rommulas liking Epstein ai reels is literally not surprising, mf said the n word and literally never apologized— he’s proven that he’s a shitty person and doesn’t even have the decency to speak up about shit going on right now, especially within his community. It’s truly gotten to a point, I’ve supported him but lowk don’t know if I can do it anymore.. hes such a cornball
☆.ㅤ 𝐒𝐘𝐍.ㅤ ㅤ──ㅤㅤ you physically drag your skyscraper boyfriend to get his wisdom tooth removed, survive anesthesia rap battles, and witness him not recognize you. romance is not dead. it's just numb on the left side.
ᯓ ࣪ ˖ ִ ★ feat. 𖹭 pairing ── martin edwards , f reader.
you knew this would happen the moment he casually mentioned, three days ago, that his jaw had been "a little sore."
a little sore turned into him chewing only on one side. then it turned into him holding an ice pack to his face and pretending he was fine. and now it had turned into you standing in the doorway of his room, arms crossed, staring at your six foot three boyfriend who was very clearly trying to negotiate with fate.
"martin, put your shoes on," you say, your voice firm but calm, standing there with your bag already slung over your shoulder. you tilt your head at him, eyebrows raised, silently daring him to argue.
he looks up at you from his bed, one hand pressed dramatically to his cheek. "i think it's getting better actually," he mutters, his words slightly slurred from the swelling, though he tries to hide it by sitting up straighter.
you stare at him for full five seconds. "do you know what you look like right now? you look like you stored a golf ball in there for later. you cried at three in the morning," you remind him, your tone flat, but your eyes soften at the memory of him pacing around the room and whispering that his face felt possessed.
he scowls, defensive and embarrassed. "no i didn't," he insists, rubbing his jaw again, his shoulders tense.
"you absolutely did," you reply, stepping forward and tossing his sneakers onto his lap. "you said you were dying."
he groans at that, dragging a hand down his face. "okay, but that was different. it was three in the morning. everything feels worse at three in the morning," he argues, but starts sliding his feet into his shoes, defeated.
you grab his arm and physically pull him to his feet. he's tall and broad and stubborn, and he leans back dramatically, trying to make himself heavier on purpose.
"this is ridiculous," you huff, digging your heels into the floor as you tug him toward the door. dragging him feels less romantic boyfriend moment and more farm work. "you're built to survive an apocalypse but you're scared of a dentist?"
he shuffles behind you, half resisting, half following. "they use drills," he mumbles darkly, eyes narrowing as if you invented dental equipment. "drills should not be anywhere near my face."
"they're not building furniture in your mouth," you shoot back, tightening your grip on his wrist. "they're removing a tooth."
he exhales sharply, annoyed but unable to stop walking because you're relentless. "that's worse," he says quietly, his voice lowering with genuine dread now that you're actually outside.
by the time you get to the clinic, he's fallen silent.
the automatic doors slide open and the scent of antiseptic greets you. the waiting area is bright and painfully clean, soft instrumental music playing overhead. you check him in while he stands beside you like you're his appointed guardian. he towers over you, yet somehow manages to look ten years old when faced with medical equipment.
you can feel his glare burning into the side of your head. the receptionist laughs softly, clearly used to this exact scenario. martin shifts his weight from foot to foot, jaw clenched.
once you sit down, that's when the real fidgeting starts.
he bounces his knee. he rubs his palms together. he presses his tongue carefully against the aching side of his mouth and winces.
"stop moving," you murmur, glancing at him from your seat beside him. your hand gently presses down on his knee to steady it, your thumb brushing back and forth in slow strokes.
he leans closer to you, lowering his voice. "what if they mess up?" he whispers, his usual confident tone replaced with something quieter, almost boyish.
you turn your body toward him fully, giving him your complete attention. "they do this every day," you say softly, searching his face. "you think you're their first dramatic patient?"
he narrows his eyes at that. "i'm not dramatic," he mutters, crossing his arms, though his fingers continue tapping anxiously against his sleeve.
you raise a brow. "you made me google jaw cancer last night."
he freezes, blinking. "okay, that was a low point," he admits under his breath, glancing away in embarrassment.
you reach up and smooth down his hoodie, giving him a reassuring pat on the chest. "you're going to sit in the chair. they're going to numb you. you won't feel anything except pressure. then you get ice cream."
his eyes flicker at that. "what kind of ice cream?" he asks cautiously, suspicion and hope mixing together.
you fight a smile. "whatever you want."
he studies you for a second, jaw tight. "double scoop," he says finally, trying to regain control of something in this situation.
