#so. as long as i hold unto myself. unto everything i have ever loved. that will spur me onwards. that i may forge ahead unto tomorrow
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Gold rush
Chapter Five: You who shimmy shook my bone, leaving me stranded all in love on my own.
He was just a few more steps away from becoming a living legend. Already praised by the media as the honored one, he made a grave mistake which not only put his Ice Hockey career on hold, it disappointed even his most loyal fans so much so that his reputation sank to an all-time low.
Then he meets you; a retired figure skating champion who is now trying to find her purpose in life after her triumphs, all while still being loved and cherished by the media and public likewise.
Satoru Gojo sees his chance to not only get back unto the rink, but also to regain his former popularity.
But he soon realizes it will be a lot harder to get on your good side, because he's everything you despise combined into one person.
Will you give him a second chance and allow him to redeem himself, or is this going to be the match for your life time?
Gojo Satoru x reader (first person narrator)
Ice Hockey AU
FAKE DATING TROPE
Enemies to lovers
English isn't my first language, so expect some grammar errors
18+!!
ALL CHAPTERS: https://www.tumblr.com/leajdh/722300699873083392/all-chapter-of-my-satoru-gojo-x-reader-fanfiction?source=share
Suguru was right.
The people love us. The picture he took yesterday of Satoru and me went viral. Not even ten minutes after it was posted on Satorus instagram page, it had over 20k likes and over a thousand comments. Surely some comments were negative but that was predictable and mostly they were genuinely nice. We got a whole lot of comments telling us that we are perfect for each other, which is such an internet thing to say, because they don’t know anything about us other than we are both skating on ice. Well, certainly this is enough for the public to think we are compatible.
We had a good run since the picture was taken. I don’t feel awkward or nervous around Satoru anymore. Against my better judgment sleeping with him really helped. I can look at him without having the sudden urge to run away and hide.
And I like to look at him, especially when he is training with his focused face, listening to everything Mei Mei screams at him, but still completely absorbed in his flow. I have only watched him train for about thirty minutes, however I was hooked by his movements. The itch to watch him far longer was there, but I didn’t want to come across as if I have any kind of interest in him outside of our contract.
The way I smiled at him in this goddamn picture was enough to set me off.
I slept with him, I smiled like a simpleton at him and now I even enjoyed him playing Ice Hockey, the sport I hate more than anything.
I had to press on my mental brake. Falling for him isn’t an option. After all, I still have my doubts about him. I can’t throw them all over board because we had sex. He is ever so unpredictable and arrogant and just not the one for me.
At least social media proved itself useful in my dilemma. A user posted an edit of the way I glance before I step on the ice followed by a clip of Satoru doing the same. Once we are on the ice, knowing something is there to win, we both look and act the same.
Maybe that’s what fascinates me when I watch him train. It is like looking in a macabre mirror, seeing another person as infatuated as myself with being the best. We have the same fixed stare, head slightly tilted downwards, looking up between our lashes and noticing everything around us without losing our center. Shoulders and back straight and neck long. The perfect posture, even while stepping and sliding on the ice.
I wish to know if his heart has the same beat as mine in these kinds of moments. Strong enough to feel it pulsate in my ears, feeling the blood flow hot up and down my carotid artery, vision focused but also blurry from the frenzy.
The emergence of goosebumps all over the skin, not enough for others to notice, but just enough to feel it happening out of fever and being filled up with enough adrenaline to knock out a thousand men, but just enough of it to calm one maniac.
I realized from the moment he blackmailed me with this video of us, we are cut from the same cloth.
Since then I was on the lookout, my guard up to the moon but he still managed to slip right through and got the upper hand over me by noticing one of my weaknesses.
How I am actually really insecure whenever I am not on the ice.
How fragile my self-perception is.
How important the voices of others are.
How my life is one big ongoing performance.
I let him see a glimpse of the real me and in return I got nothing. All I know about him, I can read online. Just some standard information. Granted our contract was formed because he wants his popularity back. Something that seems important to him. Nevertheless Suguru was the one who told me the resentment of his fans affected Satoru. It wasn’t Satoru who openly claimed and explained it.
He doesn’t let me in and it pisses me off.
I don’t want him to win. When we will walk out of the contract, I want to have the upper hand.
Should we be a team? Absolutely.
Are we both team players? Absolutely not.
Well, I know I am not a team player. He should be one as the captain of an Ice Hockey team, but I have the eerie feeling just for our state of affairs, he won’t be one.
I need to get the control back or at least a draw.
But how?
Think, think, think.
Totally lost in my thoughts upon creating a counter strike, I notice the big, gloomy figure behind me first when an arm like a tree trunk hovers over my head to grab something from the supermarket shelf I stand in front of. Irritated by the close proximity of this random person showing up right behind me, I quickly turn around and stare up at a man, who grins like the devil himself. He isn’t looking at me, staring at the grocery he wants from the shelf but that grin.
I know it is for me and strangely I have the feeling we met before.
“Well, excuse me”, I mutter, finding it troublesome to have someone in my personal space.
“You’re excused”, he answers, still not looking at me while examining the ingredients of the product he just grabbed. I feel a shiver down my spine from how low and thorny his voice is, but I try to not get too alarmed as I roll my eyes at his answer. With an offended side stare, I take a step to the side.
He is tall, not as tall as Satoru but broader, taking up more space in an uncomfortable manner. His arms and even his face are crested in thick, black tattoos. Maybe he has some more all over his body but I won’t ever be able to tell. Sharp facial features with a strong jaw and menacing warm eyes with a reddish hue to them. With his wide smirk still plastered on his face, I shortly doubt myself that the man next to me is human. The teeth are barbed and massive like ones feline predators have.
“Loser.”
As soon as he adds this word, my head snaps back up.
Oh my fucking god. He is real.
The memories of him hit me like a ton of bricks.
Tokyo, Japan, my first world championship.
The year before I won second place at the junior world championship, ending my streak of first places.
It was devastating.
Surely once being second place isn’t the end of the world, but the media at that time was harsh and brutal on me, maybe because I never lost and they finally saw a crack in my perfect facade.
I was 16 and read articles saying from now on I will only get worse.
And I wasn’t even at the Olympics.
It felt like my entire career had no meaning and I should just quit altogether. The questions I got asked ripped me mentally into pieces as I answered them with a fake smile, ready to cry once the cameras were away. Mei Mei and my mother tried to cheer me up, telling me not to listen to such bullshit.
Figure skating is one of the most competitive sports. Each year the athletes are getting younger and breaking more limits and record after record.
Time doesn’t stop for anyone and it certainly doesn’t for athletes. I was crying for 2 days in my room calling myself old and worn-out.
Truly the joys of being an athlete.
I refused to step on the ice for over a month until my mother had enough and took my phone and computer away, forcing me back on the rink.
For her there wasn’t any other outcome. One day I would win gold in the Olympics.
Her dream for me.
But for that dream to come true, I must skate again.
And I did, reluctantly.
As if I ever had a choice in this matter. With an overly ambitious mother and my competitive mindset which was thrilled into my head as soon as I took my first step on the ice.
However, let's go back to the World Championship.
All eyes were on me and I felt it in my strangled veins. I was never so nervous and insecure on ice before.
I’m never insecure on ice. Skating is like breathing for me.
And who would ever be insecure about breathing?
You get time slots when you can enter the rink for training before the competition. I waited for my turn at the lobby, getting myself warmed up. Championships lure all kinds of people into one place and mostly other athletes. It is good press to be interested in other sports and showing support, but most athletes do it for a bit of media coverage in between their seasons.
I used to love watching swimming competitions, always finding it nice to see the contrast from ice skating.
Hard ice against soft water. Coldness against warmth.
So it wasn’t a surprise to see other athletes or just random celebrities in the hall.
I remember him. As tall as in the present but not as broad. Younger but still sharp features and already tattoos on his arms. Overall an extremely good-looking man.
He talked with reporters, grinning mischievous.
I was amazed like most of the other girls.
To be honest, to amaze me at that time, you just had to look at me at least once and open a door for me. Both things he did.
My seventeen years old brain was going haywire and you can definitely blame my mother for it. I barely had any time for friends, so meeting boys wasn’t even a theme to begin with. The only talk I really had with her was when I got my period and she instantly made an appointment to get me an IUD.
Her dream ended with her pregnancy. She wouldn’t allow the same thing to happen to me.
Granted, I never questioned her. For me it was normal to concentrate all my energy on skating.
Mei Mei always told me ‘now you are a figure skater and when you retire you will be a human again’.
Insane, right?
But I lived by that statement, focusing on skating entirely.
Just not on that day. I watched him like a hawk, walking around with a dozen people around him and taking picture after picture.
Just who was he?
I couldn’t google it because my mother still had my phone and asking wasn’t in my repertoire.
He noticed my glances. It wasn’t like I was subtle with it. I did everything to occupy my mind with something other than skating and losing again.
On the outside I seemed cool and collective, Mei Mei and my mother truly thought I was over the Junior Championship, but mentally I was a sinking ship, just one more crash against an iceberg away from becoming a wreck.
And just a few hours later I became one.
On that day less than 24 hours before the competition. I was on the ice, going over my routine.
I fell, not once, not twice, I fell so often I stopped counting. Mei Mei screamed at me, my mother completely shocked on why I performed this way.
Reporters aren’t allowed on the tribune while athletes are training in their time slots but people with VIP-passes can enter and he seemed to have one. He watched me fall and fall again with that creepy smile on his face. I tried to blend him out and it worked.
Like I said before, glances don’t bother me. I am used to being watched. Only Satoru managed to make me giddy.
