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Total funding amounts to $125.3M.

#to see how the queuing is handled there)

kaijutegu · 4 months

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Is It Ok For An Alligator To Have Tape On Their Mouth?

Alligators make pretty amazing animal ambassadors when handled safely and ethically. And it is actually pretty safe to take them out to interact with the zoo-going public (or general public in some settings), when done correctly. Many zoos and outreach organizations do an amazing job of this! Every state has different rules, but even if a state doesn't mandate that alligators be banded... well, if you're a responsible crocodilian handler, you'll band anyways. It's a huge public safety issue! Even an accidental graze against their front teeth can cause injury. See, the alligators that are used as handle-able ambassadors are pretty small, and their teeth are razor sharp. An adult gator has sharp teeth, too, as well as blunt teeth for crushing, and they also have the additional force of their jaw muscles.

Here's what it sounds like when an adult alligator pops his jaw. (Don't worry about the hissing/gaping; this is a trained and queued behavior. The stick towards the top of the inside of the mouth is triggering the bite reflex. Chester probably got lots of chicken and fish as he learned to do this.)

youtube

Skip ahead to 0:32 if you wanna skip the guest commentary.

What's more, biting is an important reflex for crocodilians. The lower jaws of crocodilians are some of the most innervated tissues in the animal kingdom; they are more sensitive than human fingertips! Even the slightest touch triggers their bite reflex, which likely is an adaptation that lets them detect changes in water pressure that signal a snack heading their way.

Here's a pretty good video about the biomechanics of crocodilian jaws:

youtube

So yeah. They need to not be able to bite for public safety. There's just too much risk involved with an unbanded alligator (or other crocodilian). Fortunately, it's easy to get a crocodilian to not bite- you just need to band its mouth!

(This fella is Frodo the dwarf caiman, but the principle is the same.)

This works because while crocodilians have an extremely strong bite force (claims range from 2,000 PSI to 5,000+ PSI, but I don't have time to get into that now but someday I will probably), but not particularly strong muscles to open their mouths. Selective pressure for quickly nabbing prey in murky water where there's not a lot of visibility lead to pterygoid and adductor muscles so big, they extend into the animal's neck. But those muscles only pull the jaw closed- they don't work to open it! That's why you see people holding an alligator's mouth closed with their hands.

Safe bands include:

Silicone tape- this is the best. It sticks to itself and not the gator's snout

Electrical tape

Medical tape

Rubber or elastic bands

There are other options, but these are the most popular- they're cheap, easily available, and safe. So if you see an alligator (or other crocodilian) out in public and it's got tape on its mouth, don't worry too much- it's safe for the gator (most of the time) and it's safe for you!

Here's a couple of safe tape options, modeled by a juvenile American alligator in pink electrical tape (I forget her name, these are from an outreach event a couple of years ago) and Pagasa, a juvenile Philippine crocodile wearing the white medical tape.

So when is tape not safe? When it's the wrong kind of tape. One of the worst offenders is duct tape.

When you're banding an alligator, you need to think about how sensitive their jaws are. A band that's too tight or too sticky can hurt them badly when it's removed- and you want that removal process to be fast, so that it doesn't stress them out too much.

What inspired this post was this picture I saw on Facebook:

That's so much duct tape! Now, this little guy is quite unhealthy; he's been loose in the Pittsburgh area all winter, and he's been struggling. What you see here is a very quick tape job done as he's getting ready for transport. The article didn't say who taped him, but given that he's in a dog crate and was found by bicyclists, I would wager that it was some harried animal control officer who was doing the best they could. And that's fine because this was truly an emergency situation. In an emergency situation, uncomfortable is always, always better than unsafe.

But if you see a tourist attraction and they've put duct tape on their alligator's mouth? That's a red flag! Banding an alligator in public is the safe, correct thing to do- you just want to make sure that it's done right.

If you want more information about alligator jaws, here's some interesting papers to read:

Erickson, Gregory et al. Insights into the Ecology and Evolutionary Success of Crocodilians Revealed through Bite-Force and Tooth-Pressure Experimentation. PLoS ONE 7(3): e31781.

Knight, Kathryn. Croc Jaws More Sensitive Than Human Fingertips. Journal of Experimental Biology (2012) 215.

Sellers et al. Ontogeny of bite force in a validated biomechanical model of the American alligator. Journal of Experimental Biology (2017), 220.

#alligator #crocodilian #reptiblr #Youtube

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nerdofspades · 1 year

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Bruce looked at the pop-up on the Batcomputer's screen.

"Explain," he growled, glancing down at Tim.

"Not much to explain," Tim answered, pulling up lines of code. "It showed up ten seconds ago."

"I'm starting a full diagnostic," Barbara said, voice filtering through the speakers. "So far, I'm not seeing anything."

"And yet..." Time trailed off glancing at the window again. It had a video queued up to play and the words "IMPORTANT: PLEASE WATCH. DO NOT DELETE" in large text at the top.

"There's a new folder labeled 'a gift for Batman,'" Tim said. "Not something any of us made."

"Clearly."

"I'm still not finding any viruses, corrupted files, or spyware," Oracle said. "The new folder was programmed to stay in a hidden partition for a few days after it was placed. Then, obviously, the pop-up to catch our attention."

"Folder also has a text file named 'security notes,'" Tim said. "Maybe our new hacker is friendly?"

"It's starting to look like it," Oracle agreed. "The video is clean. It should be safe to watch."

Bruce sighed. "Then let's see what they've got for us."

The video opened with a dark room. The background hidden in shadows, while the foreground was well lit, letting them clearly see the tired teen in the center of the frame as he took a heavy swig from his mug before putting it down.

"Pulling up facial recognition."

He ran a hand through his messy black hair and then down his face, pinching his nose and hiding the bags under his blues eyes for a moment before he dropped his hand and finally looked at the camera.

"I really don't want to do this," he said, "but you need it." He glanced longingly off screen in the direction of the mug he'd put down.

"First of all, I think I should apologize for hacking you. Or asking my friend to, technically. I just. You need to know about this and I didn't know of another way to get it to you that would be secure.

"I did at least make him promise to make a record of how he got in so you can patch that.

"That out of the way... to business? I'm Danny Fenton, for the last year or so I have also been the hero Phantom in Amity Park. My parents are Jack and Maddie Fenton. They are ectobiologists and ghost hunters. While extremely biased and not actually that good at catching ghosts, their tech is easily the best in the business."

"That's a positive match."

"Running a search on Phantom."

"I- fucking shit." Danny put his head in his hands again, running them back through his hair before leaning back, almost collapsing into the chair.

"This kid has... gotten into some shit."

"Everyone knows you're the League's strategist, Batman. And. I'm strong enough. I can handle my problems, that's not what I'm worried about.

"It's been about a year and I've already been mind controlled once." Danny laughed. A dry, broken, almost desperate laugh. "And that was just some lowlife that wanted to rob jewelry stores. I'm still not worried about. It's not why I'm sending you this. The magic relic he used is broken and gone now."

"Well that explains one of his problems."

"The others?"

"An attempted kidnapping and fairly standard property damage. I want to see some footage of those fights before passing judgement."

"Even more standard given he doesn't seem to have a mentor. Batman, he was fourteen."

"No. I. I've seen a version of the future. One where I go mad. Where I snap. And the Justice League can't stop me.

"I don't know if I- he kills everyone. I don't know who, if anyone, makes it out. But it's not anyone that could really do much. I... I saw ten years after he- I snapped. Earth was little more than rubble and ash. Only one city was left holding out and it was about to fall- was falling when I got there.

"I've managed to change the time line. What broke him didn't happen here. But. I can't guarantee nothing ever could.

"So. Yeah. Next best thing is making sure you're prepared. All my powers. All my weaknesses. Everything I know of that could possibly hurt me. Schematics and blue prints for anything you could need to fight me, track me, keep me out, keep me contained. All nice and giftwrapped for your convenience.

"Uh... that's everything. Why is it always so awkward to end a video? Hopefully we never see each other? I guess? Pretty sure us actually meeting is gonna be a bad sign.

"You know what. I'm gonna turn this thing off now before I say something stupid."

"Batman, who's 'Phantom'?" Superman asked, glancing up from the Watchtower computer he was working at. "Aren't we supposed to vote on new members?"

Batman grunted. "He's not a member, just someone who understands the need for contingencies."

"You know what, I'm not gonna even ask."

"Probably for the best."

#dp x dc #bruce wayne #batman #danny phantom #dc #batman's contingincies #tim drake #barbara gordon

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irisintheafterglow · 7 months

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in a world of boys, he's a gentleman

summary: a creep walks up to the shake stand window. your favorite customer scares him off. (college au!iwaizumi x you)

wc: 1.9k

cw/tags: college!au iwaizumi, creepy dude but he gets scared off don't worry, buff iwa gets nervous around you

note: so there's a protein shake stand like right outside my school's gym and that's where the inspiration for this little brain fart came from. also this is wholeheartedly dedicated to @shotorus my favorite iwa simp. i really hope you like this, it's my first time writing for your man but it most definitely will not be the last :D

likes, replies, and reblogs are appreciated <3

You didn’t anticipate finding a gym crush outside of the student rec center. Yet, there he was, every day at 5:00 passing the stand and every day at 6:30 ordering his usual, strawberries and bananas with chocolate protein powder. It’s a wonder how strictly he stuck to his schedule and you made it a point to have his order queued up in the system by the time he got to the window. To your detriment, it seemed that your infatuation had become obvious enough to your usually-oblivious coworkers.

“At this point, I think you took this job just to ogle him,” one of your friends points out as she runs a colander of fruit under the faucet. You give her a lighthearted glare and she flicks a few water droplets at you. “I’d guess you like seeing him more than the tips that other guys put in the jar. You really do so much for this company,” she says patronizingly and you roll your eyes. She had a point; you tended not to notice the phone numbers written on dirty napkins or social media handles hastily drawn on dollar bills. None of them interested you. None of them, except for the dude with a body like a Greek hero that made you want to get kidnapped by some mythological being.

“I just think he has a nice physique; is that such a bad thing?” She shoots you a skeptical look and you turn away sheepishly to check the clock. Thirty seconds to 6:30. “He should be here in a little bit,” you say quietly to yourself, hoping she doesn’t hear. It’s a nice sentiment, but ultimately futile.

“You’re counting down the seconds? Man, you’re worse than I thought.” She pats your shoulder sympathetically as she passes behind you and you lean your hands on the register counter.

“As if you’ve never had a gym crush before,” you fire back.

“You’re supposed to actually be inside the gym to have a gym crush,” she reminds you and you groan. “Why don’t you just switch your shift so you can see him while you workout?”

“I tutor before this, remember? Plus, I need to be able to charm the evening regulars so I can keep paying rent,” you admit. She nods in understanding and a glance at the clock shows ten seconds until 6:30. Your other usuals had come and gone for the day: the guy in the blue tank top that only seemed to work his forearms and biceps, the girl with the silly socks that had the most muscular calves you’d ever seen, the two frat bros with their backwards caps and arrogant voices. It hits 6:30, however, and your favorite regular isn’t behind the glass. He isn’t anywhere around, you realize. You can’t help the frown that draws the corner of your mouth down and, when you look to your coworker for support, she merely shrugs before grabbing a tub of powder from the top shelf. “It’s odd that he isn’t here yet.”

“Only you would think that,” she teases and you refocus on pulling up his usual order on the payment screen. “Maybe he got sick. There’s that frat flu going around right now.”

“Why would he be in a frat, though? And also, he’s definitely the type to wipe the hell out of every machine he uses.”

“If he uses machines; personally, he strikes me as a free weights-only kind of guy.” Before you can reply, a knock on the glass startles you back into customer-service mode. The man in front of you looked relatively normal, but the way his eyes looked you up and down several times made your stomach queasy. It wasn’t the first time creeps had checked you out through the window, but maybe you were feeling a little extra vulnerable waiting around for a regular who didn’t even know your name. Avoiding the man’s intrusive gaze, you shakily pull up his order, swipe his card for payment, and let him know that his shake would be ready soon.

“I have a question,” he says slowly before you can run and hide in the back. “What time are you out of here?”

“I’m not done for a while,” you state vaguely, praying that he wouldn’t ask about the remaining two and a half hours of your shift. “I work until closing.”

“I can come back and get you when you close.” His voice makes your skin crawl and his eyes feel like knives on your body.

“Excuse me?”

“Let me take you out to dinner. A nice looking person like you shouldn’t be alone at night.” Your heart drops into your stomach and your feet remain rooted to the floor, terrified in place. Was he gonna try to do something after you were off?

“Look, I’m not interested in any–”

“Hey, man. Are you done ordering yet? You’re holding up the line,” intrudes a voice that feels like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders. Somewhere between his usual order time and the creep asking you out, your favorite little crush came to stand in line to pay. His shoulders seemed extra broad today and the muscle of his biceps flexed under his compression shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest, staring daggers down at the guy who was freaking you out. He’d never looked so handsome, all sharp jawline and flexed muscles and piercing eyes. The creep recoils and scurries away, allowing you to take a deep breath that helps relieve some of the tension in your forehead. By pure muscle memory and running on adrenaline, your fingers swipe over the tablet and pull up his usual order before he can even say hello.

“Strawberry and banana with chocolate protein powder, right?”

“Yeah, that…that’s mine,” he says, slightly taken aback by the lingering expression of panic on your face. While he eyes you warily, you swipe his card and hand him his receipt, suddenly desperate to just disappear into the back for the rest of your shift. “Hey, are you okay?”

“What? No, yeah. I’m fine, totally fine,” you lie and give him a weak smile. His eyebrows furrow slightly and you can feel him try to analyze you, but not in the dehumanizing way as your previous customer. His eyes searched your expression worriedly and you caught him biting skin from his lip in concern. “It’s just that the guy before you was being a little weird.” Calling him “weird” was an understatement, but you didn’t want to inconvenience him more than you already have. “I’m fine, really.” He watches you for a moment more and then nods, murmuring a thank you under his breath and finding a spot to wait for his shake.

“This fell on the floor by the trash can,” he says plainly when he walks up to the pickup window after you call out his drink. The creepy guy hadn’t left the area yet, so your fight or flight instincts were still going haywire. Your gym crush, however, momentarily takes your attention by subtly sliding a dirty piece of paper across the counter to you as he picks up his cup with the other hand. “Thanks; I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before you can blink, he’s gone, leaving you with a cryptic folded message that makes your head spin. You sputter out an awkward farewell and hastily unfold the piece of paper.

I’ll be studying in the computer lab until the stand closes. If he’s still bothering you, come find me and I’ll walk you to your car or your dorm or wherever. -Iwaizumi Hajime

A sturdy rectangle of plastic falls from the paper and you stare at it in disbelief. It was an ID card for the university’s after-hours patrol division with his picture, full name, and student number printed on it. Iwaizumi, you echo mentally, you’re too good to be true. And, true to his promise, he’s a respectful distance away and stands with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants at 9:00 when you lock up the shake stand. You’d lost sight of the creep an hour after Iwaizumi picked up his drink, but the paranoia didn’t leave your body and you’re only able to relax when he approaches you.

“This is yours,” you say, handing him his ID card with a small smile. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you had to deal with him,” he replies regretfully, uncomfortably adjusting his water bottle tucked into the crook of his elbow. “None of the guys at the gym like him. He’s always hitting on girls and giving them weird looks.”

“Looks like he was forced to look outside the gym, then,” you laugh lightly, feeling the tension release from your shoulders as you walk next to Iwaizumi in the direction of the parking lot. “Did your drink still taste okay? Or did my nervousness make it taste funny?” When he chuckles, it sounds like sunshine.

“It was just as tasty as it always is, thank you. You’ve really figured out how to make me the perfect drink every time.”

“Anything for my favorite customer,” you say without hesitation and your face feels like it’s been lit on fire. To your surprise, however, it seemed that Iwaizumi was just as flustered by your words. His eyes widen and his pretty mouth gapes a little bit, blinking rapidly to fix the short circuit in his brain. “I just hope he doesn’t come around here again. He makes my stomach churn.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he forces out and he’s silent for a while until your car is in sight. “Hey, sorry if this is super off-base, but do you wanna workout with me sometime? I can change the time I go but, if it means you don’t feel scared by that guy anymore, I’ll gladly rearrange my schedule.”