"triple if you don't run out of the building," you counter, squeezing his hand.
he laces his fingers with yours immediately, gripping tighter than usual. his palm is slightly sweaty. "if i die in there—" he begins, his voice low and serious, though you can see the exaggeration forming.
you cut him off instantly. "you're not dying," you say firmly, giving his hand a sharp squeeze. "you're getting a tooth removed. people do this at sixteen."
he exhales through his nose, leaning his head back against the wall. "i hate that you're calm," he mutters, staring up at the ceiling tiles.
you shift closer until your shoulder presses against his side. "i'll be right here the whole time," you say quietly, your voice softer now, meant only for him. "and when you're done, i'll drive you home and listen to you complain for the rest of the day."
he turns his head toward you slowly. there is something vulnerable in his expression now, the bravado gone. "you're not going to laugh at me?"
you hesitate for half a second. "only a little," you admit, your lips curving despite yourself.
he huffs, offended, but his thumb brushes over your knuckles in a grateful motion. "you're evil."
the dental assistant steps out and calls his name.
you feel his entire body tense beside you.
he looks at you with wide eyes, swallowing carefully. "tell them to be gentle," he pleads, nerves finally winning over pride.
you stand up with him, smoothing a hand down his arm. "go, brave soldier," you whisper, your tone teasing.
he squares his shoulders, inhaling once as if preparing for battle. then he leans down slightly so only you can hear him.
"if i come out different," he murmurs, his eyes soft despite the fear, "you still have to be with me."
"i'm literally the one who dragged you here," you reply, pushing him lightly toward the hallway. "i'm not abandoning you now."
he nods once, then reluctantly follows the assistant down the corridor, glancing back at you twice before disappearing behind the door.
you sink back into the lobby chair, already preparing to film whatever nonsense he says when he comes back out, cheeks numb.
the procedure took less than an hour. you sit there scrolling through your phone but not really reading anything, replaying the way he looked at you before disappearing down the hallway.
when the door finally opens, your head snaps up.
and there he is.
martin emerges with gauze tucked into his cheek, eyes glassy, posture slightly off balance. his hair is flattened on one side from the chair, and he looks tall and disoriented and completely gone.
the dental assistant walks him over gently. "he did great," she says with a polite smile, guiding him toward you.
martin blinks slowly at you, processing. "oh," he says, voice thick and heavy from the anesthesia. "it's you."
you stand immediately, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. "yeah. it's me," you reply softly, reaching for his arm before he tips sideways.
he stares at your face as if he has just discovered something profound. "you're so small," he murmurs in awe, squinting slightly.
you scoff. "you're just built abnormally large."
he considers that, swaying slightly. "i'm a skyscraper," he agrees solemnly, nodding once as if this is a medical fact.
you thank the assistant, listen to the post-op instructions carefully, and keep one steady hand on his back the entire time. he leans into you without even realizing it.
when you finally get him outside, the sunlight makes him squint dramatically.
"why is it so bright?" he mumbles, raising a lazy hand in front of his eyes.
"because it's daytime," you say patiently, guiding him toward the car.
he gasps suddenly, stopping mid-step. "did they steal it?"
you freeze. "steal what? did you forget something inside?"
he lowers his voice, conspiratorial. "my wisdom."
you stare at him. "yes," you deadpan. "they surgically removed your intelligence."
he frowns at that, deeply offended. "but i had a lot of that."
"i'm not so sure." you manage to get him into the passenger seat, buckling him in because his hands keep missing the seatbelt latch. he watches you closely the entire time, eyes following every movement.
when you close the door and walk around to the driver's side, you can see him through the windshield talking to himself.
you slide into your seat. "what are you doing?"
he turns his head slowly, blinking at you. "i got bored. sorry."
you have barely pulled out of the dental clinic parking lot when the shift happens. one second he's slumped in the passenger seat, blinking slowly at the world. the next, he inhales sharply and sits up straighter.
"okay," he says, nodding to himself, voice still thick from anesthesia but suddenly full of purpose. his fingers tap against his thigh in an uneven rhythm. "i feel the beat."
you glance at him, already wary. "what beat?"
he turns toward you with wide, determined eyes. "the beat beat. can you say martin play the beat?"
you sigh softly, adjusting your grip on the steering wheel. "martin play the beat."
he lifts one hand, palm facing down, bouncing it midair as if conducting invisible music.
