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so-much-for-the-seashells · 3 months

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Taming the Supe

✨ Soldier Boy x Fem!Therapist!Reader ✨

Minors do ¡NOT! interact with this post. Thanks.

A/N: Let me be upfront and say that I actually haven’t seen the boys 😭 not my cup of tea as far as shows go. So this perception of SB might be very far off. But like, he’s hot and he keeps showing up on my feed so this is happening >:) and in my defense I did try to do a little bit of research on America’s Ass(hole), so hopefully that shows lol. From what I understand he’s a TERRIBLE person who just so happens to be extremely attractive, so slay. Oh, also, to any therapist reading this: I am so, SO sorry.

Icons by me! Any and all interaction is very much appreciated!

Also- I’m looking for a beta reader/ editor! If you think you’d be interested, dm me!

Content Warnings: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🌶️honestly that about sums it up. There’s SOME- A LITTLE- plot but it’s more plop if you catch my drift. This is toe-curling, eyes-rolling, name-screaming, tsunami-coming level shit, ya hear?? At least, that’s what I went for. ;)

Just note that SB is… very SB for the better half of it. And he has an INSANE breeding kink.

The ending’s real rushed cause honestly this was mainly written for the spice, but hopefully it’s enjoyable!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible. In all regards.

He was a jackass- apple didn’t fall far from the tree as far as he and his dad were concerned. It wasn’t necessarily Ben’s fault; you cant help your blood. But because of said aforementioned father, Ben was brought up on misogynist ideals and the ideal that he was simultaneously both a disappointment and the bearer of a massive god-complex. The former applied to when he was around his father, the latter to when he was around literally anyone else.

Not only that, but he was separated from society for forty years, being tortured- sorry, “experimented on”- by a skeevy Russian organization that his own teammates had pawned him off too. Sure, he had committed massive, unforgivable atrocities, but quite frankly, the other supes on Payback weren’t much better. Maybe not as bad, but certainly not much better.

He re-walked upon the United States at the very young age of one hundred and three, coupled with PTSD, a god complex and more “back in my day” rants than your weird old uncle could ever hope to spew.

And now the thing is: it’s easy to make him look like he blends in. Trim the disheveled forty-year-old beard, give him some boyish bangs, throw him in a tight white shirt and a Giants jersey with grey sweats and all of a sudden you have a normal looking, abnormally attractive dude. Looks maybe thirty seven. Has a smile that has probably actually, literally charmed the pants off of someone.

But to make him act right? That’s the hard part.

That also where you came in.

You were a therapist with a damn good reputation. Shouldn’t have been involved with Supes in the slightest, but you owed Hughie Campbell a favor. Good kid who just so happened to have powers. So be it.

The kid had stumbled into your office a few years before Soldier Boy returned, and you had had multiple sessions before he dropped of the grid. You paid it no mind- you have a lot of clients, and therapy isn’t a good world to get attached to any of them.

But then one day, after one of Homelander’s many destructive “saves” of the city, you found yourself stuck in a burning building. By some miracle Hughie was in the same building, and he teleported you out and onto safer ground. Sure it was awkward being held up bridal style by a young dude who was ass-naked, but stranger things have happened.

Because of the save, you felt that you owed him, and told him as much. He was gracious, not wanting to take advantage of you, and you went back to not hearing anything from him.

That is, until just after the news article about Soldier Boy’s return broke out. It was definitely a headline that had caused you to raise a brow, but from what you knew America’s first supe was not what Vought made him out to be in the eyes of the public. He was an asshole who killed activists, and was most likely very racist. If anything, seeing the headline made you slightly wary for the good of the world. But you let it slide, figuring that if you already existed in a world where psychos like Homelander did you would probably be fine if there was one more.

Well, you were very much wrong.

A few days after the article broke out, Hughie called you. Asked if you would be okay to take you up on that favor. Of course, you said yes- you were only alive because of him. He had showed up to your house, and teleported you to a dinghy motel with no explanation, rendering you both in the same awkward situation as before. Him holding you bridal style, ass naked. If you had a nickel for every time he’s done that… you’d have ten cents, but it’s still oddly specific of it to happen twice.

“Listen,” he had said, setting you down. You had no choice but to do so, given that he was ass naked and it would be really awkward to see that. So you kept your eyes locked on his as he talked. “You know how Soldier Boy is back?”

“Mhm…” you nodded warily, knowing damn well that that was an ominous hook to your situation.

“Uh, he’s insane.”

“Sorry, he’s, like, he is? Presently?”

“Yeah… he’s in there and I think he would really benefit from a little therapy. His mind’s wired like a grandpa who has stories from every war.”

“Fuck, Hugh,” you cursed. He winced, his sweet eyes opened wide. “Sorry. It’s just.. are you kidding me?” Soldier Boy? It would probably take a team of specialists to figure out what’s going on in that head.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you at least try?”

“Only for you.” It was really hard to have resolve with those puppy dog eyes staring at you.

“Thanks, y/n. Really.”

So you had walked in behind him; waiting as he threw on some sweats that were in a plastic bag outside of the motel room door.

You walked in together, only to see the most beautiful man you’d ever seen sitting on the bed, shoes still on.

Look. Everyone has fantasized about Soldier Boy at least once in their lives. The pinnacle of physical perfection, charisma oozing from his pores- it was hard not to. You were no exception- in your younger years there had certainly been more than a few nights where you were fucking yourself to pictures or videos of him, pathetically rutting on your clit and wishing it was his huge, gloved hands instead.

Of course, that was well before the article on the truth about him broke out. After that he had majorly lost his sex appeal.

However, seeing him in person immediately flashed you back to being younger and sexually frustrated, wondering how a man like that even existed. He was even better looking in person, piercing green eyes boring holes into you.

Thankfully it only took one douchey comment to snap you back to reality.

“So prostitutes are still a thing?” he asked, the question directed at Hughie. You immediately balled your hands into fists at your side, ready to tell this old-ass off, before remembering that you were there on professional business.

“No, no, she’s a therapist,” Hughie told him. “Y/n L/n, the best in the business.”

“You brought me a shrink?” he laughed incredulously. “Fuck you, I don’t have shell shock!”

He definitely had shell shock.

You didn’t bother waiting for Hughie to answer. “Listen, Mr. Boy, I’m only here ‘cause I owe this kid a favor. Would it really pain you so much to talk about yourself for an hour?” Your hands were planted on your hips.

“Man, when did women get so feisty?” he asked, that 1950s accent oozing through his words.

“Once they came to their senses,” I say with sass.

“So what? All I have to do is talk to a pretty thing about me?”

“Pretty much,” you conceded, ignoring the “compliment” he payed you.

“Fine.” Great. He agreed. How wonderful.

“I’m going to get some food, I’ll be back in an hour. If you need anything at all, just text me,” Hughie told me. “Thanks again.”

“Sure,” you replied, leaning in by his ear. “I think you’re going to owe me after this.

“Yeah, you’re probably not wrong,” he agrees, patting you on the back before teleporting away to the store. Man, this power thing… never gets any less weird.

“Take a seat,” Soldier Boy patted his lap.

“Hilarious,” you rolled your eyes, sitting on the other bed. Look, if he hadn’t been the jackass you knew him to be you most definitely would’ve sat on his lap. But you knew better. At least in the moment. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“M’name’s Ben, and I’m a soldier. My daddy hated me, so became a superhero. Surprise, surprise, he still hated me. But I’m better, stronger than he ever was. Might go take a piss on his grave while I’m here.”

“Interesting,” you murmur, putting together a mental file. Name: Ben. No last name? Weird. Daddy issues- makes the god complex make sense. Hmm. “Did you ever have a mother in the picture?”

“No. Died when I was a boy.” Added to file.

“Okay, so then why take the serum?” You know why, but you want to see something.

“You deaf? I said it was cause my daddy hated me.”

“You took a untested, potentially dangerous serum just because of your daddy issues?” you ask, matching his rude tone.

“You- you know what? This is boring. How about you and I fuck instead of this, hm?” he asks. Him saying the word fuck turned you on more than it should, but his misogyny was a quick turnoff.

“I think I’m just going to text Hughie,” you said, moving to stand, wholly unimpressed.

“Wait, no- I did it cause I hated feeling weak. Feeling stupid. Thought it would turn me into someone, just turned me into a jackass machine,” he said honestly, his eyes big and sad.

“Okay,” you said simply, sitting back down. That’s much more like it. “So then what led you to murder innocent people?”

If this were a normal session you would have never asked such a thing. Ever. But this was anything but normal.

“What did you just say to me?” And there it was. A glimpse of that Soldier Boy quick temper. You probably shouldn’t have been making him mad, but you didn’t know how else to go about this given that you weren’t in your professional environment.

“You heard me,” you told him with your arms crossed, trying to bite back the fear caused by

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, fists balled at his sides. “A question like that’s gonna cost ya.”

You roll your eyes, standing my ground. “Why. Did. You. Murder. Them?”

“Because they deserved it,” he yelled, standing up. You do your best not to flinch, but he was an imposing six-and-some feet tall.

“How? Did the Milk family deserve it? Did their son?” you yell, fighting off the fear in your voice.

He stops then, jaw clenching. “I was the good guy. The hero.” His voice breaks, ever so slightly. His green eyes burn holes into yours. You stare right back, just as intensely.

“So, imposter syndrome.”

“No!” he roared, the sound threatening to bring down the roof of the motel room.

“They were good people. Activists. Made a difference in their community.”

“That got what was coming to them.”

“What? A car being thrown at their house?”

“You…” he steps closer. You sit up in the bed, back against the headboard. “You don’t know me.”

I stand up then. Not nearly as tall as him, but in anger. “Yeah, but I know your actions.”

“Then you should think I’m a hero.”

“I don’t.” I say grimly, arms crossed.

“I’m Soldier Boy, for Christ’s sake,” he spat.

“Yeah, and I’m Y/N L/N. Who fucking cares.” Well this went from therapy to argument real fast.

He leans down then, by my ear. It’s all you can do not to back away as his hot breath fans the column of your neck. “Maybe you should.” His voice is gravelly, rough from anger but also from something else…

“Well I won’t.” You said, maintaining your ground.

“Wrong move, sweetheart,” he said, before crashing his lips to yours. You squeaked into the kiss, surprised, but he just took initiate to shove his tongue in your mouth, exploring with great fervor.

And you knew damn well how wrong this was. How unprofessional you had been; how bad it was that his tongue, this tongue of a murderer, was half down your throat. But in the moment you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, because he was just that good of a kisser. Made you forget about the misogyny and his volatility. At least, for the time being.

He pulled away, smirking down at you.

“If we do this, you’re going to talk to me after. Act like you’re an adult,” you told him sternly, as if your underwear wasn’t soaked with arousal from the kiss.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled.

“I fucking mean it,” you reiterated, hands on his pecs.

“And I fucking said fine,” he retorted. “Ben,” he introduced as an after thought.

“Okay, cool. Ben.”

“That’s the name I better hear coming off those pretty lips in a couple minutes here,” his gaze darkened with lust, emerald green eyes darkened to the color of a forest cloaked in the dead of night..

“O-okay.” And there it is, the first time you gave into the stutter derived from your desire. This was dangerous, but once he kissed you again you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

When he pulled away he thumbed at your lower lip, and you immediately react led to his touch, mouth falling open around the digit. “Good girl,” he praised, and you hated the way you felt proud at his words. He pulled off his jersey and under shirt, urging you to do the same until you both stood before each other, topless. He crowded you against the bed until you fell back, calves draped over the edge. He made room for himself between your legs, kissing you furiously, and you let out little breathy sighs as he did so.

“Attagirl,” he breathed when you gasped his name as he bit along your collarbone. He continued his fiery trail, from the juncture of your earlobe and neck to your collar bone and then down your chest, and you knew damn well that you weren’t going to be able to cover up half of the marks he gave you. But you also couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“You-you can come in me,” you mumbled as he kisses the valley between your breasts.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I’ll fill you up real good” he said, eliciting a gasp from you when he bites your nipple.

He continued his path of kisses down your body, and in the bottom of your eye you could already see dark marks on the tops of your breasts, making your head fuzzy.

He stopped at your pants, biting the juncture of your hip and and thigh.

“‘m gonna get you ready for me,” he explained, before ripping off your pants and underwear in one go. This is not a metaphor, he literally tore them of you. You whined in protest, but he dismissed you, saying “I’ll get you new ones.”

And even though you knew he most definitely wouldn’t, his breath on your clit stopped you from caring.

He gave you no warning before diving into your soaked pussy, and you all but screamed his name when he fid, your fingers grasping his hair for dear life. He groaned into your cunt but kept going, spurred on by your actions.

The thing was, you hadn’t expected him to be good at eating pussy. He was from, like, the forties, after all. You thought that most people then probably didn’t bother as no one really cared about women and probably their pleasure back then.

Well, Soldier Boy- Ben- was very different.

He worked at you methodically, licking long stripes before thrusting his tongue in an out of you, testing the waters. He kept eye contact, and you could feel the smugness in his gaze as he watched you come apart.

Eventually he switched so that he was sucking on your clit, which would’ve been enough to bring you over already but then he added one of his long, thick fingers to your pussy. You yelped his name, not ready for the stretch and on the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you urged, whining. “Please don’t stop, Ben.”

And he didn’t, adding a second finger and scissoring within you. If his fingers were already like this, his cock…

But you couldn’t think about that then, nor could you really think about anything at all because he started tracing tight patterns on your bud and added a third finger, stretching you so far that you had no choice but to come. He helped you ride out your high for longer than you thought possible, lapping up all of your release before standing up to full height.

“That good, Sweets?” he smirked, looking down at your fucked out self. You nodded dumbly, and he chuckled. “Thought so.”

Your release covered his facial hair, but he didn’t seem to care much, just wiped a little off with his forearm. He then kicked off his shoes and took off his pants and underwear, and that’s when you saw it.

You were already baffled by him- beyond hot, perfect physique, pussy-eating champion, etc.

But his cock? It was huge. And it was perfect, a word that shouldn’t be able to be used to describe the male genitalia.

“Ben- that’s not going to fit-,” you gasp, sounding like a cheap porno.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and from his tone you could tell he was going to bottom out no matter what.

Oh, god.

He climbed over you, his large forearms on either side of your head as he rested over you in a plank. He put a pillow under your hips, and you knew you were in for it.

He rubbed his glorious dick over your hole, your clit, and through your folds, covering it in your slick, and you moaned his name.

“Good girl,” he praised, before finally lining up with your entrance. You were already clenching around nothing, but then he started pushing in.

If his fingers were big, his dick… even the tip had you a moaning mess.

“Oh, honey, you’re tighter than a virgin who’s never touched herself,” he groaned as he pushed in, you writhing beneath him. “‘n I just stretched you out, too.” The pillow under your hips let him get impossibly deep, and after an eternity he finally bottomed out, so large that you shouldn’t have been able to take him. But you did, and he hadn’t even done anything yet but you were a whimpering, whiny mess under him.

“I’m gonna move now,” he told you, before pulling almost all the way out and back in, slowly. You were writhing under him, but he was undeterred, and just kept going until you gave him easy access.

“Ben?” you asked, your voice sweet. And you didn’t know what possessed you to add the next part of your question, but you did. “Can you fuck me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he groaned, before rearing back again and slamming back into you. It was hard and it was rough, and it was exactly what you wanted even if you knew you weren’t gonna be able to sit right for a week.

