#good thoughts here i hope this is okay to rb

[sanguineterrain]

how about Jason with the prompt "text me when you get home"? the one time they forget/fall asleep before sending the text and Jay loses hid mind. rushes over expecting them to be dead but they passed out on the couch as soon as they got home

really superbly SCRUMPTIOUS prompt Aud. I love protective jaybird 🥰‼️ thanks for sending something in 🫶

jason todd x gn!reader. worried protective snuggly jason. no warnings really, ya boy is just paranoid and madly in love with you 💓

request something! I rb all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

As soon as you get out of your last class of the day, your phone rings.

You answer it, wedging the phone between your ear and shoulder as you fish in your bag for a couple of bills. You're already walking to the train station.

"Hi, snookie bear," you say into the phone, slightly delirious with hunger and sleep deprivation.

Jason snorts on the other end. "That's a new one. Hey, baby. Y'heading home?"

"Indeed I am."

"Need a ride?"

You wait and listen. Eventually, you hear the sounds of hitting and grunting in the background. You roll your eyes—only Jason would be in the middle of a fight and then ask if you need a ride home.

"No, I'm okay. It's not dark yet. Plus you sound busy."

"I'm never too busy for you," he says immediately. "And it's gonna get dark in an hour. Are you sure—"

"Yes, Jay," you say gently. "I'm sure. Don't worry about me. I'm going straight home."

You're already at the station. There's a good amount of people, students and workers alike. The university is in a relatively okay part of town, especially during the day. You're not worried. It's not like you traipse through Crime Alley on your downtime.

"Okay." Jason takes a deep breath. "Just—just be careful. Text me when you get home."

You note the hint of worry in his tone. Maybe this week has been particularly saturated with crime. Jason tends to get a little overbearing about your safety when he's had a tough week. You know he had go down to Blüdhaven and help his brother—with what specifically, you don't know.

Most of the time, you're sure you don't want to know.

"I always do," you say. The train pulls up to the station. "Ooh, train's here! I'll talk to you later. I'm thinking of ordering takeout. Too tired to cook."

"Okay, sweetheart. Be safe. Love you. Lock your door."

You roll your eyes fondly. "Yes, Jay. Love you too. Bye."

You hang up as you step onto the train. You pull your headphones out of your bag and shut your brain off during the ride. By the time you get off the train, you've lost hope that you'll be doing any work tonight. You're absolutely wiped out after three back-to-back classes.

It's still light when you get home. You lock the door after you get in, the habit ingrained into you, and dump your bag onto the couch.

Takeout is a no-go. You're hungry now and about thirty seconds away from passing out on the couch.

You change into your home clothes, eat a granola bar, and call it a day. You'll eat more later.

You turn off your phone to bar any annoying notifications and fall into bed, eyes closing immediately.

****

The sound of your deadbolt being teared off its chain wakes you up. You flinch and jump awake, trying to blink through sleep. Your mouth is dry from how hard you slept, and your eyesight is slightly blurry from the sudden flood of moisture.

Your bedroom door swings open, and suddenly you're pulled into warm, heavily muscled arms. You hug back on instinct; you'd know the feel of your boyfriend anywhere.

"Jay, h—"

"You didn't text," he says, voice shaking. "You said you would. I was—I thought you were—"

You tense, guilt knocking into you.

"Shit. Jason, I'm so sorry. I meant to, I was just so tired..."

Jason pulls back to look at you, hands still on your shoulders. His expression is stern.

"I'm gonna pick you up from now on. When are your late days?"

"Jay, no, GCU is across town. You can't possibly pick me up three days a week. That's too much! What about patrol?"

"Somebody else is out at this time," he says stonily. "Crime Alley can wait an hour while I get you home."

His eyes blaze green, a side effect of the Pit. You can tell he's putting every effort into keeping a lid on the worry and fear and anger over your silence.

"Jason." You cup his face. "Honey, I'm safe. I'm sorry I didn't text you. I'm sorry I worried you. But your adrenaline is spiked right now, Jay. Everything feels magnified. I don't need to be picked up. I was perfectly safe coming home. Okay?"

He shakes his head, holding your wrists. "Anything could've happened. I was so—fuck, baby, I was so scared. I-I checked the station footage and the traffic cams, and I didn't see you after you cut through the park, and I thought—I was sure you'd—"

Jason pulls your arms around his neck and buries his face into your shoulder. He supports you by the backs of your thighs, tugging you into his lap. Then he clings tight.

"Oh, Jay," you murmur, petting his curls. "I'm alright. This end of Gotham isn't so bad. And I know you'd have found me even if something had happened. But nothing did."

"Can't lose you," he chokes out.

"You won't lose me, honey," you say. "You keep me safe."

He trembles in your embrace. You kiss the shell of his ear and continue to pet his hair.

"Let me pick you up tomorrow, at least," he pleads. "We'll get dumplings at that place you like. You barely ate anything when you came home."

"Okay, Jay," you say, because you know he needs that reassurance. He won't relax without it. "That sounds good."

You keep stroking his hair. "Y'wanna order in now?"

"In a minute."

Jason lays you both down on the bed. He throws a leg over yours and pulls you into his chest. It's now that you see just how much tension is locked in his shoulders. He's exhausted.

"Jus' wanna hold you for a bit," he says, lips resting on your shoulder.

He's drowsy, the adrenaline finally ebbing. You close your eyes and snuggle into his arms.

"You can hold me for as long as you want," you say, threading your fingers with his. "I'm not going anywhere."

[writefightandflightclub]

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. 

And the next. 

[nurse-floyd]

The Weight of Living

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

Warnings: mentions of body dysmorphia, ED’s (not overly descriptive. Avoid if you’re suffering from these issues and you’re always welcome to reach out to me if you need help with these issues.

You stood in front of the mirror in your hotel room, adjusting your outfit for probably the hundredth time that morning. Grand Prixs were always a glamorous affair; the paddock was always crowded with celebrities, models, and the other WAGs. The familiar feeling of anxiety washed over you as you turned to the side and further inspected your outfit.

“Hey, are you ready?” your boyfriend Daniel’s voice called out as he appeared in the doorway. His smile was bright, as always, but it faltered slightly as he took in your expression and the way you were examining yourself in the mirror. “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Just trying to look presentable. I guess this is as good as it's gonna get.”

He walked to your side, his arms wrapping around you and his head coming to rest on your shoulder. “You look gorgeous, as always,” he emphasized with a kiss to your cheek.

You leaned back into his embrace. “Thanks, Danny.”

As you walked through the paddock hand in hand with Danny, you couldn’t help but feel out of place. The other WAGs and celebrities looked so effortlessly perfect, not a hair out of place, their clothes fitting just right and their makeup flawless. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn’t compare.

You had been trying so hard since these feelings started to arise, skipping meals and spending more time in the gym in the hopes of losing a few pounds here and there to try and fit in among them. All it did was make you feel weaker and more self-conscious. Danny had noticed; he always encouraged you to eat with him, knowing the signs too well himself, but he also trusted you to come to him when you needed and when you were ready.

Danny, always attuned to your emotions, noticed your change in demeanor as you looked around, seeing photographers and the other guests in the paddock. He squeezed your hand a little tighter in support. “You look gorgeous,” as if he read your mind, he leaned over and whispered in your ear.

