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#all of the health problems and etc. always holding me back. but still. I'm not usually 'sleep or just stare at a wall literally all day' ty

kimbap-r0ll · 1 year

Note

Hi!! May I req a fic where the boys accidently say something that upsets the gn!reader causing them to cry(like how they arent home now or something about them failing,etc), how would Malleus,Riddle, Vil and Azul react?

Hi, thank you for the ask! Oof this one's gonna be a bit of an angst. Short fics for these characters too, hope you like them!

Malleus, Riddle, Vil, Azul x reader: Let the Tears Fall

Malleus

He didn't mean to cause you any harm, that was the last thing he wanted to do while you were with him. He mentioned briefly that he was happy you were with him, in Twisted Wonderland of course, saying that he doesn't "mind if you were stuck here." He meant it in the most literal sense, that he would love for you to stay with him forever, never to return back to your world because he loves you so much. But that translated into possessiveness, something you didn't want in your relationship. Malleus laughed a little when he saw your pale face, he asked what was wrong, and you didn't say anything. Instead, you sat there, looking down at your knees as the winds caused the leaves to rustle in the forest. "Did I upset you?" Malleus asked, trying to reach for you but you just shook your head. You smiled, trying to hold the tears in, looking off into the distance as if to focus on something far away. "No...nothing I just...miss my world a bit...this place sort of reminds me of it," you said. A tear slid from your eye, and you were quick to wipe it off before he saw but the fae didn't miss it. He felt a chill run down his spine, he didn't think he could ever be a source of sadness to you. He never wanted to be such a thing, not when you always made him feel warm and loved. "Y/n, I'm...I'm sorry I spoke out of line," he said, wanting to take back his words. You tried to reassure him that you were fine, but your eyes still seemed hurt. Malleus would have a hard time forgetting that.

Riddle

"Once again, rose I told you it's not written in this way," he sounded pissed. Riddle was never patient with anyone, but when it came to you it seemed like he was a bit better at holding his temper. That was until today rolled by, a week before your exams and you were studying with him. You flinched as he slammed his notebook down and walked over to a chalkboard to demonstrate what he meant. You wrote down exactly what he wrote, listened to his words, but his tone kept making your heart race not in a good way. It was a panicked rhythm, something like you knew you were in trouble. This was your boyfriend for Great Seven's sake, what was going on? Riddle shouted your name again when you didn't answer him as you were lost in your thoughts. That was the last straw, you mumbled out the answer, knowing it was incorrect but not wanting to test his patience anymore. "L-look, I don't think I can do this anymore," you whimpered, and that made Riddle stop. His eyes widened, he realized what he just did. He yelled, yelled at you out of all people. He was acting like his mother, the person whom he despised so much yet ended up becoming a reflection of in this moment. "Y/n, I didn't mean to shout like that, I'm so sorry," his voice softened, he quickly went to you to take you in his arms. But you were limp, your eyes glistened with tears. While no words left your mouth, the small drops that fell onto your notebook was enough for him to understand the horrible mistake he had done.

Vil

A perfectionist at heart, he didn't let anyone escape his scrutiny. Even you, whom he always praised as being perfect in heart and body. He didn't care if you didn't have his exact look, as long as you were confident in your fashion choices he loved it. But this time, he wasn't feeling too much like himself, he had seen too many manager texts in a day, a lot of stressful classes, and now you were doing everything but taking care of yourself. You were up late studying for a test, causing not only physical health problems but also mental health problems. He wanted to tell you kindly to stop but he didn't have the energy. Grabbing your books, he snapped at you. "Get to bed, what are you trying to do sabotage yourself? I thought we went over this last week, how quickly do you dispose of my advice?" What he didn't realize was that you weren't doing that well either. You were sick, you were stressed, you were getting over a lot of hardships about being literally teleported away from home. This was the last thing you wanted to go through, and all you could do at that moment was..."Y/n? Are you crying?" Vil reached his hand to your face, lifting it up so he could see you. You tried to look away, but the tears slid down your cheeks and you made a small whimper. "I'm sorry, I don't want to cause trouble but...it's been a hard week," you try to explain. You think Vil would scold you, but instead, he looks at you with wide eyes, almost a look of fear. "No, I should be the one to apologize, it was rude of me to act this way," he wrapped his arms around you. He let you cry on his shoulder, tell him everything you wanted to tell him. Vil wouldn't let you bundle up your emotions anymore.

Azul

Azul didn't have anything against you, but he was quick to make grudges. He could cling onto random actions or phrases people said to use against them when he needed. It just so happened to be one of those cases. You were already in a tense environment with him. He didn't speak to you for a few days, and you were busy dealing with homesickness along with all of Ramshackle's issues. He casually had to bring up how you weren't helping him at the lounge, nor were you checking up on him as you usually did. What a selfish dorm leader, but you didn't have the energy to fight back. "Look, I'm just saying that as long as you're here, and Crowley remains as the headmaster, you won't be going home. Might as well toss that out the window," he said as he walked back into his office, leaving you in the lounge to clean the bar by yourself. This was the last straw for you, the one thing, the one hope you had was home and he had to jab at it. You tried to calm yourself down, but the tears just started. Soon, you were wiping the glassware while letting the tears fall all over the counter. Azul wouldn't have heard you because he usually listens to music as he's in his study, but this time he left the door open to see what you would do. Hearing slight whimpers and sniffles caused him to jump out the door, a worried and panicked look on his face. There was no way he just said something that hurt you, no he was better than those kinds of people. He went through hurtful words, he shouldn't be repeating that! "Darling, is something wrong? Was it something I said?" he asked, carefully approaching you. "Ah, it's nothing," you shook your head, trying to hide it but he wrapped his arms around you. "No, no it's absolutely something I should know. It was what I said wasn't it?" this caused you to cry harder. He started to feel tears himself. As he told you how sorry he was, he wiped your tears away and told himself he would never throw words at you.

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softlyspector · 2 years

Text

Then and Now

Summary: The boys want a second pass at that fucking money. They need your help. The only problem is that you and Santiago aren't talking, not anymore, not since everything went so sideways.

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Reader

Word Count: ~15.5k

Warnings: angst, pining, canon level violence, lots and lots of cursing, PTSD and assorted metal health issues, smut (p in v), best friend Benny Miller (yeah it needs a warning), reader has a nickname (Blue) in the same way the others do (Pope, Fish, etc.) sparingly used

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please forgive anything that is militarily inaccurate/inaccurate to the ravine location, I changed some things to fit the story better. I am so very aware I'm basically writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That doesn't matter to me, what matters is all that Oscar Isaac ass and the fact that this is genuinely my favorite movie at the moment. That, and when @velvetofyourheart asks for something, I can't really say no.

Tanya, thank you so much for your wonderful idea and always encouraging my aquarius god-complex. This is your fic, you own it. This is your Santi, never let anyone tell you any differently. I love you. Happy very belated birthday.

Now

Fog is still rolling over your front yard when Benny Miller’s familiar jeep swings into your driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

You sit down your cup of coffee, the many rings lining your fingers clinking against the ceramic, and huff out a breath at his audacity, showing up at your place so early in the day.

The morning is muggy but cool, condensation beading along the porch railing where your feet are propped up, booted feet crossed at the ankle.

The jeep’s headlights go out and the driver’s side door pops open. Benny smiles at you when he climbs out, giving you a big, exaggerated wave before he lopes over, all sweetheart golden retriever energy.

Benny is big feelings and big gestures in a body that would never be enough to trap it all inside, that could never cage all that wild energy.

“Well, fuck,” you say when he climbs the porch stairs. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

You haven’t seen him in a couple weeks.

Benny, who you used to see daily.

But not anymore, not since he came home beat to hell and looking like a lost dog. Not since he told you everything that happened in Colombia.

Not since he told you how Tom died, how everything they did was so fucked.

Wouldn’ta happened if you were there. You keep our heads on straight. He had told you that day, crying like you were kids again on your back deck in the setting sun.

Benny laughs and leans against the banister, a brown folder held in one hand. You eye the folder as you flick open the pack of cigarettes in your lap, knocking out a smoke and lighter. “Whatever it is,” you nod at his hand, “The answer is no.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” Ben says innocently. “And you know they say those things will kill you.”

“Fuck you, Miller, this is my one indulgence,” you say amicably as you light up, blowing smoke away from him.

Coffee and a cigarette on your front porch each morning before work, before driving half an hour into town to serve bitchy local teens still half coked out of their minds from the night before and surly truck drivers just passing through town - that was your indulgence, that was all you could allow yourself, all you could afford most days.

Benny reaches up to pull off his ball cap, runs a hand through his hair and replaces the hat backwards, before he sighs. “We’re going back for that money. We need you there. Can’t do it without you, obviously. First time you aren’t with us and everything goes to hell.”

You scoff, taking a long drag on your cigarette, holding in the nicotine for a long moment before you exhale through your nose, “You’ve gotta be kidding, Benny.”

“Not a chance,” Benny says, weirdly serious, “Not with this. Someone else is gonna find it and then what?”

“Suppose it goes to the next drug lord in line,” you raise a brow at him. “Y’all are really going back for that money? That got Tom killed? Didn’t you fuck it up enough already? Leave it lie, it's cursed.”

Benny winces and straightens, moving to drop heavily onto the wooden porch swing hanging from the ceiling. It creaks beneath him as he leans back and sighs, sounding more exhausted than you’ve ever known him to be.

“Redfly wouldn’t want that money falling into the wrong hands.”

“Yeah he’d want it in his hands,” you snap, feeling only slightly guilty about talking ill of the dead. “Or did you forget what happened down there?”

Benny doesn’t say anything for a moment, cornflower blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, he won’t be there this time.”

“So why go back? Pope’s greed eating at him again? You know you guys don’t have to do everything he says.” When Benny doesn’t say anything, you glance over at him, watch the way he sighs lightly and the circles beneath his eyes seem to deepen in real time. “Hey, I’m sorry, Ben. That was cruel of me.”

You stub out your near finished cigarette and grab your cup of coffee, crossing the porch to slide down next to him and knock your cup into his leg. “You look like you could use this.”

He takes the mug from you, drawing a long swig of coffee before he hands it back to you.

He eyes your hands, taps one finger against yours. “You still wear Santi’s ring.”

Santi’s ring.

It wasn’t an engagement ring, no, you’d have to be in a relationship for that to have happened. He’d picked it up at a flea market somewhere, polished it up himself and presented it to you like it meant nothing.

I know how much you like rings, he had said simply, nodding at the many rings that lined your fingers.

You never take it off.

You sigh and lean back, your shoulder brushing Ben’s as you both stare up at the cobwebbed ceiling. “Just because he hates me, doesn’t mean I feel the same way about him.”

He doesn’t comment on that and the silence stretches between you for a long time.

Ben eventually says your name and you roll your head toward him to meet his eyes. You can tell he’s thinking exactly the same thing you are - that you both look exhausted. You’ve known Benny since forever and reading him is like looking at a jumbotron at a Marlins game - so fucking obvious it was painful sometimes.

“You really wanna keep doing this forever? Stay in this shithole town and do nothing? Serve the fuck ups at that diner?” Benny pumps you, poking your sore spots. He knows you hate being trapped, hates the stupid town you live in. “Treated like shit? Making no money? No thanks for the sacrifices you made?”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Pope. Save it, Ben.”

“Maybe he’s right about some things. Listen, we paid our dues to Tom’s family. We went through hell and everything is still the fucking same. Maybe we deserve that money.” When you don’t respond immediately, he continues, “Think about it. Hard part is already done. Money’s already stolen, we just gotta go pick it up.”

“Actually got a plan this time though?” You ask, knocking your knee into Ben’s. “Shit went so sideways last time.”

He looks away from you, bangs a fist against his thigh and stands, pacing around your porch as you watch, the Florida heat finally starting to creep in for the day. “It’s gotta be easy. In and out.”

“Aren’t Lorea’s men still in the area? Or whoever’s running the place now? Didn’t half the fucking town see your faces?”

“Who says we need to go into that town at all?”

“Ah. So there is no plan.”

“There is,” he nods at the folder he’d left on the swing next to you. “Santiago’s got something started.”

Santi.

An image flashes through your mind, of him standing on this very same porch, the roar of thunder and rain in your ears as a midnight storm passed through, the din of it so loud as Santiago stood there and hollered at you.

“You really won’t do this with us?” His voice had been harsh, a lingering accusation on his tongue. “When one of us bleeds out and you aren’t there, that’s going to be on you.”

You had recoiled, felt that sting like a slap. “Fuck you, Pope.” And you saw him flinch at the use of that name. You never called him that, you always called him by his true name. “Don’t blame your greed on me. Don’t pretend this is about anything else than that money. Lorea is a sideshow at best to you.”

“And don’t you fucking pretend like this life is enough for you! Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t do anything to get out of this fucking town!”

His hair had been damp, sticking to his forehead, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I already did, Santiago. We’ve all been to hell and back already.” You had shaken your head, “And this is my line. I’m not fucking up those communities anymore than they already are.”

Santi’s face hadn’t changed, but his eyes had burned hotter, scorching into you. You’d touched a nerve and you knew it. “You’re a coward. I’m not even asking you to take fire. Not like before. Something happens to one of us, don’t bother coming to the fucking funeral. You’re leaving us a man down and without med support.”

“So that’s all you want me to do, huh? Come with you and play nurse? Fuck off, I’m the best shot of any of you.”

“Yeah and shit at everything else. There’s a reason we stuck you out as the sniper. Keeps you away from anything important. But now you’re leaving us without cover.”

And that, that fucking stung, you’d recoiled from him and said quietly. “Fine. I was useless all those years. My answer is still no.”

And without another glance at you, he’d walked off your porch and out of your life.

Only when Benny showed up after Tom was already in the grave did you find out what happened.

Now, you shake your head and glance at the folder, you can see the edges of a few documents poking out. “Did he send you?”

“No. No one knows I’m here. Except Will.” Of course, anything Benny knew, Benny had already shared three times over with his older brother.

“I think you’ve forgotten, Ben. Pope hates me. It’s all my fault shit went sideways for y’all.” You swallow, “According to him anyways. I left you without cover.”

It’s what you know Santi would say to you, if he’d talk to you again.

“You know he didn’t mean any of that shit. He was just pissed he wasn’t getting his way,” Benny says, still pacing the porch, floorboards creaking with every long stride. “He was just pissed he couldn’t get all of Delta back together. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

But as much as you miss Tom, as much as you had mourned him, you can’t help thinking about how much worse it would have been if it had been Benny or Will.

Or Santi.

Fuck, Santiago could have died, and that would have been on you.

A member of your family had died and you hadn’t been there, you hadn’t even been allowed to mourn.