"yo," he starts, clearing his throat dramatically. his gauze shifts a little but stays in place. "wisdom tooth gone, but i'm still elite, six foot three in the passenger seat."
you press your lips together, staring straight ahead. "careful with the gauze."
he ignores you completely. "jaw real numb but my heart real loud, my girl right here make the dentist proud."
"you're very high right now."
he considers that, eyebrows knitting together. "no," he says slowly, shaking his head. "i'm six three."
"you are."
"six sev—"
"stop. don't even think about it."
"sorry."
after a few seconds, he perks up again. "okay, last one," he announces, lifting a finger in the air.
"make it quick," a laugh bubbles out of you, the stress of the morning dissolving.
he watches you laugh, expression softening. "you're really pretty when you laugh," he says suddenly, voice slower now, more sincere than the rap.
your laughter fades into a soft exhale. "that's the drugs talking."
he shakes his head once, as much as he can with the gauze stuffed in his mouth. "no. i've been knowing that."
then, without warning, he resumes. "gauze in my mouth but i still got bars, she driving steady, we about to get stars."
you glance at him briefly. "what stars?"
he leans closer, lowering his voice as if revealing a secret. "ice cream stars."
you reach over and gently cover his mouth. "concert's over," you announce, trying not to smile.
he mumbles something against your palm, eyes crinkling.
you pull your hand away carefully. "what was that?"
he blinks slowly. "i love you."
"love you too," you reply quietly, brushing your thumb against his cheek, careful of the sore side.
he smiles lazily, satisfied, then sinks deeper into the seat.
two minutes later, he's asleep.
head tilted toward you. mouth slightly open. gauze still in place. tall frame folded awkwardly in the passenger seat of your car. it stays like that for twenty more seconds.
then he starts laughing.
it begins as a small puff of air through his nose, shoulders shaking slightly in the passenger seat. you glance over at him, confused, because nothing happened. you're literally just driving.
"what?" you ask carefully, eyes flicking between him and the road, your tone cautious because he has been unpredictable for the past ten minutes.
he turns his head toward you very slowly, eyes glossy and unfocused, a smile stretching across his face. "you're driving," he says, as if this is groundbreaking information, then he bursts into another fit of laughter that makes his whole frame bounce.
you really should have taken him straight home. that would have been the responsible choice.
instead, you're standing inside a small ice cream shop that smells of sugar and waffle cones, holding the door open while he shuffles in beside you.
"sit," you tell him gently, guiding him toward a small round table by the window. your hand presses lightly to his chest to steer him in the right direction, your tone soft but firm so he does not wander toward the freezer display and attempt to investigate it.
he obeys without question, lowering himself into the chair carefully, movements are slow and exaggerated. he rests both hands flat on the table and blinks at the wall for a few seconds.
you stand in front of him, studying his face. his cheeks are puffy from the gauze, lips slightly parted, eyes glossy and unfocused.
"okay," you crouch down a little so you're in his line of sight. your fingers brush lightly against his knee to ground him. "what flavor do you want? "
he turns his head toward you with the slow curiosity of someone discovering a new species.
he frowns slightly, thinking very hard. "blue."
"blue is not a flavor."
he leans back in the chair, offended.
"it is in my heart," he says, his words muffled but determined, one eyebrow lifting as though you have personally insulted his creativity.
you exhale slowly through your nose. "do you mean blueberry? bubblegum?"
he squints at you. "no. i want blue."
you stand there for a second, weighing your options.
"i'm getting you vanilla," you decide finally, straightening up.
he watches you rise with wide, slow-blinking eyes.
"vanilla is shy," he murmurs thoughtfully, gaze drifting to the napkin dispenser. "i'm brave."
you soften at that despite yourself. "you survived oral surgery," you reply lightly. "you are very brave."
he processes that, his expression changing. his eyebrows pull together slowly, confusion replacing amusement.
suddenly, he studies your face as if seeing it for the first time.
"martin?" you say softly, stepping closer to the table. your fingers rest lightly against the edge near his hand.
he stares at you, lips parting slightly. "who are you?"
you freeze for half a second, your heartbeat stumbling before you force yourself to breathe normally.
