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[creative-crybaby]

Trifle

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

GENRE: crack? crack. | smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: fingering, oral (m receiving), praise kink, dacryphilia (?), cum eating, squirting

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

SUMMARY: Two things can be true at the same time. Does Gojo make you want to hit him upside the head with a frying pan, should his Infinity allow it? Yes. Does he also know how to make your ovaries explode with his fingers alone? Also yes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Heeeeyyyy~ yes it's been several months without a fic and this comes out under 2k words buuuuuutttt~ u get bitchass!Gojo (we love him)

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

You’re going to kill him. 

He’s a walking, talking headache. Questioning your teaching methods for your students, eating your sweets even though you’ve labelled them (it’s right there!), swooping into your missions like he’s saving the day. Those are just a few of the many examples, but he does it all on purpose, you’re sure of it. 

So to be sitting between his long legs with his slender fingers knuckle-deep into your sopping cunt feels like a blow to your integrity and pride. 

Especially since he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“So,” Gojo drawls, pausing his ministrations between your trembling thighs, “how many orgasms was that?”

Your face is boiling. From rage or embarrassment, you can’t decide. “Fuck you.”

The sorcerer hums at your crude remark before slipping his digits out of your pussy, holding his hand a foot away from your face to catch your essence blanketing his skin. 

“Patience, patience.” His easy-going tone makes you want to jab your elbow into his stomach. “Jeez, someone’s eager. You finally warming up to me, Princess?”

And that damn nickname. Either Gojo genuinely doesn’t know how much you hate it, or he’s just trying to push your buttons some more. With the clueless grins he’d offer as he’d call you that, you’d assume the former. But with his explanation for calling you that being that you always stick your nose up at him, you don’t think he deserves any benefit of the doubt. 

You hate that nickname, yet you find yourself clenching around nothing just from hearing those familiar syllables. 

His first question came out like he was asking for the time, yet with the number of times he’s made you see galaxies, you ought to be grateful that his tone holds no cockiness. No, actually, you might prefer that instead—how dare he handle this victory with grace and nonchalance?

“This doesn’t even make us friends,” you manage to stammer through gritted teeth. Your glare remains on his hand, still drenched before you, though your frustration lies more down south than anywhere else. 

You can hear the taunting frown in the sorcerer’s voice. “Guess you won’t care for this anymore, then.”

His arm, responsible for putting you in your puddle-like state, slowly retracts, and you can feel the sorcerer take his time raising from his seated position. 

Now he’s finally giving you the space you always wanted from him, yet you surprise yourself by grabbing him by the wrist. You let go as soon as you recognize your action, but the deed has already been done. 

An overly enthusiastic gasp. “You do like me!”

“Oh, my God—If I say yes, will you just finish the job already?” you groan. 

Gojo plops back to his seating position behind you, nestling his chin onto your shoulder as he teases his hand to return between your thighs. His warm breath fans your cheek while his lips graze your earlobe. Miniscule actions that have your body heating up. Intentional on his part, most likely, though you refuse to give him any more ammo against you. 

A heavy sigh. The feigned disappointment in his tone has your brows furrowing so intensely that you worry you might pop a vein. 

“No gratitude for the hand that feeds you, huh?” The special-grade sorcerer nuzzles into your neck, his woe-is-me attitude soon replaced with a blinding grin and boyish giggle. “Oh, but you know I can’t be mad at you for long!”

Long and slender fingers bury themselves in your weeping cunt before you process his mood swings. A trembling moan slips from your mouth as his skilled ministrations resume, your sweet spot welcoming the familiar touch. His speed and rhythm return as if he never paused, further turning your brain to mush as your thighs tremble. Gojo chuckles childishly once more, the charming melody syncing with the embarrassingly loud squelching of your soaking pussy. 

Multiple orgasms later, and you ask for more. The heat from the situation must be melting your sense of reason because you can’t tell if you’re greedy or just plain stupid. 

“You crying?” Gojo’s voice carries its usual teasing lilt, the one he has specifically for you. You don’t even realize how the fresh tears glaze your vision—as if he didn’t already have enough fuel for the fire.

But you bite your tongue. You bite your tongue because there’s no convincing anyone that he’s crazy and seeing things and the last thing you need is for him to stall some more when you’re already sososo close to the edge.

A slight change in angle. It does the trick, his fingers still bullying that one spot while his palm brushes against your throbbing clit with just as much vigour. Your body tenses, a choked sob escaping your glossy lips as your orgasm hits you like a tsunami. Warm liquid follows soon after, the blue-eyed sorcerer’s movements refusing to halt and making lewd splashing sounds in the process. 

Even once everything simmers down, the impact decides to remain a bit longer. With a heaving chest and stuttering hips, the room stops spinning, slowly but surely.

A low whistle. “If you had to pee, you could have just said so.”

“Why are you like this?”

Gojo hums before slipping his fingers out of your pussy, earning him a slightly pained whimper from you. He stands back up as you wipe away the evidence of your crying, peering up at him when his shadow blankets you. His towering frame never fails to catch you off-guard, but what currently has your attention is the Special Grade sorcerer sucking his digits clean of your juices, a satisfied mewl coming straight from his throat.

“Welp,” he stretches his arms above his head, “we still have a bit of time left before we have that meeting with good ol’ Principal Yaga, so,” the sound of a zipper reaches your ears, and it's only a few seconds later that he pulls out his cock—long, stiff and painfully ready, “why not return the favour?” 

You’re too fucked out to argue against him. That’s the reasoning you’d think of using should he confront you about your willingness to comply. You can’t help it if you’re losing the staring contest against his cock, saliva pooling on your tongue as he taps his vermillion tip against your cheek.

Your lips part as your eyes flutter closed, unable to bear to look at the Special Grade sorcerer as you take him down your throat, inch by inch. The gagging sound that erupts from your throat halfway through makes your brows furrow, and you can only hope the man above you doesn’t comment. With clenched fists sitting on your lap, you further shield your sight with screwed-shut lids as you push yourself to take more, using your tongue for good measure.

A shuddered sigh leaves Gojo’s soft lips when you tease one of his veins. “That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You moan in response, feeling bold enough to create a steady pace to bob your head. Whatever you couldn’t reach, your hand took care of, a part of your brain urging you to squeeze him just a bit harder. His responses only grow louder, his groaning and panting setting your face on fire.

“You’re so good at this,” he rasps, his large hand finding the top of your head. Despite his gentle touch, you furrow your brows at the contact. “Too good…” You don’t expect him to slip himself out of your mouth, holding his base away from your mouth and making you finally look up at him. Gojo tilts his head to the side. “You’ve done this before?”

You'd have thought he was teasing if it weren’t for the pout on his lips. You look at him for a moment with an incredulous expression.

“What are you talking about?” You swat his hand out of your hair. “You seriously think being with anyone outside our line of work would be easy?” The male sorcerer’s gaze carries hope at your words, a noticeable shine in those cerulean blues that make your heart stutter. Unsure of what to do next, you continue the lost momentum by pumping his pulsing cock in your hand. “I’m stuck with you, Gojo.”

You figure his shuddered gasp is from your returning touch, especially with the combination of pinched brows, quivering lips and heavy blush on his cheeks and ears. But his large hand on top of yours–the one doing all the work–tells another story.

“You really do like me, Princess!” The sorcerer exclaims, his voice wavering halfway. 

At this point, you don’t care to dissect whether or not he’s pushing your buttons. Even at a time like this….

“I meant I’m settling for you,” you grumble, ignoring how his hand practically devours yours. You manage to retract your hold from his. “Don’t make me bite you.”

Gojo giggles at your threat, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth when you plop his dick back in your mouth. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Without warning, you graze his shaft with your teeth the more you take him in your mouth. Not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message, if your irritated expression wasn’t already doing the job. 

Although, you suppose it is your fault for not taking him seriously either. Your actions earn you a whimper from the Special Grade sorcerer. Not a second later, he has his head thrown back as he pours his load down your throat. Your eyes widen at the overpowering taste, doing what you can to swallow every drop without choking. Even through his orgasm, you find yourself thinking about how he ought to cut down on the sweets. 

You’re quick to pull back for air once Gojo comes down from his high, sputtering in your hand as he sighs happily. 

“Told ya,” he muses, tucking himself back in. You wipe your mouth, glaring at him from your spot on the floor. 

“Whatever,” you grunt, putting your clothes back on before attempting to stand. If he notices your legs still wobbling, he thankfully doesn’t comment. “Let’s just hurry and get to that meeting before Yaga gets mad.”

Gojo hums with a tilt of his head as he watches you dusting off your pants.

“Oh, yeah!” He drops his fist into his palm. You throw a wary look his way when he grins. “We’ve been late this whole time, actually.”

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[pucksandpower]

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.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

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

[nomsfaultau]

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>

[sloth-babied]

Just for a Few Minutes

Shuri x POC reader

Summary: In the midst of a mission, you and Shuri get stranded in space. Months later of failing to get back home, you catch her crying and try to make her feel better.

or

Reader is a touch-starved pathetic loser who Shuri takes an interest in.

Contains: Angst, hurt/comfort, shy reader, smut (18+), and a sprinkle of fluff.

Word count: 2.7k

Shuri’s been stuck at the wheel, stressing on getting back home. She hates this ship, if you can even call it that. It’s old and rusty. You’re surprised the ship hasn’t blown up yet.

You got used to the grumbling and shouting. It’s the same pattern over and over again, and it always ends with a dent in the metal wall or absolute silence: Shuri cheers, believing she’s tracked Earth’s location, then shouts profanities that you don’t understand when the janky ship randomly reroutes the coordinates.

All day Shuri sits in the cockpit, determined she’ll beat the ship at its ridiculous game, and you watch with crossed fingers each time. You often try to lend a hand, although she’s not very fun to work with when she’s angry.

And when she’s not angry, she cries. But only when she thinks you’re asleep. You’ll lay on your bed, back facing the rest of the ship, and glue your eyes on the wall, unable to sleep while she stifles her sobs either in the bathroom or her bed. 

Unlike Shuri, you didn’t have anyone to lose. Your teammates would tease you—call you a lone wolf. Unfortunately, they’re not wrong. 

Today, you hear the same quiet sniffling. 

You lay there, hesitant to move so she doesn’t know you’re listening. Or trying not to listen. But it’s hard not to when you’re a light sleeper. 

The benefit of being a light sleeper? No one can sneak up on you. 

The setback? Waking up to the only person you see every day cry almost every night.

However this night—or day, who knows really—is different. She doesn’t lay in the bed across from yours. Instead she sits in the cockpit, elbows on her lap and face buried in her hands.

Shuri’s body jumps when she hears the soft pads of your feet make their way over to her, but she doesn’t look at you. Maybe that’s for the best considering you have no idea what draws you to take the co-pilot’s seat. 

You’re unsure what to do. You rarely find yourself in a situation where you have to comfort someone, much less yourself. 