You roll your eyes now and pick up the folder, sliding the edge of your nail beneath the thick cardstock.

But the pain in your heart lingers as you think about the anger in Santi’s eyes that day. The knowledge now that your absence might have caused a rift in the team, that Tom’s reckless play for more money than any of them could handle and Will’s wounded side slowing them down might be your fault for throwing off team dynamics.

“I get why you couldn’t do it then. But now? No one has to get hurt now. Someone worse finds that money, then what happens?”

You’d grown up with the Millers, met Santiago when you went with Benny into the army and eventually got recruited to Delta.

It had been the only way to make it out of your small town, with no money for college and no scholarship opportunities despite your grades, you’d felt it was your only chance. And going with Benny to the recruitment center to follow Will, who’d left a few years before, hadn’t seemed so bad.

You had stuck by Benny and to your surprise, or maybe to no one’s surprise, both of you were good at it. Good at shooting and killing and clawing bloody tracks into the ground beneath your feet. Good at ruining and destroying, good at being disciplined and regimented and hard. Good at following orders and being better than everyone else.

You and Benny were to become the babies of Delta Force, the younger pair that always seemed to lag a bit behind the other four more mature and experienced guys. If it weren’t for Will, you might not have been placed in the same unit. But Will had been adamant about recommending both of you, about placing both of you with Delta.

And the superiors had gotten tired of fighting with him.

Benny and Will were the brothers you never had, the family you always wanted.

Santiago and Frankie and Tom only pulled you in tighter, only made you cling on harder, gave you something solid to hang onto.

Santiago. God, Santiago.

You wanted him the moment you saw him, with that curling hair that grayed as the years wore on, with those crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled that deepened every year, with the way that he stared at you like you held the secrets of the universe, with a gaze so feverish and consuming it was hard not to be pulled into his orbit, right to the center of his world.

Santiago pulled a little too hard, loved a little bit too intensely. You’d known the second he showed up at your place that stormy night that whatever he had to say to you was about to break you, that he was about to rip the thread that he had wound around his fingers since the second you met him right out of your heart.

Something about Santi was so magnetic, so intense, you couldn’t look away, pull away, if you wanted.

He annoyed you to no end, shielded you from nothing despite your awards and metals for excellency in the field, despite your being on a fucking special ops team, and one of the only women to do so no less. He and Tom had taken one look at your record the day you were reassigned to them, and advocated for your shooting skills, that you worked best at a distance, and had taken you under his wing.

You wanted to slap him and you loved him and he was so complicated that you wanted to cry just thinking about it.

Santiago was also lonely, lonely in the same way you were.

You could be in a room full of people, surrounded by those you loved, and still feel separate, apart, alone.

Santi was the same - and so you drifted together.

You were something undefined for years and maybe that was the problem.

There was a tension neither of you dared address when you were in the service together, not when things were so terribly dangerous at all times, not when feelings could get everyone killed, could have the team that was like a family pulled apart by superiors.

When your time was up and as your honorable discharge along with the rest of Delta approached, things got more real, too real. Santiago was always there at your periphery, like a wraith you couldn’t ignore.

He was the nucleus of your world, the center of your universe, and you wanted to hate him for it.

“You and Miller gonna shack up after all this, hermosa?” He’d asked one of those last few nights together, at a base canteen.

You’d looked up from the beer you were nursing. “Which one?” You tried to joke, but it didn’t land, and the tension between you thickened until you felt you might choke on it.

You had never wanted to kiss someone so bad, Santi tilting his head toward yours until he was all you could see, everything else blotted out, until the smell of his aftershave threatened to drown you or resurrect you.

“C’mon Blue. Ben seems keen on it,” he notes.

“Benny’s got more than he can handle as it is.”

You don’t know why you hadn’t just denied it, you knew there was something between you and Santiago, that he bred feelings in you that you didn’t know what to do with. But it felt too close to the truth, like something too close to your heart. So you didn’t correct yourself, and gave a hollow laugh, like it was all a joke.

It was only when you got home and things got restless and bad that it happened. Will attacked some guy in a grocery store, you had to bail Benny out of jail for bar fights twice. Frankie and Tom disappeared into their families.

And Santi…when you called, he came.

He came and he held you while you cried and wondered where everything had gone wrong. You’d escaped the town, gone farther and faster than you ever thought you would, and yet here you were back again, with a broken heart and a broken soul, and friends and brothers you couldn’t help, a listlessness settling between your bones that you didn’t know how to name.

You were still so young, and had seen and done so much, and had nothing to show for it. You had seen and done things you could never come back from.

And then, you were back in the same town, with the same people, and no prospects.

You’d had half a mind to join Benny in his bar fights, just to feel something, just to make the ache inside your bones go away. But then Will would have had to bail you both out and neither of you wanted that.

The loss of your routine, your regimented military life, sent you and the Millers spiraling for a while.

But you and Benny tended to follow Will, and when he pulled his head out of his ass, so did the two of you - group counseling, hobbies, jobs, - things that gave you meaning and routine, that kept you from spiraling into the worst kind of crisis.

Compartmentalizing became key.

But you never really figured out how to compartmentalize Santi, never knew where to slot him in your mind.

He’d been there for you, the violence and reintegration into civilian life hadn’t seemed to phase him, and maybe that was because he’d never returned to it - working with independent contractors and security services abroad, right back into the fray.

He came and went, but he always came back to you.

When you called, he came.

He had come with groceries or take out, stayed with you for a weekend. He’d refuse to let you back away from the violent feelings inside you, fucking them right out of you sometimes, letting you use him or him use you, depending on the mood.

You were something close to a relationship, but not quite.

Things got better with Santi around, with doing group therapy at the VA, your job at the diner, and taking up boxing as a hobby. Poker nights started up, bar nights, going to Benny’s fights together when he started MMA.

And when Santi was in town - even better.

You watch Benny pace around your porch now, and flip open the file. “I’ll take a look, Benny,” you say gently. “You’re gonna wear a hole through my floor.”

You couldn’t lose all of that, you can’t let your family do something so stupid without you again.

“Think about it, sweetheart,” he says, suddenly dropping next to you on the swing again, causing it to jolt and rattle your teeth. “You could do something so good with that money. Someone else finds it first, it's just gonna have more blood spilled on it.”

You laugh, “Fuck you, Benny.”

“And be set for fuckin’ life,” he says. “C’mon, what’s not to like?”

“Pope won’t like it.”

“Fuck Pope. He’ll get over it. We all miss you.”

You miss them too, and you can’t let them go alone again.

Then

The third time you break down after you’re stateside, you call Santi, because he’s your life line, your hook into reality, your tether to the Earth.

Santi always comes when you call, he always knows exactly what you need.

The first two times you called, he came with takeout, with a movie, and sat with you on your couch for two days straight because you had so much fear built up inside you, you couldn’t move.

Going into the military wasn’t the hard part, you found, it was coming home.

The third time, he finds you in the bedroom of the apartment you rented as soon as you were back in town.

“Hey,” he crouches down across from your place on the floor, curled between your nightstand and the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I can do this, Santi,” you mutter, feeling like your lungs are collapsing, like you can’t breathe. “Fuck, I don’t think I can. Everything - God, it's so loud, but it's too quiet. Everyone is just going around like everything is fucking normal - like - like - ”

Like you hadn’t killed and bled and fought and cursed and -

Santi nods, “I remember my first time on leave was like that. Just sat in my fucking bedroom for two weeks straight because I didn’t know how to be anymore.”

Your frantic eyes seek his out, his intense gaze that was heavy enough to feel like a weighted blanket against you, soothing the ache inside you a little, before he holds his arms out to you.

You crawl across the carpet to fit yourself into his lap when he falls to his ass with a groan. You breathe hard and fast, his scent like catnip to you, fingers tangling hard into his shirt.

“Thought you were gonna hole up with Ben.”

“Fuck you, Santiago. You know Ben is like my brother,” you grit out, pulling so hard on his shirt that you think it might rip in your fingers. You tuck your head under his chin, feel the slow slide of his touch up your side, listen to the steady beat of his heart.

His touch is warm, it grounds you, makes you feel so very safe.

His comment about Benny reminds you of something, of something you should have told him that night weeks ago at the canteen.

“Maybe I shouldn’t say it now, but Santi I -,”

Before you can continue, he presses a finger under your chin, to tip your head up. He doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, just stares at you - just pins you down with that unwavering stare, brown eyes like chips of amber.

“I know,” he says simply, so gentle and cocksure as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “I know, hermosa. Me too.”

You suck in a breath but whatever you’re about to say, dies on your lips. Santiago presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you firm and doesn’t let you look away, his eyes flicking down your face. “Tell me you want me, baby. I’ll give it to you. Help you shut out the world.”

You’re so drunk on his gaze, at the way he holds you hard and soft and tight and fucking perfect - that you don’t hesitate when you say, “Please, Santi, I want you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you.

One strong hand cups beneath your chin, fingers tight against your skin as Santiago kisses you for the first time.

It’s not a gentle kiss.

It’s like breathing in smoke, like choking down hot coal, but you revel in the pain, you take pleasure in the way he fights to consume you, in the way his strong jaw juts forward in a harsh pass of his lips against yours.

He’s rough with you, that first time, because he knows it's what you need, that you can handle it, that you’ve had worse.

But you’ve never had better, will never have better again.

Santiago kisses you like a man possessed, he bites you, he tears his fingers into your flesh, down into the marrow of your bones. He pushes you down into the carpet and doesn’t waste time with helping you out of your clothes.

He shoves his hand down the front of your cotton shorts without preamble, his fingers expert in seeking out your wet heat. His mouth stays on yours as you tug at his hair, pull and pull until he hisses and shoves a finger inside you.

You forget about the world, about how you don’t recognize your town and recognize it all too well - how the ordered madness you were used to sustaining you was gone.

The pain you feel is subsumed by Santiago’s heavy presence, the way he pulls back from you but hardly lets you breathe - his fingers in your mouth, the taste of yourself in your mouth, his hand insistent on the back of your neck.

You claw at his back, raking your nails over him as he licks into your mouth, holding your head still with a hand on your neck, beneath your jaw. He pinches your nipple through your shirt so hard it stings but all you can do is arch up into him.

Santi pulls back from you, a whine you can’t control rattling out of your throat.

“Fuuuck,” he groans into your skin, “Fuck. Fuck.”

He pulls back and yanks on your shorts, “Off.”

You scramble to remove your hands from him, to push your shorts down your legs until they get caught up on your ankles.

Santi doesn’t bother with undressing, just yanks down the zipper of his jeans until he can free himself. He sits back with a groan, knees protesting, so he can yank your shorts off your ankles before he slots himself back over you, his dick slipping against you.

The heat of him clears your mind, the anxiety and the thoughts you couldn’t stop from consuming you before, washing away until your mind is pleasantly empty, a blank white space that only Santiago can fill.

The town doesn’t exist, the past doesn’t exist, none of the things you’d done exists, you are purified, you are only the tips of your toes and the edges of your fingers, one long nerve ending.

His mouth is back on yours and you curl your hands back into his hair again, groaning into his mouth when he roughly yanks up the hem of your shirt to your armpits, large calloused hand palming your tits roughly, his mouth skating down your throat to your chest, until he can pull one stiff nipple between his teeth and tug.

You can only moan, fisting your hand into his hair to jerk his lips back to yours.

“Santi,” you murmur against his mouth. “Santi.”

“That’s it, hermosa. Say my name,” he breathes into your skin as he notches his cock at your entrance. “Say my name,” he demands when you don’t immediately answer.

“Santiago,” you whimper, pathetically needy, the air punched out of your lungs when his hips snap forward. He’s fully seated within you in one hard push, your thighs burning, the stretch of him so painful you cry out. “Don’t,” you hold onto his arms, force him to stay where he is when he starts to pull back. “Fuck, don’t, feels so good.”

Santiago doesn’t need anymore encouragement, hips drawing back just far enough to slam into you again, pushing you up the carpet.

He sets a brutal pace, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, the burn easing and the pleasure settling in.

Santiago whispers to you in Spanish and even though you speak the language well enough, you can’t make yourself understand what he’s saying.

The heat builds inside you until you feel like you might scream, until you feel like your body might give out on you.

But Santi always knows what you need, always knows you.

And so he slows the pace of his hips, dips his mouth to your neck and presses a finger through your folds, tracing circles around your clit until you come with an earth shattering force.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering against the sweat slick skin of your throat, the only thing real in the whole world to you in that moment him. “Look at you, fucking soaked my cock, baby. So perfect.” And then he’s whispering in Spanish again, something about so fucking perfect, all mine. You’re fucking mine.

You don’t let Santiago pull away from you, the hot weight of him against you drowning out every horrifying thought in your head. You feel him seeping out of you, feel the grip of his fingers against the fleshy part of your hip, tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck.

He doesn’t move, doesn't try to, and stays buried inside you. Santiago whispers sweet as sugar words right into your hairline until he’s hard again, and then he fucks you so softly - you’re sure its what love should feel like.

And so, for a while after you come home, that’s all your life is, fighting and fucking and hating the world for chewing you up and spitting you out, and not being strong enough to fucking take it.

The fucking is by far the best part.

You feel best when Santiago is with you, when his cock is buried so deep inside you it’s the only thing you can think about - when you’re cockdumb and sex drunk.

That’s when things feel normal again.

That’s when your brain finally shuts the fuck up.

But then Will pulls it together, starts getting real help, and inevitably you and Benny follow suit.

It doesn’t stop you and Santi from fucking like rabbits, but it makes it softer, it lets you round out the edges of your heart against his.

The thing between you stays undefined, but it comes somewhere close to ownership. Santi is yours and you are his, though it’s never said out loud.

He dances with you around your kitchen, spars with you in your backyard when you put a down payment on your house, cooks you breakfast, and asks for input on his consulting jobs.

Santi tries to get you to come with him, back to those places you’d left behind, back to the fight, back to the guns and blood and drugs.

But you can’t do it, at least not yet.

For a moment in time, you are content, content with that small town, your little job.

Will starts giving speeches to recruits, Benny starts MMA, Frankie gets married, Tom spends more time with his daughter.

You and Santiago - your worlds revolve around each other, when he’s in town and when he isn’t, how quickly he can drive from the airport to your house, how he catches you in the front yard in his arms and spins you around.

Sometimes, you don’t even make it inside.

You have no neighbors for several miles, and the front porch steps were a good a place as any to fuck.

Unfortunately that’s the same day that Will decides to swing by with your new boxing gloves you’d asked him to get you. Will gets a full view of Santi’s ass, but he never pulls out, never stops fucking you.

“He’s seen worse,” he laughs into your ear, nipping at your skin as heat pools embarrassment around your bones, the man who was like your brother doing a one-eighty to hightail it back down the road. “Don’t worry about him, cariño.”