When the pair of you finally managed to get to the VCARB motorhome, you were left on your own as he was in and out of briefings and media. You hung around and talked to a few friends and RB employees, but mostly kept to yourself.

“You okay, sweetheart?” you heard Danny say as he came over to your side, breaking you from your thoughts. He had just finished up with an interview and wanted to spend any free moment he had with you.

“Yeah, just thinking,” you replied.

“Let’s get you something to eat before free practice. I know you skipped breakfast this morning.”

You hesitated, but nodded. As you made your way towards the catering area of the motorhome, you couldn’t shake the feeling that people were looking at you as you loaded up a few items on your plate. Judging. Criticizing your food choices. The anxiety was driving you crazy. In the end, you ended up with a small plate of some fruit, which you mostly pushed around with your fork.

A few hours later, free practice was in full swing, and you found yourself struggling to stay upright as you watched from the paddock. The noise, the stress, the lack of proper food—it was all becoming too much for your body to handle. Your vision blurred, and you felt yourself sway on the spot. The last thing you saw before your vision began to gray was the blur of cars as they zoomed past the screen.

When you came to, you were lying on the plush couch in what you recognized as Danny’s driver's room.

“Hey,” he said softly as he brushed a strand of hair back from your forehead, noticing your eyes fluttering open. “How’re you feeling? You scared the hell out of me.”

You could see the worry etched on his face as he knelt on the floor beside you. As you tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness had you closing your eyes again as you felt Danny guide you back against the plush sofa.

“I’m okay. Just a bit overwhelmed, I guess.”

You knew he wasn’t buying it, though. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and a knowing look. “Sweetheart, I know something’s going on. I wanted to wait for you to come to me and tell me, but now we need to have a serious talk.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Shh, it's okay,” he reassured you as he pulled you into a gentle hug. “I’m not mad, just worried.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. After a moment, he helped you sit up, his hands never leaving yours as his spare hand plumped up a few pillows for you to lean against.

“What’s going on, love?” he asked gently. “You’ve been different lately. Skipping meals, pushing yourself too hard...”

“I just... I don’t feel like I belong here,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I look at the other WAGs and I feel... inadequate. Like I’m not good enough.”

Danny’s eyes softened with understanding. “Your weight or how you look doesn’t define your worth. You are so much more than that, and I love you for who you are, not what you look like.”

“I just want to fit in,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

He wiped them away with his thumb, his touch tender and comforting. “You don’t have to change yourself to fit in. You’re perfect as you are. And if you ever need help or support, I’m here for you. Always.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Thank you, Danny. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled, his eyes shining with love. “You don’t have to find out, because I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time in weeks.

Danny kissed your forehead, then stood up, offering you his hand. “Now, how about we get you something proper to eat and take it easy for the rest of the day?”

You nodded, taking his hand and standing up. As you walked out of the room, you felt a renewed sense of strength, knowing that with Danny by your side, you could face anything.

[bellewintersroe]

Max Verstappen x HornerDaughter!

Part 2 - here is the LINK to the first part! Leni has to act dumb to everything Max has told her when they’re in Monza where Kelly is. She witnesses a somewhat awkward interaction and Max gets suspicious when Leni is close with Carlos.

Warnings: mentions of arguments, probs some swearing, jealousy and impure thoughts. A little naughty thing happens between Leni and Max, but nothing major.

A couple days later we were all back together in Monza for the following Grand Prix. It was more than a success for Red Bull, with Checo taking second and Max taking yet another win. Red Bull now had 10 consecutive wins a row. It was party central around the grid, plus Sainz had bagged 3rd place which he truly deserved, he fought off the RB’s like a mad man for a good 15 laps. After his birthday yesterday, I congratulated him with a massive hug.

“You really deserved that, well done.” I hugged the Spanish man. I’d met Carlos years ago when he signed with Red Bull back in 2010.(I fancied him). Now he just felt like my older brother. Okay maybe that was a weird thing to say.

“Thank you, miss Leni. I missed you.” He gave me a tight squeeze back as I smiled adoringly towards Carlos. “I miss you Carlos, I hope Ferrari are treating you better than before the summer break.” I half joked.

“Yeah, me too.” His eyes widened. “Will you be out tonight?” Carlos then questioned. “Probably, I think we’ll be at the same place, -are you celebrating your birthday too?” “Of course.” He smirked. “I’ll come over and say hi. Get you a couple birthday shots!” I nodded as the older man laughed. “Drinking competition.”

“Are you trying to kill me? I’ll see you tonight, Carlos.” “Yes, let me know when you are in there. I think somebody wants to speak to you.” Carlos nodded behind me as my brows furrowed slightly as I spun around, hand sliding off Carlos’ arm. Max was lingering, a huge smile plastered across his face as he attempted to bite it back, nodding towards Carlos. My heart fluttered pathetically as I laughed out of pure ecstasy.

“Max!” The two of us embraced tightly as he lifted me up. “Oh my god, I’m so happy for you.” I felt the breath of his laughter against my bare shoulder as he gently eased me back to the ground.

“Thank you, thank you. I’m so happy.” He modestly spoke, cheeks flustered from his excitement. The whole morning I had to act sheepishly around him and Kelly, purely because of what he told me when he was drunk. For a second of seeing him, I forgot what I felt awkward about. But when his hand lingered on my upper back, I felt the exact same itch of guilt that had pestered me all day.

“Good, you should be. You’ll be celebrating tonight, right?”

“Maybe, maybe.” He shrugged, hand slipping off as I crossed my hands over my chest. “Maybe? Max you’ve literally beaten a world record, you can’t not!” I nagged, pulling on his arm dramatically.

He smirked sheepishly, laughing to himself as we began walking back to the Red Bull garage. “Carlos is going out!” I spoke, as though that would sway him. “I’m sure Checo is too!” “Go party with Carlos.” Max shrugged nudging my arm. “Huh?” I asked loudly. “Huh?” He mimicked as I scoffed out a laugh. “I thought you… you know- I mean now you’re single-” “Ew, what’re you trying to say?”

“Yes, what are you trying to say, Max?” Another female voice interrupted and I tilted my head up, stomach sinking to see Kelly. “Hi Kelly!” I politely smiled. “Hey.” She smiled back. It was about as far as our friendship ever got, I always made an effort with her, but she was quiet in general, maybe the 13 year age difference between us was a bit too extreme. I was just being a hater.

“Well I thought now Leni is single she might have been… interested in Carlos.”

“Oh.” Kelly’s face relaxed as I felt my frown grow harder. “Carlos? He’s known me since I was like 9!” I grimaced towards Max, feeling Kelly staring right back to her boyfriend. Max shifted uncomfortably. I felt uncomfortable- god he needed to just tell the woman what he was feeling.

“Oops.” Max shrugged as we shared another laugh. Kelly on the other hand, didn’t seem amused. “No hug for me, Max?” She sassed as I felt my stomach churn in guilt. Max’s mouth opened to respond and I wanted to yell out, hug her you fool.

“I’m gonna go, see you both later.” I awkwardly excused myself, wanting to literally throw myself off a cliff. A shudder ran down my spine, cringing at the whole interaction. This whole crush on Max had to stop, how the hell could I limit interaction between us without it looking so obvious?