Looking straight ahead at the stars and distant galaxies, you speak. 

“I don’t miss anyone.” Wow. You’re already terrible at this.

Nonetheless, Shuri’s faintly head lifts, curious to hear where you’re going next.

You gulp, hoping you only say the right words.

“I mean, like, I don’t have anyone to, like, you know, miss. And there’s no one on Earth who’s, you know, missing me right now. Or looking for me for that matter. But I know that there are people searching for you.”

Shuri also looks ahead. “We’re galaxies away,” she states hopelessly.

“Which is probably why they’re taking so long,” you jokingly reply in an attempt to seem sensible.

You turn to Shuri, and the glint of hope that used to live in her eyes has gone, replaced with exhaustion.

“They’ll travel through those galaxies,” you hope to reassure her. “They will.”

You don’t even know if you believe that, though it doesn’t matter if you do or not as long as she believes it. 

For a minute, no one makes a sound before Shuri starts to whimper again.

An inaudible “woah” comes out of your mouth when you watch her conceal her face back in her hands. Mentally, you’re unsure how to react, which is ironic because your body somehow does: your bottom lifts off the seat and your arms make their way around the princess.

That’s what you do to make people feel better, right?

Her body stiffens and you scold yourself for being so hasty. You attempt to pull away and apologize before she snakes her arms around you, burying her head between your shoulder and neck. You stay there for a while, your knees on the hard floor as she soaks your shirt. 

You don’t say anything and she doesn’t need anything to be said. Silence is just fine.

You’re not used to offering affection, not even a simple hug. Its unfamiliarity makes you a little uncomfortable but you stay. She's the one who pulls away eventually. 

“Tired,” she says plainly.

You get on your feet and back up while she stands. The space between you and Shuri returns, mostly because of you. For you, really.

You attempt to shake off the odd feeling on your skin and in your chest as Shuri sits on her bed. She doesn’t tuck herself in though. She just looks at you.

You hate to say that the face she’s wearing seems familiar. It’s a face you’ve ignored on Earth. A face that wants something from you, but you don’t know what. Or you pretend you don’t know.

This time it’s different. You can sense what she wants, and like all the times before, you choose to ignore it, muttering a “goodnight” as you hurriedly walk to your bed.

“Wait.”

There’s no thought to it when your body halts. However, the anticipation flusters you.

It takes a second after you point your ear to her. You hear a heavy exhale leave her nose. 

“Can you…lie down with me?”

If you heard this on Earth, you’d simply tell her to go to sleep. At the moment you consider not even facing her again, but you regrettably turn your shoulder. And damn. There’s that face again–the inner corners of her eyebrows softly angled upward.

“Just for a few minutes,” she adds. 

Her eyes slowly glide away as she recognizes what she just requested. She wonders why she even asked you such a thing. She starts to shake her head, nearly retracting what she said.

“Sure,” you say. This is probably a mistake.

Your answer obviously surprises her. You don’t have that type of relationship to even lay together, let alone make any physical contact that wasn’t a pat on the shoulder.

You take up the little space left after Shuri scooches. She faces the wall and you lay on your back, unable to move freely. Even your leg hangs off the edge.

But you still can’t seem to shake off that feeling. 

It feels strange. Sort of awkward. But something about it also feels…nice, you think. You’ve never done this with someone. The thought of it was too foreign to even consider.

The version of you before would have cringed at the possibility of this happening. But this version of you–the one who has spent months stranded in space, building whatever connection you have with Shuri–doesn’t mind her back pressed against your arm. This version of you doesn’t mind how warm she feels next to you despite the spacecraft’s low temperatures.

You stare at the back of her head contemplating whether or not you should throw your arm over her waist. To comfort her, of course. 

No, probably not. 

Facing the ceiling again, you wait for Shuri to fall asleep until you hear sniffling again. You can’t solve sorrow with one conversation, can you?

“Shuri?” You whisper. She doesn’t respond. You turn over and place your hand on her bicep. “Shuri,” you try again.

You pull at her with no force and she rolls on her back, wiping her cheek. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs sheepishly.

“No, no,” you reach for her face. “It’s alright.”

She gives you full access, staring at you when you begin rubbing away as many tears as you can. You hit a point where her face is mostly dried up, but you don’t remove your hand. You both lay on your sides and you just keep cleaning.

Shuri reaches for your cheek, dragging the back of her hand up and down, mimicking your touch. Your eyes flutter shut, welcoming the new sensation.

She whispers your name.

You open your eyes. “What?”

God, that face.

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

Your hand pauses on her cheek. “Okay.”

She grabs your neck, pressing her lips to yours. And it feels…really good. Her lips are soft, but dry. She observes the same for your lips, but none of you actually mind.  

Oh man, is this what you’ve deprived yourself of all this time? You can’t get enough of this. You can’t get enough of her, especially when she tilts her head, kissing you deeper. She eagerly pushes you on your back and gets on top of you, hungrily molding herself against you. 

A moan escapes the back of your throat when her lips move to your jaw, trailing down. Her lips tingle down your neck, particularly when she rests there to mark your skin. 

You enjoy this feeling. The overwhelming state you’ve never allowed yourself to enter before.

Shuri lifts the hem of your shirt, snaking her hand under your pants. Your thighs instinctively open as she cups your pussy and your breath hitches when her thumb begins circling your clit.

Jesus, you’re sensitive. You’ve touched yourself here and there, but it never felt like this. 

You choose to look down and your arousal grows just by the disappearance of her hand beneath your clothing. She slides her middle finger between your folds and you dismiss her chuckles when she recognizes how incredibly wet you are. You’re too horny and touch-starved to even worry about it. 

She sits up, one hand at your pussy and the other next to your head. She inserts a finger and drags it out, continuing this motion as her thumb messily rubs your bud.

“You like it when I do this?” Oh, she knows you do.

“Yeah,” you mutter after she inserts her ring finger, staring at you writhe below her.

You turn away, squeezing your eyes shut. Your arm sits on your forehead, covering your eyes, but Shuri pulls the arm away from your face.

“Keep looking at me,” she commands softly.

As piercing as her eyes are, you do as she says and she rewards you by pumping faster. Your mouth opens, your breath quickens, and your hand grips her pillow and the other flies to her bicep, seeking to hold something. 

She hums, responding to your desperate whines; your wetness coating her fingers. She takes advantage of your parted mouth and consumes your lips, slipping in her tongue.

You can’t tell if it’s her fingers or her tongue that make you cum, but holy shit, who fucking cares at this point? Your body shakes and your hips lift involuntarily. And even better, Shuri continues to thrust in and out of you, gradually slowing her pace as your orgasm sends you into a disorientated state of ecstasy.

You pull away from her lips, catching your breath.

Shuri smirks. “You look pretty when you cum.” 

And you’re brought back down to…well, not Earth. With a groan, you cover your face, but only for a second, too keen to see an expression that wasn’t a frown on her face.

“I bet you’d look even better,” you sit up to kiss her. “Can you lay back?” 

She obeys, switching positions with you. You hope to appease her even though you don’t fully know what you’re doing. 

“Tell me what to do,” you rub her knee. “I wanna make you feel good, but I don’t know where to start.”

An inquisitive look appears on her face, processing what you’ve just told her. She leans up using her elbows to support her.

“Was that your first time?” 

You tilt your head side to side. “Sorta, yeah. I mean, there was this one girl a while ago, but she didn’t get…as far as you did.” 

You didn’t let her get as far as Shuri did, to be specific.

“Bast,” she gapes at you. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Please don’t make it awkward.”

She shakes her head. “I…Okay, yeah–no. I won’t.” The gears keep turning in her head to the point where she smiles to herself. “I’m your first?”

“Okay,” you murmur, shifting away from her before Shuri draws you back with your wrist.

“Don’t go,” she giggles. “That’s okay. I’ll guide you.” She pecks your lips. “I’m sorry.” She pecks your lips again. “We’ll go slow.”

You nod nervously.

“What do you wanna do, hm?” She caresses your cheek, seeing how tense you’ve become. 

You peer down at her pants, shrugging. “Wanna touch you…however you want me to.”

“However?” She gives you one last kiss below your jaw before laying on her back. “Okay. Help me take this off.”

The heat kicks back in. You start removing her pants until she impatiently kicks the rest off the bed, leading you both to laugh. 

“Just start by kissing me first,” Shuri reaches for your arm.

You happily oblige, enveloping her lips with yours, your body between her legs. You breathe her in—promptly addicted, that’s for sure. Your chests press together and you can feel her breasts beneath you, nipples as firm as yours. 

Your hand hesitantly slides under her shirt. You stop before you reach her breast. “Is it okay if-”

“It’s okay,” she drags your hand to her breast and you gently squeeze before flicking her nipple. You successfully earn a moan from her. Fuck, you only wanna do things that’ll get a noise out of her. 

You kiss her chin, her jaw, dip to her neck, then down to her clavicle, hoping to descend further. Shuri reads your mind, removing her shirt and throwing it aside. You fervently reconnect your mouth to her skin, stopping at her sternum. Her hand shoots to the back of your head when your lips slide to her breast and your tongue circles around her areola, flicking on her nipple before engulfing it. Another moan leaves her, encouraging you to suck. Your free hand plays with her other breast, flicking and tugging before gliding down to her pussy. You find her clitoris beneath her underwear, circling it between your index and middle finger.

Shuri mumbles in Xhosa as you slip off her underwear.

Your mouth releases her breast and you get up. You gaze at her body, licking your lips. You stay there, naively contemplating what you hope to do to her. She notices. 

Her half-lidded eyes inspect your expression. “What do you wanna do?” 

Your fingers keep playing with her as you think. You look down at them, enthralled by her body’s response to your touch. You land on something. “Wanna eat you out.”

Shuri lets out a breathy laugh. “I’m surprised you know what cunnilingus is,” she jokes.

You chuckle. “Shut up.”

You aim for her stomach, kissing your way down to her pussy. You remove your fingers from her clit, pausing once you’ve positioned your head between her legs. Your eyes lock on hers when you flatten your tongue and lick.

“Yeah,” her hand lands on the side of head, watching you intently. “Just keep doing that.”

And you do. You lick and suck her, allowing the volume of her voice to guide you. You wrap your arms around each of her thighs, getting comfortable the more she coats your mouth and chin.

“Does that feel good?” You muffle against her pussy.

“Yeah,” she grinds on your face. “Feels…feels really good.”

Shuri gasps your name and throws her head back when you sneak a finger inside her cunt, thrusting in and out. She whimpers when you add another digit, curling the pads of your fingers. She curses in her native language, sighing, “right there,” when you hit her spot and you stare, admiring her whine and whimper because of you.

You continue to suck her clit until her body shudders intensely as she approaches her climax. She wonders if you’ve switched off the ship’s gravity because her mind spaces off blissfully.