Not even twenty minutes into my training I fucked up my signature triple axel, bending my ankle so hard I could hear my ligaments snatch, overstretching to the maximum. I was lucky they didn’t rip.
I bit my teeth hard together and managed to leave the rink, stomping past Mei Mei and my mother, who wanted me back on ice. They didn’t know about my ligaments, just thinking I landed poorly but if I could still skate, it wasn’t so bad, right?
Right.
Telling them with gritted teeth that I need some time for myself I went into my locker room, where I just sat down and stared at the wall for minutes, emotionless.
The blood pulsating in my feet, I knew once I put the skates off it would be bad. With shaky hands I opened them and stared at my ankle. Swollen already and I knew it would bruise.
My mother would not allow me to skate like this. She is strict but not a lunatic. If I land one more time incorrectly without the ligaments fully healed, they will snap completely and my career is over.
But I needed, no, I wanted the World Champion title.
Now or never. I didn’t want to wait another year.
Another year would mean one year older, one year nearer my retirement.
I wanted to cry but nothing came out.
Eventually with an injury like this, I must have accepted that my career was ending.
I just wasn’t good enough for the Olympics.
There is no shame to it. A lot of athletes never make it.
I instantly kick these thoughts in the butt. No, it isn’t over. I can do this. I will not fall tomorrow at the competition. I will win. I can take care of my ankle after the competition. It will fully heal.
I knew it.
It was nearly 10 years ago, so I don’t quite remember how long I was alone with my thoughts as the door opened and someone stepped in. I remember I sighed, madly trying to hide the swelling with a towel thrown over it. I expected my mother or Mei Mei to be the ones bothering me, but it was him with a big fat grin sitting on his face.
Throughout the conversation we were going to have his grin stayed on, sometimes fading or growing. But one thing is engraved in my brain like an antibiotic resistant parasite. His first words to me. Simple, but so world shattering to me.
“Hey, Loser.”
He called me what I was truly thinking of myself at that moment, but never dared to acknowledge.
Nevertheless I couldn’t believe someone would call me that. Before I even had the chance to tell him to fuck himself and get lost, he kept on talking. Along the lines of he knows torn ligaments when he sees them happening.
Staring him down I should have told him to leave my cabin, instead I said: “They aren’t torn, just on the edge of it.”
I removed the towel and leaned over to my bag, taking out sport tapes. With a smile I babbled more to myself: “I had worse.”
Confidence is the key but my act didn’t work on him. He just leaned against the wall in front of me, not believing a single word by the way he looked at me.
As I started to pull my legging up and begin sticking the tapes down, he clicked his tongue in disbelief.
“By the way this is a private cabin.”, he ignored my words and with two big steps, he was right in front of me, taking the tapes out of my hand and muttering curses to himself.
Mercilessly he grabbed my lower leg and stretched it out, my feet staying on his hard chest. It hurt like hell and I yelped, which gained me a side eye and something along the lines of ‘stop being a fucking pussy’.
Usually I would say something snarky back, but I didn’t dare with him. Instead I just murmured: “I know how to tape myself.”
He only snorted mockingly at that and started to tape my ankle. If this guy is one thing, it definitely isn’t gentle. He applied the tape with such force, it felt like he wanted me to bruise even more. Still, I bit my teeth and let him do it. In between taping he started to talk to me: “I had the same thing once, so I know what to do.”
My ankle was covered in tape in the pattern of a spiderweb. He talked to me like a ruthless trainer, who ignores the health of his athlete.
“Keep the ankle cold under any circumstance, even if it feels like dying or you don’t feel anything at all.”
Then he took a normal bandage and wrapped it around, tightly, telling me not to open it until after the competition. It will swell even worse and probably needs more time to heal, but at least I could be on the ice.
Then he told me the same truth I already knew.
“If you fall, it is over”, he snickered: “maybe it would be better anyway. To just end your foolish career.”
I knew, if I fall with this injury, it is truly over. Knowing it is one thing, but hearing someone else say it out loud shook my back into reality.
“I won’t fall”, I told him without a doubt in my voice, ignoring his mean remarks. Bare teeth blinded my eyes as he laughed.
“Just making sure you know your fate.”
Asshole.
“Why even help me if I will fail?”, I bit back. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I like being surprised.”
What a fucking weirdo.
He pulled out his wallet and showed me a pill, asking if I already had my urine test. I nodded and looked skeptical at the pill. I do a lot of things to win, but I don’t take drugs. Seeing my suspicious scowl he told me: “It’s just a heavy painkiller.”
My scowl deepens. Painkillers are allowed, so why would he ask about my urine test?
He could read my mind like an open book.
"Prescribed.”
If they find a substance from a prescribed pill in my urine, I would need a doctor's note, so his question made sense.
Well, that certainly didn’t sound better, and fine, I trusted him with my ankle but I wouldn’t take a pill from him. For all I knew he could be lying and giving me drugs. He rolled his eyes as I didn’t take it like I am stupid or something for not trusting him. Quite the contrary, I thought I was pretty smart for it.
So I asked him: “Who are you even?”
All I got was a doubting laugh with furrowed brows like I am a fool for not knowing him. Based on my confused face he understood quickly I really had no clue and a devious smile grew back on his face.
“I am.. Yuji.”, he states with a pause in between like he forgot what his own name is: “I play for the Japanese national basketball team.”
Nevertheless I was hesitant. Surely he was tall enough to be a basketball player but why was he here?
Duh, why did I go to the swimming World cups? To be seen.
Still I wouldn’t take a pill from him.
I crossed my arms like a sulking child and shook my head.
The air around him switched. To be honest he wasn’t in a friendly mood to begin with but now it changed drastically.
He explained why he was even here to begin with. How he extra came for me to the Championship and how it was such a pain for his team to get him a VIP-pass.
All that for me to be a pathetic loser, who falls. He criticized my speed, my jumps and my overall form. It was like talking to all my worst critics combined. He didn’t sugarcoat one bit. His words were brutal and unforgiving.
How he gave me a chance to get my title back and get Gold again, just for me to not accept it. How much he hates wasted potential and I am the embodiment of it. A silly little pathetic loser, blessed with genetic talent but no drive.
I pushed myself up, feeling a slight sting in my leg, but didn’t mind.
How dare he? He doesn’t know shit about me. As if his fucking pill would be my path to Gold. No, I didn’t care about the pain, I could ignore it.
But I couldn’t ignore his attitude anymore. What did he even want from me? He didn’t know anything about me. We never talked before, nothing.
I was angry. Angry at him and angry at me for allowing him from the beginning to talk down to me.
“Get the fuck out of my cabin!”, I hollered, but he didn’t move, smiling like my anger meant nothing to him and rather amused him, if not turning him on.
“Or what?”
Yeah, fuck that or what? Honestly there was nothing I could do against a guy like this. I bet even if I hit him, it wouldn’t affect him, probably again just turning him on.
“I will make sure they take your VIP-pass away”, oh my god, that was pathetic. Looking back I cringe at myself, but that’s all I could do.
Another deep laugh.
“Do it, this whole thing is a waste of my time anyway. I thought I would see some great talents, but all I see is a whiny slut.”
I should be afraid but I wasn’t. I was just angry.
“I am a lot but not whiny.”
“No denying on the slut part, I see.”
I roll my eyes. I didn’t even have my first kiss at that time, but he didn’t have to know.
“It’s not worth commenting”, I fired back.
Suddenly everything happened so quickly, I barely had time to register anything as he grabbed my jaw with his large hand and squeezed my cheeks together.
“I bet it turns you on being called all these degrading words”, he lowers his face to mine, nose on nose with a demonic grin plastered on his face.
I’m a winner. Degradation doesn’t turn me on. It makes my blood boil.
Sadly wrath and lust often go hand in hand, but I would never let him know.
“I beg to differ”, I tear my face out of his grip.
“Then prove me wrong, loser.”, his grip traveled to my throat, holding me in place, not wanting me to look away from his challenge. I didn’t waver my glance from his dark eyes.
He leant in closer to my face, waiting for me to break away first but I kept my eyes on him, even as his lips nearly brushed mine.
Never in my life was I more happy to be interrupted by my mother as we heard a knock on the door. Slowly, still with a wide smile on his face, he let go of me like nothing happened and put the pill in my hand. In a swift motion he walked to another exit like he had no care in the world while I was frozen into place.
My mother came into the cabin and talked to me, but I didn’t listen. All I had in my mind was him and how to prove him fucking wrong.
And I did, I won Gold the next day.
With the worst pain ever in my leg I stood on the pedestal, waving with a bitter smile into the camera.
I saw him during my performance but not at the award ceremony.
Who is the loser now?
I bet he thought I couldn’t bring it. Wanted me to fall and fail, crying on national TV over my career ending.
Wrong slut, motherfucker.
However as soon as I was backstage, my leg gave in. My mother caught me and Masamichi carried me to a private cabin.
I didn’t take his pill. I didn’t need his help.
I won on my own.
When my mother took my skate off my foot I screamed, nearly blacking out. Mei Mei looked at the bandages around my ankle.
“Who did this?”, she asked furious, now understanding why I didn’t let them near my skates to fix them before my performance.
“I did it.”
“Don’t lie to me, you idiot!”
My mother proceeded to unwrap my ankle, feeling like she skinned my foot alive.
“This is a military binding technique! It is made to stabilize a dying foot so the soldier can move forward.”
“It did the job”, I muttered back in a delirious state of pain.
“You are so stupid! It is for a dying foot! With this technique they don’t want to save the foot, they just want stabilization for a moment before it will be amputated!”