“You want me to workout with you?”

“I’d like to meet you for lunch sometime, too, but I figured I’d start with baby steps,” he admits, running a hand nervously through his hair while you fish your keys from your bag. “If you don’t want to, that’s totally fine–”

“No, no, I’d love to,” you reassure him and he looks visibly relieved. “I’ll change up my shift so you can still go around the same time you usually do, and I can just meet you outside. I’ve been needing a new spotter since mine picked up extra shifts in the library.”

“Great, yeah, awesome,” he says, a little dumbfounded by how eagerly you would give him a chance. If he was being honest, he’d wanted to ask you your name for months since you memorized his order, but he didn’t want to come off as pushy and ruin his chance with you. “Do you, uh, mind if I give you my number? Or I can give you a social media handle too if you’re not comfortable sharing your number.” God, he’s so good. He is so, so good. “Can you let me know you get home safe?”

“I will,” you promise. “Thank you for everything, Iwaizumi.”

“You can call me Hajime, if you want,” he offers softly and the fondness in his voice makes your heart flip. “Iwaizumi is fine too. Anything is fine.”

“Right,” you smile. “Well, goodnight, Hajime. Get home safe.”

“You too. Talk soon, okay?”

“I can’t wait.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime x y/n #haikyu x you #haikyu x reader #haikyu x y/n

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anothermansjeans · 20 days

Note

youtuber!reader forgetting to edit out the five minutes of her just rambling about everything she likes about spencer🙏

hehehe this is part 2 of the q&a blurb!!

cw: spencer's a little shit (affectionate), the comments roast reader, reader just loves spencer sm, soooo fluff

wc: 737

youtuber!reader masterlist

You did it again– you accidentally forgot to edit a video and posted it. This time, you blame Spencer completely. After filming, you were planning on editing it immediately because you had a strict posting schedule and you were behind on some videos. However, Spencer thought it was a good idea to pull you in his arms and practically wrap you in a cocoon of his warmth. You woke up the next morning completely forgetting about the unedited version and queuing it up to be uploaded.

You were terrified to watch the video, seeing as the comments were blowing up almost as much as they were when you exposed Spencer, but you simply couldn't remember what you said that would make people go feral. You wanted to wait to look, mostly because you were alone and didn't know if you could handle the embarrassment by yourself, but also because you wanted to be comforted by something you were still deeming his fault.

When he got home, he put his satchel down and took off his shoes, noticing you on the couch with your laptop opened to the video.

“Are you editing?”

You looked over your shoulder and gave him a shy smile. “No�� I didn't edit a video again…”

Furrowing his eyebrows he walked towards the couch and sat down next to you. “Which one?”

“The Q&A from yesterday.”

You actively watched his face shift from concern to amusement. “Have you watched it?”

Immediately shaking your head, you gave him a confused look. “No.”

“You should.”

At his ominous words, you pressed play. It started off like the last one– fixing your hair in the viewfinder, adjusting the lighting, and preparing for the video. The video continued showing small hiccups along the way when mispronouncing usernames and laughing at something Spencer said, but you finally realized why Spencer was so amused when you told him this was the unedited video.

“@ prettyboystan asked ‘what’s your favorite thing about Spencer?’” You put your finger on your chin pretending to think. A scoff was heard in the background from Spencer. “Oh hush, you know I love you. Hmm, I love how he always has something new to tell me. It’s never a dull day in our relationship.”

You thought you were done, but then another thought popped into your head, “Oh! I also love when he reads to me. I know it sounds juvenile, but his voice is soothing and calms me down. Oh my God, he’s also so talented on the piano. There’s almost nothing he couldn't do.”

Looking down at your phone, you were preparing to move on, but you looked up at Spencer one last time, finding words at the tip of your tongue. “You know, I also love the way you find an appreciation for the new things I introduce you to, and the way you take in new things with ease. You're so open minded and I love it. You're also extremely humble for how accomplished you are,” Your face was lighting up as you looked off camera towards a blushing Spencer, “I love that you're caring, kind, and helpful to everyone around you. I also love that you let me love you. It makes me so happy being able to give you the love you deserve…”

Beside you, a soft chuckle could be heard, and you paused the video to scold Spencer. “You think this is so funny.”

“Because it is!”

“Ugh!” You groaned as you went back to your laptop and scrolled down to the comments… they were definitely roasting you more than normal. “They’re calling me a simp!”

“What’s a simp?”

Looking at him softly, you grabbed his hand, “this might be a long conversation…”

BONUS: some comments

@ user: SIMP SIMP SIMP SIMP !! SIMPERELLA OVER HERE

@ user1: oh babe, you're so down bad

@ user2: please give us more… video essay on what you love about spencer???

@ user3: and you call him the yapper?

@ user4: wait everyone's roasting you (rightfully so) but this is so cute????

@ user5: she stops talking about him at 10:34

@ user6: i wish i had someone to yap to about how much i love them

@ user7: GETTING READY TO PLACE FREEZE TAG ON THE HIGHWAY AFTER THIS ONE BABE !! how dare you be so sweet

@ user8: can spencer teach a college course for men who need to be better because you would NEVER compliment a man sm

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666 @lyd14k4y @happiestcat @hauntedtv13 @obi-wansgirl @charismatic-writer @navs-bhat @itsleilabxtch @strabarrybat @hiireadstuff @cherrybb-ily @wietske27 @mynameiskelly

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #youtuber!reader

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ship-graveyard · 3 months

Text

Traveling with P1Harmony 💕

🛫 - Air Travel Edition - 🛬

☁️ - fluff | 🌙 - gn!reader | 💞 - all members

note: occasional references to travel anxiety

———————————————————————

Keeho:

♡ - always makes it to the airport perfectly on time (no getting bored or stressing because he’s timed everything perfectly)

♡ - incredible at navigating crowds and fighting to keep your place in lines for security, boarding, and deplaning

♡ - idk how but the airline always loses his luggage

♡ - you need a break from the airport chaos? dw his arms are your safe haven and he’s got a hug already queued up for you

♡ - will take the middle seat for you if you’ve been assigned it BUT he will whine about it later (good news: you can just kiss his pout off his lips and he’ll forgive you)

♡ - want help lifting your luggage into an overhead bin? luckily your big strong boyfriend is here to help! (he will accidentally smack someone in the face with it when taking it back down but shhh he’s trying)

♡ - bothers you 24/7 on the plane, but he means well… he just can’t help it bc he wants to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible (ooh what are you watching?? are you hungry? thirsty?? he could definitely steal water from someone in first class, would that help?)

♡ - wants you to sleep on his shoulder SO bad. he’ll be slowly leaning into your space if you start to nod off until you get the hint

———————————————————————

Theo:

♡ - lets you completely melt into him if you want to sleep while waiting for boarding (just results in the sleepiest pile of limbs bc he’s probably out immediately too)

♡ - overpacks… why does he have 14 hats when he only ever wears one? why did he pack a toaster in his carry-on?? the world will never know

♡ - has 7 different beverages with him at all times

♡ - more likely to distract you and redirect your energy than directly comfort you if you get travel anxiety, but it still helps significantly just knowing he’s aware of it and by your side if you need anything at all

♡ - he’s going to fight you for claim of the armrest and not in a cute way

♡ - will smack you if you turn the overhead light on (if you really want to read/draw or do anything else that you need to see clearly, he MIGHT let you turn the light on if you ask nicely and/or sweet talk him)

♡ - spends half the flight judging the people who brought their children on the plane

♡ - will get hopelessly invested in whatever you’re doing/watching but pretends not to be whenever you catch him leaning over to see better

———————————————————————

Jiung:

♡ - brings an extra sweatshirt/jacket for you bc he knows you’ll forget your own, get cold, or need the comfort

♡ - takes care of everything that might be stressful for you. you’re nervous? dw he’s got your printed boarding passes ready and your luggage handled. you just need to show up and hold his hand

♡ - does a mental analysis of the best quality airport cuisine compared to affordability bc you deserve to be well-fed and pampered but he’s also really practical

♡ - surprise kisses as positive reinforcement when you remember to hydrate

♡ - zonks out on the plane. he’s been busy taking care of you, let the poor guy drool on your shoulder a bit

♡ - type of person to watch the flight tracker the entire way there

♡ - if you accidentally intrude on his foot space be prepared for the most intense high-stakes game of footsie you’ve ever been involved in (he’ll win but end up just pulling your legs onto his lap bc he feels a bit guilty and he loves you too much)

———————————————————————

Intak:

♡ - loses his boarding pass immediately (you better have backups)

♡ - will get lost in the airport if you let him out of your sight

♡ - lets you buy anything you want with his card (he just wants to trail along and hang off your arm and spend time with you)… puppyboy IM SORRY who said that

♡ - leans his entire weight on you when waiting to board bc he’s tired and he loves you and you’re right there

♡ - underpacks. it’s always “babe can i borrow your toothbrush? i forgot mine😔” and “one pair of pants is probably enough for the whole week, right?”

♡ - you’ll have to be the responsible one tbh but he’s always right there if you need anything and he’d step up in an instant if you asked him to. it’s only bc he feels so comfortable with you that he lets himself relax so much and truly be himself, so he’s eternally grateful that you look out for him when he needs it

♡ - asks to be involved in whatever you choose to do on the plane bc he wants to spend that time with you

♡ - if you have trouble speaking up, he’d happily do it for you. need accommodations?need to ask someone to move so you can go to the bathroom? he’s got you

———————————————————————

Soul:

♡ - gets pulled over at security for something really bizarre (a cool rock he found that makes it look like he’s smuggling drugs, a jar of loose coins of various types, the creepiest figurine imaginable that he decided was cute, etc, etc)

♡ - might need your help with translating some things depending on where you’re flying out of/to (he could probably figure it all out on his own, but he likes being able to rely on you so he doesn’t have to channel all of his energy into making himself understood)

♡ - traveling exhausts him tbh but hugs and spontaneous kisses help him recharge!

♡ - equally likely to distract you from nerves by starting fun conversations or reaching out and reassuring you with physical affection

♡ - hoards the little snacks they give out on the airplane and offers them to you as surprise gifts later

♡ - watches everyone else’s screen on the plane instead of his own lol (he’s invested in the movie two rows up leave him be)

♡ - wants to try to learn a few phrases of the local language on the plane if you’re traveling somewhere with a native language he doesn’t speak

♡ - if you fall asleep on the plane expect to have random braids in your hair when you wake up (it’s not his fault that he wanted something to do with his hands and in his defense he finds you absolutely adorable with them. esp finds it endearing if you leave them in bc that’s his handiwork you’re showcasing)

———————————————————————

Jongseob:

♡ - might share some of your travel anxiety, but instead of making him distant it just makes him more invested in getting you both there safely and being conscious of your needs. you can be certain that he’s done his research, and you’ll always be safe and taken care of when he’s by your side

♡ - the most difficult part of flying with him is getting him to wake up early tbh. he’ll be slumped against you in a half-successful back hug while you scan the departures board for your gate bc he’s still half asleep

♡ - effortlessly cool and fashionable even with messy hair and comfortable clothes

♡ - soft kisses to your temple and warm hands brushing against yours when he wants to get your attention

♡ - wants to switch off picking songs to listen to on the plane (or listen to a combined playlist of each of your interests) with shared earbuds bc he thinks it’s an important way to share your interests and emotions with each other

♡ - before you even ask he’s handing you a Nintendo switch controller and encouraging you to play something with him (dw he finds you adorable no matter if you’re terrible at it or if you kick his ass when it comes to gaming)

♡ - prefers pushing the armrest up so you can lean into each other and just be close (he isn’t super cuddly/touchy in public, but he enjoys the casual proximity. and sometimes the urge to dote on you is too strong to be contained)

♡ - not really the type of person to speak up and ask the flight crew if he needs something, but the second you need something he’s on his feet and advocating for you

#p1h #p1harmony #p1harmony fluff #p1harmony x reader #piwon x reader #p1h imagines #traveling with piwon #yoon keeho x reader #choi taeyang x reader #choi jiung x reader #hwang intak x reader #haku shota x reader #kim jongseob x reader #p1ece #feel free to lmk if there are grammatical errors lol this has been sitting in my drafts for so long #♡#☁️#🌙#💞

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writefightandflightclub · 3 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Seven (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?

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Phew! Well, the last couple of chapters were a lot, hey? I wonder what will happen next, tee hee! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. You give me life! ILY :-*

Word count: 8.6k for this part.

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

“Hey,” you croak, as Frankie cracks the door to your room, finding you laying in the glum light. You’re on top of the covers and hugging your pillow to your chest, body curled around the white mass like you’re trying to form a human s’more.

Of course, you can’t sleep. You’re just slumped there, despondent, blinking into the crow black dark. Your tears have subsided, at least. But you feel sapped. Like you barely have any energy to feel anything anymore.

“Hey,” Frankie returns, dipping the mattress as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Benny send you?” You had insisted Benny go and get some shut eye, after comforting you for the better part of half an hour. There were hugs and warm tea and threats to handle Pope if he’d done something to deserve it. He hadn’t, you’d explained. He hadn’t done a damn thing worse than you, at least.

“Negative.”

You hum neutrally and scooch your body up so that you’re sitting with your back to the headboard, knees drawn up around the pillow you still cling to like a security blanket.

“I’m gonna say something, okay?” Frankie says firmly, and you brace, fully expecting to receive some tough love. You note with relief, however, that as the man turns his head towards you, his eyes are nothing but soft. “You and me. We’re going back to your sister’s tomorrow. Get you some space.”

Space from him. That much is implied.

“No, Frankie.” Your throat tightens. All you’ve had is space. For months. The last thing you need is more.

He places a hand on your knee, his tone firm and almost paternal. He’s going to make a damn good father, you think, with a swell of pride. “That’s what we’ll do. It’s not going to be like this anymore. We’re gonna stop taking chunks out of each other.”

All you had wanted to do was to be close again. You’d never meant-

“-Frankie.”

“Just think about it.”

You nod, and Frankie pats your knee. Stifles a yawn. Presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He looks wiped. With a gust of breath he stands, preparing to leave. “G’night, chiquita. Get some rest, alright?”

“Yeah. And Frankie?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

“What for?”

You sweep your hand through the air. “For the drama. Et cetera.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you know…” You cast a sidelong glance towards the black pane of the window. “Is… he coming back?”

The man drags his tongue along his lip. He does that when he’s uncertain. “He’ll be back.”

“How do you know?” You don’t remember the last time you felt or sounded so small.

“Because he’s a fucking glutton for punishment,” Frankie attempts a lopsided smile, his cheek tugging on the corner of his mouth; but it drops when he realises his joke hasn’t landed. “Just… try to get some rest. Okay?”

You nod, and you watch Frankie leave, his face murky but kind through the shadows as he gently tugs your door closed behind him.

When he’s gone, you wait a moment for his footsteps to retreat and then you cross to the window, cracking it open far enough that you can hear the gentle shush of the waves. Far enough that you could hear either the sound of a truck pulling away in the dead of night, or the front door clicking gently closed, perhaps.

You lie back on top of the bed covers, flat on your back, and your limbs stretched out like a starfish. You lie with your eyes open, staring at the ceiling - exhausted, but wide awake.

And, after who knows how long like this, you hear footsteps tramping on to the porch. You hear the front door gently being latched, and the soft pad of someone travelling up the stairs. You hear the footsteps pause outside of your door for a moment and you hold your breath. You imagine an outstretched fist, primed to knock, but you dismiss this as wishful thinking. You’ve done a lot of that lately. Too much.

Then, finally, you hear him shuffle into his room, clicking the door shut behind him.

Only then - when you know he’s back - can you sleep.

And, as you drift off, your thoughts of him merge with the soporific sounds of the waves.

You’d doubt, with how much you’ve ached for him already, that you could hurt anymore, but you know fine well that it’s possible. After all, the waves break over and over, don’t they?