You want to see that again.

She releases a heavy sigh and lifts herself to look at you while you sit up.

“Did I do okay?” You ask.

She yanks you by your shirt and smashes her lips on yours, tasting herself. 

You laugh against her mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She pulls away, but lingers with her forehead against yours. She drags her fingernails up and down your neck. “Thank you.”

And she means it. You’re both lonely already. She needed the distraction and you’re apparently much more desperate for affection than you thought you were.

Jokingly you furrow your brows anyway. 

“Do people normally thank each other after sex?”

She clicks her tongue and flicks your forehead, saying your name in a scolding manner.

“Ow!” You yelp, laughing as you palm the spot she flicked. 

Shuri smiles humorously, rubbing your forehead despite the lack of pain.

[eponadolls]

BJD Sales

Hi everyone! I will have several big expenses over the summer (wisdom tooth removal, newer car, potential ADHD and pcos evals/diagnoses, etc) and I want to make sure they are as... least-impacting as possible on my savings, especially since most are medical and I have no idea how much my insurance is actually going to cover... so any reblogs and shares are always appreciated!

Most things will be cross-posted on Den of Angels, Instagram, and Facebook. Additional information will be under the cut. I ship from the USA and due to postal concerns, I can only send the large, high-value packages within the USA right now.

Allergen warning: I live in a pet-friendly, non-smoking household near a corn mill.

Harucasting Smile Maji head: She’s some kind of tan resin, but I don’t 100% remember which one. Her previous owner split the head and body so the coa went with the body. I remember her previous owners name & email, but I don’t recall their instagram handle. Maji has thankfully NOT been recasted so I do not worry about her legitimacy, but I wanted to be upfront about that detail. Her magnets need to be reglued and she still has faceup residue. As with any of my Harucasting dolls, in respect to Haru’s wishes, I will only sell his dolls to pro-artist/anti-recast individuals.

$100 + shipping

5stardoll Elf Elaine: She was painted by her previous owner and given a mani-pedi which is chipping as well as pretty purple body shimmer. Her face still has faceup residue on it. She’s really cute but I need to make room — I am willing to sell her head separately, though. According to her card of authenticity she was produced in late 2018. I believe she is in normal pink skin.

$170 + shipping

Latidoll Blue Yern:

Yern is a slim MSD sized doll and the Blue (MSD) line has been long discontinued. Yern still has her coa and Latidoll manual, as well as the emblem in and outside of her head. I am not sure of the specifics but her torso has had some kind of mod job for mobility reasons?

Yern is from early 2009 and has certainly yellowed, but her yellowing appears to be consistent. Yern would probably benefit from a restringing with thicker elastics but I can get her to pose and stand just fine. Her s hooks were replaced and she has traditional/standard bjd s hooks in her wrists and ankles. For whatever reason one elbow likes to stay slightly bent. Yern will be shipped UNSTRUNG so that would be a good opportunity for her elastics to be changed; she still has an o hook for her head.

Her faceup is holding up really well considering it is quite old but please be aware that it is old, has some wear, and it is not factored into the price I am selling Yern at. The biggest sign of wear I noticed as a small dark streak near her temple.

She has some damage near her foot/ankle. Considering her age I think she has been holding up really well.

$100 + shipping

Dollzone MSD Girl Body: normal pink resin. Arrived from Alice collections in late 2022, spent most of its time in the box. Asking $200 + shipping.

Harucasting Big Geuru: She is in neul medium tan. She has a face up by @tonocha331. She has an extra pair of hands and comes with her box and card of authenticity. She will come without clothes or eyes.

She has some small s hook scratches in one wrist from a previous owner and several small scratches on her belly. Her face up seems to be in overall good condition other than three shiny spots on the side of her head. $550 + shipping

Logandolls Primrose: Primrose in light tan (coffee) with additional heel feet (strung) and an extra pair of hands. She does not come with a company box but she has a card of authenticity and comes with a blanket that I believe logandolls made for her. Received in a trade from my friend @groovyblueworld! She will NOT come with a pair of eyes. If desired, I can ship her in an old Dollzone company box for extra protection. Ordinarily she would cost $480 new but I am asking $440 + shipping - you basically get the extra hands and feet for free and an extra $10 discount. I can also sell a Flower Primrose faceplate in Resinsoul normal for an additional $40.

$440 + shipping

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 10

Hey...you know how I said I had another fic I was working on that I planned on putting up the first part for today? Yeah...that didn’t work out. It needed a lot of heavy editing and because this got finished today with only minor edits, you get this instead.

Also...I realized that until this part...I never mentioned the name of the musical they’re doing. Ooops!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

*

To say Steve was nervous as hell would be an understatement. He had been in drama less than a month and now he was standing on the stage watching people mill around. And there was a lot of people. People who were taking measurements for costumes. Makeup and wigs people. Apparently kids from orchestra and band were going to be playing the music in the ‘pit’. Then there were people working on sets and up in the rafters checking the lights.

He had been to couple of plays on Broadway when he was younger. Of course he had. But he never knew how much went into making it look like magic when he was sitting in the audience.

A girl came up to him and squeezed his elbow.

“You’re Steve Harrington, right?” she asked.

Steve nodded, tongue tied from the sheer panic running through his body.

“I’m Janice Montgomery,” she said gently. “You’re friends with Gareth and them?”

Steve nodded again. “You must be the badass chick of the Hellfire Club.”

Janice grinned. “Oh good, you have heard of me.”

“A middle schooler I babysit for’s younger sister looves D&D so I try to talk you up as much as possible to piss her brother off,” he explained with a grin.

She laughed out loud. “Thanks. But I understand that this is your first time doing a play?”

“Acting in front of other people full stop,” Steve said, nodding.

Her eyes went wide and she tilted her head forward. “Please tell me you at least did the school play in elementary about the benefits of healthy eating.”

Steve scratched his face nervously. “Uh...that would be a no.”

“Fuck.”

Steve hung his head. “I really shouldn’t be here.”

She shoved his arm. “Miss Lucy isn’t the type of teacher to play favorites. Thomson isn’t a large role with a lot of blocking. Mostly standing in front of everyone else reading and being annoyed.”

Steve laughed. “I could do that, yeah.”

“See? You’ll do fine. You’ll dance for the major numbers, and then that heart-wrenching scene at the end.”

“Yeah, I auditioned with that scene, because it has both the singing and the acting in it.”

“Wow,” Janice said. “That’s impressive.”

Steve blushed. “Another middle schooler I babysit is in the drama club and asked him for pointers.”

“Well at least you know how to strategize,” she said. “Marty and I will help walk you through it. If have any questions come to either of us, okay?”

He nodded. “Thanks for this.”

The spot light lit them up and they both squealed from the sudden brightness.

Janice held up her hand over her eyes and screamed, “Eddie!”

Steve heard him cackle before the brightness was severely toned down.  And then Eddie dropped down in front of them, landing deftly on the stage.

“Mr Munson!” Miss Lucy called out. “I appreciate your grace as much as the next person, but one day you will break straight through this old stage and the school will not replace it.”

“Harsh, Miss Lucy!” he called back.

She chuckled darkly and went back to her notes.

“That was cool,” Steve murmured.

Eddie grinned. “She is right about the stage though. I don’t think they’ve redone it since it was put in god knows how long ago.”

Steve smiled.

Janice raised an eyebrow and then cleared her throat.

Eddie turned to her. “Congrats on getting Abby, Miss Montgomery.”

“I just can’t believe Tammy Thompson got Martha Jefferson,” Janice complained.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of hearing her,” Steve said.

“You’ll hear her a lot,” Eddie said. “She has a song in the second act.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Eddie and Janice just stared at him.

“Or not...”

They burst out laughing.

“Hey, guys!” Marty said jogging up to them.

Everyone returned greetings of their own.

“So...I found out how Tammy got the part...” he said with a grimace.

“Oh no...” Eddie said. “This can’t be good.”

“Her mom is a seamstress and has offered to make all the costumes for free as well rent the wigs for a low price.”

Janice stamped her foot angrily. “With an offer like that I’m surprised she didn’t gun for my role.”

Steve looked between them confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Have you not seen 1776?” Marty asked.

Eddie and Janice turned to him and stared at him as though he had grown an extra head.

“Um...” Steve stammered, “well...I’ve been meaning to and I just haven’t got around to it, yet.” He scratched his cheek nervously.

“You mean to tell us,” Eddie said slowly, “that not only did you try out for a play you haven’t seen, you managed to get a fairly major roll for said play?”

Steve nodded, blushing a deep red.

“That’s it!” Marty cried. “You coming over to my house and we are watching it!”

Steve frowned. “How are we going to do that? I didn’t know they put plays on VHS.”

Marty clapped his shoulder. “You are in luck my friend because they did movie several years ago.”

“I guess...” Steve said shyly. “I’ll come over on one condition.”

Janice and Marty exchanged a knowing glance.

“What would that be?” Janice asked innocently.

“If Eddie comes too?” Steve bit the bottom of his lip and looked up at Eddie through his eyelashes.

Eddie blinked. “As long as it not on a Hellfire night, I’m down.”

Steve smiled softly.

“Is tonight good?” Marty asked.

Janice shook her head. “I work tonight.”

Steve shifted back and forth on his feet. “We could do it tomorrow at my place. My parents aren’t home and I have a big screen TV.”

“Sold!” Marty said.

“Yeah, man,” Eddie said rocking back on his heels. “That sounds cool.”

“I’ll bring the tape, Marty will provide drinks and Eddie the popcorn,” Janice said.

Steve looked uncomfortable. “You don’t have bring anything I’m sure I’ve plenty of stuff.”

Eddie wagged his finger at him. “Ah, ah, ah, Harrington. That’s not how movie nights work. Host merely hosts. Everyone else provides.”

Steve blushed. “Yeah, okay. Then you guys can explain the Tammy Thompson drama.”

Marty clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “It’s is sooo good.”

Steve just laughed.

“All right everyone!” Miss Lucy said. “It’s time for the read through. Mr Kincade, Mr Munson if you wouldn’t mind helping set up chairs?”

Marty and Eddie nodded. They gathered up as much seating as they could find. Those that didn’t have any lines sat in the audience around Miss Lucy, Mrs Lawson the dance teacher, and Mr Dent the choir teacher.

Steve pulled out his script and waited for his first line.

Eddie sat in the audience and Marty flopped down next to him.

“You’ve got it bad,” he said, nudging Eddie with his elbow. “He know about your proclivities toward members of your own sex?”

Eddie winced. “Tommy called me a fag often enough, but no. I don’t think he knows.”

Marty patted him on the shoulder. “You probably should tell him.”

*

Everyone showed up at Steve’s house around seven. Marty having picked Eddie and Janice up.

“I got some candy anyway,” Steve said as he led the way to the front room.

Marty and Eddie just shook their heads.