You literally had a supe cock in you. You’d seen dildos of these, maybe even owned one, but nothing could do the real thing justice as you whined beneath it.

And if you thought it was already enough just taking him like this, once he started talking you were through.

“Yeah, take it,” he smirked, pounding into you at literal superhuman speed. “I’m going to destroy this cunt until we’re both leaking out of it, and then I’m going to keep going,” he promised against your collarbone, biting anywhere he pleased. You whimper against him, pussy clenching around his enormous length as it crashed in and out of your fluttering walls.

“You like that? Wanna be my little slut?” he grinned, rutting on your clit so you couldn’t answer. “You’d be a real good slut. Would just keep you at home all day, naked and always ready for me. Always full of me too,” he mused, his pace somehow getting rougher. Your mouth was dropped in a permanent ‘o’ as you reveled in the way his huge hands are squeezing your hips and pulling you against him, filing you to the base.

“No other boy can do it like me, sweetheart,” he said cockily. “Fill you up so good, make you mewl.” And as it turns out he was most definitively right about that. But then it was too hard to think about what’s right and wrong when-

“Ben- I- ‘m gonna-.”

“Aww baby, what’s the matter? ‘M I fucking you too good? You can’t talk?”

You moaned pathetically, pulling on his fluffy hair.

“I know, I know,” he said with a soft grunt. “Come for me, pretty thing. Come.” And you did. Hard, all consumingly. It hurt so good that you almost blacked out, but he kept going, doing his damnedest to overstimulate you.

“Ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart. Ain’t even close,” he told you, pulling you off of him and sitting, legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet planted on the ground. He grabbed you, letting you straddle his lap before slamming you down on his length. At this angle he could get impossibly deeper, his dick easily reaching your cervix on every thrust. You screamed, holding onto him for dear life with your face buried in his neck.

“Gonna fill you until you’re full, and then some,” he promised, lifting you up and down, flexing that super strength. “Rub on that pretty clit for me, doll,” he asked. You tried, you really did, but you were just so sensitive.

“That’s okay, I’ll do everything for you, you just take it like a good slut,” he cooed, bringing a hand between the two of you and rutting on your clit without abandon. You came again with a wail of his name before he pistoned into you sloppily, finally spilling his own release into you. And it was messy, and you were far too full to keep going, but he doesn’t care, somehow still hard even though he had just painted your walls with his thick, sticky cum.

You were babbling at this point, raking your nails against him as he kept going to town on your cunt.

“It’s just been too long, baby,” he explained, kissing the side of your head. “Got a little too much energy.” Yeah no shit, with the way that you knew that you were not going to be able to walk.

But he just couldn’t seem to shut up. “Y’know, if I had you back in my day we would’ve had ten kids. You would’ve give birth to one and then I’d put another one in you the next month,” he said as he continued his brutal pace. And damn, this man really had a breeding kink. It was not really your thing-kids tend to get in the way of careers, and also, you were infertile- but anything’s hot when it comes out of those plush lips with the 50s accent, so, naturally, you moan in response.

“Would’ve kept you sated all the time too, sweetheart. Any time you were hot and bothered, had an attitude… I’d fuck it out of you,” he murmured, enveloping you in his arms to hold you closer. You didn’t know if it’s the proximity to him, his voice, or the way that he hasn’t really let you come down from any of your highs, but suddenly you were coming again… just in a different way.

“Aww baby, did you just squirt?” he chuckled. You did all you can to further hide your face in his neck as he just kept going, only concious enough to register your embarrassment and fatigue. He pulls you by your hair to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart, that was so hot.” You smiled, cheeks pink, your somehow still horny self proud of his compliment.

“It’s okay, just give me one more and you’ll be done, alright?”

“O-okay,” you say shakily. You hadn’t even noticed hot much your legs were quivering until then, and he laughed, squeezing them close.

“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he praised, rubbing your clit. Your blush became even more furious before you came again at him tracing patterns into your poor, overstimulated, sensitive bud. He came in you shortly after with a very sexy grunt, and it was just leaking out of you, going all over the tops of his thighs. He held you at the base of his cock though, not ready to pull out.

“You alright, Dollface?” he asked, gingerly moving- somehow while keeping his cock in you- you onto your back. You nodded, sleepiness overtaking you.

“Good girl,” he nuzzled your nose, gifting you the view of all of the pretty freckles on his cheeks looking like gold specs. You whined as he pulls out, and he tutted, plugging you up with his fingers.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. If you were a supe we’d be going another ten rounds, but I know you’re tired,” he warned, cock still semi-hard.

“Ben,” you gestured towards it, unsure what you were going to say because as much as you wish you had his stamina, you didn’t.

“It’ll be fine, sweets,” he shrugged it off. “Perks of the unbelievable stamina.” He kissed your forehead, before lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of you in attempt to keep the cum in. Pitiful tears leaked out of the corner of your eyes from the overstimulation.

“There, there,” he cooed, kissing them away. “Just don’t want to waste any,” he smirked, before leaving his long, thick fingers where they were inside you, all the way up to the knuckle. Your legs can’t stop shaking, and you try to talk but you can’t.

“Let me get you some water, put your fingers here for me,” he said, waiting until you do so, feeling your sticky release on your hand. You knew damn well that you werenot going to be able to stand.

“Here, sweets,” he returned, still ass naked, holding a glass, taking your fingers out of your cunt and licking them clean. “We taste real good, sugar.” You whimpered, ready to go at it again, abused pussy be damned. Speaking of, the poor cleaning staff… your mixed releases were dripping out of your poor hole, coating the bed and the bottom of your thighs in the stickiness.

“You really are an insatiable little minx,” he chuckled, holding you up so you can take a sip of the water. You obliged, eagerly chugging it down.

“I’m not going to be able to walk,” you muttered, resting your head on his freckled shoulders.

“Looks like you’re going to need to stick around, so I can take care of you,” he squeezed you.

“I’ll tell Hughie to take another hour, tell him that the therapy’s going real well,” you suggested.

“Oh yeah, real well. Definitely a happy ending, if you catch my drift.”

“Multiple happy endings.”

“Atta girl,” he kisses the top of your head.

You sat there in silence for a bit, basking in the afterglow as he rocked you back and fourth gently.

You’d seen so many sides to this man: Misogynistic, quick tempered, sex-god… but sweetness? This was the one that surprised you. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

“Ben?” you broke the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, I could help you, y’know. If you want, anyway. And it wouldn’t even be proper therapy- you know, cause we just- yeah.” your words were shaky but you meant them. There was something about the supe that made you think that maybe, just maybe you could help him.

“I dunno, sweets. I think I’m a little too far gone.”

Vulnerability. That’s progress.

“Could you at least try?”

“I can’t say no to you,” he said. And you’d take him up on that.

••••••••••••A Couple Years Later••••••••••••

Ben Johnson, as he was now known, ended up becoming a normal member of society. After a LOT of work, he’s grown into himself. He cares about people, his ego’s lessened, his temper too. You had helped him through the whole way- gotten him a proper therapist and everything. And now you two were a couple who could just go out and get donuts, and do normal couple things.

“They’re cream-filled!” he beams boyishly, his bangs in his face and his eyes sparkling. He sets the box down in front of you, somehow having already gotten powdered sugar in his beard. He leans in and whispers excitedly, “you know, like you!”

“You’re bad,” you giggle, as if you don’t have him leaking out of you where you sit. You had stopped for a quickie before you made it to the donut shop, it wasn’t your fault that you were so irresistible to each other.

“Not anymore, sweetheart,” he winks with a click of the tongue. Which is true- there’s a certain softness to him these days. His jaw isn’t so set, the crow’s feet by his eyes have deepened. He isn’t so volatile, his tempers dissolved a bit. He’s become more human.

Not to mention that he’s made great progress in apologizing to his victims and making amends to the best of his ability. It may never be enough, but now that he has someone to teach him how to be right and a better understanding of the complexities of the modern world, there’s a chance. And that’s a chance worth taking, to help someone who could’ve been good become good.

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible, but you had nailed it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hope you enjoyed this fic! If you have any ideas for headcanons or fics, my ask box is always open! I don’t bite- not unless you want me too 😏 (so. So. Sorry 😭)

Xx!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy #soldier boy smut

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aemondapologistfrfr · 2 months

Text

The Knight of Your Dreams

addam velaryon(of hull) x targ!fem!reader

Summary: You help Addam learn the ways of dragon riding. Feelings start to emerge the more time you spend with him.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, oral(f receiving), fingering, p in v

Authors Note: me wanting to read an addam ff but there’s like 2 so i’ll do it myself!!, reader is rider of silverwing bc that’s a pretty ass dragon let me be obsessed w her, oldest daughter is the therapist for mothers and i recognize that as the baby, jace was kind of bitchy in ep7 and it’s reflected in here bc i was lowkey gagged like i get his trauma but damn acting like harwins traits aren’t fine asf 🙄

Word Count: 3k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Jaces voice cracks as he begs Rhaenyra to get rid of Seasmokes new rider. I feel for him but in a time of war for the crown we need all the help we can get. Rhaenyra is at a loss for words and looks to him sadly. I turn to him as his tears begin to fall.

“Brother,” I start.

“No,” he sniffles. “You wouldn’t get it. You have the silver hair and violet eyes. Everyone knows what I am.” he words have a bite behind it like I had a choice in my parentage, like any of us had a choice in our parentage.

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra walks to him to comfort him but he’s running out of the hall. She turns to me and sighs. She walks back to her desk as takes a seat.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper not knowing what to say to comfort her.

“It’s not your fault. I just never expected him to say those things.” she looks to me sadly as I take a seat on the other side of her desk.

“I don’t think he meant it out of malice. It’s just something he’s felt his entire life and it seemed to be bubbling over.” I try to find reason in his actions and words.

“Have I too not had accusations and insults thrown at me for the entirety of my life?” she places her head in her hands.

“You have had more years to subjugate those accusations.” my words are soft.

“Yes, I know. I had just thought maybe he wouldn’t have blamed me so fiercely. I’m trying. This was his idea after all. I can’t change the past and I won’t be dismissing Addam.” my ears perk up at finally hearing the new riders name.

“I don’t think he blames you, mother. What could you do? Father didn’t have a taste for women like us.” a playful smile comes to my lips.

“And I never faulted him for that. He was a kind and caring man. Who raised you regardless.” she looks off as our minds drift to Laenor.

“If it makes you feel any better he seemed to also blame me.” I shrug my shoulders looking to her.

“It doesn’t,” he exhales deeply. “I don’t want this to cause a rift between you two, but I fear what I’m going to ask of you may further it.” her eyes look to mine pleading.

“What can I do?” I ask tilting my head.

“I need to focus on finding a rider for Vermithor. I need you to help train Addam. You know what a fresh bond from a full grown dragon feels like. Help him learn some commands, take him flying, do what you must to prepare him. Please, daughter.” her eyes begging.

“Of course,” I nod my head and begin to rise.

“Thank you,” she rises with me and offers me a hug before I leave the hall.

I walk out of the hall and begin my journey to the guest chambers. I have no idea what to expect from this man. As I’m approaching the door Corlys walks out.

“Lord Corlys,” I nod my head to him.

“Princess, what can I do for you?” he stops in front of me.

“I’m to help Addam learn the ways of dragon riding.” I offer him a smile.

“He worked hard on my docks and I expect nothing less from him in the skies.” his words sound almost proud.

“I would expect nothing less from the man Seasmoke claimed.” my smile widens. Corlys nods to me once more before leaving down the hall. I let out and exhale and knock on the door.

“Come,” a deep voice comes from within. I slowly open the door and turn my head around the corner. The man standing before me takes my breath away and I’m quick to advert my eyes as I seal the door shut behind me.

“I am Princess Y/n. Rhaenyra has sent me to help train you in the ways of dragon riding.” I smile softly to him as I walk deeper into his chambers.

“I’m honored, Princess.” he bows deeply as I chuckle walking to him.

“We have no need to bow as dragon riders.” I stand in front of him as he rises with a sheepish smile.

“Of course, Princess.” he starts to bow his head again but stops himself.

“Y/n.” I softly correct. “No need for titles either.” as I look up to him at his full height.

“Y/n,” he smiles down to me and I can’t help but smile back. “I am Addam.” he offers me his name.

“Addam.” his name falls off my tongue. “Rider of Seasmoke. Tell me how that happened.” I go to sprawl across his couch.

“He hunted me down himself.” he claims a chair across from me. “I was on the shores and Seasmoke started circling the sands. He usually flies around Driftmark so I thought nothing of it. Until he started flying directly at me. I’ll admit I fled to the trees. He had no trouble finding me anyways.” he bites his lip sliding his eyes to me.

“He claimed you?” I sit up on the couch searching his eyes.

“Yes, only a fool would approach a dragon.” he shakes his head.

“So you think I’m a fool, Addam?” I tilt my head smirking.

“No, I didn’t say that, Princess,” he stutters and looks at me worriedly.

“I claimed a dragon. I wasn’t gifted a dragon egg as a babe, but that wouldn’t stop me. I used to sneak through the pits to look at them and one day I got too close to Silverwing and now I have a dragon.” I smile thinking back to that day. Rhaenyra was livid but so proud.

“I didn’t mean any offense, Princess.” he uses my title once again.

“Y/n,” I correct rising off of the couch.

“Y/n,” he looks up to me.

“Let’s go to the library. I’d like to help you learn some commands and High Valyrian.” I hum as I walk to the door and hear him jump to his feet.

“I’d be honored if you taught me, my Prin- Y/n,” I smile at his correction.

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We’re all sitting around the dining table enjoying a meal in silence. Jace has somewhat settled over the past fortnight about Addam and sourcing another for Vermithor. Addam has been doing excellent in learning High Valyrian and is getting more comfortable around dragons.

“How fares your classes with Y/n?” Rhaenyra asks looking between me and Addam.

“She’s been absolutely perfect. She’s very patient with me, yet never fails to give me a hard time.” he turns and smiles to me chuckling.

“You usually deserve it.” my eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across my face.

“I’m thankful you’re feeling more confident.” Corlys nods from Rhaenyras side.

“Flying is just..” Addam trails off not being able to find the word of how euphoric it truly is. Jace lets out a scoff and I feel Addam turn in on himself next to me making my brows furrow.

“What the fuck are you still so mad about?” I snap down the table at him.

“Y/n,” Rhaenyra scolds.

“You’ve avoided Addam for the past fortnight. He isn’t here to begrudge you. Seasmoke chose him and he had no choice in the matter. What is it that you want us to do, Jace?” I rise from my chair to look at him.

“Y/n, please,” Addam looks up to me with pleading eyes. Jace mumbles something under his breath before scraping his chair against the stone and leaving the hall.

“To your chambers.” Rhaenyras eyes narrow on me and I roll my eyes and leave the hall.

I walk up the stairs as anger and frustration are still flowing out of me. I don’t know why I’m so protective over Addam. He’s just so sweet and so innocent. I don’t know why Jace wouldn’t try and bond with him. They have more in common than he knows. I push my chamber doors open and slam them behind me. I pull a book out from my shelf to get lost in for a couple hours.

