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pucksandpower · 11 months ago

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Pinky Promise

Logan Sargeant x Vowles!Reader x Carlos Sainz

Summary: you had it all planned out — do whatever you can to make Carlos Sainz regret the day he signed a contract to replace your best friend — falling in love with both of them wasn’t in your plans, but when has love ever been predictable?

The soft hum of the air conditioning fills the hotel room as you and Logan lie side by side on top of the crisp white sheets. Your heads are close together, almost touching, as you both stare up at the ceiling. The silence between you is comfortable, but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Logan’s voice breaks through, barely above a whisper. “I still can’t believe it.”

You turn your head slightly, studying his profile. “I know. It doesn’t feel real.”

He lets out a long sigh. “I mean, I knew it was a possibility, but ... I thought I’d have more time, you know?”

“You deserved more time,” you say firmly. “Dad should have-”

Logan cuts you off gently. “Hey, no. Don’t put this on your dad. He’s doing what’s best for the team.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a frown. “But you’re what’s best for the team.”

A small, sad smile tugs at Logan’s lips. “That’s sweet of you to say, but we both know that’s not true. Not anymore, at least.”

“Logan ...”

He shakes his head, still staring at the ceiling. “It’s okay. Really. I’m... I’m grateful for the opportunity I had. Not everyone gets to live their dream, even if it’s just for a little while.”

You flop back down onto the bed with a huff. “Your dream isn’t over. This is just ... a detour.”

Logan chuckles, but it sounds hollow. “A detour to where, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “But somewhere amazing. You’re too talented for this to be the end.”

There’s a long pause before Logan speaks again. “They’re saying Sainz is going to replace me.”

You stiffen at the name. “Carlos? Are you sure?”

“Nothing’s official yet, but ... yeah. Pretty sure.”

You sit up abruptly, a fire in your eyes. “Well, that settles it then.”

Logan looks at you warily. “Settles what?”

“I’m going to make his life absolutely miserable next season.”

Logan’s eyes widen. “Y/N, no. You can’t-”

“Oh, I absolutely can,” you say with a mischievous grin. “And I will.”

Logan sits up too, shaking his head. “Come on, you know that’s not fair. It’s not Carlos’ fault.”

“Maybe not,” you concede. “But he’s benefiting from this injustice, so he’s fair game.”

“Your dad will kill you,” Logan points out.

You shrug. “Worth it.”

“Y/N, I’m serious. You can’t do this.”

“Watch me,” you challenge, holding out your pinky finger. “I’ll even make it official.”

Logan eyes your outstretched finger like it might bite him. “I’m not letting you promise me that.”

“C’mon Logie, live a little,” you tease, wiggling your pinky enticingly.

He groans. “I’m going to get fired for conspiracy or something.”

“Well, they already fired you once,” you point out. “Can’t do it again. So let me just make this promise to you.”

Logan hesitates for a long moment before finally relenting. He hooks his pinky around yours with a resigned sigh.

“I, Y/N Vowles, pinky promise to make Carlos Way Too Many Names Sainz wish he was dead-”

“Y/N,” Logan warns.

You roll your eyes. “Okay! I solemnly swear to make his life a living hell! Better?”

“Marginally,” Logan mutters. Then, with a hint of a smile, he adds, “Okay, and I, Logan Sargeant, pinky promise to win whatever the hell I end up going to next … this is ridiculous.”

“Logan!” You gasp in mock outrage. “Don’t say that. We’re doing a ritual here.”

You tug your joined hands towards your mouth, lightly kissing Logan’s finger where it’s wrapped around yours. He mirrors the action, and you both pretend not to notice the dusting of pink on each other’s cheeks.

“Now what?” Logan asks softly as you lower your hands.

“Now we wait for the future,” you reply with a small smile, slowly detangling your pinkies.

Logan flops back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “The future. Right. No pressure or anything.”

You lie back down next to him, your shoulders just barely touching. “Hey, no pressure. Remember? We’ve got pinky promises on our side now.”

Logan snorts. “Oh yeah, because those are legally binding.”

“More binding than any contract,” you insist solemnly. “Break a pinky promise and you lose the finger. It’s the law.”

“Is that so?” Logan asks, amusement coloring his voice.

You nod sagely. “Absolutely. It’s in the Constitution and everything.”

“Which Constitution would that be?”

“The International Pinky Promise Constitution. Obviously.”

Logan finally cracks, letting out a genuine laugh that makes your heart feel a little lighter. “Oh, obviously. How could I forget about that very real document?”

You grin, turning on your side to face him. “See? I knew you’d come around to the seriousness of our pact.”

Logan mirrors your position, his expression sobering slightly. “Y/N, you know you don’t actually have to do anything, right? I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want you jeopardizing your relationship with your dad or ... or doing anything you might regret.”

You reach out, gently squeezing his arm. “Hey. I know. And I’m not going to do anything truly terrible, I promise. But a little harmless mischief to make Carlos’ life interesting? That’s fair game.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Define ‘harmless mischief.’”

You grin wickedly. “Oh, you know. The classics. Whoopee cushions. Plastic wrap on doorways. Maybe I’ll learn to play the kazoo and practice outside his hotel room at 3 AM.”

“You wouldn’t,” Logan gasps in mock horror.

“Try me, Sargeant,” you challenge.

Logan shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “But you love me anyway.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. Logan’s eyes widen slightly, and you find yourself holding your breath.

“Yeah,” he says softly after what feels like an eternity. “I guess I do.”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest, but before you can respond, Logan clears his throat and sits up.

“We should probably get some sleep,” he says, not quite meeting your eyes. “Early start tomorrow.”

You nod, trying to ignore the slight sting of disappointment. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

As you both stand up from the bed, an awkward tension settles over the room. You hover uncertainly by the door, not quite ready to leave.

“Logan?” You say softly.

He looks up at you, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

You take a deep breath. “No matter what happens next ... I’m always going to be in your corner. You know that, right?”

Logan’s face softens, and he crosses the room to pull you into a tight hug. “I know,” he murmurs into your hair. “Thank you.”

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “Anytime. That’s what best friends are for, right?”

Logan pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders. For a moment, you think he might say something more, but then he just smiles and nods.

“Right,” he agrees. “Best friends.”

As you leave his room and head back to your own, you can’t help but wonder if there might be something more simmering beneath the surface of your friendship. But for now, you push those thoughts aside. Logan needs you as his friend right now, and that’s exactly what you’ll be.

Besides, you have a season of mischief to plan.

***

Carlos steps into the Williams headquarters with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. It’s his first day as an official driver for the team, and he’s determined to make a good impression. As he’s led through the facility, he can’t help but notice the curious glances and whispered conversations that follow in his wake.

“And here’s our main break room,” his tour guide announces, pushing open a set of double doors.

Carlos’ attention is immediately drawn to a figure standing by a table laden with what appears to be refreshments. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight before him.

You’re wearing a pale blue apron over a simple sundress, your hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. There’s a smudge of what looks like flour on your cheek, and your eyes are sparkling with barely contained mischief. To Carlos, you look like you’ve stepped straight out of a 1950s magazine, and he’s instantly smitten.

“Ah, Carlos!” You exclaim, your voice warm and inviting. “I’m so glad you’re here. I made something special to welcome you to the team.”

Carlos approaches, unable to take his eyes off you. “That’s very kind of you, señorita ...”

“Oh, where are my manners?” You giggle, extending a hand. “I’m Y/N Vowles. James’ daughter.”

Carlos takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard wonderful things about you from your father.”

You blush prettily, and Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. “All lies, I’m sure,” you tease. “But come, you must try the cake I made. It’s a special recipe.”

Carlos allows himself to be led to the table, where a beautiful cake sits proudly on a stand. It’s frosted in a vibrant red, with delicate swirls of orange and yellow that make it look almost like flames.

“It looks incredible,” Carlos says, genuinely impressed. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

You wave off his words with a bright smile. “Nonsense! It’s not every day we get such an esteemed driver joining our team. I wanted to make something that would really ... leave an impression.”

There’s something in the way you say those last words that makes Carlos pause, but he brushes it off as nerves. After all, what could be wrong with a simple cake?

“Well, then,” Carlos grins, “I’d be honored to have the first slice.”

You clap your hands together excitedly. “Wonderful! Let me just grab a knife.”

As you bustle around, cutting a generous slice and placing it on a plate, Carlos can’t help but admire the way you move. There’s a grace to your actions, but also a hint of barely contained energy, like you’re holding back laughter.

“Here you are,” you say, presenting him with the cake and a fork. “I do hope you enjoy it.”

Carlos takes the plate, noticing how several other team members have gathered around, watching with interest. He supposes it’s natural for them to be curious about the new driver.

“Gracias, hermosa,” he says, flashing you his most charming smile. He takes a bite, savoring the sweet flavor for a moment before ...

Fire erupts in his mouth.

Carlos’ eyes widen in shock as the heat hits him full force. It’s like someone has poured molten lava directly onto his tongue. He coughs, struggling to catch his breath as tears spring to his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” You ask innocently, though there’s a glint in your eye that suggests you know exactly what’s happening.

Carlos tries to speak, but all that comes out is a choked gasp. He reaches for the nearest glass of water, downing it in one go, but it does little to quell the inferno in his mouth.

Through the haze of tears, he sees you watching him, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. And despite the agony he’s in, Carlos can’t help but think you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Hermosa,” he finally manages to croak out between coughs, “I’m touched you tried to make a cake in honor of my nickname, but I got it because I don’t like chili.”

You tilt your head to the side, the picture of innocence. “Oh? I had no idea. How terribly unfortunate.”

Carlos isn’t sure, but he thinks he detects a note of satisfaction in your voice. He wipes at his streaming eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“What ... what kind of pepper did you use?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

You tap a finger against your chin, as if deep in thought. “Oh, you know, just a little of this, a little of that. I believe there might have been some Carolina Reaper in there. And maybe a touch of Ghost Pepper. Or was it Trinidad Scorpion? It’s so hard to keep track.”

Carlos’ jaw drops. “You ... you put the world’s hottest peppers in a cake?”

You shrug, your eyes dancing with barely concealed glee. “I wanted it to have a real kick. After all, you’re going to need all the fire you can get to keep up with our team, aren’t you?”

There’s something in your tone that makes Carlos wonder if there’s more to this than a simple baking mishap. But surely, he reasons, no one would go to such lengths just to make him uncomfortable on his first day. Would they?

“I ... appreciate the thought,” Carlos says, trying to be diplomatic despite the fact that his entire mouth feels like it’s been scrubbed with sandpaper. “But perhaps next time, a simple vanilla cake would suffice?”

You laugh, the sound like tinkling bells. “Oh, Carlos. Where’s the fun in that?”

Carlos finds himself chuckling despite the lingering burn. There’s something about you that he finds utterly captivating, even if you did just try to melt his taste buds.

“You know,” you say, leaning in conspiratorially, “I’ve heard that milk can help with the heat. Would you like some?”

Carlos nods eagerly. “Sí, por favor. That would be wonderful.”

You disappear for a moment, returning with a tall glass of milk. Carlos takes it gratefully, downing half of it in one go. It’s only after he’s swallowed that he realizes something is ... off.

The milk tastes sour, curdled. Carlos gags, barely managing to keep from spitting it out in front of everyone.

“Oh dear,” you say, your eyes wide with feigned concern. “Is the milk not to your liking either? How terribly clumsy of me. I must have grabbed the wrong carton.”

Carlos looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly he’s sure that none of this is an accident. But why? What has he done to deserve such treatment?

Before he can voice any of these thoughts, you’re already backing away, that mischievous smile still playing on your lips.

“Well, I should really get going,” you announce. “Lots to do, you know how it is. Welcome to the team, Carlos. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

With that, you turn on your heel, giving your hair a little flip as you saunter towards the door. Just before you exit, you glance back over your shoulder, meeting Carlos’ bewildered gaze.

“Oh, and Carlos?” You say sweetly. “Do try to stay cool out there on the track, won’t you?”

And with a final giggle, you’re gone, leaving Carlos standing there with a burning mouth, sour milk, and more questions than answers.

As the other team members rush to get him water and apologize for the “mix-up,” Carlos finds his thoughts drifting back to you. Despite everything, he can’t deny the spark of intrigue you’ve ignited in him. You’re a puzzle, one he’s suddenly very eager to solve.

“Are you alright, mate?” One of the mechanics asks, looking concerned.

Carlos nods, a slow smile spreading across his face despite the lingering burn. “Sí, I’m fine. Just ... adjusting to the Williams welcome, I suppose.”

As he’s led away to continue his tour, Carlos can’t shake the feeling that his time at Williams is going to be far more interesting than he’d anticipated. And somehow, he’s looking forward to every moment of it.

Because if there’s one thing Carlos loves, it’s a challenge. And you, with your sweet smile and fiery surprises, might just be the biggest challenge he’s ever faced.

Game on, he thinks to himself. Game on.

***

The bell above the door chimes as you step into the local Boots pharmacy, a mischievous glint in your eye. You scan the aisles, searching for your target: the hair care section. As you approach, a friendly-looking employee notices your slightly lost expression and approaches.

“Can I help you find anything?” She asks with a smile.

You put on your most innocent face. “Oh, yes, please. I’m looking for some hair products, but I’m not sure where to start. What would you say are the absolute worst ones you carry?”

The employee’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry, did you say worst?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yes, exactly. The ones you’d never recommend to anyone. The cheapest, most damaging products you have.”

“Well,” the employee says hesitantly, “we don’t really carry anything I’d consider ‘damaging,’ but there are certainly some budget options that aren’t as high-quality as others.”

“Perfect!” You exclaim. “Those are exactly what I’m looking for. Could you show me?”

Still looking confused, the employee leads you down the aisle. “May I ask why you’re interested in these particular products?”

You think quickly. “Oh, it’s for a ... science experiment. I’m testing the effects of different hair products on ... um ... synthetic hair fibers.”

The employee doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she shrugs and starts pointing out various items. “Well, if you’re looking for the least effective products, I’d say stay away from these. This shampoo tends to leave a residue, this conditioner is known for making hair feel greasy, and this styling gel can make hair crunchy and flaky.”

You nod along, grabbing each item as she mentions it. “Excellent, excellent. Any others?”

By the time you’re done, your basket is overflowing with an assortment of the cheapest, least recommended hair products in the store. The employee eyes your haul with concern.

“Are you sure you want all of these?” She asks.

You flash her a bright smile. “Absolutely! The more data points for my experiment, the better. Thank you so much for your help!”

As you make your way to the checkout, you can’t help but giggle to yourself. Phase two of Operation Humble Carlos is officially underway.

Later that evening, you find yourself outside a sleek apartment building in the heart of Grove. Your heart races with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as you fish a key out of your pocket — a key you had “borrowed” from your father’s desk drawer earlier that day.

“Sorry, Dad,” you mutter under your breath as you slip into the building. “But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

You make your way up to the fifth floor, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Pausing outside apartment 5C, you take a deep breath and slide the key into the lock. It turns smoothly, and you’re in.

Carlos’ temporary apartment is immaculate, with minimalist furniture and a few personal touches here and there. You spot a framed photo of him with his family on a side table and feel a twinge of guilt. But then you remember Logan’s devastated face when he learned he was being replaced, and your resolve hardens.

“Right,” you say to yourself, setting down your bag of drugstore products. “Let’s get to work.”

You head straight for the bathroom, knowing you don’t have much time before Carlos returns from his evening training session. The bathroom is just as pristine as the rest of the apartment, with a array of expensive-looking products lined up neatly on the counter.

You pick up one of the bottles, whistling low under your breath as you read the label. “Oribe? Fancy.” You turn the bottle over, eyes widening at the price tag still stuck to the bottom. “Holy... that’s more than my entire hair care budget for a year!”

Shaking your head, you get to work. One by one, you empty out Carlos’ high-end products, replacing them with the cheap alternatives you bought. You’re careful to match shampoo for shampoo, conditioner for conditioner, making sure the consistencies are as close as possible.

As you work, you can’t help but imagine Carlos’ reaction tomorrow morning. Will his precious locks turn into a frizzy mess? Will his signature style fall flat? The thought makes you giggle.

“This is for Logan,” you remind yourself as you squeeze the last of a particularly goopy gel into its fancy counterpart’s bottle.

Just as you’re putting the finishing touches on your handiwork, you hear a key in the lock. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Mierda,” you hear Carlos mutter from the other side of the door. “Where did I put that ...”

You freeze, panic setting in. You hadn’t planned on him coming back so soon. Thinking quickly, you gather up all the evidence of your presence – empty drugstore bottles, discarded packaging – and shove it into your bag.

The front door opens just as you’re zipping up your bag. You can hear Carlos humming to himself as he moves around the apartment. Holding your breath, you ease the bathroom door open a crack, peering out into the hallway.

Carlos is in the kitchen, his back to you as he rummages through the fridge. This is your chance. You slip out of the bathroom, tiptoeing towards the front door with the stealth of a cat burglar.

Just as your hand touches the doorknob, Carlos speaks. “Hello? Is someone there?”

You freeze, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he must be able to hear it. You hear his footsteps approaching and, in a moment of panic, you duck behind the coat rack by the door.

Carlos appears in the hallway, looking confused. “Huh, could have sworn I heard something.”

He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne — a spicy, woodsy scent that makes your head spin a little. You hold your breath, praying he doesn’t look too closely at the coat rack.

After what feels like an eternity, Carlos shrugs and turns back towards the kitchen. “Must be imagining things. Maybe I need an early night.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, you make your move. In one fluid motion, you slip out from behind the coat rack and out the front door, closing it as quietly as possible behind you.

You don’t stop running until you’re out of the building and halfway down the block. Only then do you allow yourself to breathe, leaning against a lamppost as you try to calm your racing heart.

“That,” you gasp between breaths, “was way too close.”

But as the adrenaline starts to fade, a giddy excitement takes its place. You did it. Operation Humble Carlos, phase two, is complete. Now all that’s left is to wait and see the results.

As you make your way home, you can’t help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. Will Carlos notice the difference in his hair? Will the promotional photos be a disaster? The possibilities are endless, and you find yourself grinning at the thought.

“Sweet dreams, Carlos,” you murmur as you unlock your own front door. “Tomorrow’s going to be a bad hair day.”

***

Carlos arrives at the Williams factory, his stomach in knots. He’s been dreading this moment since he woke up this morning to find his usually luscious locks in a state of utter disarray. No amount of styling or product seemed to help — if anything, each attempt only made things worse.

As he walks into the building, cap pulled low over his eyes, he can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong. His hair has never betrayed him like this before, not even on the most humid race days.

“Carlos! There you are,” James greets him with a warm smile. “We were starting to worry you’d gotten lost.”

Carlos forces a laugh, trying to appear at ease. “Lo siento, just a bit of traffic. You know how it is.”

James nods sympathetically. “Of course, of course. Well, the photography team is all set up in the main conference room. Shall we?”

As they walk, Carlos can’t help but scan the hallways, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Despite the cake incident and his current hair crisis, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to you. There’s something about your mischievous smile that both intrigues and unnerves him.

The conference room is a hive of activity when they enter. Lights are being adjusted, backdrops shifted, and various team personnel mill about in their crisp uniforms. In the center of it all stands the photographer, a petite woman with a no-nonsense air about her.

“Ah, there’s our star!” She exclaims upon seeing Carlos. “I’m Lisa, I’ll be shooting you today. Let’s get you to hair and makeup, shall we?”

Carlos feels a wave of panic. “Ah, actually, I was thinking ... perhaps we could do some shots with the cap? You know, for a more casual look?”

Lisa frowns. “That wasn’t in the brief. We need clean, professional shots for the team profiles.”

“I know, I know,” Carlos says quickly. “But maybe just a few? For social media or something?”

Before Lisa can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the room. “Oh, come now, Carlos. You can’t hide that famous hair of yours.”

Carlos turns to see you sauntering towards him, a playful smirk on your lips. His heart does a little flip, even as alarm bells ring in his head.

“Y/N,” he greets you, trying to keep his voice steady. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrug, your eyes twinkling with barely contained mischief. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I’m quite interested in seeing how you ... present yourself to the team.”

There’s something in your tone that makes Carlos wonder, not for the first time, if you might have something to do with his current predicament. But surely not. How could you possibly have tampered with his hair products?

“Well,” Lisa interjects, clearly growing impatient, “cap or no cap, we need to get started. Carlos, if you could please take a seat in the makeup chair?”

Carlos hesitates, his hand unconsciously moving to adjust his cap. “I ... I’m not sure that’s necessary. I did my own styling this morning.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you now? Well, don’t keep us in suspense, Smooth Operator. Let’s see this expert styling of yours.”

The room has gone quiet, all eyes on Carlos. He can feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he weighs his options. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he slowly removes his cap.

There’s a collective gasp from the room. Carlos squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to see the looks of horror he’s sure are on everyone’s faces.

“Oh my,” he hears Lisa mutter.

“Carlos,” James says gently, “is everything alright?”

Carlos opens his eyes, forcing himself to face the room. “I ... I don’t know what happened. I used my usual products this morning, but ...”

His voice trails off as he catches sight of his reflection in a nearby mirror. His normally sleek, perfectly coiffed hair is a disaster. It’s frizzy and dull, sticking out at odd angles and looking more like a bird’s nest than anything resembling a hairstyle.

“Well,” you say, barely containing your laughter, “I suppose this gives new meaning to bed head, doesn’t it?”

Carlos turns to you, a mix of embarrassment and suspicion coloring his cheeks. “This isn’t funny, Y/N. I look ridiculous.”

You put on an exaggerated pout. “Aw, come now, Carlos. I think it’s rather ... charming. Very avant-garde. You could start a new trend.”

Despite his predicament, Carlos finds himself fighting back a smile. There’s something about your teasing that he can’t help but find endearing, even if he’s fairly certain you’re somehow behind this catastrophe.

“Right,” Lisa says, clapping her hands together. “Well, we can work with this. Margie, bring out the heavy-duty products. We’ve got some ... taming to do.”

As the makeup artist approaches with an array of styling tools, Carlos braces himself for what’s sure to be an uncomfortable experience. To his surprise, you pull up a chair next to him.

“Mind if I stay and watch the transformation?” You ask innocently. “I’m always fascinated by the magic of Hollywood-style makeovers.”

Carlos narrows his eyes at you. “Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying this a little too much?”

You gasp dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “Me? Enjoy your discomfort? I would never.”

Despite everything, Carlos finds himself chuckling. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink.

As Margie gets to work on Carlos’ hair, applying what seems like gallons of product and wielding a comb like a weapon, you keep up a steady stream of chatter. You ask about his move to England, his first impressions of the team, his hopes for the upcoming season. Despite his initial wariness, Carlos finds himself relaxing, drawn into easy conversation with you.

“You know,” he says during a brief lull while Margie fetches more hairspray, “for someone who seems intent on making my life difficult, you’re surprisingly easy to talk to.”

You tilt your head, a small smile playing at your lips. “Who says I’m trying to make your life difficult?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “The cake? This hair situation? I may be new here, but I’m not stupid.”

You lean in close, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe I just like seeing you a little ... ruffled.”

Carlos’ breath catches in his throat at your proximity. He’s suddenly very aware of the subtle floral scent of your perfume, the way your eyes seem to sparkle with hidden laughter.

“There!” Margie announces triumphantly, breaking the moment. “I think we’ve salvaged it.”

Carlos turns to the mirror, bracing himself. To his immense relief, his hair looks ... well, not perfect, but certainly presentable. It’s styled in a slightly messier way than he usually wears it, but it works.

“What do you think?” He asks, turning to you.

You study him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, you reach out and gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“Not bad,” you say softly. “But I think I preferred the bird’s nest.”

With that, you stand up and saunter away, leaving Carlos staring after you with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

“Alright,” Lisa calls. “Let’s get you in front of the camera.”

As Carlos takes his place in front of the backdrop, his mind is racing. He’s still not sure what game you’re playing, but he’s becoming increasingly certain that he wants to be a part of it. There’s something about you that draws him in, despite (or perhaps because of) your apparent determination to keep him on his toes.

“Smile!” Lisa instructs, and Carlos obliges, flashing his most charming grin at the camera.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots you watching from the sidelines, that ever-present mischievous smirk on your face. As the camera flashes, Carlos makes a silent vow to himself. He’s going to figure you out, Y/N Vowles, no matter what it takes.

***

The Australian sun beats down mercilessly on the Albert Park Circuit as Carlos leans against the wall of the Williams garage, his eyes fixed on the screens displaying telemetry data from Alex’s current lap. It’s the first day of preseason testing, and while Carlos is eager to get behind the wheel himself, he knows his turn won’t come until the afternoon session.