Janice rolled her eyes but they wisely said nothing. They all got set up and sprawled out on the couches.

Steve hit play and lost himself in the music. He laughed at the funny bits swooned when he supposed to, and got teary eyed at “Mamma, Look Sharp.”

“You clearly enjoyed that,” Marty said.

“It was good,” Steve said. “Not very historically accurate, though, right?”

Eddie grinned. “Nope. Barely even close. But it’s fun and over the top.”

“It certainly is that,” Steve chuckled.

“Okay,” Janice said rubbing her hands together manically. “Who’s hotter: Thomas Jefferson or Lyman Hall?”

Eddie tapped his finger on his lips. “Jefferson. Love the lighter hair and tall.”

Marty crowed. “Red heads are hot, but gotta give it to my man, Lyman Hall. When he slams Georgia’s vote to yay...mhmmm...that’s some good shit.”

Steve frowned. “You’re both wrong.” All heads turned to him in shock. “Charles Thomson and not just because that’s who I’m playing.”

“You think Thomson is better looking than Hall?” Marty asked, dismayed. “You can’t mean that.”

Steve shrugged. “Hall’s good looking, sure. Soft spoken, too. But there is just something about how the actor portrayed Thomson that just brought this strength that Hall didn’t have.”

Steve blushed. “Plus Jefferson is married and I don’t look at taken people. No matter how hot they are.”

Eddie leaned forward and put his fingers to his lips. “Steve, I need to you to be honest with us. We aren’t going to judge or flip out but...do you like like boys?”

Steve blinked. “I never really thought about it. I thought it was normal to talk about how attractive other dudes are. Me and Tommy did it all the time.”

Marty and Eddie shared a concerned glance.

Janice shook her head. ‘That’s not something straight boys do.”

“Then why were you asking us about who was more attractive?”

“Because we deemed you safe,” Marty said as if it was the simplest thing in the world, instead of the massive bomb it should have been. “I’m bisexual. I like both.”

“And I’m gay,” Eddie said bluntly, resting his elbows on his knees.

Steve blinked. “Oh. I’m not sure what I am, then.”

Janice put her hand his shoulder. “Hey, you don’t have to figure it out right away, Steve. I didn’t mean to make question your identity.”

“Just don’t freak out, man,” Marty said. “I don’t think I’m equipped to deal with water works.”

Steve cocked his head. “I mean, I guess. But there’s no reason to freak out about it. Yeah, I’ve used fag and queer as insults and that’s not good. Obviously. But finding out I like boys? Not as earth shattering as I thought it would be.”

“And you don’t mind us being queer?” Eddie asked.

Steve frowned. “No. And I understand your concern. But no. Of course not.”

Eddie nodded and then sat back.

“So you thought Tammy would want to be Abigail instead of Martha?” Steve asked Janice. “Because it’s the bigger role?”

Janice flopped back against the cushions. “Exactly. Abby has more lines, more songs, more stage time in general.”

Steve let out a chuckle. “Then you don’t know Tammy.”

Marty and Eddie leaned in.

“Oh, do tell,” Marty pleaded.

“She would want the ‘pretty’ role,” Steve said. “Especially if she’s basing her idea of the roles on this movie. Virginia who played Abby is gorgeous, but in an understated, has had six kids and worked her whole life kind of way.”

“But Blythe Danner is just straight up hot,” Marty said.

Steve snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Tammy is just vain enough to want the Martha role even though it’s smaller...”

“Because she’s prettier than me?” Janice asked incredulously.

Steve laughed. “I didn’t say that. I said that Tammy thought that.”

“Mine!” Janice said throwing her arms around Steve possessively.

Eddie’s stomach rolled. He looked away so he didn’t see Steve blush and shift uncomfortably under her affection. But Marty did.

“Hey, quit hogging the guy,” he teased. “There’s enough Steve for everyone.”

Eddie looked back to see Steve gently push her off of him. “I’ve got a lot people who already have claimed that title, you’re gonna hafta stand in line.”

Janice and Marty looked at each other in confusion.

Eddie pursed his lips. “It’s the kids, right?”

Steve nodded, but Marty and Janice’s looks of confusion didn’t clear.

“Stevie here babysits,” Eddie said grinning from ear to ear.

Steve laughed. “At least that’s what I call it so people don’t freak out. So until Eddie took me under his wing, most of my friends were thirteen year olds.”

“I take in lost sheep,” Eddie said. “Never took in a senior before. Or a former popular kid, it’s been quite the eye opener.”

Steve blushed and ducked his head. “I’ve never been more grateful to see a person in my life then when I looked up and saw you that day in Mr Vinke’s class.”

Eddie shoved his hair in front of his face and looked away, this time for a more pleasant reason then before.

Marty and Janice looked over Steve’s head and grinned.

Part 11  Part 12 Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21

Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites @garden-of-gay @anaibis @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead  @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @jinxjinn @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @dangdirtydemons @lovelyscot  @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

[coweye]

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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[daydreamgoddess14]

Gala pt. 1

MASTERLIST

‘Reader insert’ – They haven’t heard Ted swear before or raise his voice, when they get dressed up for a gala the first word out of Ted’s mouth is “Fuck.” - for @dadbodfanatic-x . AFAB!Reader.

No warnings other than language, possibly a smutty followup though? 👀

The dress mentioned is Blake Lively's 2014 MET rose gold Gucci gown https://www.etonline.com/gallery/blake-livelys-met-gala-looks-over-the-years-183153/2014-86342

Chapter 1

You didn't get the chance to dress up very often. Workwear was usually sweatpants and a Richmond branded t-shirt, occasionally yoga pants if you'd managed to convince enough of the team to do a short session with you after training or a Richmond vest if it was a hot day. Always sneakers. You knew you'd signed up to a very capsule wardrobe when you'd gone into Sports Massage Therapy. In your younger days when a night out was a night out out, you'd dress up to the nines. Now though, nights out were usually a night in the Crown and Anchor. Hardly a red carpet event. And yet here you were - an actual red carpet event on your horizon, the 12th Annual Benefit for Underprivileged Children. You'd started at Richmond shortly after the 11th gala, you'd heard all the commotion about the 10th gala where Rupert Mannion had turned up unannounced.

You had your mind well and truly in your wardrobe rather than on the task at hand, so when Sam let out a little yelp as your elbow dug into the soft spot between his neck and shoulder, you nearly leapt out of your skin. 

"Shit, sorry Sam." You replaced your elbow with your hand to ease the sharp pain. "OK, you're all done."

"Thanks. Hey, Simi said thank you for the yoga class you did on the Green the other morning, she loved it."

"I'm glad. I was going to go and see if anyone fancied a short session now actually?"

"I would, bet Jamie would as well."

"Jamie just wants a nap!" You teased as Sam dragged his training jersey over his head, you followed him out to the team gym. The small window into the Coach's office was open, but you hadn't seen any of them during the morning other than Roy. "Afternoon lads. How was training?"

"Good thanks darls." Isaac grinned, "You got some pain to put anyone through today?" 

"Ahh, not today, sadly. I do love making you boys whimper for me, though. " You tease, making the Captain blush, "Was going to see if you fancied some yoga stretches?" Jamie stood up, reaching his arms into the air and making his back crack. 

"Yeah, fair one. I need a stretch and a sleep."

"Long as you don't snore Jamie Shark, I don't care. See you in the locker room in 10?" A few nods and hands went up so you left them to finish off their weight sets and get changed yourself. 

"I am never more surprised than when you can make our fearless Captain blush - how do you do it?" A singsong Midwestern lilt cut through your thoughts. 

"Coach Lasso, I don't do it on purpose. They're boys, they don't know what to do when they're not the ones in charge." You smiled. Ted and the other coaches had welcomed you happily into the support staff. They valued your opinions in a way you hadn't expected, if you said someone couldn't play - your word was gospel. You managed to catch Ted off guard occasionally with your sharp retorts, sometimes it seemed only Roy and Beard were able to laugh you off. This was another classic example, one tiny mention of being in charge and the tips of Ted's ears had gone pink. You'd never, in 11 months heard him raise his voice, in fact, you'd never heard him swear either. Those Midwestern manners were famous, and he had good manners by the bucket load. "I'm about to do a yoga session if you'd like to join us?"

"Ahh no thanks, I've got some paperwork to get on with."

"11 months and I've still not convinced you. That's a shame, you'd be settling an excellent example."

"As is keepin' their files up to date." He gave a little salute and turned into his office while you went to yours. When you got back a few minutes later, yoga mat under your arm, a handful of players were milling around getting ready. It was a lovely spring day, warm - as summer could almost be round the corner. You'd ditched the sweatpants and changed into yoga pants and a vest instead. You rolled your mat out in front of the Coach's office window, leaving space for Beard or Roy to get to the door if they needed to.

"Sit down boys. We'll begin sitting with our legs crossed, rest your palms on your knees, back straight. Push your bum right into the mat and extend your spine, shoulders down. And close your eyes." You led them through a series of poses, you were no Yogi but you knew a handful of relaxing stretches you knew worked to loosen you up, it was nice to be able to share those with the players. Roy came in halfway through to see you with one leg outstretched, the other foot tucked into your thigh and leaning forwards to stretch out the inner thighs. He dropped down onto the bare floor to take up the same pose, 

"My knee is fucking killing me." He muttered. You talked him through a couple of adjustments to help him find the best position to help with his pain. On hearing Roy, Ted had come out of the office. Not only had he refused to attend any sessions, he usually stayed in his office during them. The shock of seeing him come into the doorway nearly had you lose balance and fall flat on your face. He didn't say anything, just observed the group and went back to his desk. "Thanks love, " Roy said gratefully once you'd wrapped up the session, "I know I should make time for more of that shit, I know it helps."

"You also need a massage, Roy, your posture is awful from compensating for the pain in your knee. If you won't let me do it, I'll give Keeley some pointers later."

"She's takin' you shopping ain't she? Cinders finally gets to go to the ball!"

"I know, I'm looking forward to it. I think I've forgotten that clothing other than sport wear exists."

"Have fun, don't let her bully you into something you don't want to wear, she tries it with me all the time." Your head followed him into the Coach's office, looking in just to say goodbye around the small room. 