It’s then as he laughs and kisses you, kisses away the annoyed groan, that you realize that you love him, really love him.

And that you’d probably never love anyone else.

Now

“Hey, there she is!” You hear Will announce as soon as you slam the door of your truck shut, parked against the curb outside Santi’s place.

“Hey Blue,” Frankie calls when you approach the group sitting around a picnic table, a canopy of emerald green shielding them from the sun and prying eyes. A cooler of beer popped open, burgers on the grill.

You smile and accept the hug Frankie offers you, moving quickly to Will and then Benny, despite seeing the Millers often enough, now that you and Ben were back to seeing each other daily.

Santi can’t even be bothered enough to turn from the grill. He says nothing and a fissure of pain cracks open your chest, your heart bleeding all over again, just like that.

“How’re you Frankie? How’s the baby?” You slide into the open space next to him on the bench, accepting the beer he reaches down into the cooler at his side to hand you.

Will automatically starts constructing a burger for you, disregarding the onions and adding extra pickles and an extra slice of cheese, without you having to ask.

It makes your heart hurt to be with them. These were the people you’d been through so much with, who knew so many little things about you.

No onions, extra pickles, extra cheese.

You feel the absence of Tom suddenly, like a hole in the middle of your little family.

Santi’s disregard does nothing to help the feeling.

“Good,” Frankie says. “They’re okay.”

“That’s great-,”

“So,” Benny interrupts, ever tackless, “We gonna talk about this thing or not?”

“Jesus, Ben,” Will says. “Let her settle in.”

Benny raises his brows and looks at you, “You settled?”

“I’m good,” you nod, “Always.”

“There ya go, girl’s all settled up. Let’s talk.”

Santiago joins you at the table then, plate of freshly grilled burgers deposited in the center of the table.

Will passes you the burger he’d assembled for you.

Silence descends, awkward and piercing for a long moment as you look around at them. Pope holds your gaze when you meet his eyes, and for the first time in years, you can’t read the look in them.

You glance away, back at Frankie who you haven’t seen since forever and Will who you infrequently saw these days. “I missed y’all,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

The heckling that immediately follows breaks the ice surrounding the group of you, Frankie cooing sarcastically at you as Will laughs and Benny breaks open a bag of chips that you know he won’t share with anyone else.

“Fuck you guys,” you say without venom.

“We missed you too, kid,” Will says, Frankie throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, sister,” Frankie intones, “When are you finally gonna come meet my kid?”

You take a sip of your beer, “As soon as you invite me, Fish.”

“So you take invitations now?” Santiago’s voice cuts through the chatter, his eyes are still glued to your face when you look back at him, the coolness in his voice matching the ice in his eyes.

Something in your chest crumbles and you can’t make yourself keep his gaze this time.

You glance away.

“Pope,” Will warns, a threat lurking in his voice. “You wanna start us off?”

Santiago finally looks away from you, his jaw clenching, before he rattles off the strategy he’d devised - a one day plot to get the money.

You sit and listen without looking at him, thinking of all the ways this plan can go sideways. Again.

Thinking of all the ways you could lose another one of your boys, how the group might not survive losing another member.

You hear the others take up threads, concerns - namely how you would get the money out of the ravine, how it could be transported without notice to the beach. They would hire the same boat as the last time, to transport the money off the coast and out of the country, to the same bank setting up the off-shore shell accounts.

“Can you approach the ravine from any other way than through that town?” You ask.

“Not unless we’re goin’ over the fuckin’ Andes again,” Benny answers you. “And I’m out if that’s the plan.”

“No,” Santi confirms, “Through the town is the only way.”

You consider quietly, biting into your burger as Will details the town’s layout, where you could expect areas that would probably cause issues for you.

“And weapons?” You inquire. “We need to be armed.”

“There’s a shipping freight -,” Santi offers.

“Oh, fuck, you’re not seriously considering arms trafficking on top of everything else, are you? That’s so fucking tracable.”

“You got a problem you can fucking go,” Santi bites back at you. “We don’t have the benefit of time to go scrambling for arms sourced in-country.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and consider for a moment wondering if you should offer or if Pope would just bite your head off again. “No,” you say quietly. “I think I might be able to help there. Contact that might be able to make a drop for us. Something locally sourced.”

Will is nodding, smiles at you, “So no arms trafficking. That’s something.”

Santi reluctantly nods, shoulders loosening.

You might be at odds at the moment, but he does trust you with things like this, knows you would never suggest something that might put the team at a real risk. “I’ll reach out and let you know when it's confirmed.”

Pope saws a hand over his chin and nods, and you recognize that gleam in his eyes, that intensity that said he was starting to believe in this plan, he was starting to see the fruits of this labor.

It's akin to the way he used to look at you, when he would make promises to you that he eventually broke.

The rest of the conversation passes you by, rappelling gear and fuel and rations and passports and how to move the money once it was out of the ravine - but you can’t stop looking at Santi.

He’s always been beautiful, since you first met him all those years ago, when you and Benny had just passed the ASVAB and were then recommended to join Delta by Will.

Anything to keep the siblings together.

He’d been beautiful then with wild dark curls and brown skin darkened by sun exposure, solid and sure and steady.

But now, with the pepper of gray in his hair and the darkness in his eyes, the kindness that he showed every stranger, the slightly startled way he always laughed, his creaky knees - well, he’d only gotten more beautiful.

Age suited him well.

The conversation closes - with you assigned to the arms issue and Will sorting out local transport, if the money was even possible to retrieve.

Benny pokes you in the side as he helps Frankie ball up the used paper plates and gather empty beer bottles, and tilts his head toward where Santi stands fiddling with the grill.

You roll your eyes and shove him back but take the hint and stand.

Santi doesn’t turn when you stop next to him, watching as he meticulously cleans the grill.

“We gonna hate each other forever?” You ask, stepping close to him, his shoulders going stiff beneath his t-shirt.

“I don’t hate you,” he mutters, glancing up but not quite meeting your eyes as he drops the scrub brush in his hand, folding his arms over his chest.

“No? Sure seems like it,” you muse. “Didn’t even invite me to Redfly’s funeral.”

Santi says your name, a sigh that makes your stomach curdle. “We didn’t want you implicated. Everything had went so fuckin’ bad and you knew way more than I should have told you.”

You nod, like it makes you feel any better. “Yeah, I get it.” You almost don’t ask, but you can’t help the question that slips out, “And after that? Why didn’t you come home after that?”

Santiago finally looks at you, his intense gaze locking onto yours and you freeze, pinned down by that heaviness, that stare that is so soft and piercing. The ice in his eyes has curiously melted down into a warm brown, his brows tugging together. “I’d done enough damage.”

And he leaves it at that.

Santiago always comes when you call, and you call him for the first time since he left your porch that last night before things went to hell.

Benny’s already at your place, parked on the couch in front of the TV with a beer in his hand and a bag of cheetos spilling onto the worn fabric.

“Hey Benny boy,” you hear Santiago say when he comes in the back door. “Our girl around?”

Our girl - something all the guys used to teasingly say, something that had annoyed you to no end because you just wanted to be, be a part of the team and the family. It was only after a year being with Delta that you’d realized that was exactly what it meant. That you belonged.

“Blue’s in the kitchen,” you hear Benny say through a mouthful of what you’re sure is toxic orange cheeto dust drifting down onto your couch.

Santi laughs and his footsteps sound on the linoleum, tracking closer to you. “Hey,” he says. “Benny’s fucking up your couch.”

“Yeah nothing new there,” you say, turning from the counter where you’ve just finished rolling out premade pizza dough onto a tray. “It’s a Friday tradition at this point. Beer and fucking up the couch with crumbs.”

Santi stands in the doorway, gazing around with a stricken expression for a moment, and you wonder if it's jarring for him - to be back in this house with you, after spending so much time in it and then leaving it abruptly behind.

You’d quit each other cold turkey, and the separation had not been easy for you. Especially not when traces of Pope lived all through the house, not when he’d fucked you in every room, made you laugh in every room, carried you from the couch to bed, cooked meals together, danced together.

But when Santi meets your eyes, his gaze goes intense, assessing, like he’ll never know everything about you. But sometimes, like now, that ferociousness also feels like it's concealing something, hiding something.

“You had an update?” He prompts, leaning against the door jam with his arms crossed, ball cap shading his eyes as he scuffs a booted toe against the floor.

“Yeah, thought I probably shouldn’t be sharing over the phone,” you wipe your hands on a dishtowel and try not to feel his gaze lingering on you from beneath the bill of his hat. You turn to the fridge and dig out the pizza sauce you’d made earlier in the week with the tomatoes that Santi had once planted in your backyard, various cheeses, and the toppings Benny had brought over.

He had a bizarre palate that you didn’t try to understand - so one side would be Benny and the other just cheese.

“My contact got back to me. He can make the drop. But only to me,” you hip check the silverware drawer closed after grabbing a spoon and turn back to the pizza, spooning sauce onto the dough.

“I’m thinking this,” you continue, “I go into the town alone, do the weapons pick-up, get the transport Will is arranging, meet y’all down the coast and we go around and up into the mountains. I know it's a way longer route but it's probably worth it for you guys not to go through the town. In the meantime, you guys just have to sit tight in that cove's cave.” You nod at a folded map at the end of the counter. “If we can get enough fuel arranged, there’s a way around that I mapped out. Roads shouldn’t be too much trouble this time of year.”

He doesn’t move to pick up the map.

You finish with the sauce and start sprinkling cheese, feeling Santi lurch away from the doorway and approach you slowly, until he’s beside you and every muscle in your body is tense and hot. “Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“It’s a good plan,” you say, tearing some fresh mozzarella. “Keeps you boys outta the town. Gets us weapons that were sourced in-country, fuel, and a ride.”

“And puts you right in the firing line. You’d haveta land and be without weapons until the drop. What if your contact doesn’t show?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m the only face that won’t be recognized.”

Santi rolls his eyes, “They’ll know you’re a foreigner and that might be enough.”

“I’ll be careful.”

You can feel Santiago’s irritation building. “Why are you so gung-ho to do this now? You’ve always been shit at infiltration. There’s a reason you’re the sniper.”

Since one of you died! You want to shout.

“Fuck off, Pope,” you say instead as he takes his hat off and tosses it down, leaning his forearms onto the counter next to you before ducking his head and running his hands through his hair. “You know why I didn’t want to do it the first time around. And now -,”

And now you were terrified that if you didn’t go, another member of your family would come home in a bodybag.

And you wouldn’t even get to go to the funeral.

And this time it could be Santi or Benny or -

You clench your eyes shut, the heat of Santiago next to you too much suddenly. You suck in a sharp breath and try to get the panic bubbling up under control.

“Hey -,”

His voice is too soft, too close.

“Whatever,” you cut him off. “What-fucking-ever, Pope. I’m shit. I was never valuable to Delta. I get it, okay? But this is your best shot. Unless you wanna go coordinate shipping arms into some backwater town through cartel territory.”

Santiago stares at you, his gaze wide and shocked, so unlike the hard stare he usually sported. His mouth softens a fraction but you turn away, adding the gross shit Benny wanted onto his side of the pizza.

“Yes or no?” you ask. “This is it. This is how we do it.”

“One of us stays with you. We split two-three.” You open your mouth to retort when he continues, his voice strangely quiet. “I understand you have to go to the drop by yourself, everything else doesn’t haveta be. You need someone watching your six.”

You heave a sigh, picking up the pan with the finished pizza to stick in the oven. “Jesus, what the hell does that kid eat?” Santi asks, noting the toppings.

“Shit,” you answer, snapping the oven door closed. “Who?”

“Frankie. He can make up for your shit Spanish.”

You quickly catalog another thing you’re deficient in, swallowing thickly.

“Fine.”

Santi nods and keeps staring at you, staring at you standing in the middle of your kitchen with your arms crossed.

And you feel the sudden urge to cry, to break down and scream.

Your breath is heavy in your chest, and the weight of Santi’s eyes on you doesn’t help.

“We should talk about it,” he says.

You shake your head, grab a beer from the fridge and walk out of the kitchen, down the hall and past the living room where Benny was invested in a baseball game, and out onto your back deck.

Santiago follows you, snapping the screen door closed after him. “C’mon.”

“No. You left it the way it is. We don’t need to talk about it,” you knock the bottle cap off the beer with one well placed smack against the edge of the deck railing.

But you can’t find it in yourself to drink it and so you set it aside.

Santi’s jaw clenches and he runs an agitated hand through his hair, pacing a line back and forth before he stops and cups a hand over his chin. “Don’t be stubborn about this, Blue.”

“Fuck off, Pope.”

He rolls his eyes and approaches you, stepping right into your space, crowding you against the banister, bracketing his arms around you, palms against the railing behind you. He tilts his head over yours, his nose nearly touching yours. “I missed you. I wanted to come back. I didn’t know how.”

You scoff. “It was easy. You could have walked through the door.” You grit your teeth, “Would you have even told me Tom died? Or would I have seen it on fucking Facebook from his widow months later?”

Santi flinches at your accusation but doesn’t back down, his eyes still boring into your, his voice quiet. “Yes. You’re our family. You know one of us would have, if Ben hadn’t.”

“Right,” you say disbelievingly. “It hurt the most that I didn’t hear from you. Did I ever really mean anything to you? Or was I just a liability to the team? Another whore to get you through the night?”

“What?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Santiago. You never came home. And I know you were fucking people when you were out of town. I always knew.”

His eyes are so dark they read black in the fading evening sunshine. “Is that what you think? That I was sitting around here playing house with you for fun?”

Your belly lurches. “Get away from me,” you snap, shoving at his shoulder. “I don’t need you to call me stupid in my own house. I got it, Santi. I wasn’t good enough for the team and I wasn’t good enough for you. I get it.”

He makes a noise of frustration and doesn’t move. “Stop being so fucking hardheaded.”

“Okay,” you sniff. “Go ahead then. What do you want to say? About that night, about why you never came home? About what you said to me?”

Santi gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to just give into him, “I - I -,” he flounders.

“Yeah,” you duck under his arm, snatch up your beer, and head back inside, “That’s what I thought.”

“You never went out there to see her? Fuuuck man, no wonder she’s pissed,” Benny says, offloading their tac bags into the sand of the cove from the dinghy, the walls of the cave-like outcropping reflecting in the shallow water.

Will moves the bags further up the sand and doesn’t say anything.

And Santiago - he doesn’t know what to fucking say about any of it.

Going back to that house, back to you, after everything he’d said to you, after he’d implied that any injuries they got would be your fault, after he told you that you were a weight to their team even though it was the farthest thing from the truth.

He didn’t know how to go back to you.