A familiar voice cuts through his thoughts. “Well, well, if it isn’t our resident Spaniard. Enjoying the view?”

Carlos turns to see you approaching, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. Despite his best efforts to remain wary after the hair incident, he can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Y/N,” he greets you, trying to keep his tone neutral. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrug, coming to stand beside him. “Oh, you know me. I like to keep an eye on things. Make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? And here I thought you might be here to cause more mischief.”

You gasp in mock offense. “Mischief? Me? I’m wounded, Carlos. Truly wounded.”

He can’t help but chuckle. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe after the cake incident. And the hair fiasco.”

“Pure coincidence,” you say airily, waving a hand. “I can’t be held responsible for your sensitive taste buds or your apparent allergic reaction to ... whatever hair products you used that day.”

Carlos narrows his eyes, studying your face for any sign of guilt. But your expression remains innocently neutral, save for that ever-present glint of mischief in your eyes.

“Right,” he says slowly. “Coincidence. Of course.”

You lean in closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. ��You know, Carlos, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were becoming a bit paranoid. Seeing sabotage around every corner. That can’t be healthy.”

Carlos feels his pulse quicken at your proximity. Despite his suspicions, he can’t deny the effect you have on him. “Perhaps I have good reason to be cautious, no?”

You pull back, laughing. “Oh, lighten up, Chili. I’m just trying to keep things interesting around here. You wouldn’t want to be bored during your first season with us, would you?”

Before Carlos can respond, a cheer goes up from the garage as Alex completes another fast lap. You both turn to watch the screens, momentarily distracted by the flurry of activity.

“He’s doing well,” Carlos comments, genuinely impressed by the times he’s seeing.

You nod, a hint of pride in your voice. “Alex is a fantastic driver. You’ve got some big shoes to fill, you know.”

There’s an edge to your words that makes Carlos wonder, not for the first time, about your relationship with the team’s previous driver. He’s heard rumors about your close friendship with Logan Sargeant, the man he replaced.

“I intend to do my best,” Carlos says carefully. “For the team, and for myself.”

You turn to face him, your expression unreadable. “I’m sure you will. Just remember, Carlos, this isn’t just any team. It’s a family. And family ... well, family looks out for each other.”

There’s a weight to your words that Carlos can’t quite decipher. Are you warning him? Threatening him? Or simply stating a fact?

Before he can ponder it further, you abruptly change the subject. “Oh, did you happen to see that article I was reading earlier? Fascinating stuff.”

Carlos blinks at the sudden shift. “Article? What article?”

You pull out your phone, scrolling through it with a look of concentration. “It was about recent medical findings. Quite eye-opening, really. Did you know that having your appendix removed has been shown to shorten your life expectancy?”

Carlos feels a chill run down his spine. “What? That ... that can’t be right.”

You nod solemnly. “Oh yes, it’s all here in black and white. Apparently, the appendix plays a more crucial role in our overall health than previously thought. Something about gut bacteria and immune system function. People who’ve had appendectomies are at higher risk for all sorts of health issues later in life.”

Carlos’ mind is racing. He had his appendix removed just last year after a sudden, severe case of appendicitis. At the time, he’d been told it was a routine procedure with no long-term consequences.

“Can I ... can I see that article?” He asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

You look up from your phone, a look of concern crossing your face. “Oh, Carlos, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about your surgery last year. How insensitive of me to bring this up.”

Carlos shakes his head, reaching for the phone. “No, it’s fine. I just want to read it for myself.”

But you’ve already tucked the phone away. “You know what? Let’s not dwell on it. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. These studies are always changing, right? One day something’s bad for you, the next it’s a superfood.”

Carlos frowns, a nagging suspicion growing in the back of his mind. “Y/N, why did you really bring this up?”

You blink innocently. “Bring what up? Oh, the article? Like I said, I just found it interesting. No ulterior motive, I assure you.”

But there’s a glint in your eye that tells Carlos otherwise. He takes a step closer, his voice low. “Is this another one of your games? Are you trying to get in my head before the testing session?”

You hold his gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “Now why would I do something like that? I’m just making conversation. Keeping you company during what must be a very boring morning for you.”

Carlos runs a hand through his hair, frustration and confusion warring within him. “I don’t understand you. One moment you’re friendly, the next you’re ... what? Trying to sabotage me? Scare me? What’s your endgame here?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Oh, Carlos. Not everything has to have an endgame. Sometimes life is just ... interesting. Don’t you think?”

Before he can respond, a commotion from the pit lane draws both of your attention. Alex’s car is being wheeled back into the garage, signaling the end of his morning session.

“Well,” you say brightly, “looks like it’s almost your turn. Better get ready, Chili. Wouldn’t want any ... distractions affecting your performance, would we?”

With that, you turn on your heel and saunter away, leaving Carlos staring after you with a mixture of frustration and intrigue.

As he watches you disappear into the crowd of team personnel, Carlos can’t shake the feeling that he’s just been played. Again. But instead of anger, he feels a strange sense of ... excitement? Challenge?

“Two can play at this game, Y/N,” he mutters to himself as he heads towards the locker room to change into his racing suit. “Two can play at this game.”

As he prepares for his testing session, Carlos finds his mind drifting back to your conversation. He knows he should be focused on the task at hand, on the data he needs to gather for the team. But he can’t help but wonder what your next move will be. And, more importantly, how he’ll respond.

For the first time since joining Williams, Carlos feels truly alive. The racing, the competition, it all pales in comparison to the intricate dance he seems to be engaged in with you. It’s dangerous, he knows. You’re a distraction he can’t afford. And yet ...

As he climbs into the cockpit of his car, helmet in hand, Carlos makes a decision. He’s going to solve the puzzle that is Y/N Vowles. He’s going to figure out your game, your motivations, your secrets. And when he does ...

Well, that’s when the real fun will begin.

With a grin hidden behind his visor, Carlos starts the engine. The roar drowns out all other thoughts, leaving only the track ahead and the challenge that awaits. Both on the circuit and off.

***

Carlos strolls down the plush carpeted hallway of the hotel, his mind still buzzing from the day’s testing session. The scent of leather and polished wood fills the air, a stark contrast to the oil and rubber smells he’s grown accustomed to at the track. As he approaches his room, a familiar voice catches his attention.

He pauses, realizing the sound is coming from your room, just a few doors down from his own. Carlos hesitates, knowing he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but curiosity gets the better of him. He takes a few quiet steps closer, straining to make out the words.

“... miss you too, Logie,” he hears you say, your voice muffled but unmistakable. “It’s not the same around here without you.”

Carlos’ eyebrows shoot up. Logie? As in Logan Sargeant? Intrigued, he moves closer, pressing his ear gently against the door.

A male voice responds, tinny and distant — likely on speakerphone. “I know, Y/N. But hey, at least you’re keeping busy, right? How’s Operation Torment Carlos going?”

Carlos feels his pulse quicken. So he was right — you have been deliberately messing with him.

He hears you laugh, a sound that sends an involuntary shiver down his spine despite the circumstances. “Oh, it’s going splendidly. You should have seen his face when he took off that cap at the photoshoot. Priceless!”

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice carries a note of concern. “Don’t you think maybe you’re taking this a bit too far? I mean, it’s not really Carlos’ fault that Williams decided to-”

“Shh,” you interrupt. “We don’t say that name around here, remember? And besides, I made a promise. A pinky promise, Logan. Those are sacred.”

Carlos leans in closer, his ear practically glued to the door now. A promise? What kind of promise?

Logan sighs audibly. “I know, I know. But seriously, Y/N, you need to be careful. If your dad finds out-”

“He won’t,” you say confidently. “Trust me, I’ve got this under control. Carlos doesn’t suspect a thing.”

Carlos has to stifle a snort at that. If only you knew.

“Speaking of control,” Logan’s voice turns playful, “when are you going to get that under control and come visit me? It’s not the same without my number one fan cheering me on.”

There’s a pause, and Carlos can almost picture the soft smile he imagines is on your face. “Soon, I promise. Things are just ... complicated right now. With Dad, and the team, and ... everything.”

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice softens. “You know you don’t have to stay there for me, right? I’m okay. Really.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to. For you, for the team ... for myself.”

Carlos feels a pang in his chest at the emotion in your voice. He’s starting to realize there’s a lot more going on here than he initially thought.

“Well,” Logan says after a moment, “whenever you’re ready, there’s always a place for you here. The house is all set up, and I know a great little taco place that-”

“Logan Sargeant,” you interrupt with a laugh. “Are you trying to bribe me with tacos?”

“Is it working?”

“... maybe a little.”

Carlos finds himself smiling despite the situation. The easy banter between you and Logan reminds him of conversations with his own close friends.

“Seriously though,” Logan continues, “how are you holding up? Really?”

There’s a long pause before you answer. “I’m ... okay. It’s strange, you know? Everything’s the same, but different. The garage doesn’t feel right without you there.”

“Y/N ...”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just ... I miss my best friend.”

The raw honesty in your voice makes Carlos feel like he’s intruding on something deeply personal. He knows he should walk away, but he can’t seem to make his feet move.

Logan clears his throat. “I miss you too. More than you know. But hey, we’re making it work, right? Long-distance at its finest.”

You laugh, but it sounds a bit watery to Carlos’ ears. “Right. Absolutely killing it.”

“Speaking of killing it,” Logan says, his tone turning serious. “Y/N, about this whole revenge thing ...”

“Logan, don’t start-”

“No, listen to me. I get it, okay? I do. You’re angry and hurt, and you want someone to blame. But Carlos ... he’s just doing his job. He didn’t ask for any of this.”

Carlos finds himself holding his breath, waiting for your response.

“I know that,” you say softly. “Logically, I know that. But when I see him in the garage, in your driver’s room, talking to your engineers ... it just hurts. And I don’t know how else to deal with it.”

“By talking to me,” Logan says gently. “By letting yourself feel it instead of bottling it up and taking it out on some poor, unsuspecting Spaniard.”

You snort. “Poor? Have you seen him? Nothing poor about that man.”

“Y/N,” Logan’s voice carries a warning tone, but there’s amusement there too. “Focus.”

“Right, right. No objectifying the enemy. Got it.”

Carlos feels his cheeks heat up at your words. He shakes his head, trying to refocus on the conversation.

“Look,” Logan continues, “all I’m saying is ... maybe give the guy a chance? Who knows, you might even like him if you stop trying to make his life miserable.”

There’s a long pause, and Carlos finds himself leaning even closer to the door, desperate to hear your response.

“I ... I’ll think about it,” you finally say. “But no promises. Well, except the pinky one. That still stands.”

Logan groans. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm,” you reply cheekily.

As the conversation drifts to lighter topics, Carlos slowly backs away from the door, his mind reeling from everything he’s heard. He makes his way back to his own room in a daze, collapsing onto the bed as soon as he’s inside.

Carlos stares up at the ceiling, trying to process it all. You’re not just messing with him for fun — this is about loyalty, about friendship, about dealing with a loss. He thinks back to all your interactions, seeing them in a new light now.

Part of him wants to be angry. After all, you’ve been deliberately sabotaging him, making his transition to the team more difficult than it needed to be. But another part ... another part understands. He thinks about how he felt when he was in Logan’s position, when he had been dropped from his dream team and replaced. Wouldn’t he have wanted a friend like you in his corner?

Carlos sits up, running a hand through his hair as he comes to a decision. He can’t pretend he didn’t hear what he heard. But he also can’t confront you directly — that would only make things worse. No, he needs to be smarter about this.

A slow smile spreads across his face as an idea forms. If you want to play games, he’ll play. But he’ll play by his own rules.

As he starts to plan, Carlos can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in his stomach. This season is shaping up to be far more interesting than he ever could have imagined. And if he’s being honest with himself, he’s looking forward to every moment of it.

***

Carlos strides into the Williams motorhome, a determined gleam in his eye. It’s been two weeks since he overheard your conversation with Logan, and he’s been on a mission ever since. Operation Charm Y/N is in full swing, and Carlos is pulling out all the stops.

As he enters the main area, he spots you chatting with one of the engineers. Your eyes flick towards him, and he flashes his most dazzling smile.

“Buenos días, Y/N!” He calls out cheerfully. “You’re looking radiant as always. Is that a new hairstyle?”

You blink, clearly caught off guard by his enthusiasm. “Uh, no? It’s the same as always.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. “Well, it must be the lighting then. It makes your eyes sparkle beautifully.”

A faint blush creeps across your cheeks, and Carlos feels a surge of triumph. Progress.

“Right,” you say slowly. “Thanks, I guess. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your interviews?”

Carlos waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, there’s always time for a chat with my favorite team member. How are you finding the track so far? I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Since when do you care about my thoughts on the track?”

“Since always!” Carlos exclaims, feigning hurt. “Your insights are invaluable, Y/N. I hang on your every word.”

You snort, but Carlos doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. “Now I know you’re full of it, Sainz. What’s your game here?”

Carlos puts on his most innocent expression. “Game? There’s no game. Can’t a guy just appreciate his talented and beautiful colleague?”

Your eyes widen slightly at the compliment, and for a moment, Carlos thinks he might have pushed too far. But then you shake your head, a reluctant smile forming.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat in your words.

As you turn to walk away, Carlos notices your gaze lingering on the water bottle in his hand. It’s just for a split second, but it’s enough to raise his suspicions. He glances down at the bottle, wondering if you’ve tampered with it somehow.

Determined not to let on that he’s onto you, Carlos keeps up his charm offensive throughout the day. During interviews, he makes sure to mention how wonderful the entire Williams team is, singling you out for special praise whenever he can.

“Oh yes, Y/N Vowles is an absolute gem,” he tells one reporter with a wink. “The heart and soul of Williams, if you ask me. We’re lucky to have her.”

From across the room, he sees you stiffen at his words, a mix of confusion and guilt flashing across your face.

As the day wears on, Carlos notices you becoming increasingly agitated. Your eyes keep darting to his water bottle, and you seem to flinch every time he reaches for it. He makes a show of almost drinking from it several times, watching your reaction carefully.

Finally, during a brief break between interviews, Carlos decides to force the issue. He picks up the bottle, slowly bringing the straw to his lips while maintaining eye contact with you.

Your eyes widen in panic. “Carlos, wait!”

Before he can react, you’re across the room, knocking the bottle out of his hands. It clatters to the floor, spilling water everywhere.

“I ... I’m so sorry,” you stammer, your face flushed with embarrassment. “I just ... I saw a bee! It was about to land on your bottle. Wouldn’t want you to get stung, you know? Allergies and all that.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “A bee? Inside the motorhome?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, a bit too enthusiastically. “Must have snuck in somehow. Crafty little things, bees. Anyway, I should go ... get a mop. For the water. Sorry again!”

With that, you turn and practically run from the room, leaving Carlos staring after you in bemusement.

“Well,” he murmurs to himself, “that was certainly interesting.”

As the day winds down, Carlos finds himself lost in thought. Your reaction to the water bottle incident was telling, but he can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. He had hoped his charm offensive might have started to break through your defenses.

Sighing, he gathers his things and heads for the exit. As he approaches the door, he hears a rustling sound coming from around the corner. Curiosity piqued, he peeks around the edge of the motorhome.

There you are, glancing furtively around as you try to shove something into a nearby trash can. Carlos squints, just barely making out the label on the package you’re attempting to dispose of.

Laxatives.

He has to stifle a laugh. So that was your plan. It’s juvenile, sure, but he has to admire your commitment to the bit.

Deciding to seize the moment, Carlos steps out from his hiding spot. “Fancy meeting you here. Doing a bit of spring cleaning?”

You jump, nearly dropping the package. “Carlos! I ... this isn’t what it looks like.”

He steps closer, his voice gentle. “No? Because it looks like you’re trying to get rid of evidence.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. “I ... I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid and childish and-”

“And exactly the kind of thing I would have done in your position,” Carlos interrupts, surprising both you and himself with his honesty.

You look up at him, confusion written across your face. “What?”

Carlos sighs, leaning against the wall of the motorhome. “Look, Y/N. I know about the promise you made to Logan. I ... may have overheard a conversation you had with him a couple of weeks ago.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You ... you were eavesdropping?”

“Not intentionally,” he says quickly. “But yes, I heard enough to understand why you’ve been ... let’s say, less than welcoming.”

You cross your arms, a defensive posture. “So what, you’ve been playing nice to try and manipulate me? To get me to stop?”

Carlos shakes his head. “No, not manipulate. I just ... I wanted to show you that I’m not the enemy here. That maybe we could be friends, or at least friendly colleagues.”

There’s a long pause as you process his words. Finally, you speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do that, Carlos. Logan, he’s ... he’s my best friend. And seeing you here, in his place ...”

“I understand,” Carlos says softly. “Really, I do. But Y/N, don’t you think Logan would want you to be happy? To enjoy your work, to make new friends?”

You bite your lip, considering. “Maybe. But the promise ...”

Carlos can’t help but chuckle. “Ah yes, the sacred pinky promise. Well, how about this — instead of making my life a living hell, why don’t you promise to make it ... interesting?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“Challenge me,” Carlos suggests, warming to the idea. “Push me to be better, on and off the track. Keep me on my toes. But maybe without the laxatives, sí?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “I suppose that could work. But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you, Sainz.”

Carlos grins, holding out his hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Vowles. Do we have a deal?”

You eye his hand warily for a moment before reaching out to shake it. “Deal. But I’m warning you, I can be a real pain in the ass when I want to be.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Carlos laughs. “Now, what do you say we get rid of this evidence properly and grab a coffee? I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about.”

As you both head towards the nearest café, Carlos can’t help but feel a sense of excitement. He may have won this battle, but he has a feeling the war is far from over. And honestly? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

Carlos pushes open the door of the quaint coffee shop, holding it for you as you follow him inside. The rich aroma of freshly ground beans fills the air, and the soft chatter of other patrons creates a cozy atmosphere.

As you both approach the counter, Carlos gestures towards the menu board. “Order whatever you like. It’s on me.”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of your usual mischief returning to your eyes. “Oh? And what makes you think I can’t pay for my own coffee?”

Carlos grins, enjoying this glimpse of your feisty side. “Consider it a peace offering. Or reparations for all the grey hairs you’ve given me these past few months.”

You snort, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Fine. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Carlos chuckles.

After placing your orders — a latte for you and an americano for Carlos — you both find a secluded table near the back of the shop. As you settle into your seats, an awkward silence falls between you.

Carlos takes a sip of his coffee, studying you over the rim of his cup. Now that he’s finally got you alone, without the pretenses and the pranks, he’s not quite sure where to start.

You break the silence first, your voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “So ... you said you overheard my conversation with Logan?”

Carlos nods, setting his cup down. “Sí. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but ... well, I heard enough to understand why you’ve been, shall we say, less than welcoming.”

You wince slightly. “Yeah, about that ... I may have gone a bit overboard.”

“A bit?” Carlos raises an eyebrow, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Y/N, you tried to give me laxatives.”

You have the grace to look embarrassed, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “Okay, more than a bit. I’m sorry, Carlos. Really.”

He waves off your apology. “Water under the bridge. Or should I say, laxatives down the drain?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Carlos grins. Then, his expression softens. “But in all seriousness, Y/N ... I get it. I do. Logan is your friend, and seeing me here instead of him ... it can’t be easy.”

You look up, meeting his gaze. There’s a vulnerability in your eyes that Carlos hasn’t seen before. “It’s not just that. I mean, yes, I miss Logan terribly. But it’s also ... this team, it’s like family to me. And seeing someone new come in, someone who didn’t grow up with all of us ... I guess I felt threatened.”

Carlos leans forward, his elbows on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod, wrapping your hands around your coffee cup as if seeking comfort from its warmth.

“Why the elaborate schemes?” Carlos asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, they were ... creative. But why not just tell me how you felt?”

You let out a long sigh, your fingers tracing patterns on the side of your cup. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. I guess ... growing up in this world, you learn to play games. To never show your true feelings because they might be used against you.”

Carlos tilts his head, intrigued. “What do you mean, growing up in this world?”

A wry smile crosses your face. “Carlos, my dad is James Vowles. I practically grew up in the Mercedes garage during the Brocedes era. You think I didn’t pick up a few things watching Lewis and Nico go at it?”

Carlos’ eyes widen in realization. “The mind games.”

You nod. “Exactly. I saw firsthand how effective they could be. How a well-placed comment or a seemingly innocent action could throw someone completely off their game. I guess ... I guess part of me thought that if I could do the same to you, maybe ...”

“Maybe I’d leave?” Carlos finishes softly.

You look down, guilt written across your face. “Maybe. Or at least ... I don’t know. Maybe I thought if I could prove you weren’t up to the challenge, Dad would reconsider his decision.”

Carlos reaches across the table, gently placing his hand over yours. “Y/N, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you raise your eyes to meet his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says firmly. “Not unless the team decides I’m not good enough. And if that happens, it’ll be because of my performance on the track, not because of any mind games.”

You nod slowly, a small smile forming. “I know that now. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad. You’re ... you’re good for the team. I can see that now.”

Carlos feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

You pull your hand away, but the smile remains. “Don’t let it go to your head, Sainz. I still think Logan’s better.”

“You know,” Carlos draws out, “I’m glad we did this. Cleared the air.”

You nod, your expression turning serious. “Me too. And Carlos ... I really am sorry for all the trouble I caused. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Carlos shrugs. “Like I said, water under the bridge. Or should I say, hair products in the bin?”

Your jaw drops. “How did you know about that?”

He winks. “I didn’t. But thanks for confirming my suspicions.”

You groan, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?”

“Oh, hermosa,” Carlos grins, “you have no idea.”

***

Carlos stands in front of your hotel room door, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. In one hand, he clutches a bouquet of flowers so large it partially obscures his vision. In the other, he holds the key card you had given him just a few days ago, a symbol of the trust that has grown between you.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he’s about to do. Over the past few months, your relationship has evolved from antagonistic to friendly to ... something more. Carlos can no longer deny the feelings that have been growing inside him. Tonight, he’s finally gathered the courage to ask you out on a proper date.

With one final steadying breath, he raises his hand and knocks on the door. “Y/N? Are you there?”

Silence greets him. He waits a moment, then knocks again, louder this time. “Y/N? It’s Carlos. I was hoping we could talk.”

Still no answer. Carlos frowns, a tendril of worry creeping into his mind. It’s not like you to ignore him, especially not after the closeness you’ve developed.

“Maybe she’s in the shower,” he mutters to himself, trying to quell his rising anxiety.

He debates waiting, but something urges him to check on you. After all, you did give him the key card for emergencies. This isn’t exactly an emergency, but ...

Before he can talk himself out of it, Carlos swipes the card and pushes the door open. “Y/N? I’m sorry for barging in, but I was worried when you didn’t ...”

His voice trails off as he takes in the scene before him. The flowers fall from his suddenly numb fingers, scattering across the floor.

There you are, on the bed, but you’re not alone. Carlos’ predecessor at Williams is there with you. The two of you are tangled together in a way that leaves little doubt about the nature of your relationship.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Carlos blinks rapidly, his brain struggling to process what he’s seeing. You and Logan stare back at him, equally frozen in shock.

Logan recovers first, quickly pulling away from you and tugging a sheet over himself. “Carlos! What the hell, man?”

You sit up, clutching a pillow to your chest, your face a mix of embarrassment and guilt. “Carlos, I ... we can explain.”

Carlos opens his mouth, then closes it again. A thousand thoughts race through his mind, but the one that finally makes it to his lips surprises even him.

“Can I join?”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implications. Carlos immediately wants to take them back, to pretend he never said them. But a small part of him, the part that’s been drawn to both you and Logan in ways he’s never fully understood, holds its breath in anticipation.

Your eyes widen in shock. “What?”

Logan looks between you and Carlos, his expression unreadable. “Dude, are you serious?”

Carlos runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks burning. “I ... I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I came here to ask Y/N out, but seeing you both ... I can’t deny there’s something there.”

You exchange a look with Logan, having one of those silent conversations that only people who know each other intimately can have. After a moment, you turn back to Carlos.

“Carlos,” you say gently, “I think we all need to take a step back and talk about this. Properly. When we’re all ... dressed.”

Carlos nods, feeling slightly dazed. “Right. Yes. Of course. I’ll just ... I’ll wait outside.”

He turns to leave, but Logan’s voice stops him. “Wait. Carlos, man ... I’m sorry. We should have told you.”

