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writefightandflightclub · 3 months

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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onp4012 · 1 year

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Pick a Card: What’s your role in this lifetime?

Choose one of the pictures in the image and then scroll down to see what your role is in this lifetime!

Please like and reblog 〽️

©onenormalperson4012

here’s the masterlist

Pile 1

9S, Emperor, Death, KNOP, QOS, 3P, 9C, Lovers

The people who choose this pile probably have been forced to grow up or mature themselves from a very young age. I feel like life has been giving you a hard time ever since the beginning and you have met a lot of change during your upbringing. Life didn’t seem so stable after a while, did it? I see that your role in this lifetime is to be strong and independent and learn from all of your mistakes. In this lifetime you should be faced with many changes and challenges to further develop your soul. I feel like you will also be forced to develop your more earthly senses. If you choose this pile there’s a chance that you may have mainly earth placements or not have earth placements at all, in which case you will need to develop a more grounded sense and perspective. You are meant to become a strong and stable individual. I can also see that you were forced to become a very very logical person and you had to ignore your feelings.

I’m getting girlboss vibes from this pile. I feel like most of you who have chosen this pile would like to work in finances or want to work as some sort of leader. I can see that you have the leadership qualities but I am not sure if all of you will want this type of responsibility. I’m getting a very serious vibe from you. You are meant to accomplish great things in this lifetime and I see that the universe/God has been trying to send you messages that this is what you should pursue. Some of you may fear this type of commitment but just so you know, God doesn’t give you more than you can carry. I see a lot of happiness and stability in your life around the age of 30.

Pile 2

Hermit, 8S, 10C, KOC, 5S, Justice, QOP, 4C

First thing I heard when I shuffled was “First place you”, so perhaps many of you tend to put others’ needs above yours because of insecurities. I get that most of you who has chosen this pile are very emotional people who tend to seek constant validation or always feel like they are a victim because your efforts are almost never reciprocated. I feel like you might’ve grown up to be a people pleaser and got used to the feeling of being worthy and enough for the people around you. It’s like you’ve constantly sought love and tried to please in order to receive that love. You are quite a compassionate person, gotta be honest.

You seem very empathetic and people have used you for your empathy and your mercy so you might feel a little bit lost. I get that your role in the lifetime is to start putting yourself in first place and stop being a people pleaser or if you want to keep being one, assert some limits. You have to acknowledge that you are your own person, and realize that you have your own life and others are responsible for their own lives. You are not their mother, neither their guardian. I also feel like you have been searching for answers, and that you have probably watched countless pick a card readings on YouTube or Tumblr only to find an answer. The reason you’re feeling lost is because you have started to lose your self identity by putting other people first. You can see how I keep on telling you this, but I feel like no matter how much I tell you that you need to change this. I still feel the need to tell you once again. PUT. YOURSELF. FIRST. While I was looking at the picture for this pile I heard the word “Help” so I guess it’s pretty self explanatory.

Pile 3

10S, 4W, 8P, 9C, AOC, Fool, Empress, Hermit

I was looking at the cards just now and I thought about like you know those times when you are feeling very down and you just pray that things are going to be good again and somehow you end up distracting yourself with something very pleasant, so you just forget about that bad thing. This is the vibe that is pile gives me. I feel like those who have chosen this pile need to learn that pain is something you cannot just ignore but you have to go through and eventually remember that you have things in life which can help you get over that specific pain. I want you to know that you are able to get over pain by yourself and you do not need anything else but yourself. You are a strong person and you can overcome everything. You’re on this lifetime seems to be that you are able to forgive, and you should forgive those who have done you wrong.

I also feel like your role in this lifetime is also to help people heal faster and enjoy their stay on earth as much as you enjoy yours. I feel like most of you are usually very optimistic people and you prefer to see the good and bad and just enjoy and just work through it but the same time also feel like you’re kind of conflicted. It’s like you don’t even trust yourself and it’s just sad because you have a lot to offer and you should realize how much happiness you can bring others how much love you can teach. Your role in this lifetime, could also be that you will have to be some sort of teacher to those who are very down and teach them how to see the world less scary when they are in pain. So yeah, I think this is your role in this lifetime. You need to learn this lesson in order to be able to help others as well, so you can accomplish this one role

Pile 4

Judgement, POS, 9W, Hanged Man, KNOP, Magician, KOP, High Priestess

Those who have chosen this pile, will need to establish a healthy connection with the divine and develop their spiritual side. I have to be honest I pretty much see in this reading that most of you who have chosen this pile tend to have this envious side, which is caused by the feeling of worthlessness. Alright, I feel like most of you are probably already involved with spirituality or with occult or religion., so I guess we can talk about the fact that you need to start trusting your gut instinct and your intuition. Your role in this lifetime is to keep being spiritual or dive even deeper than you have already have. Manifestation comes very easily to you I see, especially physical manifestation. You will accomplish great things in this life with the help of the divine so keep on manifesting and wishing big, because it’s working.

Because of your good deeds, you will get to feel content and happy. I see that karma goes very hard for you guys, so please don’t curse or do anything negative because it will come back even harder (I don’t feel like many of you are witches who practice black magic, but still). I also see that in this lifetime you are also meant to be materially blessed and happy financially. The king of pentacles kept on trying to get out of the deck and he usually signifies very prosperous people so this could mean that you will need to become this prosperous archetype. You’ve got what it takes to become what you need to become, just trust the universe and you’ll see. Don’t worry too much about it.

Pile 5

Judgement, POS, QOC, World

Goddamn, first two cards were also in the previous pile. You might wanna check Pile 4 before reading this. I feel like those who have chosen this pile will need to focus on their knowledge and become the best possible version of themselves. This pile will need to learn what auto control really is and start accepting their responsibilities and realize that no one will do their work for them. This pile has a lot of potential, but they also need to work hard.. I feel like those will have chosen this pile need to connect to their femininity and masculinity and try to balance those two things out. I see that you are very passionate people, and that you were very gifted intellectually, but you have to realize that you need to step in to your femininity as well.

Feel your emotions. Trust your instincts don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. Be curious to explore things and don’t be afraid of life. You are meant to become a strong individual and be an example for others, so do not be any less of an example. Be happy and enjoy life. This is what you need to be in this lifetime. Learn how to balance energies within yourself out and try being more receptive to your own feelings.

Thank you for being here❤️

#tarot #tarot community #pick a card #pac #tarot cards #onenormalperson4012 #pick a picture #astrology #romania #pick an image #tarot future spouse #tarot future reading #future spouse #future reading #spirit index #spiritualguidance #spiritualjourney #spiritualhealing

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greywritesthings · 1 month

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Honeycomb hot chocolate

Spencer Reid x Autistic!Reader

fluff

warnings: description of overwhelm / sensory overload, mention of shutdown? police being sexist dicks

a/n - Thank you sm to @spinningspencer for the ideas for some more dynamic / general autism quirks <3 more autistic!reader will be coming so if anyone else has any ideas send em to my ask box! (Also honeycomb hot chocolate is top teir i absolutely adore it) reblogs, likes and comments appreciated!

Part 1 Part 3

masterlist

“Wheels up in thirty, Penelope, you're coming with us.” Hotch says as he leaves the meeting room, the others following behind him. The idea of getting on a plane to Anchorage, Alaska for nearly eight hours practically made your teeth hurt. Spencer looks over at you with concern and when you nod at him he gets the message that you just need a second to prepare for the trip.

After a few minutes you gather the mental strength to leave the room and head over to the coffee machine where Spencer now stood with both your go bags and a new packet of gum. Once you get to him he hands you your usual honeycomb hot chocolate, the honeycomb syrup being a gift from rossi for christmas three years ago that you had fallen in love with, once you had run out he had wordlessly replaced it and had done the same since, you tried leaving him the money for it on his desk at first but it just ended up back on you own with a sticky note saying “stop it :) '' So you gave up, saving the sticky note in the box within your desk, knowing ordinarily he wouldn't put a smiley face on it but he didnt want you to misconstrue his tone. “C'mon you two love birds, we gotta get to the jet” Derek announces as he walks across the room encouraging Spencer and you two follow.

Once you had settled on the jet you settled into your usual spot in the four seater next to the window with Spencer on your right. You pull his hand onto your lap and just start to mindlessly fidget with his fingers while you wait for the others to join you. He carried fidget toys in his bag for you but generally you used his hands or if you were alone he would hand you his tie, it brought you more comfort and less attention in public they had quickly become your most common and favoured stims.

The flight had been incredibly overstimulating, as they normally were but this was an eight hour flight of pure hell. Spencer tried his best to help once you had discussed the case, you had gone off to the jet's sofa bed where Spencer had promptly laid on top of you to act as a makeshift weighted blanket, a normal sight to the team at this point.

You were sent to the station with Spencer and Emily to start from there while the others went to the crime scenes. You had no real idea whether the local police were going to welcome you or if you were going to walk into a blue wall of resistance. “Do you two want to stop by a coffee shop before we go in?” Emily suggests to which you both eagerly agree given the jet coffees are intolerable to you and barely drinkable to the rest. You did go in but there were so many people including some crying children, a massive trigger for your misophonia, that you nearly cried standing in line, spencer had gently put his arm around you and guided you out giving emily a small nod when she asked if you would have hot chocolate knowing spencer carried a mini bottle of the honeycomb syrup in his bag, while you covered your ears and closed your eyes fully trusting spencer to get you out before you shut down.

Once you arrived at the station it was the worst of the options, none of the officers wanted to cooperate with the FBI, let alone any women. You were given flack all day, no one wanted to do anything that was asked of them unless it was by the men. You were able to stand up for yourself and argue with them as much as was needed but it was exhausting and coupled with everything else it meant by the late evening when the officers had mostly gone home you were non verbal and entirely reliant on Spencer to help.

You stood intentionally opposite sides of the room so Spencer could see where your eyes went and how you tapped, you had pretty much come up with your own morse code over the years. He told the team what you had come up with, what you agreed with and what you didn't but also he knew what you needed, he handed you hot chocolates and coffees when he knew you wanted one just from a glance at your mug or the machine, he handed you over the papers you needed as you looked across the table. Anything you needed or wanted he gave you pretty much immediately, normally it would be the same on your end, you two worked in sync on any given day but on days like today he was your rock that stopped you from hitting an absolute crash and burn.

#greyswritings #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you

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onepiece-polls · 2 months

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One Piece Crack Ship War - Submission post!

Welcome to the One Piece Ship War - crack edition!

What is a crack ship?

A crack ship is a (in this case romantic/sexual) ship that has little to no basis in canon.

When will my ship qualify for this tournament?

They will automatically qualify (after having been submitted) when:

The characters involved have NO canon interaction*, and are not part of the same crew (no matter how popular the ship is).

The characters involved have 1 short canon interaction and less than 10 fics for them on AO3 (as a side pairing counts too)

They might qualify if:**

They have no canon interaction but are part of the same crew or organisation.

They have 1 short canon interaction but more than 10 fics on AO3

They have 1 long canon interactions or 2/3 short ones and less than 10 fics on AO3

They have multiple canon interactions but NO fics on AO3

It's an incredibly funny ship (but you gotta convince me it's crack!)

These ships will not qualify on principal:

ANY ship between Strawhats (honorary Strawhats don't count if they haven't met a certain Strawhat - examples: BrookNami does not qualify, SanjiVivi does not qualify, but BrookVivi would qualify)

The top 25 ships (or something, be sensible) on AO3.

*canon interactions include fillers, cover stories, specials, and movies (though I haven't seen the last 2 yet and I don't remember much of the other ones, so these might slip through, but I'm counting on you to honor this rule). Also, I won't know nor check interactions in the manga (that haven't been animated yet), so something might slip through there as well. Just honor the rules, please.

**Any ships in the 'might qualify' category will be judged on crackyness by me first, and when I'm in doubt, I will put them up for a vote - so expect a few polls for this.

Rules!

All characters must be from One Piece (no OCs).

Must be a crack ship according to above guidelines.

Ships that were in the previous shipping war tournament are allowed in this one too, as long as they follow the previous rule.

No moral limitations. These are fictional characters, not real people. Go wild. (But be prepared for 'problematic' ships to be voted out in round 1 or 2.) I will not start discourse/moral discussions about any ships! (messages about morally questionable ship are likely to be ignored and deleted)

Poly ships are allowed! I will cap them at 5 characters, however, and at least 1 character should follow the interaction rules stated above. (examples: JinbeRobinBrook or KidLawLu are not allowed. RobinNamiKiller would be allowed, on grounds of Killer having no interactions with the other 2 (I think? 😂)) Again, be sensible here.

All characters involved have to be humanoid. No concepts, objects, or full animals (fishmen/merfolk, minks, and Chopper are allowed).

You can submit multiple ships, but use a new form for each ship.

Do not hate on other ships, just support your own.

You are allowed and encouraged to submit fanart! As a lot of these ship won't have official art with all characters in it, it will come down to fanart for the most of it ((bad) edits are also very much allowed). However, it needs to be your own or you need permission from the artist before submitting it! However, if you haven't gotten permission yet when submitting, you can always send me a link to the fanart later. Without picture submitted, there might be a chance your ship will have to compete without a picture.