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“Come,” I call looking up from my book to see Addam enter. “I hope my mother wasn’t too angry after I left.” I smile as he clicks the door shut.

“No, just a little frustrated.” he sits next to me on the couch. “What are you reading?” he pulls the book out of my hands playfully and begins to read aloud. “So the knight rushed up the stairs to save the Princess and-“

“Addam,” I whine trying to pull the book from him.

“Oh, but it was just getting good.” he smiles raising the book above his head out of my reach. I go to stand to reach it and he stands himself to tower over me. “Seems like you’re too short, Princess.” he chuckles looking down to me.

“Addam,” I pout looking up to him.

“You’re too cute.” he pinches my cheek with his free hand and I can feel my blush creep up my neck. “I was coming to see if I could sneak you out of here and we could go for a moonlight ride?” he offers my book back to me.

“I would love to.” I snatch my book from him.

“I’m surprised you’re so willing to abandon the knight of your dreams.” he chuckles as I toss my book to the couch.

“I’ll return to him later.” I hum as Addam chuckles pulling me out of my chambers.

We quietly make our way down to the pits and our dragons greet us. We offer them warm greetings before we mount and take our saddles. We emerge into the moonlight and our dragons quickly take to the skies. I sigh in relief as the wind whips through my hair. I turn to look at Addam who is equally enjoying our time.

Our dragons twirl and dip around each other playfully. Silverwing drags her claws playfully into the water causing it to spray up on me as I giggle. We slowly start flying back to the pits as Seasmoke sings us a low song. Once we dismount Addam begins to laugh at my sea ruined dress.

“She’s lucky this isn’t one of my favorite dresses.” I huff as we start into the castle.

“It’s not? But you look so pretty in it.” his eyes scan me over as I feel my cheeks heat.

“Thank you, you’re very kind.” I say bashfully.

“I have to compete with the knight in your book somehow.” his fingers dance around mine as I feel my heart pound.

“There’s no competition.” I say hushed grabbing his hand.

He walks me back to my chambers with his hand still in mine. The halls are silent save for the low grumbles of the dragons below. As we stop outside of my chambers he lingers looking down at me.

“Addam,”

“Y/n,” we say each others names at the same time.

“I just want to say thank you. For your kindness, and your patience, and for how much you care. It’s always unexpected.” his eyes search mine.

“You are deserving of kindness and compassion.” I say hushed bringing my hand to his cheek. He dips down and kisses me quickly.

He pulls back before I can even start to enjoy the moment. I furrow my brows and pull his face back down to me. The second kiss is more fierce and passionate. Our tongues dance and caress one another as I melt into him. We pull apart breathing heavily.

“Enjoy the rest of your night and the knight of your dreams.” he smiles down to me before he opens my doors.

“I’ll imagine him as you.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I slip into my chambers shutting the doors behind me. A small giggle bursts out of me as I’m still giddy from his kiss.

“Princess,” Addams voice comes through my doors once more.

“Yes?” I ask opening my doors.

He lifts me up and brings his lips to mine again. He kicks the door shut as I sigh into his mouth. His hands are digging into my backside as my arms wrap around his back. My hands roam all over his muscled shoulders and back while I get lost in his kiss.

He breaks the kiss by setting me back on the ground as I look up to him trying to catch my breath. He looks to my swollen lips as he licks his own. My hands travel to his chest as I start to lift his shirt off.

“We don’t have to, I didn’t mean to barge in here.” his words tumble out of his mouth as my fingers trail over his muscled torso.

“Mm, but I’m so thankful you did.” I smile looking up to him.

I turn to him so he can begin untying my gown. His fingers make quick work of my gown and I’m soon stepping out of it. I turn to face him as his eyes roam over my body that the slip is doing nothing to hide. Once his eyes lock back onto mine he stalks over to me and kisses me.

His hands ghost along my thighs before he slowly starts to lift my slip off of me. He steps back and groans as he takes in my body. He pulls me back to him as his hands begin to roam across my skin. I whimper into his mouth as his hands cup my breasts. His thumbs brush against my nipples pulling a whine from me.

“The noises you make are simply divine.” he whispers against my lips. “I want to hear more.” he says lowly before bringing a hand between my thighs.

“Addam,” I moan as he trails a finger along my slit.

“Mm, I quite like that.” he chuckles as he swirls around my clit as I grip onto his arms.

His other arm supports me as he begins to speed up his movement. My breaths are coming out in pants as my hips chase the pleasure his fingers are offering me. He slips a long finger down to my core and begins to dip in.

“Let me know if it’s too much.” he whispers as he begins pumping slowly.

“Not enough,” I whine breathlessly grinding down on his hand.

He removes his hand and I cry out. He chuckles and pulls me to my bed. I fall back as he continues to push me further up the bed. He begins to unlace his trousers while looking to me. Once he’s freed my eyes drink in his body and my thighs spread open a little more taking in the length of him. He settles between my thighs with his face at my core.

“I don’t care who hears, I want to hear you.” he says lowly before attaching his mouth to my wetness.

My hips jolt up into his face as his tongue laps at my clit. He circles two fingers around my entrance before slowly sliding them in. A sob tears through me as my legs shutter. His free hand trails up my torso and claims one of my breasts and begins to tease one of my nipples.

“Yes, please Addam,” I beg as my hand rests around his that’s pinching and pulling my sensitive bud.

His tongue quickens at my words and my jaw goes slack as whimpers fall from my mouth. His fingers start to pound into me as my hips grind into his face. I cry out his name as pleasure washes through me as he starts to untangle himself from me.

He snakes up my body before crashing his lips into mine. I sigh against him as I taste myself on his tongue. As he settles between my thighs I feel his length gliding through my wetness.

“Are you ready?” he pulls back looking down at my squirming body.

“Yes,” I nod as my chest rises and falls rapidly.

He begins to push into me watching my face and drinking in my noises. Once he’s fully sheathed he brings his lips to mine. I whine as his hips begin to slowly rock into me. The stretch of him is making my head spin as I become lost in the pleasure. My legs wrap around his waist and his hips snap into mine at the new angle causing me to sob out.

“‘m sorry.” he grunts trying to slow his movements.

“More,” I whimper bucking my hips into his.

He kisses me fiercely once more as he begins to snap his hips into mine. I moan into his mouth as his pace speeds up. I’m slowly sliding up the bed and he continues to move with me lowly chuckling. My head hits the headboard as I moan loudly.

“Sorry,” he breathes out and places a pillow between my head and the wood.

His hips never falter as he brings a hand between us and starts to circle my clit. I sob as pleasure course through me as I clench around him. His hips shutter but his fingers and hips keep up their movements as I screw my eyes shut at the repeated pleasure. Shockwaves continue to flow through me as his trusts become stronger.

“Addam,” I whine as pleasure starts to burst through me again.

He twitches inside of me and I feel warmth spreading throughout. My legs fall from his waist as my breaths continue to come out in pants. He pulls out of me and falls to the other side of the mattress. We sit there catching our breaths before I turn to him and kiss him once more.

“Was I better than the knight in your book?” he offers me a lopsided smile.

“Considering the knight in my book is just my fingers, yes.” I giggle kissing him again.

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masterlist 🔌

#hotd smut #addam velaryon #addam of hull #addam velaryon x reader #addam of hull x reader #addam velaryon smut #addam of hull smut #x reader smut #x reader #x reader fic #smut #hotd fic

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 3 months

Text

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 3

Part 1: Linked Here | Part 2: Linked Here

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out, Smut

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, hand job, lemon

Link to My Master List

You wake up slowly to the feeling of warm sunlight heating your face. Damn! You think, I forgot to close my blinds again before bed! This is a bit of a bad habit of yours – training has been so harsh lately, you often fall asleep before you can even begin to perform your nightly wind-down routine. The sun feels nice across your face, but it’s also a bit too warm and becoming borderline uncomfortable.

You sigh, too tired and comfy to get out of bed to adjust the blinds. Instead, you shift and roll over onto your other side. Unexpectedly, you bump into something hard and solid. You panic for a moment, unsure of what the obstruction could be. Did you get a new plushie recently? Begrudgingly, you flutter your eyelashes and let the soft early morning light hit your eyes.

Oh, shit. Shoto Todoroki?!

Memories of the day before come rushing back in a stampede – moments in time tripping over each other as your brain scrambles to assemble a map of how you got into your current situation. You quickly remember the kiss, Endeavor’s bombastic arrival, the lonely library, and Shoto’s late night confessions. Your cheeks heat up as you recall how quickly your clothes had melted away as things with Shoto had turned hot and heavy.

You look up into Shoto’s soft face. He’s tucked in on his side, his face buried into your pillow. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look so relaxed. His pale skin and angelic features seem to sparkle in the morning light. You think back to all that he had confessed to you the night before – his troubled childhood, his estranged parents. You reach out to stroke his face, tucking a lock of bright red hair behind his ear. He sighs in his sleep, leaning ever so slightly into your gentle touch. Your heart squeezes. This poor, beautiful boy’s life has seen a deficient of kind touches.

You scoot closer to him in the bed, reaching out to gently wrap your arms around your sleeping classmate. He leans into you, unconsciously welcoming the embrace. He yawns softly and seems to wake up a bit.

“You’re so soft.” He moving to get a better hold on you, his large hands moving to cradle your hips. He smiles into your shoulder and pulls you into a more comfortable position, planting a sleepy kiss on your collarbone. He rubs a gentle, comforting circle into your lower back as he drifts back off to sleep.

You spend a few moments carding your fingers through his dual toned hair, listening to his gentle breathing. You notice the way that the hand on your lower back is slightly hotter than the rest of his body, and how great it feels against your training-stiff muscles. You feel your body relax into the touch. The hand resting on your hips, however, is refreshingly cold. You wonder if Shoto has ever thought to use his quirk for healing – his gentle touch is perfect for treating angry muscles and exercise injuries. He’d be an amazing physical therapist.

Your tired brain envisions a sexy doctor version of Shoto – tall and grown, a stethoscope draped around his strong shoulders. He will be such an amazing hero, but you wonder…if Shoto had experienced a normal childhood, would he aspire to be something different? There is so much potential in him - if his father hadn’t pressed so much on him, would he still want to be a hero?

You noodle on this question as you drift back to sleep, your body relaxing into Shoto’s temperate hands.

---------------------

Your alarm blares at 6 o’clock AM, jolting you from a sound sleep. You’re still wrapped up in the cocoon of Shoto’s strong arms, his face nuzzled into your chest.

Carefully, you extract an arm and reach to switch off the alarm. You gently wriggle out of your classmate’s warm embrace. You slide off the cozy bed and pad across the carpet to your desk, stopping to take a long sip from your sticker-covered water bottle.

You grab a small hand mirror from the shelf above your desk and use it to examine your face – you’re surprised to see that even after the late night spent talking with Shoto, you look well-rested. Your hair, however, tells a different story. Your bedhead is absolutely out of control, and you grab a brush to quickly tame it. Once the knots have been brushed out, you throw your hair up into a loose ponytail and turn back to face your bed.

Shoto must be a deep sleeper, because in the 5 minutes it’s taken you to tame your hair he still hasn’t stirred. He’s wrapped up in your comforter, looking warm and comfortable. You hate that you’ll have to wake him soon for class. Begrudgingly, you move towards the bed to get him up.

“Shoto…” You coo quietly, hoping to rouse him gently as you pull down the comforter. “It’s time to get up - ” You stop midsentence as your eyes run their way along Shoto’s body. He’s resting on his side, his white hair splayed across your pillow. His expensive looking sweatpants hang from his muscular frame in a way that’s so sexy that you take a mental photo to revisit later. But what’s really got your attention is the way that Shoto’s baggy sweatpants gather and pull around his prominent morning wood.

You bite your lip as you take in the image – Shoto’s hard dick is outlined perfectly against the grey fabric. Fuck. You’ve never seen a penis this close before. Even through Shoto’s loose fitting pants, you can tell he’s big. The soft fabric doesn’t leave anything to the imagination – you can see the way his long shaft ends in a soft, mushroom-shaped tip.

You climb onto the bed to get a closer look, glancing up at Shoto’s face to ensure that he’s still fast asleep. You shift a bit and lean in, wondering if the hardness is uncomfortable. Your mind instantly goes into the gutter, and you remember how good it had felt the day before to grind against Shoto’s rock hard length. You feel a spark in between your legs at the thought. You imagine rolling Shoto onto his back so you can straddle him. It would be so easy to line up the tip of his cock with your clit and -

You shake your head to clear it of the absurdly horny thoughts that are flying around in your mind. You only have an hour and a half to get ready for class, and any sexual experiments you want to perform with Shoto are going to take time. You want to take this slowly! Maybe!?

You check the clock on your phone again. Maybe you can spare just a few minutes for some exploration? You’re almost certain that Shoto will agree. You set a quick alarm for 15 minutes from now before placing your phone back on the night table. You then shift a bit closer to the sleepy hero-in-training and reach out your hand to touch him.

Experimentally, you trace the very top of your fingertip along the length of it – from base to tip. You feel it twitch slightly as you reach the top, and break out into a grin.

You ghost your fingers across the outline of his cock a few more times, feeling it become harder with each pass. You’re so entranced by the outline of his thick member that you don’t notice when Shoto begins to stir.

He groans softly as you let your fingers wander across his dick again. His eyes flicker open and he blinks sleepily. You quickly snatch your hand away from his nether regions, blushing furiously at being caught.

“Sorry! I just…well, I couldn’t really help myself…” You trail off weakly, ashamed. He blinks at you, expression unreadable.

“You can keep going.” He says in a gravely voice. He reaches down to take one of your hands, and brings it back to his pants. “It would feel better if you gave it a firmer grip.”

“Oh.” You say, shocked at how cool he is with this. But then you remember that for as sheltered and formal as Shoto is…he’s also just a horny teenage boy. You let him position your hand and grasp. The material of his sweatpants is loose, and you are able to wrap almost your whole hand around his cock through the material. You tighten your hand ever so slightly around him and he turns his head to groan into the pillow. You lightly squeeze your hand again, this time moving your fingers down a bit.

“So…” You say somewhat awkwardly as you continue to feel him up through his pajama pants. “Did you sleep well?”

Shoto’s face is still buried in the fluffy pillow, but he cracks open an eye and looks back at you. He’s giving you a disbelieving look.

“You’re hand is on my penis…and you’re asking me how I slept? Don’t you think we should talk…sexier?” His voice drops an octave at the last word. You gulp.

“I’m new to this! I’m trying to be considerate!” Your fingers flutter nervously and Shoto lets out a soft, strangled sort of noise at the contact.

“Well I appreciate the consideration then. I slept well, thank you. This bed is very cozy. And you make a comfortable sleeping partner.”

You feel your face warm at the words. You drink him in – he’s got sleepy eyes and his body is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen it. You wish that you could stay in this bed with him for hours and just talk and touch and kiss…

Then you remember you’re on a tight timeline before class starts.

“Shoto…” You say, voice low. “I think it would feel even better if you let me go under your clothes.”

All Shoto can do is nod and look at you with wide eyes. You scoot closer to him, placing a hand on his chest so you can roll him over onto his back. He looks so beautiful like this – vulnerable and open.

“Mind taking these off?” You tug at the waistband of his sweats.