"See you all tomorrow, fellas." 

~~~~~~~~

"I don't know Keeley, it's a bit… much?" 

"It's a gala. It's black tie and incredible dresses. You don't want to go all plain and simple when you have the chance to go full on spectacular!" The dress was spectacular. You had absolutely no idea that you could hire a designer gown rather than breaking the bank on trying to buy one. Keeley had suggested the most divine rose gold Gucci dress with the most daring neckline you'd ever tried on. "You have the perfect boobs to fill this dress, you sound go for it!"

"It's not too tight on my hips?"

"Babe, you look like an awards statue. You look hot, trust me. A certain coach will lose his mind, vocabulary and breath when he sees you wearing the shit out of that."

"I have no idea what you mean. Coach Beard has a girlfriend." You replied with a laugh. Keeley threw a balled up t-shirt at you in response. The dress did feel like liquid gold on your skin, it clung to every curve and made you feel invincible. The gala was only a few days away, it wasn't like you had all the time in the world to decide. You made a snap decision and handed the dress to the store assistant. Keeley’s comments rang in your mind in the days running up to the gala. You weren't out to impress Ted. Not specifically, anyway. But if it happened to be a happy accident, then so be it. You were far too shy to actively approach him and ask him out. After 11 months of watching those soulful eyes, talking to him, and becoming friends, it was getting harder to subdue and mask your feelings. You had no idea what he really thought of you, and that was the scary part. After putting poor Jan through various stages of hell as you pummelled his back without really concentrating, you decided to call it a day. Keeley had offered you the use of her makeup artist and you figured there was no harm in accepting. With your glad rags on, you hopped out of Roy's car and went to join the red carpet queue. Up ahead you could see Rebecca who looked incredible in a deep emerald gown. Beard and Jane were next on the carpet, followed by a few players. You were next, slotting in between Colin and Michael and Roy and Keeley. You heard her voice in your head reminding you how to pose, but god your hands were shaking. You hadn't noticed Ted arrive directly behind Keeley, but you couldn't miss him when you heard his voice as you stepped in front of the cameras.

"Fuck." You heard, wondering for a second what on earth he was swearing at, and whether he intended to do it so loudly. That you'd never heard anything like it from him before distracted you from the task at hand. It was Keeley pulling you back to reality which helped propel you down the red carpet, Ted’s voice still ringing in your ears. 

~~~~~~~

[blackhairedjjun]

flowers of every color | 7. striped carnations

overall summary: when your father is assigned as the new head gardener to the royal family, you are also tasked with helping him maintain the castle's many gardens and extensive floral arrangements. by chance you find yourself crossing paths with the "ice-cold" crown prince, choi yeonjun... who turns out to be not as ice-cold as everyone says he is.

chapter summary: as you are confronted with stigma from the court after your punishment as well as the reality of yeonjun's engagement, you send him one last message -- and make a decision that you regret.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: angst angst angst, confrontations, exactly one (1) swear word

notes: i am posting this earlier than planned bc i got a sudden burst of inspiration over the last few days and i've been writing more! same as last chapter, there are OCs here to fill out the other kingdom so that i don't depict others' faves as the "villain" of the story

prev | masterlist | next

by the time you are released from your punishment, the ongoing efforts to secure a marriage for the crown prince are no longer a secret. the whole castle seems to be abuzz with preparations for the first of several meetings with the prospective bride, princess ajin, and her mother, queen hwayoung. everywhere you go, you see the castle spruced up for them, from new velvet curtains hanging from the windows to the rarely-used porcelain dinnerware placed in the dining hall.

to aid the preparations, you and your father have been assigned to make floral arrangements that are both welcoming and hardy. today you are planting some marigolds by the front entrance; you know that the bright orange blooms will both cheer the guests up and ward off pests. the skies are thankfully clear as you work.

while you are crouched down making sure that each plant is positioned well enough without overcrowding, you overhear two servants chatting as they each carry a stack of cream-colored linen. you’ve been part of the castle long enough to recognize that this particular linen is reserved only for the most important guests.

“...if it will be a good match,” one of them says to the other.

“princess ajin is going to have a hell of a time with his majesty,” the other replies with a snicker. “let’s see if her charms are enough to thaw an ice-cold prince’s heart!”

“oh no, i heard the princess is pretty ice-cold herself. she had to be dragged to come here and won’t look anyone in the eye, like she thinks she’s better than everyone else.”

“they’re perfect for each other, then! you couldn’t arrange a better match.”

they both burst into laughter. you ball your gloved hands into fists and grit your teeth, fighting the urge to stand up and tell them off that yeonjun is not the cold-hearted prince they think he is. but before your anger rises too much, one of them spots you from the corner of his eye. he gives his companion a light shove with his elbow and they both move away from you, their voices becoming more hushed. still, the other servant can’t help but stare at you with wide eyes before turning away.

you swallow hard and turn back to your marigolds, sighing to yourself as you secure the soil around each plant. you’re in no position to defend yeonjun from the servants’ rumors, not when you yourself are also the target of gossip; what more for preventing something as important as his marriage?

you pause in the middle of your gardening to wonder why yeonjun’s arranged marriage bothered you so much in the first place. you always assumed that he would stop being friends with you when he got married, but why? surely the royal household would benefit in keeping you and your father as long as you didn’t cause trouble; capable staff are hard to replace, after all. aside from that, yeonjun liked you well enough to actively seek out your company, and he would probably do so as long as he could squeeze out free time. 

so why are you so afraid of this marriage? 

you try to delve deeper into the question, but you hit a wall of emotions that you dare not climb over. perhaps you could climb it if you want to, but whenever you try to, you are overcome with a strange dread. a feeling settles over you that whatever is on the other side of the wall will make things much more complicated than they already are.

instead of climbing the wall then, you step away from it and resume planting the marigolds.

一

you spend the next few days avoiding yeonjun and, to some extent, soobin and beomgyu. while you are busy planting more marigolds in the western gardens, a servant passes by and asks if you can deliver some fresh flowers to the tearoom, and you politely decline. “i can prepare them if you like, but i’m too busy with other things to personally deliver them,” you say. the servant simply nods and leaves, but you still catch her shaking her head and muttering to herself.

you decline a few more of these errand-invitations, and you find yourself avoiding parts of the castle that you know yeonjun frequents: the tea house, the horseback riding grounds, even the portion of the castle grounds overlooking the library where he has his lessons. you stop delivering flower vases to his room altogether. the preparations for the princess’ arrival even provide you with convenient excuses: i’m busy replanting some flowers at the southern gardens, or i’m making the floral decor for the dining hall. even if you do want to see them, the work you’ve been assigned is just too much.

still, you catch glimpses of yeonjun or soobin or beomgyu from time to time as they carry on with their duties. you deliver flowers to the castle and pass by a study room where yeonjun is practicing etiquette (for the princess, maybe — you don’t dwell on it), or you’re on your way back to the greenhouse and hear excited screaming, only to see that soobin and beomgyu are playing a badminton game that has gotten a little too heated.

on arrival day you’re at the southern gardens on watering duty. with the days getting warmer, you need to make sure that the soil doesn’t get too dry, and you’re more than willing to distract yourself with the job. you’re so immersed in your work that you don’t even see the small party strolling by; you only notice them because of the sound of a familiar voice.

“your majesty should not rely on me too much, because i won’t…”

you look up before you can stop yourself. yeonjun is walking some distance away, flanked by queen hwayoung on one side and princess ajin the other. you notice that the princess’ arm is linked with yeonjun’s, just as he used to do with you, and you feel a sting in your heart.

as soon as the princess walks close enough, your insides freeze. she looks absolutely beautiful, her dress studded with tiny rubies against wine-colored silk and her updo emphasizing her sharp features. but as beautiful as she looks, you can’t read her face at all. her lips show no trace of pleasure or displeasure, and her eyes seem to be empty of all feeling. the servants were right too; she faces straight ahead, not even bothering to look at either yeonjun or her mother during their conversation. you wonder if she really is as cold-hearted as they say.

the trio passes you by. neither princess ajin nor queen hwayoung seems to notice you, but yeonjun turns his head ever so slightly to face the princess 一 then he sees you.

to those who know him less, the change in his expression would be imperceptible. but you see the way his eyes soften, the way his lips part by a sliver, the way the stern tone of his voice mid-conversation loses a bit of its edge. his eyes meet yours for a moment, sending an unspoken message, until queen hwayoung turns toward him and his attention is taken elsewhere.

you feel… heavy. the old sudden warmth in your chest comes back, but this time it never settles comfortably in you, filling you with a sinking feeling instead. you turn away and look down at the flowers you’ve been watering and shake your head as if to shake off the unpleasant feelings.

you need to put a stop to things, you think. as much as you want to cling to him again like old times, it makes your heart ache too much — and you know it makes his heart ache too much as well.

the next day you prepare a flower vase for yeonjun’s room for the first time in who knows how long. your hands tremble the whole time as you fuss over the arrangement, and once you make the journey to his quarters, you feel the heaviness in you again. you head up the steps and down the hallways as quietly as possible, ducking into a room whenever you pass by a servant or a court official; it’s a miracle that no one sees you or the vase held snugly in your arms. your heartbeat quickens the closer you get to his room, and though part of it is from the adrenaline of trying to stay hidden, much of it is from something else entirely.

as you make your trip, all sorts of images flash in your mind. one moment you see princess ajin staring blankly ahead, arm firmly linked with yeonjun’s; the next you see yeonjun facing you inside the gazebo on ball night and gazing at you with fondness. you see the yellow roses you delivered to his bedroom when you declared that you’d be friends, then you see the ornate arrangements of zinnias you made for his prospective bride and her mother. with each step you the images feel sharper, and you feel yourself closing in on that dreaded wall of emotions again.

when you enter the prince’s quarters, each footstep feels heavier than the last; when you finally reach the ledge for his vase, you have to position yourself and screw your eyes shut before setting the vase down with trembling hands. once the vase is in position, you slip out the door and nearly run all the way down back the way you came. you don’t allow yourself to think, and instead pray to whatever gods are listening that you made the right choice.

you leave behind a vase of striped carnations: frilly white flowers with crimson staining the edges of each petal. a beautiful sight, but their stems hide a solemn message.

i can’t be around you anymore. i’m sorry and thank you for everything.

一

you fill the next few days with work, taking even the portions of work for your father or the other servants. you water and fertilize both the western and southern gardens, you replant and tend to dozens of plants in the greenhouse, you run to and from the castle to provide fresh flowers and herbs 一 as long as the assigned area is in the opposite side of the castle as yeonjun’s bedroom, at least. the work takes your mind off the thoughts that were plaguing you, and if you focus on them enough you could tune the worries out. it’s easy for you to ignore the stares of the court officials or the whispers of the servants when you are too busy pulling weeds out of the bed of daisies or trimming off rose cuttings in the greenhouse for planting.

yet no matter how much you trick yourself into believing that you can work your worries away, they eventually catch up to you one day as you head to the kitchen to deliver a fresh batch of herbs. as you round the corner, you spot a familiar figure walking towards you.

“y/n!” you hear yeonjun call out.

 you pretend not to notice him and try to walk past, but he steps in front of you.

“y/n, please!” yeonjun moves closer and looks at you with desperation in his eyes. “can we talk for once? you’ve been avoiding me for a week. what’s going on with you?”

“i’m busy,” you say, and you try not to look him in the eye. “i have to bring these to the kitchen.”

“don’t do this to me, please. you can spare a few minutes to talk.”

“no, i really can’t.” you try to step past him but he only moves in front of you again.