Carlos looks back, meeting Logan’s gaze. There’s genuine regret in the American’s eyes, and Carlos feels some of his hurt and confusion start to dissipate.

“It’s okay,” he says, surprised to find he means it. “We all have our secrets, no?”

You slide off the bed, wrapping yourself in the hotel robe. “Carlos, please don’t go. Stay. We should talk about this.”

Carlos hesitates, his hand on the doorknob. Part of him wants to run, to pretend this never happened. But a larger part, the part that’s grown to care deeply for both you and Logan, makes him turn back.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Let’s talk.”

You gesture to the small sitting area in the corner of the room. “Why don’t you sit down? Logan and I will get dressed, and then we can figure this out together.”

Carlos nods, moving to the armchair as you and Logan disappear into the bathroom. He sits there, staring at the scattered flowers on the floor, trying to make sense of his swirling emotions.

A few minutes later, you both emerge, fully dressed but with an air of awkwardness that wasn’t there before. Logan takes a seat on the small sofa, while you perch on the arm, creating a triangle between the three of you.

“So,” you begin, your voice tentative. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

Carlos nods, his eyes moving between you and Logan. “How long has this been going on?”

Logan clears his throat. “A while. Since right before I left Williams, actually. We just ... we didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

“I see,” Carlos says, a hint of hurt creeping into his voice. “And all those times you were talking about missing each other ...”

You reach out, as if to touch Carlos’ hand, but stop yourself. “That was real. We do miss each other. But it’s ... complicated.”

“Complicated,” Carlos repeats. “Is that why you were so hostile towards me at first? Because I was taking Logan’s place in more ways than one?”

You wince at his words. “Partly, yes. But Carlos, you have to understand, it wasn’t just about that. I really did feel protective of the team, of Logan’s place there.”

Logan puts a hand on your arm, a gesture of support. “Y/N, it’s okay. He deserves the truth.”

You take a deep breath, looking Carlos directly in the eye. “The truth is, Carlos, I started developing feelings for you too. And that ... that scared me. I felt guilty, like I was betraying Logan. So I lashed out.”

Carlos’ breath catches in his throat. “You have feelings for me?”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “Why do you think I gave you that key card?”

Logan chuckles softly. “I told her she was being too subtle. Should have just asked you out like a normal person.”

Carlos looks at Logan, curiosity overriding his confusion. “And you’re ... okay with this?”

Logan shrugs, a wry smile on his face. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I know how Y/N feels about you, and ... well, I can’t say I haven’t noticed you myself.”

Carlos feels his cheeks heat up at Logan’s words. “I ... I don’t know what to say.”

You slide off the arm of the sofa, kneeling in front of Carlos. “You don’t have to say anything right now. We sprung this on you, and it’s a lot to process. But Carlos, I want you to know that what I feel for you is real. And if you’re open to it ... maybe we can figure this out. All of us.”

Carlos looks between you and Logan, his mind racing. This isn’t at all how he expected this evening to go, but he can’t deny the thrill that runs through him at the possibility.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that I’d like that. To figure it out together, I mean.”

Logan grins, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Well, in that case, maybe we should start with dinner? I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving.”

You laugh, the sound breaking the remaining tension in the room. “Trust you to think with your stomach.”

Carlos finds himself smiling too. “Dinner sounds good. But maybe ... maybe we could stay in? Order room service?”

You and Logan exchange a look, then nod in unison. “Sounds perfect,” you say, squeezing Carlos’ hand.

As Logan reaches for the room service menu, and you start picking up the scattered flowers, arranging them in a water glass, Carlos feels a sense of rightness settle over him. This isn’t at all what he had planned, but somehow, it feels like exactly where he’s meant to be.

“Hey,” he says, catching both your attention. “Whatever happens ... I’m glad we’re figuring this out together.”

You and Logan smile back at him, and in that moment, Carlos knows that no matter how complicated things might get, you’re going to be okay. More than okay, actually. You’re going to be amazing.

***

The Williams garage buzzes with pre-race energy, mechanics scurrying about and engineers huddled over last-minute data. In their own bubble despite the controlled chaos, three figures stand slightly apart, heads bent close in hushed conversation.

Carlos glances around before leaning in closer to you and Logan. “Are we sure about this? It’s not too late to change our minds.”

You bite your lip, uncertainty clouding your features. “I don’t know. Maybe we should stick to the original plan. Logan’s just here as a friend, nothing more.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. “It feels wrong, though. Hiding. Like we’re ashamed or something.”

“We’re not ashamed,” Carlos says quickly, his hand finding Logan’s and squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s just ... complicated.”

You nod, your eyes darting to where your father stands across the garage. “Dad’s going to freak out. And that’s putting it mildly.”

Logan follows your gaze, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “To be fair, I think he’d freak out no matter how we told him. Finding out your daughter is dating not one, but two drivers? That’s a lot for any father to handle.”

Carlos chuckles softly. “Not to mention one of those drivers is his current employee and the other is his former one. It’s like a telenovela.”

You swat his arm playfully. “This isn’t funny. We need to decide what we’re doing. The race starts in less than an hour.”

Logan takes a deep breath, his expression turning serious. “Look, whatever we decide, we’re in this together, right? All of us?”

You and Carlos nod in unison, and for a moment, the three of you just look at each other, drawing strength from your connection.

The moment is broken by the sharp voice of Carlos’ race engineer. “Carlos! We need you for final checks. Now!”

Carlos sighs, reluctantly pulling away from you and Logan. “I guess decision time is here, whether we’re ready or not.”

You reach out, straightening his race suit collar. “Just focus on the race, okay? We can figure everything else out later.”

Logan nods in agreement. “Yeah. Go out there and show them what you’ve got. We’ll be right here cheering you on.”

Carlos looks between the two of you, his eyes softening with emotion. “What did I do to deserve you both?”

Before you or Logan can respond, Carlos makes a split-second decision. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he pulls you close and kisses you deeply, right there in the middle of the garage.

You gasp against his lips, too shocked to pull away. Around you, the activity of the garage comes to a sudden halt, all eyes turning to witness the unexpected display.

But Carlos isn’t done. As he pulls back from you, he immediately turns to Logan, cupping the American’s face in his hands and kissing him with equal passion.

The garage, already silent, seems to hold its collective breath. You can practically hear the gears turning in everyone’s minds as they try to process what they’re seeing.

As Carlos finally steps back, a satisfied smirk on his face, the spell of silence is broken by a loud thud. All heads turn to see their team principal sprawled on the floor in a dead faint.

“Dad!” You cry out, rushing to his side.

Logan and Carlos exchange a panicked look before following you. As you kneel beside your unconscious father, the rest of the team seems to unfreeze, a flurry of whispers and movement erupting around you.

“Someone get the medic!” A voice calls out.

“Did ... did I just see what I think I saw?” Another mechanic mutters.

Logan kneels down next to you, concern etched on his face. “Is he okay?”

You nod, relief washing over you as your father starts to stir. “I think so. Just shocked, I guess.”

Carlos hovers nearby, looking both guilty and defiant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause such a scene. I just ... I couldn’t stand the thought of hiding anymore.”

As James’ eyes flutter open, his gaze immediately locks onto the three of you. “Y/N? Logan? Carlos? What ... what’s going on?”

You take a deep breath, helping your father sit up. “We need to talk. But maybe not right here in the middle of the garage floor?”

James nods weakly, allowing Logan and Carlos to help him to his feet. As they guide him to a nearby chair, you can’t help but notice the mixture of confusion, shock, and curiosity on the faces of your coworkers.

Once your father is settled, he looks between the three of you, his expression a mix of bewilderment and dawning comprehension. “So, when you said Logan was coming to visit for the weekend ...”

You nod, taking both Carlos and Logan’s hands in your own. “It wasn’t just as a friend. The three of us ... we’re together. All of us.”

James blinks rapidly, as if trying to clear his vision. “Together? As in ...”

“As in dating,” Logan says, his voice steady despite the nervousness evident in his posture. “All three of us. We’ve been in a relationship for a few months now.”

Carlos nods, squeezing your hand. “We didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I got ... carried away. But we’re not ashamed of our relationship, and we don’t want to hide it anymore.”

James leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I ... I don’t even know where to begin. Y/N, honey, are you sure about this?”

You meet your father’s gaze, your voice firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Dad. I love them both. And they love me ... and each other.”

The garage around you is still unnaturally quiet, everyone straining to hear the conversation. You can practically feel the weight of their stares, but in this moment, all that matters is your father’s reaction.

James takes a deep breath, his eyes moving between the three of you. “This is ... a lot to process. But Y/N, if you’re happy ...”

You nod, a smile breaking across your face. “I am. We all are.”

James sighs, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I suppose I should be grateful. At least I don’t have to worry about you dating some playboy from another team.”

Logan chuckles softly. “No, just an IndyCar driver and your star employee.”

The tension in the air starts to dissipate as James shakes his head, a reluctant smile forming. “I have a feeling my life just got a whole lot more complicated.”

You lean down to hug your father tightly. “Thank you for understanding.”

As you straighten up, Carlos’ race engineer clears his throat loudly. “I hate to break up this ... touching moment, but we have a race to drive. Carlos, car. Now.”

Reality comes crashing back as you realize the race is mere minutes from starting. Carlos looks torn, clearly not wanting to leave in the middle of this pivotal moment.

You give him a gentle push towards his car. “Go. We’ll be right here when you finish.”

Logan nods in agreement. “Yeah, babe. Go show them what you’ve got.”

Carlos hesitates for just a moment before a determined look settles over his features. He leans in, placing a quick kiss on your cheek and another on Logan’s before turning to your father.

“James,” he says seriously. “I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make Y/N happy and to make this team proud.”

James nods, still looking slightly dazed. “Just ... just drive safe out there.”

As Carlos jogs towards his car, the garage seems to come back to life. Mechanics resume their tasks, albeit with frequent glances and whispers in your direction. You, Logan, and your father are left in a small bubble of calm amid the renewed chaos.

Logan clears his throat. “So ... I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting you. “You could say that. I think we just gave the entire paddock enough gossip to last the rest of the season.”

James shakes his head, a mix of exasperation and amusement on his face. “You three certainly know how to make an announcement. I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t decide to share the news during a press conference.”

As the sound of engines roaring to life fills the air, you find yourself filled with a sense of lightness. The secret’s out, for better or worse, and now you can face whatever comes next together.

Logan puts an arm around your shoulders, and you lean into him, watching as Carlos’ car pulls out of the garage. “Well,” Logan says with a grin, “I guess there’s only one thing left to do now.”

You look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He winks, guiding you towards the spectator area. “Cheer our boy on, of course.”

***

Four Years Later

The late afternoon sun streams through the windows of the spacious living room, warming over the three occupants. You’re nestled comfortably on the couch, your hands resting on your swollen belly, a contented smile playing on your lips as you watch your two partners bicker good-naturedly.

Carlos paces back and forth, running his hands through his hair in mock distress. “I just can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Our child, our beautiful baby, will be one-third American!”

Logan, sprawled in an armchair, grins widely. “And what’s wrong with that? Afraid our kid might actually develop some taste?”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Boys, please. The baby can hear you, you know.”

Carlos stops his pacing, turning to you with wide eyes. “Exactly! We need to counteract this American influence immediately. Quick, where’s that Spanish lullaby CD my mother sent?”

Logan snorts. “Oh please, like that’ll do any good against the power of apple pie and freedom.”

“Apple pie?” Carlos scoffs. “Please. Our child will have a sophisticated palate. Paella, gazpacho, tortilla española-”

“Burgers, hot dogs, s’mores,” Logan counters, ticking off on his fingers.

You can’t help but laugh at their antics. “You do realize the baby will be more British than anything else, right? Given that I’m the one actually carrying it?”

Both men turn to look at you, identical expressions of horror on their faces.

“Dios mío,” Carlos whispers. “I didn’t even think of that.”

Logan nods solemnly. “We’re doomed. Our child is going to have terrible teeth and an unhealthy obsession with beans on toast.”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily, laughing. “Watch it, Sargeant. This Brit is the mother of your child.”

Carlos flops down on the couch next to you, placing a gentle hand on your belly. “Don’t worry, mi amor. We’ll make sure our little one has the best of all worlds. The passion of Spain, the ... whatever it is Americans have-”

“Awesomeness,” Logan interjects.

“-and the ... charm of Britain,” Carlos finishes, winking at you.

You lean in to kiss him softly. “Nice save.”

Logan gets up from his chair, moving to sit on your other side. He places his hand next to Carlos’ on your belly. “Hey, little one. Don’t listen to your papa. He’s just jealous because he knows you’re going to prefer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to croquetas.”

Carlos gasps in mock outrage. “Take that back!”

You groan, leaning back against the couch. “Oh god, is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of our lives?”

Both men turn to you with identical grins. “Absolutely,” they say in unison.

Despite your exasperated tone, you can’t help but smile. This is your family, quirks and all, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Suddenly, you feel a strong kick under your partners’ hands. Their eyes widen in surprise and delight.

“Did you feel that?” Logan asks excitedly.

Carlos nods, his eyes shining. “Sí, it was so strong! Our little footballer in the making.”

“You mean soccer player,” Logan adds with a smirk.

Carlos groans. “Por favor, not this again. It’s football, Logan. The rest of the world calls it football.”

“Yeah, well, the rest of the world is wrong,” Logan retorts, sticking out his tongue.

You shake your head, amused. “I swear, sometimes it’s like I have two children already.”

Both men have the grace to look slightly sheepish, but their hands remain on your belly, waiting for another kick.

“You know,” you say thoughtfully, “we still haven’t decided on a name.”

Carlos perks up. “I’ve been thinking about that! What about Carlos III for a boy?”

Logan wrinkles his nose. “Because the current two of you aren’t enough? What about something cool, like Maverick?”

“Maverick?” Carlos repeats incredulously. “What is this, Top Gun?”

“Hey, Top Gun is a classic!” Logan defends.

You clear your throat. “Gentlemen, might I remind you that I get veto power on all names?”

They both turn to you, curious. “What did you have in mind, babe?” Logan asks.

You smile mysteriously. “Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m not sharing until you two can agree on at least one name together.”

Carlos and Logan exchange a look, a silent challenge passing between them.

“Fine,” Carlos says. “How about ... James? It’s a name that works in all our cultures, and it would be a nice nod to your father, Y/N.”

Logan nods slowly. “James ... I like it. Simple, classic. And we could call him Jamie for short.”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest. “James is perfect. Dad will be over the moon.”

“James it is then,” Carlos says with a soft smile. “For a boy, at least. What if it’s a girl?”

Logan’s eyes light up. “Oh! What about Liberty? You know, because-”

“Absolutely not,” you and Carlos say in unison.

Logan pouts. “You guys are no fun.”

Carlos chuckles, reaching across you to ruffle Logan’s hair. “Come on, querido. Surely you can think of something better than that.”

Logan leans into the touch, a thoughtful expression on his face. “How about ... Sophia? It’s pretty, and it works in all our languages.”

You nod approvingly. “Sophia is lovely. What do you think, Carlos?”

Carlos smiles. “Sophia is beautiful. Sophia Sainz-Sargeant-Vowles. It has a nice ring to it, no?”

“It’s a mouthful is what it is,” Logan chuckles. “But I love it.”

You feel another kick, stronger this time. “I think the baby approves too.”

Carlos leans down to speak directly to your belly. “Hello there, little one. Are you a James or a Sophia?”

Logan joins in, his voice taking on an exaggerated American accent. “Now listen here, kiddo. Whatever you are, just remember: you’ve got red, white, and blue running through your veins. USA! USA!”

Carlos groans, burying his face in your shoulder. “Dios mío, what have I gotten myself into?”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “A lifetime of this, darling.”

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the room, you find yourself filled with an overwhelming sense of love and contentment. This unconventional family of yours, with its mix of cultures and personalities, is everything you never knew you needed.

“Hey,” you say softly, drawing both men’s attention. “I love you both. So much. And this baby is going to be so loved, no matter what nationality they end up identifying with.”

Carlos and Logan’s faces soften, all traces of their playful argument disappearing.

“We love you too,” Carlos murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Logan nods, squeezing your hand. “More than anything. All three of you.”

As you sit there, sandwiched between the two men you love, their hands protectively cradling your unborn child, you know that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. Spanish passion, American spirit, and British charm — your child will have the best of all worlds, and a family full of love to support them every step of the way.

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utkuerdemozerblog · 3 months ago

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UTKU ERDEM OZER (2)

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berryispunk · 4 months ago

Text

Blurred Lines

pairing: Frankie Morales x gn! reader

tags: friends with benefits, wet Frankie (yes, that's important), confined space, friends to lovers, allusions to smut, some angst, kissing, swearing, love confession (kind of), communication is hard, mutual pining, yearning

summary: You’re stranded in the middle of nowhere during a storm, and there’s no escaping your feelings now.

word count: 2,4 k

also readable here

The rain was pouring, the thunder rolling through the sky like a warning you had ignored for too long. Frankie gripped the steering wheel of his old truck, his knuckles white against the leather as he cursed under his breath. The headlights barely cut through the wand of rain.

You shifted in the passenger seat, trying to find some comfort in the cramped space, your knees bumping against the glove compartment. Your usual banter with Frankie was gone, replaced by the quiet hum of the engine and the pounding of rain on the roof. Being stuck in the middle of nowhere with him, in a car, miles from civilization… it felt like a pressure building up between you two, something you hadn’t fully addressed yet.

“Should’ve listened to you,” Frankie muttered, glancing over at you, his jaw tight. “Guess you were right about the storm.”

You smiled faintly, knowing exactly what he meant. The storm wasn’t the real issue though. No, it was the fact that for months now, your relationship had been nothing more than a series of stolen moments—no strings attached, just two people who knew exactly what they wanted from each other: easy satisfaction. Friends with benefits, the arrangement was simple. No responsibilities whatsoever, him coming and going like a stray cat whenever he pleased. But being stuck here in this situation, the two of you alone with nowhere to go felt different.

The silence between you thickened, more charged than the heavy air outside. You could feel it in the way Frankie kept glancing at you, the weight of his gaze lingering just a little too long. “Guess we’re gonna be here for a while,” you said, trying to break the tension, but the words felt forced.

Frankie gave a short laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… guess so.” He hesitated, fingers tapping on the wheel nervously. “You cold?”

“Not really,” you replied, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. The tension between you was the quiet kind of tension, one that made you second-guess the lines you’d drawn between friendship and something more. Something you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about until now.

He shifted in his seat, his gaze flickering between you and the outside world. The storm outside raging, the only thing keeping you safe the vehicle you sat in. He moved the car off the road, the rain still heavily patting on the hood of the truck. Of course you started to get cold but you didn’t dare to say anything. You stared out of the window, chin resting in your palm, elbow wedged against the car door watching the outside. Letting the rain soothe your troubled mind. Finding peace in it when your thoughts were a mess. Rain always had that effect on you.

“Fuck it,” he finally said next to you and the next thing you knew was the door getting slammed and his warmth gone. You turned around to see where he went but the rain was so heavy and thick against the car windows you couldn’t make out where he was. You were about to grab the door handle to look for him but just in that moment the driver door opened and Frankie slumped back into the seat. Soaking wet and with a blanket in hand, which was not as wet as he was.

You just stared at him in disbelief, his clothes were so wet they were dripping. The little droplets heard falling down. His tousled locks stuck to his temples, some water drops even falling down from his strong nose, his plush lips glistening wet making you stare at him for longer than what would be considered decent. He wordlessly handed you the blanket and you shook your head.

“Frankie, what—?”

“Don’t ask,” Frankie cut you off, his voice rough, his teeth chattering slightly from the cold. He glanced over at you, his eyes bright but tired, and then focused on the road ahead. His clothes were soaked, clinging to him in all the wrong ways, but he didn’t seem to care.

You took the blanket from him, still too stunned to speak. The weight of the moment was heavy, too heavy, and you found it hard to breathe. There was something unsettling about seeing him like this—vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about before.

He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm up, and the noise of the storm outside seemed to grow louder, pressing in on you both. The truck was small, the space cramped, but there was something about it now that felt even more suffocating. Like you were both trapped in a moment neither of you knew how to escape.

“Why’d you go out there?” you finally asked, your voice quieter now, the words barely escaping your lips.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his wet locks before meeting your gaze. “I don’t know. I just… I had to move. Had to do something, you know?” He paused, clearly trying to put his thoughts into words. “I’m not good at sitting still when things start to feel… off.”

You shifted in your seat, pulling the blanket around your shoulders, but it barely made a difference against the cold that had settled deep inside you. It wasn’t the temperature. It was the tension, the sudden awareness that you were both in a place you hadn’t planned on being. Frankie turned to face you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen. The edges of his usual cocky confidence seemed to have worn down, leaving a raw honesty in its place.

“I didn’t want to sit here with you, pretending like nothing’s changed.” His voice dropped lower. “I’m not sure if I’m even capable of pretending anymore.” You stared at him, unsure how to respond. There it was—the thing you’d been avoiding, the truth neither of you had wanted to face. For months, it had been easy to keep things light, easy to convince yourselves that this thing, whatever it was, didn’t have to be anything more. But now, stuck here in his truck, you could feel it. The shift between you, lines blurring between what you are feeling and what you really were for each other.

Frankie shifted closer, the movement so subtle it was barely noticeable, but you felt the pull of it—the closeness, the heat of his body against yours made your head spin, like it always does.

“What do you mean by that ? I thought…"

“I thought so too. But, fuck, I—“ he stopped mid sentence, his brown eyes now almost confused on you. Your pulse quickened, a knot forming in your stomach as you looked at him. The storm outside had nothing on the storm inside of you. You could feel the words on the tip of your tongue, but they wouldn’t come. You didn’t know what you wanted to say. Or maybe, you didn’t want to say it at all, too afraid of the aftermath of them.

The tension simmered between you and Frankie was now so close, you could feel his breath on your skin, the warmth of him seeping through the layers of clothing, even if he started to shiver.

“You really have to get rid of your clothes, Frankie. You’re gonna get sick,” you reasoned with him, the words almost feeling too big in the small space. Too unimportant in their meaning.

He scoffed sarcastically. “That's what you’re worried about right now? Me getting sick ?” You had to chuckle to yourself about the absurdity. Here you were, stuck in the middle of nowhere, the tension between you both thicker than the rain pounding on the truck, and Frankie was still being his stubborn, sarcastic self.

Ultimately his gaze softened for a moment, the sarcasm falling away, leaving a raw vulnerability behind. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, the earlier bravado gone. “I should probably get out of these wet clothes before I turn into an icicle.”

He moved to unbutton his soaked shirt, but you stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Let me,” you said softly. You didn’t quite know why you said it—it was just instinct, a need to do something, to help, to close the distance between you both despite the closeness of the space you were stuck in.

Frankie hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering between your face and the damp, clingy fabric of his shirt. Then, with a deep breath, he gave a small nod and let you help him. As you carefully slid the shirt off his shoulders, you couldn’t ignore the way his muscles tensed, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly. It was strange—intimate, even in the way you were touching him, in the way his body was bare to you now, vulnerable in a way he’d never been before.

You paused for a moment, fingers lingering on his chest, and something shifted between you. The storm outside no longer felt like the most overwhelming thing. You searched for his eyes, but he was already looking at you, all the different emotions you felt yourself so visible in his warm brown eyes.

Without another word, he leaned in, slowly, giving you the space to pull away if you needed to. But you didn’t. You closed the gap between you, and when your lips finally met, it was slow at first, hesitant. But soon, the kiss deepened, the warmth of his lips and the heat of his body surrounding you, pulling you into something that felt bigger than both of you. You wanted to say so much but the words died in your throat, all the feelings you so desperately tried to ignore bubbling up all at once, threatening to suffocate you in their intensity. Frankie’s hands wandered all over you, exploring the body he had mapped out in the countless hours you spent tangled into each other. But something was different. Your heart was beating fast in your chest and when he leaned further in, his mouth latching onto the delicate skin of your neck you were sure he could clearly feel your fluttering pulse underneath it. His fingertips brushed your sides, leaving nothing but goosebumps behind as he pulled your shirt over your head and for the first time since you were in this kind of relationship that wasn’t really one, you felt vulnerable too. It wasn’t only the fact you were naked from the waist up, it was the way his eyes danced over your skin, he looked right through you. The weight of his gaze was heavy and for a fragment, it felt like everything had paused. Words had no place, no meaning right now, only actions spoke. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingertips brushed along your shoulder, tracing the curve of your collarbone.