Limiting interaction is what I tried to do. I kept my distance from Max the whole evening, opting to chat with Checo rather than be around where he and Kelly bickered. It wasn’t anything new the arguments, my dad often said it was Max’s number 1 distraction. Knowing what I now knew, I agreed. I just had to keep my head down and act like whatever they were arguing about wasn’t loud enough that you could hear Kelly over the music.

Minutes later she stormed out, tipping a few drinks off the table in the process. Max groaned into his hands, luckily, Hannah, the strategist, reassured Max she was leaving anyway and she’d fix it. I kinda felt bad for him, he’d just won yet another world title and this had to happen tonight. He looked a little sad, the minute my heart churned I turned my attention elsewhere. I hated the way I wanted to go and speak to him, it wasn’t right. Max needed to end the torment Kelly was probably feeling and sort out their god damn mortgage issue.

Desperate to avoid any form of drama, I escaped to go spend some time with Carlos and the Ferrari team for a while. I looked like a little backstabber, playfully sticking my fingers up at people from RB. I’d fully danced my feet off, and I was exhausted from all the day drinking combined with the heat at Monza.

After saying bye to a bunch of people, I slipped outside, bagging a cigarette off somebody as I stumbled to an empty table, booking an Uber.

“12 minutes? Ugh.” I muttered to myself, quite literally desperate to throw myself in bed. My ankles were desperately hurting where I’d grown uneasy in my heels, and it was beginning to radiate up to my shins. I lit the cigarette and began puffing on the stick that I normally wouldn’t smoke sober.

“I didn’t know you smoke?” My heart skipped a beat as I dropped the freshly lit cigarette into a puddle next to the chair. “I don’t anymore.” I cleared my throat, glancing up to Max quickly. Where had he come from?

“Don’t tell Geri or my dad.” I commented as he let out a soft chuckle. “I won’t.”

“Thanks… what’re you doing out here?”

“Leaving.” He shrugged, sitting across from me. “Oh, me too. You can get in my Uber if you want.” I offered.

“Yeah please, I’ll pay. I gotta go and… find Kelly.” He awkwardly spoke as I glimpsed away at the mention of her name.

“No, you don’t have to pay.” I ignored the last part of his sentence, shaking my head firmly. “I do.” Max firmed. “I don’t mind Max, he’s 10 minutes away, anyway.” I looked back down to my phone as he nodded. “I’ll split share.” He offered, reaching over to tap my phone onto his contact to share the cost. “Okay.” I shyly spoke watching him slide my phone back to me.

“You ok?” He then questioned as I glimpsed back up. “Yeah, I’m good. Are you?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, running his hand through his slightly messy hair. He had stubble growing in areas that made him look extra manly, and I had to pinch my bare thigh to focus on what he was saying.

“Not exactly the best night.” Max awkwardly chuckled as I began picking at the wood on the table, thinking carefully about my words for a good few seconds. “You should tell her, Max.” I boldly said. I felt him shift uncomfortably, when I looked up he was too staring at the table. I assumed he knew what I was talking about. “I know.” He chewed on the inside of his cheeks.

“I didn’t think you’d remember..” he then added on as I let out an awkward laugh. “I didn’t think you would. You’re rich enough, just pay off the mortgage and then that’s out of the way.” “I was talking to my accountant about it.” He rubbed his face. “That’s why she was upset.”

“Oh.” I commented, my eyes roaming around any part of the smoking area, as long as I didn’t make eye contact with him, it was fine.

“Yeah.” Awkward, my teeth sunk into my bottom lip, probably taking off half the lipgloss I’d just applied. “Awkward.” I blurted out, earning a laugh from Max as we caught each others eyes again.

“You don’t have a filter do you?” I felt my cheeks warm desperately as I tried not to smile. “I mean- just not after a few drinks.”

“It’s funny, Leni.” He giggled as I took a sharp breath, “it gets me in trouble sometimes.” I shrugged. We made small talk back and fourth for the next ten minutes before climbing in the Uber together, it was safe to say neither of us was as drunk as we were that night on the beach, we actually had some restraint about us.

“I forgot to take my brother to his tutor today!” I spoke up, turning to face him. Max’s head was rested back, lolling to look at me with a soft gaze.

“How? Why does he have a tutor on a Sunday?” He spluttered out a laugh.

“You tell me. My dad was speaking to me and I forgot to listen- took Monty up to the paddock, he knocked himself out on Gelato, the same way I did the free champagne, and I just… forgot.” “Oh, Leni.” Max laughed, reaching over to slightly touch my hand through his amusement. I spared a quick glance down to his hand, it was inching closer to my own, nudging against it with every bump of movement in the car.

“It was stupid.” I muttered on a sharp intake of breath. Max looked back to me, smiling, I shyly caught his eye, feeling his fingers graze over mine to hold onto my hand. He was smiling, glancing down to our hands and I couldn’t process the butterflies he gave me. The way my heart set off racing, how I felt like I couldn’t speak. What on earth was happening right now?

What followed was a terrible guilt. “Max.” I exhaled, softly parting out hands. I didn’t know what that was, or how it happened so quickly, of course it wasn’t a kiss, but the movement made me truly question if Max and I were actually just friends? Max straightened in his seat, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered. I trapped both my hands between my knees. I didn’t quite know what to say, I glanced out of the window, pursing my lips slightly. “You need to tell her.”

[strawberryspence]

this is PLATONIC. love can be platonic. and that’s what this is. if i see anything non-platonic stobin tagged in my rbs, i will delete this.

this is inspired of that quote from dolly alderton, “nearly everything i’ve known about love i’ve learned in my long time friendships with women.” i said the word love so many times, it’s not real anymore.

anw, happy stobin month. their friendship means so much to me. so here’s something sappy.🍦

-

“What is love?” El asks him, with that bright eye curiosity that makes her— that makes her the best of them all in more ways than one.

Steve blinks at her, dropping the whisk he’s holding and thinks.

What is love?

It’s easy.

Steve smiles to himself as he thinks of a time where he would have floundered for an answer, searched for it in the empty corners of his heart and home, in the unblinking red light on the voice machine; waiting for something, anything.

Nearly everything Steve Harrington knows about love he has learned from Robin Buckley.

First, Steve learns how to fall in love with the most unlikely person in the crowd. Robin was, and will always be a better person than him. From her, he learns how to fall in love, admit it, and accept the fact that it won’t always get reciprocated. That’s okay, because in exchange of that rejection, would be something better than he could ever imagine.

Love is a friend. A real friend.

Second, Steve learns that love— is love. It isn’t something meant to be put into a box, it isn’t just one thing. It’s not just girls for boys, or boys for girls. It’s for everyone, it’s for anything your heart wants.

And when he finally came to the realization that he didn’t fit that box too, Robin held him for hours. Assured him that it’s okay, that if that’s who he is, she will still love him because of it, never despite it.

Love is being true to yourself. It’s freedom while being held by your person.

Third, Steve learns that love can be quiet. It’s not always hiding under the covers as your parents fight from across the room, it’s not loud pounding music as the love of your life tells you that you’re bullshit.

It can be found in quiet afternoons, while reading a book with your best friend. It can be found in quiet evenings, as you both try to paint in silence. It was sitting, in a field behind a stolen RV, making molotovs in silence, both terrified they’d be dead tomorrow. It can be found in the middle of the night, after a terrifying, too real nightmare, just bundled together holding each other's hand.