I didn’t really register her words, all I had in my mind was the Gold medal around my neck and the cold metal against my chest as I fainted.
I woke up in the hospital, my foot held up by some strings and tubes pumping a liquid into it.
The pain was bearable, but my foot felt heavy and numb.
I looked over and saw my mother sitting in a chair. She didn’t look happy like most mothers would be once their child woke up after fainting.
“What the hell did you think?”
I thought nothing to be frank. I did as he told me and it worked. It worked perfectly. I won Gold. My lucky streak would be back.
“I did what I had to do to win”, I replied.
“You could have not only lost your career as a figure skater, you could have lost your foot!”
“But I didn’t.”
“Don’t act smart with me now!”
“I am the world champion, mom.”
“I don’t care.”
“You do, you only ever cared about that.”
“That is not true.”
I stared at her with a tired but fierce expression. If she wanted to tell herself that, she could do it. I wouldn’t stop her. Making herself feel like she was the mother of the century.
If I had shown her my foot, yeah, she would have said no to the competition but I would have gotten the silent treatment for weeks.
Like getting an injury is my fault. For her it would be.
Because how dare me to fail her dream.
She put so much energy into me. Imagine it all failing.
What a waste of time. All for a loser like me.
Certainly I have shown in this performance I am not a loser. My performance was worthy of the Olympics and I would go to them the coming year and win Gold too.
I am a fucking winner. The whole world is going to know my name.
Everything felt unreal. My career wasn’t over. If my foot wasn’t going to fully recover my mother would have told me instantly instead of trying to lecture me.
I softly chuckled to myself, thinking about him. At this moment of delusion I truly thought I owe this motherfucker my career.
“Right now you look just like your father”, she said quietly: “I don’t recognize you.”
Still in my trance I tilted my head to my mother and just sputtered: “At least I am not a loser like you.”
The moment I said it was the moment I regretted it. Before I had the chance to apologize, she was out of the room, leaving me alone.
No, I was wrong. I didn’t owe him my career, he only took part in creating a new part of my personality. An irrational and cruel one.
He made me the cunt I am.
For years I thought he was a ghost I created myself. Like part of my hidden personality came out the moment I nearly gave up and brutally dragged me back on the ice.
To kick me even harder at my lowest point and either leave me there or make me get back up.
I never apologized to my mother, but I got my phone and computer back and she acted like nothing happened, training me for the Olympics once my foot was back to normal. I lost two months of training because of my injury and the binding technique, but it didn’t matter. I knew whatever would come in between the Olympics and me would be demolished. I was never going to give up.
He was a mystery I didn’t want to solve. I could have googled him, but I didn’t. I liked the idea of him just being a weird imagination of mine to get back on track.
But now he is standing next to me in the cereal aisle of a small town supermarket and I am sure he is not a projection of my mind. He is real.
“I know you are but what am I?”, I croak back, my voice lost in my throat.
“You are witty, I will give you that.”, he chortles, cracking a smile: “But I take it back, you certainly aren’t a loser.”
“So don’t call me that.”
“Pet names take time to form, I wasn’t expecting to meet you here in the middle of nowhere. So I don’t have one up my sleeve.”
Me neither to the meeting part, but why does it feel like he is lying. Like he knew I would be here.
“How about my real name?”
“Nah, way too impersonal.”, god, the way he is so presumptuous is kind of alluring in the best way possible. Must be me, I seem to have a soft spot for cocky bastards.
“Well, we aren’t exactly friends.”
He turns with a full on grin to me, the one I dreamed about for months. The one I see in my mind before entering a competition.
“You are right.”, he added my name: “But I will still think of something new, something fitting.”
I can’t fucking wait for it.
“What would you say is the perfect gift for an old friend you haven’t seen in a while?”, he drags me out of my empty thoughts: “Not for you. You stated we aren’t friends, right?”
“Right”, I stutter back: “I guess it depends on the friend.”
I try to act nonchalantly, but I feel like failing.
That answer earned me a slight chuckle from him. I decide it would be best to ignore him and just continue my purchase, walking down the aisle, but the looming shadow doesn’t leave me.
“A friend who isn’t a friend at all.”
This sentence piqued my interest.
“Still not for you”, he adds, but I wasn’t even thinking that.
“Then why buy a gift?”, I ask, allowing him to keep the conversation going as he walks through the fruit section with me. I am glad we are in a public space filled with people. Alone with him again, I would not survive.
“Just for courtesy. He had a rough time”, subtle information but nothing sturdy to grab onto.
His grin is going to kill me. I feel like a flight animal in the headlights of a predator.
“Wine always works”, I answer politely and curse myself still giving him partially my attention.
The curse of being a woman, always civil to uncivil men.
A loud laugh echoes through the aisle before it abruptly ends, his sharp teeth still showing.
“Not a bad idea, but alcohol isn’t his thing”, he states: “anymore.”
I frown but end up not thinking further about his oddity as I see a box of chocolates and instantly think of Satoru. How he asked me for a ‘thank you’ card and a box of chocolates for his ‘help’. A dumb tease from his side but in my head the cogs start to turn.
Round and round for a counter strike. I place the box in my shopper with a grin similar to the one from him.
Fuck, he really created a part of me.
“Chocolates always work as well”, I babble back, before turning serious.
“What brought you to this city?”
“Oh, just a quick stop before visiting my friend, who isn’t really my friend.”
For whatever reason the way he talks and acts is enthralling. I know he isn’t a good person but he has a certain aura that not a lot of people have. A confident one, but ready to be able to back it up. I should have googled him. I should have to see if he has some achievements to back up his brash attitude towards me all those years ago.
I can’t shake off the feeling that something isn’t quite right.
“Seems like fate that we meet again”, if it is even possible his grin got bigger.
“You also thought it would be my fate to fall and call quits, but here we are. Coincidences happen.”
Yes, our meeting years ago and now, they are just coincidences. Nothing more and nothing less.
“Oh, little devil I don’t believe in just coincidences.”
“Don’t call me that!”, I turned sharply around to him. He holds up his hands in a mocking way.
“Calm your tits.”
“Why did you call me that?”
“Because you are a bratty, little devil”, I ignore the sexual undertone in his words. It clicked instantly like finding the right puzzle piece.
“Are you a Devils fan?”, I ask, taking another step back. He steps forward, looking down on me.
“Nah”, he chuckles roughly: “I am not into Ice Hockey.”
Fuck, I can’t tell if he is lying or not. He is as unreadable as Satoru. He is so indifferent, so detached, it is hard to see what his intentions are. For a second I just want to yell at him: ‘What do you want from me!?’ but I calm down and just continue my purchase, feeling his presence still in my neck.
“Mind if we take a picture together?”
I turn towards him, looking him up and down with my eyebrows pulled together. He laughs lightly, sounding friendlier.
“Against whatever skepticism is playing in your head, I was always a fan of you.”
“You had a great way to show your support”, I instantly built my guards up around him.
“I think so too”, he ignores my obvious sarcasm.
That fucking evil grin again as he pulls out his phone and hands it to a lady next to us, asking her to take a picture. Before I even register it, he is next to me, slinging his massive arm around my shoulder and yanks me towards him. Looking up he has a big grin on his face while I probably look startled as hell.
Everything just happens so fast again, like I am back in the cabin. I couldn’t even agree as he took the phone back from the lady.
“Thank y-”, he starts, but I butt in: “I didn’t ag-”
“You smell good, what’s your perfume?”, he interrupts me too. I’m too confused to finish my other sentences as I just ask: “Why?”
“That friend, who isn’t really my friend, has a new girlfriend. I want to give her something too.”
I tell him the perfume I use and walk straight to the register, just wanting to get away. He should have fucking stayed a ghost.
I don’t try to gnaw on it too much as I put my groceries down. Eyeing a ‘thank you’ card, I quickly put it next to my groceries.
“Got a boyfriend?”, he asks without giving me a second look as he puts his stuff on the conveyor belt too.
“I actually do”, I snarl back, not amused at all by his behavior. I should have never answered his questions in the first place, just acting like I have no idea who he is. On the other hand it is hard to overlook the person who played such a big role in my career.
He could have been the ending but he was the crucial part to my new beginning. Because of him I had the chance to retire when I wanted to. Two Olympic Gold medals. I ended my career in the best moment, at its peak.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”, I state affirmatively.
“Someone I would know?”
What kind of dumb question is that?
It seems more likely that he isn’t believing me and just wants to make sure I am not lying.
I owe him a lot in a cruel way, but I would never fall so low to ever date him. Regardless, I have a contract with Satoru and I will not waver.
For the time being Satoru is my priority.
At least this question gives me a little relief. If he doesn’t know about Satoru and me, he really isn’t an Ice Hockey fan. Good, one less worry.
“Well, can’t tell if you know him but Satoru Gojo”, I mutter, hoping it will be enough to get him off my back and leave me alone. I give the cashier my card and pay for my stuff.
“It doesn’t ring a bell”, he laughs, his eyes following my every move.
“Then you must live behind the moon”, I retorted and grabbed my groceries.
“Maybe, or he isn’t just that important”, he says with a shrug: “anymore.”
I foolishly neglect his reply and just walk out of the store towards my car. All I want is to get away from this person. From my past.
Once I sit in my car, everything comes crashing down on me. My hands shake and I feel panic rising inside of me. I shouldn’t drive in this emotional state, but I need to leave the parking lot. Away from him. Far away and praying that I will never see him again.
My mothers words come back into my brain. I could have lost my foot.
Because of him.
He is dangerous.