Shoto reaches down to slowly slip the waistband down his narrow hips. His erection springs forward – hard and beautiful. You take him in – his cock is longer than you expected. It has the same aristocratic pale skin as the rest of his body, becoming the tiniest bit darker at the tip. He looks like he’s carved from marble – all muscles and smooth pale flesh. You marvel at the way that his cock stands at attention, settled stiffly against defined abs and a light red happy trail.

“Oh, Shoto. You’re gorgeous.” You smile in satisfaction as Shoto’s soft cheeks bloom red in reaction to your praise. You reach out and trace your finger up the base of his cock. The skin is silky smooth – not at all what you were expecting. You wrap your hand around his hardness and give it an experimental jerk. Shoto’s eyes close at the contact and his head falls back into your pillow with a quiet thud.

“Does that feel good?” You whisper, jerking at his dick again. All he can do is nod silently as you continue to fist his dick slowly. He moans a tiny bit when you focus your energies on his leaking tip. You roll the precum down his shaft, using it to lubricate your hand as you continue to run it up and down his cock.

Shoto looks like he’s in heaven – his expression is laced with pleasure and the muscles of his stomach and abs quiver with gratification as you work at him. He’s splayed out before you like a Greek god, defined pale muscles glowing in the early morning sunlight. You find your mouth is practically watering at the image. You lick your lips and take a beat to clear your mind. You’ve never known yourself to have any sort of oral fixation, but at this exact moment you can’t think of anything more appealing than taking Shoto’s cock in your mouth.

You lean down, mouth open and ready…

A sudden rapid knock on the door stops you in your tracks. You hear Mina and Hugakure being noisy on the other end.

“Y/N! Let’s gooooo!” Mina whines, continuing to knock. “You promised you’d help us get some training in before class!”

You tighten your grip on Shoto’s cock in surprise, he lets out a soft grunt in response.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no!

You recall with a start that you had promised to go down to one of the training gyms with the girls to get in some early morning quirk training. Mina has been begging you to show her the Ultimate Move you’ve been developing, and Hagakure has been asking for some tips on her new light refraction move. You look over to your desk and see your navy blue UA gym uniform folded and ready from where you’d laid it out the day before.

Your eyes meet Shoto’s in a panic. He’s looking back at you with unabashed lust – his eyes half-lidded. You feel like he should be freaking the fuck out right now, but then you realize that your hand is still wrapped around his incredibly hard dick.

You think quickly, brain scrambling through a lusty haze.

“Mina! Toru!” You call out, hoping they can hear you clearly through the door. “I’m not feeling that well this morning – I’m sorry! Can we rain check and hit the gym tomorrow morning instead?”

A pause.

“Are you okay, girl?” Hagakure calls back, concerned. “Would you like us to come in and help you?

“No I’ll be okay! I think I just need to sleep in a bit, I have a bit of a headache from studying so late last night. I’ll see you in class?”

As you’re talking, you slowly start to stroke Shoto’s dick again. His eyes widen and he continues to hold your gaze with his intense mismatched eyes. You see him bite his lip hard to keep in a moan.

“Okay, but don’t be late for class Y/N! Besides – I have some hot gossip to share! You’ll never believe who has a crush on you!” Mina teases through the door. You feel Shoto twitch in your hand and you move to increase your pace. Who would have known he was such an exhibitionist?

“A crush on me!?” You call back in mock surprise, reaching out your free hand to cup Shoto’s cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into the gentle touch. “Well now I’m dying to know!”

“You’ll have to wait until lunch!” Mina warbles, carefree and completely unaware of the X-rated scene going on behind the closed door.

“Ugh fine!” You pretend to sound exasperated. Mina and Hagakure share their goodbyes and feel-betters through the door before leaving for the training gym.

“Drink some water, Y/N!” Hagakure advises you as you hear their footsteps recede down the hallway. You continue to work at Shoto’s thick cock, you’re practically salivating as you look down and revel the way he twitches under your gaze.

“They’re gone.” You whisper unnecessarily.

“Yeah.” Shoto takes a shaky breath. He lifts his hand to fold over your own against his face. His palm is warm against the back of your hand, and you can’t help but wonder at what he can accomplish with those long, capable fingers.

You grin, leaning in close to the half-hot half-cold hero-in-training so that your foreheads almost touch. You part your lips to let out the faintest whisper: “It’s just the two of us now…baby.”

Shoto’s breath hitches. The intoxicating combination of getting handsy in front of your classmates plus the unexpected term of endearment prove to be too much for poor Shoto, because he cums in an instant. You feel the orgasm roll through him, starting at the base of his balls and moving up through his dick as you stroke him through it. He lets out an impossibly soft moan as he watches sticky white fluid flow across your tiny hand.

You’re both a bit shocked at the sight – you’ve never seen a man cum before and it’s a little different from what you were expecting. You didn’t realize it would be so damn easy to send Shoto over the edge like that. You continue to stroke at him until he winces from overstimulation. He places a hand over your own in a silent plea for you to stop.

“I’m so sorry Y/N – um, do you have a towel or something? Sorry.” Shoto is tripping over his words as he searches desperately for something he can use to clean up the sticky situation. His forehead is creased in embaressment. You lean in and kiss him soundly, trying to shut him up.

“Hey, calm down it’s no big deal. My goal was to make you cum!” You spring up off the bed, holding your sticky hand aloft and at a distance from yourself as you walk to your closet. You quickly open the door and swipe a fluffy blue clean towel off of the top shelf and throw it in Shoto’s general direction. You avert your eyes as he wipes down his dick and stomach. You grab a clean washcloth to use on your own sticky hand.

“I’m sorry. I never imagined doing this with another person, let alone someone that I like and admire so much. It feels like I’m defiling you in a way.” Shoto says, a note of concern bleeding into his usually flat tone. You turn back his way to see him shimmy into his grey sweatpants with grace only a Todoroki can muster.

You laugh out loud at his word choice. “Shoto, if anything I’m the defiler and you’re the defilee. I literally woke you up by stroking your dick. Please do not feel bad about what just happened. It was a learning experience – and a damn hot one at that.” You waggle your eyebrows, attempting to break the tension. This draws a smile out of Shoto. You now notice that his cheeks are still flushed from his orgasm and his hair is 25% messier than usual. You move back to your desk and toss him a hot pink hair brush.

“Fix your bangs, hot stuff. Our classmates will definitely know that something is up if you show up to History lessons with that wild sex hair.”

“It’s not sex hair if we didn’t actually have sex.”

“What do you call what we just did then?”

Shoto pauses, unsure if you’re asking him a trick question.

“Well…sex is only when you have penetrative sex, isn’t it?” He asks tentatively, blushing.

“Actually, that’s not totally true! Sex can be defined a ton of different ways. The way we were taught sex growing up and in school is super black and white. Sex and sexuality are more of a grey area than anything else. Think of it more as a spectrum of sexual acts! There really aren’t any rules aside from needing to gain full consent from someone before you dive in.” You rattle off, regurgitating knowledge gained from years of scrolling on Tumblr and Scarleteen.

Shoto’s eyes widen a bit more with each sentence you blurt out, looking almost abashed. “I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never thought much about it. That’s a very new way of thinking for me. It sounds like I need to do some Googling.”

“We can talk through it more too. I can show you what I know so far and we can learn together.”

“I’d like nothing more.” Shoto says, his tone characteristically flat but tinged with warmth. You smile at him, reaching up to continue smoothing across his hair. The two-toned locks fall gracefully across his face softly. The early morning light bounces off his delicate skin in a way that just makes him glow. You appreciate the view for a moment, basking in the wonder of this boy and his perfect genes. After a moment you shake your head to clear your thoughts, realizing that there’s a more pressing matter at hand that needs your attention.

“Now let’s sneak you out of here. You want to go out the window, or…?”

No, Shoto does not want to climb out the window. He’s feeling shaky and unbalanced from his first partner-induced orgasm, and so he doubts that he’d be able to muster the coordination needed for an early morning fire escape climb. Instead, he has you poke your head out your doorway and confirm that the coast is clear before he rockets down the hall and back to his own dorm room. He waves over his shoulder at you as he goes, his face breaking into a rare grin as your eyes lock.

You smile to yourself as your alarm blares – the 15-minute timer you had set is up.

-------------------------------------

A half hour later you’re feeling refreshed in your recently pressed UA school uniform. You stride down the school halls with a spring in your step and a smug grin on your face as you replay the mornings’ events in your thirsty-ass brain. You made Shoto Todoroki cum with nothing but your hand! You giggle at the thought.

“What’s so funny, Y/N?” A light voice says brightly from behind you. You snap back to the present and whirl around to see Uraraka following closely behind you. You try not to blush.

“Oh, nothing! I’m just in a good mood today. The, uh, weather seems to be particularly nice.”

Uraraka’s smile falters a bit at this comment on the weather – it’s been a temperate 60 degrees for the past month with little variation. She looks like she suspects something is up. She raises an eyebrow and chooses her next words carefully.

“Are you and Hagakure cooking up some crazy secret party again?” She asks slowly, a suspicious look overtaking her cute features.

Back in the Fall there had been an attempt at throwing a raucous party behind Mr. Aizawa’s back. The underground hero turned teacher had been off campus for a rare overnight mission, leaving Mr. Vlad King in charge of both Classes A and B.

You and your dorm-mates had taken advantage of the lapse in guardianship to throw a party in the common room. Just as things had started getting interesting (Mina had somehow acquired a bottle of wine and was going to pass it around so that everyone could try a sip), Monoma had tattled to Mr. Vlad King about the party. Monoma’s jealousy surrounding Class 1A truly knew no bounds, and he was determined to ruin the boisterous event before it could even begin. Vlad King had shut down the party so quickly that your group had only made it through he third song on Hagakure’s “Class 1A Party Playlist.”

When Mr. Aizawa had returned, he had greeted your class with a long, disappointed lecture. You remember the way your cheeks had burned with embarrassment as he called out the party instigators: you, Mina and Hagakure. Following the failed party, Aizawa had set a weekend curfew requiring Class 1A to be in their individual bedrooms by 10pm. The entire class was still furious about this – up until now they had enjoyed free reign over the common area at all hours of the night. Video game tournaments and late movie nights had been the norm. Fortunately, your classmates hadn’t really been too mad at you, Mina and Hagakare for planning the party. In truth, everyone had been looking forward to the secret event. Also, you and your friends had bought everyone dinner and lead tutoring sessions for a month in order to apologize for the new Aizawa-imposed curfew.

You bring yourself back to the present, realizing you haven’t yet answered Uraraka’s question.

“What!? No way! Although it’s been a few months since we last tried to throw a party under Aizawa’s nose…maybe he’s been lulled into a false sense of security, making this the perfect time to strike!” You fake an evil laugh and make a mental note to mention this thought to Hagakure and Mina at lunch. The three of you have been dying to re-attempt the illicit party. You had recently watched an old American 80s movie together and learned about an American game called “Spin The Bottle.” The three of you were longing to try it with your classmates.

“Nooooo don’t get us in trouble again!” Urararka looks horror-stricken at the mischievous gleam in your eye. “I miss our Saturday midnight movie nights! Mr. Aizawa said that if we all do well on the upcoming joint training session with Class 1B, he might consider lifting the curfew!”

You grin at her evilly. “I can’t help that I’m a chaotic force!” You cackle like a witch and rub your hands together diabolically, making Uraraka laugh.

“You’re so silly! If you do decide to throw another party…just pleaseeee don’t get caught this time.” She holds out her hands in a praying position, imploring you to avoid getting an earlier curfew slapped onto Class 1A.

“Deal.” You say as the two of you reach the door to your classroom. “And I think I have an idea of how we can make sure we don’t get ratted out this time around.”

“Whatever it is, leave me out of it!” Uraraka says, waving you away to your desk. “I have enough on my plate already between this month’s new combat training moves and our latest calculus test.”

You laugh and give her a thumbs up as you sit down at your assigned seat. You pull out your notebook and planner as the rest of the class slowly files in. Uraraka may seem like a goody two shoes, but you know that if there is a party, there’s no way in hell that she’d miss it. You know the gal well enough at this point to recognize that she would have FOMO to the max if she skipped an forbidden party (especially if a certain green haired classmate would be attending said party).

After a few minutes, Hagakare and Mina stumble into the classroom, both looking exhausted and a bit worse for wear.

“Jeez! What happened to you two!?” You ask as they both slump into their seats.

“Why does she look so well rested!?” Hagakare says suspiciously, pointing at you. She turns to Mina, a sharp edge to her voice. “Wasn’t she supposed to be sick?”

“I took some Advil.” You hum out.

Mina looks over at you, unconvinced. “Must have been some great Advil – you’re practically glowing.”

“I caught my second wind for the day.”

“Girl it’s only, like, 9 AM.” Hagakare says, her voice laced with fatigue. “And Mina and I just spent the last hour cooking up some special moves. It definitely took a lot more of our energy than we were expecting.”

“Any good developments?” You prompt, hoping to steer the pair away from discussing your supposed “sickness” in more detail.

“Hagakare’s light refraction technique is really coming along.” Mina chimes in, dumping her books unceremoniously on her desk and grabbing a hot pink fuzzy pen from her backpack. “And I’m working to increase the viscosity of my “Acid Man” move. It’s slow-going, but I think I’m on the right track.”

You beam at Mina, she’s been working so hard lately on her special move. She’s been trying to grab as many free hours at gym possible to spend more time practicing.

“That’s awesome! I feel like you’ve made so much progress lately. I’m sorry again I wasn’t there.” You drop your voice down to a whisper. “Listen guys – I have something we need to discuss at lunch today. I think that it’s time to activate Operation: Spin The Bottle.” You waggle your eyebrows at them meaningfully.

“What!? Really?” Hagakare perks up, turning her body in a motion that clearly showed The Invisible Girl was trying to gauge the expressions on yours and Mina’s faces.

You shush her. “We’ll talk later at lunch!”

It crosses your mind that maybe you want to tell Mina and Hagakare about your…situation with Shoto Todoroki. They are your best friends after all – and you want them to giggle and gush when you recount the sweet words he’s said to you, and the way he’s kissed you so soundly that your head spins just thinking about it.

But, no. This is a private affair at the moment. Everything that’s happened so far should stay between you and Shoto until the two of you decide together that you want other people to be in the know about your canoodling.

Speaking of Shoto…your half-hot, half-cold classmate enters class right before the bell. It’s unusual – typically he’s in his seat and ready for class 10 minutes before. He looks well groomed – his uniform is perfectly ironed and free of any creases. His hair is brushed and perfectly styled. His mouth is set in its typical hard line as he crosses the room to take his seat.

You try not to let your eyes linger on Shoto for longer than is necessary. Some of your classmates are intensely perceptive, and you don’t want to give them any reason to suspect a romantic affair between you and Todoroki. You’re embarrassed by the way you’re drawn to him like a magnet – you actively need to will your head to stay turned towards the front of the classroom. He’s so devastatingly beautiful and you just want to stare and memorize the dip of his chin, the thin line of his cupid’s bow…

Mr. Aizawa enters the classroom and gives his students a dark glare.

“Good Morning, class.”

“Good Morning, Mr. Aizawa.” The class choruses back.

“Before we get started today, I have a quick announcement. I’ll be out of town this weekend for an undercover mission with a few other Pros. Nothing to worry about – but I will be gone all of Saturday and Sunday. Vlad King will be in charge of the class while I’m gone. He’s going to keep a close eye on you all in addition to his own class.”