But there was something about the way he looked at you, something that went beyond desire, something deeper, more unsettling. It wasn’t just hunger. It was like he could see every part of you—the things you weren’t ready to admit, the things you’d been hiding even from yourself and it scared you immensely. Your skin was burning hot, prickling wherever his fingers touched your skin. It felt like your chest could no longer contain the weight of your own feelings. You should have pulled away, should have said something but all you could do was stare back at him, feeling both terrified and drawn to him in a way that was impossible to ignore anymore.

He was so close, so all consuming the heat from his body radiating against yours and all you could hear was the steady rhythm of your pulse, matching his, quick and frantic.

“Say something,” Frankie finally whispered, his voice strained, raw with something you couldn’t quite place. “Anything.” he almost pleaded.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. How could you explain this? How could you explain what had shifted so suddenly between you two, when you’d spent months convincing yourself this was nothing more than a casual arrangement?

But it was something more now, wasn’t it? You could feel it in the way your chest tightened, in the way your hands trembled as they rested on his bare skin. You’d crossed the line you fought so hard to uphold and now you couldn’t go back.

“Frankie…” Your voice barely rose above a whisper, sounding way more desperate than you anticipated. He got the cue, the way his eyes softened on you and it was all the answer you needed. He was just as lost in this as you were.

His lips brushed against your forehead before trailing down to your temple, each kiss a silent promise. You could feel him unraveling in the same way you were unraveling, piece by piece. The walls you’d built between you, the boundaries you had insisted on, were crumbling under the weight of something more, something you were too afraid to speak out loud.

His hands cupped your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze once more, and this time, you didn’t shy away. There was nothing left to hide now. No walls to protect you, no distance between you to keep the ache at bay.

“I don't only want you like this,” he confessed, his voice low and more real than the sarcasm and bravado he’d always used as armor. You swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest. “Neither do I,” you whispered, the words finally spilling out, the truth you’d been denying yourself for so long. You could no longer pretend it didn’t hurt, this pull between you two that had been there all along, hidden beneath the surface. Something much more powerful and raw than carnal desire.

Frankie leaned in, his lips capturing yours once again, this time with more urgency, more need. The kiss was frenzied, desperate, as though you both knew the gravity of the moment as you climbed into his lap and straddled him. There was no going back now. Whatever it was that finally was freed in this moment in time, in the midst of a storm, had changed everything.

And as the rain continued to pour outside, you both lost yourselves in each other, in the weight of what had been unspoken for too long, until there was nothing left but the sound of your moans, the warmth of his skin underneath your hands and your bodies moving in sync, seeking this new found connection between you.

The windows were fogged up from your body's heat, the storm only fleeting background noise now. You were finally facing the truth—whatever this was, whatever it was becoming, it was something worth holding onto.

thank your for reading <3

my masterlist

#kissing #yearning #swearing #idiots in love #frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #fanfiction writer #berryfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #friends to lovers #my fic writing #gn reader #mutual pining #x reader fanfiction

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 7 months ago

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it's the next best thing - part three (ao3)

part one || part two

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson || ~22k, complete || phone sex || accidental love confessions || there was only one bed || getting together || mutual pining || porn with plot || smut || wet & messy || friends with benefits || oral sex || rimming

This is the final installment of my gift for @eyesofshinigami for @steddieexchange!

Eddie keeps calling, and Steve always answers. He wears a watch now, wants to count down the seconds until he’ll be able to hear Eddie’s voice again.

He doesn’t want to put a name to the thing fluttering around in his chest as the sound of Eddie’s voice filters down the line. Sometimes, Eddie invites him over, and that’s worse somehow. His skin aches to touch, cross any distance Eddie places between them in his bed, on his couch, in his van at the quarry, smoking together and watching the stars.

The phone sex is slowly replaced with the real thing, hands and bodies fumbling together in the darkness of Eddie’s room.

Eddie still calls, always, updating him on the latest Hellfire session, how Corroded Coffin is doing, what he’s been up to all day.

Sometimes Steve comes over, and they don’t even fuck. On those nights, settled in Eddie’s bed, listening to his even breathing, Steve has to remind himself that this is what friends do. It doesn’t mean anything that Eddie sleeps so soundly at his side, and it doesn’t mean anything when he wakes up with Eddie’s arms around him, face nuzzled into Steve’s neck, breaths puffing wetly against his neck, morning wood pressed into Steve’s hip.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Robin asks, head propped up by her hands, arms crossed beneath her head, elbow linked with Steve who’s laying right beside her.

They’ve been camped out in the Buckley’s living room all day, spending one of their rare days off together watching movies and tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths. When Robin had missed one too many times, she’d retaliated against Steve by dumping her entire bowl of extra-buttery popcorn atop his head.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” Steve whispers back, not looking away from the Buckley’s popcorn ceiling even as he feels Robin shift at his side.

He feels Robin’s arm slip free from his own, leaving him bereft. But then she’s hovering over him, cupping his cheeks with hands still slippery with butter and staring deeply into his eyes. “That boy is head over heels for you, dingus,” she says, not even blinking. When Steve tries to avert his gaze, she grabs his face more tightly, fingernails digging into skin. “It’s impossible not to be in love with you, okay?”

There’s a knot lodged in his throat as he stares up at the other half of his soul. “You’re not.”

She slaps him lightly, hit gentled even further by her oily palm. “I’m a lesbian,” she hisses, voice quiet like even though they’d gone out hours ago, she’s afraid her parents might hear her. “And you know I’d marry you in a heartbeat.”

“I always wanted a sexless marriage,” Steve replies.

“That’s what Eddie’s for.”

Steve shoves her off and wrestles her to the ground. They grapple like children, but Steve’s laughing now, hope bubbling out of him at every seam, like all he’d needed was Robin’s words to be able to picture a future he wants to grow old in.

Steve and Robin, a sexless marriage, and Eddie in his bed, at his side, so intertwined with his life that they’d need a crowbar to pry him out.

Robin wins the wrestling match, forearm against his chest pressing him down into the carpet. Steve’s future’s spooling out in front of him, he can almost taste the too-sweet coffee Eddie would make every morning, the rubbery eggs Eddie and Robin would serve with pride.

“You really think he likes me?” Steve asks, quiet, hopeful, wistful.

Robin snorts and drops down to his chest, rubbing her face against his shirt. “That boy’s in love with you,” she says with so much confidence that Steve almost believes her. “No way in hell he’s just in it for the sex.”

Steve hums but doesn’t reply. There’s nothing to say, no way to describe the squirming, writhing feelings lodged beneath his sternum, kicked up into a flurry by Robin’s words. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes tight, burying his nose in her hair, Sandra Dee serenading Danny Zuko on the TV behind them.

The movie plays to its inevitable conclusion: the boy always gets the girl in the movies, and as the credits roll, Steve glances down at his watch.

He jumps up on instinct, sending Robin sprawling on the carpet with a grunt. “The fuck?”

“It’s almost nine!” Steve cries rushing around the Buckley’s living room, picking up his wallet and keys from where they’d fallen out of his pocket. “I missed it!”

“Just call him,” Robin says, propping herself up on her elbows but otherwise not moving from where he’d left her.

“I don’t have his number,” Steve replies, already stuffing his feet into his sneakers, heels crushing the backs as he tries to wedge them on without having to untie them.

Eddie calls him, always. Steve has never called him back, has never had to.

“I do!” Robin calls, but Steve barely hears her, already out of the house and toward his car, ready to break every speed limit in the book to get to the Munson’s trailer in record time.

What will Eddie think? Will he be worried? Will he think Steve forgot about him? Or worse, will he not care at all?

He peels out of the Buckley’s drive and speeds like his life depends on it.

***

For the first time, Steve doesn’t answer when Eddie calls. Keith had hung up on him after confirming that Steve was off that day, and the Harrington house had just rang and rang before kicking him to the answering machine.

He doesn’t leave a message.

Is this the beginning of the end? First a few missed phone calls, and then pretty soon Eddie hasn’t seen Steve in three weeks. Ten years down the line they’ll pass each other in the grocery store and give those polite little head nods that people give when they used to know someone and don’t anymore.

He collapses onto the couch, pulling the blanket from its back to huddle into as his brain ticks away. It’s just—he knows there could be a million reasons Steve didn’t answer. Really, he does. But, this thing they have has always had an expiration date on it, and he can feel that thought curdling in his brain like rotten milk.

When someone knocks on the door, he doesn’t get up.

The knocks get quicker and louder, like whoever’s out there thinks he might not have heard them. Eddie should open the door before they bust it down, but he’s too busy being in his blanket cocoon, wallowing in his tragic, unrequited feelings.

When the door opens, he freezes.

Footsteps sound into the room, sounding loud against the carpet. Who just walks into someone else’s home when they don’t answer? A robber? But, no, they wouldn’t knock, would they?

“Eddie?”

He bolts up, peering over the back of the couch, blanket still around his shoulders. There, Steve Harrington stands, hair all fucked up like he’d been running his hands through it, eyes trained unerringly on Eddie where he sits, stupefied.

Steve’s wearing the same goddamn sweats as the first time he’d come over, with a cutoff Bowie shirt that has Buckley written all over it, cut short enough that Eddie can see his happy trail, and just the hint of his belly button.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, and it’s only as his voice scratches out of his throat that he realizes he must’ve been crying.

Steve must realize at the exact same time because he says, “have you been crying?” as he takes three quick strides to hover over Eddie, grabbing his cheeks in both hands and rubbing the tacky tear stains off his skin. Eddie averts his gaze, glancing down so he doesn’t have to look at Steve’s imploring face, but that puts him looking directly at his hairy stomach and that’s no better.

Even now, Eddie wants to lick it.

“No,” Eddie says, not looking up until Steve moves one of his hands to below Eddie’s chin and forces his face up.

“Why have you been crying?” Steve asks quietly.

Eddie swallows. It’s loud in the quiet of the living room, no background noise to mask the sound. “You didn’t answer,” he says, and it feels telling, somehow. Like Steve will hear the confession lurking beneath the words.

Steve sighs and sinks down to his knees, putting his face just below Eddie’s, the couch creating a barrier between them that aches like an open wound. “I was at Robin’s,” Steve says, still holding Eddie’s chin gently. “I lost track of time.”

There’s an apology lurking beneath the simple words, and suddenly, Eddie’s so fucking tired of the way they talk around each other, neither saying what they actually mean. “I thought maybe you were done with me,” Eddie says, voice rasping, unused to saying the honest truth.

“No,” Steve blurts, eyes wider than Eddie’s ever seen them. He crowds into Eddie’s space as much as he can with the couch in the way. “Never Eddie, I love you.”

While Eddie’s entire world shifts and rearranges with those words, he sees the exact moment Steve realizes what he just said. His face blanches, eyes widening even further, so much white showing on the edges of that beautiful brown until he sinks down on his heels, wrenching his hands free of Eddie so he can use them to cover his own face.

Eddie stares at him, words ringing in his head. I love you, I love you, I love you. Eddie’s never heard them before, not in this setting, from someone who isn’t Uncle Wayne. The feeling bursts through him, a supernova of light that has him leaning precariously over the back of the couch to yank Steve’s hands off of his face so he can stare into his wide, startled, beautiful eyes, as he asks, “do you really?”

Before Steve even has a chance to answer, Eddie’s leaned too far and toppled off of the couch, sending them both sprawling into the carpet. His elbow smacks into the ground and he doesn’t even care, too busy crawling onto Steve’s supine form and kissing anywhere he can reach. “Really, Stevie?” he asks between each press of lips. “Do you?”

“Yes?” Steve replies, sounding so unsure that Eddie can’t help what he does next.

For the first time, Eddie presses his lips into Steve’s and takes what he’s wanted all along: everything Steve will give him.

***

Steve’s head aches dully from where it smacked against the floor, but he doesn’t care. Eddie’s lips are soft against his. Steve lays on the Munson’s dirty carpet, unmoving with shock as Eddie presses gentle kiss after gentle kiss into Steve’s unresponsive lips. His eyes are open as he stares up at the shadows Eddie’s lashes create on his cheeks, elongated in the dim slanting light filtering across him from the floor ramp in the corner of the living room.

There’s a dreamy quality to Steve’s thoughts as they tumble around his brain—he’s already mourning the moment he wakes up.

It feels like dying when Eddie pulls back, eyes open now, and mouth frowning down at him. “Sorry, did I misread that?” he asks, squinting down at Steve. “It’s just, you said—and I thought—shit, I’m sorry!”

It’s as Eddie starts to get up, scrambling out of his lap like it’s radioactive, that Steve begins to realize that he’s in the Munson’s living room, awake and aflame with an aching want as the man he loves clambers off of him because Steve didn’t kiss him back.

He didn’t kiss him back.

“No!” Steve cries, too loud in the quiet of the room, arms reaching behind Eddie’s back and yanking him down. Eddie’s bony hips bite into his skin, but Steve doesn’t care. “No, you didn’t—just, what’s happening, man?”

Eddie stops trying to escape, palms big and sure against Steve’s chest as he props himself up, squinting down at Steve in blatant confusion. “Well, first you said you loved me,” Eddie replies, tapping one of his fingers against Steve’s sternum like he’s counting out the order of events for him. “I said it, too, and then you didn’t kiss me back, so I’m lost here… man.”

Eddie’s mouth twists wryly as he tacks on the last word, mockingly amused by Steve the way he always is. Steve notices the smile, he notices everything about Eddie, but his mind’s too caught on Eddie’s words to appreciate it.

“You didn’t,” Steve replies, something unrecognizable in his voice—wonder, maybe. Awe. Eddie’s got a little confused furrow between his brows, so Steve reaches out to smooth it out. “You love me?”

Eddie’s eyes blow wide, brows going up until his forehead’s all crinkled up. “I didn’t?” It’s a question, but Eddie’s already nodding before Steve gets a chance to answer, sharp enough to knock Steve’s hand off from between his eyes. Steve trails it down, settling fingertips lightly against Eddie’s cheekbone, thumb rubbing reverently against his jawline.

Eddie leans forward, fingers trailing up over his chest, over his neck, big hands cupping the expanse of both Steve’s cheeks as he leans down, close enough that all Steve can see is the dark brown expanses of Eddie’s eyes.

“Steve Harrington,” he says, voice solemn. Steve’s gaze flickers back and forth, trying to read every little thought that flits behind those beautiful eyes. “I love you.”

Steve sucks in a breath, and it lodges there, somewhere deep in his lungs. The silence hangs between them, charged with enough electricity to restart his heart.

“…man,” Eddie tacks on again, and Steve chokes on a laugh, breath rushing out of him as Eddie grins, every one of his teeth on display.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Steve whispers as he drags Eddie down, any reply he might have gotten trapped between their mouths.

It’s all teeth at first, Eddie laughing into the kiss until Steve sucks Eddie’s bottom lip into his mouth and bites down hard enough to make him gasp. Steve takes the invitation that’s given, swiping his tongue shallowly into Eddie’s panting mouth just to listen to him whine.

The sound activates something in Steve—something dark that just wants to take. Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulder hard enough to knock him off Steve’s lap and onto his side on the carpet. He keeps shoving until Eddie’s on his back, pupils blown, hair in a fucked up halo around his head as he looks up at Steve reverently, as if he’s the one that’s divine.

He wastes no time crawling over Eddie’s body, pushing at his knees until his legs are spread wide, kept open by Steve’s weight settling between them.

Eddie, always easy, is already gasping and writhing beneath him, humping up against Steve erratically, desperately trying to get any pressure against the bulge in his jeans. Steve leans back far enough that he can press his forearm into Eddie’s hips, hard enough to still his movements.

Eddie whines, bucking against his hold. Steve waits, watching his needy face twist into something torturous as Eddie realizes that Steve’s not budging. His eyes are scrunched closed hard enough that stars must be bursting beneath his lids. Winded and petulant, finally, Eddie stills.

Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, until Eddie opens his eyes, lashes wet as he looks up at Steve. He opens his mouth to speak, but clicks it back shut when Steve digs his fingernails gently into Eddie’s hip.

“The fucking worst,” Steve says again.

Eddie swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement. Steve wants to tip Eddie’s chin up, bite against that spot, suck on it until Eddie begs him to stop.

But then Steve flicks his eyes back up at Eddie’s face, and he gets caught on his lips. His mouth’s slick with spit, bottom lip plumped from Steve sucking on it. When Eddie’s tongue darts out and wets them further, Steve’s lost.

He’s powerless to resist removing his hold from Eddie’s hips, letting their bodies slide back together so he can kiss Eddie’s wanting mouth. Eddie writhes against him again, hips rabbiting up. Steve wants to press him back into the carpet, keep his stupid fucking handcuff belt from clacking with his movements, but he can’t bring himself to stop kissing Eddie’s lips long enough to achieve it.

He settles for delving into Eddie’s mouth with his tongue, shoving it far enough back that Eddie chokes on it. He goes slack beneath him, mouth open wide, practically begging Steve to go deeper. He can feel Eddie’s erratic heartbeat from where his hand is cradling his neck, thumb pressed hard into his pulse point.

Only when he feels like he’s about to pass out does Steve leans back far enough to catch his breath. They’re both panting into each other’s open mouths. There’s a tremor running through Eddie’s entire body as he gazes up at Steve, eyes half mast.

“Steve,” he pleads, asking for something with just his eyes.

Steve rubs his neck, soothing him like a lame horse as he asks, “what do you need, baby?”

Eddie’s eyes shut, and he shudders as the term of endearment leaves Steve’s mouth. Steve keeps rubbing his skin, smoothing over acne scars and freckles alike as he waits for Eddie’s brain to come back online.

He opens his eyes, pupils blown all to shit as he looks up at Steve, still silent, still begging.

“What do you need?” Steve asks again.

Eddie swallows, cheeks darkening from a lustful pink to a painful-looking red as he finally, blessedly answers. “In my mouth?” he asks. When all Steve does is continue to rub his neck, he clarifies, blush traveling from the apples of his cheeks all the way to his ears. “Your dick in my—in my mouth.”

Steve leans down to kiss his cheek, the blood pooling beneath Eddie’s skin warm against his lips. “Anything you want,” Steve murmurs against his skin. “Thank you for telling me.”

Eddie shudders, dick twitching against Steve’s from the confines of his pants, but he doesn’t otherwise move as he waits to find out what Steve will do.

What he does is scramble back, too far gone to play it cool any longer as he shoves his sweatpants down just far enough that his painfully hard cock springs free. At the sight of Steve bared before him, Eddie bucks against him again, trying to knock him off. Steve sits down hard, settling his full weight on Eddie, pinning him to the carpet.

Eddie melts, stilling as he looks up at Steve like he’s something precious. It hits Steve straight in the sternum, that look—lust intertwined so inexorably with love that Steve can’t figure out where one ends and the other begins.

No one’s ever looked at him that way before.

Eddie waits beneath him, suddenly a font of patience as he waits for Steve to rise above the tide of emotion, cock still hard in the warm air of the Munson’s living room. The tide swallows him up—Steve lets it, nothing but love in his voice as he grabs his hard length, scoots up Eddie’s supine form, and nudges at his chin until his mouth drops open, warm breaths puffing against where he’s most sensitive.

“Open up,” Steve murmurs, hand moving from his chin, caressing up to his smooth cheek as he slides into Eddie’s warm, open heat.

***

Steve’s weight is pinning Eddie down into the carpet, hand firm enough against his face that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get more than the tip of Steve’s dick into his mouth. He’d lost all sense of time somewhere between Steve telling Eddie he loved him and sliding himself into Eddie, but it feels like hours have passed with Steve shallowly thrusting into his mouth.

Eddie sucks on the head, trying to get a little more, aching to be filled. He whines when Steve pulls back out, pace unhurried as his thighs flex against Eddie’s ribs, barely pressing himself back inside. Eddie moans, low enough in his throat that his tongue vibrates against the head of Steve’s dick. Steve jerks, thrusts in deeper with a grunt.

Steve’s cock’s deep enough that he’s choking on it, mind blank as he gasps for air. “Fuck, your mouth,” Steve mutters as he shifts back, almost pulling himself free entirely.

That’s the idea, Eddie tries to say, words coming out unintelligibly garbled around Steve’s length. The vibrations must feel good because Steve thrusts in again, harder this time, head barely breaching the back of his throat. Eddie whines, scrabbling unseeingly for Steve’s hips, trying to keep him there, so deep that Eddie’s lips are pressed against his pubes.

It doesn’t work, Eddie’s grip is too weak to stop Steve from pulling back as Eddie cries futilely on his cock. But this time, while Eddie sucks hard at the head of Steve’s dick, he thrusts in again, fast enough that it almost hurts.

He does it again. And again. And again, until Eddie’s hands go lax, lost to the sensations playing against his tongue. He swirls it around Steve’s shaft, memorizing the musky taste of his warm skin, senses overwhelmed as he loses all sense of reality.

Steve’s all-consuming, eating up Eddie’s remaining higher brain functions until he can only think in monosyllabic words like more, and fuck, and come. He’s harder than he’s been in his life, dick painfully pressed into the confines of his still-buttoned jeans as he humps up into the air, desperate.

Steve shifts his hand from Eddie’s cheek and into his hair, gripping his tangled tresses to yank his head up, craning his neck uncomfortably as he pushes himself impossibly deeper. Eddie gags, jaw straining around the girth of Steve’s cock, light headed from oxygen deprivation.

Steve pulls out, letting go of the hold on his hair suddenly enough that Eddie’s head thunks into the carpet, eyes staring unseeingly up at the ceiling until Steve’s own worried face blocks it out.

“You okay?” he asks, hands brushing gently against his cheeks, trailing over his neck and down beneath the collar of his shirt like he’s looking for wounds.

“Why’d you stop?” Eddie asks, the sound of his own gravely voice sending another wave of lust through him that has his hips twitching, neck straining to get Steve back in his mouth. “Please, please, please.”

“You’re crying, baby,” Steve whispers, hands still too soft against him.

Eddie blinks, only then noticing the burn of his eyes, the way his eyelashes are clumping together. “Want it,” Eddie begs, voice fucked. “Please.”

Steve stares at him for another endless second, unblinking. Eddie watches something unfathomable shift behind Steve’s eyes, understanding dawning into something darker, as Steve scrambles back just enough that he can lick the tacky tears off of Eddie’s cheeks and out of his lashes once Eddie closes his eyes.

Then Steve’s tongue is back in Eddie’s mouth, wetter than before like Steve had let saliva pool in the back of his throat before feeding it to him. His tongue fucks into his mouth, licking so far into him that he must be able to taste his own precome at the back of Eddie’s throat. Steve doesn’t stop when Eddie chokes. Eddie wants more.

As if hearing his thoughts, Steve pulls back, ignoring Eddie’s bereft whining as he straddles his ribs again, sure fingers gathering up Eddie’s hair tenderly at the back of his skull before clenching his fist, pulling against the hair follicles hard enough that Eddie’s eyes start watering.

Steve doesn’t hesitate this time as he fucks into Eddie’s mouth, yanking Eddie’s face up and down in time with his thrusts, using him for his own satisfaction.

He’s never been more turned on in his life.

His own hips are twitching, desperate for anything as Steve thrusts again, and again, and again, forcing Eddie to take what he’s given.

As Steve’s thrusts grow sloppy, he lowers Eddie’s head to the carpet, letting go of his hair entirely to grind himself against Eddie’s face. He’s deeper than he’s ever been, the entire head of his cock in Eddie’s throat, devolving into a dirty grind, barely thrusting like he can’t bear to part from the warm clutch of Eddie’s body even for a second.

Eddie’s so lightheaded that spots are bursting behind his eyes, and his throats convulsing as he gags against the intrusion.

It’s loud in the quiet of the living room, the dirty wet sound of Steve’s cock pushing itself into Eddie’s throat, forcing him to take all that he has to give until he’s gagging, that sound somehow just as wet, just as lewd. Eddie can’t hear anything else, ears muffled by the press of Steve’s thighs against his ears.

His brain’s gone numb, oxygen deprived and fucked stupid as Steve, takes, and takes, and takes until Eddie’s crying with it.

Steve doesn’t stop—Eddie doesn’t want him to. He’s hardly been touched, and yet he damn-near feels like he might come just from the musty taste on his tongue.

He wants to die with Steve Harrington’s cock down his throat.

But when Steve’s dick starts twitching, he pulls it out, ignoring Eddie’s begging as he strips it, tip close enough to Eddie’s mouth that he can almost taste it. He opens his mouth, ravenous for anything Steve will give him.

“Please,” Eddie asks, and like that’s all he’d been waiting for, Steve’s cock pulses and spills, creamy white liquid painting itself all over Eddie’s face.