In the end I will never know if I had made history at the Olympics if I had told him to fuck off and leave me alone, not skating at the world championship. No one will know. By all means I could have recovered out of my insecurities alone and won a year later. Everything is possible.
But I did what I did and he did what he did. Risking your own career is one thing, but being a driving force in risking others, problematic.
Additionally to his acting of ‘fixing’ my ankle, his words were a big part in my win too. His degradation towards me made me want to prove him wrong. As soon as I stepped on the ice I wanted him to look at me and see me win.
Full circle back to my weaknesses. I care too much about what people think of me. It shouldn’t have mattered what an unknown man claims about me.
Yet it did to me.
Cut that crap! I will change. This is my second new beginning.
With that I start my car and drive off, not looking back.
I arrive at the rink hall, taking my groceries with me as I walk to the front door. Seeing Satoru waiting for me from afar makes my heart flutter.
I am safe now from the ghost of my past.
He grins widely, nothing evil behind it. Just Satoru.
I step towards him, he takes my bags from me as I don’t stop getting nearer. Pressing my face in his chest, I sling my arms around him and just breathe in. He never saw me as a loser. He always treated me like an equal.
“What’s wrong?”, he lightly chuckles and puts one of his large hands on my head, patting me like I have seen him pat my cat Todo. His chest quakes from his laughter and it feels good. It feels safe. Satoru knows me and at least some of my weaknesses and he is still here.
“I just saw a ghost”, I mumble, which earns me another quiver from him.
“A ghost?”
“Yes, but he is gone now and will never come back.”
“Did you fall on your head or something?”
Slight concern is in his voice. I look up to him with a cheeky smile.
“I got something for you”, taking a step back, I grab my bags from Satoru and rummage inside of one of them. It is too full, so I take a pack of baby carrots out and hand it to him to just hold while I keep on searching.
“Wow, I love baby carrots!”, he says with way too much enthusiasm. They aren’t his surprise, but I couldn’t resist my next tease: “Why, do they remind you of something?”
He laughs and we both grin at each other.
“I don’t have a baby carrot and you know it”, he adds: “As I recall it, you were afra-”
“Yeah, yeah I know! Don’t remind me, idiot.”
Satoru would love nothing more to remind me again of our night together, but I
keep him quiet by switching the baby carrots in his hand with a box of chocolates.
“Sorry to disappoint, but the baby carrots are for the kids later.”
“Kids?”, he frowns and looks at the new item in his hand. His brain is rattering to figure out why I give him chocolates.
“Yeah, the skating students you happily agreed on training for me. Did you forget?”
The frown on his face deepens and soon enough he groans.
“Do I really have to do this?”
“You promised.”
“Lie, I never did.”
“Well, you said to Suguru that you promised me, so it is kind of a promise.”
Another groan, which makes me feel flustered, growing a bit hot in certain areas.
“Suguru and I will be there too.”, a small smile forms on his lips.
“Fine.”, he pouts and rolls his eyes, but I know he is just acting bothered: “But if you leave me alone for one second I will be mad.”
“I would never.”, I reply with a soft nod.
I take the ‘thank you’ card out of my bag and his brain is catching up to the premise. His pout turns into a knowing smirk.
“Do you have your wallet on you?”
He knows what I want.
“Always”, he hands me a pen out of his pocket. I open the card and go behind Satoru, using his broad back as a table to write on. He is nice enough to lean slightly forward as I scribble something down. I put the card into the envelope and
wet the glue strip with my spit to close it. Once I am finished I hand it back to him with a big smile.
“Thank you, partner”
He is all smiles and dimples as he takes the card from me.
“It was my pleasure”, he sticks the box of chocolates under his armpit and rips the envelope open to read my message.
Dear Satoru,
thank you for fucking my insecurity away ❤️
Sincerely followed by my signature autograph.
By the way he looks at me, I am one more step closer to finally get him to open up to me. A step closer to get our situation ruled out as a draw.
He puts the card back into the envelope and looks at me with tomato red cheeks. I gasp at this sight.
I managed to make the Satoru Gojo speechless with his own shenanigans! The ‘thank you’ card and box of chocolates were his idea after all.
“I got you blushing!”, I can not not make him even more embarrassed. This is the chance of a lifetime. I will wallow in it like a piggy in fresh mud.
“Shut up”, he turns his face away, but I take his beautiful face in between my hands to make him look at me.
A mistake because from the way he looks at me, he got me blushing now. I feel like in this moment we are just one more heartbeat away from kissing each other but as if god sent an angel to save me from my disgrace, the front door swings open and Suguru emerges. I let go of Satoru and took a step back, looking at Suguru now.
“There you are”, he nods at Satoru, not noticing me at first. I have never seen such an expression on Sugurus face. A grimace, a pissed off grimace.
“We need to talk.”
The last twenty minutes I spent on the tribune, next to Shoko as we watched Satoru and Suguru hammer pucks into the goal.
“Men”, Shoko sighs next to me: “Can’t handle their emotions so they have to act them out.”
I agree with her.
The situation they found themself in isn’t ideal but I don’t get the fuss. Toji Fushiguro didn’t sign an extension contract for the Rangers. It was a surprise but they could have seen it coming. Greedy athletes always change their team, especially if money is on the line. And if I learned one thing about Toji during my research, he loves money.
Surely losing a player is always shitty, but I looked into the entire team. There are so many good other players. He won’t be missed. At least I thought so, but as I voiced it Suguru looked at me with an offended glare and said I have no idea about Ice Hockey, so I kept my mouth shut from that point and just let them work it out on their own.
It was better anyway to stay out of this, because my father decided to make Toji an offer of a lifetime and he will be playing for the Devils from now on. Once Suguru mentioned this to Satoru, I got the death stare, like I have something to do with the shit my father does.
So I banished myself on the bench next to Shoko, now watching two grown men trying to see who can destroy their ice hockey stick the fastest.
“Want something from the vending machine?”, Shoko asks me.
“Nah, I’m good, but here”, I hand her my keys: “Just open it and take what you want.”
“You will never get those keys back.”, she declares and I one hundred percent believe her.
“I will not forget about them.”, I respond with a light smile, but she just waves me off and walks away.
As I watch them play or whatever the hell they are doing, I regret not unfollowing Toji on Satorus account in first place.
With a big stretch I get up and decide to finally intervene. They could do this for hours to no end, but in around two hours ten kids will be here for their skating course and I can’t have two sulking men train them.
I step on the ice being totally ignored by the two of them. Granted, I am the enemy right now, well, I have half the DNA of their enemy.
“Does it really matter that he left?”
Both of them tilt their heads to me with an annoyed expression. I hold my hands up in defense.
“Like, is he stronger than you?”, I ask Satoru.
“No.”, a prompt answer.
“So it doesn’t matter.”, I get eye rolls from them - synchronous.
“Ice hockey is a team sport.”, Suguru tells me like I don’t know.
“Okay, and? What about the others? Aren’t they good enough?”
“That’s not the-”, I don’t let Suguru finish.
“Hakari never missed the goal, Higuruma always has a solid strategy, Kusakabe has one of the greatest defenses, Ino is an allround talent, Choso never misses a pass”, I pause, but add: “And Nanami just won the award for best goalie.”
They are a lot more players, but I decided to just go with the main ones. Both Satoru and Suguru stare at me like I am a freak.
“You learned about the team?”, Satoru asks, astonished.
“Yeah, for you”, I answer and oh boy, I didn’t mean for it to sound so tender, even corny.
“I mean, you know I should kind of know your team, right? Like it would be weird if a reporter asks me something and I have no clue, right?”, too many rights. I cross my arms and act nonchalant, looking everywhere but at Satorus plaguing and all-knowing grin. Suguru just peeks between Satoru and me before rolling his eyes but with a small smile.
“Anyway”, I try to get back on track: “Both of you are so occupied at being mad at a person who left your team for money, that you are the ones acting like Ice Hockey isn’t a team sport.”
According to wikipedia Toji is one of the best Ice Hockey players alive right now, but I certainly don’t need to mention this right now.
“You are right, we don’t need him to win the Stanley cup”, Satoru announces after a while of skeptical glimpses between Suguru and himself.
“Still he knows all the weaknesses of our team members”, Suguru thinks out loud: “and he knows the relationship between you two is fake.”
Shit, I forgot about that part.
“But like every other teammate he had to sign a document, he isn’t allowed to disclose that.”
“Come on, Satoru, don’t be dumb. He will never publicly state it but he will tell his new team and they will do anything to use it against you.”
“Let them try”, I chirp in: “we are smarter than them.”
I will end up regretting these words.
Satoru seems confident as well, giving me a thumbs up with a big smile. Only Suguru isn’t convinced.
“If everything goes down”, I skate to him and take his stick: “I can always take Tojis spot on the team.”
I hit the puck and scored.
“Natural talent”, Satoru grins.
“Yeah, sadly it is in my blood”, I shrug my shoulders, looking at his beaming smile. I am glad I got them to stop overthinking. At least for now. If they want they can have a sleepover and keep sulking the entire night. For now I want them to be ready for the skating course later.
As I was thinking of a way to cheer up Suguru, Shoko shrieks from the tribune. We all looked at her like she got bitten by a spider.
“You gotta be kidding me!”, see, I will regret my words.
“What’s up, Choco-Shoko”, Satoru skates towards the brim of the rink, followed by Suguru and me. Normally Shoko would glare daggers at Satoru for this name, but she is too occupied staring at her phone.
She alters her stare and looks with an open mouth at me before stuttering: “I have a girl problem.”
“A what?”, Suguru asks confusedly, staring at Satoru, who seems as perplexed.