Keep the main images SFW and spoiler free. Propaganda can contain nsfw stuff and manga spoilers, as long as it's announced up front (eg: [Spoilers ahead]/[nsfw ahead])

Submit only through the google form below. Submisions through asks or reblogs will not be accepted.

Read the rules? Go ahead and submit those ships! (<you can click on that)

Oh yeah, and in case you're wondering... All submitted ships that pass the crack ship bar will make it into the tournament! No limitation on how many contestants there will be or how many submissions a ship needs. I want this to be an opportunity for all to discover new fun and silly ships!

Closing date is april 8 at 10AM CET.

#one piece #tournament #ship war #op crack ship war #submission form #sorry for the long post but I feel like this needs a lot of clarifications #I might change some details later if something comes up in asks but this is it for now #as always don't hesitate to send an ask if anything is unclear/you're in doubt about anything

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

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Don't Speak 15

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Happy Wednesday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You don’t feel better in the morning. The night brought little relief as your anxiety kept you wired and worried.

You can’t help but think of home and Amber. Will she be upset? Maybe she’ll be relieved. She’ll no longer have to look after you. She’s free.

That’s not home anymore. That thought tears you apart. It’s as if you can feel your insides stripping away as you tell yourself that over and over. You have no home. Not anymore. You’re not sure you ever did.

You sway between bouts of sobs and staring blankness. Not quite numb but too overwrought to feel. The house is strange, this bed is not your own, and you are lost.

A gentle rapping comes at the door as you wallow. You are trying to change. You won’t be the same burden you were to your sister. You are going to get better. Andy will not see you like this.

You suck back your grief and force yourself up. You cross to the door and open it a crack, hoping he doesn’t notice your swollen eyes. You force a sheepish smile as he greets you with a sleepy blink.

“Hey, just wondering if you wanted coffee,” his voice is sandy with sleep, “I gotta get the day started.”

“Um, no, I’m… I’m okay,” you croak before clearing the frog from your throat, “thank you.”

“You doing okay?” He puts a large hand on the doorframe.

“Mhmm,” you nod as you suck in your lower lip.

“Tea? I can put the kettle on.”

“Er, well, I was… I should shower first, if that’s okay?”

“Oh, sure,” he brightens up, rubbing his eyes as he takes a step back and yawns, “let me show you…” he beckons you out with a lazy wave, turning to cross the hall and open a door, “just in here.”

You let the door fall open and emerge, your pajama pants dragging at your feet. His own are low on his hips as he wears a grey tee that strains across his shoulders. You tiptoe forward and peer through the doorway.

“There’s some stuff for you,” he points to the small lilac basket on the counter, “I wasn’t sure if you would need anything but I grabbed some stuff. Just in case.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s really nice. You didn’t have to…” you clasp your hands together.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he assures you, “but yeah, sure you can figure it all out. And you know where to find me.”

“Okay, thanks,” you step aside as he backs out.

He faces you, trying to smooth his mussed hair, “you sure you’re doing alright? Big change.”

“Yeah,” you lie, “I just… need to get used to it.”

“Makes sense,” he nods, “well, I’ll be downstairs with my coffee.”

You grumble and turn to the bathroom. You stop yourself as he begins down the hallway.

“Andy,” you call after him.

“Yeah?” He stops at the top of the stairs and looks back at you.

“About that job… can you ask about it?”

“Sure,” he says, “no problem.”

You wait for him to descend then close yourself up in the bathroom. You flick the lock into place and go to the basket on the counter. It smells very nice. There’s an assortment of goodies; bath bombs, creams, soaps, lotions, conditioner… You have your own stuff in your bag, cheap buck store stuff but it does the job. Still, the vanilla and cocoa scents are lovely.

You choose a few bottles and place them on the little shelf inside the shower. You figure out the faucet, testing the temperature with your fingers before closing the curtain. You undress slowly, taking your time as you focus on your simple task. More so to avoid the dread tugging at your brain.

You step into the tub and admire the pristine white tile. Your sister kept her house well but it didn’t change the decades old trim and worn out hardwood. This place is so sparkly and new.

Your curiosity distracts you from your purpose. There’s a little round object on the wall, attached by a suction cup. Looking closer, you figure out that it’s a speaker. Ah, bluetooth probably. How cool.

You bask in the heat of the shower and take your time in cleaning yourself. It’s almost renewing.

You’re washing away your old life, getting ready for the new. One step at a time. First; the painting. That’s simple. Then maybe, the job at the library. See, you can do it. You just need to stay focused.

Yet, it feels all so complicated as you try to unknot the tangle of your doubts. You want to be excited but you’re just afraid.

📚

You spend your morning trying to get started on painting. With Andy gone, you expect it to be easy but your focus is fleeting. You have your reference, your paint brush, and all the time you need but you just can’t make yourself start.

You give up around noon, after a few strokes here and there but nothing evident. It hardly looks any different than when you got set up. You’re disappointed but you can try again later. Right?

You’ll do something productive. As you enter the house, you look around at the strange walls and feel smaller. You don’t belong here. You don’t feel any better than before. Andy’s been so nice and all you do is mope and procrastinate. Well, you can do something.

You go into the kitchen. Reticent as first, you search the cupboards and drawers. Amber always loved when you surprised her with dinner. Thinking of her hurts so you make yourself stop before it can drain you completely.

Noodles… you could do a tuna casserole! You haven’t made one in a while. Not very special but it’s a meal. Amber always reminded you that food on its own is something to be grateful for.

Go away! You don’t want to think about her. It’s like she’s torturing you from afar. You’re moving on. You set her free, so why won’t she let you go?

You concentrate on your task, even as her ghost follows you around. You feel her most when you can’t find something; when you’re completely lost in this unfamiliar place. She’s that little voice telling you that you made the wrong decision. The one telling you to go home.

That’s not your home. It’s hers.

You pull out a pan with your ingredients, and a pot. You go through the steps one by one. You have the casserole ready and in the oven before two. You’ll turn it on closer to four or five so it’s ready when he gets home.

You pull out a box of crackers as your stomach clenches painfully. You only eat two before your appetite flutters away. You can’t remember the last time you had a full meal. You make a cup of tea and take that out to the garage.

You stare at the painting and compare it to the sketch on your tablet. You shrink down as you realise how much there is to do. Maybe this is too much. Maybe you can’t do it.

You drop your head, cradling it as you fight back the wracking in your chest. You just feel like crying until you’re weak. Crawling into bed and hiding away for days and days. Maybe forever. There’s something wrong with you; not just now but it’s always been wrong.

You wallow in your anxiety, swaying in between dread and self-pity. You hear an engine through the metal door and the flash of light beneath assures you of Andy’s arrival. You stand as the large door begins to roll up and you face him as he walks up the driveway.

Oh no!

You give a panicked look as he approaches and you close your tablet. You set it on the stool as his smile falters, “what’s going on? You okay?”

“I forgot to turn the stove on,” you decry, “I’m sorry.”

“The stove?” He asks with a stitch in his forehead.

“I made casserole,” you say, “but I meant to have it ready when you got home.”

“Casserole?” His cheek dimples, “I don’t mind waiting.”

“Alright,” you press your hands to your legs and turn, marching away fast.

The door slowly descends with a creak as he follows a few paces back. You scurry inside and down the hallway. You go into the kitchen and stop short as you approach the stove. Amber’s stove is ancient, it has dials mostly. This one has a dozen buttons.

It takes a few tries but you finally get it preheating. Andy hovers at the edge of your vision. You turn and stand behind the counter, watching him, unsure what to do next.

“What kind of casserole?” He asks as he nears the island and rests his hands on the edge.

“Just tuna. Nothing special.”

He nods and his throat bobs. He clears it before he finds his voice again, “dove, that is special. Do you know–” he pauses and gulps again, “do you know how long it’s been since I had someone to cook for me? Since I had a dinner to come home to?”

“Oh?” You furrow your brow. You didn’t think of that.

“That’s very special, that’s… thank you. I love tuna.”

“Good,” you exhale, “good, I was… worried.”

“Worried?” He chuckles, “don’t. It’s nice just having someone here to greet me.”

He pushes away from the counter as you stay on the other side. He turns and shrugs out of his jacket before passing into the dining room. You wait there and he returns as he unbuttons the top button of his shirt. He rolls his shoulders and sighs.

“I’m all tense,” he leans on one of the tall stools along the island.

“Oh? Was it a bad day?”

“Eh, it was… a day,” he leans forward and brushes his fingers along his beard, “how about you?”

You look down ashamed and push your shoulders up. “I didn’t get much done…”

“That’s okay. You got time,” he assures lightly, “can’t pressure good art, right?”

You nod and peek up at him. Your insides twitch nervously. Just ask.

“Did you ask about the job?”

“Uh, yeah,” he bends his arm against the granite, “you would need to submit a resume.”

Your heart plummets but you fight not to show it. A resume? You would only end up with a blank piece of paper. You look away.

“Right, I’ll uh, I’ll get one together,” you utter with no real intent. You’re too embarrassed to even try.

“Just a formality, really. There’s a whole process,” he explains, “I can help if–”

A loud knock interrupts him. His cheek ticks as he glances over his shoulder. You tense up as he stands and the pounding continues.

“Not expecting anyone…” he mutters as he walks out with his hands in his pockets, his stature calm and unbothered despite the battering of the front door.

You hear him open the door as the rapping stops. You hold your breath and listen, frozen at the staunch tones that meet him.

“Sir, we got a call,” you hear faintly.

You swallow and come around the island. The unexpected visitors continue and you hear your name. You peek around the doorframe. You can see the top of the police caps just past Andy’s tall figure.

“A call? For what?”

“We understand that she’s here.”

“Uh, yeah?” Andy answers in a thin timbre, “she’s a friend.”

“Can we talk with her?”

“Of course you can but… why?”

“Sir, standard wellness check.”

“Wellness check?” Andy blusters, “look, I know the law, you have no cause–”

“Andy,” you step out meekly.

“Honey,” he turns so his back is to the open door, “everything’s fine.”

“Are you…” the officer asks your name. You nod as you inch forward. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

“Um…” you look at Andy.

“You don’t have to,” he insists.

"What's wrong?" You clasp your hands together tightly as you come down the hallway.

"Miss, we're just here to check in, make sure you're well," the first officer begins.

"Yeah, I'm… fine."

"Would you mind coming out and talking with us," the other, a woman, asks.

"Why?"

Andy exhales but says nothing.

"Okay?"

You pass Andy and step out onto the porch. The officers stare behind you. They're met with a gritty sigh.

"Sir, do you mind if we speak alone?"

"This is my house," Andy retorts.

"Sure, but we just need to chat with her–"

"Honey, do you want me to go?" He bulls through the officer's words.

"Er, I don't… I don't know."

The first officer pokes his lower lip with his tongue and signals to the other, "miss, are you being held here?"

"What?" You gasp.

"Are you being held here against your will?"

Andy scoffs and and issues a sharp, "come on."

"We had a report and it is our obligation to investigate," the second officer denotes, "so?"

"N-no," you stammer. "No, of course not."

"Thank you," she says as she reaches in her pocket, "that's it but…" she holds out a card, "I'll leave this with you."

You sense Andy shifting behind you. You take the card and read the name on it. Sergeant Macy Jones.

"You wanna ask her anything else? Maybe if I bought her off the black market," Andy snarls.

"Sir, it’s standard procedure. We have to come out."

"Sure," Andy sneers.

"Thank you," you say, "I'm okay."

You back up as Officer Jones narrows her eyes, watching Andy as you retreat inside.

"My number's there," she reminds you.

You give one last thank you and Andy swings the door shut. He sniffs loudly and you quickly hurry down the hall. He follows but not swiftly.

He enters the kitchen as you set the timer on the stove. He clucks and stops on the other side of the counter.

"You know it was her, right?"

You look at him. You figure it was Amber but she's probably just confused. Once she hears you're okay, she'll back off.

"Don't you see? She'll do anything to keep control. She wants to keep you down. She doesn't want you to be successful."

"She's worried," you say.

"About herself," he accuses, "she would claim that I… I took you? I wouldn't… dove, you came here because you want to, right?"

"Erm, uh," you slump your shoulders, his anger roiling hotly from him.

"I didn't make you come here, did I? I'm helping you."

"You are," you confirm smally, "Andy, please… I… I don't like anger."

He stops himself and faces you, gripping the lip of the counter as his brows draw together. He lets out a breath and his expression softens.

"I'm sorry," he lowers his chin and shakes his head, "I'm sorry. It's just… it's insulting. After all I did to protect you from her, she would send the police after me like a criminal. She– she would have them check on you like a child."

"Yeah," you murmur, fidgeting as you reel with his rant.

You can't believe she'd call the police. She's trying to get you in trouble. You didn't do anything wrong. All you did was try to be your own person, but Andy's right, she never wanted that for you.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #don't speak #defending jacob #series #au #library au #dark fic #fic #dark!fic

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lvlyhao · 1 year

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PAC: what are your dreams telling you?

Hello, lovely people! Wow, this was SUCH a positive reading for all piles, I was honestly shocked, but good for y’all haha Also, I’ve been in an Ateez mood lately, so enjoy these beautiful men

♡ Please follow, like and reblog if this resonated with you so I can do more fun readings like this in the future. My paid comissions are open! ♡

How do I choose a pile?

Take a deep breath or two, close your eyes, and focus on the question we’re asking the cards today. Then, take a look at the images above. Which one of them calls your name?