“you can at least explain what you meant by your message. what do you mean, you can’t be around me anymore? is something wrong? none of the staff have told me anything. i’ll do anything in my power to make things work for you. i can talk to the chamberlain, the servants, anything一”

you swallow and stare at the bag of herbs in your hands. “there’s nothing to explain,” you lie. “just... don’t be around me, okay? it’s not good for either of us, yeonjun. it’ll get us into more trouble. i’m sorry.”

“‘not good for either of us’?! don’t tell me you really believe that!” he’s half-shouting now, but there seems to be more fear than anger in his voice. “i don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn! why won’t you let me help you? there has to be a way to make things work!”

“there really isn’t, okay?! it wasn’t meant to end up like this in the first place! that’s what got us in trouble!”

 “end up like what? end up as friends? but we一” you try to ignore the crack in his voice一 “we said we’d be friends. can’t we act like friends just this one time then, at least? or do you seriously believe that it’s not good for either of us?”

“i said what i said, okay?! maybe we shouldn’t be friends!”

you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. now they hang in the air as silence fills the space between you and yeonjun.

he stares at you and opens his mouth to speak, but only lets out a pained whimper. you see his eyes start to water and you look away.

“that’s how you really feel, huh?” he barely manages to string the words together. “fine, then. if that’s what you think is good for us, then maybe we shouldn’t.”

he turns on his heel and leaves.

“yeonjun, wait一” you run after him, but as soon as you turn a corner he seems to have diseappeared.

you curse yourself and bite your lip to keep yourself from screaming in the middle of the hallway. you stare at the bag of herbs you’re still holding and feel the urge to throw them onto the ground, but instead you let out a long exhale and focus your gaze on a still life of fruits hanging on the wall. your attention falls on one of the painted oranges, and whenever your frustration starts to build up again, you stare at the orange as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

it’s a miracle that you manage to calm down long enough to deliver the herbs to the kitchen. when one of the chefs asks you what’s wrong, you ignore her and head straight back to your quarters.

in your room you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, realizing just how badly you fucked up. in your attempt to protect yourself from punishment and yeonjun from abandoning his duties, and especially in your attempt to get away from the wall of emotions that you can’t confront, you ended up breaking the one thing you cherished most in the whole castle: his friendship.

you curl the blankets around yourself and try to sleep, hoping that you’ve simply ended up in a bad dream.

end notes: hehe i love angst :) also princess ajin was originally not part of this chapter in the original outline, but after seeing the feedback from ch6 + thinking about the setup for her from there, i decided that i should probably introduce her here

taglist (open!) @seosalad @lilplilplilp @yeonboy @pyuae @hyuneyeon @strawbrinkofdeath @yushiu @mazeinthemoon @banggyu0308 @shytubatu @kyaneosprincess

[topgun-imagines]

Day 7: Push and Pull

Pairings: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x fem!reader

Synopsis: You and Ice are nothing more than friend with benefits. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

Warnings: mentions of religion, mentions of sex, slight smut, insults, arguments & fwb relationships.

Word count: 1.8k

This wasn’t something you did often. When you were younger, you were convinced that you would save yourself for marriage. That little innocent girl would look at you in shame now. Your religion was always important to you. You knew the kind of man you wanted; one that your parents would approve of and one that could give you everything you ever dreamed of. A man that you would love with your whole being. Now, that little girl's innocence was long gone.

That all changed when you arrived at Top Gun. Well, most of it. You had found a man that you loved more than anyone, but could he give you the life you so desperately wanted? The second Tom Kazansky walked into that classroom the first day, you knew that little girl would be disappointed in you. And now here you were, wrapped up in now-familiar sheets, proving your own point. You could practically see her sad expression as Tom collapsed into bed next to you.

Hours upon hours had been spent in this bed. After the first day, you were a goner. One night at the bar had you falling into his sheets with nothing more than a little smooth talk and a few suggestive looks. Even after Tom took you apart like he wanted nothing more than you, you were leaving a couple of hours later, hair and make-up askew.

Less than a week later you knew you had feelings for him. It was hard to ignore the looks he sent you; the ones that would leave you short of breath and clenching your thighs. Part of you desperately hoped that something could work out between the two of you. After all, you were so good together, both in the air and in bed. The attraction you had for the man was beyond anything you had ever felt before. It was a scary feeling.

Now, loud pants and the stench of sweat and sex filled the room as Tom lay down next to you. His sweaty frame encompassed yours as he tossed his arm over your waist. You wouldn’t call it cuddling, it was more the bare minimum. It seemed like something a person would do when they were waiting for you to leave. Not once have you stayed the night at Tom’s and it had been over three weeks. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel him drawing delicate patterns on your smooth skin, kissing the side of your head tenderly, and holding you as if he loved you. But when your eyes opened, that dream disappeared.

With a heavy sigh, you stood from the bed, ready to make that familiar walk back to your base housing. Almost slowly, as if you were willing him to reach out for you, you slipped your panties and pants on. You looked over your shoulder to find him propped up on his elbows, eyes glued to your ass. The look in his eyes made you blush. Pulling your sweater over your head, you were finally dressed. The dazed expression on Tom’s face sent a surge of confidence.

���Ice?” You muttered, insides heating up when you heard his gravely reply. “Do you think, maybe, I could stay the night?” Any semblance of peace was gone the second the words left your mouth. Instantly, the cold and calculating pilot froze. His eyes no longer held that unfamiliar look. Instead, it was replaced with one you had seen many times before. It was always directed at Mav, never at you.

Shifting uncomfortably, he grabbed his boxers from the floor and pulled them on quickly, covering his soft cock. “We-we’ve gotta be up early,” Never had you seen Iceman stutter. The man was always so collected, having so much confidence that stuttering was never even a possibility. Apparently, there was a first time for everything. “I don't think that that's the best idea.”

Was disappointment the best word to describe how you were feeling? Honestly, you weren't too sure. You just felt numb. You felt like you were gonna be sick. Sure, you were nervous to tell Iceman that you liked him, but after everything that the two of you had been through, you never expected him to be so ashamed of a simple thing like you staying the night. All you could do was stand frozen in place. What were you supposed to say to that?

You couldn’t think of anything, so, you collected your few belongings and moved to the front door. But then you stopped. This was hurting you, and deep down, you knew that Iceman was as uncaring as always. Closure was what you needed, so that's what you were going to get. “What are we?” Had the question been directed at anyone else, you would have seen how much it threw him. Instead, all you got was an agitated sigh as he ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “What are we doing here, Iceman?” You had never called him by his call sign. It was always Tom or some funny nickname, but never Iceman.

“What do you mean ‘what are we’?” He sounded almost repulsed by the question, as if you were insulting him with the mere thought of being anything more than friends.

Something that Iceman had always been good at was reading people. It was a talent that he had picked up when he was young. So, when he saw the way your face dropped even the slightest bit, he was laughing. The last thing you expected him to do was laugh. Part of you hoped that he was only joking with his previous comment but when you saw the look in his eyes, you knew that you were wrong.

His laugh was full of malice. You knew that he could be cold and emotionless, but this, this was scary. “You thought you were more than a fuck to me?” And just like that, you felt sick. This was so much worse than feeling numb. It was true what people said. You didn’t know just how much you cared about something until it was gone. Subconsciously, you had been picturing your future with the pilot for the better part of two weeks. You hadn’t realized until now. It was hard to stop the tears welling in your eyes. Iceman only scoffed.

Up until now, you hadn't realized just how much he towered over you. It was a terrifying sight, seeing someone you loved approaching you in such an intimidating way. You almost cowered. Almost. There was nothing but hate in his words when he spoke. “You think you actually meant something to me? I could walk into that bar and find dozens of women exactly like you,” And as if that wasn’t enough, he only continued. “Well, let's be honest, they would be better than you,” A single tear trailed down your face, although you couldn’t decide if it was out of sadness or anger. The next words were whispered in your ear. “You mean nothing to me. You never have and you never will.”

Usually, you were an understanding person. But you would never understand people who did what Iceman just did. That tear was out of anger. You were more than sure of it now. “Fuck you, you arrogant piece of shit.” There was nothing but conviction in your tone. You were beyond pissed. And when the pilot only smirked, fuel was added to the flame.

“You already did, sweetheart.”

That little innocent girl would never have stooped down to his level. To use something personal against him for the sole purpose of hurting him, that little girl would have never even considered it. She never would have done what you were about to. “You know what Iceman? You’ve put yourself so high up on a pedestal that you can’t even see your own faults. You spend all this time acting like you’re so fucking perfect that you can’t even begin to realize that you’re the fucking problem here!” His face fell but you weren't done yet. “Sure, Maverick may be immature but at least he knows it. You’re so obsessed with this lie that you’ve built to keep everyone at an arm's length that you don't realize that you are the problem.”

Wild hand gestures moved quickly as you continued speaking, ignoring the darkening look on his face. “And yet you act like you want everyone to love you. How is anyone supposed to do that when you won't even let them in?” Now, you were simply searching for a reason. Why was it so hard for him to let you in? Not once in the past three weeks had you done anything to warrant his distrust in you. “No one will love you if you can’t even let them get close.”

It was with that sentence that he snapped. “It’s you that could never be loved. And that’s your own fucking fault. I would never,” Pausing, Iceman allowed his words to sink in. This time, there was no smirk on his face. You could tell just how serious he was. It was scary seeing him like this but you knew that this was the only way to really know who he was. And clearly, he wasn’t at all who you thought. “Ever, love you,” If it was even possible, your heart shattered even more. “Now get the fuck out of my house.”

You were left speechless as he turned around, ignoring your existence completely. All that you could manage was a scoff. You were trying to keep your tears at bay. While both of you had said some terrible things, hearing it come from the person you loved was one of the most painful feelings in the world. Leaving without another word seemed like the best choice for the both of you. So, that’s exactly what you did.

The slam of the door behind you seemed to echo in your mind long after it was closed. Within seconds, the tears were falling before you could stop them. You looked around helplessly. After everything that had just happened, you had to go home to your empty base housing. So, you made the split-second decision to call a friend from the pay phone outside the gas station on the other side of the street. The cord was twisted anxiously around your finger as the line rang. When the familiar raspy voice flooded your ears, you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Mav? I need you to come get me.”

a/n: hope you enjoyed! Join the taglist!

Tagging: @ohtobeleah @xoxabs88xox @els-marvelvsp @kmc1989 @nyx2021 @callsignharper

[charyou-tree]

Unfriendly reminder that CNN was recently bought out by rightwing billionaire John Malone, a board member of the far-right "libertarian think tank" called the Cato Institute, where he rubs elbows with other evil bastards like the Koch brothers.