They break, and they break, and they break.

***

The following morning is an awkward affair. Everyone is tetchy, and even after a very necessary lie-in, residual grumpiness abounds.

It figures. A shouting match and a rude awakening will do that.

Still, the day must go on. You get knocked down? You keep moving.

Will, ever an early riser and a true hero, brews up the first pot of coffee. Starts cooking up some breakfast, and, one by one, you and the boys filter downstairs, chasing the scent of sustenance.

“Don’t even,” you say to Tom the moment he opens his mouth, the room falling silent as you waddle sleepily downstairs, gravitating straight towards the caffeine and the relative safety of Will. Frankie, Benny, and Tom are sat around the dining table, and, you note -because of course you do- that Santiago is glaringly absent.

Maybe Frankie advised him not to come downstairs just yet. Perhaps he’s simply sulking. Or sleeping. Or avoiding you. Perhaps, maybe, possibly a million and one things, which you’ll never know the reasoning behind.

It doesn’t even matter now.

You’re done trying to figure him out. Since when did that ever get you anywhere useful?

Instead then, you attempt to refocus. To divert your attention away from your sun, and towards the wider constellation of stars you are proud to call your squad. And, of course, to your plate of breakfast - that deserves attention too.

The one thing you refuse to focus on, for the moment, is the elephant in the room.

Still, you glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“What else is new with you then, Benny boy? Seeing anyone?” You reach for just about the only topic you hadn’t covered with him yesterday evening - when you had been trying ever so valiantly to distract yourself from Santiago and all that he entails.

In response, his baby blues dance with mischief and he grins, raising one arm to pop a bicep in celebration even as he shovels forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth with the other. “I had myself a date the other night.” He probably flexes in his sleep, this man.

“She stay for breakfast, Benjamin?” Frankie interjects, finally managing to be vocal again now that he’s been provided with the sweet hit of his second mug of caffeine.

“‘Catfish. She was breakfast.”

You hear Will groan from over at the stove. “Too much information, Ben.”

Ben, meanwhile, looks entirely unapologetic.

“Whatever happened to being a gentleman, huh? The way your Granny raised you?” Tom enquires with a thin smile. “Thought gentlemen didn’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but I was a gentleman, Redfly. Let her finish first ‘n’ everythin’.” Benny offers a shit-eating grin, and you are once again grateful for the distraction as the room descends into fond bickering, the back-and-forth culminating in Will whipping his sibling with a rolled tea towel for continuing to overshare, accidentally catching Tom in the crossfire.

“Those dirty-minded individuals asked the questions, man,” Benny defends, jabbing his finger around in a circle at the rest of you in accusation. “They always wanna know what action I’m getting. Hell, no-one ever asks me what I’m readin’.”

You snicker.

You glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“Of course not. We’re trying to live vicariously through you, man,” Tom interjects. “We don’t want to vicariously read things.”

“Especially not the pretentious shit you read, Benjamin,” Frankie digs, before collecting up the plates and conveying them over to the sink. And, given a natural lull in the conversation, Benny takes the opportunity to grab your attention.

“You still up for training later, hon? I’m tabled for a beastly session this afternoon.”

It briefly crosses your mind to wonder where Benny gets his abundance of energy. You, on the other hand, can’t even be bothered to trace that train of thought through to completion. “Yeah. Maybe, Ben. I, uh, need to drive into town this morning though.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, with a mouthful of streaky bacon, swivelling his cap to sit backwards on his head as though that will help him pay better attention to you.

You glance once more -only briefly, of course- towards the mouth of the stairs.

“Mmm-hmm. Need to grab something from the pharmacy.” You blink, attempting to look as innocent as possible, but your face burns with a flare of heat, and you can’t help but scratch your nose self-consciously.

You feel as though they all know the purpose of your trip - somehow - even though that’s impossible. And, you pray that even if they do, that they will at least have the courtesy to let it slide.

Unfortunately though, you suddenly remember that Tom exists, and that therefore, you’re likely not getting away with it that easy.

“You and Pope all out of condoms or something?” he guffaws around the lip of his coffee mug as he takes a deep swig.

“Tom,” Frankie warns, subtly shaking his head as he comes to retake his seat by you.

Oddly though, Tom’s comment barely even manages to irk you. You pat your defender on the arm. “Frankie. I’m fine.”

He surveys you regardless, to be sure, and you are grateful for it. Frankie knows fine well that Tom has a talent for rubbing you up the wrong way. The two of you have never quite seen eye to eye.

“See, she can handle herself just fine,” Tom reminds him pointedly. He never did like the way the rest of the boys fussed so damn hard over you. His tone has the veneer of light-heartedness. “You can take a joke, right?”

Your lips twitch around some halfway cruel retort, but, turns out, you truly have no ire left today. You’re all out - and besides, you’re not looking to burn any more bridges than you have already on this trip.

“Listen,” you begin sincerely, cradling your mug of coffee between your palms. Deciding to nip this in the bud before it spirals. “Are we good, Tom? I was a little bit hot-tempered yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Once again, you glance towards the mouth of the stairs. Your gaze lingers a fraction longer this time, until it ticks back to Tom.

He looks at you levelly for a moment over the rim of his mug, before his brown eyes begin to shine with a dull, metered-out warmth. Nothing like the warmth of your sun, of course, but shining on your more brightly than Tom had deigned to in a long while, at least. “Sure we are. So long as you don’t wake me up in the middle of the night again. I need my beauty sleep.”

You hold your palms up in rare surrender. “You got it.”

“What was all that about, anyway?” Tom needles, shuffling forward in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. Beside you, you can sense Frankie and Benny ready to knock him back should he dare to overstep. You wonder suddenly if you’re too harsh on the guy. If you need to loosen off, be a little kinder.

You wrap both hands more tightly around your coffee now, letting the warmth bleed through into your interlaced fingertips and the steam rise under your chin. “The usual,” you dismiss, not wanting to go into specifics. That would involve replaying it all. Would call for a digging out of the shrapnel lodged in your chest - an activity far too involved to undertake alongside a lazy breakfast. “Sometimes a storm is what it takes to clear the air, right?”

“And?” Tom cranes forwards a little more. You clock Frankie’s nostrils flaring subtly in annoyance. “Is the air clear now?”

You know what Tom’s asking. Was anything resolved? Are you two done?

Is all this over?

Apparently curious, all three of the men direct their gaze toward you, keenly awaiting your answer. You even reach for one -an answer- but you come up lacking, and your uncertainty carves a notch into your brow. Makes your mouth go dry. Your gaze flicks to the mouth of the stairs, and this time, you can’t look away from it. “I…”

Thankfully, unfortunately, you are saved and damned all at once as Santiago finally appears. Emerging from the spot you’ve been glancing intermittently at all through breakfast.

All the faces in the kitchen turn abruptly towards him as his careless footfalls sound out, and suddenly his eager skip down the stairs entirely loses steam. His pace slows, dragging to a dead halt by the time he has reached the base of the stairs.

Your eyes go as wide as they can, through no fault of your own, and despite being the focus of the whole group’s attention, Santiago stares straight ahead at you. Of course he does. Only you, as though there is no-one else in the room to acknowledge.

“Morning,” he addresses, solely to you, his expression impassive, yes - but certainly not harsh. Not angry.

“Morning,“ you respond, as brightly as possible, your eyes still wide and unblinking, and it is a little unnerving as every other head in the room swivels simultaneously around to face you. Oh good. Because you’d worried this might be awkward. You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “Will has bacon,” you offer stiffly, your whole body so full of tension it feels brittle; like it could snap.

As if the product of some hive mind, the heads swivel in unison back towards Santiago. He doesn’t drop his gaze from you, however. Doesn’t even blink - just looks between your left eye and right repeatedly. “Fabulous. Thanks.”

Sure. Okay. This is totally normal. Except… you don’t think you’ve ever heard Santiago describe something as “fabulous” in his life. But why not start now, hey? This is fine.

You watch him turn. Walk towards Will and the stove top, and when his gaze finally drops from yours it is like the taut line which was drawn across the room finally snaps, blissfully allowing some of the tension to sag with it.

“Good timing, Garcia. Here.” Will doesn’t miss a beat, transferring the spatula into Santiago’s hand and shuffling him seamlessly into his position before he can clock what’s happening. “I’m officially passing the torch of Breakfast Duty into your capable hands.“

“Uh. Sure,” Santiago obliges, obediently beginning to move the sizzling strips around the pan as Benny stands, already crowding him to jostle for seconds. Will slaps the waffled tea towel across Santiago’s shoulder for good measure too, and you die a little inside at how goddamn domestic he looks. Especially since he’s still wearing his fluffy sheepskin slippers. Rocking his bedhead of gently tousled, greying curls.

It makes you yearn.

“Want a ride into town, soldier?” Will calls to you across the space, jutting his chin up at you and snapping you from your stupor. Immediately, you scrape your chair back, the gentle throb of nerves making you eager to animate. Eager to jump on any excuse to get the hell out of there.

“Yes! Please!”

You scoop up your plate and cutlery, and you attempt to take Frankie’s to the sink too. That is, until he protectively winds his arm around it like a bear defending its cub and begins actively batting your hand away. You guess he wants second helpings too.

You sidle over to the stove then, where Santiago is dedicating himself to his latest occupation with vigour, Benny equally invested in hovering with his empty plate - and not above begging for scraps.

“Where to in town?” Santiago asks in a hushed voice, his thick eyebrow arcing. You dismiss your plate into the dish bowl to soak, and he pauses his spatula duties momentarily to await your response.

“Pharmacy.” You look at him pointedly.

His face crumples with something resembling apology. Or - perhaps more likely - regret. “Okay.”

Your eyes lock for a moment, and he looks so different to you this morning than he had in the dead of the night. It is more than the gentle morning sun giving a soft glow to his features, the dusting of late summer freckles on his nose popping in the light. It is more than the wholesome appearance of him cooking up breakfast. More than the hush in his tone, and the way his chin dips down, making his eyes look big and round and gentle as he looks at you from beneath his long sweep of lashes.

You suspect that he is purposefully making himself soft. Blunting his harsh edges so deliberately and so entirely that you fear he will sluice to the floor like the insides of a cracked egg. “You, uh… You need anything? Need me to…?”

Santiago. Honey. You’ve done quite enough already.

“No,” you say, but the word doesn’t audibly make it out the first time around. You clear your throat. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay.”

Your gaze dips to the dried, rogue fleck of toothpaste right on the corner of his mouth. You can’t explain why, but this tiny, human detail makes your chest ache. “Talk later?”

He forces his sober expression to twist into a halfway smile. His eyes grow big and earnest, that cup of coffee gaze gently warming you. “Okay.”

Don’t, you inwardly plead with him. Don’t give me hope. Don’t break me again, Santiago.

A niggle plays at your brow. It’s odd, really. You remember the words and venom spat from each of your mouths yesterday. Of course you do. But you can no longer feel the all-consuming ire that came along with them. That part -that feeling- is absent. Every scrap of anger consumed. It seems as alien to you as the raging storm must feel to the clear morning which follows.

And so, you can’t help it. Really can’t help it. You dip forwards to kiss Santiago, softly. Right on the point of his beautifully high cheekbone, giving his tea-towel adorned shoulder a light squeeze.

You leave, then, to the sight of that subtle crimson flush darkening his cheeks, your gesture evidently both confounding and flustering him.

You leave too, to the sound of Benny yelling “Look alive, Pope! Don’t burn my goddamn bacon!”. The spatula has gone limp in his hand as Santiago’s gaze trails after you, and the tension is once again pulled taut like a string across the room. You imagine a festival of blush red balloons tied all along it, rising and dancing like your hope.

You leave, with an answer to Tom’s question.

You and Santiago? Is it over?

No. It’s not done.

But you are done with being angry.

You’re done breaking, and no longer will you throw yourself against those rocks.

***

The time away from the house was useful, and the scenes of the open coast slipping by smoothed your roughened edges out like a tossed, worn pebble. The salt-saturated air humming through your wound-down window had you drinking in deep, energising lungfuls. Then, there was Will’s steady, reassuring drawl, and all the feelings of security that came along with it.

Steady, dependendable, straightforward Will. You always knew where you stood with him.

At least, that’s who he had always been to you. Not the volatile, ticking time bomb you’d heard he’d become since he’d gotten out. Since he’d almost choked a man out in the tinned produce aisle.

It was good to have time to talk with him. You were endlessly glad to hear the ways Will was moving forward. You were glad -first and foremost- for him, of course; but you couldn’t deny it bolstered your own hope too. To know that there was a route out? A path onward - even when some things attempted to drag you back? It felt good.

Speaking of things which dragged you to them, you were also grateful that Will didn’t press you (too much) on Santiago-shaped matters. In fairness, at this point the whole squad is probably sick to death of the topic. Regardless though, it was refreshing to talk about other things. About Will’s new life. His bizarro public speaking gig. His worry for Benny, as an unfailingly attentive and loyal big bro. His insistence that the “kid” is not living up to his full potential.

Benny’s doing fine, you had assured him. Benny’s… buoyant.

So, in sum, it was safe to say that despite everything, by the time you had arrived back to the house you’d felt decompressed. It made you wonder if - maybe - last night’s storm really had succeeded in clearing the air. Of course, that depended on Santiago too, and where he was at today. Whether he had any more drama brewing, up in that pretty head of his.

From his vibe this morning though? You had gotten the sense that he was oh so tired too.

It didn’t change anything of course. The fighting. The fucking. Not really. Not any of it. The anger, once given its release valve, had simply moved through you like weather. It had turned out, it was all mostly bluster. Ephemeral. Shifting. And it couldn’t touch the truth of things, could it? The permanence and depth of your love for him? Not really.

It did change something in you though, that unforgiving storm. If nothing else, it had made you acutely aware of how powerless you are. Your weather cannot move the mountains, and Santiago is as stubborn and immoveable as a wall of rock.

You’d believed, at one time, that perhaps you could succeed in shifting him. Encouraging him. Convincing him.

But now you know for sure.

The only way he’s running into your arms is of his own accord. In his own good time.

When he’s ready.

If he ever is, of course; ready. And on that topic, you’re less and less sure that he ever will be. That Santiago will ever be ready to be loved by you.

It’s sad in one way to realise that. But in another way, it’s freeing. To give up. To stop trying to shape things into what you’d hoped they could be, and to simply let things be whatever they are. To make peace with the truth of things. And peace? It may sound counterintuitive, but as a soldier, peace is all you’d ever really wanted.

Perhaps that’s why you feel calm as you pace down the track back to the house. Why there’s a spring in your step as you fix up a sandwich for yourself and Will, heading out across the dunes to where the boys laze by that frilled edge of ocean. Perhaps you feel calm because you really have exhausted all of your options.

Because there’s truly nothing else you can do.

Because it’s out of your control.

Because you cannot move mountains.

And so, when you join the group and Santiago flashes you a tentative and oh so pure smile? You return it easily this time.

You can’t change yourself and how you feel. You’ve tried that. You certainly can’t change him. You’ve tried that too.

And… why would you want to, anyway, huh? To change him? In so many ways, you think, as you watch his rich, scratchy laugh bob in his throat, and see those delicious crinkles radiate from around his eyes, he’s perfect exactly as he is.

After all, he’s your best friend.

And, for the remainder of the afternoon, you simply want to focus on that.

For today, you reckon you’ll simply have to try to see him in pieces. In fragments.

You don’t want to admit to yourself that’s the only way you can make it through, but when you do realise, it strikes you. If you too find it hard to reconcile who he’s always been to you with all that he could be, then maybe you and he never were so different after all.

He certainly could never grasp all of you at once, could he?

***

The rest of the day passes pleasantly - much to everyone’s relief, you suspect. After the card games wrap up, there is plenty more entertainment to be had. There is time whiled away goofing around with a football and a frisbee. There’s a grill session on the dunes and chilled beers and music. When the heat becomes too sticky, too intense, there are sea swims and splashing around in the waves and everyone trying to dunk Benny. There’s solitary time too. Time for sunbathing and reading and podcasting and naps; and, in between, there is the cyclical eruption and waning of amiable chatter - whenever someone sparks up with a talking point.