───⋆☆───────────────

If you chose San, welcome to pile 1!

Song: treasure (ATEEZ)

Card: 10 of cups

Wow, ok. This is a very direct message here with both the song and the 10 of cups coming up. It looks like you may have been dreaming about your future with a certain someone lately. It does feel like someone you’ve known for a while, but it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re in union right now. I feel like they might be physically away from you too. It could be the case that they’re travelling or you just haven’t been spending time together. You could also be childhood friends, or maybe you know them from school. It’s like you’re spending your awake time wondering about all the “what if’s” that could come into your life if your relationship went into the next level, and this is actually an amazingly positive prospect. There is no greater emotional fulfillment than this card, my darlings. I’m honestly excited for you!

If you’ve been wondering whether to make a move or not, your dreams are straight up giving you the green light. Go for it! This is about an absolutely fantastic person, who is going to treasure you beyond what you could have ever imagined. They know your value and so do you, so the future you see for the two of you could very well happen in real life. If you know who Spirit is talking about here, I beg you to NOT be afraid of commitments with them. Now, if you’re not sure, it could be that your dreams about them haven’t happened just yet, but they will. Trust yourself and your heart at this moment.

If you chose Wooyoung, welcome to pile 2!

Song: i’m the one (ATEEZ)

Card: queen of cups

The Queen of cups came right out for you, pile 2, and I’m hearing a very clear message about the next few months. It could be that you haven’t been satisfied with where you are right now in life. This could be regarding your personal relationships, your work, studies, anything, really. You just feel stuck and like you can’t seem to feel good about yourself, and that’s fine. What this card is telling me, however, is that the time has come for you to show some compassion and love for yourself. In this case, that means getting your life together and cleaning up your act. The Queen beckons you to create your favorite version of yourself, and to not let past experiences define you anymore.

The past is the past. It’s quite literally water under the bridge, and what went away will not come back. Starting soon (when you feel ready) and from then on, you gotta treat yourself like the main character. You are the one!! You can be the person you’ve always wanted to be. That you already exists somewhere within. So hold your head high and decide where to start. If you’re looking for a physical glow up, this could mean working out and implementing more things to your diet, like fruits or vegetables. If you’re looking for a mental glow up, She advises tons of meditation and spending time outside to connect with the world around you. You are entering the best era of your life.

If you chose Hongjoong, welcome to pile 3!

Song: illusion (ATEEZ)

Card: temperance

My dears, it seems that you might be having quite a mixed bag of dreams and nightmares lately. Either that or you haven’t been feeling well-rested. The Temperance tells me you’re trying to balance out having fun and taking good care of your body and soul, but it’s been difficult. I get it. It’s easy to fall back into old habits while trying to build new ones, but don’t let that get you down.

What this card tells me is that you’re on the right path, and you’re doing the right thing. There’s no need to doubt that. What you do need, however, is to be more patient with yourself. Taking one or two steps back sometimes doesn’t mean you haven’t made any progress. The progress is still there, and it will start to show soon if you just persist. This could also be about manifesting, if you’re into that. Maybe you’ve been going back and forth between thinking ‘I got this’ and then spiraling, wondering why you don’t see any movement. I’m telling you right now: there IS movement. Don’t fall for the illusion that you’re doing it wrong! Getting out of your own head could also be good for you now. All this self-reflection sometimes makes us look inwards a bit too much, so spend some time with your friends, family, and/or pets.

#pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #tarot reading #dream reading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #kpop tarot #ateez tarot #ateez #daily tarot #astrology #divination #pac reading #free tarot #witchblr #pick a card reading

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rebelwrites · 2 years

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The Real Deal

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: after 8 months of keeping your relationship a secret you start to slip causing your best friend to find out and the aftermath isn’t pretty

Requested by anon: hello hello, request for charleeeees. charles falling in love with Max's best friend, and him not being happy about it but they can all end up being all besties <3

A/N as always feedback and comments are highly appreciated along with reblogs 🖤

Warning: long read

The flight was long, your body was aching and screaming to be stretched out. You had finally managed to convince your boss to let you have a couple of months off to follow the back end of the F1 season.

The moment you told your best friend, he instantly booked you flights, hotels, and transport. Everything you needed he sorted it, no questions asked. Finally it was time to get off the plane, something you were grateful for. You weren't the best flyer and was in desperate need of nicotine. However nothing could wipe the smile off your face as you stepped out of the plane, tugging your Redbull hoodie around your body.

There were two reasons you were so happy, one you get to spend the rest of the season with your best friend and the second reason was a certain Ferrari driver who had captured your heart.

Max had no idea there was a budding romance between his best friend and rival.

Over the summer you and Charles had been texting back and forth, FaceTiming when you could and on the odd occasion when he could you would meet up and spend the evening at your house or his hotel trying to keep your romance out of the papers.

Taking a deep breath you adjusted the straps from your backpack and started to make your way down the plane's steps.

Here was to an amazing break spending time with people you loved.

Pulling your phone out you quickly sent both Max and Charles a text telling them you had landed and was safe. Now all you had to do was get your luggage and find out where Max had organised the transport from.

You had a buzz in your step as you wandered through the airport, you hadn’t seen Charles in what felt like ages so the first available chance you got you wanted to be spending time with him. However you would have to be more sneaky with being around Max, the other drivers and the press.

The sign caught your eye from across the room, your name big and bold standing out signalling you.

Max really had thought of everything.

The hours had passed and you were sick of travelling, all you wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep for the next 24 hours but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. The flight was overnight meaning that you would be in the country with time to be there for Quali.

Hiding the yawn with the hoodie you rested your head against the window hoping you were nearly at the track because you desperately needed a coffee but no matter how many times you pestered the driver he wouldn’t pull over.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, tearing your gaze from the window you turned it to your phone, a large smile appearing on your face as you saw a new message from Charles.

Message from: CL ❤️ Can’t wait to see you 😜 missed seeing your face.

Message to: CL ❤️ It won’t be long now, we’ve gotta be sneaky though no one else knows about us.

Message from: CL ❤️ Well that sucks I just want to wrap you in my arms and not let you go.

Tucking your phone back into your pocket as you pulled up at the track, the smile firmly planted on your face. Glancing out the window you saw your best friend standing near the gate with a cheesy grin on his face as he wiggled the all access Redbull pass in his hands.

Slipping out of the car you sprinted over to him, giving him a bear hug as you hadn’t seen him for a while due to your schedule.

“You been keeping out of trouble?” He chuckled, squeezing you time.

“Always.” You grinned, pulling away from him, snatching the pass from his hands, slipping it over your neck.

“I don’t believe that.” He hummed, draping his arm over your shoulders, guiding you through the crowd.

Just like every time you spent time with the team you were like a kid at Christmas, if you could you would do this full time but it wasn’t possible most of the time. You were well known around the teams so as you passed the garages you got a range of greetings, from salutes, to fist bumps, to hugs. Each time Max pulled you back into him trying to keep you close as it wouldn’t be the first time you got lost in the crowd.

“Promise me you will behave.” Max teased, you wiggled out of his grip as you neared the Ferrari pits.

Your heart rate started to climb as you caught a glimpse of Charles pulling his hoodie off providing you with a nice view of his torso. Once he locked eyes with yours you thought your heart was going to explode, the small smirk on his face made you weak at the knees. He dropped the hoodie on the bench before making a b-line towards you.

“YLN,” he grinned, holding his arms out wide for you, “it’s been forever.”

“Leclerc,” you smirked, wrapping your arms around his torso, letting the smell of his aftershave mixed with rubber wash over you.

You felt yourself getting lost in the moment and as much as you wanted to stay in his arms you knew Max would be watching you like a hawk so reluctantly you pulled away.

But Charles held onto you a little bit longer, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. “Meet me tonight,”

“Okay,” you breathed, pulling away from him.

You notice Max cock his eyebrow at you as you both start to walk away from the Ferrari garage.

“What was that about?” He hummed, nudging your shoulder.

“Don’t know what you are on about.”

“Don’t lie, Leclerc held you longer than anyone else.” Max questioned, his gaze burning into your soul. “I also noticed your smile get brighter when he approached.”

“You are seeing things, Verstappen.” You shrugged wanting to change the subject, you knew that it would go down well. Charles was his rival at the end of the day and Max was very protective of you.

“You like him don’t you.” He teased.

“Now I know you have hit your head.” You lied chewing the inside of your mouth, praying he dropped the conversation.

You felt like a teenager again sneaking around but it was exhilarating. Everything was ten times harder here in the paddock but somehow you managed to pull it off or at least you thought you had.

“Wish we had more time.” Charles breathed between kisses as he pinned you against the wall behind the Ferrari motorhome.

“You have me all of tonight, and up until the race tomorrow.” You grinned, playing with his hair.

“Not long enough.” He hummed, letting his eyes flutter closed at the feeling of your fingers running against his scalp. “Love having you here though, I always race better when you are hanging around.”

“Charles Leclerc are you saying I’m your good luck charm?” You whispered, resting your forehead against his.

“I guess I am.” He grinned, pressing his lips against yours for one final time. “Now you better get moving before Max sends out a search party.”

Pouting at his statement you reluctantly wiggled out of his grip, taking one final glance at him before slipping into the crowd making it look like you were just wandering around.

Once you finally got back to the Redbull pit garage Max was standing there with his arms crossed against his chest.

“Where have you been, trouble?” He asked, cocking his brow at you.

“Just wandering, I needed to stretch my legs. That flight was brutal.” You lied, hoping he didn’t ask too many more questions because Max had a way of poking holes in your lies.

“Whatever you say, you are a pain in my ass. You do know that right?” He said, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Yeah you tell me all the time.” You laughed rolling your eyes. “Now stop telling me off like you are my dad and go do your qualifying race.”

Mornings were better when Charles’ woke up with you in his arms. The world felt right when you were with him.

The shallow breaths coming from his side made his heart swell, nothing had to be forced with the two of you, it was like you were a match made in heaven.

He wanted nothing more than to scream his feelings to the world, he wanted to go public with your relationship but he knew why you were holding back. Max being the main reason.

He knew that Verstappen was like your big brother and just as protective so when the news finally came out that you two were dating it would cause a massive problem.

Charles’ felt you starting to stir in his arms and it was in that moment he realised just what he felt for you. You were in for him, every time you were trackside he raced better, you made him want to be a better man, he wanted you by his side forever.

“Morning, mon chéri.” Charles beamed, littering your skin with soft kisses.

“Mmm morning.” You giggled, resting your hand against his face. “I could get used to this.”

“Soon, I promise.” He whispered, moving some hair out of your face. “One day I will be able to scream my love for you to the world.”

“You know I don’t like hiding this, right?” You whispered, leaning back into him.

“Mon amour, I know,” he whispered, grazing his fingers over your hip. “I understand why you want to, but some point soon we are going to get caught.”

“I like our little bubble.”

“Me too, but I want nothing more to be open about us so I can take you on a proper date.” He hummed against your hair.

A comfortable silence washed over the pair of you and you laid tangled in each other’s arms. Neither of you wanted to move from the position, breaking the bubble you had created and entering reality.

You had never felt this way about anyone before, you could see a long future with the young driver from Monaco and as much as it excited you, it also scared the shit out of you. You never believed in true love or that you would ever find the one.

That was until you met Charles Leclerc.

Once again the morning flew by and it was time to head to the track. This time was different, Charles wanted to start dropping hints to the world even if it would backfire on him, this was confirmed when he saw you trying to sneak his hoodie.

Red never looked so good.

“Keep it.” He beamed, letting his tongue run over his bottom lip. “It looks good on you. In fact I want you to wear it today, I want to see you repping my colours for once.”

“What about Max?” You mumbled, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie.

“What about him?” He questioned back, “I know why you want to keep this on the down low but what I feel for you is real.” He whispered, taking a few steps closer to you. He gently took your hand placing it over his heart. “Mon coeur bat pour toi. (My heart beats for you)”

“Est-ce que tu tournes en rond avec moi, Leclerc? (Are you turning sappy on me, Leclerc?)” You hummed, brushing your fingers over his skin.

“You do know you drive me crazy when you speak in my mother tongue to me.” He growled, dipping his head to your neck placing hot kisses against your skin.

“I might have learnt French just for you.” You breathed, trying to control yourself as you had little time.

“So will you wear my hoodie today?” He spoke against your skin.

“Yes.” You grinned.

As you walked through the paddocks after stopping for some coffee you noticed everyone was giving you weird looks. It wasn’t often you saw someone wearing two different team’s colours. But right now you didn’t care, you were repping both of your boys and that was all that mattered.

You had noticed that on social media fans were starting to question you and Leclerc so it was only a matter of time before your secret was out.

As you walked up to Max you noticed his intense glare, his nostrils flaring as he took in the red Ferrari hoodie with the number 16 staring him in the face. If looks could kill you would be 6ft under.

“Why are you wearing that?” He huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

“I got cold when I was hanging with Charles.” You shrugged trying to play it off.

“Hanging out before 9am?” He questioned.

Shit.

“I’m allowed to have friends you know.” You scoffed, placing your elf bar between your teeth taking a hit on it.

“Something is going on and I don’t like it.” He muttered, not happy in the slightest. “You know you have always been a shit liar. Now tell me the truth.”

