#callie.exe
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I just learned something from agent 4 from @ask-squidbeaks-agents . She prefers Off The Hook to Squid Sisters
ah... alright then... i guess she can enjoy whatever music she wants, just... y'know. im kinda surprised considering how close we've gotten. but ah dont let me be a downer, if 4 likes off the hook better then... i guess off the hooks better??? or... no wait...
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red is a giant dork, pass it on!
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A, d, j, k, q (for the ask game.. hopefully I didn't type anything wrong)
a: i love you
ahdhhxnc love you too
d: you’re cute
zbjxhxjxjcjc awhhh thanks! i’ve never seen your face but i bet ur cute too
j: i love the way you express yourself
*callie.exe. has stopped working*
k: you’re too beautiful
no u :)
q: i’m in love with you
*callie has stopped working due to feelings*
abhdbxbcbcbbcbc me too
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RWBY V6 Soundtrack First Impressions
Rising: The one I was waiting for the most, and it did NOT disappoint! LOVED IT!!!
Miracle: Imo, the most rocking track.
Lionized: Dark and heavy metal, just as it should be.
One Thing: I am in desperate need of either Neo backstory or seeing Neo stab Cinder in the back. Literally.
Forever Fall: /Callie.EXE is not working due to crying too hard/
Big Metal Shoe: It was good. As always, great to hear Lamar Hall, but probably my least favorite track.
Indomitable: It’s a tribute to Monty (kinda bummed it isn’t a new RUby song, though tbf it kinds still counts like Cold did for Jaune) but... OMG... it is so heartbreaking yet uplifting at the same time. Probably my favorite track.
Nevermore: Already heard it months ago, but still the greatest ‘fuck Adam’ anthem ever.
So the soundtrack... what? It was frekain’ amazing and Jeff Williams continues to be a musical genius. Are we even surprised anymore?
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ohsjdjksk tHIS WAS HOT OKAY ??? IM LITERALLY WOW SHUSISJSJSBDJD IOSKWLWKKW&:&28-9&’nsjk
no more thoughts. brain crashed.
callie.exe has stopped working.
Feral Flight
Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x fem!Reader (A/B/O AU)
Fic Type: Drabble
Summary: You know when your alpha's that calm on the outside that he's a ball of roiling tension on the inside. Whether from a mission gone badly, or just simply his rut, Santiago gets that specific stance-- the narrowed eyes, the clenched jaw, that look in his eyes like he's already calculating the number of ways he can catch you before you reach your safe place. That's how he stands now, in the doorway, not even having removed his vest or weapons from his work. "Run," He says, deceptively calm, and he's hardly finished the word before you're bolting out the door.
A/N: This fic is based off of the sexy sexy answer @lovely-cryptid gave me regarding Santi and these tropes. You can find it here. Thanks for letting me base this little fic off that, babe! ^^ This is also my first time writing for the A/B/O trope, and I used some personal headcanons I have for it as well as following what the general understanding is of it.
Rating/Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, NSFW under the cut, smut, rough smut, pwp(?), A/B/O trope, Primal Play, praise kink, breeding kink, mating kink(?Is that the same thing as a breeding kink?), kinda sex-pollen-ish, unprotected PiV, non-con but not really, pain is involved (not really bad pain, Santi would never hurt anyone he loved but it’s also pain from overstimming and not enough pleasure), knotting, claiming/marking kink, exhibitionism (no one is sees/hears/is aware), very slight choking, dirty talk from our boy Santi, Santi’s rut throws his omega reader into heat, impregnating, mention of getting the reader pregnant, fluff at the end
Ten seconds.
That’s the headstart he gives you, that he always gives you. You’re out the door, already having counted down to 7 by the time you’re on the street. You’re nowhere near fast enough to outrun your alpha, Santiago Garcia, not for long. The key, however, is in tactics. Endurance.
Ex-military, Santi doesn’t even need to follow your scent to track you. With his training, he seems to have superhuman abilities that allow him the edge to almost always catch you before you reach your safe spot. Your only advantage is knowing him— and this city— well.
When you’d first come to South America, brought here by Santi, you didn’t know much. The first time he chased you, he ended up knotting you in an alleyway just minutes from your home. The second time, you’d gotten turned around and he caught you in an empty street. You loved Santi with all your heart— he wasn’t just your alpha, he was your soulmate— so you were never scared of him. No matter how rough he could be, he was never rough enough to hurt you. He’d never take you if you didn’t want it. And he certainly would never put you in any kind of real danger.
And yet, your inner omega feels the thrill of the hunt. Your instincts lead you to take passes he’ll find difficult with his bad knees— stairs, hills, that sort of thing— buying you extra time. One of the only things you’ve discovered that keeps you ahead of him. The second, and only other thing, is pacing yourself. Santi has high endurance despite his bad knees, his training making him faster and stronger in the long run.
Only this time it’s different.