In sum, you all opt to just be with each other. No particular agenda in mind, and it feels good. Really good.

You’ve missed them all. Hell, even Tom, though you’d never tell him that to his face.

The stretch of beach you’ve claimed is stunning too. The sands are golden and fine-grained and the water is perfectly temperate; but, it’s a hidden gem, the patch not attracting a fraction of the stifling crowds you’d find along the main drag. Throughout the day, other people come and go, of course. There’s the family with the adorable little kids, for example. The little boy, in particular, who had seemed to take a real liking to Benny - and who’d even roped him into helping build sandcastles. You’d watched, fondly, as each of your squad’s faces had split with wholesome, eye-swallowing grins at the adorableness of it all. There was the lone woman who spent 45 minutes giving you evil eyes - apparently, you’d deducted, for daring to be surrounded by five attractive men. You’d even suspected she might march over and punch you at one point, judging from the hate seething in her eyes when Will had asked you to slather-up his milky-white back with his trusty factor 50.

Mostly though, it had stayed pretty quiet, and you and the boys had more or less had the beach all to yourselves.

Various members of the group would filter off every now and again, of course. To replenish supplies, grab a new book, or buy an ice cream from the truck which pulled up. But, there had always been a core contingent remaining, even as the intensity of the day’s heat had begun to burn off, replaced with a softer, gentler, and more oranged glow.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t realise it, until it had already happened.

That by now, you and Santiago were alone.

You look up from your book and all of a sudden, you are the only one left lounging on the blankets. You look out to the water, and Santiago is the only figure to be found there too, currently floating on his back, bobbing over each gentle, orange-frilled wave which laps up to the shore.

Christ. When did it get so late?

Santiago must realise the predicament at a similar moment to you, you think, as by the time you have finished swivelling your head to scan the sands for signs of anyone else -finding no-one but a distant dog walker- he has already begun to wade out of the water.

It is something you have watched him do so many times today, but now that it is just the two of you, this time it hits just a little different. This time, you notice him. Really notice him. Can’t help it. You watch him rise out of the water in the golden glow of the descending sun, and shake the rivulets of water from his darkened, wetted curls. See his tan chest emerge first, the colour in his shoulders a deeper, richer brown already from a day soaking up the sun. That silver chain of his swinging and glinting in between his smooth, shapely pecs. And, you note the soft cushion of his tummy swelling over the waistband of his swim shorts, the garment sodden and clinging tightly to his ample hips and thighs. Even slipping down just a little as he wades from out of the water, revealing a hint of his happy trail as he beelines directly towards where you lay.

Your stomach twists with a deep, hot yearning, and you are grateful that you have at least a moment to compose yourself before he arrives, sea-shined and dripping, at your now deserted camp. You have the wherewithal, at least, to throw him a towel as he reaches you, trying not to stare (too much) as he begins to dry himself off.

“Thanks,” he offers, with a lazy flash of teeth, and you unconsciously rearrange yourself, very suddenly aware - now that you’re alone - that you are stripped right down to your flimsy bikini.

You see a swallow sink down Santi’s corded throat as his eyes skim down the length of you, but he is quick to obscure it. He’s still playing nice. Softening himself, you think.

With a laugh as roughly hewn as driftwood, he flicks some water at you after scrunching his hand through his sodden curls, spraying cold flecks across the bare expanse of your belly, causing you to tense and squeal. His shoulders shake with gentle mirth, and, once he’s towelled off and wrung out his shorts a little, he spreads his towel out next to you, parking his ample ass down.

“Didn’t feel like a swim? The water’s nice.”

“Nah.”

His head swivels about, eyes traversing the length of the beach. He scoops a hand around his stubble, and you hear it rasp like sand. “Where the shit did everybody go?”

You shrug with one shoulder. “Beats me. I was far too engrossed in my trashy novel to notice.” You dog-ear the page of said book and put it to one-side before leaning back, supporting your torso on bent elbows, legs still elongated before you and crossed neatly at the ankle. The position pushes your breasts out, and you swear Santiago tries valiantly to look just about anywhere else - more or less succeeding too.

“Then… I think we’re alone now.”

A mischievous smile catches the corners of your mouth. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.”

You turn your head towards him, to see if he’s picked up on your song-lyric-inspired choice of words, but the solemnity of his expression catches you off-guard. His brows are drawn down, the sockets of his eyes all shadowed despite the golden hour glow still pouring over the horizon, lighting the stark contours of him.

In unison, the two of you shift position, coming to sit cross-legged. Side-by-side, looking out over the ocean. It seems easier that way, you think. Not to face each other directly as you each say whatever it is you need to say.

You know that it’s come time to say it. That it’s overdue.

Besides, it’s undeniably beautiful, looking out across the view like this. Enjoying the lapping waves and the undulating, orange zest water stretched out below that burning sky. Now cooling, post-dip, Santiago reaches over for his trusty tartan blanket. Silently, he first tucks it around his shoulders, then he passes it around yours. It’s a stretch for the square of fabric, and so you huddle a little closer to one another, finding it is even more warming as your bodies press together. The wetness of his thigh, from those water-logged, sand-coated trunks contacts you too, but you make no effort to move away, instead resting your folded thigh just on top of his.

You can smell the ocean on him. Salt and sunshine and sunscreen. He smells like summer.

You look out across the landscape with renewed concentration as you wait for him to speak, not ready to face whatever expression his features may offer. You look outward with vigour while you wait for him to look inward, and you worry that his words - when they come - will surely be more ugly than the sight before you. Will be bitter and not sweet.

You even brace for it.

You’re so used to the storm.

Still, when he eventually speaks, you are surprised. Surprised that he is calm and steady. That his voice is like slow, warm sand pooling into your cupped hands. That his words are both bitter and sweet. “Hey. C’mere.” You link your arm into him. Lean your head onto his shoulder as his tone grows wistful. “Do you… Do you remember that night in Philadelphia?”

You smile immediately. There had been only one such night in Philadelphia.

It had been your birthday. You and Santiago had been catching a connecting flight, heading back from a deployment and en route to meet the boys off-base to celebrate. However, all the planes had been grounded due to some technical hitch with the tower. You’d been bummed that your plans had been ruined; but Santiago had come through. Had gifted you one of the best nights of your life. A very silly, drunken night, if you recall.

You cringe, hazy, smooth-edged memories flooding back. You clap a hand to your face with residual embarrassment. “Christ. The karaoke.”

Santiago chuckles warmly, and you feel his laugh reverberate through you. “It wasn’t karaoke! You hijacked the goddamn wedding band.”

Your hand clamps in dismay over your mouth now, and you lift your head from his shoulder to face him. “Oh my god. You’re right.”

Your laughs mingle together in the tight space between you, becoming indistinguishable, like the tide and the shore. “I still can’t believe you blagged our way into a wedding reception.”

“I can’t believe it took us so long to get rumbled,” his hand settles over yours, where your arm is still hooked into his.

You beam at him. “Thank God I’m stealthy.”

He pumps his eyebrows, entirely incredulous. “You? Yeah right.”

“I’m sure I must’ve helped, Pope.”

“No, cariño, no. You were not helping.” He scratches at his layer of scruff. “Shit. What was it… What did you tell the kid on the desk your name was, again?”

You try to recall, and when you remember you snort in a full-blown laugh. Your ensuing, chaotic giggle planes tears of joy out of the corners of your eyes. “Mariana Trench!”

“You’re fucking despicable. You know that?” Santiago laughs along with you, and God. It feels good. Really good. It feels effortless, your mirth sharing space like this instead of your anger. Your laughs mingle then dissipate, withdrawing gently like the retreat of a wave.

You lean your head back on to his shoulder, but your giggle fit is evidently not wholly through - not just yet. Your shoulders begin to shake up against him - gently at first, and then with a rising chuckle. “Whiskey in the jar-o,” you sing under your breath, wistfully recalling your drunken duet of choice. “Fuck, Santi. That was a good night.”

He rests his head on top of yours, the weight of it a comfort. “Yeah. Yeah it was,” he agrees. “Jesus, I’m telling you though. They were lucky we showed up. Before we livened things up? The dance floor was as dead as a battlefield after one of Redfly’s sweeps.”

You hum at the fond memory, a soft smile arcing over your face. He has you curious though. “What made you think of that night?” Why this memory, out of everything?

He stiffens noticeably up against you. Sits more upright. Presses his palms together. “That was, uh. That was the night that I-”

“-Vomited into a soup tureen?” You interject with a snort, as another random memory flashes back to you.

“No. Nope,” Santi counters decisively. “That was Cat’s Oma’s 80th.”

You giggle chaotically again. “Oh yeah. Shit.” You miss that lady. She was a sweetie.

“Hey. Listen,” Santiago begins with far more gravity. Enough gravity that you shift, turning your body as he draws your gaze to him. You had been waiting for this moment to arrive; but, now that it’s here, you wish you could cling on to the sweet things for a few moments longer. Still, you settle opposite him now, the two of you still cross-legged but positioned face to face. He adjusts the blanket around your shoulders, tugging on each corner. With a watery smile, you slide your palms on to his wrecked, perfect knees and give him a gentle squeeze there, seemingly pushing his croaked words out with the gesture too. “I want to say that I’m sorry.”

You have nothing for a moment. No words, at least. Nothing but the motion of your hands smoothing back and forth over his knees. Nothing but the pained expression as your eyes swim with an ocean of feeling, deep enough to rival the vast body of water before you.

You note that his eyes are wet too as he settles his own hands over yours, gathering them up into his grasp. He stares down intently at your hands, his brow notching with a deep frown. He drags in a slow breath and releases it. “This got so fucked up, and… that’s not it at all.” He looks back to you then, his umber eyes shining with remorse. Deep regret welling in his resonant tone. “That’s not how I want to show up for you.”

Your tongue, too, reaches for an apology as readily as your hands had reached out for him. “Fuck, Santiago. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry too.” You had never meant to hurt him. You had never wanted that.

He drops his gaze to your neat pairing of hands. Gingerly begins to smooth the rough, sea-pruned pads of his thumbs over your knuckles, your skin humming dully where he touches. “I mean it. I’m sorry for everything.” The tendons in his jaw clench, muscles slipping over bone. He drags your cupped hand into his lap, drawing an absent-minded spiral in your palm with the pad of his thumb. The sensation makes a pleasant tingle bed down beneath your skin. “I swear. I never meant for my bullshit to affect you. Christ - that was the whole fucking point. Thought the least I could do, after everything, was protect you from that.”

At his earnest words, your chest tightens, and you abruptly halt the dance of his fingers by clasping his hands, gathering them between your own palms like a prayer. Your voice cracks in half like a broken promise. “Santiago. For Christ’s sake. You think I need protecting?” The implication in his words cleaves your heart in two. “From you?”

He shrugs with one shoulder. Sniffs. The muscle in his cheek tugs up, and you feel his hands go clammy in your grasp.

He frees himself from your grip for a moment, before continuing to skim his fingers up and down your forearm arm in a gentle, tender dance. The lightness of his touch contrasts starkly with the heaviness settling into his brow, his wet, puppy dog eyes swimming beneath. “I dunno. I was always a better fucking soldier than I was a friend.” He swallows, his voice so soft you can barely hear him. “Than I was… anything else you might’ve needed me to be.”

“No. That’s not true,” you respond adamantly, your head shaking vigorously from side to side. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“Except when it counted.”

“No!” you emphasise, the thrust of your words carrying your whole body forward. You shift position, transferring on to folded knees, crouching before him in the sand. Reaching, to slip your palms up to each side of his face, and you hold him like a prayer now. “No, Santiago. Especially when it counted. Believe me.”

He tries to turn away from you - you see it. He tries to begin his retreat, like usual, but this time, you capture his roughened cheek with one palm and you hold his gaze with yours. You speak firmly, willing him to understand. “Santiago Garcia. Idiota. You’re my hero.”

He scoffs lightly. His face twitches with scepticism. With doubt. With this self-deprecation he always carries, usually so well concealed by his confidence and easy charm. And yet, as you caress his stubble-flecked cheek with your palm, he sinks gratefully into your touch. Leans against it, his eyes fanning closed and his long lashes splaying down towards his cheeks.

“God,” he breathes softly in Spanish, barely audible. “No-one has called me that in a long time." He lives in a world of aliases and nicknames, and you see the weight of his grief twist his face at hearing his name fall from your mouth.

“I mean it. Do you hear me?” you plead, snagging his eyes to yours as they drift open. “You have made my life more beautiful in a thousand ways. You’re not -and you never were- something I need protecting from.” You regard Santiago, and his pretty eyes glisten, wet with a well of scarcely contained emotion -starlight in his lashes. “I love you, Santiago. Whatever has happened. Whatever happens. I love you. Not when you’re this ‘perfect’ version of yourself you finally deem worthy of love.” You search his eyes “That’s bullshit. I love you. I love you now.”

Santiago slowly, gradually musters a nod, and you smooth your hands over him. Over his shoulders. the nape of his neck. His chest. Trying to plaster over the evident cracks as his emotion crashes like a wave against rocks. He scoops a hand around his stubble, his lower lip now downturned. Trembling with feeling. Fat, liquid tears shining in his eyes, threatening to overspill. “I love you too.”

What a terrible, sad thing, you think. That you love each other. That there’s such bounty and abundance, but that at the same time… it is never quite enough.

Maybe one day, it will be; enough.

For now though, it is still something which causes you pain. And, you can see -more clearly than ever now- that it hurts him too.

His eyes dance over everything but you. His face twists. Contorts and tightens as he wrestles with it, but he cannot hold back the tide a moment longer. Full, wet tears spill down Santiago’s cheeks, and he makes some attempt to fumble them away, until they grow too numerous. You reach for him instead, and for a moment he tries to gently bat your hand away. “Hey,” you scold, protest, smooth. “Santiago.” His eyes drop, and his gaze fixes intently on a spot in the sand as you gingerly scoop his tears away with your crooked forefinger. The finger you then trace lovingly along the length of his jaw. The finger you trace along his eyebrow. The point of his cheekbone. Every place the waning golden light paints him. Your eyes dance over him. Every contour. Every sharp angle and every hollow. Every soft, silver curl. And he stays perfectly still. Unmoving, as though he is afraid your touch will withdraw like a tide at any moment.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and it is at once bitter and sweet. “It hurts. It… hurts to be without you.”

For a stretched moment, you do not believe he will respond, the only sign of movement from him a lone tear sluicing down his sculpted cheek. But, eventually, his words come. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just…”

“Just what?”

“I need to find a way it doesn’t hurt you to be with me.” You shake your head, a protest dying on your lips as Santiago drags your hands to him. “I know you won’t buy this. You don’t have to. But I do want out. I swear it’s just this one last job with Lorea. And then I can… Then maybe we can…”

He trails off, his words waning. Breaking on the rocks.

He never could articulate a future with you, could he? Never could seem to dream that up.

You could be angry about that, you suppose, but you truly have no more anger left to give. You could be sad instead but, turns out, you’re out of that feeling too. All you have left to offer in this moment, in fact, is a small, resigned smile.

“It’s okay,” you smooth, and what’s more, you mean it. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Your fingers play over the leather and beads of his bracelets. Over the tendons in his wrist. The light hairs on his forearms.

You’re done with all of that now. Done trying to push him towards a future you’re not even sure he wants with you. Not sure he ever wanted. It’s funny almost, as you sit here, letting the future go. You sit here with him, so much history humming between you it’s like standing amidst ruins. Like you are two statues, memories and stories carved into your bodies. Sometimes, it feels like the past is all you have. But, you are thankful when the sinking, orange segment of sun draws you to it, reminding you there is one more thing you have. Something between the past and future.

You have the here and now.

You reach for it.

It’s all you’ve got. Might be all you ever have with him.

You twist your body, turning outward again, away from him. You fold your knees up to your chin and you loop your arms around them, fixing your eyes straight ahead on the undulating ocean.

