says. “’Cause we do. That’s all there is to it, okay?”
“But—”
“No buts,” he grumbles. “My ribs hurt. Jus’ let me be right.”
A watery laugh escapes you as you shake your head, cupping his bandaged face between your hands. “You’re really annoying sometimes, Katsuki.”
“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “So are you. Still love you, though.”
“Me too,” you breathe, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Love you so much.”
He pulls you back down against his chest again, rubbing your back as you listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. You trace small patterns into his shirt. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. And things are okay—they are not beyond repairing. You’ll inevitably annoy him tomorrow, and he’ll annoy you the day after that, but you’ll still work. You will still find a way to keep things good the way they always are.
After a few quiet moments, he mumbles, “Hey.” When you look up, he says, “When m’all healed and shit, you gotta force me to go grab ramen with my old man. On me.”
────────────────────────
Katsuki waits almost a month after being discharged from the hospital before he finally makes the call. He’s been trying to stall it for as long as possible, but Katsuki, even at the tender age of six, has always been a man (or boy) of his word. He’s standing alone on the balcony outside his apartment with his phone pressed to his ear, wondering if it’s too late to hang up before the call goes through.
It rings twice. Then his father’s voice is as gentle and cheery as ever. “Katsuki!” Masaru answers immediately. “Hi, son!”
“Yeah, yeah. Hey.”
His father laughs. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I got discharged, didn’t I? S’been a whole month.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sounding just like your usual self,” his father says. Katsuki can hear the smile in his voice. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’.”
“Katsuki, you never call for just nothing.”
He groans, rubbing a hand over his face with a sigh—it’s now or never. He can’t keep stalling, and Katsuki is, and always has been, a man of his word. If he promised his father ramen over a stupid bet he made twenty years ago, then he’s going to get his father that ramen. Even if it kills his pride. Demolishes it, even.
“Listen, I was thinkin’...maybe we could grab food sometime.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Masaru hums. “Let me ask your mother when she’s free and—”
“Not the hag. S’just you,” he cuts in, rubbing at his temple.
“Oh?” Masaru sounds amused. “Well, okay. I suppose it’d be nice to spend some time as just father and son. What kind of food?”
Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose. Just say it. Just fuckin’ say it, his mind urges. Just rip the bandage off and say it. Say it. Say the damn word—he grits his teeth and forces out, “Ramen.”
There’s a pause on the other end. The silence stretches on long enough that Katsuki’s eye twitches.
“Ramen, huh?” Masaru finally says, and the way he says it makes a vein all but pop in Katsuki's forehead.
“Old man,” he says warningly, “don’t push it—”
He’s cut off when Masaru starts laughing. “I was wondering when this day would come.”
“Hah? You really kept that shit in your head for twenty years?”
“Of course I did. It was one of my favorite conversations I’ve ever had with you.”
“Why? ‘Cause you love bein’ fuckin’ right all the time?” Katsuki grumbles.
His father’s voice softens as he says fondly, “No. I just wanted you to find someone who made you as happy as your mother makes me. That’s all I wanted, son—for you to understand what being happy is like.”
The conversation is getting oddly sentimental, taking a turn that makes his chest feel strange, and his heart feel far too fragile. He hasn’t felt like this since after the war, and he doesn’t intend to sit with it any longer. So he mutters, “I still think Mom’s annoying. She yelled at me last week, so she never fuckin’ changes.”
Masaru laughs again. “No, she doesn’t.” Then, after a moment, “So, how does Saturday sound for some ramen?”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“Will my son be paying?”
Katsuki regrets this call more than anything when he says, “Yes. I’m fuckin’ paying.”
“You know, son,” Masaru murmurs, making Katsuki pause, “I’m glad you get it now. You’ve grown into a fine man.”
Katsuki swallows hard. He turns, eyeing you as you sleep soundly in your shared bed, hugging his pillow to make up for his absence. He can only hope that his father’s words are true—that he is a fine man to you, the way his father always has been to his mother. His eyes never leave your figure as he mutters, “Yeah, well…s’not like I had a bad example or somethin’.”
so anyway i had an argument with my bf the other day but he did not get into an accident and he did not get injured so dont worry. the argument was technically my fault, but im cute and he loves me so its okay <3
summary — the blond man in the club looks too old to be here. unfortunately, that only makes him hotter ᝰ.ᐟ
— cw : female reader, age gap (katsuki late 30s, reader mid 20s), flirting, drinking, pet names, suggestive .ᐟ
"Holy shit"
"I know.