You knew when he left two days ago for his mission that it was risky. That if he forgot to take his suppressants or was unable to, he’d enter a rut— but he’d insisted on going anyway, claiming he could handle it if it came to it. “I’ll be fine, princesa,” He’d assured you. Evidently not. He’d come through the front door with a wild appearance and wilder eyes, his first word to you being “run.” You could smell his state once he’d gotten onto your street, leaving you pacing until he’d all but kicked the door down, chest heaving. His growl sent fire surging through your veins, and although your heat wasn’t due for another week at least, you felt the familiar instinct slam into you without warning. It was the first time it had happened between you, but Santi’s rut had thrown you into early heat. Now you were torn between two urges: the urge to run, and the urge to mate.
So, you may have purposefully avoided that last hill.
You took detours that led you deeper into mostly-abandoned alleyways, a little off-course to your safe place. It’s what you wanted. And judging from his huffs and snarls behind you as he gained ground, it’s what he wanted, too. You risked a glance back once, just long enough to witness him give himself another push of speed. You were tiring, and slowing anyway because of your heat, the slick between your legs making it difficult to run properly. The throbbing ache in your core was growing painful, you needed him.
You took one more turn, into a disused alleyway that’s always abandoned. The old brick wall to the left is crumbling, a barrier between the town and the jungle beyond just over the hill. The buildings on the right are in disrepair, once all part of the same old complex. If Santi was going to catch you, right here was where he needed to do it.
And he did.
Your heart leapt into your throat as Santi collided with you from behind, half-slamming, half-wrestling you down to the worn dirt path. Sandy dust clouded up from the impact, staining your clothes and hair until it looked like you and Santi had been rolling around in it for fun. Despite your sudden heat, you still put up a mock fight against him, struggling against his grip. “Stop. Fighting.” He growled in your ear, wrapping his arms around you until he had you on your knees, arms pinned to your side and him doubled over your back. You could feel his hardness pressing against you through his jeans, sending a flood of arousal to pool between your legs. You both stilled for a second, breathing heavily.
“...Did… Did I hurt you…?” Santi ground out, barely managing the sentence. You shook your head— and your hips. Santi rocked against you, briefly giving in to the urge to dry-hump you for some relief. His voice lowered to a primal state, his hold tightening on you. “You gonna be a good girl?”
“Y-yes–” Your voice cracks as Santi groans when he rocks into you, your eyes rolling back.
Santi helps you to your hands and knees, making sure you’re comfortable. “Tell me if I need to stop,” He breathes in your ear, but you both know that neither of you will be able to. It’s the gesture that counts at this point, you suppose. He reaches around you to undo the belt to your nice jeans, the ones you wore especially for him. He liked how tight they were on you, showing off your curves that only he got to touch. He nips at your ear gently as he starts to unbuckle it, the faintest brush of his fingers against your clothed waist making you whine at the sensation. “You gonna let me mate with you right here, princesa?”
“You’ll keep me safe,” You whispered, gasping as he nuzzled your scent glands with a satisfied hum, his hands slipping your jeans down.
“I will, I promise,” Santi breathes, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving bruising marks; claiming you, marking you, letting everyone know just who you’re mated to– his distinct scent of metal and jungle covered you until your own, more flowery scent was almost entirely disguised. “Ready, pretty girl?”
Your frantic nod was all he needed to push into you, both of you emitting such obscene groans that you’ll be lucky if no one comes to investigate. Overcome by your urges, neither of you can still for more than a few moments.
Santi’s hips start pistoning as he holds you against him, growling and huffing in your ear as he takes you, listening to your loud sobs of pleasure. “I need you to say it, cariño,” He pants between his snarls, snapping his teeth at your ear. “I need your— agh, unh— I need your permission— fuck, baby, please, tell me I can knot you, tell me I can breed you; oh fuck, hermosa— please let me breed you, please—“
You tried, desperately, to say it verbally, but all you could fathom was choked sobs. Santi was filling you, but you weren’t full enough, and despite the fact that he was in charge, he still was begging you for your consent. Your ruts and heats had always been controlled, there was never any real chance of him impregnating you— but here, you know what he’s really asking for. If he claims you here, now, without any of your protection, you will be pregnant. Are you ready for that?
Your lust-addled brain certainly thinks so. The thought of him filling you with his pups has your heart pounding so wildly you’re sure that Santi can feel it. “P-please, Santi—“ It’s all he needed; he shifts positions, allowing you to arch your back and present for him in the classic omega position. He elicits a gasp as he sinks deeper in, bracing himself with a hand on your hip as he scruffs you, fist clenching half in your hair and half around your neck.
Immediately, he begins to pound into you, shouting as you cry out, your instincts sending you into a spiral of insatiable arousal. Anyone could walk around the corner and enter the alleyway, and you wouldn’t care that they’d see a full view of Santi mating with you on the dirt path like an animal. “Santi, Santi,” You sob over and over, and it spurs a filthy stream of expletives in English and Spanish from your alpha.
You both scream as his knot locks you together without warning, expanding within you until you’re more than certain that you’re going to explode; it triggers your own ecstasy, and you clench down on him so hard you feel like your muscles are going to seize up and cease to function. Shaking from the force of your shared orgasm, Santi reaches up to wipe your tears away with a trembling hand, even as he still emptied ropes of his seed deep inside you. “That’s it, that’s a good girl… So good for me, princesa, such a good girl…”
You heave for air as Santi rocks into you in a slow grind, fucking his release deeper into you.