Love is quiet. It’s peaceful and content, even when its hard.

Fourth, Steve learns that love— the real one— doesn’t have an expiration date. He once thought that it’s always been like that, that for him it’s always been meant to be like that. There is an end date. That one day day everyone he loves will realize what he truly is… bullshit. Like when his parents started to learn that he was too much, and too little of what they want and needed, they started leaving more often or when Nancy realized she deserved someone better, it’s over.

Maybe, he’s still waiting for the day when Robin finally realizes that she’s so much better than him, that she could find someone better, that Steve can’t really be her platonic soulmate. Because soulmates— God— they’re two halves of one whole. But how could he ever live up to that? He doesn’t think he could ever, not when Robin’s got all the good parts when they were split into half.

But there’s an unspoken trust. A tiny voice in Steve’s head that tells him, above all the noise and self loathing, a voice that sounds so similar to Robin’s says, “Robin won’t do that to you. Not ever.”

He holds onto that voice, clutches at it with shaking hands.

Love is… Love is there. And you will pray, and hope, and beg that it never leaves. But love is also trust, so you hold on with that blind faith.

Fifth, Steve learns that the best love— it’s in the in betweens.

Love is when Steve’s having the worst migraine, so Robin cleans the store for him instead. It’s when his best friend got him a brownie, because she thought he’d like it. It’s when his bestfriend brushed his hair after a rough night, even if it’s drenched in sweat and tears. It’s the scar in his thumb from when the vodka bottle broke as they made molotovs. It’s when she finally snaps and locks him and Eddie in the pantry so they can talk about their feelings. It’s her weirdly proud smile when she opens the pantry, and they’re making out like their lives depended on it.

It’s popcorn stuck in between the couch from movie nights. It’s paint stains in his favorite blue jeans from the one night they painted his room. It’s the chip on the plate when they were eating and she chipped it from laughing so hard. It’s that old post note on the fridge that says, “Got you milk, Dingus!” that he never removed.

Steve Harrington has learned of love from everyone. From Dustin, to Max, to Eddie, to the rest of the kids. Even Hopper and Joyce, from Nancy and Jonathan. In some ways, he’s learned from his parents too.

It’s all different.

But in his core. In his truest core, in his deepest soul.

It’s all from Robin Buckley.

El is still looking at him, with a fond smile, like she can see the montage playing in his head. You know what? Maybe she does see it.

“What is love?” Steve repeats her question.

El hums, nodding.

“Love is a U.S.S Butterscotch Sundae.”

El giggles at his answer as Steve winks at her.

Steve turns to the open window above the sink. There’s laughter coming from the yard, where the kids are playing in the pool. Eddie’s reading Nancy a book, as Jonathan and Argyle lounge around.

Steve meets Robin’s eyes, and she smiles at him, raises a hand to wave at him.

Steve waves back at love personified.

(In Steve’s room, there’s an old recipe book. Given to him by his Grandmother, it’s filled with different recipes, some 50 years older than him, some newer. There’s a piece of paper tucked in between the pages, with a blue and white border and a little sailor hat. It’s stained from use and dirt. It’s not old, it’s not new, it’s from two summers ago. It’s a handwritten recipe with a note at the bottom.

Harrington,

I wrote this down because you kept forgetting the freaking recipe for the USS butterscotch sundae. Keep it with you, you dingus.

Buckley.)

[f0point5]

Okay but like, I get that Oscar wants to win races and a wdc too and doesn't wanna play second fiddle but sit down boy? It's only his second year, he can't expect to be no.1 driver instantly. and I'm not saying Lando deserves the preferential treatment when he doesn't deliver but you do gotta give it to him that he's been carrying that team. And if he loses the wdc by a fine margin, he will resent Oscar for when the team didn't push team orders and rightly so.

He actually has a chance whereas Oscar is only p4. He should also be playing the team game, and help out Lando wherever he can. There will be time for him too, like they told Lando in Hungary? And how does yak brown want to keep his dream team if the drivers will resent each other and fight each other like the Ferrari boys did when there was a working car and no clear team order? (Glad that beef seems to be over tho) No matter what angle I look at this from, this isn't gonna last long. Because you can't be sure next year you will have the same chances, so wanting to win the two championships then is a risk, what if rb pulls a McLaren? I never expected the rb20 to deteriorate this dramatically so maybe next year it's the McLaren 🤷🏼‍♀️

They should commit to Lando's title fight and Oscar should be a good team mate. I actually don't remember a single instance where he deliberately helped Lando and wasn't just simply fucked over by the team.

(also I hope this doesn't actually happen, since it's good for Max but come on 😂)

But why should he sit down? What is the point of sitting down? Where does that get him in the long run? If Lando wins a championship then that’s one more hurdle Oscar has to overcome to get to being the number 1 driver.

If you want to be a champion you have to carry yourself like one from the first test in the car. Sit down and wait your turn is fine when you’re sure your turn will come but drivers can’t be. How long do you have the dominant car? How long until the next Max catches up to you? It could be Kimi. And then that’s your whole career gone because you thought you’d wait until Lando was done having his turn being number 1. “There will be time” is not a guarantee. Look at what happened to Red Bull. Fortunes turn on a dime.

It’s up to the team to decide who gets preferential treatment but no driver with an ounce of common sense will make that an easy choice if they have the talent to do better.

Oscar doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who moved from Australia to the UK alone as teenager to be A Good Teammate to Lando Norris. He seems like he came here to achieve what he can for himself. And Max and Lewis were called bad teammates because they cared more about winning but you know what, they won.

And this may be an unpopular opinion, but I don’t think McLaren is all that committed to Lando’s championship battle this year. Which is their decision to make, not Oscar’s.

[httpiastri]

Little theory that I dont know if it has been brought up before... paul to red bull maybe? Aside from the photo from the fan zone where there is a red bull water bottle, I saw hes sponsored by porsche, like porsche Estonia. And maybe im crazy cause i can swear theres a link between red bull and porsche (probably cause of mark webber). But it would make no sense for paul to go to red bull since they already have so many juniors and only one seat available in f1. Like theres Liam, Is*ck, pepe, tim tramnitz, oliver goethe, ayumu iwasa, arvid... way too many for just a seat. The situation isnt changing with red bull or racing bulls anytime soon in my opinion so why would paul sign with them?

okay so i have thought about this many many times and like. as much as i think rbr is a good place to be, i also think it's a horrible place to be. so many dropped juniors who are just left all alone. so many juniors who will never see a rb car (or vcarb for that matter) from the inside bcs helmut or christian or whoever's making the actual calls likes to do very irrational things. like, even if paul were to join, where would that put him in the ranks? behind max, first of all. behind perez who they enjoy keeping there for god knows what reason. behind yuki. behind daniel (?). behind liam. likely behind ayumu and is*ck – and possibly even behind arvid lindblad who i assume they will be pushing to get f1-ready as soon as possible (if he keeps this up). and as you say, they also have pepe, tim, ollie (who's been doing really well imo, idk how he's that far down the ranks but anyway) 🤷‍♀️

but the red bull bottle in the fanzone & the porsche connection are v interesting!!! 🤭

but guys... do you know what i thought about in the shower...........

paul to... not red bull, not mercedes, not williams..... but FERRARI ????