He didn’t know how to make things right, and so one month had turned into two had turned into six.

“She never said anything?” Santi asks Benny, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

“Not like we sit around talking about you, man. I wasn’t out there all that much for a while. Going through my own shit,” Benny says, jumping out of the boat to work on tying it down.

Santi thinks about Benny going out to your place, dumping all his shit on you and leaving. Of Will and Frankie visiting infrequently, because they were, as Benny so eloquently put it - going through their own shit in the aftermath of that mission.

All of them wrongly assuming that Santi had been to see you, that he was still seeing you.

All of them thinking that you were okay because Santi was always with you.

Fuck.

No wonder you felt abandoned. No wonder you believed him when he’d said -

He can’t think about that right now.

You must have felt like you lost all of them for a while.

“Check-in with Fish and Blue,” he snarls at Benny instead. “I want an update. They landed yesterday and should already be on their way here.”

Benny glances at Will but neither of them say anything as he fiddles with the comms.

Santiago makes a point of not looking at either of them, pointlessly cataloging the shit they did bring with them, mainly rappelling equipment, rations, and protective gear.

The comm in his ear statics and then Benny’s voice is reaching out for a status report.

Your voice comes back after only a few minutes. “Hey Ben,” you say, your voice clear but with a rift in it, a thick line of tension. “Heading your way. Should be there around 1900 hours. Sit tight.”

“Roger. Sitting tight.”

Santiago opens his own line. “Report,” he barks out, not satisfied with the way you sound, that slight crack in the edge of your voice.

“Cargo en route, Pope,” is the only response he receives.

“Roger, Blue,” he says. “Any trouble?”

There’s a long silence before you respond. “Minor incident. Intercepted in vehicle retrieval. One dead. No witnesses. Minimal injuries.”

“Injury report.”

“Fuck, Pope,” Will mutters, “They’ll be here in a couple hours. Leave it.”

“Fish is fine,” you say and Santiago’s heart seizes because that means - “I was grazed. Minimal impact. Over and out, see you soon Delta one.”

Your line clicks out, the static retreating.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“C’mon, Pope,” Will says, “Quit thinking with your dick. We’ve all been shot. She was only grazed. They’re fine and heading to us.” He sits back on the sand, Benny following suit.

He knows.

Fuck, he knows.

He tucks the information away - compartmentalizes it and hopes like hell it works.

You and Fish show up exactly when you say you will, radioing out to them when you were a couple klicks away.

Santiago and Will head up to help you hide the truck you arrive in, grab the duffle bags full of weapons.

The cache you’ve been provided with is well stocked and Will whistles when he sees it. “Fuck, Blue, you’ve got one hell of a contact.”

You smile tightly at him, limping around the front of the truck.

Santiago’s breath catches when he sees you.

It’s hell to see you looking like that again. Although you’re in jeans - the rest of the getup is similar enough to the fatigues you used to sport that it makes his chest tighten. Your hair is tucked back, a backward ball cap on your head, and he recognizes it as one of his, one he must have left at your place. Sunglasses are hitched up above your brow.

You have a strip of cloth tied around your upper thigh, and Frankie has one concerned hand under your elbow.

Santiago never wanted to see you like this again, never wanted to have to think about you being shot at again.

You ignore his stare and say to Frankie, “C’mere and help me calculate this fuel shit. We need to be sure it's more than enough to get us there and back with room for detours.”

Frankie opens the back door and lets you rummage around in another bag before turning back with a scrap of paper and pen.

When Santi just stands there staring at you, you turn and tilt your head. “Gonna help Ironhead with that shit, Pope?”

He flinches, can’t help himself when he hears you call him that, it takes him back to your porch, to the words he can never take back.

Santiago doesn’t say anything, catches Frankie roll his eyes as Santi turns and grabs a couple bags to drag down to the cove.

A few minutes later you and Fish make your way to the cave. “-wish we had a bit more but that should do.”

“It’ll be fine,” Fish assures you, sounding a lot less concerned than you.

“Uh huh,” you say, dropping next to Benny on the sand to take the canteen he offers you.

Will turns to look at you, his eyes flicking over the bandage on your leg. “What happened?”

“Exactly what I said. Some guy caught us grabbing the truck. He shot first, Fish took ‘im out.”

All cold practicality, Will answers, “Clean it properly.”

Fish laughs and raises a brow at you and Santi knows he had already told you to do it.

You roll your eyes and glance at Benny with an exasperated huff of breath.

Before, when you served together, Santiago would have read that look all wrong, would have seen something more than what it was. Now, he sees it for what it is - two younger siblings exasperated by their older brother.

You and Ben have been attached at the hip since the third grade, and have done nearly everything in your life together. You were best friends and nothing more than that. In fact the idea probably repulsed both of you.

He wonders what it was like for you then, when Benny suddenly wasn’t around anymore after the failed Colombia mission.

Santi hooks one of the hand guns into the holster on his hip, grabs a first aid kit, and crosses to you. “I got it.”

He holds out a hand and you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand and letting him haul you up. He leads you a little way from the group while they continue sorting the weapons out, nodding for you to lean back into the edge of the beached boat.

“Shit,” Santiago mutters when he crouches down and peels the makeshift bandage off of your thigh. “This is more than a graze, you got ate, mi vida.”

“Only a little. No bullet in me.”

He shakes his head and briskly cleans the wound, dresses it with a proper bandage and a wrapping of gauze around your thigh. He slides his knuckles down to your knee and glances up at you. “Fuck, Blue, please. Be careful.”

“You think I got shot on purpose?” You ask, amused rather than pissed for once, as he stands.

He licks his lips and plants his hands on his hips, not able to keep his eyes off you.

Fuck were you pretty.

Even in fatigues and sweating from the humidity, you were so fucking beautiful.

And then he notices the rings on your fingers, notices the ring that he gave you years ago now, and his mouth goes dry, his heart pumps like it’s trying to break the cage of his ribs.

“‘Course not. Just saying. Be careful.”

“Okay,” you agree. “When should we head out? Frankie -,” you call and the other man glances over at the two of you. “We thought 0400 hours, right?”

“Right,” he confirms quietly, “Early enough that we’ve got a bit of light but it's still dark,” he agrees.

“There ya go, Pope,” you say.

He doesn’t look away from you, can’t quite manage it. “You’ve got my hat.”

“My hat now,” you snip. “Left it in my house.”

“You ever gonna forgive me?” He doesn’t know why he asks, it's not like he deserves it.

“Dunno, Santi,” you say. “You ever gonna apologize?”

He clenches his jaw and walks away from you, announcing, “We’re out at 0400 hours. Sharp.”

The sun is only really starting to blaze alive when you park the truck at the edge of a canyon. “We gotta walk from here, y’all,” you say, slapping the map down between Will and Santiago in the front seat.

“Hooah,” Benny intones, popping open his door so you can slide out behind him.

When the truck is hidden in the foliage and you’re all geared up, you say, “So, I was thinking, I can split with you guys here, follow the ridgeline up so I can see farther-,”

“We aren’t splitting up again,” Santi says, lowering protective glasses over his eyes. “You’ll be able to see plenty in either direction from the ravine.”

“Are you sure-,”

“Yes,” he grits his teeth. “We’re wasting time, let's go.”

So you wrap the strap of your rifle around your neck and go.

You don’t talk as you move through the canyon and through the mountainside, up the steep rocky crags, Santiago at the head with a GPS and the coordinates.

Finding the correct ravine is surprisingly easy, and you peer over the side to see a mountain of snow at the bottom. “Looks like you guys will be digging.”

“Wonderful,” Frankie says. “You wanna trade? I’ll man the horizon.”

You smirk, “Nah, I’m good here.” You screw a silencer onto the end of your rifle and walk away, scouting for a position where you could easily see in all directions to cover them while they worked.

“Not too far,” Pope says into the comms and you don’t bother to turn, waving a hand above your head to show you heard.

You settle down, between two rocks, adjusting the scope on your rifle to make sure you have a clear view.

“Blue, check-in,” Frankie’s voice comes over the comm. “Pope can’t see you and has his panties in a twist.”

You chuckle and respond, “That’s the idea. Present and accounted for. How’s it going, boys?”

“Benny and Santi rappelling down now.”

You don’t respond, focusing instead on your task, wondering how long it would take them to get all of it out of the ravine, if they would have to dig it out of the snow, if it was even still there, how long it would take to haul out to the truck.

Two hours pass in which the horizon in all directions is clear, and which the boys stay silent in your ear.

And then - “Fuck yeah! Money’s still here baby!” Benny nearly deafens you and the others. A long string of curses and hyena-like laughter follows.

“Shut the fuck up, Ben! Jesus,” Will mutters. “Just get it the fuck up here.”

“Keep your head on straight,” you say into your comm. “We’re not taking more than we can handle, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Santi says. “Of course.”

“I’m serious. I will leave you here, Pope.”

“I’ll leave him here,” Frankie adds.

The rest of the day passes by slowly, and without incident. Occasional comments come through but nothing that warranted a response until near sundown, “Come on back, Blue,” Will says.

“Done already?”

“For tonight.”

When you approach the camp, duffle bags are strewn around.

Many more than you expected.

“Jesus, you sure this isn’t all of it?” You assess the amount of bags. “Think we might have to be okay with this.” You shoulder your M16, “We should start moving it to the truck now.”

The guys glance at each other. “C’mon,” you whine, annoyed with them. “Y’all really gonna let money go to your head again?”

“You don’t want any?”

“Any is more than none, which is what I have now,” you say. “And no, Ben, I don’t need a Ferrari.”

They all glance at each other, then, “One more run tonight and then we’re done. We’ll move the cash in the morning, and be on the boat by the afternoon.”

You roll your eyes, “Fine, whatever.”

Benny hoots and goes about getting strapped into the harness again, Will following suit.

“That was kind of you,” Frankie says, coming to stand next to you with arms folded across his chest. “We coulda used your level head last time.”

You feel your heart sink, surprised Fish would say anything about it to you. “Yeah,” you say softly, watching Santi help Ben and Will start down the cliffside. “I know it's my fault that it went down the way it did. I’m sorry.”

Fish is silent for a few minutes as you watch the boys, before he suddenly turns to you, “Wait, what? Your fault?”

You press your lips together, Will and Benny finally disappearing as the last light faded from the sky. “Threw off the team. Wasn’t here to-,”

“Hold on. We’re grown fucking men and you had the choice to say no. No one’s holdin’ that against you.”

You don’t answer, watching Santi, the broad line of his shoulders, the firm set of him as he keeps an eye on the ropes.

“Not everyone thinks that.”

“What, Pope?” When you don’t answer he continues, shaking his head. “God, if I know anything about Santiago it's that he’s upside down, head over heels, makes him look stupid, in love with you. And he has been since you and that fucker Ben rolled up to Delta like you already belonged.”

You swallow, not sure what to say, your throat dry as you rub your hands together and then stuff them under your armpits to keep them warm in the cooling air. “Oh yeah? Helluva way of showin’ it. He said I was fuckin’ useless. Called me a coward. Said anything that happened to y’all was my fault. And then Tom died. And you all were never around anymore, not even Benny.”

“Shit, honey,” he says softly. “We thought Santi was still going out there to see you every chance his dumbass got.” He pauses and then looks over at you, shifting to cradle his weapon in his arms. “As for that other shit, Pope says some shit when he gets mad, and no one gets under his skin better than you. You know nothing that happened down here was your fault. It was our fault, our choices.”

You bite the side of your cheek. “Thanks, Fish.”

“You can call it stupid if you want. It was.”

“It was stupid and you’re all greedy bastards,” you say, knocking a shoulder into his.

He smiles, “Yeah. But it might just work out this time.”

The night passes easily.

You don’t start a fire, and the guys are curiously silent about the prospect though you know it's smarter not to start one and draw attention to your position.

Benny takes the first watch and you end up sandwiched between Frankie and Santiago.

It takes all your willpower not to curl into him, the smell of him exactly as you remember, the heat of him, the press of him against you.

Right when you’re about to fall asleep, you feel Santi’s fingers curl through yours and squeeze gently, his lips at your ear. “I’m so fucking sorry, mi vida.”

The next morning, at first light, with most of the cash already transported to the truck, you spot movement on the ridgeline, and when you lift your scope to your eye and see bodies traveling down the rocky mountainside.

You call out a warning just as the first shot slams into the ground several feet from you.

You duck for cover before coming up on a knee to squeeze your own trigger, the silencer muffling the sound of the shot.

Santi turns and watches a distant body fall to the ground, as he too falls behind one of the many boulders.

“Hey, hey, what the fuck are we shooting at?” Ben yells at you as you grab him and yank him down beside you.

“We gotta go,” you spit out over the comms as Benny lifts his body away from yours to take a couple shots of his own, clearly felling his targets by the look on his face, “Looks like somebody patrols this area now. Probably because of you fuckers.”

“Frankie, Will, stay where you are,” Santiago says over the comms.

“What’s going on?” Will snarls back.

“Fuck just -,”

You pop off another shot, using hand signals to tell Santi to start moving his ass toward the treeline. He’s closer to your exit route than you and Ben. “They’re all down the fucking mountain - we’re about to be cut off. We need to go,” you say into the comms. “Grab that shit and let's go,” you say to Benny, pointing to the last duffle bag at your feet before gripping his tac vest as you start moving forward together against the rocks as fast as you dare.

You look ahead and note that Santiago isn’t moving, instead standing his ground and shooting back at the ridgeline, covering the two of you.

It’s a stupid fucking move. There were too many of them, too many shots for it to make a difference. But he’s clearly waiting for the two of you, the babies of Delta, to make it back to him before he moves off. The rest of them had always been overprotective of you and Ben though none of them would ever admit it. They know you’re both more than capable but that didn’t stop them from double and triple asking if you were sure you wanted to do something, or making it a priority to intervene when one of you were in trouble, especially Will when it came to you and Benny.

And while you hadn’t been here before, you know.

This is where Tom died. This is where they lost everything.

Santiago doesn’t like to lose.

“Fuck!” You can hear him shout, directing Benny to stop with a raised fist, moving back toward you instead away from you.

They’re close enough now that you can hear shouts, and you meet nearer to the trees, all three of you pressed behind a rock.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Benny is screaming, the noise muffled in your ear, your concentration fastened back on the moving targets, the bodies, the people. You take a steadying breath and line up your shots. “You’re going to get us fucking killed!” Benny continues. “What the fuck, man! We had it!”

You always were the best shot of Delta, and the people closest to you fall.

You can’t tell if they’re dead.

The clip is empty and you take a moment to reload, slamming the cartridge into place with more force than necessary.

“You really must think me fucking useless if you think I can’t move six feet without you!” You shout at Santiago, who grabs the two of you and shoves you ahead of him, crouched down low. “You fucker!”