“I need you, now, outside”, she points at me and I just comply, stepping out the rink and stomping behind her with my skates still on. As soon as we exit the rink hall and enter the corridor, she turns around and holds her phone too close to my face to see.
“Can you explain this?”
“Shoko, I can’t see anything like this”, I push her hand down and focus on the screen.
It is a picture.
Not any picture.
It is the picture from the supermarket.
The picture of Yuji and me.
The ghost isn’t gone.
But they don’t know anything about my past with him. For what it looks like he is just a fan taking a picture with me.
“What’s the problem, Shoko? He just asked for a picture in the supermarket”, I tilt my head, acting confused and certainly I am a bit.
“You know who this is, right?”, she proceeds to press the phone again in my face.
“Shoko, stop”, I take a step back: “again, he was just asking for a picture. I didn’t ask for his ID or anything.”
Why do I have the feeling I made a huge mistake.
Why can’t this ghost stay in my past?
Shoko looks at me like I am a pink elephant wearing a tutu.
“You really have no idea?”
“No, I told you, he just asked for a picture.”
Who the hell is he?
Yuji, the pro basketball player. Did he have a scandal I don’t know about and taking a picture with him wasn’t a good move.
Well, lack of knowledge doesn’t save you from backlash, but Shoko acts like someone posted a video of me skinning puppies alive.
“Short and sweet, this is Satorus mortal enemy on and off the ice.”
Shoko explains dryly: “And you better run, because if Satoru sees this, he will use your bones to make a new Ice Hockey stick.”
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
Mortal enemy?
On the ice?
That motherfucker is an Ice Hockey Player!
I grab her phone and click on his profile.
Sukuna Ryomen. Not Yuji.
Ice Hockey. Not basketball.
Center player for the New Jersey Devils. No fucking way.
What kind of fuckery is this?
I feel like the last few days I got way too many situations like this, where I just get thrown under the bus, but this, this is next level shit.
He lied to me years ago and kept the lie running.
Well, I decided to play in his cards by not googling him.
Keeping him a mystery, a ghost.
Great idea, now he is back and alive, ready to jump me like a lion a gazelle. He kind of did that already.
I don’t care about Satorus hatred against him. For now.
All I think about is why he was at the stadium years ago!?
Was he sent by my father? According to his profile, he was already playing for the Devils at that time.
What is doing on?
The binding technique, the unknown pill.
Sabotage.
He truly was there to sabotage me. To end my career.
One hundred percent did my father send him.
I was getting more and more media coverage at that time. After all, I was a candidate for the Olympics. My father got asked more and more questions about me. He surely knew how to ignore them, but they must have bothered him. So much so that he sent someone over to sabotage my career. To end it and then he would have never heard of me again.
It all made sense.
But his little trick didn’t work, it did the opposite.
Oh, he must have been so pissed. So pissed seeing me win and a few weeks later announcing that I will be skating for the Olympics.
Definitely a vein popped in his forehead.
The door swings open loudly as it crashes against the wall.
“Here we go.”, Shoko takes her phone out of my hand and steps backwards, seemingly wanting to escape whatever is coming our way.
Satoru with his head tilted forwards, angry like a bull seeing red.
Fitting, I have a red pilates set on.
Behind him Suguru tries to entangle Satoru in a conversation, but it doesn’t work. Satoru stops right in front of me and I would do everything for him to just scream at me and get it over with, instead he is so calm.
Calm like the sea before a tsunami.
“What is this?”, he shows me the same picture I just saw a second ago on Shokos phone.
“Let me explain.”
“What is there to explain? You took a cute little picture with Sukuna. Anything else I need to know?”, he gestures with his hand fastly, something I have never seen him do before: “Like have you given him a quick update on how my recovery is going or I don’t know, fucked him.”
I was expecting a lot of accusations but fucking him.
“Satoru”, Suguru chimes in, in a warning tone, but even he is looking at me like I did skin puppies alive.
Satoru ignores him completely, just staring at me. His height was always intimidating but now it is fucking terrifying.
But I am too stubborn and actually really hurt by his accusation, especially the last one. I will not allow someone to talk down on me again. I have changed.
“Yes Satoru, right between the bananas and the apples in the fruit aisle”, the moment I said it, the moment I regretted it. Satoru is so irrational right now, he would take everything seriously. He snorts with a menacing smile forming on his face.
“I see, no denying.”
Different approach.
“Listen, I just told Shoko I had no idea who he is. He just asked me for a picture.”
There is no reason for me to tell him about my past with Sukuna. It has nothing to do with Satoru and the situation I am in. I will keep it to myself. I see no sense in telling him about it and making him probably even angrier for being so foolish to not looking more into that guy who nearly ended my career.
This is a conflict between my father, Sukuna and me. No need to drag Satoru into this.
“How stupid do you think I am?”, Satoru replies, not even listening to me: “I fell for your little act of having no clue about Ice Hockey because it made sense, but now it is just getting ridiculous.”
That hurt like hell, worse than my foot inside the binding.
Yeah, my life is a performance and I act like people want me to.
But I never acted when it came to Satoru. I tried in the car on our first meeting, but he saw right through me and since I was always myself around him.
“I was never acting around you and you know it”, tears start to sting in my eyes.
This is all a big misunderstanding and it could be solved so easily if he just listens.
“I just want you to tell me the truth and stop wasting my time.”
“Oh, you want the truth? I will give you the truth”, neither Satoru nor I should talk to each other right now. We are too emotional when it comes to the other person, but I am so hurt from his ignorance towards me. How can he not believe me? Whatever rivalry is between Sukuna and him, it goes deep.
“Even if I was that evil mastermind who lured you into a trap.”, well, fuck I lured him into a trap once, but he did it too! He isn’t a saint either, but to accuse me of working together with a member of my fathers team is too much: “What could I have told Sukuna about you, huh? How all I know about you is readable on your fucking wikipedia page? Because you certainly didn’t tell me anything half the planet doesn’t know about you already!”
I keep holding eye contact with him, even when I feel the tears flowing now.
“How I only saw you train for like thirty minutes and I have no idea about your progress? I never asked you or anyone else about your recovery or training plan or I don’t even know what. I have no idea who you truly are.”
He doesn’t answer me, just keeps meeting my eyes, like trying to find something in them so he can doubt me again.
He doesn’t want to trust me.
I thought about trust a lot. How I have trouble trusting Satoru, but I kind of disregarded that he might feel the same way about me. Not fully trusting me and with a situation like this. I would have probably reacted the same way.
One thing is clear, he is hurt as well.
“Okay, this is getting out of hand”, Suguru steps in between us, tearing our staring contest apart.
“Both of you need to calm down! Whatever Sukunas intention was by posting this picture, he would probably have a big, fat grin on his face seeing you two go against each other!”, Suguru takes a deep breath. I look at Suguru but I still feel Satorus penetrating stare at me.
“Toji surely told them about the contract between you two. Sukuna will do everything to throw you off course, Satoru”, he touches Satorus shoulder to get him to listen.
I hear Shoko sucking in a breath and underlay Sugurus comments: “Suguru is right, it seems like he tries to get under your skin. Sukuna will do everything to keep you from performing your best. I mean he tried a similar play between Suguru and you years ago.”
I give Shoko a questioning glance but she just shrugs her shoulders. Whatever, I know nothing about Satoru anyway, why should it matter what happened years ago between the three of them.
Yeah, whatever!
All this talk about being a team and partner, fuck it. I don’t care. I was never part of his team to begin with.
I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.
But I do care.
The contract means as much to me as I thought it meant to Satoru. It is my chance to come to terms with all that happened in my life.
My absent father.
My overzealous mother.
My madly ascent as a figure skater.
Maybe I should just really call a therapist.
I should turn around and leave, never looking back and forget the time we had. Just go into my room and lay in my bed, figuring my life out on my own.
However in the end I am not a quitter. I signed this contract and I will do everything to keep it running.
Everything is one big misunderstanding and I need to bash this in Satorus head. Of course my feelings are hurt because I feel like I have shown him parts of me no one knows and he didn’t give me anything back.
But there was a reason why he wanted me as his fake girlfriend. Me and no one else, because we understand each other on a level most can’t relate to. I need to break his walls down, one by one.
I like to think I had harder challenges.
Satoru exhales, taking in what Suguru and Shoko said. He rubs his hands over his face, pressing his finger into his eye sockets.
“I didn’t m- I need a minute”, with that he just leaves, walking to the locker rooms.
Silence between the three of us. I know Suguru will be the first one to say something, probably telling me to give Satoru some time and everything will work out after a rational talk.
Not this time, Suguru. This time I will do it my way.
Without another word I follow Satoru, Suguru calling me from behind to let him be. I don’t listen as I keep walking, storming into the locker room.
“I said I need a minute”, Satoru groans loudly, probably thinking I am Suguru by the way his voice sounds.
It is like a Deja Vu from another point of view. How he is the one sitting on a bench, mind going haywires and just done with the world as I storm into the room with one thing in mind. Getting him back on track.
I’m Sukuna and Satoru is me from all those years ago.
Well, it is debatable what Sukunas true intention was by getting my ass back on the ice, but I know what mine is.
“Hey, Loser”, I chuckle as I lean against the wall in front of him, looking at him with a grin plastered on my face.
I will use the same tactic Sukuna used on me. I will use Sukunas own weapon to get his mortal enemy back on track, but I will make it better.
The pure degradation from Sukuna made me go mad. I mean I nearly lost my career alongside my foot. What I would have needed, was a slap in the face to wake up and a gentle kiss after to make me realize I have worth.