You try to keep yourself from grinning – this timing is too perfect!!

“That being said…” He levels his gaze on you, Mina and Hagakare. “If I hear word of any of you causing trouble, there will be swift punishment. I’m not above lowering the curfew to 8pm on weekends.” He grins at the mass of horrified looks he gets in response.

“We’ll be good, Mr. Aizawa – we promise!” Sue calls out from her desk. Kirishima nods vehemently in agreement and Kamanari whispers, “I miss movie midnights.”

You try not to make eye contact with your friends so as not to give yourselves away.

“I’m expecting a stellar report about my class’s behavior when I return.” Mr. Aizawa scowls at the room at large before cracking open a textbook on the teacher’s podium. “Now let’s dive into our first lesson of the day.”

-------------------------------------------

A few classes later, it’s finally time for lunch. You and the rest of Class 1A file into the hall and down to Lunch Rush, chattering about the latest assignments and Mr. Aizawa’s upcoming absence.

“Mr. Aizawa is so cool!” Midoriya gushes to Ida and Uraraka towards the back of the group. “I don’t know how he juggles being our teacher and a Pro. I wonder what kind of undercover mission he’s got planned that will only take the weekend.”

“It’s true!” Ida chimes in enthusiastically. “Mr. Aizawa is an incomparable hero – UA High School truly does not disappoint when it comes to its faculty and staff!”

You tune out the rest of their conversation and move forward to link arms with Mina and Toru.

“Can you believe that Mr. Aizawa is going away this weekend!?” You whisper excitedly to your two closest friends.

“For someone who woke up sick this morning, you sure are chipper.” Mina groans, rubbing at her tired eyes with her free hand. “I need some coffee before I can be excited about anything.”

“Agreed!” Toru sighs. “Mina - we pushed ourselves a little too hard this morning.”

You file into the cafeteria and get on line at one of the food counters. You grab a tray and scan the menu board above you to make your selection. The Food Hero Lunch Rush serves you up a few piping hot dishes that smell so incredibly delicious that your mouth starts to water.

“I’ll go grab us some seats!” You call over your shoulder to the girls, walking blindly in the direction of your usual table.

You’re not paying attention to where you are walking, because suddenly you collide with another student and you feel yourself start to tip backwards . Everything is suddenly moving in slow motion as you watch your lunch tray fly up into the air as you’re falling back, back, back…

You close your eyes and brace for the impact, your brain scrambles to remember the lesson Miss Midnight taught you about the proper way to fall and land without injury. But everything is happening so quickly and your panicking mind can’t seem to remember the lesson.

Suddenly – you stop falling. You feel a sturdy arm support your back, a warm hand cradling the back of your head. You slowly open your eyes and realize that it’s Shoto. Shoto caught you inches before you hit the ground and protected your head before you could hit the ground. After the events of the past 24 hours his touch feels familiar and safe. Your body instantly relaxes as he holds you.

You blink up at him in wonder, a soft zing of adrenaline pulsing through your veins. His eyes burn into your own with a fierceness you can’t quite decode. His gaze darts quickly to your lips and then back to your eyes. Oh, shit. He’s thinking about kissing you. Right here, right now. You’re in a cafeteria full of UA classmates, faculty and staff and yet all you can think about in this adrenaline-filled moment is throwing your arms around Shoto’s neck and bringing his mouth to yours. In this moment, all you see is Shoto and his fierce mismatched eyes.

“Y/N! Are you alright!? I’m so sorry! I wasn’t lookin’ where I was going.” You snap back to reality and center yourself. You’re in a crowded cafeteria at school. You bumped into someone and tripped. Your lunch went flying and is definitely laying somewhere in a sad, inedible pile. You look over Shoto’s shoulder and see that the person you bumped into was Honenuki from Class 1B, who is now furiously apologizing from behind Shoto.

“Oh my goodness, that was so clumsy of me! So sorry Honenuki!” Your face flushes in embarrassment as Shoto lifts you back onto your feet. His hand is burning, and you see that his face has a scarlet tinge to it as well. All you can think of right now is that just a few hours earlier, he was cumming in your hand. The way his eyes seem to widen a bit as he looks down at you confirms that he’s thinking about the same exact thing. You feel yourself getting turned on just thinking about it.

“Try to be more careful, Y/N.” Shoto mutters, his tone sounds almost angry as he turns away from you and begins to clean up your spoiled lunch off the ground.

“Thanks Todoroki – sorry about that, man!” Honenuki says as he steps forward to sizes you up and ensure there are no injuries. Shoto gives Honenuki one of his quiet nods of acknowledgement.

“I was so zoned out listening to my zen playlist, I didn’t even see you coming.” Honenuki says apologetically, pointing to his ear buds. “Sometimes the cafeteria gets a little overwhelming for me so I like to cancel out the noise with music. I guess I need to be a little more aware of my surroundings.”

“No harm done!” You say reassuringly, embarrassed as Shoto sweeps the rest of your lunch into the trash. He nods again at you both then walks back towards the table he is sharing with Midoriya, Ida and Uraraka. He doesn’t look back. For a moment, you feel a pang in your chest – could Shoto actually be mad at you? After such an intimate morning spent together, the silent treatment is the last thing you’d expect from him. But then again – this is Shoto. He’s not great at expressing his emotions, and he’s likely trying to keep up the appearance that the two of you aren’t close in order to preserve some privacy. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming your nerves. Last night you were overthinking his text messages, and now you’re getting anxious about him literally saving you from a bad fall in the middle of the cafeteria. You repeat in your head that everything is fine, and if the way you made him orgasm this morning is any indication – Shoto is pretty smitten with you.

“Can I replace your lunch?” Honenuki asks, gesturing to the long line behind Lunch Rush’s food station.

“Oh, no, that’s alright!” You assure him, reaching into your pocket to grab your wallet. You flip open the small daisy covered case and realize there are no bills inside. Crap! You forgot to run to the ATM this morning before class. Your stomach rumbles audibly. You look up at Honenuki, your face burning.

“Come on.” He smiles (or you think he’s smiling. Born with a mutation that developed his face without lips, Honenuki has a permanent grin on his face) and nods towards the line. You follow him over and promise that you’ll pay him back the next day. He’ll hear nothing of it.

“It’s my fault your lunch ended up scattered across the cafeteria. No need to pay me back.” The two of you take up a place at the back of the long line, and you watch Toru and Mina grab seats at your usual table out of the corner of your eye. They’re looking over at you curiously, no doubt wondering why you’re chatting with Honenuki. You’ve met the Class 1B student on several occasions, mostly for joint training programs between Classes 1A and 1B, but you’ve never had the chance to speak with him 1:1. He’s always given off a cool, chill vibe that you find endearing.

“So what kind of music are you listening to?” You look up at him as he fiddles with his phone to decrease the volume of his ear buds.

“A lot of George Harrison lately. I’m really into 60s and 70s music right now.”

“I can send you some, if you’d like.”

“Oh – for sure!” You say cheerfully, always happy to make a new friend and hear some new jams. Honenuki seems really pleased with your answer for some reason.

“Here.” He holds out his phone, opened to the “contact” application. “Add your number. I’ll trade you – a song for a song.”

“Deal.” You say, punching in your digits. At this time, you’ve reached the front of the line where Lunch Rush replaces your spilt lunch with an equally yummy looking selection. You grab your fresh tray and move to walk towards your friends.

“Thanks Honenuki, I really appreciate it! And sorry again for being so clumsy.” You smile back at him before making a beeline for Mina and Toru.

“No worries, Y/N.” Honenuki waves as you scamper away. “And make sure you send me a good song!”

You slide into your seat with a sigh.

“What the heck was that!?” Toru shrieks, waving her arms around in a flurry of uniform sleeves.

“Looks like someone’s gotta crush on you, Y/N!” Mina winks at you and motions to Honenuki.

“Oh! Oh nooooo we were just talking about music. He bought me lunch to replace the one I’d dropped.” You say, embaressed.

“But you got his number, didn’t you!?” Mina claps her hands together. “This is absolutely perfect! We can try to rig spin the bottle so that you can kiss Honenuki!”

“How can you kiss someone without lips?” Toru muses aloud as she starts to dig into her lunch.

“Wow that’s pretty insensitive Toru!” You say admonishingly.

“No she’s got a point. We’ll need to strategize ahead of your big kiss with Class 1B’s chilliest student.” Mina grins deviously.

“Oh my God, drop the obsession with Honenuki! I promise I’m not interested in him that way. He’s just really nice!”

“Then who are you interested in, hmm?” Toru teases, pointing her chopsticks at the table across the room that holds Midoriya, Ida, Ururaka and Shoto. “Ida, perhaps?”

You and Mina laugh. “He’s not really my type.” You say kindly, glancing over at the table to watch Shoto take an elegant bite of soba. “I go more for a mysteriously handsome aesthetic.”

Mina gives you a Cheshire cat grin. “Ohhhh I know the perfect pairing for your spin the bottle partner then!” She cackles and you wonder if she’s figured you out. You glance again at Shoto and your eyes connect. You feel like a magnetic current is running between the two of you, pulling your energies together and bridging time and space.

“We all know who Mina’s ideal spin the bottle partner would be!” Toru declares loudly with a snort. “Mr. Tall Red and Handsome!” With her invisible hand, she gestures towards their left where Kirishima is wolfing down a bowl of rice next to a stoic looking Bakugo.

“Toru! Oh my God! Shhhh!” Mina waves frantically as she tries to quiet down your friend. It’s no secret amongst the three of you that Mina has been pining over her middle school classmate Eijirou Kirishima for the past year and a half. She’s been flirting with him and dancing around the edge of asking him out for months now.

“Oh yeah, Mina. What’s your game plan for when you get Kirishima for spin the bottle? Are you gonna kiss him…with tongue!?” You make a show of waggling your tongue at your friend and she gives you a mock look of disgust.

“Okay, so I know who Y/N is going to kiss and who I am gonna kiss…but what about you Toru? Who should we manifest for your spin the bottle debut?” Mina takes a delicate bite of her lunch as she poses this momentous question.

“The real question is…who won’t I kiss!?” Toru laughs almost maniacally, wiggling in her seat. It’s moments like this you wish you could see the expression on her invisible face – you’re sure it would be absolutely menacing. You and the girls laugh together and continue to babble about ideal “kiss” pairings across Class 1A.

“Oh! That reminds me! I’ve got piping hot tea to spill, y’all.” Mina pushes aside her empty bowl and leans on her elbows towards you and Toru conspiratorially. “Sero told me that he saw Todoroki sneaking back into his dorm room this morning.”

Oh, shit.

You scramble to compose your face into a look of shock – but not too shocked! Just the right amount of shocked! For a moment, you wish you had an invisibility quirk like Toru so you could mask your facial reactions.

“And you guys know that Todoroki is so by the book - he always abides by curfew. So where do you think he was!? Training? Studying? Having a covert love affair?”

Toru gasps dramatically. You almost choke on your rice at this last musing from Mina. From across the dining hall you see Shoto shoot you a look, clearly concerned. You avoid his stare and level your gaze at Mina. Her eyes dart over your face questioningly. “What do you know Y/N!?” She practically demands.

You push aside your rice bowl, taking a moment to compose yourself.

“Well…I saw his dad visit yesterday. Actually – I met his dad. It looks like he put Todoroki through training hell for most of the evening. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spent the night catching up on homework and studying since his dad took up all of his time yesterday.”

“You met Endeavor? The Flame Hero!?” Toru all but jumps out of her chair.

“Yeah, I did.” You try to keep it light on the details, no need to back yourself into a corner.

“What was he like!?”

You scowl, recalling all that Shoto had shared about his complicated relationship with his father the night before. Fuck Endeavor and his poor attempt at fatherhood.

“He seemed kind of like a jerk, to be honest.”

“That’s not surprising.” Mina chimes in. You’re relieved to see that she has moved away from the topic of Todoroki’s potential “covert love affair.” “A lot of what I’ve read about him online makes him sound like kind of an asshole. He’s not exactly known for being a warm and fuzzy hero with the way he interacts with the public.”

“That’s true – I heard that recently he saved a civilian from a factory explosion, then yelled at the man because he was wearing an All Might t-shirt.” Toru adds in a scandalized voice.

Mina snorts at this. “Inferiority complex, much?”

You laugh, finally back at ease. There’s no way any of them could find out about your illicit hookup session with Shoto. You two had so carefully covered your tracks. You snip and quip at each other for a few more minutes before you finally turn the conversation towards the most important topic at hand.

“Okay, girls. Let’s talk Operation: Spin the Bottle. How are we gonna get this secret party off the ground this weekend? What did we learn from last time?”

The girls latch onto the new conversation topic with fervor.

“I think we should make cute decorations!” Toru volunteers. “And we should remix our last party playlist to include the biggest radio hits from the past month.”

“Those are great ideas! I also think we should wait until Mr. Aizawa is officially gone before we start spreading the word about the party.” Mina says thoughtfully, sipping from her green tea drink. “As for our mistake the last time around…the biggest problem was Monoma.”

“Oh don’t worry – I have a plan to take care of him.” You say, rubbing your hands together like a cartoon villain.

“Oooo – Y/N, I love it when you get diabolical like this!” Mina giggles, sweeping her dirty dishes onto her tray and rising from the table. It’s time to go back to class for the second half of their school day. The three of you agree to chat through your plan in more detail later on.

You deposit your dirty tray at the correct receptacle before filing back to the classroom with the rest of your crew.

Ida, Midoriya, Uraraka and Shoto walk next to you in the halls. You and Shoto walk side by side, each immersed in conversations with your respective groups. Toru is explaining the latest makeup trends from Tokyo to you and Mina, while Midoriya and Shoto are deep in a conversation surrounding provisional licenses. You can feel the burning heat of Shoto’s body next to yours as you move through the crowded halls. It’s loud and chaotic as students bustle to and fro, rushing to their afternoon courses. For the briefest moment, you feel Shoto’s pinky brush against your own. You feel a shock of electricity run through you at the contact. You can’t help but smile. What a sweet little secret you have!

You file back into Classroom 1A and see that Mr. Aizawa is already stationed at the teacher’s podium, awaiting your class’s arrival.

“Alright, alright. Take your seats.” Mr. Aizawa says in a bored tone.

Izuku Midoriya raises his hand. He doesn’t wait for the teacher to call on him before he blurts out: “But sir – don’t we have combat training this afternoon?”

A murmur of confusion ripples through the class. Typically, this would be the point in the day when Mr. Aizawa would give you all access to your hero costumes and tell you to go to the locker rooms to prep for the combat portion of the coursework.

“Midoriya, please wait to be called on before addressing me in a classroom setting.” Mr. Aizawa reprimands quickly, but there’s no tone of annoyance in his voice. At this point in your academic journey with Eraserhead, you know that he’s just a stickler for rules and loves order.

“Sorry, sir.” Izuku squeaks out, sinking in his chair a bit now that he’s been called out in front of the entire class.

“That’s a good question. I realize that there’s an important lesson we’ve been neglecting to teach you here. Now that you’re living in the dorms, it feels more pressing than ever.”

Ida’s hand shoots up in the air at record speed.

“Yes, Ida…” EraserHead says in a bored voice.