But neither of you are satiated yet.
With a growl, Santi’s hips snap into yours; you whine, feeling his length throbbing within you and needing more. “Santi, I need you, I need you—“
“I know, baby, I know—“
He carefully presses your face into the ground as he pounds into you, chasing another release as he simultaneously tries to get you to yours; your pornographic wails echo in the alleyways when another orgasm is torn from you, the breath roughly punched from your lungs as he slams his pelvis into yours to knot you a second time, shooting his spend into your womb.
He’s barely finished when you’re squirming in his hold, begging him for more. He holds you still, trying to catch his breath. “N-no wait; rest for a second, just rest… Rest…” He’s clearly in pain, rock-hard again already and knot shrinking in preparation for a third round. But yet he still thinks of you, and your heart swells.
Each time after Santi knots you, he makes you rest. He forces himself to rest, near sobbing himself as the pain in his knees worsens with every round; but he can’t, you can’t, fight your instincts long enough to move somewhere else more comfortable.
Neither of you can stop; not until evening starts to set in, when Santi knots you so hard you scream and arch your back into him, when you cum around him so intensely that he yelps from the pressure. Exhausted, whining high in your throats, you grind into each other, trying to catch your breath as you force yourselves to rest; and then, you aren’t forcing yourselves anymore.
Your heat dissipates, leaving you boneless as you slump to the ground, the way eased by Santi’s trembling and uncertain grip as his rut— and his knees— give out. He collapses on top of you with a groan, careful of his weight on yours. Your muddled brain is curious and a little frightened. Your synced ruts and heats had never, ever ceased so suddenly.
It takes several moments for you to catch your breath, and the first thing Santi does is chuckle against the nape of your neck. “Cariño… Your scent changed…” In your blissed-out haze, you don’t quite understand his meaning— not until his hand sneaks under you to protectively splay over your belly, pressing gently there as he nuzzles into your neck with a beaming smile, breathing in your new scent: your old scent that brings him comfort, and your fresh scent which excites him, that of an expecting omega. And when you still don’t get it, he tells you, proud and happy. “...You’re pregnant, dios mio, you’re pregnant, sweetheart, you’re carrying our pups...”
Pregnant. The word rings around in your skull for a minute. You and Santi just made a little set of people— or maybe even more than the standard twins. Inside your womb were your young, a mix of you and your mate. You wondered if they’d look more like him, or like you, or maybe both… You suddenly found yourself overwhelmed for a second, taking deep shuddering breaths as you twisted in Santi’s arms to wrap your arms around his neck. He didn’t let his hand leave your stomach as he pulled out, laying on top of you and pressing adoring kisses to your face.
The tender embrace only lasted a moment before Santi began to weakly struggle to his feet, going into battle mode. He was bracing himself for if he needed to fight, if he needed to protect you. “Come on, princesa. Let’s get you home.”
Despite his bad knees, he refused to let you walk on your own. He stood, he scooped you up in his arms, and he limped carefully back home, where he took a bath with you before helping you into bed. You weren’t very surprised when Santi situated himself so that he was between you and the door, after thoroughly checking to ensure that the windows and doors were locked, both arms wrapped protectively around your stomach and his torso shielding yours. His head laid on your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat as you threaded your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.
The reality of the situation was slowly sinking in.
“...We’ll need to move to a better part of the city,” Santi said. You hummed contentedly in response. “Maybe get a real job. One that pays good and keeps me close enough to protect you.” He lifted his head, resting his chin on your collarbone so that his sparkling doe eyes could meet yours. “...You okay?”
You knew that if you weren’t (which you were, completely and then some), Santi would blame himself for being unable to take his rut suppressants. But you were. Kids were something that you had always wanted, especially with Santi; but your situation had never been favorable for any amount of children— or so he’d claimed. You knew he was scared. But you also knew that while it wouldn’t be easy, it wasn’t impossible. You were happy about the sudden change, allowing you something with Santi that he’d never thought he could have had before: a family.
Santi stretched up to nuzzle into your neck with a low purr in the back of his throat as he scented you. “Te amo, cariño.”
“Te amo, Santi.”
Santi trailed his kisses down your throat and past your sternum, pressing a tender kiss to your stomach. “Papá también te ama,” He whispered, and you all but burst into tears. Santi returned to his original protective position, tangling his legs with yours and entwining your fingers together. Feeling warm and safe in his embrace, you fell asleep happier than you’d ever thought possible.
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Thanks for reading! I wrote the first few paragraphs several weeks ago and finally came back to it to finish it up with Red Handed Part 3 before tackling Banks of the Nile: Part 2 and The House of Fett: Part 3.
I wasn’t sure exactly who to tag (because I know a lot of people aren’t into the A/B/O trope) so I limited it to people who I know enjoy or don’t mind that sort of thing: @lovely-cryptid @johnny-simpfinger @marc-spectorr
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It doesn’t feel like it’s been 7 months, more than half a year, since I became homeless. A lot’s changed in that time, huh? I’m so glad it’ll all be over soon.
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