Degradation and praise.
My weapons are better.
“What did you call me?”
“Want me to repeat it?”
“Yes, say it again”, his voice is so low, I start to get goosebumps and regret my plan. Maybe it doesn’t work on Satoru. Maybe we aren’t as similar, but I remember being mad at Sukuna too, I think I was only more bewildered because I didn’t know him.
“I said you are a loser”, my confidence slips a bit and he can see it.
I hate how easily he reads me.
“Care to elaborate?”, he grins back and yeah, this isn’t going the way it did with Sukuna and me. This bastard is enjoying this.
I seem to have forgotten that there is one big difference between Satoru and me and this is confidence.
My confidence outside the rink is all fake, while his’ never leaves. He probably never thought of himself as a loser.
“It is just a bit pathetic, don’t you think?”
Laughter from him, but if you listen closely you can hear the difference between his real one and this one.
I can pick up a bit of sourness.
My words got to him. I mean it is probably the first time ever someone talked to him like this. Someone he cares about.
Tell me what you want, but I know he cares at least a tiny bit about me. He has to for our contract to work.
“I’m still waiting for the elaboration, princess.”
I want to roll my eyes. Not even five minutes ago he accused me of being this evil mastermind and now he acts like nothing happened between us, like he can just call me princess and get away with it.
Okay, I will let him get away with it, but just because I have a more important mission.
“You got all unreasonable and threw a fit because I took an innocent picture with a man I didn’t know was your self-appointed mortal enemy. Hard to believe this is how the legend Satoru Gojo behaves.”
His eyes darkened and I think I overstepped slightly. Well, there is no turning back now.
What's said is said.
“You complain about not knowing me, but once I show you a side of me, you complain even more.”
“That’s not what I was complaining about and you know it.”, I sigh and change the theme, because I don’t want to start a discussion about this.
This conversation is about him, not about my hurt feelings.
“Anyway, I don’t want to believe this is the real you”, I walk over to him and kneel down in front of him, looking up to meet his damning eyes.
“I don’t believe it. You are smart, smarter than most people I know. You think ahead for your five teammates and know your opponents by heart. You are the fastest, strongest and most versatile player in the NHL. And you are funny and kind in your own way, so don’t tell me the way you just acted out there is part of you. Whatever your issue with Sukuna is, he uses your hatred against him to bring out a part of you that isn’t you. An irrational and cruel loser.”
Sukuna did the same to me and I didn’t even know him prior to that. He made me irrational by playing with my insecurity of losing and made me cruel by the way I ended up talking with my mother.
All these were my actions and I’m to blame for it, but everything would have turned out differently without him.
He didn’t make me the person I am today. I will not give him that. The irrational and cruel side he handed me will be bashed once and for all.
I won’t give him credit anymore for giving me my titles. He isn’t the reason I made it to the Olympics. I could have done it on my own, because deep down I had all the strength in myself I needed. I am not a loser.
“Did you google my stats?”, is all he says to me after I told him a lot of nice things about himself.
“Had to, it is not like you ever told me about yourself or your team”, my mouth turns into a thin line.
“I’m sorry, I saw red and I overreacted. Suguru, Shoko and you are right. He wants to get inside my head to mess with me.”
“He is afraid you will come back stronger than ever and beat his ass”, now I smile at him and I get a harumph back but with a light smile playing on his lips.
I would give everything to see him all smiles and dimples again, but it might take time.
He takes my chin in his hand and looks at me with his intense eyes.
“I’m really sorry, can you forgive this irrational and cruel loser?”
“I only see a rational and kind winner in front of me, but sure.”
“You will be the death to me”, he laughs and I’m glad I got the smiles and dimples faster back than expected.
“Come here”, he slaps on his leg and helps me get back up to sit down on his lap.
A small voice in my mind tells me to ask him if he was jealous of Sukuna in this picture. The fucking part in his accusations was rather random and I first thought it was to just randomly hurt me, but maybe there was a bit of jealousy. I should ask him, tease him about it, but it is going well now, I shouldn’t test my luck.
Even the best players run out of it and I tested the limits with Satoru enough for one day.
He pulls me closer and slings his arms around my back, pressing me to his chest and oh, his crotch.
“I can’t believe you are hard right now.”
I don’t know why I said that outloud but I did. Nuzzling his head into the croak of my neck, he breaths in my hair and chortles.
“Believe it, it’s the stress.”
“So you are hard 24/7?”
“Only when you are around.”
“You are such a smooth talker”, I giggle and hate myself for the way I react.
“I think red just turned into my favorite color”, he pushes my hair back to get access to my neck, kissing it softly. I feel his fingers linger on the hem of my tight shirt, ready to pull it over my head.
“Then I should better keep it on so you have more of it.”
He grunts and bites me lightly in the shoulder, sending goosebumps down my spine.
“Let me take it off, okay?”
Instantly I want to do nothing more than nod my head, but a thought crosses my mind.
“This wouldn’t be a good idea.”
Another grunt.
“Please don’t tell me you were serious with the one time thing”, he leans back from my neck and looks at me, waiting to accept a rejection.
I actually was, but now I am not anymore. The problem lies somewhere else.
“What if someone comes in?”
“A big surprise for them”, he grins widely.
“Not funny”, I roll my eyes: “I’m serious.”
“You are always too serious”, he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“And you aren’t serious enough. Suguru could come in and catch us.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I punch his shoulder lightly.
“It does! I don’t want him nor anyone else from the team to know about this”, I wave my finger between Satoru and me back and forth.
“Not to break your little bubble, but they already know”, I stare with a shocked expression at him, ready to punch him for real this time.
If he dared to-
“You weren’t exactly quiet the other night and the walls are rather thin.”
Now I wish he would have told them instead, that would be way less embarrassing. I grumble in my hands, hiding my face out of sheer mortification. Satoru just laughs, as always and grabs my hands, pulling them off my face.
“It is fine.”
“It is not”, I pout. Is today my personal humiliation day? A new holiday I didn’t know about.
“It really is, princess.”
I didn’t want anyone, especially Suguru, to know I had slept with Satoru. It comes across as extremely incompetent regarding our whole contract. Our entire relationship should have stayed professional. I don’t want to know what Suguru is thinking of me. He had the most trust in me and I ended up sleeping with Satoru not even a few days into the contract.
I’m weak. At least when it comes to Satoru.
Wait.
This is the chance. A draw!
There is no insecurity for him to fuck out of my mind. He wants to hook up with me out of sheer fun? Lust? Whatever it is, it will create the draw I so desperately want to have.
I want to be on equal terms again.
“But we don’t need to anymore, you know. No more insecurity inside my head.”
Well, no more insecurity regarding looking at him and being close to him.
“I know, but I just want to be inside you”, he looks at me with a small, pleading pout: “No, I need to be inside you.”
I exhale a steamy breath. He is again at the hem of my shirt, pulling it slightly up, rough fingertips traveling over my skin.
“Don’t make me beg, unless it turns you on, then I will gladly beg”, his mouth is against my jawline, leaving a trail of kisses and small bites.
I nod and reap a ‘tz’ from him.
“Give me a clear yes or no.”
I shouldn’t.
“Yes”, and his lips are suddenly on mine, just leaving them for a second as he pulls my top over my head.
With slightly cold hands he squeezes my breasts, a moan escaping my mouth, which he catches with his. He rolls my already hard nipples between his fingers before choosing the one on the left side to close his lips around and lick. I whimper and lean my head back, giving him even more access as his now unoccupied hand enters my waistband.
“Angel”, he whispers in my ear: “Get up for a second, we need to get rid of your pants, okay?”
He talks to me like I am slow on the uptake and at this moment I feel like it. I’m in a delicious delirium as I stand up and hold myself up on Satorus shoulders. He gets rid of my pants, not we. In a swift motion he brings me back on his lap and kisses me again, his tongue asking for excess to enter my mouth and I let him with a small sob. I want to open his pants, but he grabs my eager hands quickly.
“I know we don’t have a lot of time, but you need to be a bit prepared, okay?”, again he talks to me slowly and I just nod, not knowing why we need to be quick.
…
The skating course!
Dragged out of my delirium I look around for a watch. Satoru catches me scowling and states: “Don’t worry, we still have enough time.”
I pucker my lips for a second but I ended up trusting him, not wanting to call it quits now.
And no, this isn’t just about me wanting this to. This is all about getting equal again. In my head I mentally make the note to let this really be the last time. After this Satoru and I will just be partners like we are in a law firm.
Before I can even write the note mentally down, the thought is gone as he wets two of his fingers with his tongue before stuffing them inside my mouth too. I twirl my tongue around them too as he pulls them back out with a blop. With his other hand, he grabs my butt and slightly lifts me up as I kneel on his lap.
Then he creeps his fingers at a slow pace up and down in between my fold to gather slick. I lean forward and lift myself a bit more up to give him better excess. Steady but so, so, so slowly he enters me. His thumb is drawing soft circles on my clit while he starts to move his fingers in and out. So slow like we are in no hurry, like he wants to torture me.
“Please Satoru, faster”, I cry in his ear.
“Nah, angel”, he presses a kiss on my temple.
“This is your punishment for taking that picture.”
I should have known he wouldn’t let me off the hook about this picture so quickly.
“Please, I had no idea”, I groan frustrated and sling my arms around his neck for support as I start to move my hips, trying to create speed and friction on my own. My plan failed as Satoru keeps my hips in place with his other arm around my waist now.
“Should have thought about that before taking a picture with a random man.”
He can’t be serious, right?
How am I supposed to know Satoru has a mortal enemy out there, who out of nowhere appears in front of me at the supermarket.