OKAY HEAR ME OUT HERE. here's the thought process: i was thinking about ollie in f1. stuff we love to see. then i thought about dino, and being completely heartbroken over the fact that he hasn't performed as well this season as everyone was hoping (YET !!!! still a lot left of the season, i know!!!!!!!!!). and i thought about how if there's anyone in the world i want to get an f1 seat, it's dino. sorry paul and pepe and everyone else but my swedish man........

yeah so anyway, then i went "but if ferrari doesn't have dino to push into f1 in the next 2-3 years... who will it be?" because if they wanted rob in the seat, they would've put him in already. i love him, but i don't think he will be an f1 driver anytime soon. and who else do they have? the next fda member under dino is rafa, who's doing a lovely job in freca of course, but it's still very very far away.

imagine it's 2026; lewis hamilton has retired after just one year at ferrari (fought too much with their golden child charles, or just lost the passion for racing or something); ollie bearman gets his seat. a haas seat is empty. will it go to dino, who spent one year in f2 and possibly did well? or will it go to paul aron, the boy who joined fda mid-2024, who won the f2 championship in his rookie year (or came second in his rookie season and then won in his second year), who's been a loyal and good reserve driver and also came with valuable feedback and good insights when helping out with the sim?

please tell me you see the vision guys because im....... 😭

[themousefromfantasyland]

Hey, I'm sorry to bug you but I rb your post about voting being necessary, and I saw that barrage of bs in the replies, in the notes, so I thought I'd check in - I hope you’re okay, and I thank you for making this post.

I didn’t go through all of it, so idk if you replied to more of them, but you don't have to, though I am sure there are others who would read it and think. We can't convince everyone, sadly. I'm French, we've been forced to choose between the Fascists and the Lesser Evil for two decades, so it boggles my mind that not everyone else realises how important voting is.

Anyway, I am sorry for the long and random message. I hope you have a good rest of your day! And thank you again!

I'm from Brazil. Since we became a democracy again after a long period of dictatorship we were ruled by either super corrupt social liberals or super corrupt social democrats.

There's corruption scandals all the time

And now we have a super corrupted far right.

People are hopeless and wondering why voting meters. Some are longing for the Dictatorship times.

I said why voting matters: Because people here died to return us the right to vote. Because our current president saved us from being ruled by a fascist that threatened to shut down our Supreme Court every other Wednesday.

Politics sucks worldwide, but it's our duty to make it better or at least, stop it from getting worse.

@mask131 @ariel-seagull-wings @thealmightyemprex @princesssarisa @the-blue-fairie

[miscling]

about miscling (v3)

This is a horny blog for horny blog things. Please don't interact if you're a minor/under 18, go away, shoo. if you follow me, make sure to have some indication of your age in your bio or pinned. i will block you if you don't and you'll miss out on *gestures at self* all this.

call me misc! i am a miscellaneous changeling. a fae creature that is also a doll, girl, toy, kitty, and mama. i'm trans, non-human, queer, kinky, subby, poly, autistic, ADHD, and from the UK. i'd like to meet others who are like me to chat with. i'm particularly keen on developing more t4t connections for play and adventures. for the record, i am a post-op trans woman with a cunt.

this blog is all about engaging in kink. i play regularly and post about the play i engage in. i also post about the play i want to engage in, adventures i go on, and about the weirdness around my own self and identity. i love talking about kink and i love talking about doing kink. i post writings about kink, post pictures with kink, and reblog so many kinky posts about so many different kinks. this blog is so much fun for me.

i love getting asks so send me ideas and fantasies and i'll happily bounce off them and write my own takes on them, or name any kink and i'll infodump everything i know or feel about it. i post about hypnokink, dollification and dronification, masochism and tickling, kitty petplay, mommysub play, edging and chastity, CNC, and monsterfucking with a fae preference.

i am an good girl who loves being obedient and getting lots of praise. i'm an exhibitionist, submissive, and easily controlled by others who make me feel safe and appreciated. i am a wonderful toy for others to enjoy and make an excellent pet and plaything.

if you've got this far then like this post, and then send me an ask with your favourite kink or fantasy, a confession, a task, or a question!

Below the readmore: Tags and Links, Limits, and my ask task list!

Tags and links:

About Miscling contains every post that's about me.

You can find pics of me in Miscling Appears. (it's okay to go on a reblogging and liking spree through them) i make original posts under Miscling Rambles and posts about my lactation journey in Miscling Lactates i also make polls, which you can find in my Miscling Polls tag. you can hear my voice in the Miscling Speaks tag and over at my soundgasm page!

You can send me tasks with my ask tasks meme! I will take tasks from literally anyone ^^ you can see tasks I've done here! If you like or follow my blog, think about sending me a task as a little gift!

I learned to edge last year and was broken by a poll I ran to get permission to cum here then here and here. i hope to never cum again without being forced. i can't be forced to cum over the internet. i kept an edging diary for a while and the last time i came was 1feb24.

I love to write, and I especially like to write about kink. Read bits about my play with Miscling Plays and stories I wrote with Miscling Writes.

Use my ask box liberally, anon or not. i'll answer near anything and you can use my ask meme tag and miscling answers to find questions to ask me (scroll the tag and use any meme you like, but copy in the questions or link the meme!)

I have a lovense wishlist (long distance remote vibrators)

I have an amazon wishlist (lingerie and random kink things)

I have a ko-fi link! (please don't reference anything nsfw on kofi if you use this)

I'm trying to tag my kinks so i can find them when i want them, this is no guarantee that i'll tag things though. mommysub for posts about being a mommysub, goddess thoughts for religionplay where i'm a subby goddess, Bind Miscling for bondage, hit me for masochism, moo for hucow things, lee mood for tickling, oh my circuits for robot/drone things, maid day for maids, tidy up tuesday for my maid day, monsterling for monsterfucking posts, hypno gif, spiral, hypno txt, and hypnaudio, for hypno play, and hypnoslut for general hypno posts, preyling for primal play, latexcellent for rubberwear, and as i figure out others i'll add them...

Also, I have some limits:

i have a nest partner, i won't let anything come between us, i also play with a lot of people and i am not looking for anything remotely monogamous.

i do not like misogyny, transphobia, racism, or bigotry. This applies to kink too.

i don't like unearned possessive language, only people i trust can own me

please don't try to make me cum or ask/tell me to

don't call me a bitch or a puppy. i like puppy petplayers a lot, but i am a kitty petplayer.

i should be treated with care and respect, even

sissy blogs dni, i am a woman, do not reblog my pics to your sissy blog, i will block you if i spot you.

Finally:

i am a toy for others to enjoy!

(Most tasks recieved and completed in one day: 18) (Most tasks recieved on a special occasion: 48)

ASK TASKS: OPEN

use my ask box to send me tasks to do! i'd love to entertain and perform for you all! i am a good and obedient girl, and i enjoy getting tasks to do!

choose one or more task emoji and send them to me! include instructions if you send complicated tasks

tasks can come from anyone, even anons!

i'll do tasks as soon as i can! basic tasks i'll do on my own, but i'll need help for the slightly more complicated ones so they might be a little while!

Mutuals can DM me, and if i'm available we'll play ^^

BASIC TASK LIST!