Taking a deep breath you tucked your vape back into the pocket of the hoodie, letting the smell of Charles’ aftershave wash over you.

“Fine,” you said, pausing, quickly trying to figure out how to break the news to him. “Me and Leclerc are dating.”

“How long?” He questioned through gritted teeth.

“8 months.” You said standing your ground. You were sure you would see steam coming out of his ears soon.

Watching as his eyes glazed over, before he spun around on his heels, storming over to the Ferrari garage. Little did you know that there were pictures emerging from qualifying yesterday of you and Charles pressed up against the side of the Ferrari motorhome and Max had seen them. Everything was starting to fall into place for him and now seeing you in Leclerc’s hoodie it was the final piece of the puzzle.

Your heart was pounding against your chest right now, you knew he would react badly but not like this. You were practically sprinting to keep up with him. This was the last thing you needed hours before the race, when both of them were meant to be doing the pre-interviews and getting ready.

“Max, wait.” You shouted, catching everyone’s attention.

It was no use though, he had already stormed into the Ferrari garage and had grabbed Charles by the collar of his polo shirt.

Skidding to a halt, you saw the scene in front of you, both of them spewing profanities and slipping back into their mother tongue. They had always caused a crowd to form, everyone wanted to know what was going off between the two drivers.

“Please Max.” You begged grabbing onto his arm, trying to pull him off Charles.

“You fucking lied to me.” He growled, not even looking in your direction. “And you, who do you think you are? Did you just use her? Wanted another notch on your bedpost?”

“It isn’t like that.” Charles snapped, finally shoving Max off him. “It’s nothing like you think.”

That’s when punches were thrown. You couldn’t take this any more so you did the only thing you could think of. You somehow managed to wiggle your way in between the two of them pressing your hand against each of their chests.

“You can fucking calm down.” You growled at Max, slipping into speaking Dutch because of how pissed off you were with him. Him hearing you speak his language stunned him, yes it wasn’t perfect but he got the message loud and clear. “This is why we didn’t tell you, if you can’t accept that this, this we are a thing then I guess you aren’t my true friend.”

Letting out a shaky breath you turned to Charles, running your fingers over the red mark against his skin. “Je suis désolé (I’m sorry)” you mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you pulling you close to him before he guided you to his small room in the pits, away from the cameras and everyone’s eyes.

The moment you got into the room you started pacing, holding your head in your hands, muttering profanities under your breath.

“Mon amour,” Charles whispered, standing in front of you, softly pulling your hands away from your head causing you to make eye contact with him. “Things are going to be okay.”

“How do you know that?” You sniffed.

“Because what I feel for you is the real deal okay, nothing compares and I’m not letting this be the end for us.” He breathed, “je t'aime.”

Freezing at the words that left his mouth, your heart was racing and within seconds your lips were against his in a passionate kiss.

Finally your brain caught up with the events of the last hour and the guilt was starting to eat you alive.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, pulling away keeping your gaze trained on the ground. “You should be getting in the headspace to race, not deal with this.”

“I’ve got my good luck charm by my side and wearing my colours.” He winked, “everything is going to be okay. We will get the race out of the way and then we will deal with Verstappen.”

“Just be careful out there.” You whispered.

“Always am.”

You normally love post race interviews but today was different. There was a thick tension between Max and Charles and everyone was picking up on it, along with the marks on Charles’ face and Max’s knuckles. The questions were about the race but about what happened before the race.

Standing in the sidelines you let out a sigh before hitting your vape, something needed to change between the two drivers and it needed to happen fast. This tension wasn’t good for either of them and the last thing you wanted was their racing to be affected. Even the podium win for Leclerc was damped by everything that was going on between the three of you.

Pinching the bridge of your nose as you noticed the interview getting heated between the two drivers, you needed to intervene and fast. Pushing yourself off the wall you scurried over to the boys, forcing your body between the two of them.

You were well known around the track being Max’s best friend so the moment you appeared the microphone was shoved in your face.

“Y/N, can you tell us what has caused the two drivers to lock horns? Is it to do with the Ferrari hoodie you have turned up in today?”

Fuck

“No comment.” You muttered, glaring at both guys. “Interview is over.” You huffed, pushing both drivers away from the sea of reporters.

“Well I think that answers all of our questions, especially with the pictures of Leclerc and Y/N/L emerging. Is there something brewing between the pair?”

Once you were out of the way of the cameras you ran your fingers through your hair. This was all on Max, he was the reason things were so sour right now.

“This is why we didn’t tell you.” You snapped, your voice cracking as you spoke. “I knew how you would react, but nothing you can say or do will stop what I feel for Charles, not now not ever.”

“Y/N.” Max breathed but you stopped him holding your hand out to him.

“I’m not done yet.” You huffed, “you know I hate this side of you and until you can get it into your thick skull that we are together then I just can’t be around you. I’m sorry.”

Silence fell around the three of you before Max finally spoke.

“Why her?” He asked Charles.

“She’s everything I want and more. She came barging into my life and changed everything for the better. And because I fucking love her and if you can’t accept that, then that is on you.” Charles said proudly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss against your head before guiding you out of the small room, leaving Max standing there in silence.

It had been a week since Max found out about you and Charles, in that week you had completely ignored your best friend even though it felt wrong but it was what needed to be done if he couldn’t see how happy you were. The week was spent with Charles and during the time you had both done a post on social media announcing your relationship to the world.

So here you were rocking Charles’ number and colour as you buzzed around the Ferrari’s pit. It was interesting to see how the team worked together and how different it was from the Redbull garage.

Charles leant against the wing of his F1-75 watching as you took everything in, helping where you could and stating your opinion when strategists were talked. A proud smile crept onto his face, his heart swelled at the sight. It was something he could get used to.

“No, no, no,” you said, shaking your head. “That isn’t going to work if you want to try and do a one out race you need to be holding off putting too early. Everyone knows this.” Scooting in between the guys on the stand you started pointing at the screens. “We need to improve this, we are in Monza for christ's sake this string of bad races needs to end.”

It was in that moment he realised just how much he wanted you on the team full time, he wanted you as his radio contact and he was going to make it his mission to make his dream become a possibility. He also knew that the usual guy would be leaving the team soon so the position would be opening.

Taking one final glance at you he disappeared off to go speak to the team principal. After a quick chat he had managed to persuade him to give you a chance on the radio today and if it worked out well then you would get a permanent spot in the Ferrari team.

Excitement bubbled away in Charles and he made his way to you.

“How would you like to take control of the radio today?” He beamed, resting his head on your shoulder, watching as your eyes flicked around the screen looking at all the stats.

“Huh?” You laughed, tearing your gaze from the screen.

“You are in charge of communication.” He grinned, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “You have a way with words and I think, in fact I know we will be a match made in heaven. You aren’t afraid to say when a strategy is shit. And if we prove we can make this work then Binotto is willing to take you on full time.”

Gasping at his statement, you spun around on the stool resting your hands on his shoulders. “Please tell me this isn’t a joke.”

“It isn’t.” He smirked, “I want you by my side for all the races and seeing you with the crew just makes me realise exactly how much I want it. So what do you say, wanna become a part of the team?”

“Hell yeah.” You squealed, trying to hold back the tears of happiness as you flung your arms around his neck just as the camera crew panned in on the pair of you.

Nothing could stop the buzz you were feeling right now this was what you dreamt about, becoming part of a F1 team.

The morning went by in a blur as you quickly got up to speed on the strategies that the team was planning. Charles couldn’t help but watch as you chewed the end of your pen when you were thinking before frantically scribbling on the paper for both drivers.

Soon enough it was show time, Charles quickly scooped you into his arms littering your face with kisses before he had to head out to the grid. “Let’s show them what we are made of.” He beamed giving you one final kiss.

Nothing could calm your heart as you took control of Charles’ radio.

“Radio check, over.”

“Loud and clear, chérie.”

“Kick some ass Leclerc.”

To say this was a challenge was an understatement, starting from the middle of the grid wasn’t the best but you made do with what you had.

Your heart was pounding so fast you were surprised you didn’t pass out, things were close between Max and Charles. There was still a lot of tension between the boys which made your stomach churn as you watched how close they were to making contact.

“Baby, talk to me.”

“Shit sorry,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, knowing everyone was watching you. “Max is going to try and push you off the track. Just stay focused, follow your racing line. Back off the throttle a little, let him take the corner and push it to the max on the straight.”

“You giving away all Verstappen’s secrets now..” Charles chuckled, following your instructions

“Shut up and drive.” You laughed, shaking your head at your boyfriend.

It’s a head to head between Leclerc and Verstappen.

Leclerc keeps getting the fastest laps.

It seems that there has been a change in the team at Ferrari. Y/N Y/L/N has taken over the radio. Is this a clever move by Ferrari?

Letting your eyes fall over the figures on the screen.

“What are you feeling on the tyres? You think we can get a couple more laps out of them?”

“Tyres feel good.” Charles’ voice boomed through the radio. “Can only pull a couple more though.”

“Copy, will box you soon.”

Taking a deep breath you watched the coloured dots move round the track. It was still too close to call. Feeling a hand on your shoulder you looked to see who was greeting you. Binotto stood there smiling at you.

“Doing great kiddo.”

“Thanks.” You breathed, quickly tuning him out as Charles spoke.

“Any chance on that box? Don’t think I can hold out much longer.” He had the playful tone back in his voice as he spoke.

“Box, box, box.” You chuckled, spinning around to signal the pit crew to be ready.

Watching as Charles stepped onto the podium you swore your heart was going to burst. The grin on his face was something that had been missing for a while. Max was up there in second place watching as Charles celebrated. It wasn’t until Charles whispered something to one of the guys that you knew what was happening. Before you knew it you were being pulled out of the crowd and up onto the podium. The moment you were in arms reach Charles scooped you up wrapping his arms around your waist as he spun you around, his lips smashing against yours as Max and Carlos showered you in champagne.

“We did it.” Charles whispered against your lips. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Nothing could beat this high.

Max sighed heavily as he realised what a dick he had been, he hadn’t seen his best friend this happy in a while. He should have been supportive of you but instead he acted like a child. In the last week he started to understand why you kept your relationship hidden, for the last eight months. Placing the bottle of champagne down he ran his hand over his face before planting it on Charles’ shoulder.

“I’m sorry man,” he nodded, watching as Charles Bentley placed you back down on your feet. “I can see how happy you make Y/N and I acted like an overprotective brother but only because she is like my family. I can see how much you love her and I’m not gonna be the one to stand in between that.”

Charles stood there in slight shock, but it passed quickly as they did the bro-hug thing causing the smile on your face to grow even wider.

“We have an announcement to make.” Binotto said into a microphone. “We didn’t think we would find someone who could take over the role of race engineer but today we gave someone a chance and the results speak for themselves. So Scuderia Ferrari are happy to announce Y/N Y/L/N will be taking over that role.”

Your jaw dropped, you pulled your hand over your mouth as you took in the news. As your brain was catching up you were engulfed by your best friend and boyfriend. Max knew how much this meant to you, yes he would have liked it to have been with Redbull but he was happy for you either way.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, today was the best day ever. Charles winning the Italian GP, Max coming to terms with your relationship and landing a permanent position with Ferrari.

Nothing could wipe the smile off your face.

#Charles Leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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babyhatesreality · 1 year

Note

Can please write a night time routine with daddy stucky please? You writing make me feel small

Absolutely darling. I love that you feel small when you read these stories, and I hope that you find warmth, comfort, and peace in that. May your bedtime stories always give you lovely dreams <3

Where You Still Remember Dreaming

Pairing: Daddy!Stucky x little f!reader

Warnings: DDLG (SSC), f! reader, nicknames, reader is named but name scarcely used, bath time, bed time, fluffity fluff fluff fluff.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. THIS STORY IS SFW- THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. MINORS DNI. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, COPIED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY OTHER SITE BUT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated.

Bucky wandered into your playroom, leaning against the doorframe and smiling down at you. "Whatcha up to, munchkin?" he asked as he took in your lego creation.

You bounced excitedly on the balls of your feet. "Lookit, Daddy! I'm making 'Punzel's tower from Tangled!"

"Wow," he said, pursing his lips in amusement. "That's really something, bunny." He grinned as you mashed another couple blocks together. You weren't so much focusing on structure as you were simply trying to make the tallest...thing you could by using every lego you had and making it all not fall over. "Well, I think it's time for tower builders to take a bath."

"Don't need a bath, please, okay? Gotta build," you said determinedly, focused on your masterpiece.

"Tower builders gotta make sure they're clean and rested so they can keep building tomorrow," Bucky said playfully, sauntering in to the room and walking up next to you. You turned to him, your best Bambi eyes on while your hands were full of blocks.

"Please, Daddy? Please can I keep playing?" you asked, adding your best cutesy voice in the mix. You raised your arm and took a tentative sniff, then looked back at him hopefully. "I don't smell bad!"

Bucky's laugh burst out of him and he reached for you, picking you up and setting you on his hip. He took a theatrical sniff of you as well, then made an exaggerated grossed out face. "UGH, don't know what you mean. You smell terrible." He grinned impishly at you, letting you know that he was teasing. You giggled and wiggled in his arms.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes-huh!"

"Daddy, you silly!"

"I may be silly, but you need a bath just in case it's not my nose being silly."