“Sir, UA has such a strict and well-planned curriculum. What could possibly have been “neglected” by the faculty and staff?”

Aizawa smirks at Ida as if the young Engine hero has made a particularly funny joke. He looks out at the class and takes a deep breath before his next statement:

“This afternoon Recovery Girl and Midnight will be joining us as we discuss a crucial topic. I’m going to walk you through an Intro to Sex Ed.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here's Part 4

🔥Link to My Master List🔥

Thanks so much for reading - I hope you're enjoying the story so far. You all were so excited for an update, it spurred me on to write up this 20 page update! Holy Cow! The next chapter I have planned out is going to be super spicy and a little silly (I feel like you all have been digging that combo so far!?). Let's see what happens next to our dear Shoto x Reader pairing! 👀

Lol maybe I should come up with a better story name than "Shoto's First Kiss." When I started this as a one shot I did not expect this story to take off the way it did! Thanks again for reading and feel free to check out my other spicy works on The Master List pinned to the top of my blog!

XoXo, Red Riot Unbreakable Heart ❤️

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23victoria · 4 months

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Am I Still Me? ❀

f1 grid x fem!reader, charles leclerc x fem!reader

wc: 6.6k+

summary: the aftermath of y/n’s horrible crash in suzaka, part 2 to ready, set, suzuka!!

warnings: cussing, angsty, sad, kinda depressing ig, emotional and physical trauma

authors note: sorry i took so long with this, honestly didn’t know what to write 😭💀, also if you get some of the references i put in here and characters names you a real one!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!

PART 1

f1 masterlist

The beeping of machines, the sterile smell of antiseptic, the distant murmurs of nurses and doctors—it all blurs together into a foggy haze. When you finally open your eyes, it’s like surfacing from a deep, dark ocean. The light is too bright, the sounds too sharp. Your body feels heavy, achingly so, and it takes a moment for the fog to clear enough for you to remember why you're here.

The Japan Grand Prix. The crash. The pain.

Your vision focuses slowly, revealing the worried faces of your parents, sitting by your bedside. Your mother's eyes are red-rimmed, and your father's face is etched with concern. When they see you awake, relief floods their expressions.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re awake.”

You try to speak, but your throat is dry and scratchy. Your dad quickly offers you a sip of water, helping you take small, careful sips.

“How long…?” you manage to croak out, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“About a week,” he replies gently. “They had you in an induced coma to help your body heal.”

You try to take in the information, but your mind is sluggish, struggling to process it all. You notice the casts on your left leg, the bandages wrapped around your torso. Every breath sends a dull ache through your ribs.

“Your injuries were severe,” your mom says softly, as if reading your thoughts. “The doctor said you had a punctured lung and liver, three broken ribs, a laceration to your kidney, and broken femur and tibia in your left leg. The doctors… they did everything they could.”

The gravity of her words sinks in slowly. You close your eyes, tears escaping, feeling the weight of your injuries, the immense road to recovery ahead.

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The days blur together, filled with endless medical procedures and physical therapy sessions. The pain is constant, a relentless companion that gnaws at your resolve. The physical therapy is grueling, each session pushing your body to its limits. Your left leg, encased in a cast, feels like it’s made of lead. The simplest movements send waves of pain through you.

Your parents are always there, their support unwavering, but you can see the toll it’s taking on them. They try to hide it, but you notice the way your mother’s hands tremble when she thinks you’re not looking, or the way your father’s shoulders sag with exhaustion.

It’s not just the physical pain that wears you down. The psychological toll is immense. The fear, the uncertainty—it’s all-consuming. The thought of never racing again haunts you, a dark cloud that looms over every waking moment.

Despite their best efforts, the doctors and therapists can’t hide the reality from you. Your injuries are severe, and the road to recovery is long and uncertain. There are no guarantees that you’ll ever be able to race again.

A few weeks into your recovery, your finally allowed visitors, you receive a visit from Max. He enters the room with a tentative smile, looking unsure of how to approach you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft. “How are you holding up?”

You force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ve been better,” you admit, your voice tinged with bitterness.

Max sits beside your bed, his expression serious. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through,” he says. “But I want you to know that we’re all here for you. Whatever you need.”

You nod, grateful for his words but unable to shake the feeling of despair that clings to you. “Thanks, Max,” you say quietly. “It means a lot.”

He stays for a while, chatting about the latest races and team developments, trying to lift your spirits. But when he leaves, the emptiness returns, heavier than before.

Lewis visits next, his brotherly presence a comforting balm. He’s always been a source of inspiration and comfort for you, and seeing him now brings a glimmer of hope.

“Hey Y/N/N,” he says warmly, enveloping you in a gentle hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

You manage a weak smile. “Thanks for coming, Lew.”

He sits with you, sharing stories and offering words of encouragement. “You’re one of the strongest people I know,” he tells you. “If anyone can come back from this, it’s you.”

His words touch you deeply, but the doubts still linger.

George's visit is bittersweet. He’s always been like a brother to you, and seeing his concern is both comforting and heartbreaking.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he says softly, his eyes filled with worry. “How are you holding up?”

You shrug, trying to mask your frustration. “Some days are better than others.”

He takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “I know it’s tough, but you’re not alone in this. We’re all here for you.”

You nod, but the words feel hollow. The reality of your situation is a heavy burden, one that seems to grow with each passing day.

Lando brings a burst of energy into your room, his usual cheeky grin tempered by concern. “Hey, superstar,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re looking better than I expected.”

You chuckle, appreciating his attempt to make you laugh. “Thanks, Lando. I guess I clean up well.”

He spends the visit telling you funny stories and trying to distract you from your pain. For a brief moment, you almost forget about your troubles. But when he leaves, the emptiness returns with a vengeance.

Oscar visit is quieter, more introspective. He’s always been a man of few words, and today is no different.

“Y/N/N,” he says, his voice gentle. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“Thanks, Oscar,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sits beside you, his presence a comforting anchor. “So…what do you wanna talk about?,” he says simply.

You look at him surprised, “What do I want to talk about?”

“Yea, what did you want to talk about” he says softly.

“You're not going to tell me that “You're strong, you’ve got this, you're gonna overcome this” you say indifferently.

He shakes his head saying “Nope.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I'm pretty sure everyone else who visited you has said the same thing, so I want to know what you want to talk about. Any good shows you’ve been watching? Hospital drama? Yes, no, maybe? Tell me I wanna know” he says gently.

You smile at him, greatly appreciating the normalcy his bring. You smile saying, “Did you bring food?”

He smirks, laughing “Yes I brought you y/f/f.”

You squeal, happy to have some outside food, the hospital starting to bore you. “Yes, there is some hospital drama. Apparently a resident has been sleeping with a neurosurgeon, and get this, he was married the whole time! And he didn’t tell her until his wife showed up last night for a case!” you say opening your bag of food.

Oscar looks at you in shock, “No way! Holy shit! Tell me more!”

Charles visit is the hardest. He’s always been your closest friend on the circuit, and seeing the pain in his eyes is almost too much to bear.

“Y/N/N,” he says, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“Charles,” you say, reaching out to take his hand. “It’s not your fault.”

He nods, but you can see the guilt etched into his features. “I know but I still feel like I should’ve been there for you earlier,” he says quietly.

“You were,” you reply, your voice firm. “And you still are.”

He stays with you for a long time, his presence a comforting reminder of the bond you share. But even his support can’t chase away the shadows that cling to your mind.

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One particularly difficult day, you’re in the middle of a grueling physical therapy session. The pain in your left leg is excruciating, and every movement feels like a battle. You’re sweating, gasping for breath, and on the verge of tears.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling with frustration and pain. “It’s too hard.”

Your physical therapist, a kind but firm woman named Maria, looks at you with sympathy. “I know it’s hard, Y/N,” she says gently. “But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve come so far already. Don’t give up now.”

You want to believe her, but the doubts are overwhelming. The thought of never racing again haunts you, a constant shadow that refuses to be dispelled.

“I’m worried about her, Y/F/N,” your mom says, her voice thick with worry. “She’s losing hope.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice equally troubled. “We need to do something.”

The next day, they call a meeting with all the drivers who have visited you. They gather together like a small conference room, their faces etched with concern.

“Thank you all for coming,” your dad begins, his voice serious. “We wanted to talk to you about Y/N. She’s struggling, and we need your help.”

Your mom nods, her eyes filled with tears. “She’s losing hope, and we’re afraid she’s going to give up. We need you to remind her of the fighter she is, to help her see that she can get through this.”

Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, Max, and Charles exchange worried glances, their expressions serious. They all care deeply about you, and the thought of you giving up is unbearable.

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” Lewis says firmly. “We’re not going to let her give up.”

The others nod in agreement, their resolve clear. They begin to plan regular visits, phone calls, and messages of encouragement, determined to lift your spirits and help you see the light at the end of the tunnel.

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The next few weeks bring a steady stream of visitors. Max is the first to arrive, his usual confidence tempered by concern.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, sitting beside your bed. “I brought you something.”

He hands you a small box, and when you open it, you find a miniature model of your race car. “I thought it might help you remember what you’re fighting for,” he says quietly.

You smile, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Max. It means a lot.”

Lewis is next, bringing a stack of racing magazines and a collection of your favorite movies. “I thought you could use some entertainment,” he says with a smile.

George brings a scrapbook filled with photos and memories from your racing career. “I want you to remember how far you’ve come,” he says softly.

Lando arrives with a box of your favorite snacks and a playlist of uplifting songs. “Music always helps me when I’m feeling down,” he says with a grin.

Oscar arrives with a stack of books, his quiet presence a calming balm. “I know you love to read,” he says simply. “I thought these might help you pass the time.”

Charles comes last, bringing a framed photo of the two of you celebrating after a race. “I want you to remember all the good times we’ve had,” he says softly. “And all the ones we still have ahead of us.”

Their visits bring a small measure of comfort, but the road to recovery remains daunting. The physical pain is relentless, and the psychological toll is equally severe. There are days when you feel like giving up, when the thought of never racing again is too much to bear.

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Today was another day of physical therapy, the room was sterile, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on the rows of equipment in the physical therapy room. You sat on the padded bench, beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. Your physical therapist, Maria, stood in front of you, her expression firm yet encouraging.

"Alright, Y/N, we're going to try to put a little more weight on your leg today," Maria said, her voice gentle but insistent. "You’re making great progress, but we need to push a bit more."

You nodded mechanically, gritting your teeth. The pain was a constant, gnawing presence in your leg, a cruel reminder of the crash that had shattered more than just your bones. You took a deep breath and tried to stand, but the agony was immediate and overwhelming. You crumpled back onto the bench, gasping.

"Come on, Y/N, you can do this," Maria urged. "Just one more try."

Something inside you snapped. The relentless pain, the frustration, the overwhelming sense of loss—everything boiled to the surface. You exploded.

"NO! NO! NO! I CAN'T DO THIS!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls. "I CAN'T! IT HURTS! I'M IN PAIN! AND DON'T YOU TELL ME YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS WHEN YOU DON'T! YOU HAVEN'T LOST THE ABILITY TO WALK! YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TOLD YOU MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO DO THE ONE THING THAT GAVE PURPOSE TO YOUR LIFE!"

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Maria's face paled, and she took a step back, her hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Y/N, I—" she began, but you cut her off.

"Just please, take me to my room," you said, your voice breaking. "I can't do this anymore."

Maria hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Okay," she said softly. She turned to call a nurse. "Please take Y/N back to her room."

The nurse arrived within minutes, her face a mask of professional concern. She helped you into a wheelchair and wheeled you down the long, sterile corridors back to your room. The journey was a blur, the walls closing in on you, each turn of the wheel a reminder of your limitations.

Once inside your room, you pushed yourself onto the bed, curling up into a ball. The nurse lingered for a moment, her eyes filled with sympathy.

"Do you need anything, Y/N?" she asked quietly.

"No," you muttered. "Just leave me alone."

The nurse nodded and exited, closing the door softly behind her. The silence that followed was deafening. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of despair settle over you. The hours dragged by, each second a reminder of the future that felt increasingly out of reach.

You heard the faint knock on the door but didn’t respond. You knew it was someone coming to check on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The knocks continued throughout the day, but you ignored them all.

You didn’t eat, didn’t speak, didn’t move. The room grew darker as the hours passed, the light outside fading into night. The pain in your leg was nothing compared to the ache in your heart, the sense of hopelessness that had settled in like a lead weight.

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Nights like this are the hardest. The darkness magnifies your fears, turning whispers of doubt into deafening roars. It’s one of those nights now, the kind where sleep seems impossible. The weight of your injuries and the uncertainty of your future press down on you like a suffocating blanket.

A soft knock on your hospital door interrupts your spiral of despair. It’s Charles, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. He steps inside quietly, his eyes searching yours with concern.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling up a chair next to your bed. “I heard what happened, thought I’d check on you.”

You manage a weak smile, but it quickly fades. “Thanks for coming,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I’m not great company right now.”

He takes your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “You don’t have to be. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the weight of your shared pain filling the room. Then, the dam breaks.

“I don’t know how to do this, Charles,” you confess, your voice trembling. “Every day feels like a battle, and I’m so tired. I’m scared I’ll never race again. Racing is everything to me. It’s my passion, my dream. And now… I feel like it’s slipping away.”

Tears stream down your face, and Charles moves closer, wrapping his arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out all the pain and frustration you’ve been holding in. His embrace is warm and strong, a safe haven in your storm of emotions.

“I know,” he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. “I know how much racing means to you. It’s not fair what’s happened. It’s not fair that you’re hurting like this.”

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes. You can see the tears there too, the raw pain he’s been holding back. “Charles, I feel like my life is over. If I can’t race… what’s the point? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Without it, I don’t know who I am.”

He cups your face in his hands, his eyes filled with determination and love. “Y/N, you are so much more than a racer. You’re strong, and brave, and passionate. You’ve touched so many lives, including mine. This injury doesn’t define you. You do.”

You shake your head, the weight of despair still heavy on your heart. “But what if I can’t do it? What if I can never race again?”

Charles’s grip on you tightens, his voice firm but gentle. “Then we’ll find a new dream, together. But I believe in you, Y/N. I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve overcome so much already. Don’t give up now.”

His words pierce through the fog of your despair, lighting a small spark of hope. “But what if I fail? What if I can’t come back from this?”

Charles’s eyes lock onto yours, filled with a fierce resolve. “Then I’ll be there to catch you, every step of the way. We’ll face it together, no matter what. You’re not alone in this, and you never will be.”

The sincerity in his voice, the unwavering support in his eyes, brings fresh tears to your eyes. “Charles, I’m so scared.”

“I know,” he whispers, his own tears falling freely now. “And it’s okay to be scared. But don’t let fear steal your dreams. We’ll fight this, one day at a time.”

You lean into him, your hearts beating in sync as you cry together, the shared pain and love binding you closer than ever. In his arms, you find a flicker of hope, a reason to keep fighting.

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The next day your parents come in, their expressions filled with concern. They sit on either side of your bed, each taking one of your hands.

“Y/N,” your mother says softly, her voice filled with emotion. “We know you’re going through a lot. But we’re here for you, every step of the way.”

Your father nods, his grip on your hand firm and reassuring. “You’re not alone in this. We’re all rooting for you. And so are your friends.”