“That’s one thing I always loved about you, you know,” you push out. “How you always live smack bang in the moment. I’m constantly wishing it all the fuck away, aren’t I? Always thinking fifty steps ahead.”

Santiago follows your lead, swivelling to face the sunset too. His body becomes all right angles as he plants his elbows on the points of his spread knees, his butt and the soles of his feet flat to the floor, his hands loosely laced together in the space between his legs. “You should. You should think about that stuff. You deserve all that. Everything you talked about last night.”

His words cause a tight lump to rise in your throat.

Do you?

Does he really believe that?

Because, if so, then why in the hell don’t you deserve him? Why can’t he be the one to give it to you?

You offer a theory.

“Does it bore you, or something? The thought of a future like that?” The question emerges tattered, torn on hooks in your throat which try to hold it back; but it’s something you’ve wondered for too long to suppress it any longer. You’ve wondered without ever wanting to push that thought too far - too afraid of the answer.

“Yeah,” he says levelly, not a hint of doubt in his voice, and you hold your breath. “With anyone else, yeah. But not with you.” You are relieved but that fades ever so quickly, your face crumpling into something halfway petulant.

“Then… why?”

Why is he still running?

Why is he running from the life you could offer him if it’s something he wants too?

You hear Santiago tug in and release a deep sigh. Out of the corner of your eye you see him lace his fingers together, soothing his thumb over his own hand like he’s retracing your comfort. “Because… I’m not brave like you.” His voice tips up at the end. Like a question. He reserves all of his doubt for himself, then? It’s not you he refuses to believe in?

“You’re ridiculous. You’re the bravest man I know.”

“Heh. Yeah,” he lifts a hand to self-consciously scratch at the bristle of hairs at the nape of his neck. You hug your knees more tightly to your chest. “Running into bullets. Eliminating threats, sure. But… running into safe hands? I’m a fucking coward.”

You hum, a neutral, bland sound which expresses neither agreement nor disagreement. Which takes you nowhere.

There’s nowhere left to go.

Perhaps the road ends here.

Dead end after dead end.

Only resignation.

“Maybe we were on the same path, once upon a time, huh?” You throw the statement out with little conviction. You’re giving up on the idea that your words or your actions can make the slightest bit of difference to what could be. For now, you simply wish to make sense of what is. “Maybe - I dunno. Maybe I just ran too far ahead. Racing towards this dream of the future, before you were ready to go there. Maybe I just created too much distance.”

Santiago hums now too. A tight, pensive sound. “Huh. Is that what you think happened?”

You rub your palms over your own face. Dig the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. You have as much energy as a spent wave. “Uch. I don’t know.” Wordlessly, tentatively, Santiago reaches, retucking the soft tartan blanket around your shoulders. You manage to smile softly at him, surprised that it does not feel at all forced. “Maybe we just forget all that now. Maybe we just… I dunno. Live in the moment?”

Santiago’s palm draws slow circles on your upper back. You shuffle a little closer to him. “Okay. Then what do you want?” he enquires. “Right now? In this moment?”

His arm weighs over your shoulder, huddling you closer. “Oh. I don’t know. What does it even matter?”

“We leave here tomorrow. So tell me. What do you want right now?”

You could imagine that you are tired of wanting. That all you want is a moment free of wanting anything at all. But that’s not true, is it? You want the very same thing you’ve craved for so long. You want him. Finally though, something in you has shifted. You find yourself able to envisage a future which is far more immediate. Something you can grasp now instead of distantly yearning for.

The words feel hard and tight in your chest, but by the time they reach your lips, they feel so very soft and loose. Easy to sound out. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. All this time I missed you so much.” Unconsciously, Santiago holds you just a little more tightly. “I just…”

“What?” he whispers.

“I want us to fall asleep together. I want to hold you. I just want us to have one moment like that, Santi. Peaceful, you know? After everything, don’t we at least deserve that?” You tug in a breath to launch your next words, your throat closing protectively around them. Making them sound small. “And… And maybe…”

“What? What else?”

“Can’t we just fuck and feel happy about it? Can’t we have just one fucking moment together that doesn’t feel like an ending?”

You wait, your raw-wound words laid out in a line on the sand. You brace. You brace for them to be washed away. To have the salt poured in.

“Okay.”

Your eyes snap to his in surprise, and you find his soft, ardent gaze dancing over your features. “Okay?”

Santiago’s fingers lace with yours, and he tugs you to standing. “Come with me. Come on.”

He gathers up the remaining supplies, slinging the filled beach bag over one shoulder. Then, he folds his other arm around your middle. Tucks you into him. You let him lead you to the house, and it’s nice. It’s nice that for once, you’re not begging him to follow.

You let him lead you up the dunes, back to the house, and up the stairs.

You leave the golden, sinking sun behind you, but with Santiago’s warm, molten gaze shining on you, you still feel the sun on your face.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #santiago pope garcia #ride or die series

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deathbecomesthem · 3 months

Text

Crawling to the Finish | Part 3 | 7K

Eddie Munson x Fem!Disabled!Reader

*This is a completed series that is queued and will be released on the dates below. This Masterlist will be updated with each part that is released.

+18 ONLY | MDNI

Warnings: There will be lots of descriptions of medical stuff. The reader is physically disabled due to an undefined accident. Major bone trauma. Lots of talk about pain. Blood donation, scars, and fainting in this part. There is SMUT in this part. (Boobs, oral sex, and other back of the van stuff you might expect.)

Summary: You see the surgeon and spiral. Maybe Eddie can help.

A/N: The physical disability described in this series are my own. The experiences are very close to what my own. Be kind.

---

“OK, Honey, if you could just twist your hips – here let me help you –“ the radiologist is twisting your hips in a way that immediately starts the ache. Your teeth are clenching at the pain. “Just hold that for a minute,” her purple scrubs are making a swishing sound as she steps behind the barrier, “Deep breath in, and hold it.”

Your expanded lungs burn along with the vibrating ache coming from hips and radiating up your waist and down your leg. These moments are torture - when you can’t get yourself into a position that alleviates the pain. It feels so personal, as if the radiologist is out to make the experience as painful as possible while moving around you with unhurried mundanity.

“Just four more positions and we’ll get you in to see Dr. Greene.” You withhold an angry scoff. Just 4 more, maybe we should see how you like it, you stupid bitch.

You say nothing, you do as your told, letting the rage simmer inside. You know you’ll find an outlet for it later.

The appointment goes exactly how you knew it would. Dr. Greene barely looks at your x rays, and tells you he’s ready to schedule a total hip replacement as soon as possible. Because your hip is well and truly fucked, and it needs to be burned with all of the other medical waste that comes out of the hospital.

The most surprising part of your trip to the surgeon is how fast they want to get you in for surgery. 2 weeks. It will barely be enough time to get the insurance preapproval in place. It’s an indication that things are as bad as they feel. Because sometimes you feel pathetic. You look in the mirror and see your dark circles, hollowed cheeks, blood drained face and think you should be able to handle this better. No one else in your life has to live like this, why are you so broken?

Broken. Broken. Broken. Empty. Tired. Angry. The building frustration is beginning to simmer inside, and you know it’s going to be roiling in no time, as your mom starts audibly listing everything that needs to happen in the next few weeks to be ready for the cutting through layers of skin and fat, and sawing away at your femur.

“… We have to make sure the school is on board with keeping you on track for graduation.” You’ve been trying to tune her out, avoid a stupid argument, “Do you think you can talk to your teachers about getting together absent work for you?”

“Uh-huh” Your mom’s rusty old Civic is bumping it’s way on to the Hawkins’ exit ramp, but your mind is gone to another place. It’s already laying in a hospital bed holding onto a morphine pump, feeling dizzy and nauseous. It’s in physical therapy, biting your lip so hard with anger that you taste blood. It’s in the operating room with the smell of latex taking over every sense as you breath in the “happy gas” that makes you feel detached from your body. You can’t think about school. Not now.

You pass Hawkins High on your way back to your little house, and your mom gives your hand a squeeze. You’re too numb to care about the intrusion of personal space. You can feel yourself pulling away, building up the walls you know you’ll need to protect yourself from everyone around you for the next month. It’s too hard. Disappointment on top of the pain is too much. Distance. Distance. Distance.

---

“Sweetie, Eddie’s on the phone for you.” The clock reads 3:30, and you knew when the phone rang who it would be.

“Tell him I’m asleep.” You don’t wait for her to answer, you roll your back to her and cling to your Pillow Pet, closing your eyes to the world. You imagine being wrapped up in Eddie’s arms right now while he combs his fingers through your hair and whispers that “it’s ok, you’re ok” and you feel hot tears stinging your eyes. No, you don’t want him here for this part. It’s too dark for him here.

You sleep on through, the weight of the upcoming days too much for you. You let it push you deep into the recliner and dream about – what was it? A tornado you think, tearing through the house and scattering the pieces of your life all over the front yard. You get caught in it, and you can feel the force of the thing tearing at your body, pulling you apart limb by limb. The sound of your own scream wakes you up. You find yourself whole, but your leg is throbbing with pain. You had slept too long, so you change your position, moving cautiously. The clock reads 7, and you just want to sleep through the next two weeks, let it be over.

---

You eat lasagna wordlessly while your mom fills the silence. This is how it goes. She can’t bear the quiet. The guilt and annoyance you feel are always present, just eating away at you.

“I called your father to let him know about your surgery. He and Sun are going to be with me at the hospital.” Your father had left your mother a few years ago to be with one of his co-workers. For the most part, they kept you out of it, but you couldn’t be nice to his new wife. Since you turned 18, you’d stopped seeing him altogether.

“They don’t need to be there.” Your tone makes you cringe inwardly, but it’s impossible for you to not cop an attitude about this.

“Well, I want them there, and they want to be there. He’s your dad.” She tries so hard to make the situation ok for everyone. You’ve never seen her speak an angry word about them, even though she’s heard you say some truly awful things about them.

“Whatever. Fine. I’ll be too drugged up to notice anyway.” Your mind flashes to snippets of past post recovery scenes that never fully come into focus for you.

“Dr. Greene says you’ll only be in the hospital for 2 nights, isn’t that great? You’ll up and moving right away. I can’t believe it.” She’s been wholly unable to withhold her desperate hope for a positive result.

“Yeah? Well, I’ll believe it when I see it.” No false hope for you.

“You’ve got to have a positive attitude about this. There’s absolutely no reason for you to think this will go badly.” She was right, of course, but you can’t live with that kind of disappointment anymore.

So, you sit quietly and eat while she details pre-op appointments, including a blood donation. Tomorrow morning, you would be late for school, making the drive out to the Red Cross clinic. Should you call Eddie and tell him? Yes, but you’re not going to. “I’m sleeping in my bed tonight. If Eddie calls, tell him I’m asleep.” Your mom just shakes her head and sighs.

He calls one more time that evening, and you can hear your mom whispering something to him over the line. You can’t find it in yourself to care. You imagine it’s something along the lines of, “sorry my daughter is a raging bitch, but we all have to live with it.” You hope she tells him you’ll be out in the morning so he doesn’t worry, but make no effort to makes sure she does.

Your stubbornness is unexplainable, even to yourself. You see the self-destructiveness in your behavior. You know you’re being unkind. You’re unreasonable. You want nothing more than to rest in the comfort of the people that you care about. You can’t. You’re too raw and the compassion chafes.

If he’s still around in a month and doesn’t hate you, assuming you’re not dead or irrevocably damaged from a failed procedure, you’ll make it up to him. You’ll make it up to everyone. They just need to let you be until then.

---

It goes poorly at the Red Cross. If there’s anything you’ve learned about your body over the years of disability is that it’s unpredictable and makes even the most simple things challenging. You’re borderline anemic, which ignites a thought in the back of your mind - it explains your irritability. Whether it’s a good decision or not, the phlebotomist has the go ahead from your surgeon to collect as much blood as possible anyway. It ends up being less than a half of a pint, and all you can do is hope it’s either not needed or enough if you do end up needing a transfusion.

When you get to school, you’re on the edge, and ready to absolutely lose it at the first provocation. Your mom had offered to take you home for the day, but in your stubbornness you refused.

“I thought that my education was the highest priority. Can’t possibly miss whatever wisdom Mr. Willis has to impart about Federalism today.” You’re being a bitch; you should go home. You’d eaten your cookies and drank your juice as directed. You wanted to go home, but for some reason, you wanted to needle at her more. Even if it ended up hurting you.

“Hey!” Your mom has had it with you, she’s stressed. She’s going through it with you, and she’s your only punching bag. “You need to get right, Girlie. I don’t care what you have to do, but this attitude isn’t helping anything. Knock it off with the angsty teenage bullshit for a second.”

You take a beat before responding, deciding whether to bite back or back down. This could turn into a full-blown screaming match if you wanted that, but you’re so tired. “Whatever. I’m fine. I’ll go to school.”

You both relent, tossing water on the fire rather than adding fuel. You can go to school, but she won’t let you drive. She asked if Eddie could drive you home. She has an appointment later. You bite back what you want to say, which is that you’d rather just walk home. You just tell her that, “sure, no problem. I’ll ask Eddie to take me home even though it would just be easier if I could drive myself.” Your mom practically growls at you in response.

---

Sometimes, punishing yourself felt right. That’s what you’re doing right now. Letting yourself be tortured by Mr. Willis rather than taking a break. Your life is full of breaks. Maybe it’s just the vague nausea from giving blood, but Mr. Willis’ classroom is extra rank today. You’re feeling lightheaded, and you will the feeling away. Most of the time your teachers remind you to leave your classes early, but Mr. Willis never does, and today you forget. Your brain is fogged over, and the harsh ringing of the bell jolts you in your seat.

You brought your crutches, you’ll use them as a walking aid through the school. The thought of free walking or relying on a cane until your surgery is exhausting, so you don’t think about it. You use the tools you have. You’re throwing your bag over your shoulders when you realize that Eddie didn’t come to help you. You shake your confused head, because why would he come to help if he didn’t even know you were back at school yet. You feel yourself slumping a little more than was normal, and the cacophony in the hallway is making your head spin. You feel a whooshing moving between your ears and know what’s about to happen, but there are too many people around for you to get low to the ground. You reach out to grab any arm close to you as your vision fades to black, back pushed against the lockers to avoid knocking your head on the hard linoleum when you hit the ground.

“…the nurse. She’ll be ok, just needs something to eat.” A familiar voice is bringing you back, but your eyelids are still heavy. You can feel cold sweat on your brow, and a deep sense of shame for something. You open your eyes and see a shaggy headed boy. His face comes into focus, and you know it’s Mike Wheeler, and he looks like he might piss himself. You force your arm up to wave so he knows you’re and doesn’t go running off to call for an ambulance or anything. The person speaking is Dustin, and he’s clearly trying to calm Mike down.

“See, she’s ok.” Dustin’s face comes into focus. He’s concerned, but not freaking out. He puts his hand on your arm where the bandage from giving blood is. “She must have given blood or something. Y/n, when was the last time you ate anything?”

“They gave me cookies.” You choke it out, but speaking has the effect of rousing you further, and you suddenly realize you just passed out in the hallway between classes. Oh good, more weirdo behavior from the cripple. “Oh, shit, who saw?”

The boys exchange a look, which tells you everything, and you decide to let it go. “Whatever, help me up. Let’s go eat lunch.” You’re reaching out for them to help you up. You’re wobbly, and lightheaded, but determined. “Don’t look at me like that, I just need to eat. Help me to the table and get me some food.”

They do as you ask, despite the fact that they clearly think you should be heading to the nurse’s station before heading back to your own home. If you leave now, your body wins, and you’re not letting it happen. You’ll see Eddie at lunch, and he’ll help you for the rest of the day. Even if you don’t deserve it.

---

The boys have their arms around you, Mike is carrying your crutches, Dustin your bookbag. Eddie sees the three of you approaching and jumps out of his chair at the end of the cafeteria table and bounds over to you. His face is low to look into your eyes. “I’m ok, Eddie. Help me to the table.” Eddie takes over, shooing the boys away to get your lunch.