"But...what about da tower?"

"You and I can work on it tomorrow morning after breakfast. How 'bout that?"

"OKAY!" you cheered, tossing the remaining bricks in your hand into the massive pile still on the floor. Bucky kept his sigh in- the playroom was allowed to stay in various states of disarray, that was the deal. But he still shut the door tightly on his way out so he didn't have to look at it.

He took you to the bathroom, bouncing you on the way and singing a little nonsense song about giving baby bunnies a bath, making you giggle and wrinkle your nose like a bunny.

"What would you like tonight, hm? Bubbles or bath bomb?" Daddy asked as you crossed the threshold to the bathroom. He set you down on the ground while you thought. It was a very tough decision and it had been a long day of building that tower.

"Ummm...bubbles please," you finally decided, pointing to the purple bottle that smelled like lavender. "Can I has the purple bubbles please?"

"Yes, you can. Good manners, baby," Bucky praised, leaning down to give you a kiss on the top of your head before starting the bath and pouring in your favorite "purple" bubbles. Just then, Steve stopped by the doorway, having just heard Bucky's last sentence.

"Someone's got good manners?" he said, grinning at you. "You wouldn't happen to know who that someone was, would you angel?"

"ME! It was ME," you said delightfully, wiggling happily. "PLEASE," you added smugly, with pride. Steve laughed.

"Yeah, those are some good manners, alright," Papa said. "Do you wanna pick out jammies tonight?"

Exhausted at the idea of having to make another decision so soon after the whole bubbles/bath bomb choice, you shook your head, putting your fingers in your mouth. "You pick please," you said, your words a bit garbled by your digits. Bucky gently pulled your fingers out of your mouth.

"No fingers baby," he reminded you. "You need a paci?"

You shook your head stubbornly as the smell of the lavender bubbles was already starting to make you sleepy and you weren’t ready to give in yet. "No, no need paci, 'm a big girl, Daddy," you stated, blinking heavily twice. Daddy and Papa exchanged a quick grin before focusing back on you.

"Okay, big girl," Daddy said patiently with a smile. "You go potty while Papa and I pick out jammies, okay?" They left you alone to take care of your business while Steve went to go get your pajamas, and Bucky went on the hunt for the nearest paci. He slipped it into his pocket- just in case. You were finished by the time he came back.

"Alright, Trouble, arms up," Bucky said. You did as he asked and he gently pulled your teeshirt over your head, going slower as the fabric neared your eyes. “Boo!” he said suddenly, whipping the shirt off so you could see. You squealed and giggled- you loved it when he did that. He grinned and helped you shimmy out of your soft blue leggings. After quickly testing the water once more, he turned off the spout and helped you in.

“Can we play dinoswrawrs together, Daddy?” you asked excitedly, splashing around a bit in your exuberance. You had recently developed a love of dinosaurs after going to the museum with your daddies.

“As soon as we’re done washing, we can,” he said, quickly squirting some of your favorite baby wash onto a soft cloth. He handed you a couple of your plastic dino tub toys with his free hand, which kept you happily occupied while he cleaned you all over. You were very good, tilting your chin up when he told you, although you did bring your dinos up to eye level and pretend they were flying while he scrubbed under your chin and behind your ears.

“Ready for the waterfall?” Daddy asked, reaching over and filling a big plastic cup with fresh warm water.

“YEAH!” you cheered, tilting your head back and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Here it comes!” Bucky carefully poured the warm water over your hair, making sure that he was avoiding your face and eyes. You never noticed how nervous he was to wash your hair- he was so afraid of getting soap in your eyes- because he turned it into a game about a waterfall that you absolutely loved. He would joke that the shampoo was the bubbles from the waterfall and that he had to pop them all, and you would giggle the entire time and hold perfectly still because you wanted your Daddy to win at popping all the bubbles. Then one more waterfall to rinse your hair and you were both home free.

You took some time to play dinosaurs together, or dinoswrawrs as you called them in little space, screeching with laughter every time Bucky made a dino pop up out of the water or dive off the side of the tub. After a couple minutes of delightful play, he moved to pick you up out of the tub.

“Alright, Dino Baby, time to get out,” he said, helping you out of the warm water. He quickly wrapped your dinosaur hooded towel around you, chuckling as he pulled the hood over your wet hair and you gave your best triumphant dino roar in response. He rubbed you all over, drying you off, then stood you in front of him in the mirror while he carefully dried and combed out your wet hair. You practiced your dino faces and roaring in the mirror while he did it- it was fantastic.

Finally Bucky turned you around and picked you up, plopping you down on the counter. “Alright, show me those dino teeth,” he said. You happily obliged, and he brushed your teeth meticulously, laughing again when you roared triumphantly when it was all over.

Steve was standing outside the bathroom for the final part of the brushing, trying unsuccessfully to look unamused. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping her calm down, not winding her up?” he asked his husband, one eyebrow arched playfully.

Bucky shrugged and grinned. “Hey, the Dinosaur wants what the Dinosaur wants,” he said, swooping you off the counter while you giggled madly. “Alright Dino Baby, you ready for your dino scales?” he said to you, meaning of course your pajamas. You roared in answer as he snorted a laugh and handed you off to Steve.

“Okay, Baby Dinosaur, no more roaring tonight,” Papa said gently as he took you into his and Daddy’s room while Bucky stayed behind to clean up the bathroom.

“I a GOOD dinoswrawr, Papa,” you explained.

“You are a very good dinosaur, but we don’t want to wake up the other dinosaurs that might be asleep, right?”

“Right!”

“So no more roaring tonight?”

“No more tonight, Papa!”

“That’s my good Baby Dinosaur,” he praised with a grin. He laid you down carefully on the bed and pulled out your sleepytime lotion. He only uncovered the parts of you he was working on so you wouldn’t get cold. He was tempted to tickle you, but he knew that would only get you worked back up, so he refrained.

“Do you know what stories you want tonight, Princess?” he asked as he finished off your toes.

“Ummmm...dump trucks please?” you asked. “And I in here wif you and Daddy please?”

“You wanna sleep with me and Daddy tonight?”

“Yes, please!”

“Okay, Princess, you can sleep with us tonight. And what story do you want Daddy to read?”

“Um...Princess and Frog please!”

“Good choices and good manners!” Papa praised enthusiastically. “Okay upsie-daisy,” he said, helping you to sit up so he could rub lotion on your back. Since he had to move the towel away to reach you, he worked quickly, afraid that you were going to get too cold. “Arms up, buttercup,” he said, ready to pull your top over your head. You did as he said, and he followed up with the bottoms and a pair of warm socks. He always insisted on you wearing warm socks to bed, even though you usually lost them in the night with your wiggling.

As soon as you were dressed, you hopped off the edge of the bed. Steve immediately intercepted you, pulling you back up into his arms. He knew your tricks all too well.

“Papa!” you whined and wiggled. “Gotta get Jellybean!”

“Daddy will get her, baby, it’s time to get into bed,” he said patiently, walking around to his side of the bed. You clung to his neck tightly.

“Ummm...need water!” you said, eyeballing the bed as if it was your worst enemy.

“Would you look at that,” Bucky said, suddenly strolling into the room with a face-splitting grin, a sippy cup in one hand and Jellybean in the other. “Got you water already, Dino baby.”

Before you could protest that no, you needed OTHER water and that one was no good, Papa gently plopped down on the bed, you snuggled firmly in one arm so you landed in the middle with him on your right. He laid back, pulling you with him so you were laying down. You wiggled and gave a soft whimper of protest even though the bed was so soft and felt so nice...

Daddy tucked Jellybean into your left arm while Papa gently rubbed circles on your tummy. Despite your best efforts to keep it in, you let out a big yawn that you immediately tried to cover up by declaring yourself ‘not tired’. They both ignored that, too used to your antics.

“Which books?” Daddy asked quietly.

“Goodnight, Construction Site, and Princess and the Frog,” Papa responded, never missing a beat as he continued to rub soothing circles. You gave a half hearted wiggle as you tried to escape, but it just felt so lovely...Your eyes closed, but only for a second.

Bucky found the books in the basket they kept in their room for you and handed them to Steve. Steve opened up Goodnight Construction Site and began reading. You found yourself turning into him and snuggling as he read. You weren’t really all that interested in trucks, but you liked the cool names of all of them and you liked the way Papa said good night to each of them. He had the best good night voice ever. You didn’t even notice Daddy getting ready for bed in their big closet until he slipped into bed next to you, sandwiching you in between them, towards the end of the book. You rubbed your nose with the back of your hand, trying to disguise another yawn, before wiggling around to get even more comfortable.

Just as Papa finished his book, Daddy started his. They had learned the hard way that it took more than one story to get you down. You sighed, giving up and snuggling into Bucky’s right side, moving Jellybean around so she could hear the story too, as Steve quickly and quietly got ready for bed himself, snuggling back in as soon as he was done. You were lured away on the bayou by talking frogs and magic spells. Daddy did the best voices for stories. You wiggled and snuggled into the blankets as you felt the veil of slumber drifting over you, trying to find the perfect position. You didn’t notice Papa using the remote to turn almost all the lights off and gently tucking the blankets around you so you’d stay warm. You didn’t notice the way Daddy subtly shifted so you were safely snuggled in the crook of his arm, or the fact that he had the last bit of the book memorized so he could run his fingers through your hair after turning off his bedside light.

You were able to murmur a soft “love you daddies” before you went under. You drifted off into the land of dreams, snuggled warm and safe between the two people in the world that you loved most, and who loved you the most too.

#daddy!stucky x little reader #daddy!Stucky #daddy stucky #daddy stucky x little reader #Daddy Steve #daddy!Steve #daddy!steve x little!reader #daddy steve x little reader #daddy!bucky #daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy bucky #daddy bucky x little reader #daddy!steve rogers #daddy!steve rogers x little

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maximoffcarter · 1 month

Text

I dare you to.

Pairings: Casey Novak x Alex Cabot, Olivia Benson x Amanda Rollins.

Summary: The return of Casey Novak and Alexandra Cabot was definitely a surprise to everyone, but it also brought back that light that the squad needed. Olivia, Amanda, Casey and Alex became pretty close to the point where they started having girls night. Is a dare enough to bring Casey and Alex together?

A/n: This was requested by @saurgaeee so this is specially dedicated for her and I gotta thank her cause she keeps giving me all these ideas that I love writing🫢 She keeps my writing era going🫶🏻 This is situated between s12-s13, and yes...I had to make Liv and Mandy a couple cause I love them so. If you got any requests, send them my way, I'll try to deliver them to you, don't be shy to message me or leave a comment! Enjoy and leave your comments, reblogs, hearts, whatever you'd like, will be very much appreciated🫶🏻

*not my gifs*

The return of Casey Novak and Alexandra Cabot was definitely a surprise to everyone, even more after the whole ordeal of finding a new permanent ADA and ending up with people that didn’t stick to the team for long. There had been so many changes that at some point they felt a bit lost on what was going on in the precinct. New detectives joined, another ADA stopped by every single new case, it was a mess. So when both Casey and Alex came back, there was a light that was brought back to the squad, hearing the great news that they’d be sharing cases and helping each other out. Soon enough, the squad became close, both Casey and Alex now joined them for drinks after tough cases or after they won a case, either way, the squad was stronger than ever.

After the new of Olivia and Amanda dating, they became really close with Casey and Alex, being the only women that were part of the squad, somehow they became closer and at some point, girls night became a thing. It was a bit silly for Casey and Alex, even for Olivia, but Amanda encouraged them to keep it going, saying that it was a way to distract themselves from the daily workload and the cases they had to endure every single day, and she was not wrong, it helped as a distraction, it was fun, though they hated to admit it out loud. At some point they started not only meeting for drinks, but also for dinner and at some point they ended up going to Amanda’s house for dinners, board games and drinks; yes, they all had fun the first time, so they kept it going.

Olivia and Elliot were questioning a possible suspect, while Casey and Amanda stood in front of the window watching them work. The suspect was known for having flirting with every possible woman that stood in front of him, which of course Olivia had offered to go inside to play his games and try to get something, any possible information that could help them with the case. Amanda only laughed whenever he seemed to think he was being smart and he was getting all the attention, but in reality Olivia was getting him where she wanted.

“I bet you that Elliot is going to lose his mind in the next 3 minutes.” Amanda grinned as she looked at Casey.

Casey chuckled. “Elliot can last a bit longer. Liv is getting him to talk. Just a little more, and we have what we need.”

“C’mon, Case. You know Elliot. He’ll lose it.” Amanda looked back at them and shook her head.

“What do you bet?” Casey raised her brow and looked at Amanda.

Amanda looked back at Casey and grinned. “If he pins him against the wall in the next 5 minutes, tomorrow’s movie is gonna be a scary one. And not only a horror…but a horror that involves dolls.”

Casey rolled her eyes playfully. “Could you be any more childish, Rollins?” She smiled.

“Afraid to lose, Novak?”

Casey sighed as she nodded, looking back at them. “Fine.”

They both stared back at them, not even 2 minutes later, the suspect tried to touch Olivia and Elliot stopped him by grabbing him by his collar and pinning him against the wall, soon enough being pulled away by Amaro and Fin, trying to get Elliot out of the room. Amanda looked at Casey with a playful smirk and shrugged. Casey rolled her eyes again and grabbed her briefcase, walking out of the room followed by Amanda.