He milks himself through it, waiting until every drop has been spilled before he lets go of his spent cock and uses his fingers to spread the mess around Eddie’s face, scooping up come and tears alike and feeding them into Eddie’s panting, open mouth.

Eddie closes his mouth around the intrusion and sucks.

“What do you need?”

***

Eddie’s sucking on his fingers, eyes closed, tongue sliding sensually between them like he can’t bear to miss a drop of the come Steve had fed into his mouth. Steve’s soft cock gives a valiant twitch where it’s drooping between his legs. If he hadn’t just come harder than he had in his entire life, this would be enough to send him over the edge.

“Eddie,” Steve says, pulling his fingers free and using both hands to grab Eddie’s sticky cheeks, waiting until his hazy eyes open to ask again, “what do you need?”

Eddie’s twitching beneath him, hips rolling like all he wants is to fuck something, but when he finally speaks, he says, “fuck me,” with enough need that it comes out as a command.

Steve’s dick twitches again before slumping pitifully back into itself.

“I just came,” Steve says, feeling orgasm dumb and almost as desperate as Eddie. Eddie closes his eyes again, sniffs like he’s going to fucking cry, he’s so horny. Steve pets at his cheek, suddenly desperate to give him anything he wants.

Steve tucks himself back into his sweats, sliding off Eddie, entire body shaky as he kneels between his raised knees, hands trembling against the handcuff clasp of his belt. The handcuffs clacking against each other is loud as it echoes through the room. “This fucking belt,” Steve mutters, fingers fumbling to get it open. “So fucking loud over the phone, Eddie, you have no fucking idea.”

Eddie groans, hips twitching, making undoing said belt even harder, but when Steve’s gaze snaps up, Eddie’s mouth is hanging open, lips still covered in Steve’s own spend. He stares, gobsmacked by the sight of him once more—the mess he’s made of him. But, when Eddie’s hips twitch again, Steve trails his gaze back down, flicking his wrist just right to unclasp the stupid belt.

“Do you know how fucking crazy it made me,” Steve demands, belt clacking loudly as he shoves it out of the way, fingers shaking against the button of his jeans.

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie replies, voice gravelly and wrecked. Steve wants to pour honey down his throat, soothe the ache before fucking that rasp right back into his mouth all over again. “Those fucking sweatpants, Harrington?”

Steve looks down at his own sweatpants, perplexed. They’re stained with grease on one of his hips, and loose enough to be unflattering. “What—”

“You look so soft,” Eddie cuts in, “want to slide my hand into your pants while you make fucking breakfast.”

The image hits Steve in the chest—him at the stove, Eddie behind him, chin hooked over his shoulder peering into the pan as he slips his hand beneath the waistband of Steve’s sweats, stroking him as he scrambles their eggs.

“Fuck,” Steve says, desperate as he flicks the button on Eddie’s jeans open, yanking them and Eddie’s underwear down together.

Eddie’s dick’s harder than Steve’s ever seen it, tip purple and already leaking like just Steve looking at it is almost enough to send him over the edge. It looks damn-near painful, pointing directly up at the ceiling, waiting for Steve to touch it.

“That’s the idea,” Eddie replies, grinning when Steve looks back up at his face.

It takes a second for Steve to place that as an answer to his expletive, and when he does, he bends down, licking one long stripe up Eddie’s cock just to hear him cry before hooking his arms under Eddie’s knees and shoving them up, practically bending Eddie in half as he makes himself at home between Eddie’s legs.

“What are you—” Steve licks over Eddie’s hole, making Eddie’s question trail off into a startled moan.

When no further questions come his way, Steve adjusts, letting go of Eddie’s legs so they settle over his shoulders, and licks at him again, this time with more purpose, wriggling his way inside the tight heat of Eddie’s body as he twitches.

“Holy shit.”

Steve hums in reply, gratified when the vibration makes Eddie’s entire body jolt like he’s been electrocuted. He does it again, worming his tongue in deeper, the fit tight enough to almost hurt.

He pulls back. “No, no, please,” Eddie begs, voice going quiet and breathing turning erratic as Steve spits on his hole once, twice, three times, thumbs pulling him open enough that the saliva sinks into him. “Shit.”

Steve licks into him again, drawing back just far enough to suck at his rim hard until Eddie shouts. Eddie contracts then loosens, Steve sinking his tongue into him, deeper this time. Eddie’s squirming like he’s not sure whether he wants to move closer or twitch away in overstimulation. Steve doesn’t give him a choice, uses one arm to hold against Eddie’s bent thighs, pressing him into the carpet to keep him still.

His other hand finds its way between them, pointer finger pushing into Eddie’s hole, skin tugging against skin until Steve spits into him and sinks it in smoothly past the first knuckle. Eddie shouts again, entire body vibrating as Steve fucks into him with his finger, torturously slow.

“Good?” Steve asks, finger never stopping its movement as he leans back to survey his spoils. Eddie’s dicks even harder now, and he’s writhing, head shaking back and forth, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open as he pants for breath. “Eddie?”

When he still doesn’t answer, Steve stills his finger where it’s still stuffed inside Eddie’s body, watching as his whole face crumples in on itself. “Eddie,” Steve says again, voice commanding enough that Eddie opens his eyes, tears clinging to his lashes as he peers down at Steve between his legs, gaze hazy and unfocused. “Still good?”

Eddie nods hard enough that his neck cracks. “Don’t stop,” he begs.

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice. He moves his finger again, thrusting with more force as he leans back down, licking around the intrusion with enough pressure that his tongue sinks in right alongside it.

He adds his middle finger, licking between them as he pushes them in deep and then curls them, finding the spot inside Eddie’s body that makes him beg to stop, beg for more, cry for anything.

Eddie’s been hard since before he got Steve’s cock in his mouth, long before Steve had begun finger fucking him in earnest, so he’s not surprised when it only takes a few more thrusts at that spot inside him for Eddie to smack his shoulder hard in warning.

“Steve, Steve, I’m gonna—”

Steve fucks in his fingers harder, hand cramping as he pounds into Eddie’s body even as he clenches around him, mouth suctioning at the side of his rim as he fucks Eddie through it. He keeps it up as Eddie’s legs settle more firmly against Steve, hand dropping bonelessly to the carpet, body going pliant around Steve’s breaching fingers.

Steve leans back, gently removing his fingers and easing Eddie’s boneless legs to the floor. When Steve finally catches sight of his cock, he groans at the sight of the mess Eddie’s made. It’s in his pubes, on his shirt, pooling on his own fucking neck.

He lays over Eddie’s lax body, uncaring of the mess he’s making of his own clothes as he scoops some of the come from Eddie’s neck and slips it into Eddie’s open mouth, waiting for him to suck it clean from his fingers before pulling it free.

He presses his lips to Eddie’s, absurdly gentle for the debauchery now covering Eddie. Steve doesn’t care, so full of love he’s fit to burst. Eddie kisses him back, just as soft, opening up for Steve like a sunflower toward the light.

Steve keeps kissing him, never wants to stop even as his lungs constrict with the need to breathe. When he finally is forced to pull back for air, he keeps his forehead pressed to Eddie’s breathing in the same air that Eddie’s panting out.

They stay like that for a long time.

Eddie’s pliant when Steve finally pulls him up off the floor, and ushers him into the bathroom. He’s quiet when Steve strips him down, pushing him into the shower to clean them both up with soft hands, Eddie half-asleep against his shoulder.

Steve dries him off and brushes his hair while he’s seated on the toilet seat, eyes closed. Eddie leans into each touch like a cat being stroked, soft even in the fluorescent lights of the Munson’s small bathroom.

“C’mon, baby,” Steve murmurs, pulling him to standing and wrapping a towel around him before leading him through the dark trailer and into his own bedroom.

He digs through Eddie’s discarded clothes until he finds them both clean boxers to change into. Steve ignores Eddie’s little questioning hum as he leaves the bedroom to fetch a glass of water, coming back as quickly as he can.

Eddie’s still standing where he left him, at the foot of the bed, eyes trained on the door. But, when Steve hands him the water, he drinks, wincing as the cold water hits his throat. It must hurt, but he drinks it down.

Steve takes the empty cup back, leaving it on the desk to tuck them both into Eddie’s cold bed, warming his sheets up with their combined body heat.

Steve doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s dark, and there’s sleep pulling at him, made more appealing by the warmth of Eddie’s body beneath his hands, heads sharing the same pillow.

“Did you mean it?” Steve whispers, can’t help it with Eddie warm and pliant beside him. “You weren’t just horny?”

Eddie’s eyes are soft in the light filtering in from the window, mouth quirked in amusement as he replies, “I’m always horny.” His hands are gentle as he caresses Steve’s eyebrow, cheekbone, jaw. “But I meant it.” Steve waits, breathless and hopeful for Eddie to say it again.

“I love you.”

Steve tucks his face into Eddie’s neck, kissing the skin he finds there. “Love you, too.”

Eddie’s arms wrap around him, pulling him impossibly closer, hidden away in the safe haven of Eddie’s bedroom, swaddled in worn-soft sheets.

***

For once, Steve’s still in bed when Eddie wakes up. His arm’s slung around Eddie’s waist, a warm brand pushing him into the mattress, and their legs are tangled between them, knees pressed against one another. It’s warm, cozy where the trailer’s usually chilly on a winter morning.

Steve’s head is on the same pillow as Eddie’s, close enough that he can count every one of his eyelashes, breath puffing gently against Eddie’s cheek. He stares at him bathed in the morning light filtering in through his closed curtains, breathless.

He wants to reach out, touch him softly. It takes him a minute to remember that he can.

Steve groans when Eddie’s hand cups his cheek, a small disgruntled sound as he scrunches up his nose in his sleep. Eddie soothes at his jaw with his thumb, enamored. It takes a few brushes against his skin for Steve’s eyes to blink open, still hazy, barely awake.

When he catches sight of Eddie, he smiles like it’s a reflex, small and sleepy. Eddie leans forward, breaching the scant inches separating them to press his lips to Steve’s gently, mouth open and wet. Steve hums and kisses back, lips just as soft.

It takes a few long moments for Eddie to get his fill and lean back, heart constricting in his chest with the breadth of his feelings when he catches sight of the little smile still on Steve’s face.

“Your mouth tastes like ass,” he says, still smiling all soft and warm even as Eddie sputters.

“Your mouth tastes like ass,” Eddie retorts, jabbing him in the chest when all he does is laugh, voice still sleep-rough. “After all, it wasn’t me who…”

When he trails off, Steve’s grin sharpens, grows fangs as he leans closer to Eddie, their noses brushing as he continues where Eddie left off. “Had a tongue up someone’s asshole.”

He moves reflexively, shoving Steve hard enough to send him tumbling off the edge of the bed, disappearing from sight. He stares at the now-vacant spot beside him for a long moment before scrambling forward on the mattress, peering over the edge. Steve’s splayed out on the carpet, half in a pile of Eddie’s dirty laundry, eyes wide as he stares up at Eddie.

“Shit, sorry, I panicked!” Eddie cries, reaching down toward Steve’s prone body to help him up.

Steve’s fingers wrap around his wrist and he yanks, sending Eddie tumbling off the bed right after him, landing half on top of him as he cackles.

“What the fuck?” Eddie asks, but Steve’s got his arms wrapped around him again, pulling him into his bare chest, and it’s hard to maintain any level of disgruntlement with all that bodily contact.

“Sorry, baby,” he soothes, fingers brushing through Eddie’s hair until he melts into him fully, letting his head settle in the crook of Steve’s neck. “Just wanted you close to me.”

Eddie huffs, but kisses the warm skin beneath his lips. “Smooth talker,” he mutters like it’s a complaint, and not the main reason they’d even gotten this far. If it wasn’t for Steve and his smooth fucking words, Eddie would’ve never moved past cheesy pick-up lines and desperately frequent phone calls.

Before Eddie can think of something suitably clever to say, there’s a knock on Eddie’s closed bedroom door, and Wayne calls, “boys, breakfast.”

“Coming!” Eddie calls back, even as Steve goes stiff and unyielding beneath him. He plants his hands on Steve’s pectorals, levering himself up enough to peer down into Steve’s spooked face. “You okay?”

Steve swallows, throat clicking dryly as he nods unconvincingly. Eddie stares him down, waiting for the truth to spill out of his stupid, perfect lips. “What if he doesn’t like me?” Steve blurts, face immediately pinking as Eddie stares down at him, gobsmacked.

“Wayne?” Eddie demands, sitting up so he can get a better look at Steve’s expression, knees bracketing his hips. “He loves you.”

“But that was before,” Steve replies, leaning up on his bent elbows, forearms straining beneath his weight as he tilts closer to Eddie, whispering like he’s afraid Wayne’s got his ear pressed up against the door. “Before we started dating.”

Eddie can’t help the way he grins when that word leaves Steve’s mouth. It’s just—love is one thing, but dating? Dating implies things that Eddie’s been trying desperately not to want. It’s dinner together, and holding hands covertly at the movies, and parking up at the quarry to look at the stars.

There are actions involved in dating, a future laid out before him if only he’s brave enough to grasp it. Eddie bends his neck down, pressing one quick kiss to Steve’s cheek, afraid that if he goes for the lips, they won’t emerge from this room until breakfast has long since gone cold.

Steve stays on the ground as Eddie jumps up, invigorated, and begins rifling through his drawers for suitable clothing. He pulls on his own change of clothes first, taking the time to pull on jeans and his belt now that he knows it drives Steve crazy.

“Hate to break it to you, Stevie,” Eddie says, throwing a clean shirt toward him with enough accuracy that it blankets his face entirely, “but Wayne definitely already thought we were dating.”

He throws a pair of sweats at him too and saunters out of the room, closing the door on the sound of Steve’s sputtering.

He hits the head, and by the time he leaves the bathroom, Steve’s already sitting at the table, looking sleep-rumpled and warm as he talks with Wayne.

“—stay here much more, and I’ll have half a mind to charge ya rent,” Wayne’s saying as Eddie slides into his seat at the table.

Steve’s smiling as he reaches out, linking his fingers with Eddie’s beneath the table before settling it on the top, for all the world to see. “I can live with that,” he says, squeezing Eddie’s hand, eyes twinkling blindingly at him.

Eddie blushes, and looks down at his plate, already piled with fluffy pancakes. He eats with his left hand, still clutching Steve’s with his right, getting syrup all over in his hair, but it’s worth it for the way Steve’s thumb keeps rubbing against his own.

Wayne doesn't comment, but Eddie catches him eyeing their hands, something parental and pleased in the way he asks Steve about who he’s rooting for in the latest sportsball tournament.

He never lets go of Eddie’s hand.

The phone doesn’t ring until they’re standing side by side at the sink, Eddie washing as Steve dries, the water running cold thanks to Wayne’s morning shower. He hands the plate he’s working on over to Steve and grabs the receiver with soapy hands.

“Yello,” Eddie says, looking over at Steve just to watch him roll his eyes.

“He better be with you,” Robin’s stern voice crackles down the line. “Because no one’s answering at his house, and if he went off to die in the woods or something because you broke his heart—”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Eddie interrupts, unsurprised when Robin talks right over him.

“—I’ll never forgive you, Eddie Munson.”

He waits just long enough to make sure she’s done berating him before turning to Steve, “it’s for you, dear.”

Steve sets the plate he was drying on the rack, and takes the phone from Eddie’s hands.

“Robin?” he asks, somehow so in-tune with his long lost younger twin that he knows it's her even before she’s spoken. Eddie loves them both so fucking much.

As he goes to finish the dishes alone, he keeps an ear open to Steve’s side of the conversation.

“Sorry, Bobby, I got distracted.” Eddie grins, movements slow as he washes the soap off a mug, unwilling to miss any of the conversation that he can catch. “Yeah, yeah, you were right,” Steve says, sounding exasperated before he drops his voice even lower. But, Steve’s always been a shit whisperer, and Eddie still hears it. “He does like me.”

Eddie grins as he dries the last mug before turning around, bracing his back against the counter as he watches Steve speak to his best friend. He looks soft in Eddie’s borrowed sweatpants, hair going every which way after he’d gone to sleep with it still wet last night.

Eddie wants to keep him forever. And, as Steve hangs up the phone and pushes into Eddie’s space like he belongs there, it hits him suddenly that he might get to. Maybe, if Eddie’s really lucky, Steve might even want him to.

“I’ve gotta head to work soon,” Steve murmurs, crowding Eddie into the cupboard and pressing their lips together gently. “But, I’ll see you later?”

For the first time since this whole thing started, he sounds nervous. Hopeful, like there’s any chance at all of Eddie declining. “Whenever you want,” Eddie replies, cupping his face and staring into his eyes. “Any time, any place, I’m yours, baby.”

Steve beams, happy and in love, as he leans forward to press one final kiss against Eddie’s lips, and then he’s gone.

He buzzes for the rest of the day, always on the cusp of rushing out the door to surprise Steve during his shift. But, if calling too soon after the first date is taboo, turning up at their place of work is even worse. What’s the protocol if you’ve been having sex for months and only just put a label on it?

Their usual call system has presumably gone to shit. Steve hadn’t mentioned it, and Eddie was too nervous to ask. They’re dating now, all the previous rules of their relationship overwritten, no matter how he’ll miss Steve every night at eight p.m., the association baked straight into his DNA.

But, Steve hadn’t asked him to call, and Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, so he sits, and he stews, and he waits to hear from Steve, hoping “later” actually translates to “soon.”

Eddie already misses him.

Still, he’s hovering by the phone as the hour hand on the clock creeks closer and closer to eight. He’s not going to call. He won’t. But just as the hand ticks over, the phone rings.

Eddie rushes to answer, fingers fumbling enough that he drops the receiver and has to dive for it, cracking his knees on the ground. He barely notices the pain as he presses the phone to the side of his face, buzzing with a sickening mix of desperation and excitement.

“Hello?” he says, embarrassingly breathless as he waits for something besides static to crackle down the line.

“What are you wearing?” Steve asks, voice suggestive and sly.

Eddie grins.

And, that's it! I hope you all enjoyed it! As always, thanks to @queenie-ofthe-void for their wonderful beta editing, and also for encouraging me in getting out of my comfort zone with this one. I couldn't do it without you <3<3<3

#SteddieWinterExchange #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #my fic

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highhhfiveee · 4 months ago

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back at work n you know what that means…

cw. angst! sae is kind of a dick [,: black!fem!readeroc as always <3

an. i’ve been thinking more and more about fwb!sae itoshi…like i triggered a maladaptive daydream so vivid that i’m trapped LMAO. that (n weed) gets me through 💜

part one: 📌 | part “three”: 📌 but anyway, anyway. picking up from where we left off:

you’re disoriented, pushing yourself up on your elbows while sae disappears into the bathroom, leaving you to your own sore muscles and aching heart.

your usual sae-induced, post-hookup bliss is completely replaced with the acidic bite of regret, and you try to stop the tears stinging your eyes as you pad to the bathroom door.

sae opens up after hearing your timid knock, giving you a blank stare with his toothbrush tucked beneath his tongue. you don’t allow yourself the usual distraction of glancing to his v-line, exposed above the waistline of his sweatpants. he doesn’t deserve the ogling.

you try not to come off so small and wounded, standing there with your legs twisted together and your eye makeup smudged all down your cheeks, gnawing at the skin inside with a punishing grind of your molars. you fail.

of the million things you’re thinking, you say none of them.

“what, y/n?”

he strides back over to the sink after giving you an opportunity to speak, scrubbing and gargling and spitting.

“….a-are you…gonna give me a ride home?”

“can’t,” sae breathes simply, slipping past you like you’re not even there. he’s the opposite of you, annoyingly flippant. “i’m already running late.”

“b-b-but…you always do,” your voice cracks on ‘always’, stopping you from saying anything further. it’s pathetic that you’re this affected by the situation…by him.

it was true, though. it’d become part of the routine for him to take you home after, engaging in casual conversations like he hadn’t fucked you senseless half an hour ago. he’d wait until you got up to your door, waving you off, and text you when he made it back home, a simple made it.

you’d give it a heart reaction, and that’d be the end of the connection until its next iteration. it was always smooth and comforting, a cherry on top of your indulgent relationship.

now, you feel like maybe you’d soured it all.

obviously, you’d felt an attraction to sae from the very beginning; you’d embarrassed yourself in that grocery store, so badly that he’d read you like a book and took the lead, but that physical attraction was never supposed to turn into emotional attachment.

it was friends with benefits rule number one, and you’d foolishly let yourself break it with one dick-drunk plea.

“well, i can’t this time.” he hasn’t been looking at you, keeping busy by slipping into his practice uniform and shoving things into his duffle bag.

you bite your lip, chirping out, “c’mon, sae…”

“y/n, please,” sae acknowledges you wholly now, agitation bleeding through his body language and the tone of his voice. “you’re being needy as shit. i already told you i can’t take you home this time, so stop asking.”

you’re crumbling to tiny pieces as he continues on, refusing to give you time to argue or fuss or cry. “i’ll get you a ride, and i’ll send you money for a plan b or whatever. just…fucking stop.”

you leave him to himself, hiccuping out sobs while you shower and slip back into your rumpled camisole and skirt. the juxtaposition of your internal feelings and cool girl outfit have you wanting to cover up and hide, so you grab a hoodie from sae’s floor and throw it over your shoulders.

he almost tells you to take it off but holds back, sitting on the edge of his bed and scrolling through his phone instead. the faster he arranges your ride, the faster he can go to practice and forget about all of this.

he swears he doesn’t feel the same as you, crushed and deflated by the turn of events, but there’s something that nags him about it all.

he shouldn’t have come in you. he should’ve pulled out and left it at that. given you something you expected instead of half-heartedly giving you what you wished for. it was a foolish mistake, engineered by his body for his pleasure, but of course there were always strings, invisible reverberations for every action you took.

he’s not in love with you. he’s sure of that. he barely loved his own brother, the piece of shit. he wasn’t made of love; he was made of a passion for soccer and soccer only. thinking you could take that spot was an error on your part, and it (almost) made him pity you.

“i think i’m gonna head out,” he announces coolly, gripping the handles of his duffle bag with a white-knuckled grip. “your ride’ll be here in like five. you can leave the key under the mat when you go.”

again, he doesn’t give you a moment to respond. he only makes his getaway, leaving you alone in a room that feels like a prison now.

if you wanted to fall in love, have all those corny, juvenile romantic moments, fuck it. go do it. see if he cared. sae didn’t give a shit what you did outside of him. he’d just move onto the next.

he’d done this friends with benefits thing so many times…you were only one person in a long list of others that had come and gone.

if he loses you, he’s confident he could find a suitable replacement…maybe.

something is in the air at my job cause i always get inspired once i clock in lmaooo. i got inspo for the next part too and oooh weee 🤭🤭

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock fic #blue lock angst #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae smut #bllk smut #blue lock smut #sae itoshi smut #faire is writing stuff!!!!#faire’s fwb!sae itoshi <3

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triangularz · 5 months ago

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SHOTA- IRRITABLE about 1k, fluff, a tiny bit nsfw (no detailed sexual acts), est. relationship, "slice of life", feelings, connection. Grumpy Shota eventually steps up. I visualized the same reader in each of the Shota fics here, though not as series- more like vignettes. Includes some of my usual style points in terms of form and themes <- I saw a post about this and whether it's true of my writing or not, I loved the perspective- have a peek.

You see and hear it, what's just beyond your thin glass window; it's simple and so invaluable: Golden, late afternoon light replacing the day's cloudy drizzle and crisp, brown leaves camouflaging the school's sidewalks, crunching under the feet of yakking students and yawning staff members. Routine, uneventful Sundays like these meant that UA was safe; they refresh your senses, cozy up close to your heart and feel like home. But what you found comforting was to Shota (groaning and mumbling and long since annoyed by the world) unwelcome noise.

"What are they doing out there? I can hear it from here!" he yells to no one in particular from his watchful, stationary spot in the bathroom. Slightly amused this time and also hoping to shut him the hell up, you stride into his personal space and lean against the wide counter, drawling with faux drama, "They're walkiiing. And for fuckssake stop whining about everything Shota Aizawa, you've sucked the life outta this place all weekend."

A shouting Vlad barged into his office Friday to yap, and Hizashi submitted curricula without edits, leaving hours of work for him yesterday. Toshinori canceled brunch plans for the third week running, and Nezu ticked him off during a discussion about "the benefits of educational autonomy". Over and over again you'd heard it, including a deluge of other long-winded grievances. Embedded in them were frequent little jabs and snaps, with you as the target.