You nod, but the doubts still linger. The thought of facing another day of pain and struggle is almost too much to bear.

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It’s been five miserable and grueling months in the hospital. You’ve improved a lot, the doctors say but you just feel like you're stuck in limbo, going nowhere. Today you receive a surprise visit from all the drivers at once. Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, Max, and Charles fill your room, their presence a comforting reminder of the support you have.

“Hey, superstar,” Lando says with a grin. “We’ve got a little surprise for you.”

He hands you a small box, and when you open it, you find a collection of letters and messages from fans all over the world. Each one is filled with words of encouragement and support, reminding you of the impact you’ve had on so many lives.

You feel a lump in your throat as you read through the letters, each one a reminder of why you started racing in the first place. The passion, the thrill, the joy—it’s all still there, buried beneath the pain and fear.

“We’re not going to let you give up,” Max says firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people we know. And we believe in you.”

Lewis nods, his expression serious. “You’ve overcome so much already. This is just another challenge, and we know you can get through it.”

George takes your hand, his eyes filled with determination. “We’re here for you, Y/N/N. Every step of the way.”

The others nod in agreement, their support unwavering. In that moment, you feel a flicker of hope, a small but growing light in the darkness.

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As the days fly by, the recovery process grinds on. The physical and psychiatric therapy sessions remain grueling, one pushing your body to its limits and the other peeling back layers of fear and doubt you didn't even know existed. You're forced to confront not just the physical pain, but the emotional turmoil of possibly losing the one thing that has defined you for so long: racing.

“Tell me about your fears, Y/N,” Dr. Yang, your therapist, prompts gently during one of your sessions.

You take a deep breath, the words sticking in your throat. “I’m terrified that I’ll never be the same again,” you admit. “Racing was everything to me. It was my passion, my identity. What if I can’t do it anymore? What if I’m not...me?”

Dr. Yang nods, her eyes full of understanding. “It’s natural to feel that way. But remember, you’re more than just a driver. You have other strengths, other passions.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. “But I don’t want to be anyone else. I don’t know how to be anyone else. Racing was my life. Without it, I feel...lost.”

Dr. Yang leans forward, her voice soft but firm. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience, Y/N. It’s okay to feel lost right now. But this is also an opportunity to discover new parts of yourself, to grow in ways you never imagined.”

The thought of having to reinvent yourself is daunting. The stress and anxiety of not being able to race again loom large, casting long shadows over your recovery. Each day is a battle against these fears, a struggle to hold onto the hope that you can still find a way back to the track.

Each therapy session, both physical and psychiatric, feels like an uphill battle. The pain, both physical and emotional, is relentless, and the progress often feels painfully slow.

During one particularly tough session, you break down. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you sob, the tears streaming down your face. “I don’t know if I can ever be the Y/N I used to be.”

Dr. Yang sits quietly for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. “You’re right,” she says finally. “You might never be the same Y/N you were before the accident. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find a new version of yourself, one who is just as strong and passionate, even if in different ways.”

Her words strike a chord, the truth of them both painful and liberating.

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One day, after a successful therapy session, you receive another surprise visit from Charles. He enters the room with a bright smile, holding a small box.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. “I’ve got something for you.”

You open the box to find a small, intricately designed keychain in the shape of a racing car. “It’s beautiful,” you say, touched by the gesture.

“It’s a reminder,” Charles says softly. “Of your passion, your strength, and your determination. No matter what happens, you’re still a racer at heart.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, but this time they’re tears of gratitude. “Thank you, Charles,” you say, your voice choked with emotion. “I needed this.”

He smiles, his eyes filled with warmth. “We all believe in you, Y/N. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”

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The days that follow are still hard, but the nights are a little easier with Charles by your side. One night, as you’re lying in bed, exhausted from another day of therapy, Charles sits beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he begins, his voice soft and contemplative.

“About what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

“About racing being your life, your dream,” he replies. “I get it. Racing is my dream too. But I’ve realized something important. Dreams can evolve. They can grow. And sometimes, when one dream ends, it makes room for a new one.”

You look at him, your eyes searching his. “What do you mean?”

He smiles, a small, hopeful smile. “I mean that no matter what happens, you’re not defined by this one thing. You have so much passion, so much drive. If racing isn’t in the cards anymore, I know you’ll find something else that lights that fire in you. And I’ll be there to support you, every step of the way.”

His words are like a balm to your soul, soothing the deep wounds of doubt and fear. “Thank you, Charles,” you whisper, your voice filled with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he replies, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

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The days continue to blur together, but with each passing week, you begin to see more progress. The pain is still there, but it’s no longer as overwhelming. The therapy sessions remain challenging, but you start to look forward to them, eager to see how far you can push yourself.

Your friends and family continue to visit regularly, their support a constant source of strength. Max, Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, and Charles all make it a point to check in on you, their encouragement lifting your spirits.

And through it all, Charles is by your side, his presence a comforting reminder that you’re not alone in this fight. His unwavering support, his quiet strength, his deep love—they’re the anchors that keep you grounded, the lights that guide you through the darkest nights.

As the months continue to pass, you begin to see more and more progress. The pain is still there, but it’s no longer as overwhelming. The therapy sessions remain challenging, but you start to look forward to them, eager to see how far you can push yourself.

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It's been six months since the accident. Half a year of relentless therapy, sleepless nights, and countless tears. But today, as you sit in the hospital's discharge room, a sense of cautious optimism fills the air.

Dr. Yang, your psychiatrist, and Dr. Miller, your orthopedic specialist, sit across from you. Dr. Miller adjusts his glasses and smiles warmly. "Y/N, I have to say, your progress has been remarkable. You're officially discharged."

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. "Thank you, Dr. Miller. Thank you, Dr. Yang."

Dr. Miller nods. "Remember, Y/N, this is just the beginning. You'll need to continue with your physical therapy and workouts to strengthen your body. We also need you to come in for your planned appointments. But if you keep up the good work, we're hopeful you could start racing again by next year."

Dr. Yang chimes in, "In about a month, you can begin to slowly train with your racing trainers to get back to racing. We know how much this means to you."

The relief washes over you. The thought of getting back behind the wheel, even if it's just in training, ignites a flicker of hope.

"Thank you both," you say, your voice trembling with emotion. "I can't wait to get back to it."

As you leave the discharge room, your heart pounds with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The past six months have been a rollercoaster of emotions, but today, you feel a renewed sense of purpose.

When you step out of the hospital doors, a loud cheer erupts. There, standing together, are the boys: Charles, Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, and Max. They hold up a large banner that reads, "Welcome Back, Y/N!" and they're all grinning from ear to ear.

Charles is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug. "We knew you could do it," he whispers.

Lewis steps forward next, a proud smile on his face. "Told you, didn't I? You're stronger than you think."

George gives you a high five, his excitement palpable. "Y/N’s back in action!"

Lando and Oscar cheer loudly, their enthusiasm infectious. "We missed you!" they say in unison.

Max, usually so stoic, actually looks emotional. "You had us worried for a while, but we never doubted you'd be back."

You laugh, wiping away happy tears. "Thank you, guys. I couldn't have done this without your support."

Charles takes your hand, his eyes shining with pride. "Let's get you home."

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The drive home is filled with laughter and lighthearted banter. The boys recount stories from the past six months, filling you in on all the racing drama you've missed. It's comforting to know that life has continued on the track, even as you've fought your personal battles.

Once home, you step into your apartment, which has been kept in perfect order by your parents. The familiar surroundings bring a sense of peace. Your parents are there, tears of joy in their eyes as they welcome you back.

"You're home, sweetheart," your mom says, hugging you tightly.

Your dad smiles, his pride evident. "We're so proud of you, Y/N."

Over the next few weeks, you settle into a routine. Physical therapy sessions continue, and you push yourself harder than ever, determined to regain your strength. The boys visit often, their presence a constant source of encouragement.

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A month later, you're cleared to start light training with your racing trainers. The anticipation is overwhelming as you step into the familiar surroundings of the training facility. Your trainer, Tyler, greets you with a wide smile.

"Welcome back, Y/N. Ready to get to work?"

You nod, your heart pounding with excitement. "Absolutely."

The training is rigorous, but the thrill of being back in the environment you love so much drives you forward. The first time you sit in a simulator again, your hands tremble slightly, but as you grip the wheel, a sense of calm washes over you. This is where you belong.

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

As the months pass by, your progress is nothing short of extraordinary. Your body grows stronger, and your confidence begins to return. You start to believe that racing again is not just a distant dream but a tangible reality.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you go to visit Charles at his apartment, you sit with Charles on the balcony, looking out over the city lights.

"I was so scared," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Scared that I'd never feel this again. The rush, the passion."

Charles wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. "I know. But look at you now. You're doing it, Y/N/N. You're coming back stronger than ever."

You smile, resting your head on his shoulder. "I couldn't have done it without you, without all of you."

He kisses the top of your head. "We'll always be here for you."

"Charles," you begin, your voice soft but filled with sincerity, "Thank you. Through everything that's happened, you've been my rock. You stayed by my side, through the tears, the pain, the doubt. You've been my anchor, keeping me grounded when I felt like I was drowning."

Charles reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. "Y/N," he says, his eyes searching yours, "you don't have to thank me. I care about you more than anything in this world. When I saw what happened, I was scared. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. I'm just grateful that you're here with me today."

Tears well up in your eyes as you squeeze his hand, overcome with emotion. "Charles, you mean everything to me. I don't know what I would do without you."

He brushes a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and comforting. "I love you, Y/N" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've loved you from the moment I met you. And now, seeing you here, stronger than ever, I know that my love for you will never waver."

You meet his gaze, your heart bursting with love. "I love you," you say, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer. "With all my heart and soul, now and forever."

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

It’s a new year, the new racing season buzzed with anticipation. Rumors swirled like wildfires about Mercedes’ new driver. Speculation ran rampant—some said it could be Sebastian Vettel, making a surprise return, while others thought it might be another seasoned veteran. Few dared to hope that it could be Y/N, the driver whose crash had left a deep scar on the hearts of fans worldwide. Yet, the more optimistic whispered her name with a sense of defiant hope.

As the Australian Grand Prix approached, Mercedes remained tight-lipped, stoking the fires of speculation. The paddock was electric with curiosity, journalists and fans alike desperate for any clue. The suspense reached a fever pitch during the free practices and qualifying rounds, as an anonymous driver in the silver arrow of Mercedes set blazing lap times, ultimately securing third place on the grid.

Race day dawned bright and clear, the air humming with excitement. The stands were packed, and millions of eyes worldwide were glued to their screens, waiting for the moment of revelation. As the clock ticked down to the start of the race, the Mercedes garage was a hive of activity, the tension palpable.

Then, the announcement came over the loudspeakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to meet Mercedes’ new driver.” The garage doors opened, and out stepped Y/N, her familiar figure met with a moment of stunned silence before the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. The roar of support was overwhelming, a testament to the impact she had made in her career and the resilience she had shown in her recovery.

Sky Sports' David Croft, commonly known as Crofty, was almost speechless as he watched her walk to her car. “What an incredible moment, ladies and gentlemen. Y/N L/N, a name synonymous with tenacity and talent, has made her triumphant return to Formula One. After everything she’s been through, to see her here, ready to race, is nothing short of miraculous. Welcome back, Y/N.”

You waved to the crowd, heart swelling with emotion. You climbed into the car, focus shifting to the task at hand. You were back where you belonged.

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

As the lights went out, signaling the start of the race, your heart pounded with adrenaline. You launched off the line, holding your position through the first few corners. The car feeling like an extension of yourself, every movement precise, every decision calculated.

“Alright, Y/N, keep it steady. We’ve got a long race ahead,” Amaria’s voice crackled through your earpiece. Her calm tone was a steady anchor in the chaos of the race.

Lap after lap, you pushed the car to its limits, the memory of your accident a ghost that spurred on rather than holding you back. You were in the zone, overtaking with surgical precision and defending your position fiercely. On lap 15, you made a daring move on Max, slipping past him into second place. The crowd went wild, the roar echoing in your ears even through your helmet.

“Great move, Y/N. You’re doing fantastic,” Amaria cheered, her voice filled with pride.

As the race progressed, you found herself closing in on Lewis. You knew the pit stops would be crucial. On lap 28, you dove into the pits, the crew executing a flawless stop. You rejoined the race in third but quickly reclaimed back second position, setting your sights on first place.

“Pace is looking good, tires are optimal,” Amaria updated. “Keep pushing, you’ve got this.”

Your focus was razor-sharp, every muscle in your body attuned to the car’s movements. You chipped away at the gap, each lap bringing you closer to the leader. By lap 45, you were on Lewis’s tail, and with a brilliant maneuver, you overtook him, claiming the lead.

The final laps were a blur of speed and strategy. Lewis was close behind, pushing hard, but your determination was unyielding. Your hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes scanning the track ahead, your mind calculating every possible outcome.

“Just a few more laps, Y/N. You’re almost there,” Amaria’s voice was a lifeline, keeping you grounded.

Lap 56 came, and the crowd’s anticipation was palpable. You held your ground, defending your position with the skill and tenacity that had earned you a place among the best. As you crossed the line, the checkered flag waving, the realization hit you—you had won. You did it.

The crowd erupted in applause, the noise almost deafening. You parked the car at the P1 sign, the enormity of your achievement washing over you. You climbed out of the car, tears streaming down your face as you celebrated with her team. They lifted you up, their cheers of joy echoing through the paddock.

David Croft’s voice echoed through the stadium, capturing the essence of the moment. “Ladies and gentlemen, today we have witnessed history in the making. From a young girl in her hometown, driven by an insatiable passion for racing, to being the only girl in her karting races, lovingly supported by her parents. She defied the odds to become one of the first women to race in Formula 1. She survived a horrific accident in Suzuka, a nightmare that could have ended her career and dreams. Yet, she faced her darkest fears, battled through unimaginable pain and doubt, and today, she has overcome those scars to win the Australian Grand Prix. Y/N’s journey is nothing short of inspirational, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Welcome back, Y/N. We could not be any prouder. You have shown us what true courage and determination look like."

Other drivers came to congratulate you—Lewis, Max, Lando, Oscar, and more. Each hug, a testament to the joy and respect they had for your journey and your victory.

You ran towards Charles, your heart bursting with pride. You found each other in the sea of people, and you jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. “You did it, baby, you did it! I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you. You’re a winner! You did it! I’m so proud, baby. I love you so much!”

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice choked with emotion.

You stood on the podium, the weight of your journey settling on your shoulders. You have faced the darkest moments and come out stronger, your love for racing and the support of those around you guiding you back to the pinnacle of the sport. The crowd’s cheers were a testament to your resilience, a reminder that no matter how difficult the road, you had found your way back home.