“What happened?” You’re trying to ignore the stares and whispers from the tables you pass on the way to the Hellfire table. Half of the school must have seen you hit the ground and not even stopped to make sure you were ok.

“I got a little woozy. Gave blood this morning. Just need to eat.” Eddie eases you into a chair, and sits next to you, face still close trying to get a read on you. “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”

Eddie lets out a sharp bark of a laugh, “Uh, sure. What is it?” He reaches up to push your hair back from your face, and wipes some of the sweat from your forehead. “Jesus Christ, why don’t you let me take you to the nurse?”

You choose to ignore the question and give Eddie one of your own as Dustin sets a can of coke in front of you while Mike sneaks a tray of mystery loaf and *thank god* mashed potatoes. “Can you take me home after school? My mom wouldn’t let me drive because I gave blood earlier.” You see Eddie’s face slack in relief because at least there was a reason you face looked so wan.

“Of course, Ilene, I live to serve.” You pick up your fork with a shaking hand, and get to work on the food in front of you. Filling your stomach with anything that will help clear the fog and bring life back to your body. The coke does its job, that sugary goodness immediately perks up your mind.

“Hey, uh, I want to talk to you later too, if that’s ok?” You owe him that, at least.

His face is cautious, but he gives you a nod. Now that he’s sure you’re not going to keel over at the table, he resumes his lunch while keeping a hand firmly pressed on your knee. You allow it, for now at least.

---

It’s back to the old routine for the rest of the day, no chance of being caught up in the full hallways with Eddie as your guide. Even with your standoffishness, he’s still cracking jokes that only make himself laugh. He still gives your back a reassuring rub while you wait for your classes to start. He still gives you his cute little smile, the one that makes you feel warm all over. Being with him like this is enough to feel yourself being pulled out from the darkness, ever so gently.

When the last bell rings and you find yourself secured in the passenger seat of Eddie’s rust bucket van, you ask him “Hey, Ed, can we go somewhere for a little while and talk?” His brows scrunch together a bit, but he gives you a little smile and nods. When he turns the ignition, his radio blares to life, and you couldn’t be happier for the noise to fill your heavy brain. You close your eyes, the sound of Ozzy’s voice lulling you to sleep while Eddie tears through the parking lot.

When you feel the van roll to a stop, you peek through your cracked eyelids to see the sun reflecting prettily off of the surface of water. A hand is on your knee again, and you let your own drop down to cover it. Eddie.

“It’s pretty, Ed.” You’re eyes are still gazing out over the water while your mind is waking back up again. “Wanna sit outside?”

Eddie gives your knee a little pat and says, “I’ve got some blankets and a pillow in the back. Let me set up a little spot for you.”

“You’re so good to me, thanks Ed.” The sadness in your voice is unmissable, but Eddie doesn’t comment. He jumps out of the van, and you hear him rustle around for a few minutes, cursing under his breath. You’re smiling to yourself at the boy. You drag your heave body from its slouched position, a little bit painfully, and open the door to make your way back to witness whatever is happening behind your back.

“Wait, I’ll help you!” He’s calling to you when he hears the passenger door close shut. The commotion is even louder now, the sounds of cans and bags being tossed around.

You’re laughing hard enough to let out a loud snort, “Relax, bud, I think I can take a couple of steps on my own.” Truthfully, you’re dragging your leg behind you like the dead thing that it is, but it’s only a couple of steps.

It’s what you expect, Eddie is knee deep in fast food wrappers and soda cans, he’s just shoving them into a corner of the back of the van. But – there’s also a couple of blankets and pillows he’s laid out, so you climb your way up while he crouches with his arms out to help you in. “You find yourself sleeping in the back of your van a lot?”

“Uh, well, sometimes I sneak a nap in.” He gives a little sheepish shrug, and you know it’s probably a good spot for getting high. “So, what’s going on with you? You gonna talk to me or ignore me some more?”

You’ve got yourself position so that your back is pressed against the side of the van, and one of the pillows is resting under your knee to give your hip a break. “I’m getting my hip replaced in two weeks.” You get straight to the point. “I had to give blood this morning in case I end up needing a blood transfusion.”

“Holy shit, that’s good, right?” He’s sitting next to you now, knee knocking into yours. “Good as new.” He drops his head to rest on your shoulder and puts his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him.

“Yeah, good as new.” It’s a hope you whisper into the air of the van, and you find that you’re choking on a sob. It’s come out of nowhere. “Sorry.” You try to get the sadness out of your voice, and Eddie still nuzzles into you, not saying anything. “Maybe it’s better if we just go back to the way things were until after it’s over.”

The hand that he had at your side, rubbing comforting circles freezes for a beat, and you feel a heave exhale of breath at your neck. He doesn’t pull himself away from you, instead he squeezes you a little tighter and asks, “Why?”

You had expected him to be upset or surprised, but he’s neither of those things. He’s quiet and still letting his thumb brush against your side while he waits for your answer. He wants to know why, and you simply do not have the strength to lie or soften the truth for him in this moment.

“Because it’s going to be ugly, and I don’t want you to see it. And, I get mean, and I don’t want to lash out at you.” You think you’re done, but Eddie’s silence tells you he’s waiting to hear more. His nose is nuzzling into the crook of your neck in encouragement and it sends a warm zing through you. You can’t deny him. “I can’t handle the thought of you seeing all of that and deciding it’s too much for you. I’ve lost enough already.”

You think about Hannah, your best friend for years, who finally stopped visiting after your last surgery. She had, like all of your other friends, gotten tired of hearing your excuses for not being able to do the typical teenager shit. You never blamed any of them, but the pain of that kind of rejection on top of the already brutal physical pain is too much to go through again. And your ex. You had loved him so much it consumed you. You gave him everything you had, he had seen every piece of you, and threw it away. You couldn’t see Eddie doing that, but you never thought Drew would either, until he had.

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a while, he just holds you impossibly tighter and let’s the words sit between the two of you. You think that’s fine, because no matter what happens from here, you’ve told him the truth, and he’s listened. That’s more than most would do for a girl that is so broken she can’t even walk around the mall with her friends. You feel held by him, and more importantly, seen by him.

When Eddie finally decides to respond to you, it’s unhurried. His tone is calm, his voice steady and words thoughtful. His hands continue their work on your lower back drawing aimless patterns with his calloused fingers on the exposed skin. His mouth lets out a breath, like a gust of wind blowing through your hair. With his free hand, he taps your forehead, an indication that he wants you to look at him. What your eyes meet are his pretty chestnut ones, full of affection.

“I’m going to be honest with you because you’ve been honest with me, ok?” Your stomach sinks, but you nod your head anyway. He’s right, he heard what you had to say, you need to do the same for him. “The thought of seeing you in the hospital and in pain…” His eyes close as if imagining the sight and shakes his head a little to rid himself of the thought, “does not thrill me.”

You start to tense up at his words. He said he’d be honest, and he is, but maybe this is going to be more than you want to hear. You’re holding your breath and waiting for the other shoe to drop, Eddie still letting his hands wander on your skin. His attempts at grounding you are starting to fail, and you think he must know it, but he still takes his time.

“Don’t get lost, stay with me, I’m not done.” You exhale the breath you were holding onto and try to relax and trust him. He’s given you no reason to not trust him. “Why would I want to see someone I care about so much in that position? No, it scares the absolute shit out of me if I’m being honest.” His eyes are wide, head tilted to the side, and you know it’s true. He’s got real fear written all over his face, and for some reason you find that very reassuring.

He pulls you into his chest, letting you bury your face into him, and he’s dramatically rocking you back and forth without moving your hips. “But I know you don’t want to be there either. I’m sorry, Ilene, I really am, but it’s not something I think I can do.” The leather of his jacket is creaking with the effort of holding you to him, less comforting now, more like he’s trying to squeeze the life out of you. “Because when you get better, I’m gonna want to tickle the absolute shit out of you to hear you laugh until you scream.”

“Eddie, no!” You’re squirming under his grip, strong yet still somehow not painful. “Don’t you dare!” His hand is on the skin of your side, and you think he’s going to do it. He’s going to tickle you until you’re thrashing under him. You can see the evil look in his eye, even with your face still squished against his chest.

“Oh, Ilene, I wouldn’t dare do it now. Just know, I’m waiting for my chance.” He loosens his arms enough for you to wiggle and see his pretty face. You don’t know how he did it, but he changed the mood between the two of you so fast. And you think you don’t mind it. Because he’s true, and kind, and the most beautiful person you’ve met.

“My only concession is that if you really don’t want me at the hospital, I won’t go.” He looks serious, like he’s making sure you understand what he’s telling you. He has a finger pointed at your face, brow stern, and eyes narrowed, “but, only if you don’t want me there. If it’s because you want to spare me, don’t.”

You’re giggling subsides and you let out a little contented sigh. The strange loose feeling in your hip has never fully been relieved, and you start to feel some discomfort with the hard metal of the van bed underneath. You feel like you could come apart at any moment, just pieces of you falling away. You long to feel whole. Being with Eddie is the closest you come to feeling like a real person. A whole person. A person that has something to live for. You hate the thought of those feelings being because of a boy, but fuck if you can control how you feel.

“Fine. But I swear to god, if you decide you don’t like me after you see make a nurse cry, I will murder you as soon as I get my feet back under me.” He throws his head back in a laugh, but you grab his chin with your small hand and make him look at you, “Does it look like I’m joking, pretty boy?”

His eyes sparkle at you, his smile’s gone, and he looks like he has something to say. No, not say – his mouth is on yours in an instant. The way he moves you is fluid and fast. You go from sitting beside him to laying under him without even realizing it. You’re occupied with his mouth, his lips opening with your own, tongues moving together. Any pain you felt was gone, because all you could feel was a burning inside your gut for Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

“You think I would leave you, just because things are gonna get a little hard.” His mouth has travelled to your neck, and he’s breathing into your ear. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” You’re completely pliant under his touch, and you feel yourself pulsing with desire.

You have no answer for him, your breath hitching with every pass of his lips on your neck. He finds the soft skin of the lobe of your ear and sucks it into his mouth. It’s pornographic, the sound that escapes your mouth. You were no virgin, but Eddie has you feeling like you’ve never been touched before in your life.

While his mouth works along your neck and ear, you find your hands threaded through his curls, fisting and pulling at his hair. The moaning response he gives has you whimper back. You want him. You want him now.

“Eddie, please. You can touch me.” It’s all the permission he needs, his hand moves from your waist and travels under your shirt to cup your breast. His thumb running across a nipple, separated by the thin cotton bra you’re wearing. This is the moment you realize you’re both wearing far too many clothes. You pull you sweater over your head and unhook your bra with ease, setting it on the floor of the van beside the two of you. Eddie is just watching you with amazement until you pull on his shirt, snapping him out of the trance he was in.

“I wanna feel you.” Your voice is a little desperate, and you’re willing your hips to stay still. The urge to rock them a little, seeking anything Eddie is willing to give to you, is intense. A hand tests the waters with your bare breast, a firm full grasp with a thumb skating across your pebbled nipple. His lips are pursed in a line, and he huffs out a puff of air through his nose.

His voice is thick, and it cracks when he finally opens his mouth to speak to you, still staring at your nakedness presented to him. “I – fuck. I don’t want to do anything that might hurt you.” His eyes are wild when he looks up to meet your own. You know you must look impossibly needy for him, your skin is on fire from his touch. “Seriously, are you trying to kill me?"

"You won’t hurt me, Ed. I’ll tell you if it hurts, I promise.” You’re begging, and it has an effect on him. He closes his eyes, probably trying to regain his composure without looking at the half-naked woman lying in front of him. You take the opportunity to sit up and yank on his jacket. He obliges, eyes still closed, letting you take off his vest and jacket, and then his t shirt.

“Eddie, we don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.” You can tell he’s doing battle with himself inside his mind, and you don’t want that. You want anything that happens between the two of you to be right, and it won’t be if he’s second guessing himself the whole time. If he’s terrified of what he could do to your body. There’s a deep sense of disappointment about that, anger – not at Eddie – but at your own body for betraying you yet again.

He snakes himself down so that his arm is wrapped under you, skin against skin. He’s so soft, it makes you wonder if he uses lotion. You trace the outline of a tattoo over his heart, a scary looking demon. His fingers are running along your collarbone, his head tucked into your neck.

“I’m sorry.” His soft words break your heart a little at the sadness in his tone. “I ruined this.” His hand drops as if he’s resigned, and you giggle a little.

“Ed, why are you being so dramatic right now? You’ve got me with my tits out in the back of your van.” The noise he makes in response is a mix of a laugh and a groan, but it has the desired effect. He brings his face out of hiding, his cheeks are burning, but he meets your gaze with a small smile.

“You’re really pretty, Ed.” You push his curls out of his face to see him better, and he meets your mouth in a kiss. Soft but with need, your tongues mingle while enjoying the feeling of your hands wandering across his soft skin.

It’s all kissing and light touching, fingers wandering bare skin. You have him tell you the stories of his tattoos. You love how animated he is when he tells you how he designed them himself, and from where he drew his inspiration. You can tell that he occasionally forgets that you’re laying there topless when his eyes make eye contact with your breasts. He looks surprised every time, and it makes you laugh every time.

And then, he sees it. You register his shock when he notices the angry red scar peeking up from the waist of your jeans. His hand goes to touch it, and you instinctively recoil.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I just – I didn’t expect to see a scar there.” You reach for your bra and shirt, hastily dressing yourself, suddenly reminded of how cold the air in the van feels. “Hey, uh, shit never mind, that’s stupid.” Eddie’s reaching for his own shirt shaking his head.

“What?” He’s got your curiosity piqued. You need to know what’s going on in his head.

“I feel like such an asshole, say no if you want.” You nod for him to continue, he’s got that adorable wide-eyed look on his face with his question, “Can I see it?”

“Oh! You want to see my scars?” You wrinkle your nose a little. You’re not ashamed of them, never have been. You wear them with pride, the story of your life etched on your skin permanently. Not unlike a tattoo, only you had no choice in the pattern and placement. “Yeah, you can see them.”

Without a second thought, you’re turning your body to lay on your side and unbuttoning your jeans. He helps you when he sees you struggle to push them down while in that awkward position. You’re facing away from him, hip facing up so he can see both scars.

“This might have been a mistake.” You can hear him shuffling behind you, quite obviously adjusting his pants. You can’t help but giggle a little at him. “You’re so fucking hot. I’m a fucking moron. I take it back, I’m ready to figure this out right now.”

“Eddie, stop, file it away for later, or whatever. My ass is freezing.” He sighs and you can see him out of the corner of your eye with his hands in the air, not knowing what to do with them. “For crying out loud, you can touch me. Just be very gentle. I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to.”

You brace yourself, not wanting to have any kind of reaction when his fingers finally touch your skin. You want him to explore at his own pace, you want him to know that his touch is welcome and wanted. His hand is more than gentle, you can barely feel him, the fine hairs of your outer thigh whispering at the sensation. When he’s sure you’re not going to recoil from his touch again, he allows his fingers to run along the long scar that runs down the outside of your leg, not touching the angry red skin, running along the side of it. You know you can still see the individual stitch marks there. His touch reaches a part of your leg that feels strange, a large nerve on that part of your leg was accidentally cut during your last surgery.

“You have two scars?” He’s not really asking, because it’s obvious that you do. The second scar runs from above your pelvis and down at an angle towards the band of your underwear. It dips down to a place he can’t fully see, stopping right at the spot where your pubic hair begins. You wait and let him decide what he wants to do, prepared to let him lower your underwear to get a complete view of the path the scalpel traveled. You’ve got yourself so worked up over the thought of him dipping below your panties, you’re completely unprepared for what he does next. You’ve got your eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on staying calm, when you feel hot breath on you. His mouth meets the end of your long scar in a gentle kiss, and you can’t control the gasp that erupts from your mouth.

“I’m sorry, is this ok?” You can feel his words against your skin, and you feel your breathing quicken with excitement. It’s so intense, being seen in this way. So intimate having him this close.