His elbows rest on either side of the sink, and motionless fingers serve as a thermostat under the faucet's rushing water; 60 seconds and the temperature still felt tepid.

"Lukewarm is all we'll get for now; bet the heater's completely done by morning. Should've been replaced years ago, but Nezu's too cheap to-"

"Babe you could turn off the water, maybe check it less often? I think that might conserve whatever life it has left." You and your casual, correct logic; turning off the faucet, he clicks his tongue and shoots an icy glare your way.

"We'll just shower together tonight an-". Shit, you knew better than to say it. A salty, hunched over Shota wasn't up for solutions, but you'd given him two. What he's thinking, he shows- a clenching jaw, stiffening arm muscles, a sharp hassled exhale. For just a second, it stings you. What you'd suggested seemed as distasteful to him as those crackling leaves or the damn water temperature. Pausing for a beat and with an inaudible sigh, you disappear into the bedroom to strip off your clothes. Whether he joins or not is up to him. He finally sounds his agreement a moment later with an exasperated huffed, "Fine."

His reserved nature and dry wit, his intellect and integrity, his tremendous love for his students. God, the man was infinitely attractive to you. But you knew to leave him alone when his usual temperament devolved into an extra pissy mood. With humor and bluffed indifference, you'd do your damndest to avoid adding kindling to his fiery complaints. So you resolve- suddenly tired and melancholy- to get clean and continue enjoying those loudly crunching leaves. A relaxing evening and his actual attention... are ebbing little hopes.

You'd showered together before. Not a regular thing, but it felt so good, even to him- the nearness of it, washing away sweat or cum or the day's work. The catch was intermittent shivering, rushing to switch places for a turn under warm, streaming water. The warmth was absent this round; Shota's discontent infused your togetherness with cold.

Finishing with speed, you step onto the floor's fluffy, cotton mat and grab a massive towel, relieved.

Shit. It hits him now, as he notices your slumped shoulders, quiet deep breath and hasty exit, what not only now, but for two-days his attitude must've cast over you. Shota loves you more than even he can comprehend, and it hurts his heart to have been so caught up in his own miserable mess. He'd done it less and less over time, and you'd always affirm him right away with sweet thanks he felt he didn't deserve. But he hates that he does it at all.

Stepping out after you, Shota furiously runs his hands over your toweled arms and quickly gifts you a long, solid embrace, a stubbly cheek against your temple.

"Better?"

"Mmm hmm." You always felt it, the calm he blanketed you with, so definite and immediate. "Come down here, you jerk." He's used to this cute-the cutest to him- habit of yours, so with a short grunt, he squeezes you more tightly and presses his forehead to yours to listen, really listen to you. Soft, damp strands of dark long hair stick to your cheeks.

"I'm still headed to Osaka tomorrow my Shota sensei; you'll be busy annoying students and missing me these next two days. It'll be fixed before you realize it, and you'll be back to steaming, relaxing showers on your own. Now just be glad we're both fucking clean, ok?" Not a shred of irritation in your words, you always speak so softly and confidently, dispelling his negative energy and surging his love for you. You were beautiful as hell.

"I know, I'm really sorry... about this afternoon, all weekend really... guess I wasted time we could've had before you leave, didn't I? And I love showering with you, a lot more than I dislike being cold... I hope you know, not that I've shown you today, that yeah I am gonna miss you... You'll be gone two days too long as far as I'm concerned," he mumbles into your ear. Tender-hearted, you bury your face into his wet shoulder. Three years together, and with a few gentle words, your pulse races as wildly as it did in the beginning.

The next hectic 48 hours leave you tired and a little numb, but you instantly feel soothed crossing your apartment's threshold. Those several steps remind you that no matter the bickering or rift, anywhere with Shota is where you belong.

A very faint scent wanders through the living room, reminiscent of chalky plaster. Before you can think on it, Shota emerges, with a mischievous vibe about him and a rarely seen sparkle in his worn eyes. His drawn-out, soul-melting kiss sends you skyward.

"Hi there," he mutters softly, grabbing your hand while your head swirls and leading you to the bathroom.

"You were right as always- the water heater's fixed. You should hop in."

"Good, I'm glad. And I think I will. I don't even wanna talk about the trip yet, I just feel yucky after the drive- traffic was awfu-" The change registers slowly. The old showerhead has been replaced with a shiny, silver one, detachable and with multiple settings. And on the opposite wall, is an identical one. "Wha-"

"So neither one of us gets cold." To stare at him is all you can do, blown away.

"You ok with company?" He knows the answer and carefully pulls your shirt over your head.

Twenty heavenly minutes- testing sprays, kisses along all of your curves, and your laughter as he recounts his manual labor snags.

"I need to be better for you," he whispers, draping you with a towel and cascading lazy kisses on your neck.

He's much more than better- his subtle thoughtfulness is more constant than he knows, and it drives you wild.

"Shota."

"Hmm?"

"You take really, really good care of me. You always have."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dropping the towel, you take his hand, beyond ready to fuck the man who's crazy in love with you and who you- grouch and all- love with your whole heart.

#shota x reader #shota x you #shota aizawa x reader #shota aizawa x you #aizawa fluff #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota x you #aizawa shouta x reader #mha x reader #mha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #mha fluff #bnha fluff #triangularz

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 1 year ago

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The Blackwood Knight prt.6

Description: In which an overheard conversation results in misunderstandings and potential heartbreak, if the Blackwood Knight cannot convince his lady of his love for her. Warnings: female reader. Mentions of Canon typical misogyny.

Patrolling the contentious borders between the Brackenwood forest and the adjoining Blackwood fields, Edmund Bracken was surprised and irritated to find Benjicot Blackwood brazenly standing within the boundary stones, which clearly demarcated this space as Bracken territory.

Hearing harsh footsteps approaching, Benjicot turned from his stance leaning his elbow against the oak of the tree, in wait for his lady love, and was equally aggravated to instead find her enraged cousin storming towards him.

“Blackwood!”

“I warned you not to cross the border again,” he clamoured, chest to chest with Benjicot.

Pushing him aggressively back a pace, Benjicot responded.

“I won’t honour your insolence with the smart it deserves, if only because someone I deeply care about might not be too pleased if her cousin was dispatched, even if he is insufferable.”

Bristling at this, Edmund reached for the hilt of his sword.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” Benjicot glared, his eyes darkening as he took an intimidating step towards Edmund.

“I’ve come here to meet your cousin, Y/N, who I happen to be in love with and a great peacock like yourself will not make me late to do so.”

Stumbling back a step in evident confusion, Benjicot seized his chance to make his intentions clear.

“We do not need to be on good terms ourselves, I only propose that we bring ourselves down from a war footing to a level of tolerance between our two Houses.”

“I have asked your lovely cousin for her hand in marriage, and she has consented to be my lady wife and, as such, will be the Lady of two houses.”

Edmund broke in.

“I have not granted my consent to such a match!”

Benjicot’s expression underwent several changes in a clear attempt to keep his cool, his eyes darkening once more as he responded in a steely tone.

“I said that I had asked for her consent, which is the only opinion I care for.”

Stepping slowly to meet Edmund face to face, he continued.

“My uncle grows weary and is not long for this world. We both know that I am soon to be Lord of Raventree and of the Blackwood name. I offer you terms for a peaceful settlement between our two Houses, wherein the borders are discussed at a council, attended by both. I would not have my lady be divided between two worlds when I can join them. I do not suggest that this will be an entirely peaceful transition, but it will certainly be a profitable one for both sides. One that should work some way towards healing the great enmity between both Houses. Whether you allow for it or not, my marriage to your cousin will benefit us both. What say you?”

Stunned by Benjicot’s replacement of his usual belligerence for diplomacy, Edmund took several minutes before responding.

“What are your terms?”

Y/N walked leisurely through the Brackenwood, wending her way towards her meeting spot with Benjicot, halting when she heard loud voices breaking through the trees. Stepping behind a tree, she peered through the foliage to see Benjicot and her irascible cousin facing each other off, the tension in both their shoulders palpable.

Momentarily stepping forward to prevent any violence ensuing between them, she was arrested in her movements by what Benjicot said next.

“I do not suggest that this will be an entirely peaceful transition, but it will certainly be a profitable one for both sides. One that should work some way towards healing the great enmity between both Houses. Whether you allow for it or not, my marriage to your cousin will benefit us both. What say you?”

Her face paled as he continued speaking, and she physically faltered, placing a trembling hand on a tree when she heard her cousin’s response.

“What are your terms?”

“In exchange for your cousin’s hand in marriage, I will allow you to adjust the border adjoining the Red Ford to your advantage, so that your livestock may make use of the adjoining fields. Any further terms we can discuss formally at a later date.”

Edmund assessed Benjicot a moment longer, before removing his hand from the hilt of his sword and responding with a perfunctory nod. “I will deliver your terms to my uncle and send you a raven with our answer.”

Benjicot nodded sharply in return and Edmund turned to leave without another word, leaving Benjicot standing by the Brackentree, as Y/N gazed at his back, still shocked by the transactional exchange that had just occurred. In which she had been bartered between the two men as if she, herself, was no more than an accoutrement or asset of great Houses. No more than a territorial claim.

Confusion turned to anger, as tears began to pool behind her eyes, and her clenched hand trembled. Turning in haste, not wanting to look upon the face of a man who had so deceived her, she began to stumble back the way she had come before a sudden change of mind had her turning in the opposite direction, straight towards that very same man.

Hearing more footsteps, Benjicot once again turned, smiling this time when he saw the object of his affection. His expression soon fell, growing into one of concern and then panic, once he had assessed her stony expression and glistening eyes.

Stepping hurriedly towards her, his arms outstretched to hold her elbows and ask her who he needed to kill for upsetting her, he was shocked and alarmed when she pushed him with more force than she had yet before, firmly away from her.

“Don’t touch me.”

Taking a step back in stunned acquiescence, Benjicot’s thoughts turned rapidly in his head over his past actions, trying to locate the source of her displeasure with him, resolved at once to remedy it and restore himself to her good favour.

“I will not if you do not wish me to do so,” he responded calmly.

“What have I done, what can I do?” he asked, trying and failing, to conceal the tinge of desperation that entered his voice.

“I had much rather you had left me alone in the first place,” Y/N broke out hurriedly, her breathing coming in short, angered gasps.

“I was just a bartering tool between the two of you. A prize to be passed from one House to another like a strip of land?” she continued, her voice growing increasingly high and thick with the pressure of unspilled tears.

Taking a slow, measured step towards her once again, hand outstretched, as if approaching a frightened deer, Benjicot opened his mouth to repudiate such claims, but immediately closed it at Y/N’s urgent request.

“I do not wish to hear further lies from you. I overheard your business with my cousin and I am now released from the illusion that you cared for me as anything more than a profitable conduit between you both.”

As she spoke, Benjicot paled, a look of panicked realisation growing on his face at his lady’s frantic speech, and he struggled not to break his promise not to touch her as her face crumpled and tears that had been trapped behind her eyes began to spill over onto her lovely cheeks. This was his fault. He had done this. He had been the cause of her tears, when he had sworn to protect her.

A pained sob breaking from her throat had him breaking his resolution, however, as he quickly stepped forward to embrace her, his arms wrapping around her, as she half-heartedly attempted to push him away.

“You told him our marriage would be profitable to him.”

“I did,” he responded in a pained voice.

“You told me you loved me!” she cried, once again striking him without great force on the chest.

“I do,” he responded, attempting to hold her face in his hand, when she suddenly pushed him away.

Looking at him with an expression which no longer held any anger, just pure despair, she turned and began to run from him.

@lovebabe18 @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress @drwho-ess

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #benjicot blackwood #aeron bracken #davos blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #house blackwood #benjicot blackwood imagine #benjicot blackwood oneshot #benjicot blackwood series #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd season 2 #hotd #hot oneshot #bloody ben #bloody ben x reader

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leftchopshopheart · 7 months ago

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They were at the Manor, the first time Jason's been ever since he came back from the dead. He's given up on ever reconciling with the bats; he doesn't see the effort as worth it anymore and has stopped responding to their attempts. Doesn't mean they've stopped.

But why was he at the Manor, you ask?

Because Tim wanted him to come.

His relationship with his replacement was a shocking development; while they haven't interacted at all beyond the fight at Titans Tower, they were very attracted to each other and held mutual begrudging respect. Fights turned into hatefucking, and from then it evolved to friends eith benefits and all the way up to boyfriends. They'd exchanged their first "I love you"s pretty early, and they were going strong.

Dinner was... an experience. The atmosphere got tense when Jason arrived since none of the new bats really knew him. Hell, this was Duke's first time seeing him without the iconic helmet. Things got even worse when they realised he was there at Tim's request.

Bruce and Dick both managed to hold their tongues, afraid to drive away the 2 people they'd failed the most. Luckily, or unluckily, Damian had no qualms about disrupting the piece.

"Seems on brand for Drake to cozy up to the family disgrace. It was like you were made for each other."

He didn't get a response. The only indicator that he was even heard was Tim gripping his utensils slightly harder.

"No words? It's no wonder Richard replaced you with me so long ago. You disgrace the honour of Robin

"Damian, that's not nice. Apologise to your brother, " came Bruce's voice, fearing that his youngest would offend his 2 sons into leaving early.

"He's not my brother!" shouted Damian, slamming his hands on the table. "He is an interloper that forced his way in, why would I, the blood son, ever want to be associated with him?"

"At least I was wanted" cut in Tim, voice cold, but he was still focused on his plate. "Bruce didn't even know you existed, and Ra's got tired of training you into his heir, so he came to me. Your mother fucked Jason as revenge on Bruce. What connection do you really have to be proud of?"

As he was done speaking, Damian unsheathed a dagger, charging towards him with murder in hid eyes. Everybody reacted, getting on their feet to intercept him, but the first to do so was Jason, who disarmed him, elbowed him in the fave and then slammed him into the table.

"Listen here you whiny little shit" Jason growled, "you may be used to getting away with harming Tim, since nobody here really stood up for him," Bruce and Dick flinched at the obvious dig, but didn't interrupt, looking to intercept in case Jason tried to harm Damian "but that ends here. They're patient with your bullshit because they care about you, I don't. Rry that shit again, and I will send you back to your mother in pieces"

With that, he let him go, and a properly threatened Damian returned to his seat.

The couple went back to their meals. They didn't stay for dessert.

#jason todd #tim drake #jaytim #damian wayne #drabble #I love damian sm but i made him an asshole in this I'm sorry #jaytim fuck in the car before going home

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bropunzeling · 28 days ago

Note

2 things:

i'm sat by every seattle au snippet. would you perchanceeee be willing to share any more. just a crumb

and what are your ratthew/mattdrai thoughts following yesterday's result

answering second question first: i personally am having a great time; i was rooting for the panthers and was happy i actually got to watch some games this year, especially because those games ended up being the hilarious blowout ones. i have high hopes both for matthew/sasha nation (the epic slow burns write themselves!!!!! i have a Mighty Need for like. five of them. where are they) and also fully intend to read too much into the matthew leon air quote "handshake" progression from last year!!! that said im ready for a new matchup next year 😂

and since you twisted my arm, here's another little snippet

The conversation turns to other things, Jordan and Yanni earnestly comparing the benefits of various preschools while the d-corps, in their typical fashion, all have their heads together at the other end of the table, talking about god-knows-what. Leon doesn’t have much to contribute about whether Montessori is worth it, so perhaps that’s why he gets stuck watching Matty arrive at the bar, watching Matthew slap him on the upper arm and turn to the smiling bartender and make the universal gesture for another round. Even from across the room, Leon can tell Matthew’s talking a mile a minute, drawing Matty into his previous conversation, and he can also see the way Matty sways in closer and away. Maybe the kid doesn’t need another round.

“Aw, look at them,” Will says, sliding his elbow along the table so he’s close enough to talk to Leon in an undertone, voice filled with sly amusement. “Rookie crushes, am I right?”

“What?” Leon asks back in the same low tone.

Will shrugs. “I mean, Chucky’s not a bad one to have. Though I’m a little offended it’s not me. I’m the one offering the kid food and shelter.”

“Yeah, but you have an ugly mug,” Soucy cuts in. “And you can’t score a goal to save your life.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Will says, elbowing Carson hard.

“Now, Chucky at least can score a sick goal. Or Drai. I mean, that’s the whole thing, right? The hockey is hot, they’re hot.” Carson nods like he’s won a debate, though Leon still hasn’t quite figured out what the parameters of said debate were in the first place. “Happens to everyone.”

“Does it?” Leon asks without meaning to, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“Yeah,” Carson says, gesturing with his drink. “You get called up, and you just kind of—you know. Latch onto a guy for a year or two, before you grow out of it. You know how it is.” Carson elbows Will. “Right?”

Will shrugs again. The secretive smirk from before has faded, replaced by an expression Leon has no hope of reading. When Leon looks around the table, the other guys clearly haven’t been listening—except for Adam, who briefly raises an eyebrow at Leon before turning to pay attention to Dumo. Leon doesn’t know what that means, either, but his ears and cheeks are growing hot. It might be time to switch to water.

“Alright, everyone,” someone announces. Matthew, returning with a tray full of beers and Matty in tow. He deposits Beniers into a chair, then starts distributing the bottles, sliding them along the table and making Carson curse when he nearly drops it. “One more toast for the birthday boy, yeah?”

Leon grabs his bottle, resisting the urge to hold the sweaty glass to his cheek, wishing he wasn’t noticing the way Matty stares up at Matthew with more than a little awe, or Adam’s small, subtle bemusement. He closes his eyes and starts swigging before the toast even begins. Water can wait.

#ask #seattle au #florida panthers #(for blacklisting)

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nomsfaultau · 1 year ago

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The Lambs Wolves Wear part 9

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of ficlet is here.

For all that “Wilbur” was blatantly hostile and suspicious at times, Philza somehow got the impression that “Technoblade” trusted him the least of the monsters. They were never at ease, rigid like a soldier standing guard. At least more often than not they were farming, which meant Philza worried the least about them hurting Tommy. Still, at meal time he watched them closely as the ghosts fed their chosen vessel.

Tommy held no reservations, sitting by the skeletal husk of his brother and swinging his legs, piling on extra of the potatoes “Technoblade” had harvested. Finally it was easy to get Tommy to eat his vegetables. Really the sole benefit from his stint as a cow, even if Philza had the new hassle of convincing him not to eat grass. And Philza was certain he was the real Tommy, as the “Tommy” sitting next to him was curling his barbed tail around Philza’s ankle. Tommy poked the bony ribs of “Technoblade”, pestering until they bent for him to whisper in their ear. “Technoblade” scarcely reacted as Tommy snickered, but the red lights dancing in their eye sockets darted for Philza, locked upon him like a target.

“Technoblade” was by far less impulsive than the other two, but that just meant what ever nightmare they inflicted was calculated. Philza could tell they were scheming for all that they rarely imbued Technoblade’s features with expression. But Philza offered the ghosts a cheery grin though he knew it would never be returned.

A cold shiver of a spectral claw tapped on his shoulder, and Philza canted his head. “Do you need something, mate?” “Technoblade” shook his head, and for some reason Tommy looked disappointed. “Well you did wonderful on these potatoes. You’re so hardworking, it’s very kind of you to help me out so much.” Sometimes praise would get Philza a slight smile, since unlike the real Technoblade the imposter didn’t become awkward about it. Yet for some reason “Technoblade” dropped their gaze, sweating slightly. Philza didn’t let his unease trickle into his smile. Usually they swallowed sycophancy well, what changed?

He hid his confusion with a sip of his tea, only for his tongue to freeze mid-drink. Philza’s eyes flew open, frantically yanking to escape the searing cold only for a frozen block of tea to pull out of his cup. Philza couldn’t help his bewildered laugh, intertwining with Tommy’s cackles. He pried the frozen drink off and winced as ice shattered everywhere.

The shards of tea flew back together, filling the cup that “Technoblade” caught with spectral hands. It floated back into Philza’s hands, who sat it down to avoid another prank. It was distinctly not in the vein of the stoic “Technoblade’s” humor, or the real Technoblade for that matter given he was far funnier than his counterpart. No, the simplistic practical joke reeked of Tommy, and he turned upon the boy with an eyebrow raised. “Tommy?”

“Wasn’t me! I don’t have ghost powers!”

“Sorry, sir,” “Technoblade” mumbled. “It wasn’t particularly noble, but I hadn’t-” Tommy elbowed the spirit vessel roughly and they went quiet, clearly uncomfortable.

“You said hurting feelings is just as wrong as hurting small squishy human bodies,” “Tommy” announced with a nod as he parroted Philza’s own words. He looked at Philza expectantly for praise, and received a vague head pat. “And you said not to hurt Tommy, and he would be very sad if he wasn’t allowed to be annoying so we HAVE to do everything he says!”

“Uhh…right,” “Technoblade” agreed dryly. “In our case, Tommy threatened to claim we hurt him and so we were forced to comply or risk being grounded. A fate worse than death.” And given they’d died countless times…hm.

“Tommy!” Philza scolded. “You shouldn’t manipulate your brothers like that.” Philza hadn’t planned for Tommy somehow becoming the ringleader. That…might make this next part more difficult.

He blanched. “I’m not Tommy, I’m “Tommy”! I’m innocent!”

“No you aren’t. Nice try, but you’re grounded, mate.”

“Tommy” cheered. “WHOOO! He’s grounded! That means you’re going to grind him into mush with a mortar and pestle and bury him all over the place, right? TAKE THAT, WORM-FOOD! I’m the preferred Tommy!” He stuck out a forked tongue at Tommy. “He loves me more than you, he loves meee more than youuuuu~”

Philza paused. “I’m sorry, what exactly do you boys think grounding is?”

“Tommy” scowled. “I know what it is! That’s how it worked in hell.”

“Wilbur” wouldn’t look at him. “...if it were the Fae Queen, I’d guess it’d mean being trapped in an underground labyrinth for weeks alone. Or treated like the dirt she walks on, but that was always.”

“That’s not what it means. If you’re grounded Philza despises you for eternity and you can never redeem yourself, cursed to forever roam the land without a chance to move on to the next life. It’s called grounding because he’s anchoring us to the mortal coil,” “Technoblade” posited confidently. “And also extra chores, probably.”

…that would explain why they all reacted so horrifically. And while it was rather effective at protecting Tommy, he thought in the long run the monsters holding any fear towards him would prevent the underestimation he was relying on. “I…suspect your past experiences are warping your understanding. In this household, grounding means you are housebound for a few days and help with extra chores while we talk about how to act better in the future. I’m not- I’m not going to torture you, good god. I won’t hurt any of you.” He can’t, no matter how much he should want to. He hadn’t seen any of his real children in months; shouldn’t he want them slaughtered? Shouldn’t he hate them? But Philza only hated himself for the weakness.

“Wait………grounding means we get to spend more time with you?” “Tommy” asked slowly. “And hurting Tommy means we’re grounded…?”

Philza had just enough time to think oh no before “Tommy” turned into a lion and threw himself at Tommy. Though Philza barely held him back, that just meant a different monster got there first. “Technoblade” nearly punched Tommy in the face, but that turned out to be one of “Wilbur’s” illusions, who was going the emotion route by trying to show Tommy images of his brothers dying in really gruesome ways. Kicking “Tommy” back, Philza lunged across the dinning room table, scooping his boy up as fire began to spread through his house, spectral dead weaving between illusions as the three began to bicker about who got to hurt Tommy first. The dinning room chairs began to float up and hurl themselves violently at “Tommy” and immediately bursting into cinders. “Wilbur” egged them on further in a desperate bid to have his competition annihilate each other given how outclassed he was.

Panic exploded in Philza’s chest as he realized how badly he’d messed up. He clutched Tommy to his chest, trying to protect him as best he could. Tommy, feeling awfully guilty about having threatened them not knowing their original interpretations of grounding, kept shouting apologies, having apparently not clocked that the brawl was about who got to murder him first.

“ENOUGH!” Philza screamed. “YOU’RE ALL GROUNDED!” A chorus of cheers broke out, the monsters ceasing the violence immediately. “All of you go to your rooms!” A round of protest, but he quashed it. Tommy stuck out his tongue as the monsters dragged their feet, and Philza sighed. “Tommy, you’re also grounded.” The boy protested. “No, you started this mess by manipulating them. You’re going to spend your time thinking about how to apologize.”

“But you already sent “Tommy” to our room!”