Olivia walked to her desk as she sighed and looked back at Casey and Amanda. “Is that enough?”

Casey nodded. “I could build a case with what he said, there is no way he’s getting out of this.”

Olivia nodded. “Good.” She then looked at her girlfriend and furrowed her brows. “What you smirking at?”

Amanda shrugged. “We’re watching a horror movie, tomorrow.” She grinned. “With scary dolls in it.” She looked back at Casey.

Olivia looked back at Casey. “I thought you hated-“

“Don’t even.” Casey sighed as she looked back at Amanda. “Guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” She offered a fake smile and then started to walk away.

“Don’t forget to tell Cabot!” Amanda yelled as she laughed.

“You really like to get on their nerves, don’t you?” Olivia grinned as she looked at Amanda.

“Oh, c’mon Liv. We need an excuse to get these together. What better than a horror movie?” Amanda winked.

“You do know that Alex is gonna come for you.”

“She’ll come to thank me.” Amanda smiled.

Olivia sighed as she kissed her forehead. “You’re going down yourself.” She chuckled as she sat on her desk.

********************

Alex groaned as she took off her glasses, putting them in front of her and rubbing her face softly, feeling the stress getting to her. She had been working on this case for a while now, she was still going over notes and evidence, but if she didn’t make a deal, she was afraid that she’d lose this case. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, putting back her glasses on and diving into the file again. But just in time, Casey knocked on her door and suddenly all that stress was vanishing away. She had never said it out loud, and she didn’t think she’d ever say it, but Alex had had the biggest crush on Casey ever since she came back for her own case, sitting in Casey’s office and talking to her had been the highlight of her day -if not her whole year-. Even if Alex was nervous and stressed about being back in courtroom and not exactly doing the questions but answering them, Casey definitely knew how to make her feel relaxed and got a laugh or two, making Alex feel less like a victim. After that day, she wished to see Casey again, but she had to leave again so she never saw her again. Until she decided to come back to SVU and not long after, Casey came back too. Now with the two back, they more time together, working on cases together, helping each other out and then they started hanging out at bars and going for lunch and that’s where their friendship became stronger, and even if Alex wanted to be more than friends, she’d accept having Casey in her life no matter what.

“Case, thought you’d be with the squad.” Alex smiled.

Casey scoffed as she sat down and stretched her legs, groaning softly. “Yeah, well. I’m done over there, we got what we needed.” She sighed. “We have girls night tomorrow. Movie night.”

Alex chuckled. “You look so excited about it.” She raised her brow.

“Kinda lost a bet to Rollins. We’re watching a horror movie.” Casey shrugged.

“A horror movie doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It does when it involves dolls. You know I hate them.”

Alex raised her brow but this time, a serious look on her face. “Oh. Well…you don’t have to watch it, Casey. We can just agree on another movie.”

“I’m not a sore loser, I can do it.”

“Casey…you’ll have nightmares.” Alex chuckled softly.

“I’ll be fine, Cabot. I got this.” Casey smiled. “So, should we leave together after work?”

Alex cleared her throat as she nodded. “Yes, sure.” She smiled.

“Remember to bring comfy clothes.” Casey winked at her as she stood up. “Lunch?” She said as she walked to the door and turned to confirm with Alex.

“I-I’ll be done in 20.”

“Good, meet you in the elevator.” Casey smiled softly and then left the office.

********************

“Casey, you cannot close your eyes at all, understood?” Amanda raised her brow as she looked at Casey, turning off the lights.

Casey raised her hands. “That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“You gotta watch the whole movie, or there’ll a punishment!” Amanda sat between Olivia’s legs and chuckled softly, Olivia wrapping her arms around her.

Casey rolled her eyes as she moved back on the couch, crossing her arms and shrugging. “Fine.”

Alex looked at Amanda and Olivia and raised her brow. “Do we really have to watch this?” She grabbed the bowl of popcorn and handed it to Casey, sitting down beside her.

“Alex, it’s fine. A bet is a bet. I’m no loser.” Casey offered a small smile as she grabbed some popcorn.

Alex nodded softly as she smiled, looking at Casey. “Got it.” She then turned to look at Amanda and Olivia and shook her head before looking at the TV.

Olivia leaned down and whispered in Amanda’s ear. “Told you Alex would come for you.” Amanda shrugged and pressed play.

The movie started off calmly, the four of them getting into the movie. About half way through the movie, a room full of toys was shown, and in some parts of the room, there were those dolls that Casey hated so much. She knew it was a silly fear, it was even childish if she thought about it, but her whole life she had been so scared of those dolls who seemed to have real eyes, it was like they were staring into her soul whenever she saw one. What was the point of making a doll look so real? It was a toy after all. Casey took a deep breath and tried to hold onto the popcorn bowl, trying so hard not to put it in front of her face to over her eyes, she felt herself starting to feel a bit anxious as the camera focused more on the dolls, but before she could do anything else or even think of doing something, she suddenly felt a pair of hands covering her eyes. She jumped slightly but then turned to look at Alex who offered a soft smile.

Alex leaned in and whispered in Casey’s ear. “Amanda never said anything about someone else covering your eyes. You didn’t ask for me to do so.” She grinned as she moved back to her spot but still stayed close to Casey.

Casey blushed softly as she looked at Alex, smiling as she grabbed a handful of popcorn and moved her head back to look at the TV once Alex’s hand moved away, signaling that there were no more dolls for now. Amanda noticed this and looked back at Olvia, and then back at Casey and Alex. She then cleared her throat and said out loud that she’d get more snacks and drinks and for Olivia to help her out, literally dragging her to the kitchen.

“That’s so unfair!” Amanda whispered yelled as she looked at Olivia. “Can’t you say something about it?”

Olivia chuckled as she shook her head. “Oh, no way. I’d like to stay on Alex’s good side, thank you very much.”

“I hate you.”

Olivia chuckled as she kissed her forehead. “No, you don’t. You love me.” She smiled. “And I’ve told you before, dare Casey to confess her feelings for Alex. That’s what you get for not listening.”

“Are you kidding? Casey would kill me, I can’t do that!” Amanda sighed as she looked at the living room.

“Then you’ll just have to accept that this is happening and in no way you’re gonna tell Alex to stop.” Olivia chuckled. “You’re afraid of Alex.”

“I’m not, she’s really nice but…I know she’d definitely kill me if I say something to her, so I guess I’ll just accept this.” Amanda sighed as she walked to the fridge to grab some drinks for the four of them.

Once they walked back to the living room, they noticed that Casey had fallen asleep and not only that, but she had fallen asleep against Alex who now had her arms wrapped around her and her hand holding Casey’s head against her chest. Alex looked up at both women and if stares could kill, they were sure they’d be dead by now. Alex’s stare was always so intimidating, they’d literally do anything that Alex said just so they were safe. They sat back down in silence and continued watching the movie, until it was actually over. Amanda looked back at Alex and cleared her throat, trying to talk as quietly as possible.

“Well…movie is done.” Amanda offered a shy smile.

Alex sighed softly. “I cannot believe both of you thought it was a good idea. Knowing perfectly Casey hates those dolls. She could have nightmares.” She whispered softly, making sure Casey was still asleep.

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea. It was all Amanda.” Olivia said in her defense, getting a slap on her arm.

“Traitor.” Amanda furrowed her brows as she looked at Olivia.

Olivia looked back at Alex and sighed. “Plus, you should be thanking her because you have Casey in your arms.” She grinned softly.

Alex blushed and tried to look away, but her eyes landed back on Casey. “I…I’m not sure what you mean, I-“

“Alex. We know you have feelings for Casey. You have heart eyes whenever she’s around. Why would you try to deny it? Just tell her already.” Amanda shrugged as she smiled.

Alex stared at her with a deadly look in her eyes. “Shut up.” She whispered/yelled.

“All we’re saying, Alex, is that you should tell her, that’s it.” Olivia grinned as she got up to turn the lights back on.

Casey took a deep breath and stretched, groaning softly as she opened her eyes. She looked up to figure out she was leaning over Alex and blushed slightly, sitting back down. “Sorry.” She whispered as she smiled.

Alex cleared her throat, suddenly feeling warm at the sound of Casey’s sleepy voice, it was raspier than her actual voice. “No worries, slept well?”

“I did.” Casey smiled as she looked back at Amanda and Olivia. “Movie’s over?” She grinned.

Amanda rolled her eyes playfully. “Yeah, glad you got through it. Not doing that again.”

Casey chuckled softly, looking down at her watch. “We should probably go. I have arraignments in the morning.”

Alex nodded. “Agree.”

After helping them clean up a bit, grabbing their stuff and saying their goodbyes, both women left the building and got into Casey’s car. Alex loved whenever she got into Casey’s car and she just watched her drive, she felt so at ease and she enjoyed the silence between them, just the two of them. They finally got to Alex’s building and even if Alex insisted for Casey to stay in the car, Casey insisted on walking her to her apartment. They both shared some laughs while in the elevator as Alex told her Amanda’s face when she figured out that Alex was covering her eyes, Casey fascinated as she watched Alex laughing.

“Did she say anything to you?” Casey chuckled as she looked at Alex, walking down the hall to Alex’s apartment.

“No, she wouldn’t dare.” Alex raised her brow as she looked back at Casey once they were in front of her door.

Casey sighed as she smiled. “Thank you, for protecting me from evil dolls.” She chuckled.

“My pleasure.” Alex smiled.

Casey nibbled on her lip as she looked into Alex’s blue eyes, a faint smiling showing on her face. “How about dinner tomorrow?” She smiled. “Just the two of us.”

Alex’s heart fluttered as she stared into green eyes, a shy smile on her face. “I’d like that, actually.”

Casey nodded. “We can leave after work. My treat by the way, I’m the one inviting you.” She smirked.

“Fair enough. Looking forward to it.”

Casey smiled. “Me too.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, neither of them wanting to move, and then Casey wetted her lips before she leaned in and kissed Alex’s lips softly. Alex gasped softly against her lips, her hands slowly moving to Casey’s neck to pull her closer. The kiss didn’t last long, but it was enough for both of them to feel their bodies getting warm and the usual butterflies they felt whenever they were together. Both smiled against each other’s lips and pulled away slowly. Alex smiled softly as she stroked Casey’s cheeks, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“See you at work.” Alex whispered softly.

Casey only nodded before she grabbed Alex’s hand and kissed the back of it, making her way back to the elevator. “Oh, by the way.” She turned to look at Alex and smirked. “I have feelings for you too, if…that wasn’t clear by now.” She winked at her before she disappeared.

Alex stood there at her door, mouth gaped in surprise. She huffed a chuckle as she shook her head, getting her keys to open the door. “She was awake.” She whispered softly as she chuckled again and walked into her apartment.

#casey novak #alex cabot #calex #casey novak x alex cabot #olivia benson #amanda rollins #rolivia #olivia benson x amanda rollins #svu fic #svu #law and order svu

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snailythefan · 6 months

Note

Hi Snaily! How have you been? Im here for a pretty serious ask.

My boyfriend has been drawing for a while, I honestly think he's doing real good. But recently he's been feeling down about his art, he doesn't know why he should bother improving his art if his style is *basic* to some people, and it hurts a lot for him. He knows he should be drawing for fun and not force improvement to stress him out, but there's only so much I can do as his loving partner who doesn't draw at all.

So... what was it like for you, Snaily? When you started drawing many years back, how did you not feel like shit looking at how it could be better but you don't know how? What advice can you give to a beginner artist?

(You can answer this privately if you want btw, and ask me for his art if you need to see them. Much love <3)

hi peng!! always nice to hear from u! I'm gonna reply to this publicly because to be honest i can't resist to give this kind of advice to any and all beginner artists (but i am putting it under a readmore because as you know i love to ramble and this will get LOOONNNGGG and will Truly be The Ramblings of a Mad Man (gender neutral))

firstly, since I hear that he feels hurt by the idea that people out there might find his style "basic". That's a rookie mistake (that literally everyone makes when they start getting Serious about Art). The mistake being Caring Profoundly About an Outside Audience that's Ever Watching and Judging.

Which I literally cannot blame him or anyone for it, ESPECIALLY in this modern social media landscape where newer artists feel like they gotta get GOOD at the VIRAL RAT RACE so you gotta get that sweet, sweet validation in the form of likes, reblogs, retweets etc etc.

So that's my first tip I suppose: don't fall for the entrapment of being obsessed with getting any and all sorts of SWEET VALIDATION during your art process. This is hard to condition yourself to! I myself fall prone to it! It's actually kind of natural. Even if the validation you seek isn't online, surely you're expecting it from your peers or teachers or family members or whoever gets to look at your sketchbook (or you know, your medium of choice).

You want people to notice your art and all the effort you put into it. It's okay! DO welcome those who do!! But never NEVERRRRRR NEVERRRRRR commit the mistake of placing the value of your art on how much praise it gets from others. That's a one trip road on having an Absolute Bad Time. THE ONLY PERSON you should be looking to make happy with your art is YOURSELF first and foremost!!! Always!!! This is the Golden Rule!!!

So people (imagined or otherwise) think his style is """Basic""". Okay! That's literally not a crime anyone can arrest you for!! So what if you're LITERALLY starting and your art looks """basic"""!!!!!!! WHAT IS THE CRIME HERE!!!! CAN'T MY MAN JUST CREATE IN PEACE!!!! LET HIM COOK!!!!!