“Yes, it’s ok.” You feel yourself twitching, completely unable to control the movement. You realize what the feeling is, and almost groan. You’re so turned on, you feel like you’re going to explode from just feeling his breath on you. Eddie hums to himself a little, letting his mouth travel back along line scarred on your flesh while his hand gently pulls back on the waist band of your underwear to peak down and see the rest of the smaller scar. He’s so close to your heat, there’s no way he can’t smell your arousal, but he continues to gently brush his lips against you.

“Eddie, I – mmm – you have to stop. I’m sorry.” You can’t hide the neediness in your voice, it’s embarrassing, but you can’t let him keep this up any longer if he’s not willing to give you relief.

“Oh, pretty girl, you smell so sweet, and your skin is so soft.” His nose is nuzzling below your belly button, “Will you let me taste you?” Your body is shaking with anticipation, so close to the edge and he hasn’t even touched you at your center.

You manage to squeak out a “please” and that’s good enough for him. He’s got on your back, pants pulled off in that smooth way he has. Quick and fluid movements while supporting you and keeping you in a comfortable position. He wastes no time, sneaking your underwear down past your knees.

“Show me where to put my hands.” He’s so quiet, you barely hear him. You place on hand on your good hip to keep you stable, the other under you lower back to avoid any painful pressure on your broken side. His mouth descends on your mound, and he noses around the coarse hair breathing you in.

It takes no time at all, his tongue works on your swollen and sensitive button. He lets out quiet needy moans as he licks at you. A guttural groan rips through you, so low you don’t even recognize the sound of your own voice. And then he sucks, and then it’s over. He’s got his lips sealed tightly around your bud. You’ve been sitting on the edge, he has you so worked up from his gentle exploration of your scars. Your high rips through you in a flash, so fast. His mouth has barely been on you for more than a couple of seconds. You can’t even be embarrassed when you can hear the effect your waves of pleasure are having on Eddie. He is beside himself, groaning and holding your hips still. You notice he’s rocking his hips against the floor of the van, and it sends a new wave of pleasure through you.

When you come back down to earth, you find Eddie breathing heavily, his head resting on your thigh. You run your hand in his hair, and he hums a little. “Uh, I gotta tell you something, please don’t laugh.” His voice is croaky and shy.

“What’s the matter, Ed?” You already know, but you ask anyway.

“I came in my pants.” His mouth is muffled in your skin. You’re still running your fingers in his hair, and you rumble out a low laugh. It’s not a mean laugh, it’s knowing.

“Oh, Baby, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I don’t feel any pain. Fuck, that was good.” You grip his hair gently, giving it a little affection tug. He groans a little and works his way up to you after he pulls your underwear and pants back up over your hips. He gives the small line of scar peaking out from the waist of your jeans one final kiss.

You both work to get yourself together, Eddie brushes at the front of his pants and shakes his head. It’s a lost cause, he needs to change. He’s helping you out of the back of the van, it’s slow, joints stiff from being laid out on the hard surface for so long. You don’t care. The afterglow of your orgasm is still radiating through your body. You think about what the next few weeks will hold, and you know. This is when you know – Eddie will be there for you.

When he helps you up to sit in the passenger seat before taking you back to your house, you place your hands to hold his face. His perfect face, still flushed from earlier, his kind eyes sparkle at you. He has a lopsided grin on his face, he’s still feeling goofy from his own high.

“Hey, Ed.” You stare at each other for a minute. He goes to pull away, and you shake your head a little before pulling him into a kiss. You taste yourself on his lips, and you feel your core beat in response.

“You can visit me in the hospital if you want.”

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x disabled!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #disability in fanfiction

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heauxvibez · 28 days

Text

Born Again Virgin III

warning: none, enjoy!

"I'm not sure I can handle this," Amaia whimpered, sinking into Micah's embrace.

Micah held her close, gently stroking her back, offering what comfort she could to her friend who was clearly feeling sexually frustrated.

"But it's only been a few hours," she murmured, pulling Amaia's head to her chest.

"You don't get it. This guy is not just fine. He's like, f-i-o-n-e fine," Amaia explained.

"Wow, that fine?" Micah exclaimed.

Amaia sat up, reaching for her phone on the table. She scrolled through Google images until she found a picture of Roman.

Passing the phone to Micah, she watched as her friend gasped at the sight.

"Oh, Maia. I'll pray for you, girl. You weren't kidding about him being fine. He's definitely something," Micah remarked.

Amaia sighed, snatching her phone back. Micah could sense the weight of the situation. Amaia was committed to her vow of abstinence, and if she broke it, it would hit her hard.

"How about this," Micah suggested, swiftly taking the phone and securing it before placing it back on the table.

She interlocked her fingers, her eyes gleaming with a plan.

"Why don't you slip into something cozy, and then we can binge-watch some Martin?"

"Really?" Amaia's voice sparkled with excitement.

"I can't think of a better way to spend my day off, boo."

"Well, alrighty then."

Amaia bounded off the couch, dashing into her bedroom like an eager child.

Micah chuckled, clicking the remote and queuing up all five seasons of Martin on HBO Max.

As she hit play, a few knocks echoed at the door. She approached the door, peering through the peephole.

A slight frown creased her lips. The figure was too tall to see clearly. In a world where danger lurked around every corner, she hesitated to open the door to a stranger.

People can be unpredictable. One misstep could lead to a kidnapping, harm, and all sorts of awful scenarios. She was definitely a worst-case scenario type of thinker. Right now, opening the door felt like a risky move.

"Who is it?!" she called out, her ear pressed against the cold, polished wood.

"Your new neighbor," a deep voice replied.

Ah, yes, the new neighbor. She recalled seeing boxes in the hallway earlier, even stumbling over one as she fetched her mail.

With a click, the door swung open, revealing the towering figure leaning against the frame.

His eyes widened with concern as he observed the smaller woman's startled expression.

It was the same guy Amaia had shown her a picture of.

"Um, hey... I'm your new neighbor, Joe. I came to introduce myself, but by the look on your face, I'm guessing you already knew that," he chuckled.

"Micah, who's that?" Amaia queried, pulling her braids into a neat ponytail.

Micah slammed the door, shutting out the person on the other side.

"Just some... uh, girl scouts... selling, you know, girl scout stuff. Cookies and..stuff. I told them we didn't want anything.." she stammered with a nervous giggle.

Their new neighbor persisted despite Micah's efforts to make the man disappear. Micah let out a grunt.

"Seriously, dude," she muttered under her breath.

"Move," Amaia gently nudged her friend aside, taking matters into her own hands. With a bright smile, she flung the door open, anticipating a troop of uniformed children clutching boxes of cookies.

But her excitement quickly turned into shock when she laid eyes on the familiar face, causing her to let out a startled scream that made the man jump.

"Joe?!"

He grinned. "Hey, Amaia. Didn't know you lived here too."

Shaking her head to regain composure, Amaia asked, "What do you mean, 'lived here too'?"

"I just moved in. I'm your new neighbor, right across from you," Joe explained.

This ain't nothin' but the Devil's work.

"Are you okay?" Roman noticed, observing Amaia's twitching eye, a telltale sign of her losing her shit.

"I'm fine," she replied through clenched teeth, her voice strained.

He flashed his perfect teeth once more, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I guess I'll be seeing you a lot more often, neighbor," he remarked, emphasizing the words as he squeezed her tightly.

Reluctantly, Amaia returned the hug. The sensation of his muscles through his shirt against her own body made her weak.

She could have stayed there forever.

But the disappointment hit when he released her. Despite her inner turmoil, she forced a smile as he made his way across the hall to his condo.

"See you tomorrow," he called out, loud enough for her to hear, as he unlocked his door.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," Amaia whispered, slowly closing the door before sliding down against it.

With a whimper, she bit her lip, battling her inner desires.

"How am I supposed to do this? He's so sexy, and perfect, and he smells so good. Did you hear his voice? It sounds like sex. Not only do I have to work for him, I live 8 feet away from him as well. I can't."

Micah squatted down in front of Amaia, taking her hands into hers.

"Listen, you're going to get through this virgin thing, okay? You know why? Because I'm going to help you. I'll make sure you don't do anything with any man, no matter how fine he is... Jesus, and he is fine."

Amaia lightly slapped Micah's hand. "What? He is! You're lucky I'm not a triflin' ass friend, or I'd be over there knocking boots. But watch out for Kaydence, she'll steal your man."

Amaia rolled her eyes. "He's not my man. She can have him. I'm not feeling him like that. I just find him attractive."

"Yeah, right. I know you. I can tell when you're into someone, and you were not trying to let that man go."

"Psh, I've only known him for a few hours."

"And knowing you, you fall for people within a couple of days. That's why you're always having one-night stands. You get it in once, and no feelings are involved because they're out of your bed before the sun comes up."

Her face scrunched up in confusion. "That doesn't even make sense."

"You don't make sense!" Micah chuckled.

"Whatever," Amaia laughed, getting up and walking to the couch with her roommate trailing behind her.

They watched two seasons of Martin before both falling asleep on the couch.

Knocks against their door woke Amaia up. Groaning, she checked the time on her phone.

12:32 AM

Rubbing the crust from her eyes, she approached the door, already knowing who it was without bothering to look through the peephole.

"Kaydence, why are you always forgetting your keys every nig—Joe?" she asked, surprised to see her neighbor instead of her best friend.

Joe rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating with his movements, clearly consumed by his thoughts. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, looking amazing even though he was only wearing plaid pajama pants and a black t-shirt.

His eyes wandered over Amaia's body, taking in her attire—a loose-fitting black tank top and black boxer shorts that hugged her figure. Her thick, ebony legs secretly drove him crazy. He'd kill to have those wrapped around his waist.

He would be lying if he said Amaia hadn't been on his mind all day. Since seeing her, he couldn't shake her image from his thoughts. To him, she was perfection, flawless in every way.

He considered it a blessing that she worked for him and lived right across from him.

A blush crept across Amaia's cheeks as he continued to scan her body with his dark eyes. She became nervous as he stepped closer, his gaze fixated on her lips. His hands wrapped around her waist, bending down to kiss her.

She wanted to stop him, but it felt like she was paralyzed.

When his lips touched hers, she melted into his embrace. Grabbing onto his biceps, she slipped her tongue between his lips, forgetting about her rule against sex.

Roman moaned into the kiss, his hands moving to grab her bottom.

Now they were in her doorway, lost in each other, oblivious to the world around them.

He pulled away, sucking on her bottom lip in the process.

Her breathing was uneven, stomach full of butterflies as he panting against her lips.

"I just came to say goodnight.."

_________________________

Yall foldin'? Or would you be able to resist?

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade @empressdede @alichesmi @msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @blacst4r @sassginamillls @wrestlingprincess80 @headoftheetable @trashbin-nie @sheyaish @tshepisho

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #wwefanfic #romanreignsimagine #wwe #romanreignsoneshot #roman reigns smut #fanfiction #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns fluff

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selfcestmovies · 3 months

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New recruits at Avengers Compound don't get much face-time with the higher-ranking heroes. As much as you might have loved to get to know the gamed Natasha Romanoff face to face, she was far too busy for the green members of the squad.

Still, you'd hope for any chance at a meeting. You'd ogle at the Black Widow from afar. She was so intense. And hot.

Your first meeting was fully unexpected. Each new hero had a specialized training regiment run out of the Compound's newly refurbished Simulation Rooms — capable of recreating fully life-like and battle-ready simulations. When you arrived for your first session, it was none other than Agent Romanoff herself who handled your onboarding.

"Have you used the Sim before?" What followed was 30 minutes of jargon, but you followed most of it — Stark had cooked up a state-of-the-art holographic simulator to help Avengers of all levels practice combat without the need for a corporeal opponent. Natasha joked that it was in order to prevent her from kicking the ass of any new recruits. She had programmed your regiment herself. "You're to report here at 0900 each morning for an hour of combat. I'll be monitoring your progress and adapting the program daily. Follow?"

You nodded, trying to keep your cool. "When do I start?"

Natasha had already turned to walk away from the Sim entryway. "Now – your first training is already queued up."

You gulped and entered the large, blue simulation room. There was no opponent in sight, until slowly the walls around you began to flash with lights and whir with energy. Then you saw her.

"Glad you're here. Let's start." It was Natasha, through and through.

"Didn't," you stammered. "Didn't you just leave?"

The Nat just laughed and began stretching. "That was the real Nat. I'm just a simulation, although I — I mean, the real Natasha — programmed me herself, so I share her — or my — physical and mental map." She rolled her eyes. "We're the same, basically, except I'm not the real Nat. You got it?"

You nodded.

"Then let's begin."

The coming months, day by day, you'd report for brutally intense hours of training with the "Natasha" simulation. She showed you various moves, grapples, holds and parries before forcing you to try them at full-speed with hardly any preparation. For a simulation, she sure packed a wallop.

Did you entirely hate it? Not in the least. You had been crushing on the redhead since you were in high-school and first saw the Avengers on TV. While you'd never have the chance to get an hour of private time with the real Nat, getting this up-close-and-personal with her exact double wasn't too bad of a consolation prize. At one point she pinned you to the mat with her thighs. It was fucking wild.

"Good work," she huffed when the hour was up.

It was weird to see a simulation out of breath and sweaty. "You act so real," you noted.

Nat laughed. "Guess so. See you back here tomorrow." And with a flash of blue light, she vanished, and the front door to the Sim slid open.

What you never expected was how comfortable you started to become around the Nat simulation, or more surprising, how relaxed and fun she began to act around you. If you didn't know any better, you'd think the Sim was flirting with you. After another month, you built up the courage to wink at her once she pinned you to the mat. Another month later, you made your interests vocal. "Good workout, hot stuff."

Your heart was in your throat. The simulation didn't seem to mind at all, and if you didn't know any better, it seemed like she had reciprocated the interest.

The first time you kissed her, she kissed you back.

The next day your training session was cancelled, and a few hours later, the real Natasha was knocking on your dormitory door. "I've been keeping up with your progress," she started. Your panic was fully visible. "And it's looking good. My Sim seems to think you're ready to up your regiment. Does that sound good to you?"

You nodded, speechless. By the next morning, training was back on your calendar.

"I'm glad you're back," the Sim strutted towards you once you entered her domain. "I made a new proposal for your training."

"Oh?" You were curious.

"If you're interested in learning seduction, it was easy enough for you to simply put in a request. But we're going to need some assistance."

The Sim Room buzzed with blue particulates as the hologram shifted shape. You watched as another simulated figure stepped out from the shadows.

"Just watch what we do, okay? This'll be fun."

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #fake movie poster #selfcest #wlw #ai generated #ai art #ai artwork #ai image #mcu #black widow x reader #black widow #scarlett johansson #natasha mcu #marvel mcu #avengers #marvel #marvel cinematic universe

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hot-take-tournament · 10 months

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note: this take actually adresses some sensitive topics, including some that i didn't know how to tag, but may require content warnings - so just be careful

also, i had to post this early because for some reason tumblr kept deleting this specific post every time it was queued or saved as a draft

HOT TAKE TOURNAMENT

TOURNAMENT OVERTIME #182

Submission 527

the Barbie movie (2023) was horrible

[SUBMITTED JUSTIFICATION UNDER THE CUT - PLEASE READ]

Propaganda is encouraged!

Also, remember to reblog your favourite polls for exposure!