“You’ll be by my side.” Philza stared flatly at their uproarious objections. “Grounding is a punishment tailored to the offense. I want all of you to think about how ripping each other to shreds in a race to see who can attack their brother first is completely unacceptable. At dinner I will bring supper to you and we will privately discuss the matter.” Somehow, it worked despite how clearly they all hated it.

He waited till they were gone, then dragged Tommy out of the house, brushing objects with his iron ring to rule out illusions and tossing a handful of salt over his shoulder before he began to speak. “Listen to me,” Philza whispered as he cupped Tommy’s face. “What you did was immensely dangerous. You cannot be messing with them like that.” He knew much of it was his fault as well, but it was more important to stress the point to Tommy.

Tommy’s brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t have bullied them like that if I knew that’s what they thought grounding was. That stuff sounded scary. Who did that to them? Are my new brothers okay?”

“I-” Philza was blindsided at his concern for them. “I…don’t know. You have to be careful around them.”

“So I don’t hurt their feelings?”

“...exactly. When they’re frightened, or mad, they can cause accidents like the one you just saw.” And yet Tommy was enchanted by the show of lethal power, like they were fairy tale heroes. What spiked Philza’s terror only had the boy eager with excitement. He couldn’t see how Philza fought tooth and nail to eke out what little safety they had now.

And that naïveté would get him killed if Philza didn’t act quickly enough. For a brief second he’d hoped- no. Didn’t matter. They’d all tried to slaughter Tommy just to spend more time with him. They’d proved his children would never be safe if they were around. Philza’s resolve hardened, quashing the part of him trying to protest. He had no other choice.

Philza had to get rid of the monsters to protect his family.

Next>

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coweye · 1 year ago

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Commitment Issues - Part 10

Pairing: Benjamin Miller x Reader Words: 6k Summary: When you try and take your friends with benefits relationship to the next level, Benny’s response isn’t quite what you were expecting.

A/N: I'm a piece of shit when it comes to updating, I know this. You know this, but its finally fucking done. I hope it gives you all the feels it gave me writing it and thankyou for sticking with me. ily all.

I have rewritten the whole fic, slight changes to the story but nothing major, if you need a refresh cause its been a while might I suggest ✨this one✨ instead. It is now in 2-handy-dandy easy to find parts.

➢fic masterpost PREVIOUS PART

“Everything is looking good - your perineum has healed very nicely.” Dr Clarke announced from her sensitive position between your stirruped knees. The doctor pushed herself back on her rolling stool as she began to remove her gloves to dispose of them before she turned to you with a cheerful smile. “I’m happy to sign you off with a clean bill of health, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but to return her infectious grin after, of course, you lifted your legs from the stirrups to allow for a smidge more dignity.

“So… Sex? I’m all good?”

“Yes, Y/N, you’re all cleared for sex. It's been seven weeks since your labour and everything looks good, no pain. Obviously if that changes during and you get any red discharge, well, just make sure you keep an eye on it and get in touch if anything worries you. ”

That was two hours ago and you weren’t ashamed to admit you were already in the middle of an everything bath. Every surface of your body was buffed smooth and slowly being moisturised by the bath bomb fizzing away.

A glass of red wine sat on the ledge, as you lay back basking in the candle light despite it being midday.

Tonight was the night. For weeks on end you had fallen asleep aching and whilst clitorial stimulation was a powerful thing, nothing could replace that beautiful cock inside of you, stretching you to your limit making you cry for… Ahem.

It had been a somewhat gradual development over the past six weeks; your transformation into a teenage boy with uncontrollably raging hormones.

The deprivation had amounted in essence to a month and half of edging and you were one bad afternoon away from mounting Ben’s leg like a bitch in heat.

Benny was resolute in his decision and had apparently saint-like (read as masochistic) restraint and would not go any further until he had confirmation from your doctor that it was safe, nevermind that you were a highly trained combat medic who knew her own body.

Despite his refusal to go past third base, the two of you had become reacquainted in your dating period, he’d been at the back of your throat more nights than you could count and you were so desperate to feel him inside you again.

Sure, you’d come more times than you could count in the past two weeks - Benny ate pussy like the fucking champ he was. The man had made you come on his tongue three times in one night and yet when you fell asleep wrapped in his arms, your insides felt hollow.

It was like having a prime rib in front of you and only being able to eat the french fries. Sure, they were salty and delicious but they didn’t fill you up quite the same way.

So, when you heard the front door open downstairs you were elated.

The pounding of Benny's feet as he took the steps two at a time was music to your ears and your good mood continued as after a minute of searching for you he began to open the bathroom door.

There he found you in a bath full of bubbles, in what you hoped was a seductive pose with your elbows poised on the tub - your collar bones were popping in the very least.

“Well.. hello.” Benny gave you a sleazy smirk as he advanced. Leaning over the bath to greet you with a deep kiss. And boy, was it deep - you could taste his coffee order on his tongue as it swept leisurely against your own. When he had finally had his fill, he pulled back if only slightly, resting his forehead against yours and crouching next to the tub.

“You look like a goddamn angel.” He whispered, running a thumb down your spine gently caressing every sud covered joint. “All good at the docs? Everything where it should be?”

“She gave me a clean bill of health.” You tell him, slightly disappointed with the mood change but as always overwhelmed by the concern he held for you.

“You tell her about your ankles?”

“Please, Ben. Let's not talk about my swollen ankles, right now.” You wrapped your wet arms around his neck and pulled him forward with every intention of having him join you in the tub.

“Woah, tiger. Did you forget? It’s Santiago’s Bon Voyage party! He’s waiting downstairs with Mag’s.” He grinned as he pulled away, training sweats now covered in bubbles.

Unable to stop yourself, you pouted. “Ben, if we had a party every time that man leaves the US we’d never stop being drunk. Come join me, please?” Ben’s brows furrowed for a moment and you dared to believe you'd won before a second, much more annoying voice, chimed in from the hallway.

“Now that is hurtful mi corazón!”

Benny chuckled as you rolled your eyes. He used your momentary distraction to pull away, stood to his full height and turned the bathroom lights on.

“You ruined my bath.” You sighed as you pulled yourself up and turned on the shower to rinse yourself. “I had so many juicy scenarios of us, that funnily enough all ended with you soapy and glistening.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me about them?” Benny smirks as he begins shaving.

“You're really not gonna join me?” You pout yet again.

“Baby, if I go anywhere near you whilst your tits look like that, I won’t leave this house tonight.”

It's the eye contact that gets you, it makes your knees weak and that near constant ache flare up. With a huff you shut the water off, you were slow as you climbed out of the bath, in part because you didn’t want to slip and die, the other; a seductive dance.

Benny was doing his best to ignore you and stick to his task, though you could see his eyes follow you in the mirror, especially as your breasts bounced as you hopped your leg out of the tub.

Granted, not quite as graceful as you imagined, yet it didn’t seem to matter to him one iota.

Slowly, with the towel as a prop you took your time to dry off, you ran it along every inch of your entirely exposed flesh, watching as his enraptured eyes followed its path.

Completely unable to help yourself, you leaned forward, pressing your bare breasts up against his arm. Your hands wrapped around the long bottle of cocoa butter as you backed away innocently.

As you were yet to get a rise out of him, you decided to raise the stakes in an all out act of war. Under the guise of hanging your towel up on the rack beside the bath, you turned on your heel.

With your back now exposed to him, in one fluid movement you bent at the waist, exposing everything to the father of your child.

It was a cruel wanton decision.

At his inhale, you knew you’d met your mark, so, as if you weren’t currently splayed out showing him your pussy, you began rubbing your cocoa butter into your newly smooth legs despite the less than ideal position for lotioning.

Once your legs were thoroughly lotioned, you looked over your shoulder to see Benny’s eyes trained on your exposed pussy, almost salivating at your incorrigible offering.

A part of you was happy, he was finally feeling what you had been non-stop for three months.

With that thought in mind, your brain cooked up a delicious little plan.

Benny, as unrestrained as you currently were, driven to the edge over and over unable to tumble the precipice. He’d be an animal. The one he usually reserved for the fights. The ravaging wouldn’t quite be the love making he wanted but it would soothe the ache deep inside you.

Utterly resolved, you stood back up. You moved the bottle from palm to palm, suggestively stroking the phallic shape. He was completely entranced in your seduction, you were half convinced he’d completely forgotten Santiago's name as he watched your every movement with lust laden eyes.

As you reached across like before and your erect nipple brushed his bare arm, he turned to you. You placed the bottle back in its spot before you looked up at him.

“Ooh Baby, you cut yourself,” Slowly, all whilst maintaining eye contact your tongue brushed the pad of your thumb. Rising up on your tippy toes, your nipples barely brushing against his t-shirt clad chest, you wiped the line of blood from his chin. “Careful, love. I don’t want my seat to be hacked to pieces for later.”

Benny was, to put it lightly, stunned.

It was fair to say, Benjamin had always been the aggressor in your encounters.

It wasn’t so much that you were shy around the topic of sex, it was just that Benny was so outgoing. He told you what he wanted, not with words so much but with his body - that wasn’t to say that he didn’t have a dirty mouth to boot, but he was always the first to make a move and you liked it that way.

This new desperate need had bought out a side of you neither had seen before and if the jostled mess of a Miller you left in your wake was any indication, you both liked it.

Unfortunately instead of being pounded into your head board until you couldn’t walk straight as you should by all rights currently be doing, you were sat in Will’s lounge nursing your third glass of merlot openly eye fucking the father of your child.

In your defence, you had not hidden your desire to leave and for the most part everyone was pretty understanding, except for Benny.

Who refused to leave or acknowledge you.

You were frustrated - no - you had passed frustrated two weeks ago; you were furious.

It had been three hours, you’d made the small talk, your daughter had been paraded around her doting uncles and the party herd had thinned to your inner circle.

You loved Santiago so much, but even he understood; a girls gotta eat.

Consider it a by-product of three months of edging or maybe it was just plain childish revenge but his refusal to leave made you want for him to feel as desperate and as needy as you had been.

So, you constructed your three point plan.

Turn him on

Leave him wanting more

Reap the benefits

It wasn’t a difficult plan, sure.

In theory giving the father of your child blue balls was pretty straight forward, but it was complicated when he was very deliberately avoiding looking your way; It seemed you’d made quite the impression in the bathroom.

A burst of feminine pride overtook you at the thought of that and it gave you the courage for your first step.

Eavesdropping, you joined Val and Santi’s conversation by the wine table. You were in the direct eye line of Benny, where he was currently talking with Frankie, Will and would you believe it- Jen from Christmas!

(It seemed like they had a cute little ‘will they/won’t they’ thing going on and you were here for it. )

As you filled your glass with the dregs of the bottle you joined their conversation, it was about Santi’s plans in Australia. Now you didn’t believe the majority of them as he used the word retire about six times, but you were happy he was happy, and that was enough.

You’d almost forgotten your plan as you laughed with your friends, gossiping about Will and Jen.

“I really hope they make it this time.” Val sighed heavily to the two of you. “She makes him so happy. It’s nice to see him smile!”

“I’m sure they will, they keep finding their way back to one another.” You added.

“Plus, she’s great in bed.” Both women fixed Santi with a glare, he had the wrong crowd. “Will. Will told me she’s great in bed. Ladies, ladies - I would never do that to my boy.”

Rolling your eyes at your friend's joke, you surveyed the room.

Ben still wouldn’t look your way and you felt that was unlikely to change any time soon. You were racking your brain for ideas on how to wind him up and short of a bend and snap you were coming up empty.

At least, that was, until you saw the table.

You see, Marianna had a multipack of suckers, open on the coffee table in front of the couch she was currently watching her iPad on.

Abandoning your glass of wine after politely excusing yourself, you took one and sat beside the child who paid you very little heed as you plopped down.

Unwrapping a strawberry flavoured pop, you brought it to your lips.

Benny was deliberate in his avoidance of eye contact, however, your eyes must have burnt a hole in his head as finally his eyes swept to the right, almost as a scan of the perimeter. They caught your own and the image you must have painted… your lips were slick with saliva and strawberry syrup.

Your tongue wantonly ran along the pop whilst you maintained your very best bedroom eyes, it was difficult to do whilst also making sure Marianna never looked your way.

A good thing too because you wouldn't be able to cover the fee of therapy for the young girl.

Slowly you placed the lollipop back in your mouth, wetting it once again with your tongue. As you pulled it back out you made sure your lips dragged along the surface.

Benny stared at you as if you were prey, his hands tightened on his beer bottle as his chest moved in heavy deliberate breaths.

Your pièce de résistance to bring it home is when you stuck your tongue out and bobbed it across. It was positively vulgar the way your spit dragged behind the ball, but Benny was mesmerised, which just so happened to draw Will and Jen’s attention.

Very quickly your tongue was back in your mouth and your lollipop was resting on the inside of your cheek.

“Really, Y/N? You’re a mother and Mari’s right there!” Will huffed with your daughter in his arms, before he turned back to Ben. “Seriously Ben-”

Happy with your display you turned to Marianna, wrapping an arm around her. “What we watchin’?”

Will had gone back to fawning over Maggie and Benny’s eyes strayed your way once more. You shot a second wink at the man who had driven you to this insanity, deciding to be kind - well, kinda - You removed the pop from your mouth and with one clean swipe, licked all of the strawberry residue from your lips and promptly placed the lollipop between your molars and bit down, cleaving the treat in two. You couldn’t resist smiling innocently as you chobbled the hard candy, you couldn’t help the pride you felt as he discreetly attempted to rearrange his trousers.

After being caught by Will and catching up with Marianna on the goings on of JoJo Siwia you headed over to Val, Santi and Jen with every intention of saving the new arrival.

However your journey across the room was interrupted by Margaret and it wasn’t truly until you raced over to comfort your crying daughter that you came to the realisation that the man you loved was a monster.

You were at Frankie’s side after a mere moment, her wails pierced your soul.

“I think she's hungry.” Frank murmured whilst stroking her head and whispering in Spanish that was both too quick and quiet for you to make out, however Margaret’s cries had died down into whines. “Bottles in the bag?”

“I think Ben left it out in the hall. You good with her?” You smile gratefully when he didn’t dignify it with a response, only cradling her closer and whilst patting her nappy clad butt rhythmically.

You were in the coat cupboard under the stairs, searching through the coats and bags as you whispered distractedly to yourself. “Where’s your daddy put the diaper bag, Mags?”

The door creaked closed behind you, curious, you turned towards the noise and before your brain could even process the fact it was a trap, Benny had you pinned up against the wall with a hand over your mouth.

A coat hook dug into your L3 yet as he pushed his hardened cock against your thigh; you can’t find it in you to care.

“What you did in the bathroom was mean. What you did with the lollipop was even meaner. Now I’ve gotta’ be the meanest and you don’t know how much I wanna take you home and-” He grunted into your neck.

“Mggie-mmmhgry–” You interrupted beneath his hand. He released your mouth and you repeated. “Maggie’s hungry.”

Benny ignored you entirely and began devouring your low neckline. “I was in the kitchen making her a bottle, mama.”

“God-” Your eyes clenched shut as his mouth explored the expanse of your throat “You’re such a good daddy, baby.”

He goes rigid.

For a solitary moment, you’re not sure if it's a good rigid or a bad one.

Then he bit your lip.

“Oh. You like it when I call you Daddy?” You whispered, pulling away from his mouth for a moment, before you joined your lips again. You had begun grinding your thigh into his bulge, phase one of your plan.

In between hot kisses, you reached down and undid his trouser button. Your hand was sliding into his pants and wrapped around his member before he even knew what was happening. You had switched positions, now his back was up against the opposite wall and you were in control.

Benny’s head fell back as you teased him. You dropped your mouth to his neck, kissing and biting the chorded muscle there as he rested his head. Eyes squeezed shut as he wrestled for control.

His gasps were completely wrecked. Part of you felt vindicated; he now knew what you had suffered for the past few weeks. The desperate need for release.

Benny sounded insanely close already just from a dry handjob in his brother's coat closet. You almost felt bad when, alas, just like that, you pulled your palm away.

“Y/N?” His voice was dazed as his eyes opened and his breathing remained ragged.

“It was a real dick move making us stay so long.” You pouted angrily, though there was no real heat behind your words as your body stayed pressed against his. “You don’t even know how wet I’ve been for the past five hours,”

Taking his strong lithe hands in yours - one of your favourite parts of him, back before you discovered a few new favourites - and lifted your dress. He was like a rag doll, pliable. You’d never seen Benny Miller so… submissive.

He groaned as you lifted your dress to reveal your bare core. His two fingers looked giant as your much smaller ones guided him down, of course he helped, eager for anything you’d give.

It had been a while and despite the labour you were incredibly tight, but your arousal more than lubricated the way. You were positively aching as his fingers dipped straight inside your channel. The groan was that of a tortured man as he felt the sheer amount of slick. He had bent down, his head resting on your shoulder for better purchase.

Benny seemed to remember himself as he delved deeper, now scissoring his two fingers inside you.

You’re big enough to admit that as you gave a gasp of pleasure, you were tempted to abandon the plan entirely, in favour of riding his cock in the cupboard under the stairs. You grabbed his long hair, your fingers weaving through to his roots. Not pulling, per say but enough that you had regained control. It helped that he had bent slightly to push his fingers deeper inside of you, in what you assumed from the pleasure coursing through your veins was an attempt to reach your cervix, meaning you were now the same height.

Your voice was breathy as he had yet to pause his ministrations. Yet you placed a wet kiss on his lips, nipping at his bottom lip as you parted.

“You’d slip right in, and you’d be so, so deep and delicious and it’d feel so good … but now you’ve gotta wait.”

Your hand grabbed at his forearm, stopping his movements. Ever the gentleman, despite his desperate want, pulled back.

You had yet to release your hold on his forearm as you bought his slick fingers up to your mouth and cleaned them off for him.

Denying yourself the quickie was worth it for the wounded groan of defeat as he pinched his eyes closed with his head thrown back. It almost broke your resolve as he stuffed his still hard cock back in his pants with some difficulty, looking all sad.

Yet you stayed strong and rejoined the party, looking a little frazzled yourself.

One and a half excruciating hours later, when you finally make it through your front door, you are burning for him.

Which coincidentally means that your daughter decides that this is the perfect opportunity for a complete and utter meltdown.

It was like the girl knew and had to throw down one last roadblock to fuck with you. Honestly, you were contemplating abandoning her at a fire station when Benny began rocking the wailing baby against his chest, soothing her cries and crooning softly to her.

“You go up - I’ll get her a bottle.” Benny whispers to you, squeezing your palm. Weekends were important to Ben; giving you time to yourself, after spending all week with the newborn - he utterly cherished the time spent with his girl.

You placed a kiss on his cheek and stroked her head as you passed.

Rushing to the bedroom, you grab a nightie from your drawer, it was the cute one you hadn’t worn in nearly a year. The one with matching, barely there, shorts beneath it. It left just enough to the imagination, not that you imagined you’d be wearing it for long if Benny had his way.

You brush your teeth, your hair and throw on some deodorant for good measure.

Fully prepped you return to your bedroom, no Benny in sight.

Now, it's worth mentioning, you had been turned on for hours at this point. Your core was practically pulsating from watching the father of your child well… father Maggie. But, put it down to the four glasses of merlot or the long nights with a newborn, but as you seductively pose against the pillows waiting for Benny to join you, you find your eyelids become heavier and heavier until you find yourself drifting off into a light sleep.

There’s no telling how long you’ve been asleep, as you have fallen deep into the pillows, no longer sexily poised ready for his arrival. Benny has dipped the warm lights low and Maggie’s white noise machine is soothingly playing Mozart from the bassinet in the corner of the room; it's a perfect night.

“It was selfish of me to wake you up.” Benny’s face is equal parts reverent and guilty as he stares at you, mirroring your position in the pillows. One hand runs up your exposed arm with a delicate soothing touch, one that does little if nothing to soothe you. “You need your sleep, being a total milf must take it out of you.”

“You’d know.” Your voice is thick with sleep and your retort barely makes any sense, but he breathes through his nose, shaking his head at your delirium.

“Go back to sleep baby.” He pulls the covers up over your legs.

For a moment you are stunned; you had literally been edging him all night, and yet he still prioritised your rest.

It was hard to associate him as the man who had broken your heart all those months ago for merely asking for a relationship. Yet it was him who was scared to take that step towards caring for another person. Benny had grown so much, as a father, as a partner; as a man.

He had proven himself time and time again, worthy of the unspoken feelings between you, the three words which the two of you held captive, weighed heavy on your tongue. Despite all of your confessions both of you are too afraid to say them, both as complicated mess of commitment issues as the other.

It wasn’t a game, withholding them, per say. It was fear; plain and simple, to say them, as if those words would somehow make this real. This thing between the two of you, the thing you had been chasing all those months ago, when you had confronted him outside your building.

Benny opens his arms; an invitation you’d be a fool to refuse. His chest is bare and he’s clad only in his underwear. A discovery you’re happy to make as you burrow into his warm toned chest, though you have no intention of sleep anymore.

For a moment, you breathe him in. You take stock of all the hurdles, the hurt and heartbreak, the relief and joy the two of you had gone through to get here. Whilst you may wish you’d taken a less scenic route, you can’t begrudge the pain, because it got you where you are now.

“I love you.” Your voice is thick with both sleep and emotion when you say the words you’ve never spoken romantically to another person.

He goes stiff and you're proud to say, you’re not afraid.

Benny has proven himself.

He has earnt that time, the moment or two he takes to pause, his arms rigid around you in shock at your earnest words.

You trust him with your heart, because he has shown you beyond doubt he would guard it more ferociously than his own.

For your faith he rewards you, grabbing your chin and crushing his lips to your own in a soul rendering kiss. One that holds the words he can’t seem quite able to get out, yet you know he feels as strongly as you.

Benny pulls away and stares at you for a long moment, his blue eyes taking you in as if he’s seeing you for the first time. He manoeuvres you into the downy pillows, so smoothly you’re not entirely sure it wasn’t your idea to move.

Those baby blues glide across your body, taking inventory in a way he’d either never had the time or inclination before. He is revenant in his reintroduction of your anatomy.

Benny’s large hand finds your thighs and pushes them apart so he can take his seat between them. Languidly he crawls above you bearing his weight on his elbows.

He joins your lips once again, though this time he instantly deepens it, his tongue meeting yours as he licks into your mouth.

Those hands you love so much, drag down the expanse of your tummy, sliding into the waistband of your night shorts.

There's a slow drag of his tongue on your bottom lip, as his fingers drag across your soaking wet slit before his two fingers plunge knuckle deep, stretching you with very little resistance.

You let out a deep moan though his hot mouth swallows your cry. You swear you feel his lips curl in a smile against yours.

Evidently Benny remembers your body like the back of his hand, as his fingers curl against your walls in just the right way that has your toes curling. His thumb dips into your heat and gathers your slick, before it finds purchase on your bud.

With military precision he swirls his thumb on your clit and after a few rotations you’re basically a goner. You grab at his hair, as you come hard from just his fingers. His mouth on yours continues to swallow your cries as you ride out your high. When it finally all becomes too much he pulls his sodden fingers from you only to lick them clean. Unable to help yourself, you let out a moan at the wanton show of debauchery. He pulls back for a moment to pull your nightie over your head, leaving you only in your soaked shorts.

He kisses down your chest, nipping and licking along your breasts - his tongue lavishing your nipples in worship. Benny pushes your wet shorts down your hips, ready to dive in head first and devour your core, however, you’ve had six weeks of agonising foreplay, you are eager for this gorgeous man to be inside of you and ease this painful ache.

“Benny… Please, I want you inside of me.” For years to come this will be a point of contention, whether or not you begged for his cock that first time.

But right now, he simply nods pushing himself back up your body, his boxers are kicked down his legs as he makes the journey, desire overflows in your belly, as you look down and see how swollen he is.

Unable to resist you wrap your hand around him, he grunts in surprise as you stroke him.

“Careful.” His voice is strained and you realise your calm and collected Benjamin Miller is as desperate and needy as you.

He crawls up your body and you find yourself in the missionary position, you don't have time to smile at how domestically quaint it is. Before the tip of his cock is rubbing along your clit; once, twice before he lines up and breaches the walls of your cunt.

It's a tight fight and its slow going.

You’re newly healed and he’s considerate, though his commentary makes you think the slow pace may also be for his benefit.

“Fucki- shit– you’re fucking tight angel. Tighter than before - fuck, I’m not gonna last.” Inch by delicious inch, you swallow him up.

“Fuck Benny, I forgot how good you-” His hand covers your mouth as hes finally sheathed fully inside of you - he’s fighting for his life not to come early.