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moondirti · 4 months

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sorry to the soft simon lovers but i am fixating on the idea of him being too abrasive for greater society. no, hear me out. he can't be normal after what he’s been through. after what he's done.

cw: dead dove. sadism. inferred sexism and stalking. punitive harassment. idk guys he's gross. 18+ MDNI

he's just a little too odd, grim, ugly, cruel, rude. he stares too long and makes jokes that strike the wrong chord in most. he's into things that are not as sexual as they are humiliating to his partners, and can not be satisfied by any relationship his therapist would deem as healthy. even physically, he's torn in all the wrong places. his scars aren’t rugged but almost painful to look at. his hands are huge and calloused and 60 grit sandpaper against soft skin. his nose is crooked. his hair is shorn short. he has a mean smile, watery eyes.

the one thing keeping him from being completely ostracised is the flag on his arm, the one he fights for. but it's like putting a tarp over some horrible, disfigured mess – you can still see the general shape of it underneath. most shrug it off as fine, go figure. you teach a soldier to kill and they cope by being killers. it's funny because simon's issues began way before he enlisted – he spoors it back to conception, when his father gave him a part of himself that can never be scoured clean. the military is just where he resides to conceal the stink of miasma he'll never rid of. piss over piss. putting a reason to the barbarity.

for a while, it's enough. he sticks to the corners. for all his sadism, he's not keen on subjecting the general public to his complications. he's smart enough to separate good from what makes him feel good. he only interacts with others like him – price, mostly, who's better at playing pretend but has issues that bury their roots just as deep. or maybe he's able to see simon for what he really is, and the novelty of not having to bite his tongue is enough to form a gossamer bridge of friendship. he sleeps with masochists who don't know what's good for them, all of them men (though it never pays when they're into what he's inflicting). in between missions, he'll disappear to his shitty apartment that he pays for in cash and drink himself to oblivion as he scrolls through a deprecating XXX site.

if he gets inebriated enough, he'll open up tinder and swipe through the birds advertising themselves, as if he were the holy arbitrator of what's attractive. safe because he made it so that no one would match with him; his profile is blank. no bio, no age. Riley as his first name and a picture of a shutterstock german shepherd because having one photo was a requirement.

the lifestyle probably exacerbates his problems.

maybe that's why he reaches a point of no return when he gets a text late one night. he doesn't give his number to anyone, so the only app it could be from–

your dog's cute. what's his name?

it's to his sloshed astonishment that someone swiped right on him. not even him, but a barebones, dodgy profile he curated to keep everyone at arms length when he chooses to indulge in his destructive habits. you're cute too, suspiciously darling and a whole open book – five pictures, a colourful description and your city of residence. you cannot be short of options, certainly not enough to drive you to a point of desperation, so there's no mistaking what this is.

you're setting up a little pet project. something to bat at like a cat does a ball of yarn, with no intention to commit or ever see him in real life. perhaps you chose him because there’s nowhere to go but up. or because his disinterest seems glaringly obvious, and a simple risk assessment told you that you wouldn't suffer an obsessive stalker if you ever chose to ghost him.

unfortunately for you, that couldn't be further from the truth. that simple question is enough to push him over the edge.

he's tired of holding back.

#tldr: what if big man falls for girl who wants nothing to do with him #revolutionary i know #simon riley #ghost #simon 'ghost' riley #x reader #tw stalking #tw noncon #ddne #simon 'ghost' riley x reader

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bruciemilf · 2 years

Text

If Talia were to tell Battinson they had a baby together and she sadly couldn't leave her cultist father just yet, Bruce would just. Take Damian.

As in, pluck him from Ra's arms as he's in the middle of his " my heir will rule the world" monologue and just walk away without a word. " WH- Talia! Stop him?!"

" Our therapist advised me to set boundaries with toxic parental figures, so, politely, I'll make sure not to do that."

When Selina wheeled her way out of Gotham, a member of her army of cats was pregnant; She yelled when Bruce told her.

Something about Simba knowing better, and how Bruce better look for the cat who knocked her baby up and make him stay, and Bruce says Simba's kittens get along well with Damian.

"...What?!"

" I have a baby now. Would you like to meet him? He's very friendly when he's asleep."

Bruce behaves like he was born holding babies; Damian never cries in his arms, his chubby fingers firmly hooked on his arms, round cheeks warm with pleasure while Bruce sings him to sleep and feeds him with his frog milk bottle.

All the while a small kitten sleeps on Damian’s tummy. In the Batcave. Now fully baby proofed. Alfred burns gin and tonic like he's cashing checks for it.

" Oh wow. That's...That's a baby. "

Ivy couldn't look more terrified if she tried, " That's a baby!"

Harley is overjoyed " THAT'S A BABY!"

" Shh. He doesn't like loud noises," Bruce tells them, and Selina wonders if only they know? Gotham's been suspiciously quiet since she returned. Almost like a courtesy, " His name is Damian. He likes cow mooing. "

"... That's very normal."

Harley, who's digging through Damian's toys already, says its actually more normal than they'd expect, but Selina needs a drink already because she can't be an aunt before 3 glasses of wine.

" Are you sure he's even yours?"

Bruce hums, " Does it matter? He's in my house already."

" Of course you'd say that."

" I signed the papers already."

" Oooof course you did. "

#bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #batman #battinson #damian wayne #talia al ghul #selina kyle #harley quinn #pamela isley #they're all roomates now and damian is their baby mascot #text #baby damian wayne

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dreamwritesimagines · 8 days

Text

The Eye of the Hurricane [36] - Advice

A.N: Last couple of chapters! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Proving oneself can be dangerous.

Word Count: 2200

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

To be honest, this right here?

This was the last thing you expected to happen when you married Bucky.

You were woken up with kisses, a giggle escaping from your lips as you turned around and Bucky got on top of you and made himself comfortable between your legs, his hair still damp from his shower.

“You’re up early,” you muttered, trying to snap out of the pleasant warmth of sleep as you cupped his cheek and he turned his head to press a kiss into your palm.

“Hi beautiful.”

“Hey.”

“Slept well?”

“Mm hm,” you said as he caressed over your hair, making you smile but before you could ask him the same question, your phone vibrated on the nightstand. You reached out to get it, Bucky letting out a displeased groan.

“Just ignore whoever it is.”

You frowned when you saw the time on your phone, then read the texts from Rhett and your father, and cussed under your breath.

“I’m gonna have to run around the whole day…”

“Or we can just spend the whole day in bed,” Bucky offered as you put the phone back on the nightstand.

“We can’t.”

“We can.”

“Bucky, you do realize that you and I have a very busy day, right?”

Bucky scoffed a laugh.

“You do realize that I don’t give a fuck about that while you’re naked, right?”

You slapped at his vibranium arm lightly, coaxing a chuckle out of him.

“We have a deal to close, Barnes.”

“They can wait.”

“Where’s your sense of professionalism?”

“Glad you asked,” he said “I fucked it out of my system last night.”

“Ever the romantic,” you said with a grin and he dipped his head down to brush his lips against yours, making you heave a pleasant sigh and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Say that again,” he muttered to your lips and you tilted your head.

“You already heard it last night.”

“Yeah but if you say it during sex, it doesn’t count. Everyone knows that.”

A smile you couldn’t stop warmed your face and you raised your brows, trying to adapt an overly serious expression.

“So as it turns out,” you started, “in a recent, surprising event…”

“Look who’s being romantic now—”

“I love you too.”

He gave you a smirk before dipping his head to kiss you again and a giggle climbed up your throat.

“Does this mean we’re not getting a divorce?” Bucky asked and you looked up at him.

“Do you want to?”

“Fuck no,” he said. “Do you?”

“Maybe.”

He pulled back to see you better, a frown pinching his brows together.

“I mean if we are dating—”

“Charm, we’re married.”

“No, you know what I mean,” you insisted, “If we are dating, I want a better proposal.”

“So you’ll divorce me just so that I can propose again?”

“In a more romantic manner yes,” you said. “And I want a honeymoon. A real one.”

“You want to get a divorce to get married again?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” you asked and he let out a chuckle, then heaved a sigh and caressed your cheekbone, looking down at you fondly.

“Counter offer,” he said. “How about we just don’t divorce, but do all that anyway?”

“You’ll propose while we’re married?”

“I’ll propose not getting a divorce with a ring, how does that sound?”

You pursed your lips together, deep in thought.

“That could work I think,” you said. “And the honeymoon?”

“After you take over?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Can’t risk anything at this point.”

“Honeymoon after you take the crown then,” he said. “See? Open communication saves us from divorce, may be the therapist was onto something.”

You scoffed a laugh, then gasped.

“Oh my God, Bucky,” you said, squeezing at his arm. “The sex journals! We need to fill out the sex journals!”

That made him smirk before he leaned down to kiss your neck.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to describe it well though?” he asked, making your eyes flutter close. “I feel like you might need another demonstration, no?”

You bit at your lip, running your fingernails over the nape of his neck as he kissed down your body.

“Yeah,” you managed to say. “Another demonstration sounds good.”

You and Bucky got to the office a little bit late, so after Rhett signed the deal, you insisted on accompanying him to his jet as an apology for being late. Bucky had to stay at the office because of his next meeting, but you couldn’t help but notice he was much more relaxed when it came to Rhett now, probably because of last night.

“So,” you said as you and Rhett left the car and you leaned back to the car while Rhett turned to you. “New York wasn’t so bad huh?”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Still prefer Chicago.”

“Of course you do.”

“But I’ll come again,” he said. “When you take the crown. To congratulate you.”

You gave him a bright smile.

“Rhett…”

“I have no problem telling the pilot there’s going to be another passenger,” he joked, nodding in the direction of the jet and you let out a laugh.

“Come on now.”

He held up his hands, gesturing surrender.

“Thank you though,” you said. “Really. You’ve kept your promise even if you didn’t have to.”

“I did have to,” he said. “Told you. Loyalty above everything. My word wouldn’t hold much weight if I went around breaking promises.”

You heaved a sigh, nibbling on your lip.

“I’ll make sure you don’t regret it,” you said. “This whole deal. Not only you, but the whole Chicago. I know they have their doubts, but I will prove—”

“Let me deal with Chicago, sweetheart,” he said. “You focus on here, okay? You still have a throne to climb, you can’t afford any distractions.”

“I know,” you muttered. “But hey, tell Alice I said hi.”

“I probably shouldn’t,” he said, making you laugh. “She’ll ask me if you said that to me in bed, so…”

“Sounds like her.”

“By the way,” he said. “What do you think about betrothing your firstborn and mine?”

“I think multiple people would end up getting shot in that wedding,” you pointed out, coaxing a chuckle out of him.

“Yeah, good point,” he said and opened up his arms so that you could hug him tight, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, hugging you back.

“Y/N,” he said as you stepped back from his embrace. “If anyone can play this game in New York, it’s you. So I don’t think you need my advice but I need you to remember something.”

You pulled your brows together. “What?”

“Ian.”

“No one respects him,” you said. “He may have his men, but most of the bosses support me—”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he said. “He is an idiot, but even an idiot would know that he is never going to get the full power while you’re alive. He will put a hit on you.”

You paused for a moment, then shook your head.

“Ian doesn’t have the guts to put a hit on me.”

“If he has the guts to take your title from you, he has the guts to put a hit on you,” Rhett said. “I’m serious. He will try to kill you, so you have to make sure you pull the trigger first.”

“Rhett—”

“There’s no walking around it,” he insisted. “There are no loopholes or exceptions, you know the rules. Kill him before he kills you, Y/N.”

You licked your lips, a shiver going down your spine before you forced yourself to nod.

“I know,” you said. “I will.”

He eyed you up and down, then extended his hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you, princess of New York.”

You felt yourself smile, then you took his hand to shake it.

“Pleasure is all mine, prince of Chicago,” you said and he winked at you, then made his way to his jet. You let out a breath, then got in the car, pressing your palms on your eyes.

Rhett was right.

You knew he was right, you knew the rules. You hated Ian’s guts, but killing someone in the family without a direct attack…

“Where to, Mrs. Barnes?”

You swallowed thickly, then lowered your hands and smiled at the driver.

“Uh, home please,” you said. “Thank you.”

You really weren’t in the mood to have dinner with your and Bucky’s family, and Bucky obviously shared the sentiment. He had spent almost an hour on the phone trying to convince you to skip it, but you knew you couldn’t. It had been a while you’d had dinner together, and your father had texted you earlier to make sure you remembered.

Bucky had told you he would be a bit late, so you got to your father’s house before everyone else. Winnifred and George weren’t there yet, neither was Becca, so when you walked inside and saw your aunt busy with her phone in the living room, you tried to walk past the room without her noticing it but she had already raised her head.

“Y/N.”

You grimaced but managed to plaster a smile on your face as you turned to look at her.

“Hi auntie.”

“It’s been a while,” she said, her voice cold for some reason and you pulled your brows together.

“It has,” you said. “Is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You blinked a couple of times.

“Uh, no reason,” you murmured. “Is my dad around?”

“In his office.”

“Thanks,” you said. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, Y/N.”

You pursed your lips, then raised your hands, mocking surrender.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll see you at dinner then.”

She didn’t even answer, so you shook your head slightly and made your way to your father’s office to knock on the door, then opened it to peek your head in.

“Hi dad.”

“Hi sweetheart!” he said, getting up from his seat as you stepped in, then hugged you. “Come in, sit down!”

You took the seat across from his desk while he held up his glass of whiskey.

“Would you like one?”

“Sure,” you said. “Do you know what’s up with auntie?”

He scoffed a laugh, filling you a glass of whiskey before handing it to you and going behind his desk to sit down.

“She’s been very cross with me as well.”

“For?”

“Rhett,” he said, making you roll your eyes. “Ian must’ve told her how he treated him.”

“Why does Ian think everyone has to coddle him?” you asked and he repressed a smile.

“Y/N.”

“Chicago rules are different than New York,” you told him. “He would’ve known if he spent like five minutes asking around instead of walking up to him and demanding his respect.”

“Rhett doesn’t seem to respect anyone but you.”

You sipped your drink, leaning back.

“Yeah,” you said. “He and I have history.”

“And I heard he was very brutal with Ian.”

“Just a bit,” you said. “Ian has no one to blame but himself, as I said.”

“And you made the deal with him?”

You let a proud grin curl your lips.

“Yeah.”

“Good job,” he said, making you tilt your head in surprise. He let out a chuckle at your expression and heaved a sigh.

“I still don’t like that you’re getting involved in the business.”

“I had to,” you said without missing a beat. “Someone had to clean up your heir’s mess.”

He held your gaze in his, then clicked his tongue.

“He did mess up,” he said. “And unlike what you seem to believe, you’re not the only person who can see that.”

You pulled your brows together and your father shook his head.

“He knows it too.”

“Does he?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “That leads him to make more mistakes, I guess. Because he is very eager to prove himself.”

“He can get in line,” you said. “I’ve been breaking my back trying to prove myself.”

“Yeah but unlike him, you’re succeeding it.”

You gawked at him, but before you could say anything, someone knocked on the door, making you look over your shoulder.

“Mr. Barnes is here, sir. Ma’am,” the maid said and your father took a deep breath, then stood up.

“I’d better check in with your aunt as well,” he said, pressing a kiss on top of your head. “Finish your drink and join us?”

“…Sure,” you muttered as he walked out of the room and you slipped a little in your seat, then looked behind you again when you heard Bucky’s voice.

“Charm?”

“Hey,” you said, smiling at him and getting up from the armchair. “Welcome.”

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes focused on you. “Is everything okay?”

You paused for a moment, then forced yourself to nod.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Work,” you said and shook your head, then stepped closer to him to peck him on the lips. He wrapped an arm around you, cupping your cheek with his other hand.

“Anything I should worry about?”

“Not at all,” you said after a beat. “Just…something Rhett said. Let’s go, I’m starving.”

Chapter 37

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