“Fuck! It’s not about that-,” he starts, but you ignore him moving quickly over unsteady ground.

You and Benny are younger than the rest of the team by years, and it shows now, Santi panting as you run and cuss without a hitch in your breath. Ben cursing in front of you the whole way.

“You stupid fucker,” you snarl again, Benny echoing your sentiment as you pause again, bullets richoching around you.

Santi pants as he leans back against the rock for a moment, letting you rage against him, fear eating your heart because he had just ran at you. He had ran back to you for no fucking reason and now he might die with you and Benny. You raise yourself up to shoot back again, Benny taking shots to the right.

“They’re closing in, we need to move,” Benny says, radioing over the comms to warn Frankie and Will to have the truck ready and waiting.

You and Santi are silent, taking coordinated shots.

“Fuck! Why are there so many of them?” You grit your teeth, the recoil of the gun against you starting to bruise.

“They knew we lost that money, they’ve been waiting for someone to come poking around for it so they could get it,” Santi says, his breathing even again. “Probably set up patrols here after we came though.”

You glance over at him to ask why he hadn’t shared that thought before this moment, and feel your heart stop. Up the rockside and to the left, there at the edge of the rocks, a kid stands with a gun sighted up on Santiago.

“Santi,” you whisper, voice hoarse. And then so loud, you hurt you own ears, “Santi!”

He starts to turn but you reach over and grab him by the back of his neck, jerking him down, and using the leverage to haul yourself up above him. The kid shoots at the same time you do.

Your bullet lodges between his eyes, but the shot that would have split Santago’s skull in two, lodges deep into the fleshy part of you between your shoulder and your clavicle. You wobble and then crash back between Santi and Ben, not entirely sure what just happened.

You look down at yourself, where the bullet perfectly caught right at the edge of your skewed tac vest, just above your heart

Panic surges up through you suddenly and your vision clouds as you grit your teeth against the pain.

Santi grips your jaw hard, those dark fathomless eyes boring into you, shouting something at you.

But you can’t get enough breath into your lungs to feel like you can respond. “Fuck,” you whisper, touching the blood on your hoodie. One of Santi’s old hoodies, you hadn’t realized until now. “I think I’m hit,” you say as Santi slaps your hand away from the wound.

Blood gushes out of the hole in waves. “Blue, look at me,” Santi says, a sudden pressure on the wound making you bite down a howl. His hands are covered in red. Blood, it must be your blood. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Okay, Pope,” you whisper, the edge of your vision fading, “Fuck I think it hit my heart.”

You don’t hear his answer, the last thing you know is Santi and Ben leaning over you, dead panic on their faces but you can’t quite figure out why.

Carrying you to the truck, your eyes unfocused and glossy, feels a lot like carrying Tom’s corpse home.

Santiago doesn’t scare easy, but cradling your head in his lap while Ben cries his eyes out and snarls at Will to drive faster, scares him.

Frankie’s worried eyes turning back to assess you, scares him.

Will’s stoic silence, scares him.

But nothing comes close to the fear he feels at the prospect of having to carry home your corpse.

And suddenly that money, everything in the world, nothing matters to him but you - and it’ll be his fault if you die now.

He leans down over you, presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. There’s blood caked on your neck, crusting along the edge of your sweatshirt. Your ball cap and protective glasses are on the floor of the truck at his feet, stained a crimson that his brain can’t make sense of.

The graze of the bullet against your thigh was god’s warning to turn back, and he hadn’t heeded it.

Ruthless.

He’s always been ruthless.

And now maybe that ruthlessness really would get you killed.

He can’t really make himself understand it, why you would jump up like that and pull him out of the way.

“Santi,” you murmur, your breath sweet against his skin, your bloody fingers scrubbing against the stubble on his cheek. “Santi,” you whisper against his skin, the copper smell of you making him sick, makes him want to fucking vomit.

“Hold on, cariño,” he says gently. “We’re gonna get you home safe and sound.” But your skin is ashen, your lips chapped already and he knows there isn’t a chance in hell of you making it to the States alive without them addressing the mess that is your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he snarls when your eyes flutter closed again, your body going limp as you pass out. “Benny, grab that med pack. We’re gonna have to sew her up before she loses any more blood. She’s not gonna make it if we don’t.”

Pope rips back the straps of your tac vest, rips your sweatshirt open as Benny goes cool with determination, grounded and levelheaded even as tears slip down his nose. There’s no exit wound and so Benny passes over the supplies Santi needs to dig the bullet out of your shoulder.

He stuffs cloth in your mouth when you lurch and give a blood curdling scream, forceps squelching deep in the wound until he can finally rip the metal out of your shoulder.

He forces you to keep it in your mouth so you don’t break your teeth, bite your fucking tongue off, when they dump peroxide over the wound.

Benny holds you still after he hands Santiago the threaded needle, closes his eyes and takes a breath, before he unsteadily and messily sews your shoulder closed.

By the time he’s done with you, you’re so still he might as well have killed you himself.

Then

“Hey, killer,” Santiago says when you thrust open the front screen door with a toe.

“Hey yourself, old man,” you snipe at him, “Wanna help me out a little?”

Santi finishes wiping his hands on a dishtowel and moves to hold the door open for you.

You’re wearing ratty gym clothes, boxing gloves spilling out of your duffle bag, a couple of grocery bags fisted in your other hand.

Santiago gently takes the groceries from you and dumps them on the kitchen table as you wave out at Benny’s retreating jeep.

Ben obnoxiously lays on the horn all the way down the road, but it makes you laugh and so he doesn’t roll his eyes too hard at it.

“You weren’t here when I got in last night,” Santiago says when you beeline into the kitchen and dump your bag on the floor.

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else because you kiss him, your palms against his cheeks, the line of your body against his. When you pull away you smirk at him and peer at the breakfast he has started on your stove.

“Don’t you have your own house to go to?”

“My own house isn’t where you are.”

You laugh, bell bright, but he knows you think he’s just fucking with you. “You stay at Ben’s?”

“He lost last night and was pouting about it,” you say, unloading the grocery bags. “Me and Will stayed with him. Re-watched Predator for the millionth time. Knew we’d end up at the gym in the morning together anyways.”

Santi tucks his arms around you and drags you back against his chest, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck and then the shell of your ear. “Left me high and dry here, honey.”

“Oh, I’m sure you managed to entertain yourself, Santi.” You turn your head and bump your forehead against his temple. “You’ve got a hand don’t you?”

He scoffs, “That’s fuckin’ cruel. Expecting pussy and getting a hand.”

You turn in his grip and wind your arms around his neck, smiling and stretching against him like a cat. “Lemme shower and this pussy is all yours, babe.”

“Shower, breakfast, then pussy,” he says. “I know you didn’t eat this morning.”

You roll your eyes, “Hurts my feelings when you ignore me like this Santiago.”

“The last thing in the world I’m doing is ignoring you,” he says, cupping his hands under your ass to lift you onto the counter.

You settle back against the cabinets and he slots himself between your legs, running his hands up your thighs, beneath the fabric of your gym shorts. “You’re so pretty. Have I ever told you that?”

A grin splits your face, one he’s glad to see, one that had taken a year of counseling and fucking and boxing and bar nights to coax back out of you. “Sure,” you say.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Santiago licks his lips, takes your hands in his, the dozens of rings that line your fingers grazing his.

It was one of the things you’d started wearing to feel more like yourself again, to recapture your identity outside the military, outside Delta.

He traces the rings carefully for a moment when your voice reaches out to him again, your hand touching his jaw. “Santi?” you ask.

“I brought something back for you,” he says, squeezing your knee gently. “Stay here.”

He looks up and meets your eyes, searching the gaze he knows so well, and still coming back empty, still confused about what it all means to you, what he means to you. “Okay,” you say, “What is it?”

Instead of answering, he ducks out of the kitchen to rifle through his own bag that he left in the front hall the night before.

When he returns to you, you have one heel up on the counter, a cup filled with coffee at your side, picking bits of food out of the pan on the stove.

He knocks your heel down, jolting you, “Feet on the counter? Really?”

“It’s my fucking counter, Garcia,” you snap at him, but you smile when you say it.

“Fucking counter, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I mean I have fucked you there enough times, haven’t I?” He asks, watching you roll your eyes, tracking your every movement, unable to glance away from you.

You lift that same foot and shove at his shoulder as you sip your coffee. “Fuck off.”

Santi catches your foot, presses a kiss to your ankle and lets it drop again so he can slot himself between your legs again, holding up the ring he has pinched between two fingers in his other hand.

Your eyes lock onto the gold, lips parting. “Found it at a market in Bogotá. Polished it up on the way back. Thought you’d like it for your collection.”

Gingerly, as though the ring is made of smoke and not metal, you reach out to take it from him. “It’s beautiful,” you say, examining the stones embedded in the gold.

Santi takes it back from you, and examines your hands, the many, many rings that stack on your fingers. “Which finger you want it on, mi vida?”

You wiggle your right ring finger and he slips it into place. It's a perfect fit.

He looks up at you, he means to tell you in that moment, that there’s no one else, that there’s only you, that this thing between you is solid and real and he wants no one else, ever. That you’re his and he’s yours.

That you are his girl.

But the words die on his lips as soon as he looks at you, and then you’re sliding off the counter and kissing him so hard, he feels like he might bruise.

“Why don’t you shower with me and we can kill two birds with one stone?” You ask. “I get clean and you get pussy.”

He holds you so tight he feels you exhale a sharp breath, tilting his head over yours, brows pulled together as he watches you, watches the widening of your eyes.��

“All for a ring?” he undercuts his own fucking plan, his own feelings.

“It’s a pretty ring.”

Now

They have to leave you in the hotel they check into, to meet with the bank, to deposit their fucking money.

Fifty million and it feels like nothing.

Benny and Will wait with you while he and Fish go to the bank first, and then switch places.

You’re awake when they get back and Santi wants to cry. Fish pretends there’s something he forgot in the lobby and leaves.

Santi pulls up a chair next to you and takes your hand. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He murmurs.

“Was thinking I didn’t want your brains all over me,” you say, weak fingers tightening on his. “You did a shit job stitching me up, by the way. But I think it saved my life.”

Santi says your name quietly, picking up your hand, your skin clammy against his. “Well our combat medic was out.”

He closes his eyes, gritting his jaw, trying to wash away the image of your prone body on two different boats, carrying you with Benny away from the line of fire like you were already gone from the world.

“Why?” He asks again. “Fuck, why would you do that?”

You grip his hand weakly, “Because. Because you - probably the same reason you ran toward me instead of away. Because I knew you were about to die and couldn’t let that happen.”

“And what if you fucking died, huh?”

“Guess I’d be dead then.”

He winces but doesn’t let you look away from him.

You swallow, “Help me sit up? I want some water.”

Santi hurries to help you sit up, listening to the way you groan tightly before he fetches a bottle of water for you and unscrews the cap.

Your hand shakes when you lift the bottle to your lips, and he has to cup the bottom of it to hold it steady for you.

When you’ve drunk your fill, you handle the bottle back and yank down the strap of your sports bra to look at the gauze webbed around your shoulder, the blood that slowly begins to stain through because of your movement.

You sigh and then fiddle with your rings, his ring on your finger, where it's never moved since he placed it there. “Santi,” you murmur. “I know we never said it - but I love you. That’s why it hurt so goddamn bad when you left. It just confirmed that it really never mattered to you. And this - this stupid fucking money - I know how you get. I couldn’t believe - couldn’t believe you just dropped me like that. I told myself you didn’t mean it. That we’re both mean sons of bitches when we’re pissed but then you never came home.”

You take a long stuttering breath, and his heart feels like it's stopped beating, like god has a boot on his chest. “I never woulda done that to you. You left it up to Benny to tell me what the fuck happened. I didn’t just lose you, I lost all of you. You know what that’s like? To have your best friend, who you’ve never been apart from for more than a couple days, just drop you? To have - to have you - for better or worse, the man I fucking love - abandon me?”

Is this what it takes to get him to spill his guts to you?

Having you half dead in his arms, your eyes lined with circles, your skin tone off by several shades, telling him things he already fucking knows?

He cups your cheeks in his palms gently, swipes away the tears that fall. Santiago hasn’t seen you like this in years, since you finally started coming back to yourself.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck, mi vida, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Santi curls his arms around you, shifts you on the bed until he can lie down with you, the pressure off of your injured shoulder as you turn on your side to fit yourself against him.

“I can never take back those things I said to you. But you have to know - I didn’t mean a single word of it. Nothing that happened on that mission was your fault. Not a fucking thing. As soon as things went sideways the first time, the only thing I could think was thank god she’s safe at home.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and you feel more tears leak down your cheeks. “You are the best shot we have - proved that a couple times over yesterday, I think. You were never just a medic, you know that. You’ve beaten me in hand to hand more than enough times, all the rest of those fuckers too. You’re the best of us, honey. I was just so goddamn scared you’d never forgive me for the things I was about to do - you had it right about Lorea and the money and my motivation.”

You feel the movement of his throat against you, arms tightening by a fraction, before he says, voice hoarse, “And I’ve always loved you. Always. I never knew how to say it. You’ve been my only girl for so fucking long.”

You shove his shoulder gently and feel him stiffen but you only bring his forehead to yours, peering into those eyes that were always so intense, that missed nothing, and read you like a book.

You scrub a hand over his stubbled cheek, the pull of the hair against your hand soothing. “You know I love you, Santiago.”

“I love you,” he answers sincerely. “Sorry it took so goddamn long.”

You pull him down into a kiss, your shoulder aching, a biting pain that lances across your chest. “Me too,” you murmur, gingerly unbuttoning his jeans, careful of the very messy stitches in your shoulder. You hiss through your teeth and Santi stops your hand.

“No, your shoulder-,”

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. You just have to be careful with me. You just have to be gentle.” You peer up at him, into those brown eyes that feel so like home to you, like the warmth of a summer forest. You touch the hinge of his jaw, “Just be gentle with me.”

Santi’s eyes clench closed and then he’s nodding and kissing your forehead, all resolve gone. You thought the strings of your heart had been wrapped around his fingers all these years. You never imagined that you held his too.

He pulls away from you to undress, since you won’t be able to do it for him in your state, and you use the opportunity to push your shorts and underwear off with your good arm.

And then he’s back, naked against you, one arm under your neck to support your head, the other curving around your knee to hitch over his hip, pressing so close to you. You feel the ridges of his cock against your pussy, already wet.

“Just like this,” he murmurs to you, never breaking his eyes from yours, his gaze just as steady and intense as it always has been, but now there’s a thread of vulnerability that makes you duck your head to press a kiss over his heart. Your good hand against his cheek, the other carefully skimming along his abdomen, the thick muscle and padding he carries.