If he's starting out, i think it's pretty expected of him to just have a "basic" style you know? He shouldn't be ashamed of it! The best chef in the entire world right now didn't start making The Most Delicious Food To Ever Grace Anyone's Plate on DAY 1. They probably started with a goshdang sandwich. Many of them maybe. Until they could make the Perfect Sandwich even in their Sleep and only until then they felt ready enough to explore Further Possibilities In The Kitchen.

(Is this metaphor working? I sure hope it is!)

Anyway.

"How did you not feel like shit looking at how it could be better but you don't know how?"

Well that's a fun question because to this day I get extremely frustrated whenever I realize my Art Level isn't up to my standards. But THAT'S OKAY- even in my case!

If you're Serious About Art (as in, you LOVE making art) you'll constantly feel like you're having to catch up to artists that are doing MILES better than you. Which happens to everyone. Truly it's only the curse of having A Good Taste In Art (so you automatically Set Standards For Yourself based on what you personally consider Great Art).

So again, something to not be ashamed of. But also something to Learn To Live with. I get it!! I truly do!! You see some guy online who apparently is only 14 and they're already making compositions with complex perspectives and an amazing sense of color theory and you'll want to bite off your hands!!!! But you can't let that stop you!!

You're just gonna have to learn to Fail, Constantly. Failing Gracefully! Sucking At Art Again and Again!

You might think this conflicts with the Golden Rule (i mean, if you're not happy with your own art- then what's the point yeah?)

But it's all about Love babey. Loving the process of failing constantly, because deep down you REALIZE you're learning how not to suck little by little.

It's also an exercise in letting Spite guide you. So what if you're bad!!!!!! What if you've somehow committed the crime of being A Bad Artist!!!!!! The cops will never catch me fucker!!!!! SEE HOW I DESECRATE THE HOLY ACT OF "CREATING GOOD ART" AHAHAHAHA!!!! LITERALLY NOBODY CAN STOP ME!!!!! <- the attitude to Have. Yes you gotta be prepared to be Unhinged and to have active Disdain towards 4th Plane Entities that are probably judging your art quality. (Unless my experiences aren't universal and nobody else feels a salacious self-satisfaction whenever they draw something that looks like an affront to The Universe, knowing they can just Try Again).

Anyway those are the benefits of sprinkling a little Spite alongside all the Love for the process of Making Art.

At the start you might feel like you're only making bad art. So! Own it! unironically my life philosophy is that everyone should make more BAD ART!!! ARTISTS OF THE WORLD UNITE TO MAKE MORE BAD ART, YOU HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE BUT YOUR CHAINS!

that's for the mental approach at least.

So, what about the technical side? How do you actually take all those feelings of inadequacy and wrangle them into something productive that will help YOU get better at the art you want to make?

with the warning that i am a self taught artist so i might not the the perfect person to ask, but truly the most IMPORTANT skill you want to hone is OBSERVATION and COPYING WHAT YOU OBSERVE.

Basically you're gonna study the artists you like! You're gonna stare REAL HARD at the details in the art they make! And THEN. You're gonna try to copy THAT! Hell, you might even want to TRACE what they do at first** (**THIS ADVICE IS FOR PRACTICING. DO NOT TRACE AND THEN POST ONLINE FOR OTHERS TO GO "hey man wtf this is just you tracing X Artist" DO NOT!!! DO THAT!!!) just so you get a feel for what they have in their art that You Don't and learning how to slowly replicate that.

That's how I learned the ropes at least. Literally printing manga panels and then tracing over them during my Peak Weeb Years. Ah little snaily, how time flies. Another thing i liked to do was watch speedpaints of artists i liked but at like -2x speed. So it was a slowpaint and i could STEAL THEIR SECRETS <- another valuable art skill

Anyway, that's what I think it's the most important (to observe!)

...but also you might want to either take art classes OR watch a buuuuunch of tutorials on youtube for The Basics (basic anatomy! shading! values! color theory! perspective! gesture drawing!!!)

You feel like shit about your art? Fine! Then realize your life is your own and you have the absolute power to change that directly!! GO ON YOUTUBE AND LEARN THOSE BASICS!!!!!! don't be like me and struggle this much with perspective after years of making art!!!! (Though in all fairness, even those good at it struggle with it lol)

So! I am all out of advice for a newer artist.

TL,DR: YOU WILL SUCK A LOT AT FIRST BUT THE MORE YOU PRACTICE AND LEARN ABOUT YOUR FAILURES, THE MORE YOU'LL LOVE TO SEE YOUR IMPROVEMENT AND EVENTUALLY YOU'LL BE ABLE TO DO THE ART YOU WANT TO MAKE.

Peng if you could forward this to your bf i would be very grateful. Good luck to you two!!! Thank you for reaching out!! And remember!! Never give up!!!!!

#ask box #pengdaw2nd #*rips off shirt to reveal shirt underneath that says I LOVE ART AND ALL IT ENTAILS*

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laf-outloud · 7 months

Note

I must be blocked since I didn't see those, but also... LMAO! Sometimes I wonder if they even comprehend what they're posting.

Yea, probably - Raina is a hardcore Jensen/Dean stan who reblogs ppl like cynifer so that should tell you all you need to know about them. They love to jump in and comment on posts that are even mildly Jensen critical. On the layoffs post they made two comments:

raina16: If it was actually a dumpster fire I would think he could have gotten a job elsewhere long before getting laid off. They also just won a major Texas beer award that's a pretty big deal. Maybe it's sour grapes because he got laid off. And in any case Gino runs it, not Jensen. Most beverage and food establishments don't last half as long as FBBC already has. raina16: Jensen was there working because that's how he has to do it now that he lives in Connecticut, come in periodically and do all his work at once. They were filming promos and creating new content for the social media pages.

Starts out hard with victim blaming "they're just mad they got laid off / they should have looked for another job before they got laid off" which... yikes. Literally just google laid-off vs fired and you see this:

The difference between being laid off and fired is who is at fault. Being fired means you are terminated from your job due to something that the company deems was your fault. If you are laid off, that means the company deems that they are at fault.

So if these employees were laid off and not fired then they aren't at fault and might not have seen it coming since they clearly didn't commit fireable offenses.

Then we go into FBBC praise - "they won an award (that's a "pretty big deal") so they must be doing fine!" Listen, they won an award for ONE SPECIFIC BEER they brewed, not their business as a whole. Even failing businesses can make a good product, doesn't mean they aren't still failing.

Gotta throw in the "in any case its all actually Gino's fault and not Jensen's" - so you're admitting there IS something wrong? But ofc it could never ever be Jensen's fault!! 🙄

And then finally had to add another comment just to make sure people know that's its totally not weird that all of the sudden Jensen is actually working at his business that he hasn't been seen at in years (unless for events where he is the main attraction and they are charging people a ton of money to attend). And lets not forget that its weird AF that they had at least 3 separate employees AND the FBBC account all document Jensen being there to work... Plus Jensen posting ig stories about it. Had to show Jensen at FBBC and meeting random fans (FBBC vid).... Almost like they're reminding people that he's still part of the business even though he moved because they know that ppl show up in the hopes that he might be there but now that he's living in CT the chances of that happening are slim to none (lbh, they were slim to none even when he lived in Austin because he was never there anyways).

Yeah... every wonder why they felt the need to do so many new promos, Raina? They really don't understand business, and aren't afraid of proving that.

#ask box #anti raina #anti aas #anti fbbc #jensen critical

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grollow · 9 months

Note

How do you avoid over-writing? I don’t know if that’s the correct term, but one of the reasons it’s taking so long for me to post updates on my works is that I feel like I’m spending way to much time on minor details. I don’t want to be one of those writers who spends 2 pages describing a single object, but I’ve gotten myself stuck in a never ending loop of deleting parts I think are useless and rewriting them simpler and I am going to collapse

I’ve been staring at this since you sent it, anon, because I want to give you a good answer – it’s not every day that someone slides into my inbox for writing advice and I’m incredibly flattered.

That being said, if I am being honest, the best answer that I can give you is: write. Just write. If it’s excessive, let it be excessive. A common mistake that writers (me included) make is to edit as you go, which in turn means you start becoming harder and harder on the content of your writing, and you move slower, and get less done. Editing should come after the first draft is done, after you’ve got the story on paper. You can go back and change it once it’s done to reflect the story you are trying to tell. That may mean cutting out excessive detail, reworking sections, things of that nature.

In my case, it often means adding in the detail, because I naturally trim things down too much (my greatest crime is eating all the sensory details of my works if I can help it – they add little for me, but I know others like them, so I am trying to include them more in Red Sky). By default, I include the bare minimum of sensory stuff and go heavy into the thoughts/spirals. I’m not sure I can help remove, when I am kind of the opposite guy. My instinctive rule of thumb is, though, to give just enough detail on environment to let the imagination fill in the rest. Writing has a flow to it for me – if it starts losing pace when I read (IE, if I read it and I start trying to skim), that’s too much. That’s how I tell.

I’m afraid I don’t know how helpful this is because it is something that comes with practice, reading more, talking to others, and getting a feel for what your audience wants or needs to see to be immersed in the story.

One of the best pieces of advice someone gave me recently is that polish comes in editing. I’ve got a wonderful pair of betas ( @dropout-ninja & @voidsiblings ) who help me a lot with this. If you’re getting yourself locked in a loop, write it as it feels natural, and let the polish come later. Sometimes you gotta ramble for 3 pages about that vase and then just tuck it away later, y’know?

Maybe one of the people that I tagged will have some more advice, though. Writing mutuals, please reblog if you’ve got anything to help anon <3

#asks: answered #anon #writing

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mammonsbby · 2 years

Text

Guardian

A/N: I've had this one in my head for so long. This is something I imagined with my own MC. But I figured no one would read it if I wrote about my self insert. Please reblog and comment. <3 Aerie Pairing: Mammon x Poly!GN!MC Warning: Violence against MC, near death experience, gore is hinted at, demons being demons, etc Words: 3300

✨My Masterlist✨

Several months into the exchange program, you’re still the Devildom’s newest resident. Its other inhabitants refuse to let you forget that you’re an outsider. And being human doesn’t help your case. Most demons you come across seem to resent you for existing.

Your roommates used to have similar feelings, but that’s in the past. Now, you’re all as close as can be. And, according to Asmo, you’re being courted by most of his brothers, whether they admit it or not.

Despite all this, you wonder sometimes whether you’d all be friends if you didn’t have their marks etched into your skin. If you hadn’t met Belphie. If you hadn’t started making pacts… Would you still have gotten close to them?

One thing was sure, Mammon was yours from the beginning. Lucifer had assigned him to be your handler. A job that he had resented at first. Now though, he was constantly at your side. Except for right now. Where the hell is your guardian demon anyway?

You’ve been waiting outside the cafeteria for five minutes thinking about your pacts. You glance down the hall for the fourth time. Ah.

Well, speak of the devil. You think, not missing the unintentional pun. Mammon weaves through the sea of students, and strolls up to you, hands in his pockets. He looks slightly guilty. But, hey, it’s Mammon. He always seems guilty. And usually for good reason.

“Heya, human. I… I’m headin’ out early.” He says, walking past you.

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, following behind him. “You’re ditching class? Where are you going?”

“A new casino is openin’ across town. Gotta be there for the grand opening. They’re givin’ the first fifty people a free bucket of chips.” Mammon grins. You can almost picture the dollar signs in his eyes. And a faint ‘cha-ching’ noise plays in your mind at his expression.

“Wait. Wait. Mammon, you’re supposed to—”

“Later.” He cuts you off by pushing open one of RAD’s heavy doors. He sticks his head out and checks for his older brother before he ducks out.

“Keep me safe…” You finish with a sigh. Not that it matters. He’s long gone. When money is concerned, you are not. It’s that simple. It’s not his fault, not really. So you can’t hold it against him. Maybe a little. You scowl.

At least he stuck it out for half the day; hopefully he won’t get in much trouble. It’s lunch period now, but the idea of walking into the cafeteria alone, without a friendly demon… It’s sort of frightening. You spot a familiar head of blond hair bobbing down the hall and rush to catch up to him.

“Hi Satan.” You say, with a little wave.

The Avatar of Wrath looks down at you in surprise. “Hello, MC.”

“Can I eat lunch with you? Just for today. Please?” You beg, walking alongside him.

Satan, realizing Mammon’s absence from your side, sighs. “I suppose so. However, I’m meeting some people on the roof for lunch today. So… you’ll just have to come with me.”

“The roof?” You ask.

He nods and you follow him to a door you thought was restricted. You realize that it actually is and the ‘NO STUDENTS ALLOWED’ sign has just been knocked aside. It's still hanging crookedly by one nail. He pushes it open and continues through.

Not wanting to be left behind, you quickly follow him up a ridiculously long staircase. Finally, you end up on the roof of RAD. The sky above is dark, as always, and the moon is peaking through the wispy clouds. The view from here would be incredible if not for one thing.

Your fear of heights.

You try not to think about it, following Satan across the rooftop. He greets a couple of his friends and you give a half-hearted wave as you approach. The other demons ignore you, which you have grown to expect. It still hurts your feelings though, just a bit.