🗜️ make me wear nipple clamps for 10 minutes! 📦 make me wear 10 pegs on my cunt for 10 minutes! 🤚 make me slap my cunt 10 times! ⚡ choose a part of me and make me use my TENS unit there for 10 mins. 🤐 make me gag myself for half an hour! (tell me what kind of gag to use and if I have it I'll use it, otherwise I'll pick) 👗 make me get undressed and be naked for the next 30 mins! ✏️ make me write what you tell me on my body where you tell me! 💖 make me draw a little heart on myself where you tell me! 🌻 make me write about anything that's on my mind at the moment! 🗣️ ask me anything, name a kink or give me a topic to write about (kinky or otherwise) and make me infodump about it. 🔊 send me a post or a write something for me to record saying, and i'll post the recording. 🫴 make me edge for 10 minutes (Send me instructions, porn, a post to edge to, or a mantra to repeat while I do it, you can use my mantra tag for ideas or my spiral tag.) 🕳️ make me plug my cunt for 30 minutes! 💋 make me go practice deepthroating for 10 minutes! 🍇 make me go get a snack and a drink! ❌ make me go take a break outside for 5 mins! 😴 make me go lay down in bed for 15 mins, no screens allowed.

[iamhereinthebg]

thoughts on the new chapter?

*salt about tbhk incoming* :')))

I already announced it on instagram but my interest in tbhk have dropped drastically since some time and I was gonna give the manga the benefit of the doubt because chap 104 was okay Ig?

Chapter 105 just showed everything I have been not liking about the writing in tbhk in one chapter youhou

let's go on the positive first!

I adore class 1-A I would die for them

The pages in black and white were cool, the art is perfect as always. Maybe seeing an Akane and Hanako team up would be fire af but with Teru here I doubt it so this is a tiny hope I will put in hell with everything else for now.

I love you Kou and Mistuba

Yokoo is rocking this outfit too. I like the fact that the clock being destroyed just stops everything and everyone's time (like a certain character but who has a limit *COUGHS* probably for this reason Ig)

them

Idk if I am strong enough to go on a full explanation on why my interest dropped since some chapters, this didn't start on this one, this one was just the last straw. I will just show the most obvious choices that I don't like ( my opinion btw this is just the feeling I have while reading, take this with a BIG grain of salt)

I've been reading tbhk for 4 years and I am tired of waiting for stuff the author litteraly won't do anything about and just stay in their comfort zone

No repercussions on the mcs for some choices they made, no repercussions on wounds/stuff that happened which should have need time to heal for the characters or for them to grow, giving us always the same team up so no room for real character/relationship development beside the obvious (and with how slow Hanako and Nene have been going honestly making the same characters always interact doesn't help at all apparently L O L), BIG difference of pacing for characters growth, making the story take always the same route with the same characters being kidnapped and the same ones doing the savings, putting characters in an arc they have no reason to be part of so just making them stand in the background like a caricature of themselves, making characters 'mysterious' or forgetting their character development just to use them as some sort of deus ex machina, and the worst of all:

Making Nene just a reason for Hanako to react and nothing else. No character development for her, no reason for her to be in some scenes, this is just sad to watch at this point. Aoi had this problem at the beginning of the manga for Akane mostly for comedic reason and they had growth, seeing they are putting Nene in this position after more than 100 chapters and her being the mc is just awful.

I honestly just want more diversity in the choices they are making in their writing, and the last chapter proves me that either it will come in a long time or it never will.

At least the art is pretty, and the worst part is that I KNOW AidaIro knows how use setup, they know how to write really good stuff and good characters, complex stories, and it's GOOD. So seeing this in the recent chapters just makes me even more tired x'))

Once again, my opinion, but the way Nene and Aoi are treated in the manga makes me wanna explode. AidaIro are capable of writing good female characters (thank you Mei and Sumire for being perfect from start to end), Aoi and Nene had wonderful time too, so idk why all of this is happening rn tbh. It's just sad.

Maybe the brainrot will come back, I still love the characters, but I really need to take a break from the fandom anyways (not gonna expand on this but oh boy how annoying a part of the fandom is, a lot of people are the sweetest but a part makes me wanna explode, I've been more than 3 years here and I think that the most I can take at this point)

ANYWAYS :DDD idk what I will do with this account for now ^^ I will probably still rb some stuff or post old tbhk doodles I never finished :00 Idk what I wanna draw now probably ocs stuff so I won't post them here I think ^^ I hope everyone is alright yay

[thetriggeredhappy]

sorry for cloggin up your ask box, but i don’t have an ao3 account, so i hope this will do

i love the way you write the kids, especially nikki. she’s so mature, funny and polite, makes my mouth hurt from smiling hearing her and scout talk

another thing, thank you for having the kids act normal around scout and sniper being romantic‼️ they’re not homophobic, just the usual little kid “eww kissingg”

the descriptions of panic attacks are incredibly realistic

also as someone with adhd, you wrote scout SO well. i have the inattentive type and i relate so hard, despite not being hyperactive. forgetting things that i just put in my pocket, wondering if i have my phone while literally being on it, losing your train of thought, drawing constantly, and rejection sensitive dysphoria

i hope it’s okay i’m writing you fan mail in your ask box, i don’t really read fanfic but you’ve got me hooked here. i don’t even know how i started liking sniperscout, but before i read yours i read… ah what’s the name… i forget (searched ao3, it was called “somethin’ stupid, like “i love you”” by preciousposey. man that was a good fic too)

anyway uh

thank you for being a great author!! hope you sleep well and have zero writer’s block forever <3 (and i hope your living situation gets better, i’ve made it up to ch 18 so (why am i getting deja vu writing this im sorry if i did this last time))

thank you! yeah i love nikki. i used to work with kids a lot (a LOT) and they’re just hilarious dude. sometimes these kids will say some shit that’s so excellent and so fun and so entertaining and will know what’s up and she’s kind of a representation of that. kids are great.

and yeah i guess i just don’t personally see like. the value in putting overt homophobia into the tf2 universe. there’s not really the overt expectation of ‘realism’ with the tf2 canon, and while i consider grounding these characters and putting them in more normal circumstances to expand on their more human characteristics to be kind of A Thing I Often Do, i don’t think i need the blunt instrument that is Gritty Realism Through Onscreen Bigotry to make any of the points i want to make in this series. the flavor is kept intentionally lighter throughout that series so that when it gets heavy, it hits a little harder. in other things ive written, and in things i might write in the future, that might pivot, but i don’t ever see bigotry being something necessary to the plot or development of characters in the RB universe.

writing scout as adhd feels kind of inevitable at a certain point if you’re diving into his characteristics and the way he tends to behave. we don’t have a ton to work with but, c’mon. intentionally or unintentionally, he always ends up adhd. the relatable king

and no lie i’ve been listening to ‘still alive’ a LOT lately idk what happened. i listened to that song back in like 2015 a lot then didn’t again until like. three weeks ago. portal was too good for any of us

also just goddamn the fuckin horror movie violins when someone is pre-chapter 20 of taking shots. me when i’m 2/3rds of the way through “sniper dies in this”

[sanguineterrain]

ooohh werewolf!Jason with the prompt "you make me feel so safe" is giving my brain the good tinglies

hell yeah werewolf jay!!! hope u like aud <3

werewolf!jason todd x gn!reader. fluff, werewolf shift, wolf form, jason being worried about hurting the reader (ofc he doesn't tho he's my honeybunch sugarplum).

i rb all fics to @sanguinelibrary | requests are open!