"He's hot"
"I know." you whisper, shovelling the drink down your throat as you throw a glance over your shoulder.
The club reeks of sweat, booze and cheap cologne. The bass rattling so hard you're convinced your ribcage might burst. It's been three hours of this — three hours of shifting weight from one foot to the other as you pretend your feet don't ache.
In all honesty, you'd been looking for an out. Racking every inch of your brain for a reason to drag mina home and spend the rest of your night in your pjs watching sitcoms — that is, until you finally found a reason to stay.
Blonde, tatted and built — and at minimum twice your age. Tucked away in a corner booth with his arm slung over the leather seat, the other clutched around a glass of amber liquor.
He looks grumpy, angry. Like someone dragged him away from his regularly scheduled programming to be here, and he was not happy about it.
His gaze barely wavers from one spot on the dance floor, scowl permanently etched on his face as the sight forces him to sip his drink. Your eyes follow his, every inch of you praying he wasn't on guard for some woman tucked between the writhing bodies.
Instead, you catch a glimpse of three men as dangerously out of place as he is — you can only imagine that they're his friends.
They look too grown to be here. broad shoulders shoved in dark button-ups, watches glinting beneath the flashing lights while they stumble over their own feet — flirting with women who cling to them like accessories.
The redhead of the group looks towards the blonde in his drunken stupor, yelling that "he's got another one coming" — yeah, they're his friends alright.
And he does — two at that.
Two women in short dresses brushing their fingers over his inked arm. he's respectful, but certainly not fazed — barely sparing them a glance as he nods along.
The conversation doesn't last a minute longer; the two of them sent off with a scoff and flat expressions, already scanning for their next target.
Mina's eyes are already on yours when you turn toward her, reaching for your drink as she smiles in his direction.
"Looks like it's now or never," she says.
Your breath catches when you're met with crimson eyes staring back, taunting and expectant — like he's been watching you longer than you realized.
He's waiting.
The glass in his hand does nothing to hide the smile on his face, light catching on the crystalline rim as he watches you expectantly. Every step feels like a beckon, willing you with the glow of his irises and the slight spread of his legs to come just a little closer.
Like you're the one being tested.
The booth feels like the only quiet spot in the club. Music and drunken chatter dulling out from your senses — until suddenly all that's left is him.
He's bigger up close. Veins trace his forearm under the low light as he swirls his drink. your eyes catch on the brazen ink — thick, intricate lines curling over every muscle.
"I like your tattoos" you say, elbows resting on the table as you try to ignore how suddenly out of place you feel.
His mouth twitches into a toothy grin, scowl once dominating his face all but gone as it's replaced by a sharper look — he's intrigued.
"Yeah? you like them?" he leans back, eyes dragging over you before it flicks back up to your face, "Means a lot coming from a pretty girl like you."
"Hm" you hum, smile matching his even as you falter under the weight of the new pet name, "They're… hot"
He lets out a quiet exhale, almost a laugh.
"The tattoos?" he tilts his head "… Or me?"
He doesn't wait for your answer. Instead, he trails a thick finger over the skin, pushing his sleeves high enough to expose the ink disappearing beneath his shirt.
Your hand reaches out before you can think, barely grazing his arm before—
"Careful," he warns, voice husky beneath the music, a roughness that hits your ears at just the right tone to make your thighs squeeze, "Some of these are older than you, pretty"
That does it.
"Really?" you tease, fingers now fully tracing the outline of his tattoo, "Is that supposed to scare me?"
You don't miss the way his eyes widen just slightly — gaze flicking to his friends who've seemingly been paying no mind to him all night — before they land on your lips.
a/n: new layout i’m playing around with, im not 100% sold but bare with me 🙂↕️ - @lonelyfooryouonly ... lwk gonna use the taglist the next time i post
masterlist. | join the taglist? comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋
But you don't want me to see nobody else. And I don't want you to see nobody.
𝄞 pre-relationship texts with KATSUKI BAKUGOU -> (pt. 2)
𝄞 contains: a whole lotta swearing, reader is in the bakusquad friendgroup, fem!reader, setting is as UA students, slowburn, subtle cues, yes hes ur annoying homeboy, mentions of denki, kirishima, mina, sero, and mitsuki, kirimina and kamijirou mentions, denki STAYS catching strays
𝄞 A/N: this is my first mha post! ik ive js been writing blue lock but i decided to expand my horizons since i recently started watching MHA and im in LOVE. this is very much inspired by @zmbkats's pre-rls texts w bakugou! your post has changed lives.
germansingergirl
izzy806
origamiaround
kaledo-art
discoholicmusic