Submitted justification:

unfortunately this is a dead serious take of mine. that movie was a story of a horrible tragedy portrayed as justice. and the subtle violent radfem undertones were deeply uncomfortable. my reasons for disliking it are very complicated and personal, so I'm going to try and keep this brief and try to avoid saying anything too charged.

i understand liking it— it was a very fun movie! the way they did the practical effects and props and setting were all genius and very cool!

but.. the way they handled Ken and his struggles felt extremely minimizing, cruel, and violent. I've *been* the reject kid before. I *know* what that's like. I've been humiliated and degraded before for being too much, for having ADHD, for being autistic, for wanting to be included in friend groups that didn't want me.

ken's story is a *tragedy* of a person who dared to ask for love and inclusion, who dared to ask over and over until the only option left to him was to be made into a villain for it. and instead of realizing that maybe, just maybe, this was a cry for help... that maybe, this was the last straw in a long long long line of instances of horribly cruel social bullying and humiliation.... that maybe Ken never wanted to hurt anyone, that maybe he just wanted everyone to see how much he was hurting, that maybe he never wanted power or violence, but empathy instead.... instead of considering any of at, the movie has Barbie and her friends *laugh* at his suffering, and watch him on the brink of tears with the grim satisfaction of a bully that got away with it.

i came away from this movie thinking, what should Ken have done better to avoid this? what could he have done to be truly accepted? what was the "good" choice, if what he actually chose was actually so evil?

and the answer is, nothing. he was spending his entire life serving and worshipping a group that wanted him quiet, polite, and dead. from personal experience, this is the kind of friend group that would probably find it at best a personal irritant, if he had attempted suicide.

this movie was so hurtful. it really felt like they said "people like you are better off dead or behaving like perfect mindless dolls, because when you try to get what you want, you just bother the people around you." conform or else.

i know people get icky when people claim that misandry exists, but.... consider the plot of this same movie, if ken had been one of barbie's girl friends. or if ken had been a trans girl. or hell, even a trans girl egg. i just see people only praising this movie and... no one seems to acknowledge how unnecessarily, brutally cruel they were to Ken, and how little empathy he received both from the general audience and from the writers and Barbie herself.

#barbie #hot take tournament #barbie 2023 #the barbie movie #barbie spoilers #barbie movie 2023 #barbie the movie #tournament poll #tumblr poll #tumblr tournament #tumblr bracket #unpopular opinion #hot take #barbie movie #hot take overtime #cw suicide #ken #barbie ken

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jrooc · 3 months

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Weekly Tag Wednesdayyyyyyy ✨

This week's tag game is a mishmash, a ragbag, a hodgepodge -if you will - of questions from the group. Thanks lovelies for submitting random questions! You are all officially tagged: @mybrainismelted @deedala @juliakayyy @energievie @michellemisfit

🔠 Name: Jess

🌀How do you pronounce your own Tumblr handle in your head? JRock (No idea why)

🪟 When you look out the window right now what do you see?

Snow, blech. ☃️ And a quiet house-lined street 💼 What is the most unusual profession someone in your family was in? We're pretty boring I'm realizing. My cousin's kid is a Philosophy TA so basically gets paid to think so maybe that?

🎨 What hobby were you really into as a kid? Reading 🤓

🔍 First autofill google result when you type 'How can I...?'

"how can i be homophobic my b is gay lyrics" 😂 um.. what!?

🎶 If you were the main character in a sitcom, what song would be playing during the opening credits? I'm not this cool but let's say Celebrity Skin by Hole (this was hard!)

🎬 What's the last movie you watched? Did you enjoy it? What genre is it? Dune 2 // I did! // Sci Fi I think?

🎥 What is your favourite movie genre?

Not a genre but any 90s movie esp the romcoms and corny action flicks.

What movie would you recommend? Garden State 🍅 or Empire Records

👯‍♂️ Do your IRL humans know about your fandom life? If you're a creator, do they know you create?

Only a select few, and only my Hubs knows that I write lol

🚣🏼‍♀️If you could do one activity with your pocket/fandom friends what would it be?

Games night! Or I'd make you all come over and we could all bring our weird snacks and we could just do puzzles and watch movies together.

Tagging @samantitheos @such-a-barbarian @heymacy @heymrspatel @crossmydna @too-schoolforcool @suzy-queued @gallapiech @ms-moonlight-inn @stocious @sgtmickeyslaughter @creepkinginc @ian-galagher @francesrose3 @krysmiss @gallavichsuperfan @crestfallercanyon @bellezabelize @doshiart @spookygingerr @rayrayor @mmmichyyy @sandrashaine @gallovichhhh @transmurderbug @transmickey @darlingian @callivich @mickeysgaymom @guinguin1984

#tag game wednesday #tag you're it #pocket friends #gallavich fandom #gallavich community

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copperbadge · 1 year

Photo

The Pompeii exhibit at the MSI, as with many temporary exhibits there, is split across two galleries. I like how they handled that this time; the first half presents artworks and artifacts recovered from Pompeii, and uses them to teach about ancient Roman life. I studied classical fresco and mosaic arts in grad school, so I got to see some stuff in person that I’d only ever seen before in books. The mosaic of the anchor, for example, has never left Italy before.

The winged-phallus windchime I’d seen before but also not in person, and I was very amused by the fact that it was off in a niche with a warning sign about artifacts of an adult nature. Which was mostly a lot of dicks, and a couple of (I thought) tasteful frescoes of people having sex or looking like they’d like to. I also wrote a paper on the penis as a magical amulet in classical history in grad school, so I was delighted by all the penis amulets I got to see. A hundred years ago you had to Know A Guy At The British Museum to get a look at stuff like this.

The last image comes from the more serious second half of the exhibit, which I have another post queued about, but I thought one of the cooler elements they introduced was the screen showing a gladiatorial fight, with the two smaller screens showing images of the fighters. I love that they basically gave this gladiator a D&D character stat set.

There were some aspects of the exhibit I didn’t love -- some scientific/historic exhibits in the past ten years have made heavy use of video, which I don’t hate intrinsically, but a lot of the time there will be several video exhibits in one room. It’s extremely unpleasant to try and watch one -- or even look at non-video exhibits -- when three separate video narrations are audible at once. I had planned to leave my headphones off, because I’ve realized that I’m rarely in public without my headphones in and that might be contributing to a certain level of alienation, but I had to get them out of my pocket and put them back in because at least I could pump the volume on my playlist and only hear Robbie Williams instead of three separate people pontificating about ancient history.

But overall as a Roman history and an art history nerd I very much enjoyed the exhibit, and I might go again before it closes.

[ID: Four photos; the first shows the entry atrium to the exhibit, a pair of old-fashioned wooden doors above which is a video screen with the title “One Day In Pompeii” waiting to show us an introductory film. Middle left, a mosaic showing an anchor, two swimming men, and two dolphins or whales, is mounted on a wall; middle right is a windchime made of a bronze winged penis-creature with a penis-shaped tail, each of its limbs clutching a chain that holds a small bell. Bottom, a large video screen with two glass panels in front of it; the screen shows a shield and sword in a gladiatorial arena, while the panels show the warrior on the right and his “stats” and name, Murmillo, on the left.]

#pompeii #msi #classical history #art history #exhibit design

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deedala · 3 months

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🌱w e e k l y tag w e d n e s d a y🌱

thanks for putting the game together @jrooc and thanks for tagging @energievie @suzy-queued @creepkinginc @lingy910y !! 💖

🔠 Name: deanna

🌀How do you pronounce your own Tumblr handle in your head? dee-dah-lah

🪟 When you look out the window right now what do you see? closest non-curtain covered windows go out into my backyard where i can see my big fence and a fuckton of fucking honeysuckles (we're at war with them every year)

💼 What is the most unusual profession someone in your family was in? uuhhhh...its me. im realizing. everyone has very normal jobs... i color comics.

🎨 What hobby were you really into as a kid? figure skating

🔍 First autofill google result when you type 'How can I...?'

how can i watch adventure time? - lmao.. i mean...i do love adventure time but like..i already know where to go to watch it but okay sure.

🎶 If you were the main character in a sitcom, what song would be playing during the opening credits? hmmm okay i feel like regina spektor's fidelity would be a good vibe

🎬 What's the last movie you watched? Did you enjoy it? What genre is it? moonshot/yes/scifi rom com

🎥 What is your favourite movie genre? you know what i think scifi rom com is probably my favorite cross-section of genres

What movie would you recommend? well... how about another scifi rom com i love to rec: Love and Monsters!

👯‍♂️ Do your IRL humans know about your fandom life? If you're a creator, do they know you create?

husband knows everything of course, but otherwise eeehhh not really. my mom and maybe whatever cousins i have following my art insta have seen my fanart but i doubt they understand the depth of what they are seeing lmao

🚣🏼‍♀️If you could do one activity with your pocket/fandom friends what would it be?

go play around in chicago and eat tasty food and be so normal about everything <3

and now to tag some nuggets, come play or simply accept this token of my affection 🥪 <3 @darlingian @too-schoolforcool @michellemisfit @mybrainismelted @mickeysgaymom @lee-ow @sickness-health-all-that-shit @iansw0rld @juliakayyy @themarchg1rl @loftec @the-rat-wins @heymrspatel @heymacy @palepinkgoat @squirrel-fund @sam-loves-seb @samantitheos @crossmydna @mmmichyyy @gardenerian @rereadanon @vintagelacerosette @sleepyfacetoughguy @thisdivorce @transmickey @metalheadmickey @callivich @whatwouldmickeydo @gallawitchxx @softmick and anyone else who wants to join in you can say i tagged you i'll corroborate <3

#weekly tag wednesday #tag game

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glovehearts · 4 months

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asg day 2 was like this: queuing to get into the auston & willy panel, auston being like way more open in answering questions than he has been in a long time, him talking about currently being into grunge rock and nirvana will live rent free in my head for literally ever, auston only calling mitch mitchy when he talked about him, literally being the softest dude in the world in the best way, willy being all vibes in the most taurus way and that’s why i love him, auston and barzy being a Lot for me to handle and i was the person manifesting auston drafting him because there is history there, one on one being the MOST entertaining part of skills. the mascot game being highly entertaining and carlton scoring the winning goal.

asg day 3 was like this: breakfast with the mascots being chaos, getting jump scared by gritty leaning over me as i just wanted to get eggs, watching the mascots play street hockey at fanfest, asg itself being so much fucking fun like toronto Brought It and the vibes were perfect, watching auston being in his element and having so much fun like that boy was built for this market, we all talk about willy being built for the toronto market and it’s true but auston has truly embraced it and loves everything that goes along with it and it’s beautiful to see, also auston and biebs i just—i cannot there’s just too much for me to even begin to deal with.

it has been a whirlwind few days and has been extremely worth the time travelling to see my favourite dude host an event so fucking well and embrace everything that goes along with it. he’s worn it so well and i am super proud of how much he’s matured and how he’s such a fantastic representative of the city and the leafs and hockey in general. and also i get to see two leafs games before i go home.

#idk i’m probably forgetting some stuff but #it’s been so great #auston matthews #toronto maple leafs #irl tings #all star girls trip

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demonichikikomori · 4 months

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Black Flower

Malleus Draconia x Servant!GN!Reader Word Count: 1.1k+ Tags: Year of the Dragon/Mutual Pining

Art by D__elete on Twitter!

In honor of 2024 being the year of the dragon, I give you this! This was queued up so I am not actually awake right now... I’m sleeping or at work! I hope you enjoy, and happy Chinese lunar new year!

SUMMARY:

Malleus asked you to play a game of Hide and Seek with him. Who are you to deny him when he asked you so sweetly?

“I wish to play a game with you.” Malleus’ deep voice curled through your brain as you looked up at him. The two of you had taken another night time walk through the castle garden. When you arrived at the castle to begin your work as a servant to Lord Malleus, you were fully expecting to wash windows and sweep floors.

And yet, here you are, taking nightly walks with him and indulging in conversations you wondered if he’s shared with anyone else.

The moon was out, sliced into a sharp crescent shape far above your heads as the stars gave off a dull glitter around it. “A game? Right now?” You parroted back with a puzzled tilt of your head. It wasn’t unusual for the king to request favors like this. Usually they were innocent, nothing you couldn’t handle. He would have you entertain him with childish games such as Tic-Tac-Toe, I Spy, and even asking you to challenge him in a Thumb War. You always lose. It was an unspoken rule among the help that worked beneath the king. But you noticed the upset expression he would start to wear during your games, seeing that he had won again. Time after time again.

“Yes. This is our only free time together this week. Is that a problem for you? Are you perhaps tired?” He asked and the soft scuff of his heels against the stone path ended briefly. Although you were his servant, Malleus always expressed care for your wellbeing. But you were sure he was like that with all of his employees. Even if you were the only one he took nightly walks with and asked to play games with. “No, no, it’s just… Usually you ask me when the sun is up.” You expressed with a small shake of your head. You were not opposed to entertaining the king. “This game is best played when it’s dark.” A smile cracked along his usual stoic face, obviously pleased with your willingness to go along with his request. “I am sure you have played it before. It’s fairly easy to play, at least, that is what Lilia has told me.” Malleus appeared pensive now as worry rested in your stomach. The feared ex-general of the Briar Valley taught him a game to play in the dark? “It is called ‘Hide and Seek’. Do you know of it?” He asked and you started to relax. “Yeah, it’s easy. You want to play out here?” He gave a nod and a wide smile across his pale face. The king looked pleased. “Yes. I would like to seek for you. So please hide yourself well.” And with that, Malleus promised to cover his eyes and count to ten while you found somewhere to hide. There weren’t many places to go, but assuming this was his first time playing he wouldn’t understand how intensely some people took the game.

Ten seconds didn’t leave you with enough time to hide, but it wasn’t that you could make this too difficult on the king anyways. As you listened to Malleus count, you found a small patch of black flowers surrounding a tree with thick leaves. You hesitated before making the decision to climb the tree, hiding on one of the lower branches. You pulled your legs to your chest with bated breath. You were careful not to move too much as Malleus began to walk around the garden. You could hear him walk and stop, looking around for you in the darkness. He would mumble to himself as he went, looking quietly as you steadied yourself on the branch. He was getting closer and closer to the tree, but it was so painstakingly slow you could feel your feet starting to fall asleep. You wondered if you should drop to the ground and surprise him, either way he was supposed to win.

“Where did you go..? This game is much more difficult than I had anticipated…” He grumbled, now inches below you. You could see a pout on his face as he looked around. A smile was on your face and a laugh bubbling past your lips. He looked up in shock, blinking with surprise as you looked down at him. “Were you worried about not finding me?” You asked from your perch in the tree. He looked down with a light red tint to his cheeks, mumbling a ‘yes’ under his breath. His eyes returned to you, and he raised his arms to help you out of the tree. “But that doesn’t matter now. Come down.” He instructed and you obeyed. You allowed yourself to fall into the king's arms, feeling his warm embrace instantly as your heart started to race from the close contact.

His arms suddenly wrapped around you before he pulled you into his firm chest. The moon bathed the two of you in a ghastly pale light, only for it to be shielded away by huge, leathery wings. “I found you.” His voice was soft, filled with a child-like exhilaration as he held you tight. Your heart thumped against your ribs as you relaxed against him, hugging back with a soft sigh of playful defeat. “You did. That means you won Malleus.” You were a little sad the game ended so soon. It was actually pretty fun seeing Malleus look around for you, looking so desperate to see you again. Is that how he looked when he wandered the castle looking for you? “That is not true, I have not won yet.” He corrected as he loosened his grip on you. You looked up at him feeling confused as his wings closed around the two of you, hiding both of your bodies from the light of the moon. “It is your turn to seek for me.” There was an excited glint in his eye as your eyes widened. Right. He found you, meaning you needed to seek him. “Alright Malleus, I’ll count this time.” You promised and slowly covered your eyes with your hands as he let you go.

“Don’t make me wait too long.”

The soft voice tickled the shelled whorl of your ear. When you pulled your hands away and turned to meet the voice, there was nothing there. Well, there was a bust of Malleus beside the stone black pillar you had stood in front of to count. Its eyes were sculpted shut, his chest puffed proudly, and a smile carved on his handsome marble face. You smiled at the old memory as you smoothed out a wrinkle in your wedding attire. You had yet to get sick of this game. Even after something as important as a wedding, he asked you to indulge him in a game of Hide and Seek. Even years later, playing Hide and Seek with Malleus never left you bored. You made your way to the courtyard of the castle, admiring the black flowers swaying under the moon as you passed the large windows. You knew that your husband was hiding there. After all, that was where he always hid.

Tagged Accounts: @candlewitch-cryptic @butterfly--bones @epelorchard + fill out my tag list to be tagged in upcoming fics!

#twst wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x mc #malleus x yuu #malleus x y/n #malleus x reader #malleus x oc #malleus draconia x yuu #malleus draconia x mc #twst

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