From their wikipedia page:

Cato scholars have consistently called for the privatization of many government services and institutions,[77] including NASA,[78] Social Security,[79] the United States Postal Service,[80] the Transportation Security Administration,[81] public schooling, public transportation systems,[82][83] and public broadcasting.[84] The institute opposes minimum wage laws, saying that they violate the freedom of contract and thus private property rights, and increase unemployment.[85][86] The institute is opposed to expanding overtime regulations, arguing that it will benefit some employees in the short term, while costing jobs or lowering wages of others, and have no meaningful long-term impact.[87][88] It opposes child labor prohibitions,[89][90][91] opposes public sector unions, and supports right-to-work laws.[92][93] It opposes universal health care, arguing that it is harmful to patients and an intrusion onto individual liberty.[94][95] It is against affirmative action.[96] It has also called for total abolition of the welfare state, and has argued that it should be replaced with reduced business regulations to create more jobs, and argues that private charities are fully capable of replacing it.[97][98] Cato has also opposed antitrust laws.[99][100] Cato is an opponent of campaign finance reform, arguing that government is the ultimate form of potential corruption and that such laws undermine democracy by undermining competitive elections. Cato also supports the repeal of the Federal Election Campaign Act.[101][102]

They're for pretty much every horrible far-right policy there is. This man is a board member of the organization that was created for billionaire oligarchs to funnel money into bribing politicians and spreading propaganda to influence public opinion on regulations to try and make this vision of America a reality.

One of the best lies by Fox News that everyone swallowed uncritically is the idea that everyone else is "The Liberal Media".

CNN should be regarded as a fascist propaganda outlet for the indefinite future.

[taylor-tut-fics]

Hi!!!! i love ur camp camp fics and would DEVOUR cranky david if u offered him!!!! let my boy complain lord knows he deserves it 😩

THANK YOUUUU omg. I personally don't feel like this fic is the best. it's a little short and i had trouble connecting some of the scenes. but it's written, and that's what counts. maybe you'll like it!! i sure hope you do!! and thank you for always encouraging me! it means a lot!! :)

“David, can you get Preston to stop painting the walls?”

“Sure, why don’t I do everything?” he mutters. Gwen rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath. She’s been dealing with this all day. The first time he’d snapped at her, she’d thought she misheard. Surely, her sweet, cherubic David wouldn’t say something rude. Of course, it had happened again, then again. When pressed about it, he’d told her that he just wasn’t feeling well. He’d apologized, which had assuaged her anger and replaced it, temporarily, with sympathy. Both of those things dried up when the snippy attitude didn’t stop. 

She’s seen David not feeling his best before. From heat, from a cold once. He always gets quiet, but she’s never seen him like this. He’s slow, dragging, crabby. Though she understands he doesn’t feel well, she’s losing patience. 

“Watch it.”

“Sorry,” he rasps, coughing wetly into his elbow. It brings back what little sympathy she still has for him. It makes her worry a tiny bit, too. It doesn’t sound so good. “I just don’t have the energy for all this.” 

The only reason he’s pushing himself like this is for her benefit, she tries to remember. These demons are not a one person job and he knows it. If he had his way, he’d be sleeping off whatever flu bug he’s caught, but he’s afraid (rightfully so) that if he leaves them alone, the kids will smell her fear and use the opportunity to burn down the camp. Even just having him weakened is inviting chaos, so she can’t imagine how bad it would be if he checked out. Still, she could live without the attitude. He’s even been a little terse with the kids, though certainly not outright rude like he’s been to her. 

“If you need a break, say so,” she says a little pointedly. Though she knows he’s not going to take her up on it, she has to remind him that he’s allowed to take a break because if he continues on like this, she’s going to lose her goddamn mind. She expects him to ignore her like he has all day, but he sighs. 

“Actually, could I take a few minutes? I need to catch my breath.” 

It strikes her as odd. Either he senses that he’s actually ticked her off, or he’s feeling worse than earlier, sand she’s willing to bet it’s a little of both.

“Uh, sure. I can handle this for a minute’. You okay?” 

Upsettingly, he shrugs, then nods. “Just a little dizzy.” 

That doesn’t make her feel any better, but she doesn’t have time to ask follow up questions before he’s dragging himself out of the mess hall. 

“Max, follow him,” she commands. “Come get me if he starts dying.” 

Max groans and grumbles for a while about the order. For so long, in fact, that by the time he finally does get outside, he has to search for David. He assumes he’s going to find him reinvigorating himself in nature by smelling a flower or hugging a tree, but that’s not the case. Instead, he can’t find him at all. 

“David?” he calls, but gets nothing in response. He checks the picnic benches by the mess hall and David’s favorite tree. Just when he’s running out of places to look, he thinks of a long shot: the counselor’s cabin. David probably wouldn’t choose an air-conditioned, sunless, treeless place for his break, but he’s running out of places to look. He pushes open the door and is surprised to find David on the couch, lying on his back with his eyes shut. 

“David?” 

He blinks, clearly already almost asleep. He must really be exhausted. “Max? What are you doing here?” 

“Gwen wanted me to make sure you don’t die.” David rolls his eyes, then forces a smile. 

“I’m fine. I just need a minute to myself, if that’s okay.” 

Max kicks his feet up on the armchair and sits. “Knock yourself out. I’m gonna play Gwen’s Switch.” He has his own save file on her Stardew Valley game and she knows it. For some reason she never deletes it even though she’s banned him from playing. 

David takes a full 15 minutes to recover. He sets an alarm on his phone and Max is pretty sure he actually falls asleep. His breathing evens out and he looks less miserable than he has all day, not that he’s been paying attention. When the alarm goes off, he groans, stops the sound, and rubs his hands over his face. Max has never seen him so tired. 

“Hey,” he says despite instantly regretting showing concern, “are you okay? Because you seem not okay.” 

Gwen had told him to make sure he’s alive, after all, and he can’t do that if David is pushing himself this hard. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that this camp isn’t worth this kind of effort. He’d love to see David give up and throw in the towel. He’d be able to hold it against him, possibly for the rest of the summer. 

“Of course,” he lies. “I’m just not feeling my best today.”

“You know you can just pawn us off on Gwen, right? Phone it in and give up?” 

David shakes his head. “I’m okay. I promise. I’ll just go to bed a little early today.” 

“Your funeral,” Max shrugs. Still, he walks behind David all the way back to the mess hall and a part of him knows it’s to ensure his safety, just like Gwen had asked. 

It’s an excruciating several hours until dinner. Usually, torturing David is Max’s main source of entertainment, but it’s not fun if he’s already maxed out on suffering. Without that to distract him from camp activities, he’s left only with Gwen’s botched knot tying lecture, and he’s not into it one bit. At least David would be delivering it with a mockable passion. Gwen’s just barely managing to read the words on the page in front of her. David’s notes, no doubt, but he’s got the spiel memorized. The only reason she’s giving it over him is because his voice is barely audible. 

Even shivering with fever chills, coughing terribly, and barely clinging to wakefulness, David is alert enough to correct her on misinformation. It’s driving her nuts. By the time she’s gotten to the demonstration, she’s ready to fight him. She doesn’t even care how sick he is. She’ll throw hands, anyway. 

“You don’t hold it like that,” David interrupts harshly. Her eye twitches.

“Thank you, David,” she says, breathing measuredly. 

“You didn’t pay attention when I showed you how to do it.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“So how do you expect to—”

“David,” she curtails, “do you want to teach the lesson?” 

He flushes redder than he is already. “I—well, I wish I could, but—”

“Then stop correcting me. No one is paying attention to this shit, anyway.” His face falls. Great, now he’s embarrassed and crushed. She regrets being so harsh. “I know you want everything to be perfect all the time, but until you’re back on your feet, you’re gonna have to live with it, because I’m trying my best.” 

Though she’s prepared for an argument, she watches him deflate a little, staring at the ground in defeat. 

“Sure. Okay. Go ahead.” 

Despite how pathetic he looks about it, she’s happy to be able to finish the lecture before dinner is ready, if only barely. She leaves him to clean up while she does the more strenuous job of getting the kids fed and seated while also making sure none of them kill one another. 

Unfortunately, though, she’s not able to prevent madness from descending. She’s already lost control when David stumbles into the room, looking sweaty and unsteady. It’s not that she doesn’t care—she just doesn’t notice. Max does, though. He sees everything. Even though he can’t stand David, he’s a perceptive kid and can tell when things aren’t right. Apparently, so can the other campers. 

“David?” Harrison calls. He takes a moment before registering that he’s been beckoned, and when he does, he looks a little peeved about it. “Maybe you should sit down.” 

“Before you fall down,” Max adds. He shakes his head. 

“No, I’m—what’s going on here?”

“The usual. You and Gwen are both useless, so we’re taking advantage of the opportunity.” He doesn’t react to the jab, which, combined with the pallor of his face and the fact that he’s visibly shaking, proves that something is very wrong. Something worse than the cold he’s been fighting all day. Max glances at Gwen to see how she’s reacting only to realize that she’s not even paying attention to his misery. It takes her a long time to glance up for long enough to see that David is in the room, and even then, she isn’t really looking at him. If she were, it would be obvious that he’s fairing poorly. 

“I need help,” she begs. “They’re monsters.” David doesn’t even appear to register the plea. He’s focusing all his energy on balancing on his feet. He looks like he’s about to fall down, possibly dead. 

“Gwen,” he calls weakly, “I need a break. I’m feeling lightheaded.” 

“That’s great, David,” she says offhandedly, not listening. “Nurf, utensils are a privilege, and I will take them away from you!” 

He can’t stop watching David, who staggers over to the empty counselor’s bench and braces himself against it. It gives him a sense of foreboding. 

“Uh, Gwen?” Max asks. She doesn’t have time to deal with that right now.

“Not now, Max. Space Kid, get down from there!” 

As she fishes him down from where he’s dangling from the fan, David clutches his forehead, his eyes fluttering dangerously. 

“I’m serious. I think I need to go lie down.” Max isn’t sure she even hears it.

“Are you gonna give me a hand here?” she demands. David forces himself forward, but he instead runs directly into Gwen’s back. 

“Hey!” she exclaims when she spills the mug of tea she’s holding, whirling on him angrily just as he slumps forward. For the first time all day, she’s actually got a good look at him, and she doesn’t like what she sees. His blinks are long and slow, and he’s swaying. “David?” she calls, but before she realizes she needs to reach out and grab him, he drops. 

The chatter of the mess hall stops at once, Space Kid still swinging from the ceiling. She kneels down to his side and shakes his shoulder, but he doesn’t respond. 

“Oh, shit. Hey, David, come on. Wake up.” She taps a worryingly hot cheek. “Crap. That’s not good.” 

“Step aside,” Max says, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve got this.” He slaps David’s face so hard he has to wind up. It does absolutely nothing but leave a red mark. This is not the same unconsciousness as when he’d taken a nap on the couch earlier. He’d really fainted. They’d pushed him too far. 

“Don’t do that!” she scolds. “Okay. This is going to be fine. Nikki, get a wet cloth. He’s burning up. Harrison, get the first aid kit. Have Nerris help you.” 