You both watch as he slides into you, watch your bodies join slowly, the stretch of him so fucking good and heavy.

Your breath leaves you in a gust and Santi pauses, more gentle with you than he’s ever been. “Fuck. You have to tell me if I’m hurting you. Okay?”

You meet his gaze, rolling your hips against his, “Santi.”

He moves then, meeting the slow thrust of you. “Yeah, baby, tell me what you need.”

Instead of biting something out at him like you usually would, you cup both hands against his cheeks as he tightens his arm around your waist, bringing you that much closer.

Santi leans his forehead against yours, and neither of you shut your eyes. You can’t, you have to know he’s there and real and everything that he’s said the last few minutes is true.

He’d always been better at doing than saying and now is no different - his gaze unwavering, making love to you so softly you feel a tear bead and slip down your nose.

Santiago swipes it away with his thumb as he shifts the arm beneath your neck so he can cup the back of your skull, fingers digging through your hair.

The pleasure in your belly builds slowly, but that almost feels secondary to the other things you’re feeling - like you finally belonged, like you were no longer adrift, like you finally found your home.

You press your hand flat over his sternum and feel the thrumming of his heart against your hand.

“It beats for you,” he says, closing his eyes briefly to press his nose into your hair.

You almost want to laugh, at how corny it is, if you didn’t know for certain that he’s never said anything more sincerely.

Sweat beads along his salt and pepper curls, the smell of him like his cologne and cheap hotel soap and sweat.

You move your hips more frantically, Santiago matching you thrust for push, when you bury your nose in his neck and inhale sharply.

“I’m close,” you murmur. “Please, Santi.”

“Look at me, baby,” he says. “Lemme see those pretty eyes when you come for me.”

You meet his eyes, trace the long sweep of his lashes with your gaze when the pressure in your belly snaps and you cry out.

Santiago captures your lips, swallowing down your moan, as he presses a hand to the back of your neck, fingers slowly sliding down your spine. His thrusts become sloppy and slow and his brow is furrowed.

When you whisper, “Come for me, Santi,” he exhales sharply into your mouth and comes inside you, hips slowly stuttering to a stop. “I love you.”

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, if I don’t love you more than I deserve to.” He tugs you close, careful of your shoulder which aches more than you’re willing to admit in that moment.

But you’ve been shot before, and it's not as bad as it could be.

“Yeah,” you coo. “But I want it anyway. I want all your fucked up love.”

Santi laughs and it sounds like a sob, and you curl your fingers through his hair tugging lightly. “I meant to - the day I gave you the ring. I meant to clarify that day that we - ,”

“Mhm,” you hum against him. “Is that what this ring means? You claimed me?”

“Means we belong to each other.”

You nod, “Move in when we get back.”

“I’m gonna put in a pool in your backyard, that deck is begging for one. Gotta have somewhere to keep the boys entertained when I need to fuck you.”

You laugh and then wince at the movement in your shoulder. “Backyard is all yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Just then someone knocks at the door. “We have the contract for you to sign if you’re done fucking,” Frankie calls, loud enough that the whole hall probably hears.

You groan but Santi just keeps gazing at you, lips pouted, “And a dog. We gotta get a dog. And a new couch, I’m done sitting on Ben’s cheeto dust.”

“Anything. As long as you’re there.”

His breath catches and he looks like he can’t quite breathe. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “As long as you’re there.”

Your heart beats so hard, you think it's trying to break free from your chest to join with his.

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac

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heliosoll · 11 months

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how did you deal with shifting not "working", like waking up in your cr after u went to sleep intending to wake up in your dr? like i know thats not a problem for you now, but before you shifted for the first time, how did you deal with that? for me, once i shift for the first time i have it scripted that ill be able to shift instantly etc. and ik technically thats true now, but after 3yrs of not seeing any progress, aiming to wake up in my dr is all i can muster. :/

Hm... if you mean how I dealt with it emotionally then:

I know it can be hard but don't blame yourself or insult yourself. You tried your best and that's what matter. Always be kind to yourself, even if you don't quite believe it yet!

Persist! Again, I know it's hard when it's been so long, but you've come this far. Ask yourself this question and answer sincerely, do you really want to give up? Some people might say yes, but if the answer is no, that's more than enough reason to keep going. You will shift. Believe in yourself more!

Take breaks when you need to! Don't let yourself get burnt out or spiteful toward shifting. If you need to chill and not think about it for a while, that's okay!

Try to stay motivated! Remember how you felt when you first discovered shifting or feel the emotions you know you'll have once you shift. Immerse yourself in your DR!

Now, if you meant what steps I took to actually shift for the first time after "failing" for a year:

First, failure in shifting doesn't exist. Trust me, I know how that sounds, but it's true. It simply doesn't exist. Whether you think of every action as a shift or not, failure isn't real. It's perceived. It's okay to feel bad and angry but once you've felt those emotions, take a deep breath and remind yourself that you are in control and that you literally cannot fail.

As a side note on the "failure not real" thing, the only thing "holding you back" is you. Now listen I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad, okay? I understand how shitty that sounds and how your first reaction is probably "fuck off". I get it! I had the same reaction back then. But literally nothing and no one can stop you from shifting. Not the method, the time of day, the universe, or any deity or spirit. Nothing! NOTHING is holding you back. I know it can be hard, but getting comfortable with the idea that it's all you and learning how to not blame outside factors will really help in your shifting journey.

Most of the time when people are "failing", it's because of a belief they have. Maybe they still think shifting is fake and have the belief that it will never work. Maybe they believe they're not powerful enough or worthy enough. Maybe they think shifting is inherently hard and takes some people a lot of time to get there. Maybe they think methods matter. I don't know what beliefs you have, but when you get the time, truly go over each and every one. Do you have a belief that could be affecting your shifts?

If that's the case, start telling yourself that you'll shift no matter what. I really need you to understand that you can shift whenever you want, regardless of everything. You don't need a perfect self concept. You don't need perfect mental health. You can have limiting beliefs and still shift. Nothing matters! Truly let that sink in. Internalize the fact that shifting is all up to you and what you're telling yourself.

And above all, have fun!!!!! Too many people suck all the fun out of shifting for themselves. They create these intense rituals they don't even like, force themselves to try methods they hate, constantly insult themselves, and get jealous of other shifters. It's awful! Shifting is supposed to be fun! It's not supposed to be something that takes all your energy or something that makes you miserable. Seriously, if shifting is ever making you feel bad, take a step back and reassess some things. Let yourself have fun with shifting and I promise you'll see a lot more results!

#quick how many times have i said the word truly on this blog #i think i'm going insane #letters 🎀#reality shifting

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heartfulselkie · 11 months

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Love Letters too?

So this is an idea that's been sitting in the back of my mind for a long time and I got to thinking about it again recently thanks to discord conversations.

This AU comes from me thinking about this concept art and some discussion about it that was floating around awhile back.

Basic premise is that this is a non-Miraculous AU Adrien and Felix are twins. Felix is more or less the same as he is in canon except he obviously lives in Paris and attends the same school as the Miracuclass.

However in this AU Adrien has never gone to public school because of a disability/often poor health. (I'm still trying to decide what exactly but I've been considering chronic fatigue/balance problems.) Because of this, he's homeschooled and housebound a lot of the time unless he's doing photoshoots etc. because Gabriel is still worst parent to ever parent.

Through some shenanigans (and Felix's reluctant involvement) Adrien and Marinette become anonymous pen pals. Even though they don't know the face behind the letters they receive, they become very attached to each other through those letters.

Here's a little snippet from my drabbles:

With the envelopes safely in hand though, Adrien could now take his time in appreciating them. He smiled as his thumb traced over the embossed shape of a sticker. It was how she sealed them. A cute sticker to hold the envelope closed, which he would then meticulously open again so that the stick would remain intact. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked at the envelopes in hand, reminding himself of which particular decorative seal they had. One had a pink flower, another had a peach coloured macaroon and the last had a little black cat face. He chuckled at the cat in particular, because he suspected that it hadn’t always been black but had in fact been coloured in by her. He would read each letter in turn, but it was that one he went for first. Cher Chaton, The suggestions you made to my latest project were just what I needed. You were right for me to need to step back and look at it with a fresh eye. I finally figured out where I was going wrong and now the dress is finally coming together! And I know you suggested green (yes I got your hints about it being one of your favourite colours) but I think lime green would be a bit too much. But don't worry Minou, I still listened to you. Green makes an excellent accent colour with black after all. Adrien smile grew as he continued to read through the letter. Her writing, while a little bit smudged and wobbly in places, was so precise in its detail and description that he could easily imagine the dress she'd been toiling over for the better part of a month now. It helped that he knew what a mermaid skirt was or a Peter Pan collar was, but even so he could visualise her delicate fingers meticulously sewing the fabric together.

I've spoken about this AU before, but it has has gone through a lot of shifts and changes sicne then. Mainly I've been reconsidering if I want it to be a non-Miraculous AU or not, because keeping the kwamis and miraculous involved does open up for more love square fun.

There was also a number of ideas the I lifted from my original concept for this AU and transferred to one of my other fics, since that fic gave way more space and scope for those ideas to work.

Sadly this fic just hasn't taken a forward spot in my active WiP rotation. I do really want to write it, but I want to make sure I do a fair job depicting Adrien's disability and struggles. Something like that just takes time and research (such as making sure that whatever disability I give him works narratively among other things) and I'd hate to do it poorly.

Ask Game

#opakitty #ask game #ask selkie

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 1 month

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so much on Ficino & Plato & Sex

your daily Marsilio blogging continues, this time with the gentle reminder of the deep misogyny of most homoerotic anything in the medieval and early modern period (among other times as well).

At the same time, I appreciate Marsilio being like: Fuck this, we can do the Petrarchan model of Ideal Love too. Just watch me and Giovanni yearn for twenty years.

I do appreciate that in the whole of Ficino's writing he rarely, if ever, refers to sex between men as sinful. He uses terms of disgraceful, filthy, worthy of disgust, ugliness etc. but he uses those terms equally for heterosexual sex conducted for pleasure alone with no intention of making the babies. Corporality on the whole - in all its forms - is the problem. (And the contemporary medical hang-ups around the expulsion of semen aside.)

But it's still not sinful, it just makes it harder to climb the ladder of love to salvation. Some might think this a small thing (he still reads it as bad!) but there's a huge gulf of difference between a priest from 1478 saying X is disgraceful but never using the language of sin around it.

Granted, Ficino doesn't harp too much on sin in general. I would be very curious to go back in time, get him a little wine drunk, and ask him his actual, not-Church approved views.

Ficino loves trying to reconcile everything through Plato. Marsilio "What if We Applied Plato to This Situation??" Ficino.

The desire/beauty thing - you can just see his struggle in trying to make it all work and never quite succeeding. It's one of the many things he and Pico debated with great animation. Pico was anti-the physical desire part of Ficino's formula while Ficino believed salvation/finding Philosophic Truth (i.e., God) required it.

I do really love Ficino's broadly positive read on humanity. He always goes in with a: People Are Good approach to a situation.

I love this little caveats he gives in his writings. The bit: "Love, even when mixed with an inderior appetite [for sex], does not cease meanwhile to raise the soul as far as it is able."

Giovanni having a panic about the state of their souls as they lie about in the grass and Ficino thinking fast on how to assuage him. "Umm, look, this isn't ideal, and we really should try harder to resist. But ... uh... Love is Good. Right? Our Love is Good and holds no Evil, correct?'

Giovanni, 'Yes, that is correct.'

Ficino, 'Great, so because our Love is Good and our Souls naturally desire Truth and Love is always working to help raise our souls up to Truth - even when we uhhhhh slip up, shall we say--'

Giovanni, 'We purposefully went into a remote field to commit sodomy. This wasn't an accidental slip up, Marsilio. You even checked to make sure you had time enough after this to confess and seek absolution so you can say mass on Sunday.'

Ficino, 'Slipped up. Could have happened to anyone. Anyway, even when that happens Love is still raising our souls up as far as it is able. So what I'm saying is, don't worry about it.'

the knots this man will tie himself in to try and make it ok to accidentally, whoopsie daisy, sleep with men. That full quote from him on how homosexual consorting (sex, that is what he means quite literally) is part of spiritual procreation is really something else.

I also think the caveat he includes of "of course, naturally, when you're horny you should go to your wife to make sure you're doing sex Properly" is doing a lot of interesting work there.

"Giovanni and I loving each other is necessary for OUR PHYSICAL HEALTH OK??"

Technically, he's not wrong. In the sense that being able to openly and honestly love/be loved by who it is you desire - regardless their gender - is incredibly important to mental health which impacts physical health.

mess! mess! mess!

this is super interesting. That Ficino was attempting to figure out how to guide people through reciprocal love in a world where that wasn't normal to navigate.

All of Ficino's back and forth on sex, desire, beauty, love is just so telling of how much he wanted to resolve the issue and how knotted everything was for him (and he wasn't alone, obviously).

ok I'm done inundating everyone for now.

#marsilio ficino #marsilio blogging #neoplatonism #early modern history #15th century #giovanni cavalcanti #renaissance italy #renaissance florence #Marsilio sourcing

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allsadnshit · 1 year

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As someone with chronic stomach problems, I absolutely love how clean and carefully you eat. I always get talked to about my grocery choices and I have to explain how much bad food can really break me, but I'm glad there's someone who understands the struggle of taking care of your body by what you put into it. <333

lol yes everyone I know definitely rolls their eyes at me behind my back because I am so serious and meticulous about food but that's just typical able bodied perception of food and diet thinking it's "boujee" like I'm a Whole Foods wellness mom but I'm literally out here trying to save my own life because I experience chronic illness that has no management protocol or cure besides repeated surgery and other medically invasive options that cause other harm to me and I am not able bodied so I can't just ignore it or let it keep progressing if I want my body to work well enough to hold a job and have a life!

People don't see that getting to choose how you spend your money whether you have a lot of it or not is ultimately a privilege and a luxury! Of course I've come to love food and find many different meaningful connections to it in my life like culture, heritage, sustainability, etc but to be real if I don't care what I eat and if I don't care where my food is sourced or what pesticides it's covered in my body won't be able to function and my illness spreads faster and harder and I will lose more mobility and that means I can't work and can't live.

There's times where I truly do NOT have the funds to spare and I STILL buy only the best quality food I can because 1.my body responds extremely negatively to chemically processed foods especially when it's dairy and meat products 2. I care about workers rights and I don't buy food that was farmed through inhuman labor wages and practices 3.I just on a personal note not only related to health, have no desire to eat super processed non food edible items i grew up on because they aren't real food and I have a bad history with them?Dyes and gums and additives are gross even if you don't have health issues, you just might not learn about it unless out of necessity like how I did.