****

"Are you sure you want me here tonight?"

Jason stands at the doorway, looking unsurely at the pile of pillows, blankets, and your clothing that you've constructed into a semblance of a nest on your bed.

"Of course I do," you say, fluffing a pillow. "What side d'you want?"

Jason frowns harder and takes a step back. "I think I should go home tonight. I don't—what if I... what if something happens? What if I hurt you?"

"You won't hurt me, baby," you tell him, and draw the blinds closed. "You never have, remember? Batman monitored you when you came back."

"A hundred other things could go wrong—"

"And we've planned for that, Jay," you say gently. "But it's unlikely, remember? It's just like any other shift."

It's quiet for a long time. You finish setting up, until Jason speaks again.

"I'm so ugly."

You turn in alarm. "What? Jay, what are you—"

"I'm not one of those TV wolves you see on Animal Planet. I came back wrong. I'm scarred and my eyes glow horribly and I've got big teeth and a-a monster's face, and—"

"Hey." You put your hands on his face. His eyes slip closed and he leans into your touch. You rub your thumbs in circles on his cheeks.

"You're not a monster, Jason," you say, the very word upsetting you. "I don't care what you look like, alright? You don't scare me. You make me feel so safe, actually. Doesn't matter what form you're in."

His eyes fly open. "I don't wanna lose you," he says desperately.

"Oh, honey. Is that what you've been worried about? Jay, this isn't going to change anything between us. Even if something goes wrong, you won't lose me."

Jason stares longingly over your shoulder, at the bed. You smile and tug his hands.

"C'mon, we'll get comfy."

Jason stops at the edge of the bed. It's close.

"If something happens, don't hesitate," he says. "Protect yourself."

"It's alright," you soothe, reaching to run your hand through his hair. "Everything will be fine, Jay."

The shift is quicker than you expect. The moon rises to its highest point and there's the crack of bone and muscle, something that Jason assured you didn't hurt but you're still doubtful.

He's big as a wolf, bigger than his human self. It's true, he doesn't look exactly like a traditional wolf.

For a moment, when his eyes land on yours, your heart skips a beat. You understand who you've just entrusted your life with.

Jason tips his head uncertainly, and backs up. You reach out a hand.

"It's okay," you whisper. He'd told you his senses are on overdrive in this form. "Jay, it's okay. C'mon up."

Despite his size, the bed only creaks a little bit. Jason herds you to the center of the bed and then completely curls around you. His tail hangs off of the bed. You're dwarfed in his fur. You can tell he's trying hard to be as gentle as possible. He still hasn't relaxed, obviously waiting for the tiniest hint for you to push him away. The thought breaks your heart.

You wrap your arms around his neck and push your face close to his snout, nuzzling his head. Jason whines softly.

"No one I'd feel safer with," you whisper, and kiss the patches of scarred skin that have no fur. "And y'know what? You're way better than those Animal Planet hacks."

Jason chuffs, warm breath fanning your ear, and you squirm at the tickle. You burrow deeper into him, and Jason hesitantly accepts you, finally letting himself relax.

Jason keeps you warm the whole night.

[vro0m]

Seeing how confident McLaren is about their car and their drivers makes me nervous. I saw that Toto extended his contract at Merc through 2026 and it just feels like same sh*t, different toilet. I think Toto should just be satisfied as the owner of the team and step aside and let another TP come in and change the culture at Merc. I think that could potentially attract new engineers that could help with the development of the car.

Lewis is struggling with his qualifying times and George is overconfident. At this point, it's starting to feel like Merc is just not that girl. Why are they starting all over again with their car? I'm fairly new to f1, but I thought it takes years to develop a championship-winning car, yet they're developing a brand new one over the winter? That doesn't feel right to me.

Also, I didn't understand TeamLH bragging about Lewis retaining Monster as his sponsor, when Monster jumped ship from Merc to McLaren. Isn't losing sponsorships a bad thing, since the team is losing money that it would likely use to develop the car that would help Lewis win his 8th WDC? A loss for the team is a loss for Lewis..unless I'm wrong.

I truly hope Merc proves me wrong, but something's gotta give. I just don't have confidence in them.

Do you think that Merc needs a major overhaul or do you think they're going to make progress continuing on the path that they're on?

Okay i was gonna answer this in the morning but i can’t sleep so here we go, sorry if it’s a bit unhinged.

Here’s the thing. In my book, the second rule of F1 is never ever listen to a team principal. (The first rule being, of course, you always, always have to do better than your teammate.) So I’ll believe McLaren’s confidence is warranted when I’ll see it. Hell, I’ll believe they really are confident and it’s not basic 101 PR when I’ll see it. And mind you, Toto seems pretty confident too. (The only thing I’m happy about here is that he also said they’ve been working on their pitstops but due to Rule 2, I’ll also only believe it when I’ll see it.)

They’re starting over with their car because, as you noticed, the past two cars were Not Working. So no real choice here but to get back to square 1 rather than spend a third year trying to make a car that doesn’t work, work. Building a championship-winning car is less a matter of time (I mean especially nowadays with the costcap and windtunnel allocation etc. it’s getting irrelevant), and more a matter of getting it right. RedBull got it right and they won. The problem is : the others need to develop to catch up to them because they didn’t get it as right as RB, and that takes time and resources and is very complicated. And if you have a bad starting point, it’s that much more difficult. Basically there were too many things that needed changing with this car concept anyway. So they’re starting over. But it's also not like they don't have data and experiments from the past two years. They know more about these regs and cars than in 2021. Are they gonna win the ‘24 championship with the W15? No. But they weren’t gonna win by keeping the last, dysfunctional car concept either anyway. At least now they have a chance to develop in the right direction.

I did not read anything about the Monster sponsorship because i really, really don’t care. I didn’t even know that was a thing. I don’t think Monster leaving Mercedes is gonna make a dent in their budget. First of all, there’s a costcap now, so they can’t throw money at a bad car to make it good anyway. Second of all, they have a lot of other sponsors. Third, they’re the second most expensive team in the paddock. And fourth, their parent company is worth 85 billions of dollars. Lewis’ 8th has pretty much nothing to do with Monster or any sponsorship.

To answer your main question : no, I don’t think Merc needs a major overhaul. Given that you’re fairly new to F1 I concede it might not look like it in the current context but changing TPs is actually Not All That. And it generally doesn’t really solve anything. If anything I’m against major overhauls. Imho a stable ground is the best ground to build up on. Toto is... Toto. But he’s not the reason why the car is bad. It’s a whole team. 2’000+ employees. You can’t pinpoint any of the problems they have on one singular person. I mean Ferrari has had 5 different TPs in the last 10 years and that has solved exactly zero of their problems, and they still haven’t won a championship since 2007.

They are making progress. All of them are. It’s just, it’s F1. We’re talking about such tiny tiny differences in performance now, millimeters off of a piece of carbon fiber, milliseconds off of a time sheet. The time the pecking order could be turned upside down from one race to the next has been gone for decades. It’s all about the long game when the differences are so subtle. Even more now that they, again, can’t just throw money and wind tunnels at issues. It’s frustrating when it’s not your driver/team on top but success is mostly cyclical in this sport. Right now it’s RedBull. Next who knows. Merc is just not that girl, at the moment. It is what it is.