Sukuna called it fate, but what was it really?
With a light bite in my cheek, Satoru brings me back to the present as his fingers once again enter me lazily.
“This is unfair”, I complain against his neck, thinking if I touch him more it will make him more excited, giving me what I want.
My hands wander under his shirt, along his hard abs to his nipples, stroking them slightly. That move earned me a rough exhale from him between shut teeth.
“Just promise me one thing.”
“Everything, I will promise you everything”, I am so desperate to get off. I can feel the coil inside me building up but it isn’t going to snap at this slow pace.
“Whatever happens between us, never fuck Sukuna, promise.”
Again his insecurity when it comes to Sukuna and me. Is it really a jealousy thing? I can’t imagine Satoru ever being jealous of someone.
“I promise, really, I will always be on your team even if you don’t want me to.”
He looks at me with an amazed grimace before locking our lips again, finally speeding up. The lazy circles on my clit turn into rougher ones as his fingers pump into me. I breathe heavily into his shoulder as my legs start to quiver and the strength to keep them up tardily leaves me.
He knows exactly where my weak spot is, as he supports my weight with his muscular arm, hitting the same sweet spot over and over again as his fingers work their wonders to make me cum. The coil that was built on at the slow movements, quickly grows bigger before it explodes and I cum undone around his fingers. My walls pulsate around his fingers as he lets me ride my orgasm out on them.
I’m out of breath but I can’t wait any longer. I want him inside me right now. With shaky hands I open his pants and lift myself up on my wobbly knees to pull his pants down. His erection springs free and yeah, no baby carrot.
Nevertheless I am still intimidated but I had him already in me and I survived it and even better liked, no loved it.
“Slow down, partner”, Satoru yelps out of breath as I position myself on top of his dick.
“No.”, I kiss him and sink down on him, feeling my walls painfully stretch around his massive girth. He leans back, pressing his back against the wall for support and giving me time to adjust and do everything at my speed. His eyes are closed and I know he wants to do nothing more than move his hips at an incredible pace to drill into me.
But he is patient as I slip slowly down his cock, letting out small whines, each one making his cock flutter inside of me. Once I am all settled down, I take a short breather adjusting myself.
Soon enough I start to roll my hips to let him know I am ready. His reaction was immediate as he grips my hips hard, boring his fingers into the soft flesh on my stomach and just fucks raw into me. I gasp and tears escape my eyes at the sudden rough friction. My eyes roll back as he lets go off my hip with one arm, laying it now flat against my back and gripping my neck from behind. Hand in my hair to keep me steady as he slides his dick in and out of me with loud groans. He has to use a lot of strength to not keep me from falling off his lap, but he doesn’t seem to mind, not breaking a sweat over this. His tongue moves from my shoulder to my neck, up my jaw to my mouth where it means mine.
I’m so full of him I feel everything so intense that it is mind numbing. Whenever his white pubic hair meets my clit, it sends a shiver down from head to toe.
“Maybe I will just mark you”, he bites into my lip before kissing me again: “Making it clear who you belong to.”
He lets go of my hip and grabs my jaw between his long fingers to make me look at him.
“Would you like that, angel? Letting everyone know you are mine?”
I nod and babble a few yesyesyes.
Surely this is all filthy sex talk, right? He doesn’t really mean it. I am not his.
“I could cum on your face and make you walk around like that or fill you up with so much of my cum your birth control fails and you will be round with my baby.”
Whatever he wants, he can have and I make sure to tell him that as I wail into the palm of my hand to keep myself quiet.
This time we aren’t team players as we both chase our own release. His thrusts get sloppier as he supports my legs with his hands so I don’t break down on him. My chest is pressed against his, since I lost the power to uphold my body on its own. Before I lose my strength completely I climax and my head falls heavy on his shoulder as I start to see stars behind my closed eyes.
“No one fucks you so good.”
I’m not sure if it was a statement or a question, but I can’t speak anyway, so I just nod against his hard shoulder.
Feeling my walls open and close around his dick, Satoru slides one more time fully into me, his pubic hair chilling against my clit again as he fills me up with his warm sperm, twitching inside of me until he is completely milked.
My head is resting on his shoulder and he is resting his’ on mine.
I don’t know how long we stay like this, but after a while Satoru slaps my ass, making me jolt.
“Time to get ready, can’t let them kids wait, right?”, he pulls me up, his dick slipping out of me, suddenly leaving me feeling empty and abandoned. Carefully he carries me to the side, my naked ass on the bench now as he gets up and pulls his pants up. He picks up my clothes and grabs a few paper towels from the shelf, placing all next to me on the bench while I am still in a state of trance. He smirks at my fucked out gooey form and slicks my hair out of my face.
“I need to discuss something with Suguru. I will be back once the course starts.”
For a second it looks like he is leaning in for a kiss, but then he retracts and pats my shoulder like we are buddies!? As if his dick wasn’t a few seconds ago getting freaky inside my bowels. He turns around and leaves without saying another word or waiting for a response.
I got my draw.
But with the worst outcome possible. Being left alone, naked, with his cum leaking out of me and nothing has changed, I still know nearly nothing about him.
Sukuna is his enemy, but why exactly does he hate him so much? It can’t be just that he is on an opposite team.
And what does Suguru have to do with this?
I lied to all of them. I told them I had no idea who Sukuna was.
Well, that’s actually true to an extent, but I didn’t mention our past.
If Satoru can have his secrets, I can have mine too.
As long as they don’t come back and bite me in the ass.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#gojo satoru#enemies to lovers#figure skating#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo smut#gojo x y/n#ice hockey#ryomen sukuna#sukuna ryomen#yuuji itadori#itadori yuuji#sukuna#geto suguru#jjk geto#jujutsu geto#suguru#gojo
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Boys will be boys but balance and work it out by manning the fuck up
You are capable, able to be solid in shaping the fathomed qualities you endevour, become wiser and more powerful every moment you count a step and place one in front of the other no matter how large or small the gap may seem - remember logic and common sense that better to get it over and done with sooner so you reach your ideals to live air in breath taking reality in the here and now. There ain’t nothing in this world that should break you less than the pain suffered alone in every waking - during moment especially having to bare the confusions of constant misunderstandings for doing the right thing that you stand true and exist genuinely with, to questioning your own integrity and still learning to grow from the parts that you could’ve easily been misjudged but never would ever flow or even know of in your own form of characteristics to be part of your own paradigm/dna.
To have to find yourself through all the voices you had to consider before even thinking you’ve finally found yourself to be able to stare hard and know that you are still here and able to move forward towards what’s left to acknowledge by yourself that no one has ever seen - to be able to stay still and find a will greater than any other and especially sucks when it’s for them but to get there, you must give a shit about yourself for once somehow after so long of not giving yourself time to know how to do this as giving was so much easier but when it comes to finally doing something for yourself, just a blank. Just a contemplation, just another endless row of questions and more curiosities but who the fuck cares and why does it fucking matter anymore? Just because. I fucking decided it to be so and I will make sure that my eyes meet to match it’s own fucking knowledge and wisdom to have myself meet me eye to I to make damn sure that I have always known whom I am. I am a contradiction but truth is, once you get what I am doing then you will see how oversimplified I have endeavoured to procreate from all I’ve expanded from what we know now. One consciousness and third eyes was already a birthright and I am so proud of the majority for being able to open up a tad to spirituality but as predictable as many tend to follow, try to conceive a whole plot to create more followers to think alike and not to help open up more guidance into channeling others to align with their own trueness from the moment and try to get a submission of persuasion orders to change a thought? Disgusting and ungrateful but I shalt leave that up to Sin to sort out as I do not have time to quarrel upon these little matters any further as I need to start back to each point and I do hope that any dear reader to know that they should always be taking into account unto whom they know-thyself to be no matter where you are reading and learning from by only staying open minded, acknowledging difference, finding similarities in what makes sense to thy own understanding and to allow the differences to only make due noted if need be without having to believe every single word one says no matter how convincing. Including mine. Question everything and anything but hold your foundation and have enough common sense to know when too many loops become pointless and have a goal. If you don’t understand or know what it means? Ask and be patient to receive all in the right timing depending on which palms or ways of figurative highest be to guide your path and enlighten your curiosities, fascinations or interests to thy question. I do suggest you to also form a pact and hold high regards to your own standards on the masculine and feminine balance of equal squares that need to be brought to attention. I strongly do advise to keep it straight and just know that we are male or female and just to go with the flow from there. Adam and Eve. Love is love but one love is truest as can be and meets in a place that keeps peace and pace to each fair and anointed harmony shared amongst all that are in seeking or just par with this source and energy .
Do and act upon the most sincere intent to attract that same energy as that will be what is left to come back around as it is what’s given to go forth forward to coming right from the corner whenever it make do with its courses that it runs however it does.
If it’s meant to be, it will be. If it’s wished well, it shalt be endlessly to last ever-so crafted and met to be well in the end as it started in the beginning.
If you don’t know, that’s okay. Start here until you do know. Maybe do-know go hand in hand after somethings done and dusted to have the rest be more clearer with a clearer insight 1:11
Anywho, 2:22
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Week Five: Showered with love, hate, and everything in between
Helloooooo dear friends.
For better or for worse, I have fewer interesting things to talk about this week. Life here remains difficult, and for mostly the same reasons as before. There are bright spots, like the handful of really great member moments and dinners I've been able to be apart of or perhaps finally getting to meet our friend Lamar..that man can make anyone smile, and when we can catch him he loves to chat with us. That remains a consistent problem with everyone we're working with right now...people are extremely busy and the missionaries are often the first thing to get bumped off the schedule. But we're building a relationship with Lamar and at the very least his energy is bringing me some joy.