So yeah, people can roll their eyes at what butters milks and meats I buy and how specific I am but guess what? I don't get to have a fat ass savings account because of my health, that money has to go to every little detail of what I eat so what they are really mocking is disability, allergies, and illness that many people who have to spend all their money on specific diets. They just don't know cause they don't live it! And I forgive that, but they can eat ass if they want to tell someone with chronic pain so debilitating they've had eating disorders and surgeries trying to resolve it how they should spend their money. Modern western medicine doesn't treat everyone equally, not everyone has resources beyond their personal means to reach for. Some of us have illness that doesn't have billion dollar funding and we do what we have to! And for lots of people all they can control is what they eat.

That's the reality! Food is beautiful medicine, and if you never have to learn that good for you! But it's my life and I have decided to love it loudly and take pride in what's it's done for me.

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marshallfan99 · 9 months

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Happy 10th Anniversary, PAW Patrol!!!

Wow, I can't believe it's already been 10 years...it feels like it was just recently that I was sitting there in the living room of my family's vacation rental home in front of the TV and watching the premiere episode with my brothers...and then spending the rest of the week in front of the TV watching new episodes every day because I couldn't do anything else with a giant cast on my dominant arm. Marshall and the other pups kept me occupied during that otherwise painful vacation, and I've stuck with PAW Patrol ever since.

(That's only ONE of the MANY Marshall moments that cheered me up and made me laugh during that week.)

(And here's another one...also relatable since I'm always falling down stairs and stuff 😅)

This show has helped me through so many tough times in my life, like depression, anxiety, etc. It acts as a great escape from reality, an amazing source of comfort, something that's easy to just turn on and watch when I need to unwind or want something I can have lighthearted fun with, it's easy to just turn it on after meltdowns or when my brain is fried and veg out to it since it's harmless fun that doesn't cause intense emotional responses from me, and I even binge it during nights where I have insomnia! It's so important to me, and it even saved my life a couple times...yep, that's right, the pups have saved me too, that's how much of an impact they've had on me. They've taught me so many things as well, from the importance of teamwork, to never giving up when things get "ruff" (hehe, sorry I had to, that's my inner Marshall at work 😅), to always looking out for your friends and helping them whenever you can, to "Do my best, and forget the rest!", to the very important message of you don't have to have superpowers to be a hero (this one was WAY before Mighty Pups was a thing).

(Seriously this is one of my mottos, thanks for that lesson, Marshall!)

(Had to put a Mighty Pups GIF in here after ending the paragraph by mentioning it lol)

I never stopped liking PAW Patrol even during the time I had to take a break from it for my mental health reasons, and I actually missed it so much during my time away from it. Eventually I decided I couldn't stay away any longer and came back to it with the goal of using it to help me overcome my severe PTSD siren phobia, which is why I had to step away in the first place...and it's working! I can actually watch it now without freaking out and going into panic mode which is great because now I can watch my favorite show with no problems, just like I used to!

When PAW Patrol premiered back in 2013, it VERY quickly became a special interest for me even though I was NEVER in the target age range for it, being in my early teens when it premiered, and I'm also actually afraid of dogs in real life...cartoon dogs like the PAW Patrol pups are cool though, and Marshall is my favorite cartoon dog of all time, and he's actually tied with a Pokemon (another special interest of mine) character for my number one favorite fictional character of all time! He's so relatable, adorable, funny, and has a truly PAWsome personality! Also the fact that he is TWO THIRDS of 911, BY HIMSELF is pretty amazing too in my opinion. Unfortunately his skills aren't needed much anymore in the newer seasons, which makes me kinda sad. I wish he got more screentime in the newer seasons...but instead it's always Chase and Skye now. I am still hoping for him to get his own focus movie though. I'm holding myself back from going on and on about Marshall this time, I've done that enough in my Marshall appreciation post and this whole account already and this is supposed to be about PAW Patrol as a whole anyway, not just him 😅

(The most PAWsome team ever!)

My parents don't really approve of me getting and playing with the toys and merch, but I can still get it thanks to my grandma who knows how important PAW Patrol is to me...in fact, I just got a couple of Mighty Pups t-shirts (because of the upcoming Mighty Movie) thanks to her, one of them featuring a huge image of Mighty Marshall (of course, that one is my favorite), the other one featuring an image of Mighty Chase, Marshall, Rubble, and Skye with the text, "Mighty Pup Power!" I was so thrilled to learn that there are officially licensed PAW Patrol shirts in adult sizes and had to get some! If anyone else wants to get some PAW Patrol shirts in your size, Amazon has plenty of adult-sized PAW Patrol shirts to choose from, with some PAWsome designs too! I'm so happy that the creators know that this show has a strong teen/adult fanbase, and acknowledge us by making shirts that fit us! And I'm so happy that this show exists!

(This is my favorite part of the opening theme!)

(Cute dancing pups from the movie!)

This has been a long rambly post, but I really wanted to post something for PAW Patrol's 10th anniversary, and talk about how much it means to me. Growing up autistic and with no friends, just bullies for the majority of my life because of it, made me turn to the TV for comfort, and I often saw the characters on TV shows I watched as my friends. I had a very lonely life and when PAW Patrol premiered, I found seven new friends in the pups and Ryder (with Marshall being my best friend), and I tuned in for every new episode when I could, to watch their latest adventures. Starting with Everest, each time a new pup (or cat) has been added to the team has felt to me like I also gained a new friend as well, even though I do have actual friends now, the PAW Patrol still feel like friends to me. It wasn't a "phase" like my parents had always said, it still isn't a "phase"...it's a HUGE part of my life and I'm extremely grateful that PAW Patrol is still going strong even after 10 years and 10 seasons.

Happy 10th, PAW Patrol! And here's to many more years and adventures to come in the future!

#paw patrol #paw patrol 10th anniversary #happy 10th paw patrol!#seriously i can't believe it's already been 10 years!#special interest #long post #plenty of gifs to break it up though #paw patrol appreciation post #i love this show so much #this franchise means a lot to me #marshall talks #marshall rambles...a lot 😅

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chubbyheadquarters · 1 year

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Hey.

I know it's been a really long time since I've posted anything.

And the reason? Multiple unfortunately.

The first was family issues. I won't go into details, but with all sorts of problems coming up, along with financial issues, I couldn't dedicate time to writing/responding. Hopefully, with the issues being resolved things can be more peaceful.

The second reason being my mental health. The end of last year hit me really hard with multiple things happening, so I had to take more time away. I was just having a hard time...stabilizing? But after some time, I think I'm in a better place now.

The third was a getting ill. This year hasn't started off well, with me getting punched with sickness to the full, and I've been trying to recover as fast as I can, taking medicine and such, getting sleep, etc. I...was also fucked with bppv, or vertigo for short. It stuck around for WAY longer than expected, and I couldn't exactly do much without almost falling over every hour. Thankfully though, I think it's safe to say that it's gone now & I'm doing a hell of a lot better than before, so that's great. Still, I'm gonna take it easy since my poor brain is a pile of mush.

And the last one being anticlimactic-

I just had major writing block.

When I had free time, I came here and to other platforms to try and find inspiration. Hoping something could help get me back into the groove.

I still did a bit of writing here and there, trying to get some of the requests semi-done or done, some of which I did, but others-

I couldn't write anything.

Nothing really felt good enough to post. I like writing, and I want the requester to be happy with what they get. But with the way my mind works, I hold myself to a really high standard, with me trying to make everything absolutely perfect(grammar and sentence structure wise) or add details that the reader may not care about, trying to add words and write in a way that isn't "me", per say. I'm scared that people may not like what I put out and my anxiety does not help one bit.

I've been trying to not be as hard on myself as I usually am, and it's...a work in progress. But it's a bit better now. I know I'm not gonna get everything right, whether it be the grammar or the way I word things, so I always try to keep that in mind.

But I've also been trying to improve my writing for another reason.

Like I stated before, with financial issues hitting me and my mom, I'm gonna need some way to help out some more. So I've been thinking about setting up a Kofi and seeing if there are any other ways to earn money from writing/drawing. It'll be more of an optional thing, but it's one I'm putting up on my platforms. And there will be an exchange for donations, like writing a one shot or having a sketch drawn for a small donation. I haven't quite figured everything out yet, price wise and all, but hopefully I will soon.

To those who have requested, I'm very sorry for the extremely late responses. I'm sure some people have moved on, and that's totally fine! I'll still get them out as soon as I can.

I hope this explains my sudden disappearance and I once again apologize to everyone. Hopefully I'll be back for good and get my full mojo back.

#author speaking #author notes #serious talk

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vizthedatum · 7 months

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This is a vent post from a traumatized person undergoing trauma flashbacks and severe period pain

CW: idk, all the triggers This is what my ex-spouse wanted of me: to obey, to be their human fleshlight, to cook and clean without support, to drive but not learn how to drive themselves, to cut out everything they didn't like, to be their toy, to not be disabled, to be monogamous, to be passionless but only having passions that they approved of, to sleep on a mattress on the floor with no regard to my health or the fact that I've had back surgery in my mid-twenties and need support, to keep flaring while they kept pushing me into stressful situations, to tell my therapist how I was the problem, to tell people that my behavior was making them suicidal, etc.

Since I could not fulfill these things, they mentally and psychologically tortured me. They were "relieved" when I broke up with them even though they still wanted to be married (what?!). I'll say it: they wanted me to off myself. There is no other way. They must have wanted me to just do it. Then they could sob and get sympathy from their friends - "Oh Pri was so unhinged, but I miss them so much - oh no, I'm just going to use this as an excuse to be stoned all the time (even though I have been stoned for the past several years) without taking any accountability because I'm right all the time - I don't need therapy or take preventable health care measures like covid boosters, physical health checkups, my cavities filled, my migraines checked out, etc. because I'm abled enough to work my six-figure job without getting any extra care! If I do have trouble, I'll just cry to my mom and pander to my family who I don't even spend time with - oh woe is me, Pri was sooooo abusive even though I screamed at them and tantrummed at them so that they could do nothing but stay on the bed and/or couch all day - what an abusive loser. They would have made me permanently disabled with all of their risky social behaviors and gotten me sick with covid again. I'll always hold them in moral contempt for giving me covid. oh wait, I'll just complain to my ex who I also claimed abused me - she'll validate me! I'll make myself feel better by giving exorbitant amounts of money to my friends in active addiction! Then I'll cry some more when they eventually die! Hmm maybe I should create an emacs file about all of the partners who I think abused me and are doing better now. Maybe I should create a separate file of all my addict trans friends who died in their twenties. Yeah, that'll help me. Welp, back to programming and gaming all day while pretending to be a nice non-binary person who likes being friends with rapists who also don't take any accountability."

#trauma #narcissistic abuse #cw #cw suicide #cw addiction #neurodivergence #queer #heartbreak #cw substance abuse #cw drugs #cw abuse #domestic violence #psychological abuse #emotional abuse #i am aware I'm spiraling instead of going to sleep

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sadhoglet · 9 months

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wow a lot's happened since i last posted here

I got double-engaged!! I have two fiancees and i love them both. I live with one and the other is long-distance but we're all gonna live together one day, and there's even some cute triad energy going already/flirting between the two of them omg it's so nice

I left Panera briefly, went to a job where i felt like a zombie and everyone was super unfriendly, and came back. I'm hoping to get another job that pays better/has better benefits but i guess i'm stuck for now.

My third gf ghosted me over the course of six months, barely speaking to me unless i messaged first, never trying to hold a conversation, etc., so I ended things. It had dragged on for so long that it barely felt like we were together anymore anyway.

My best friend also ghosted me??? She found a new bff and group of friends and suddenly stopped talking to me, despite us being super close and talking every day before that. I still work with her and I feel super awkward around her like....she basically replaced me despite saying a lot of shit about being best friends, sharing a lot of personal and painful things with each other, etc. It really feels like I was an emotional crutch for her while she was getting out of her shell, until she met her people and then I was thrown away. I feel super used and gross about it still. The worst part is, when i messaged her saying I felt uncomfortable and it was clear we weren't friends anymore, she was like, "wow, this feels like it came out of nowhere???" Which hurt even more.

I guess being ghosted by two really important people in my life at the same time kind of fucked me up, and I became incredibly withdrawn and isolated like I tend to do when things like this happen. Abandonment issues babeeeeeeeee. I didn't realize that's what I was doing until like two weeks ago. Weirdly enough, reading fanfics and gay manga is what got me out of that rut? Instead of distracting myself with mindless video games, having to actually think about feelings and relate to them.

So yeah, i'm gonna try and get back into therapy, because obviously I need it. Valerie recently got a job too and now she's out more/sometimes has to sleep earlier than me, and I've noticed how...lonely I get and how those negative, self-hating thoughts come back almost immediately. I want to write more too...or at least, journal on here consistently. Having a space for myself is really good.

I sort of broke things off with super-emotionally-distant-and-flaky-Sarah for awhile. Having intense feelings for someone i could never be with was really starting to hurt. Not her fault-- she was very clear about where she is and I honestly did it all to myself. But I came back after like a month and a half, oops. She's been actually trying more though, and i've been trying to temper my expectations in turn. It's become clear that she has mutual feelings for me too which is unexpected. Sighhhhh she's like the forever unreachable third wife I wanna have one day. I don't know if i'd go for a third relationship now, but for her, i'd always make an exception. She's really special to me.

Anyway that's my life. I'm still a traumatized mentally ill orphan child with health issues and an ED and body image problems but at least I have two amazing partners and a decent job and i'm not homeless. Super broke, but i can do nice things every now and then. I feel a bit stuck but...that's okay. I'm still growing. and my 30s have been the best years of my life so far. Here's to hoping.

#feelings #piggy thoughts #sorry this is a big block of text oops #oh well it's my tumblr i'll do what i want

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mothicalspoken · 2 years

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I'm sure you've been asked this a number of times within the last 3 days, but what did you think of the Amphibia finale? Now I wanna make it clear that I'm a safe environment. Anything you wished you could've seen or changed pls don't hold back I'm all ears ;)

!! first off, thank you for asking I have been dying to talk about it. and second off- (i'm putting this under a read more because it is a LOT)

I thought it was great!!! the only issues i had were with how things were.. addressed, or rather were not addressed (it's more of a problem with Amphibia overall than it is a problem with the finale- as i said before, amphibia is great at realistic character relationships, but not so much with the consequences of what happens to those characters) and I will admit, i am a bit upset about the fact that Anne had to leave the Plantars behind forever.