ETA : btw I think firing Toto would really throw Lewis off so. Another reason not to imo.

[jiraisupportgroup]

thank you so much for taking the time to create the user boxes, they're super cute and i love them! ♡ you used the correct flag for the sapphic user box as well, no worries! ^-^

there's never any rush to respond or reply or to make posts/edits for us, your life and priorities always come first, please take care of yourself!

i just wanted to thank you for creating this blog and for sharing your thoughts, tips, perspectives, and advice here! your blog feels welcoming and inclusive and like a safe space, and your posts have truly helped me on hard days, and i'm so thankful that you're here and part of this community!

i hope you know we all appreciate and support you, and we're here for you as well! thank you so much for all of your hard work and the kindness and warmth you bring to the jirai community ♡

please take as much time as you need and remember to take breaks whenever you need to as well, your health and wellbeing are important!

i hope life is treating you kindly and that everything goes well for you, and that there are only good days ahead of you ♡

(no pressure to respond at all! please take care 🩷)

I'm super late on this but this made my night multiple times ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I think I just stressed myself out for no reason for some reason I was like "Oh, I'll post every day!" and that's just not reasonable? But also I don't actually have to do that I'm not sure why I set the bar so high for myself T-T

Everyone is literally so kind and so supportive you guys are the absolute best and I'm so excited every time I have the time to do requests ♡♡♡ I ADORE seeing the rbs that are like "This was my request!!!!!!!!!!!!!" it's just so cute and wholesome when people get excited about their requests and find others who have similar feelings it's just the absolute best.

I think I finally learned that like it's okay not to post all the time though T-T important lesson for a busy person

[i-have-dots-in-my-brain]

ayup mates, its me (that one fucking guy that shows up in your fever dreams to offer you garlic bread then fucks off into the void) (i think you need to get a therapist btw)

Call me dots or dot (not correct but when saying something belongs to me you use "dot's". idk why don't ask me)

My cara page (for art): https://cara.app/ihavedotsinmybrain

They/them she/her it/its ( welcome to the mad lab we do experiments with the funny goofy hjinks with the genders here)

TAG GUIDE : my art (self explanatory), dot's thoughts (mad ramblings) (extra note, there are two versions of dot's thoughts, the other one is with the phone version of ' so you can go look for that if you wanna see me posting from outside the comfort of my room and computer), dot’s travel journal (me on holiday), my persona (obviously just my persona) *prone to updates

dumbass who likes to draw ocs and shit. (posts like there is no tomorrow but also like i have all the time in the world) (oc x canon stuff also) (some fanart ig)

if you wanna find my (mostly serious) art, check out @dots-in-my-head (send me asks and dms on this blog) also i have started putting fandom stuff there too so if you want to get my fandom doodles you can look to there as well

still questioning sexuality but currently aro/ace? (idk i'm not in a rush lol) (i WILL dabble in the arts of questioning me sexuality on internet if you got problems with that shoo)

my loveley husband (@octoxxt, pls ignore this blog dude its embarrassing)

why do you need to know my age, ‘you a cop?

will not draw smut or NSFW bcs i will start howling with racous laughter and melt. (i don;t even read smut in fic dude what do expect me to be able to draw im a cartoonish obviously anime style inspired semi-realism but not really shitty doodle artist you put your hopes too high if you think i can draw a dick without making it look like a piece of middle school desk graffiti)

i've got a bit of a dirty mouth but everything is pretty vanilla . (i make edgy dumb jokes sometimes, but it's not my actual personality peace 'n love on planet earth okay) (any time i say i wanna kms IT IS A JOKE) (most of my posts are /srs i will mark it if its a joke i know the pain of not knowing if it was a funny joke or not i gotchu other autistic peeps)

please talk to me god i am lonely (i am serious about this i love it when people rb and scream in the tags it genuinely makes my day) (send me asks send measkssendmeaskssendmeasks—)

Absolute art machine(whether the art is good or not is a big question that i am not ready to answer) makes shitty animations sometimes idk.

Uses lol too much. Chinese, knows mandarin (translate the random messages for maximum brain damage) i don't know simplified but i do know traditional (please talk to me i need to practice my chinese reading skills) am i a furry? idk but if you're mad about it you can fuck right off (i have a couple ocs and my darling fursona)

am currently inbetween fandoms, fandoms i am (kind of) active in are hetalia, scp, dnd, genshin, pjo, bg3, apothecary diaries, jrwi riptide and csm (list is prone to updating because fandom is my support system) (you wont see my art for most of them but the brainworms are there and sometimes i let them take over)

old fandoms or the fandoms i lurk in (i visit them often): eddsworld, demon slayer, pokemon, vocaloid and wof. (also prone to updates as i remember stuff)

note : i am still in school and have a life outside the internet so stuff will be delayed (which is why i am only kind of active) (i go missing sometimes i am not dead life is just lifing for me)

Do not say anything about how cringe I am I know trust me (it’s a coping mechanism lol)

if you're concerned, you're very right to be. I am very incoherent (most of my life updates have actually devolved into cries for help, please talk to me)

also if you don't like my art or ships just leave(any critique about anything i make shoots a bazooka straight into my heart and behind the screen i crumble into a cartoonish pile of ashes and bones as i stare at the screen blurred by tears) (unless I ask for critique then i brought this on myself and i’ll walk it off don't worry)

(Both of my personas)

My flags (might be updated)

[itsblasttothepast]

From how the tin can car (RB 20) is doing, do you think Max will win the Championship and do you think Red Bull will win the Constructors??

Also, Checo has been saying the car is fucked...

And he is absolutely correct. The car is fucked. That car belongs in the bin.

Oh yes, the RB20 is a shit car, can't even veer and it's so slow! I hate that car with all my soul (sorry, had to get it out off my chest).

I think Max will win the Championship, but it will be like in 2021, down to the last race. Norris seems like he has secured at least the second place, so the real fight will be for third place. I would like to think Checo can get into that fight, but with the shit car I doubt he can manage... I think fourth or fifth.

As for RBR winning the Constructors... honestly, I think they will win, but as a close call with the McLarens and again, down to the last race.

Checo has been complaining, but I think it's too late now for fixing the problem, so they will keep playing around with the car because they have NO CLUE what the hell is wrong with it. I'm pissed because they keep saying everything will be fixed for the next race, and then everything is WAY WORSE. RBR is crumbling and the only thing saving them are Max and Checo trying so hard to fight to stay in the top.

I don't like Horner's speech of 'the next races are Checo's strenght' just because they are street circuits.... he can't do anything if he has a shit car, dammit! Baku is our hope, but if Monza doesn't go well, I don't think he can manage to get good results in Baku.

Here are the options we have for the rest of the season:

They actually get something right with the blasted car and at least can go faster and turn.

Max and Checo give their sweat, tears and blood to keep afloat and at least secure Max's Championship.

The conspiracy theories are actually right, and they start winning again (this theory says that the whole RBR crumbling is actually something they all agreed because people thought RBR killing all the other teams was too boring, but in the end they will bounce back and win everything).

Max decides to take on Toto's offer and Checo goes to Audi (with Nicoooo).

Okay, the last one is just for fun, but it would be so wild.

What do you think? Do they have a chance at this at all?