“So, what’s happening, Satan?” asks the shorter one, perched on the ledge of the roof. Your stomach drops as you peer over the edge. Down, down, down. You gulp and look away, shaking your head as you sit down a few feet away from the rest of them. From the edge of the building.

As you pull your lunch from your bag, the demons start to talk. About what, you’re not quite sure. You’re too engrossed in your lunch. You munch silently, their conversation serves as background noise to your thoughts.

You must zone out because, suddenly, Satan and his friends are standing up and gathering their things. You snap back to reality and rise from your spot, smoothing out your uniform. Satan laughs at something someone says. And as you’re picking up your bag, the taller of the demons sticks their leg out and trips the other, sending him over the ledge.

You gasp, rushing over to the edge, desperate to try and help him. The other two seem indifferent, which seems cold, even for demons. You stand by, horrified, until you realize why they barely reacted. The demon in question is suddenly standing next to you, a pair of horrendously orange wings spread out behind them.

You put a hand on your chest and heave a sigh of relief, thankful for their safety.

“Are you all right, MC?” Satan asks, quirking a brow.

“Yeah,” you nod, “I guess I’m just not used to people… having wings.”

At that, he laughs. “Oh. Did you get scared when Brailos fell?”

When you nod, his friends laugh with him. Not-Brailos rolls their eyes. “Humans are afraid of heights?” They scoff. This is the first time the demon has ever spoken to you. And they’re annoyed. Everyones’ eyes are on you, curious for your answer.

Your face heats. “Well, not- not all of us.”

Brailos hums to himself. “It’s really not that high.” He says, standing on the very edge of the building, yet again.

“It seems like it is.” You say, glancing over again. It almost makes you feel sick.

“Not at all. I mean, it’d probably kill you if you fell, but RAD isn’t that tall.” Satan says from beside you, not making you feel any better.

“...Oh.” You say, backing up a bit. You’re surprised to meet resistance though, someone is standing behind you.

“Have you ever thought about getting over your fear?” asks the demon from before. The one who’d rolled their eyes at you.

You turn, “like how?”

They take your hands in theirs, lacing your fingers together. You freeze, waiting for Satan to help you out. He doesn’t say anything though, too busy trying to calculate the height of RAD with Brailos to notice.

“Well, it’s what… about four stories?” Brailos says with a shrug. Satan nods.

The demon holding your hands tightens their grip, making you wince as their claws sink into your skin.

“Ow, wait. Stop.” You say, trying to pull away. But they step forward, making you take a step back.

“You know, I’ve heard that exposure therapy is said to work wonders.” They say, mouth drawn up into a sadistic grin.

You scrunch your brows. “Exposure…”

Your eyes widen.

“No, Tralin! Don’t!” Satan says, realizing their intentions just as you do. Unfortunately, it’s too late. They’ve already shoved you.

You try to regain your balance, but fail.

You start to tumble backwards.

“Satan!” You reach for him, but he doesn’t catch you in time. Your hands brush, but don’t connect.

“MC!” His eyes are blown wide as he grapples for your arm, unable to gain purchase.

Your feet are no longer on the ground.

You’re falling.

And you don’t have wings.

You don’t have demonic strength.

You don’t have anything. Just your arms outstretched towards the sky and tears in your eyes.

So, this is how you die? Killed by someone who probably doesn’t even know your name?

Down, down, down.

“LUCIFER!!!” Satan shouts his brother’s name.

Lucifer?

Before you can make sense of it, you see him. The first born dives off the side of the building after you, wings unfurling majestically behind him and coat tails flapping erratically in the wind. Where did he even come from?

“MC!” He shouts. “Take my hand!” Lucifer extends his arm, reaching for you.

You stretch your arm upwards and his hand grips yours tightly. And somehow, he manages to pull you upwards, towards his chest. You claw at his coat, thankful to have a hold of something. He closes his arms around you.

His wings flap, a thunderous noise which accompanies your thudding heartbeat. One, two, three times. And it’s all over. You’re safely on the ground, clinging to your savior.

Lucifer pants softly. And starts to release you. But you can’t feel your limbs, let alone control them. Your hands are anchored against his chest. So, he merely replaces his arms around you, holding you as close as possible.

You feel as though all the air has been pushed from your lungs. You take a few deep, gasping breaths. And you don’t realize you’re crying until his shirt starts to feel damp.

Lucifer’s lips are by your head. “Are you all right?” He asks. You can feel his voice rumbling in his chest. You swallow thickly and start to answer, but can only nod slightly.

“Can you summon Mammon to take you to the House?” he asks, softer this time.

You squeeze your wet eyes shut and concentrate on the white-haired demon. You mouth his name a couple times. Finally, on the third try, your voice manages to catch up with your brain. “Mammon.” You whisper, tears still streaking down your face.

A second passes. A glowing ring of yellow light appears on the ground, with Mammon in the center of it. He’s in his demonic form, right in front of you. His eyes are wild, surprised. He seems confused.

After a moment, he realizes he’s been summoned. And crouches down beside the two of you.

“What the hell happened?” He asks his brother. Lucifer merely makes a face, looking from you to the roof. Then hands you off to your first demon.

Mammon puts two and two together. MC + roof = disaster. He holds you close. Maybe even closer than Lucifer had. His fingers are digging into your flesh, but he’s not hurting you. And now, pressed against his mostly-bare chest, your face warms. You grip the tiny bit of leather covering his shoulder.

“Take them back to the House.” Lucifer orders, straightening. His form reverts and he turns, “I have something to take care of.”

Behind him, a door slams open, the handle of it leaving a large dent in the outer wall, and Satan appears, horns out and tail lashing violently behind him. “Are they all right?!” He pants, leaning against the wall.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, somewhat offended that Satan had thought him incapable. “Of course they’re all right.”

“Oh. I— Good.” Satan sighs with relief when he sees you cradled in Mammon’s arms.

“Now. I have a question. What were you doing on the roof?” Lucifer says, tone icy.

Satan’s eyes widen, he looks away. “I go there sometimes to eat lunch with my friends. It’s not a big deal.”

Lucifer looks appalled. “‘Not a big deal?’ MC nearly fell to their death and it’s not a big deal?”

“Of course that is a big deal! I meant that sitting on the roof isn’t!” Satan shouts.

“If Professor Maris hadn’t told me there were students heading up to the roof, they would be dead. Do you not understand that?” Lucifer snaps.

Once again, Satan looks away. “I do.” He sighs again, a pained look on his face. “But they didn’t fall. They were pushed. I tried to catch them, but I… couldn’t.”

“Pushed?” Lucifer says through gritted teeth. “By whom?”

Satan starts to explain from the very beginning. And Lucifer listens quietly, seething.

“It’s all right. Mammon’s gotcha now, baby.” Mammon’s voice is soft, soothing even. A contrast from its usual tone. The second born opens a portal, a swirling black abyss. When he steps through it, you’re suddenly in his bedroom.

Your trembling arms are still around his neck and his arms are shaky as well. Not from your weight. No. From the idea that you’d almost died. Again. And he wasn’t around to help. AGAIN. He kicks himself for leaving RAD. For leaving you.

Was going to some stupid casino really worth your life?

No.

Nothing was.

Mammon grips you a little tighter and presses his lips to your hair before setting you gently on the sofa. He changes back to the form you’re used to. He asks what happened and after you explain, his nostrils flare. Then sniffs the air.

“Are ya bleedin’?” Mammon asks. You turn your hands around. On the backs of them, there are little bloody crescents. You wince.

Mammon takes your hands, gently. “I’m going to kill that piece of…” He trails off, when he notices your expression. “I mean… I’ll be right back.”

Your demon disappears for a moment and returns with a box of bandages. “All we had in the bathroom are these goofy ones,” Mammon says, kneeling down in front of you. You look at the box, which sports five different anime girl designs.

You laugh through your nose, “Those are fine.”

Mammon spends the next couple of minutes washing your wounds and silently placing the band-aids over them. Then he sits back and looks at your hands, all fucked up because of some asshole.

Because of him.

“Why didn’t ya call for me?” He asks, voice strained. He won’t meet your gaze.

“I don’t know. I forgot I could.” You admit. To be fair, when you’re about to die, you forget things like that.

“Well, remember better!” He shouts, frightening you. You recoil at his outburst and he knows he’s messed up. “I— I’m sorry. I just. You’re. I can’t lose…” He’s struggling to say what he needs to. So, he just sits down next to you and pulls you close, laying his head on your chest.

You sit quietly, now comforting him, running your hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I know I was… I was supposed to let you save me or die this time.” You joke, voice uneven as you repeat what he’d said to you months ago, when Levi had almost attacked you.

Mammon looks up at you with wide eyes. Are those?

Yes, tears clinging to his lashes. “Don’t joke about that. You know I was just kiddin’. I just want ya safe.” He sniffles, putting his head back down. He listens to your heartbeat and relishes the way your hand feels in his hair. He’s almost calmed down, then he thinks of something.

“What were ya doin’ on the roof anyhow?” He asks, raising his head.

“Uh, after you left, I was afraid to go to lunch by myself. So, I asked Satan if I could tag along with him. And I guess… His— His friends don’t like me much,” You answer, shuddering as you remember the absolute evil in Tralin’s eyes just before they pushed you.

Mammon’s swallows. You… You almost died because he wasn’t with you?

He's about to apologize, when fat tears start to slide down your face. You sniffle and try to reign in your emotions, but you just can't.

"Why do they hate me?" You ask between sobs. Mammon wraps his arms around you and you continue, "I didn't even say anything to that guy? If I'd insulted them, then… maybe. But…" You trail off as the lump in your throat grows.

"It's not your fault, MC. Demons are evil."

"You're not. You're good." You blubber. His mouth opens.

But before he can say anything else, his bedroom door slams open and an entourage of demons swarms into the room.

“MC! Oh my goodness! Are you all right?” Asmo says, shoving Mammon away from you as he plops down, almost on your lap. Mammon, now on the floor, groans.

“Satan texted us and told us what happened.” Levi says, his phone still in his hand.

“Oi! This is my room. Get the fuck out!” Mammon says, starting to pick himself up.

Belphie turns his glare on Mammon, “Where the hell were you? Lucifer is pissed.”

“We all are.” Beel says, his brows drawn in an angry V.

“I…” Mammon has a guilty expression on his face. You try to get them all to calm down, but no one wants to listen. They’re all busy pointing fingers at Mammon.

“Guys!” You shout, finally drawing all their attention. “It’s not Mammon’s fault. I told him I’d be all right.” You lie. Mammon gives you a look, but you continue. “If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at… Uh, Tralin. I think that’s their name.” Your voice grows softer as you trail off.

“Pfft. I doubt there’s much left of ‘Tralin’ to get mad at.” Levi says.

You scrunch your brows up. “Huh?”

“Lucifer and Satan… They’re both still at RAD.” Belphie says, allowing you to put the pieces together.

“Oh.”

“MC! Darling, you have to promise me you’ll never go near a roof again!” Asmo says, pressing his cheek against yours.

“I promise.” You say. And you mean it. You have no intention of ever going up to the roof again. Ever.

“Can all you losers get out of my room? I was talkin’ to MC.” Mammon huffs. His brothers put up a bit of a fight, but eventually he’s able to herd them all towards the door, shoving them through and closing it behind them.

He turns the lock for good measure and returns to the couch. You still have tears in your eyes, threatening to fall. When one does, he brushes it away with his thumb.

“I’m so sorry. Ya never shoulda been on the roof in the first place. Ya shoulda been with me.” Mammon says with a sigh, mentally kicking himself in the ass for abandoning you. At least when Lucifer strings him up later, he’ll deserve it this time, he thinks.

“Yeah, I should’ve skipped class.” You nod.

He makes a face. “Huh? No. I mean, I shoulda stayed.” Mammon says.

“Mam, I know you can’t really… Control yourself when there’s money involved. I’m not mad at you.” You say. Then you nudge him with your shoulder. “Sorry you missed out on your free chips.”

Mammon rolls his eyes. “I don’t care about that. I just care about you…” He trails off, his face heating.

“I know. I was just joking.” You say, leaning back against him. His arms wind around you and the two of you sit quietly until your phone dings. You dig it out of your pocket. And Mammon reads over your shoulder.

Lucifer:

MC, are you all right?

MC:

Yes. I’m with Mammon.

Lucifer:

Good. I just wanted to let you know there is no longer a problem. We will be home soon.

“No longer a problem?” You ask.

Mammon stiffens. “Levi wasn't kidding. Uh, that guy’s probably dead.”

“But he’s Satan’s friend?” You say, dumbstruck. They'd kill for you?

“Friend or not, you're his master. And if someone attacks your master… Well, I doubt he’s much more than a pile of bones now.” Mammon says with a shrug.

“Bones?”

Mammon doesn’t say anything more, just cuddles up next to you. That’s when you hear a familiar squawking at the window. Dozens of crows, Mammon’s familiars, fly by with red blotches on their feathers. One of them is carrying something… meaty. Your eyes widen and you look at Mammon, who nods once without meeting your eye.

Bones, indeed.

“Thank you.” You whisper. Your guardian demon merely places a hand on your head and pulls you closer.

#obey me #obey me imagines #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #obey me mammon x reader #mammon #mammon x mc #mammon x you #mine #aerie.fic

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