They were the entire catalyst for her change- they showed her how to have responsibility, and what healthy friendship is like, and challenged the morals instilled in her by her previous enviroments so that she could become a better person. And they were a family! a literal family! i get that the show is about change, but I still find it hard to accept that she just.. had to leave them behind. They were such an integral part of her life and delvelopment... at the very least, if they couldn't have met in person, i wish they could have had a wifi signal in amphibia, or opened the portal enough to chat once in a while. The fact that Anne became a herpetologist in their hoonor is such a beautiful fact though oh my god-

And as for the not addressed part, true colors was one of the most impactful and somehow least impactful episodes of the entire show. Marcy died, which lead to her becoming possessed, and Sasha creating a rebellion to save her, but nothing about her dying was ever really... discussed. Like yes, Anne was head deep in denial, but none of the other effects of her absence (her parents, etc) were ever brought up, or shown. Not to mention the lingering physical aftereffects of all of that... rejuvination tank or not, it's entirely possible Marcy has some health issues from being literally impaled, but it was like nothing ever happened, much like the gash down sasha's back. As for Anne, i kind of wish we got more of how she's doing in the future- she has all this knowledge on her shoulders, and all this trauma, and it would have been interesting to see how she's holding up after 10 years with the fact that yes, she is going to die at 91 and become god and whatnot.

but oh my god. the sequences?? anne's death?? the goodbyes, the whole of it?? it was absolutely AMAZING. i loved thier final calamity forms, and the sheer emotion of Anne's death- the fact that she was so ready and had no regrets except for love choice two absolutely breaks me. all she wanted was for them to be safe. oh my lord.

In addition, I liked the little flash forward into how Spirg and Polly are doing! thier outfits and designs are so cute, and it's both heart breaking and inspiring to see how Anne is such a big influence for Sprig even after all this time... man. Also they discovered a new continent?? wtf??? huh???

I'll be thinking about the trio as adults forever lol- honestly it surprised me the most that Sasha became a therapist- who knew she would go from "i'm just kidding mar-mar, i don't actually care" to "and how does that make you feel?" I loved that Marcy became a webcomic artist- she's always been valued for her intelligence in the show, so much that people often overlook who she is as a person sometimes (take O&Y for example, where it wasn't "we need to save marcy bc she's trapped in a horrible situation" it was "we need to save marcy because she's the only one who can defeat the king") and so good for her honestly!! hell yeah, unleash that creativity!!!

AND ANNE BEING A HERPETOLOGIST... never gonna get over that either! she named the little guy sprig!! sprig!!!!! and made an entire little wartwood for him!!!!! everything about the finale is so bittersweet, but I'm glad that Anne found her calling in a way that still managed to connect her to amphibia even though she can never go back... when she becomes god, i hope she gets to meet Sprig again.

#amphibia #amphibia spoilers #thank you for the ask!!#what did you think of the finale?

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ninboyfriend · 2 years

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(this wasn't prompted by anything — i've been meaning to send this ask for a while)

i know you catch a lot of flack in your inbox and i've seen some bitter people say some insane shit to you about how you're basically committing a fucking hate crime against depressed people by talking about your own progress and success . . . so

i just want to tell u that i love u a lot. i love seeing u on my dashboard. i love hearing u talk about yourself and ur boyfriend and how much better ur doing now than you were a few years ago. u give me a lot of hope. i'm not currently in a position where i can get my fucking shit together (still learning how to overcome trauma and depression; still living with my parents) but u reassure me that i someday will be. thank u for that

u r very cool shepard and i am very happy for u and all the progress u've made in ur. recovery? i'm not sure if that's the right word, english isn't my first language, but i hope it's close enough for u to know what i mean. waaa have a good day

ANON I FUCKING LOVE YOU THIS IS SO NICE WTF...

If it helps you at all I am currently about a month away from moving away from my shitty family/living situation and pursuing therapy and meds for my mental health problems and without going into too much detail, if I can do this I am positive you can figure it out as well. It can be difficult and humiliating to be an adult and feel like your problems are holding you back from actually doing adult things but there is always a way to get there even if it’s hard. Being in a sort of “mid point” myself in which I am better enough to recognize what I need to do but not always well enough to do it I have come to realize this is the part that doesn’t get talked about- Recovery is pretty much always seen as a linear Point A-Point B progression when the reality is you won’t just wake up one day and be better and know how to clean your room and keep yourself healthy and hold down a job or schooling or whatever you need to do, you have to keep making small choices every day that get you where you need to be.

This is really hard at first for everything but I’m getting to where I don’t remember why it was ever hard in the first place for me to like brush my teeth every day or make my bed or whatever because I’ve just learned how to do it now. And you will get to that point yourself someday and it’ll keep happening with most things that are hard for you now. Not being able to get your shit together right this second is not a bad thing nor is it abnormal honestly! Sometimes things don’t have to be good, they just have to be better. And maybe that’s an overused and watered down sentiment, that whole “it gets better” shit, because nobody ever tells you how or have anything else to say on the matter at all just that it’ll be ok or you should buy a bath bomb or whatever. It feels like putting glitter on a dumpster fire. It doesn’t actually put out the fire at all! So for me it’s easier to think of it all in the present tense. Things are bad right now, so how can I make RIGHT NOW slightly less bad? Usually the answer is simple shit like eating something or cleaning up or taking a walk or a shower or changing your clothes or your bed. If you spend enough time making right now less bad, you’re going to get used to right now being less and less bad every day until you can keep these habits up. No more pushing off being slightly less miserable to an unidentified “later!!!”

Idk I don’t wanna sound preachy I guess I just like. I myself do feel like a fuckup at the best of times and seeing that I’m someone else’s like. Recovery inspiration or something. Makes me feel like the shit i’m doing is actually working and I wish to share that. Because a lot of the things people tell you to just get up and do (getting a job making friends etc etc) are just not things you can do immediately and even if you know that will help it doesn’t feel worth it at all to pursue a “later” you think you’re still gonna be miserable in I guess???

Anyhow. This makes me really happy. I hope you’re having an ok day today and I hope anything I said here can help LOL. Love you

#long post #ult fav #unlucky six

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ladyscroogeblr · 2 months

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Sleeping...... It isn't going to well!

I know sleeping is the backbone to a healthy life. I struggle to get better sleep! Recently got a new mattress and bed frame. I've tried over the counter sleep aid

aids, like Zquill. Doesn't help. Usually getting to sleep isn't problem. Staying a sleep is and always has been. I'm a light sleeper I'd say. I usually wake up a few times a night. When I'm really stressed I have a hard time getting back to sleep. I try to get 6 or more hours sleep a night. They recommend 7 to 8. It doesn't help I have sleep apnea and wear a mask while I sleep. If the mask or straps, to hold the mask in p!ace, slip or whatever whole I sleep, I'll wake and have to adjust the mask or straps.That is annoying! On top of all this, I'm still going through menopause! Most nights I have night sweats! I'll wake up sweaty and hot! I get so frustrated! Hopefully at my next doctor appointment I can get hormonal replacement! With help with sleeping I found some Centr Fit videos on YouTube. Centr Fit is Chris Hemsworth's fitness, health and wellness app. I have to go to sleep to a video if sleep meditation narrated by Chris Hemsworth! He has such a calming and smooth sounding voice! It does help me Falk a slew but not stay a sleep! I dud another sleep video on how to get back to sleep. Haven't v tried it yet. This is my next big thing to work! On the Centr Fit app is also medition videoes to help release stress, etc. They help and most are narrated by Chris Hemsworth! I just want to live a fuller healthier life! Hopefully I can!

#sleep #sleep meditation #Centr fit #chris hemsworth

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delmege · 7 months

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BECAUSE I feel like I am constantly in a 'deciding what to do with my life' position and that I keep making the wrong decisions. because if I made the right ones, surely I wouldn't still be trying to decide?

it might be a grass is always greener thing. because that's a depression thing, too, in that i can tell myself if I do X, then I'll be happpier when actually, I will still be depressed. I am going to look into therapy; I really am. I want to. but it's hard to give a shit when you don't actually give a shit about yourself, y'know?

i think i've been trying to tell myself that I want to quit my job and do this degree because it will give me clarity for four years. for four years, i won't have to face this problem again because I'll be doing the degree. but then the degree will end and I'll be having to make a decision and it will possibly be an even harder one because I'll have been out of the workforce for four years, because I'll be that much older, because I won't have a house anymore and will have that much less money and yes, I know that that's a situatio plenty of 36-year-olds are in but it scares the shit out of me

and I know, I know, do it scared, do it anyway, blah blah blah but everything scares me so it doesn't actually help me make a decision. none of the options appeal because I just straight up want a different life -- even though, no, of course I'm not doing the things I should be in order to get to that different life!

I don't have to move! I could probably get it right here! I just have to DO things! I have to START stuff, join clubs, GO to the fucking office when I'm supposed to and see people. horror of horrors do the fucking dating apps again -- or, realistically, like, at all because when have I ever used them properly?

I remember being 21 and writing about I felt like I was decaying because my life was just going on and I was doing nothing about it but sitting in my parents' house and staying up too late and being depressed and now here I am, 31 and in my own house this tim ebut staying up too late and being depressed and not having a clue what to do and feeling like I'm wasting my life because I'm not making the most of it because i'm TOO FUCKING SCARED

I didn't used to be. Bitch, I flew to Australia by myself, after the worst year of my life, to try to live there for a year. I moved to Wolverhampton to do an apprenticeship in baking even though I didn't know anyone there. I dropped out of university twice to try to find the thing I wanted to do. I've done scary stuff

the problem is that none of that shit worked out for me. I was so scarred and so mentally ill that despite getting TWO jobs in Australia, I couldn't do either of them and I went home after two months, admitting complete defeat. the apprenticeship turned into the worst year of my life when my disordered eating completely took hold and i started self-harming. dropping out of uni, well, that was mental health shit too, I just didn't understand it.

every decision I have made has felt wrong. I have NO idea how to find direction in my life because all the directions I want to go in require me to have a gazillion pounds already OR to live life in poverty and I can't do that.

constantly coming back to the quetsion of like... how the fuck do people live? no, seriously.

I mean, I do actually know. because if I had a full life outside of work, I probably wouldn't be this miserable; I probably wouldn't be this desperate to make a drastic change. I'm just lonely and alone and I spend too much time by myself because I don't have friends here anymore (and let's not get onto THAT topic because I am feeling INCREDIBLY sensitive atm about being left out and friends not talking to me etc).

I know I have to make changes. I know I have to do that. I started exercising and then that went to hell because my back is still fucked. I have emailed a woman about piano lessons. I'm going to find that therapist I emailed months ago and actually reply to her. I know I can fix some stuff, if not all of it. I know that I have to be the one to do it. I know that. I do. Nothing is going to come along and just fix my life, not even really if I won the lottery; it would make shit a HELL of a lot easier but I'd still have work to do

I know it's never too late and I'm still young and there's still time but every day there is a little LESS time and I dread being 40 and looking back on my thirties in the same way that I look back on my twenties now.

I should probably start doing morning pages again. maybe I will. that will give me something to do in the morning to get out of bed for that isn't my job. it would be a good place to put all of this shit.

I know I should go to bed. absolutely. objectively. idk i probably wont though, not tonight. i'm sick of being in bed. i'm sick of having to force myself to get OUT of bed. I start my day, every single day, doing the thing I hate the most. every day starts badly because it starts with getting out of bed. and boy what a sad, pathetic sentence.

anyway i'm off to cry now

#this is huge word vomit about me not knowing what to do with my life #it is not interesting #also #cw mention of self harm

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enchantechante · 9 months

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Hey,Tae.This is the anon who wished my ex well.Thank you so much for your reply and transparency.

Getting to the place where I am in life now and being able to wish my ex well with no remorse did not happen overnight.We had been in each others lives for 10+ years and experienced a lot (personal health problems,loss of jobs,deaths of family members etc).We went through a lot of things and had more good days than bad.After he came back in my life I couldn't believe it because I use to pray for that moment.I never thought it would even happen.I prayed and asked God if he's meant to be in my life then please let us cross paths again one day and if not then I'm thankful for the time we were able to share together.Over two years later he contacted me.Things went well from day one and we talked every day. I felt like he was trying to rush me into a relationship though because he would mention it and marrying me a lot.I let him know I still loved him but a relationship was not apart of my plans at the time.Plus I was working two jobs, taking care of family, volunteering and in school.I was also still learning the new version of him and he was doing the same when it came to me.We made changes in our lives as we got older... I am more conservative now and he's a former church boy turned hippy.He also couldn't let go of the hurt his ex caused and her taking the kids away.He swore he was over it but we would get into it about them weekly and it was draining.She popped up a couple times too because she still wanted him back.Even though he swore he didn't want her and spent a lot of time with me,I got tired of her doing that.Each time she popped up I was reminded how he left me for her in the first place.I would get angry and start talking shit to him each time.I remember my blood pressure would be high every time I checked it which was every day.I was stressing myself out over his ex.Eventually I just decided to let it go and moved on.

I prayed and asked God to let us cross paths again one day since we both still had more healing to do.I figured if he still loved me and wanted to give things another shot after thirteen years then it could possibly happen again.Even though he fucked up years ago,I understand no one is perfect.He was also dealing with depression badly so I prayed for him to overcome that everyday even when we weren't in touch.He was single for a few years after we stopped talking and now in a relationship.I really do wish him well and hope he's genuinely happy.At first I was a little ticked but that feeling went away.

I love him and always will but even if we never reconnect again,I'll be okay because I did right by him from day one.I know he wants to be married and have kids as well.Who knows?Maybe his new girlfriend can give him all of those things.Either way,I will always wish him and his family well.Like I said getting to this point in my life didn't happen overnight.I did a lot of praying and shed many tears.To be honest,I still do.I've been through a lot of things and experienced so much death lately.Life really is short.I just want everyone to be happy and experience real love.If I don't get another chance at experiencing love in this lifetime,I'm happy that I had that opportunity to do so...and even if I do,I hope I will be open to it because I do have a lot of love to give and I still work on myself every day.No matter what my future holds or who will be apart of it,I'm just thankful for where I am in my life and all of the lessons I learned.I know things will work out for me and be better than I ever could imagine.

THIRTEEN YEARS?! 🥺

i wlda been feelin like:

I'd sooner conjure Beetlejuice + Bloody Mary than ever ask to cross paths w my ex. 🙅🏾‍♀️So thats mad brave.

Thank you so much for this encouragement. This process or prayers and tears and time apart and honesty w self and others, starting fresh, being unafraid to let go - ugh! Heart-wrenching soul work.

I gotta applaud you Anon 💐

Letting go is the hardest part imo.

I hate unfair things and people. So grace, and people deserving forgiveness and love is hard for me to understand.

But I see how your life has flourished and it makes me curious for how mine can as well 🙌🏾✨

#anon #letting go #acceptance #mental health #heartbreak #spiritual journey #prayer

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