You’re utterly full of him, as your legs wrap around his lithe hips, you’re desperate for him to move.

Finally, he asks; control seemingly regained after a moment or two of splitting you open. “You okay… no pain?”

“I’ll be a whole lot better if you fuck me.” You retort cheekily, to which he grins and kisses you hard as his hips pull back nearly all the way before he spears you with his cock.

Benny’s thick member drags against your walls, making your eyes roll back at the sheer size of him; your fingers and toys hadn’t done him justice.

Benny’s hand dips to your cunt, seeking out your bundle of nerves. Which he finds with a combination of his expert touch and his intricate knowledge of your body.

Driving hard into you, you feel the pressure building again, before a tidal wave of pleasure overtakes you.

“Fuck, Benny…” You have enough about you to remember to whisper as you plea. “Oh fuck- I’m gonna come.”

“Let go, Angel.” He continues his steady rhythm continuing to grind his cock deep inside of you. It hits you like a truck as your whole body clenches around him - a guttural moan leaves your body and your legs lock around his body whilst your heels find purchase in the dimples above his ass.

Benny’s pace slows but doesn’t stop as he leisurely rolls his hips to draw out your climax. He kisses you deeply, his tongue is slow and deliberate as he explores the plains of your mouth. This intimacy had never been afforded to you, this slow love making, it was new terrain and you fucking loved it.

With his cock still buried deep inside of you, Benny pulls away licking along your neck. One hand rises from where it had been leisurely playing with your nipple to push your displaced hair behind your ear.

“You’re fucking gorgeous when you come, your pussy gets so fuckin’ tight.” He tells you, your eyes locking with his baby blues. “...and you’re gonna’ give me another one.”

“Benny … I-” You pant as you’re already straddling the line between pleasure and overstimulation.

He shushes you, as he begins picking up his pace. His filthy words help build you back up to your peak when he suddenly draws back, pushing your knees up against your chest and a pillow under your hips. This new position drives him deeper and harder with his own knees powering his thrusts.

“Fucking sweet mother of-” His hand covers your mouth and your moans are drowned out by Ben’s heavy breathing of exertion and slapping of skin on skin.

“Baby.” He whispers breathily, reminding you of your snoozing dependant in the corner as he continues to pound relentlessly into your core.

Ben's hands grab at your hips holding you in place as you do everything in your power to angle yourself up and get him as deep as you can. You swear your eyeballs have rolled back into your head permanently as your hands find the headboard, pushing yourself back up and into him, somehow he manages to burrow even deeper.

“Fuck -” He grunts, his skin is now bathed in a dew of sweat as his long blonde locks fall forward onto his forehead. His eyes are clenched as he chases his pleasure, still fighting it off so that you get there first.

“Fuck baby … fuck, I need you to come.” Benny groaned. “Give me something nice and tight to come into.”

He needn’t have asked twice.

The combination of his filthy words, the world devastating thrusts making his balls slap rhythmically against your ass and his practised thumb drawing shapes on your clit had your world shattering once more.

Benny buried his face in your neck as he came, filling you up whilst you clenched around him with one hand wrapped in his hair and your toes curling against his chest.

Lingering for a moment, he shifted, keeping himself still inside of you, letting your joints relax either side of you.

The two of you basked in the closeness of one another, time seemed to slow as you lay there stroking Ben Miller's blonde locks as he flourished your chest in kisses with his cock slowly softening inside of you.

Two Months Later

“Ben … come on we’re going to be late! He’s proposing and if we’re not there he’ll kick your ass.”

“Why my ass?” Your boyfriend questions as he walks down the hall whilst simultaneously knotting his tie.

“I’m the mother of his favourite niece, he can’t hurt me.”

“No need to burn Mariana like that, Baby.” He smirks, placing a light kiss on your lips.

“You should’ve heard what that little shit said about my shoes yesterday…” Your feuds with the youngest Morales were both passionate and seemingly never ending.

Grabbing him by the mess of his tie, you undo his shoddy work.

“Who’s holding us up now?!” He huffs, though there's ample teasing behind his tone.

“Oh shush.” You reply whilst you adjust it. Benny's long arms snake around your waist to rest on your lower back before he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

It starts off sweet, honestly! It's nothing more than a peck really, before his tongue presses against your lips and his hands have the meat of your ass squeezed in his palms now somehow underneath your sundress.

Pushing against his shoulders, you remove yourself from temptation.

“Did I tell you you look like a fuckin’ angel today?” He murmurs against your throat as he places kisses along the neckline of your dress. “ … C’mon, back of the truck… we can make it to Will’s next engagement.”

“That’s mean.” You huff, knocking his cap off his head before grabbing the car key and the baby.

He snickers as he grabs his belongings from the dish on the side table preparing to leave the house, it's as you’re just about to cross the threshold with your daughter in your arms that he speaks again.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You pause for a moment utterly stunned at the words you'd been dying to hear for the past 10 years. For all of two seconds you contemplate taking him back upstairs.

“I know.” You simply reply, schooling your face to show none of the emotions currently coursing through your veins.

The booming laugh that follows you out of the house makes absolutely everything worth it.

THE END.

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#benny miller x reader #benny miller #benjamin miller #triple froniter #triple frontier fic

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meet-the-net · 4 months ago

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𝐃𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.

To accommodate for the higher temperatures in New Mexico, compared to the nordic ones, some adjustments have been made to Ned's uniform. Though not necessarily to his benefit, but that of TFI.

- His hat remains. As a constant, agonizing reminder of where he came from, as well as at least some protection from the sun. - His thick yellow sweater has been replaced by a light cotton button up shirt. He still rolls the sleeves up, because the rigidness of the shirt prevents him from bending his elbows all too much. - His cardigan, too, has been replaced by a lighter, short sleeved button up. - For added mobility when crouching, as well as leg ventilation, Ned rolled up his pant legs and called it a day. TFI couldn't be bothered to get him a cropped pair either. It'd be a waste of resources to provide custom tailored clothing to their workers. For free at least. - His rubber boots have been replaced with Converse Lake Stream wading boots. Just in case he should ever get near a body of water again. - Additionally, he's been given a pair of chamois leather fishing gloves. It helps his now even sweatier hands to get a hold of his mostly metallic weaponry. Due to some motoric malfunctions when he wears full gloves, he's cut off the fingertips. This also helps with ventilation. Don't tell TFI...

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specsywecksy · 8 months ago

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My personal Analysis and Rating of Cassie Sandsmark's hero outfits

Cassandra Sandsmark's first "official" hero outfit first appears in Wonder Woman Volume 2 #111

This look was created by someone called Anna Maria and it's just basically the shirt, shorts and vest Cassie was wearing when Diana is first in trouble and Cassie decides she's just going to go and help her as wonder girl. Along with what are just her regular clothes is some more practical choices such as goggles to protect her eyes she also wears them when skateboarding. The goggles also have another use which is to keep the wig she also wears in place. The wig actually is a call back to a wig Diana wore when someone else was being Wonder Woman. Cassie also wears the sandals of Hermes which grant her flight. The last piece to this makeshift ensemble Is the gauntlet of atlas which enhances her strength by ten and also helps to heal the wearer. I personally think this is on the way to a decent design for Cassie at the time. She has no powers at the time and while it isn't necessarily visually pleasing it works.

I would rate this just under her next choice of costume which first appears in Wonder Woman Volume 2 #113

This outfit has all the same gear as the last one ( Hermes's sandals, Diana's old wig, Cassies goggles and the gauntlet of Atlas) However she also has some new gear such as some elbow pads and kneepads I think we can safely assume she also wears these when skateboarding. Next are the Grey gloves, In WW V2 113 she starts off with two grey gloves but one gets disintegrated / badly hurt along with her hand. Her hand is later healed by the gauntlet of Atlas (it's been a while so I'm not totally clear on the details). In later iterations of the same outfit she replaces the gloves In young justice they appear as blue while in the Wonder Woman comics they usually appear as red.

In The main part of her outfit We see a shirt much like the one in her other costume but this one has a gold or red G ( the color really changes from comic to comic in what could be a printing error) I personally prefer The red G as it looks almost drawn on. I think the G looking draw on signifies just how early Cassie is in the hero game because she most definitely made the shirt herself. Cassie also wears some red shorts but these are tighter to the body almost resembling some short leggings or biker shorts. I think the shorts being closer to the body is just so much smarter because they are just far less likely to rip or get caught on something. I do wish they were made of a more thick material like jeans though because it creates almost more of a barrier.

The last change in this particular outfit is her vest , This vest is less worn and ripped than the first one proving it's an entirely different vest all together. I wish the vest had more pockets so Cassie could carry more things with her even if she doesn't bring them into battle all the time. In the Wonder Woman comics I think she holds a music player in them but I think it would be so smart if she also held bandages or first aid of some sort in there as well.

Later on she replaces the vest with an almost leather looking jacket in which case I still hold firm on wishing for her to have more pockets. I think at the point she replaces her vest she also removes her elbow pads but I can't say for sure.

Overall I think this is the best design Cassie could have made at the time and really speaks to how tactful she was at the time. I firmly believe that the safety precautions were more for her mother's benefit than her own though I don't think that it was a conscious choice. From how much of her gear comes from skateboarding really speaks to how careful Helena Sandsmark is because I don't believe Cassie went out and chose to pick up gear to protect herself when skateboarding. The elbow pads and Kneepads are one thing but the goggles just scream overprotective.

Its totally possible that Cassie consciously chose to add things to her costume so she was less likely to get hurt but I personally think she was just in the habit of taking extra precautions to protect herself solely for her moms benefit. Helena was so so reluctant to have Cassie be wonder girl and be a hero maybe unconsciously Cassie thought this might make her mom feel better about her being a hero.

Next is from the Sins of Youth event, Particularly Young Justice sins of youth # 1

Now this isn't Necessarily a different Outfit but since she doesn't have the Wig or goggles I Chose to include it. I don't love this Design on older Cassie. I could handle the kind of scrappily put together look on Cassie when she was younger but when she's older she's completely outgrown the costume and at a certain point the same design becomes childish and lazy. Since she didn't choose this as an older version of herself I will let it slide though

This next one comes from Sins of youth: Wondergirls

Now Cassie just switched outfits with Diana and I have to say, it's not that bad. While I wouldn't personally put an older Cassie in a complete replica of the Wonder Woman costume I love the idea of it being a main inspiration. Also I totally love a buff Cassie. If I was to redesign her and I couldn't change the main suit, or the boots I would totally give her earrings, a weapon of some sort, I would also elongate the cuff things and personally I would give her somewhat longer hair that was tied up in a ponytail or braid of some sort. If I was to totally redesign this hero suit though I would add some layers or at least some more muted colors.

Overall I don't actually hate this design and while it could definitely be better it could most definitely be worse.

The next hero suit is also from Sins of youth: Wondergirls

Now hear me out I actually adore the idea of Cassie in some sort of a body suit. I wouldn't necessarily put her in Donna's old suit as again it just screams lazy but I love the vibe I get from it. Now I don't know why but something about this suit just feels a bit off, I'm not at all sure what it is but something is most definitely missing. If I was to redo this I think ideally I would give her a weapon, do a deeper and darker red like a mix between wine red and the red in the current suit, like a deep scarlet or something. I would also lose the gold W belt because of its weird cut and replace it with more of a bronze or a rose gold belt, Actually replace the gold necklace with a bronze as well. As for the boots I don't know what to do with the boots because I hate the boots over pants look.

There is just something missing no matter what I try to think of to redesign it while still keeping the general outline of the suit and I just don't know what it is.

Overall I don't hate this suit it just needs minor tweaks as well as adding that thing that's just missing.

Next is a One-Issue hero outfit that Cassie helps her dream up in Wonder Woman Volume 2 #153

I think its important to clear up a misconception I've heard before, Im not sure where I first heard it but Its a misconception where Cassie says she hates wearing skirts. First of all No hate on anyone who said this I think it genuinely is just a misunderstanding, Cassie in this issue doesn't say she hates wearing skirts what she says is something about her mom would hate this outfit's miniskirt. Cassie has worn a skirt at least once before in cannon, Way before Teen Titans volume three. From my recollection it was in one of the Wonder Woman comics in a storyline where her mom follows a fake merlin somewhere because she's in love with Jason Blood and wants to exchange her soul for his or something. I think Cassie wore some tights or pants or something under the skirt but I'm not totally sure.

Now that I have cleared that up I hate certain aspects of this outfit and like others. Starting with the hair at this point in time I love the way she styled her hair with the ponytails and the goggles but I absolutely hate the color on her and the weird little Anakin Skywalker braid absolutely needs to go. Next the top half of the costume ( jacket, necklace and shirt). I think the shininess of the shirt is a bit odd but I love the black with the gold Wonder Woman symbol. A crucial part of at least Cassies starting designs is how at least one piece of it is Wonder Woman merch.

I think a lot of people forget that Cassie is a Wonder Woman fan who gets to meet her idol who she admires and later on becomes her pupil and sister. I think we as a fandom don't acknowledge that quite enough but I digress.

Back to the outfit, I love the jacket but I don't know how much I like it in a hero outfit. I love the armored shoulders but the cut of it looks like it's just about to fall off of her and I don't think at this point in time Cassie would prioritize fashion over function. I think if the sleeves gathered or suctioned in some way to her arm like maybe an elastic cuff it would be great.

As for the necklace I love it but I don't know how smart it would be for battle someone could grab on to it and if it didn't break it could end up choking or harming her in some way. As far as the gloves go I wish they were a similar cut to her previous gloves because again they just seem like they are about to fall off.

For the bottom half of the outfit I love how functional sneakers are except for the laces which could come untied easily, but I digress. I hate the unfunctionality of the skirt I adore the big chunky belt as well as the pattern and color of the skirt but I wish the skirt was shorts instead. It looks like a really tight skirt that would restrict movement and for a hero that fights with their body only I just hate it. I know that Cassie at this point mainly punches her way through problems but the ability and choice to be able to kick is always a good one. I don't hate the socks but I wish they were slightly shorter just as I wish that the skirt was shorts and the shorts were like literally half an inch to an inch longer.

Overall this outfit is great as an outfit but not as a hero costume as far as functionality goes but it really does have some strong starting ideas.

The next hero costume has two versions which I will talk about separately the first version of this costume first appears in Wonder Woman Volume 2 #153

Now I love the hair and goggles but I do wish the hair was a bit more tied up instead of free but I have no other note on the hair as for the jacket I love the look of it and it adds so much to the outfit but again it looks like its about to fall off. I adore a cropped shirt moment for Cassie as it shows she's becoming more and more confident in her own abilities and really growing into her own, though I could be reading into it too much.

This is the first costume we see her cuff things being added to the equation instead of the cuff of atlas or just bare wrists. I really do think the cuff arm band things are such an important part of an amazon warriors design and it's really so important to me and a huge step forward in Cassie's hero identity and skills. I love, love, love her belt as well as her jeans with the little stars. The nondescriptness of the belt draws attention to the stars on her pants much more than it would if the belt were patterned instead though I do wish the pant were baggy and the proper length instead of being cuffed and too long. I think the pants being to long could be asking for trouble when fighting, if the pants become uncuffed then she could trip or get seriously injured by an enemy. I know Cassie usually flies and punches but it's just not smart to rely on that solely, a good design should work whether she is flying or not. Finally for the shoes I can't really tell if these shoes are laced ones or not but if they aren't then they could be velcro which I just like more as they are less of a tripping risk.

The next version of the design comes from Young justice but I forgot to write down which issue number

The main differences in this one are the belt and necklace. In the Young Justice version she wears the wondergirl necklace she wore in Wonder Woman V2 #153 and I think thats just a fun little tie in but I think as far as function goes I still have complaints with it. As far as to what I prefer in the version I definitely like the jacket a bit more but I do wish it stopped or cuffed right before what seems to be her amazon bracelet things. I adore how neat her hair looks because there's like no risk to it falling into her face with is very smart for usability. However I definitely prefer the colors in the Wonder Woman Design Overall I prefer the wonder woman version but its definitely not a bad design

This next outfit has two versions again but I'll try to keep it more brief The first design is from Young Justice #35

Hair: I wish it was tied up It seems like it would just blow in her face when she flies

Necklace: I don't know why its gold now and honestly I can't tell if I'm a fan of the change or not

Shirt: love the craftiness being brought back in with the gold W and red G, It seems like it accounts for a lot of movement too which I love for her. It again shows she's becoming more confident and I honesty think that's great. It also doesn't regress her design by making her look younger and I think that's honestly due to the cut of the shirt, if it was a t-shirt I think I would hate how casual it looks.

Arm band things: Always a win to have these out and ready to use in the design I especially love that they aren't at risk of being covered and are instead proudly displayed

Pants and belt: love how nondescript the belt is and I actually like the red for the pants it almost shouts back to donna's all red suit and I think that's just fun

shoes: the shoes are literally untied here like kill me now. girl please tie your shoes or a least tuck in the laces

Additional notes: I miss the goggles and while I like the overall design I think just doing small things could elevate it to the next level

The other version of the design: Wonder Woman V2 # 166

Hair: Its tied up! I love that. Also the goggles ugh it's just such a win. I couldn't design the hair better myself

Necklace: same notes as the other design except for this version I definitely prefer gold. I am still worried about the unnecessary harm the necklace could cause though

Shirt: I think I might like the plain gold W better than the W and G. I love the maneuverability she has and how the cut of the shirt actually reflects her age, It doesn't age her and it doesn't make her look childish either and that's honestly so refreshing.

Arm Bands: The arm bands are out, accessible and I'm loving it.

Pants: while I will mourn the loss of the belt it's probably smarter to lose it, if you've ever been sitting down and just felt the belt you were wearing start to dig into your stomach you know what I mean.

Shoes: I don't think she's losing the laces anytime soon but at least they're tied

additional notes: I prefer this design over the young justice design again and honestly I couldn't have designed her outfit better. Side note, In the dialogue where she and robin first show up robin remarks how he misses her "old black wig wearing quiet self" to which she replies "hey I gotta be me" and I really love them remarking on her growth in such a playful manner its honestly great.

This next design has two designs again and I'll once again keep it short. The first design is from Young Justice 49

Hair: The goggles make a comeback and while I would normally complain that her hair isn't tied back the long bits are out of her face and I guess its okay ( a small part of me still complains and wants back the goggles with the ponytail but I guess its okay)

Arm Bands: Arm bands are out, accessible and shining. I couldn't ask for more as far as they're concerned

Shirt: I love the singular logo but the big zipper track and zipper loop are a bit odd, I don't really get why exactly they are there or at least why the big loop thing is there, I can live with the zipper track

Pants: I have no new notes on the pants

Shoes: Finally the shoes don't have laces! They don't seem to have to much of a heel either but if she wanted to be taller I kind of wish she wore some slight platforms or something instead

Additional notes: I know this is a well loved design and I actually have very little complaints.

Second version of design: Wonder Woman V2 186

Hair: Get this girl a headband or give her goggles back or something, is styled lovely but it is all in her face

Shirt: I prefer this shirt over the other one, it still has the word zipper but this time its less obvious and that's honestly so much better

Cuffs and pants: no new notes

Shoes: I think these are boots also but they have less of a heel which I definitely enjoy better

Additional notes: This outfit is basically the same cut wise I mean the pants are lower but the shirt is at basically the same length just on a more realistic body type. I prefer the hair aspect of young justices version but outfit wise I'm all for this version. Overall it's really classy. it looks like an actual hero outfit while keeping Cassie's regular clothes/ merch apparel items aspect.

The next one is from Titans/ Young justice graduation

Now this one seems to be a combination of The young justice and Wonder woman outfit from last time but Cassies hair is kind of braided out of her face and she now has earrings, in my opinion this is the better design of the two previous versions

Next we venture into Teen Titans territory, this next design is from Teen Titans Volume 3 #2

In my opinion this is just such a huge downgrade, It is worth mentioning that in the Wonder Woman version of this outfit the pants are red jeans and she has red star earrings in. Im just so not a fan of this design and honestly it's probably one of the worst designs for Cassie . I don't know how much more I could stress that this is such a downgrade and I hate it.

This is the first glimpse we see of evil older Cassie this next design comes to us via Teen titans Volume 3 #17

I hate this design this once again is basically bottom of the barrel. The gold boots, The huge belt and top gold breast piece, the weird tiara and that ugly blue skirt as far as future adult Cassie's go this is the worst.

The next design first appears in Teen Titans V3 #34

Now the gold breast plate thing is weird, especially in the areas it covers. but if it was just a bird the rest of this design wouldn't be that bad. the jewelery is nice as is the arm bands. I can't really think of anything else nice to say other than that I'm happy the jeans are back, I love that she has a weapon now. but design wise its still bad but its at least a step in the right direction.

Next is the final evil Cassie design ( Teen Titans Volume 3 #51)

I actually love this version, its now occurring to me that the headpiece might be meant to allude to old greek helmets but its not very well executed so its hard to tell, I honestly think the blue was thrown me off in the last evil Cassie design. This isn't how I would design a future Cassie but it could be worse. Its still on the low scale for me but its not that bad

Next is Teen Titans Volume 3 #65

I wish her hair was pulled back but this is honestly one of the better designs of the teen titans vol 3 for Cassie, I love that she has her lasso I wish she had stars somewhere on her outfit but its alright I also really like the belt I think its a fun little thing. Personally something is missing from the shirt for me but I can move past it.

Her Final Teen Titans design first shows in Teen Titans Volume 3 #88

Now I hate the boots over pants moment that we're having again, I wish her pants were baggier and I desperately want more star details. It looks like her hair is in some sort of half up, half down style which keeps the hair out of her face mostly. I think the design could be worse but I'm still not wowed by it

Next comes honestly one of my favorite designs (Wonder Woman Volume 3 #28)

Now I would only change one thing about this and It is I would cover her midsection, like have her be fully covered the way Donna and Diana are . Now listen Cassie may be knocked unconscious for some of these but just look at the design. Her armor design is so different from everyone's but it also mirrors Diana's in a way that is simply breathtaking. I could rant on and on about this armor design but I would mostly just be repeating how much I love it.

Next is sadly the N52 version of things and while I personally wouldn't choose a lot of the decisions that were made some of the designs aren't that bad

Teen Titans Volume 4 #1

I love the hood and lasso in this costume as well as the little stars hidden in the fabric where the shadows fall. If this were for a different character I would honestly be all over it and as it stands it's honestly not that bad. I mean the hood is just gorgeous even though I'm not quite sure how the construction of it works, and I love the way the lasso drapes on her even though I'm not sure how she gets it off to use.

Next is the semi-armored version of the first N52 suit from TT V4 #5

I love the armored look on Cassie she honestly suits armor so well and I kind of wish this was her permanent N52 look, or at least in Teen Titans V4

Next is something that was called like her armor within or something I wasn't really paying attention (TT v4 #8)

This armor is funky and oversized, even though her hair is tied up which I love it just doesn't look good. It has the potential to look good but it genuinely looks so bad.

Also from the same issue of teen titans comes this look:

This doesn't even look anything at all like her previous suits in any capacity and I think it's supposed to look cool because it's supposed to be all glowy or whatever. I think that the teen titan writers should have just stoped designing some of the characters at some point.

Teen Titans Volume 4 #12

Again if this was any other character I would be all over this design because the silhouette and overall design of it is just gorgeous but for my girl Cassie Sandsmark I kind of hate it. It just seems really out of character despite how gorgeous the design is.

Next is her second main Teen Titans V4 design

Something is just missing from this design and I think its that there's nothing interesting going on for the bottom half of the suit, The top is alright its not great and I'm still not a huge fan but it could definitely be worse.

Next is the dreaded Young Justice Volume 2 and onward design

I hate basically everything about this design except for the hair which I honestly think could be better. The midi skirt over the leggings just makes her look so young and I hate the reintroduction of that blue into her design I really can't stand this design and every time I look at it I want to cry.

This next one isn't a hero suit but I think we all deserve a good thing after having to look at the YJ Vol 2 monstrosity

Trial of the Amazons: Wonder girl

I just love this outfit on her I mean just look at the silhouette. I honestly think everyone should read trial of the amazons just to see Cassie get to play detective again it's honestly one of my favorite DC storylines in a while even though it gets a lot of hate.

#cassie sandsmark #teen titans 2003 #yj98 #young just us #tt03 #wonder girl #young justice 2019 #dc comics #cassandra sandsmark #Wonder Woman vol.2 #Wonder Woman vol.3 #help what do i tag this #I stayed up way too late doing this

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