"it's me," you say calmly, lowering yourself back into the chair across from him. your tone is slow and warm, careful not to spike with panic. "it's okay. you're just still numb."
he keeps looking at you, searching your face for something familiar.
"you look important," he murmurs after a moment, his brow still furrowed. his fingers twitch slightly on the table, as if he wants to reach out but is not sure he is allowed.
"i am," you nod, offering him a small smile. "i'm your girlfriend."
he blinks at that. "girlfriend," he repeats slowly, testing the word. his eyes drop briefly to your hand on the table, then back to your face. "are you nice?"
the question almost undoes you.
"i try to be."
he studies you again, longer this time. then, very slowly, he pushes his hand across the table toward yours. his fingers brush against your knuckles clumsily.
"you feel safe," he says quietly, voice hazy but certain.
your vision blurs for just a second. "i try to be," you repeat, curling your fingers around his hand. your thumb strokes the back of it in slow circles.
he relaxes a little at your touch, shoulders lowering.
"did you bring me here?" he asks after a pause, glancing around the shop as if it has just appeared.
"yeah. you wanted ice cream after the dentist."
he gasps faintly. "i had a dentist?"
"you did."
he considers that, then nods once, accepting it without further concern. "okay."
you end up holding the cup for him half the time, tilting it carefully while he takes slow bites of vanilla ice cream. every few seconds he pauses mid chew to stare at you for whatever reason.
when you're finally done, you throw the empty cups away and walk back toward him. "okay. field trip is over. we're going back to the car."
he looks at your hand for a moment, then places his much larger one into yours without hesitation. his grip is loose but warm, fingers curling instinctively around yours.
"i trust you," he stands up a little too fast and sways.
you immediately step closer, your free hand bracing lightly against his chest to steady him. "easy," you murmur, your voice softening as you guide him toward the door. "you're still wobbly."
he leans into you without realizing it, towering over you but letting you direct every step. outside, the late afternoon sun is bright, and the parking lot is uneven in places.
you tighten your hold on his hand.
"watch your step," you glance up at him to make sure he's actually listening.
when you reach the car, you unlock it and open the passenger door for him. he stands there looking at it like it's a portal to different dimension.
"duck," you remind him, lifting your free hand to hover over the top of his head. your palm lightly shields him from the door frame as he bends down.
he doesn't bend enough.
you gently press down on the back of his head. "more," you say patiently.
he finally lowers himself properly and slides into the seat. you make sure his legs are fully inside before carefully helping guide his head back so he does not bump it on the frame.
"thank you for protecting my bones," he says gravely, looking up at you with hazy appreciation.
"you're welcome," you reply, fighting a smile. you adjust his seatbelt, making sure it sits correctly across his chest. "i would prefer you keep it intact."
once he's secure, you close the passenger door. you take exactly two steps toward the driver's side before you hear it.
tap tap tap.
you turn and see martin is knocking on the window with both hands, eyes wide, mouthing something behind the glass.
you walk back toward him slowly.
he presses his face closer to the window, palm flat against it. when you are close enough to hear him through the crack, he raises his voice.
"i'm only seventeen," he declares urgently, his tone full of theatrical panic. "i shouldn't be taken away."
"taken where?"
he gestures vaguely around the parking lot. "the facility," he insists, nodding once as if confirming classified information. his brows knit together with genuine concern. "this is how it starts."
you stare at him through the glass. "you are not being taken away."
"you're not the police?"
"no but i bought you ice cream." you open the passenger door halfway and lean down to his eye level.
he studies your face carefully, evaluating whether you're trustworthy. "are you the girlfriend?"
you inhale slowly. "yes, i am the girlfriend."
his expression shifts into recognition. relief floods his features. "oh," he says softly. "okay. i trust you."
you gently close the door again, making sure it latches properly this time.
as you walk around to the driver's side, you hear him humming to himself, completely at peace now that he has decided you're not an undercover agent transporting him across state lines.
you slide into the driver's seat and glance at him.
he's staring out the windshield with serious contemplation, reflecting on the fragility of youth and the injustice of imaginary arrest.
you rest your head back against the seat for a second before starting the engine.
this is day one.
you have seven days of recovery ahead.
and as he suddenly whispers to himself, "seventeen is such a tender age," with such sorrow, you cannot help but think—
blakekathryn
janainaart
origamiaround
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
izzy806
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