The children disperse. Neil and Ered go off in search of water and fruit snacks for when he wakes up. David stays unconscious for longer than Max is comfortable with. Gwen has to run the cool dishcloth against his face and neck for several minutes before he blinks awake. 

“Hi,” she greets softly. “Are you with me now?” 

“I—what happened?” 

Hi words are still slightly slurred, but that appears to be from exhaustion rather than a sign they need to go to the hospital.“You passed out a little. How do you feel?” 

He looks to be on the brink of tears and forces the palms of his hands to his eyes, clearly upset to be so out of it. “I want to go to bed.” 

“Okay, okay. In a minute. We need to take your temperature first.” She forces the thermometer on him and waits for the beep. When the number appears, it makes her look nervous. “God, David; I’m sorry. You should have just stayed in bed today.” 

“I wanted to help.”

“Only because you knew I didn’t want to deal with this all on my own.” She extends a hand to help him sit up. “Think you could stand if I help you?” 

He considers this. “Maybe give me a minute.” 

The kids are quiet, well-behaved, even, as he sips his water and waits for his head to stop swimming enough that he won’t faint again if he stands. After a few minutes, he decides he’s feeling well enough to try. Gwen gets him to his feet where he wavers, but manages to stay upright. 

“Kids, I’m going to be gone for 10 minutes. If you’re not in these exact positions when I get back, no one gets dessert for a week.” 

She half drags David back to the counselor’s cabin and sets him on the edge of his bed. While she fishes around for something more comfortable he could change into, he climbs beneath the sheets. By the time she turns around with a set of sweatpants and a t-shirt in hand, he’s already snuggled up tight. She smiles. 

“Guess you’re pretty tired, huh?” 

“A little.” He stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry for being so crabby all day.” 

“Are you kidding? I’m the one who owes you an apology. I ignored you.” 

“I was being difficult.” 

“You were being bitchy, but it doesn’t matter. You’re my friend. I should have been paying attention.” She doesn’t often call him that, and it makes him smile. “Go ahead and get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you once I get the kids to bed, but call me if you need me. Think you could eat something if I brought it to you?”

The thought of food makes his stomach churn. “I’m not hungry. Maybe later.  

“Thanks, Gwen.” He rolls over and shuts his eyes, thankful for quiet for the first time that day. He falls asleep almost immediately.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

I would like more cousin duo factoids and tidbits

The Roycegaryen/Targtower Daddy Issues Havers Cousin Duos are so dear to me, thank you for this opportunity to scream about it

Ella & Aemond

This shit is built on mutual "my mental health is everyone else's problem" bullshittery. They are a constant feedback loop of "catharsis is arson & soul rendering screams into the void & property damage," both equally explosive but subdued in the areas where the other isn't. They are also definitely profiting from Ella being way more socially well adjusted & friendly than Aemond; she's basically his emotional support sister-figure (not that he doesn't have older sisters, but Ella's way older than him while actually being willing to be his friend/mentor without being a second mom bc he would never replace Alicent like that!)

Absolutely chaotic son-coded oldest daughter/daughter-coded second son solidarity. When the Targtowers visit Runestone she takes him joyriding on Vermithor & then sends him to go play with her comedically serious son. 16/10 experience, bb!Aemond would do it again & she is his favorite cousin. They definitely set a tree on fire during that flying session.

Yorick & Aegon

My boys elbow deep in the daddy issues muck. The traumatized little boy who hates his shitty dad & just wants his mommy to hold him in Yorick recognizes the traumatized little boy in Aegon. They're friends, they're brothers, they're father & son; they hug each other & cry at least once.

Yorick is, for Aegon, an older male figure who cares about him without worrying about how that benefits him & is safe--he's dad shaped & tells him he can do/be better because he's worth that effort, not because the realm needs it but because he deserves it personally. And then for Yorick, Aegon is finally seeing to fruition the reason he was in King’s Landing & enduring All That for years: being the older brother figure of the king's son. There's just the extra bonus of them being able to commiserate over just fucking hating Viserys.

Aegon is a shivering cat that Yorick found in the dumpster that immediately imprinted on him when he figured out "I like soft touch." Meanwhile, Aegon bonding with Weird Scary Mountain Man is a fucking mirror of Yorick claiming his nasty as hell dragon. Also, Yorick has definitely threatened Otto Hightower in defense of His Boy™ & I feel like that level of care had Aegon stunlocked for several minutes. 100/10, he's never leaving Yorick’s side again.

Aemon & Helaena

Weird quiet isolated kid who gets easily overwhelmed solidarity, right there. Aemon sees the potential to get/be as bad as he was isolation wise, & he wants better than that for whoever he sees that kind of "I'm weird, I'm a weirdo. I don't fit in." energy in, so it starts with him going out of his way to make sure she doesn't slip through the cracks & then blossoms into something really sweet & mutual from there. He'll happily sit there in silence when she needs it & listen to her when she has something to say; like, just generally he isn't treating Helaena like she's fragile or has something wrong with her. His concern is just not wanting her to be lonely.

They respect each other as Socially Just A Little Off & they're mutually safe to be around when the social battery is running on empty. "Your thought processes & need to be alone sometimes are totally normal. Everyone else is wrong." Also, in a modern AU she's who is going up to the counter at the burger place to say Aemon asked for no pickles. Please know that is real & true.

Aemon is also close enough to her age (like, I think he was 5 when she was born?) that he can kind of easily & comfortably fit within her life while still being Large Older Rleative To Be Safe Around If I Need Protection. When he comes home from fostering for his 16th nameday & gets to be in a tourney to celebrate his getting knighted, he asks Helaena for her favor because that's his friend & she said she wanted to give him one. The tourney was loud, but she had fun & Aemon made sure she had both hiding spots & other kids to play with, 12/10 that's her cousin. Also Aemon is one of the most exciting parts of getting betrothed to Yorick's son/Stannis during the course of the fic (Stannis knows he is the second favorite cousin & he's okay with this)

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Freefall Masterlist

Ferrari's Defender

formula1news Charles Leclerc's girlfriend, having just recently escaped scandal after it was leaked that her relationship with said Ferrari driver was initially a PR set up, is under fire once more, the woman currently being heard yelling at the FIA stewards over their awarding of a 10 place penalty to Carlos Sainz. Thoughts?

"Ms.Earnhardt, this is incredibly inappropriate behavior. You are a guest at this event and we could very well-"

"Very well what? Throw me out? How is that going to look F1 if you throw the clearly distressed, sobbing girlfriend of il Predestinato out of the race? With many fans here due to my presence as the Princess of Nascar?" I glare, the steward flinching at my tone.

"This race has had nothing but bad PR. Your world champion Verstappen has been saying to everyone how he hates it here. The only positive media attention has been Hamilton's energy and the crossover event of my brother's, father, and I being here, representing Nascar."

And you can tell by their faces that they are aware that I am right. If they kick my family and I out now, they'll only face more backlash than they already are.

"What was your reason for being here?" Another steward asks, her voice gentler than the other, but whether that's for my benefit or hers I don't know.

"Carlos Sainz did not deserve that penalty."

"Ms.Earn-"

"No," I interrupt once more, the man from earlier quieting immediately. "Sainz only had to replace his power unit because of the FIA's negligence in ensuring that the track was safe for driving. You're truly lucky that he wasn't injured or worse given the state of the bottom of his car. This coupled with your clear disregard for driver safety-"

"We regard driver's safety very highly Ms.Earnhardt."

"Clearly that is not the case, given that you'd rather penalize him than apologize for the dangerous situation you put him in. You are aware that he was unable to feel his legs for a few moments right?"

They are. You can tell based on their expressions.

"And if you don't fix this, you know the negative publicity surrounding this race will increase ten-fold when the rest of the drivers comment on the injustice as well."

"They know better," The original steward disagrees.

"Do they?" I question, smirking at the oblivious man. "I already have Verstappen, Albon, Norris, Hamilton, and Piastri willing to speak on this. As well as my father, who I don't know if you remember, is Dale Earnhardt Jr., and would bring into question the validity of how penalties are given out in Formula 1," The explanation rolls off my tongue easily, smirk never leaving as their eyes grow wide.

Got 'em.

"What would you like to see happen to prevent you and the others from drawing attention?"

"Remove the penalty from Sainz. This was your fault, take responsibility like a big kid."

And its now that they pause, looking between themselves before the grouchy one nods, crossing his arms.

"We will notify the teams now and have the announcement released in the next hour."

"Good, thank you," I thank, smiling brightly. "I look forward to seeing the rest of the weekend," I assure, turning around and leaving the viewing platform to find both Ferrari boys, my brothers, and my dad outside the door.

"So? Did you hand them their asses?" Will asks, Alex elbowing his twin.

Looking to Carlos, I can see the concern and some of the emotion from earlier still in his eyes, making him look so much older.

"Carlos, they are notifying the teams now," I begin, Charles tugging me into his side. "Your penalty is being removed after further evaluation," I can't help but smile.

"Really?"

And I want to cry at how relieved he looks as I nod.

"Eres una diosa mi amiga, (you are a goddess my friend)" He says, and while I'm not sure what that means, he pulls me into a hug.

"How'd you manage this amore mio (my love)?" Charles asks, pulling me back in as Carlos releases me.

"I told them I would make the negative media attention even worse by speaking out, along with other drivers and my father, making this race even more of a mess than it already is," I explain, my Dad snickering.

"That's my little girl."

formula1news Sainz will move into the race Sunday with no penalty due to convincing by teammates girlfriend

carlossainz55 This is Lynnleigh. She supports not only my teammate, her boyfriend, but the entire team. And today she has gotten more hate for that than I have seen in the last month.

Lynnleigh stood up for the team when we were given an undeserved penalty, and made a case so strong that the FIA decided to reverse the penalty, putting us in a great position to do our best and stay there during Quali Saturday.

You, the tifosi, should be thanking her for making this happen. Not tearing her apart for being defensive about a friend.

Proud to call you a friend, Lynn.

Thank you for putting up with Charles and supporting the team.

Esta es Lynnleigh. Ella apoya no sólo a mi compañera de equipo, a su novio, sino a todo el equipo. Y hoy ha recibido más odio por eso que el que he visto en el último mes.

Lynnleigh defendió al equipo cuando nos impusieron una penalización inmerecida y presentó un caso tan sólido que la FIA decidió revertir la penalización, colocándonos en una excelente posición para dar lo mejor de nosotros y permanecer allí durante la clasificación del sábado.

Ustedes, los tifosi, deberían agradecerle por hacer que esto sucediera. No destrozarla por ponerse a la defensiva con un amigo.

Orgulloso de llamarte amiga, Lynn.

Gracias por aguantar a Charles y apoyar al equipo.

lynleigh03 anything for a friend Car ❤️ happy the stewards came to the right decision