I'm getting a little better at talking to strangers as well...I went on an exchange with my district leader (another missionary who is in charge of my welfare and was with me for a day instead of my companion) and working with him was interesting..I got some fresh ideas of how to do my work better, and he cooked some mean biscuits and gravy. Unfortunately, sharing the gospel has a lot less to do with my skills than it does with the desire of the people we meet, and here in Midland 95% of people politely tell us they already have a church and the next 4% feel the need to spend half an hour berating us for being brainwashed cult members. I'm doing my best to follow Christ's command to "love those that persecute ye". There are a lot of different Christian churches here as well. Apparently it's because the founder of Dow (a massive chemical company headquartered here) was really into religious harmony so once Dow's property holdings became unnecessarily large he made a public offer: anyone wishing to start a ministry could have a free plot of land to build a church. Thus leading to the construction of most of Midland's religious sites, including the LDS meetinghouse I worship in every week. A very cool story!
Unfortunately that means that almost everyone in town is very not interested in talking to me, which doesn't do good things for one's psyche. Especially on the days when someone does their level best to pick apart every single thing I've ever said or believed in. But, even though the stresses of missionary life remain difficult, I can feel myself growing. I still don't really feel like I can sustain this long term but I'm getting by and I'm proud of myself for cramming more life experience into every single day than I ever have before. It doesn't seem to have gone unnoticed by God either...two events come to mind that made me feel loved by Him this week. The first was last Sunday, when Elder Wilchek and I were invited into the primary class "for an activity". After we arrived, we learned that as a reward for their singing, the ward children would be permitted to "shower us with love" with paper hearts. I have attached the results for your entertainment. Having tape stuck to your eyelash isn't the most comfortable thing ever but hanging out with kids is a great way to remind yourself what fun feels like after a week of nobody being happy to see you.
9 Say nothing but repentance unto this generation; keep my commandments, and assist to bring forth my work, according to my commandments, and you shall be blessed.
10 Behold thou hast a gift, and blessed art thou because of thy gift. Remember it is sacred and cometh from above—
11 And if thou wilt inquire, thou shalt know mysteries which are great and marvelous; therefore thou shalt exercise thy gift, that thou mayest find out mysteries, that thou mayest bring many to the knowledge of the truth, yea, convince them of the error of their ways.
12 Make not thy gift known unto any save it be those who are of thy faith. Trifle not with sacred things.
13 If thou wilt do good, yea, and hold out faithful to the end, thou shalt be saved in the kingdom of God, which is the greatest of all the gifts of God; for there is no gift greater than the gift of salvation.
14 Verily, verily, I say unto thee, blessed art thou for what thou hast done; for thou hast inquired of me, and behold, as often as thou hast inquired thou hast received instruction of my Spirit. If it had not been so, thou wouldst not have come to the place where thou art at this time.
15 Behold, thou knowest that thou hast inquired of me and I did enlighten thy mind; and now I tell thee these things that thou mayest know that thou hast been enlightened by the Spirit of truth;
16 Yea, I tell thee, that thou mayest know that there is none else save God that knowest thy thoughts and the intents of thy heart.
17 I tell thee these things as a witness unto thee—that the words or the work which thou hast been writing are true.
18 Therefore be diligent; stand by my servant Joseph, faithfully, in whatsoever difficult circumstances he may be for the word’s sake.
19 Admonish him in his faults, and also receive admonition of him. Be patient; be sober; be temperate; have patience, faith, hope and charity.
20 Behold, thou art Oliver, and I have spoken unto thee because of thy desires; therefore treasure up these words in thy heart. Be faithful and diligent in keeping the commandments of God, and I will encircle thee in the arms of my love.
21 Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I am the same that came unto mine own, and mine own received me not. I am the light which shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not.
22 Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
23 Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?
24 And now, behold, you have received a witness; for if I have told you things which no man knoweth have you not received a witness?
Oh, and one of the ward members made me a hat. That was pretty cool.
I love you and miss you dearly, friends. Until next time. :)
-Elder Beren Mowrer
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Open Heaven 1 December 2022 Thursday Daily Devotional By Pastor E. A. Adeboye – When Light Comes In
Open Heaven 1 December 2022 TOPIC: When Light Comes In
MEMORISE: “Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.” – Isaiah 60:1 (KJV)
READ: John 8:12 (KJV)
12 Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.
BIBLE IN ONE YEAR: Romans 12-15
Open Heaven 1 December 2022 MESSAGE:
When light comes into a dark place, everything changes. Confusion and sadness change to clarity and joy. John 8:12 says that Jesus is the Light of the world. When Jesus enters into your life, everything changes for the better. When He comes in, poverty is driven out for prosperity, depression is replaced with joy and demonic oppression changes to spiritual dominance.
There was a woman who wanted to be the one controlling her husband, so she went to a witch doctor, who told her to put her husband’s picture in a basket with a lid and cover it. He assured her that, as long as the lid remained on the basket, her husband would do anything she said. He however cautioned her that any time she noticed that her husband was beginning to act sluggish, she should remove the lid for a while and after he returned to normal, she could close the basket again. She took the basket home and it worked just as the witch doctor had said. One time when she removed the lid so he wouldn’t die, her husband heard the gospel and gave his life to Christ; Light came into his life. The wife put the lid back on the basket and tried to control him, but he said, “No way, I am the head of this home”. She ran back to the witch-doctor when she saw that the charm was no longer working. He conducted a check in the spirit and said, “A stronger power has rescued him from my hold”.
When light comes into your life, the devil will have absolutely no hold on you again.
Many people are suffering today because they don’t have The Light in their lives. Many claim to be Christians but, because they don’t really have Jesus in their heart as they claim, the devil has kept them in bondage. Let The Light come into your life today so that you can be free. The Light came into my life in 1973 and since then, I have had a better quality of life. I remember how I used to have malaria at least once every month, but today, malaria is gone. I was so deep in the bondage of poverty that even though I was the one who used to pay my driver’s salary, somehow by the middle of the month, I would be so broke that I would have to borrow money from him to buy fuel in the car. When The Light came in, everything changed.
Give your life to Christ today and begin to enjoy abundant life.
Open Heaven 1 December 2022 KEY POINT:
Jesus is all you need to live a better life.
Open Heaven 1 December 2022 HYMN 3: All To Jesus I Surrender
1 All to Jesus I surrender,
All to Him I freely give;
I will ever love and trust Him,
In His presence daily live.
CHORUS:
I surrender all,
I surrender all;
All to Thee, my blessed Saviour,
I surrender all.
2 All to Jesus I surrender,
Humbly at His feet I bow;
Worldly pleasures all forsaken,
Take me, Jesus, take me now.
3 All to Jesus I surrender,
Lord, I give myself to Thee;
Fill me with Thy love and power,
Let Thy blessing fall on me.
4 All to Jesus I surrender,
Now I feel the sacred flame;
O the joy of full salvation!
Glory, glory to His name!
HAPPY NEW MONTH!
Open Heavens 2022 Daily Devotional guide was written by Pastor E.A. Adeboye, the General Overseer of the Redeemed Christian Church of God, one of the largest evangelical church in the world and also the President of Christ the Redeemer’s Ministries. The Open Heavens devotional application is available across all mobile platforms and operating systems: iOS, Android, Blackberry, Nokia, Windows Mobile and PC. Open Heaven for Today 2022
Notice Board: Until you are born again, God ever abiding presence will never be with you. You must be born again to enjoy continuous victory. Please say the displayed prayer below in faith:
Lord Jesus, come into my life. I accept You as my Lord and Personal Saviour. I believe in my heart You died and rose from the dead to save me. Thank You, Lord, for saving me, in Jesus’ name Amen.
If you just prayed the prayer of salvation online please send your testimonies and prayer request to [email protected], +234-1-8447340, +234-0-7098213112.
More on https://preciousjesus1.blogspot.com
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"I've always wanted so badly to be somebody who loves heavily without it weakening me until I falter under the weight that,
so I lifted the restraints from my own heart and set my burdens free.
That was where I decided I no longer had to hold onto anything I couldn't carry, in the moment I gained the most strength,
when I let go of everything that emptied me, and of everyone who did not empty their hands even just to hold mine as I'd done to hold them and all of their mass, just to be treated like I was nothing more than the baggage I'd worn for them for so long, so the arduous road ahead would not tear them apart.
I've always desired so grievously to have been the person for those whose backs turned on me when I wasn't able to carry their weight and lift myself to my feet anymore, who was able to carry the world on their shoulders and have the ones they loved in their hands, who could embrace everyone they cared for tightly in their arms and held them the closest to their heart to ensure they'd be safe and secure, sheltered from the storms so no disaster or tragedy could touch the people who meant the most. But, after many years of trying to balance it all and remain stable while maintaining my sanity through it all, attempting to salvage what I had left of myself and to heal every wound that was open as I was trying fix what was broken of everyone who depended on my strength and support to keep from falling, that I'd finally realized why it hurt so much more to allow everyone else access to my power before I, myself, was available for myself.
You see, it's always been my biggest, most craved dream that I wanted more than I'd ever wanted anything in this life or world to make reality above all else, to be the lover, the giver, and to do both so passionately, gently, warmly, softly, completely, tremendously, and boundlessly, without hesitation, condition, or limitation. I must say, I still to this day am so proud of how I had the determination and drive enough to set out for it, and I did just that.
It was the most difficult thing to always be the underlying recipient for my own heart, to always effortlessly and innately set myself so low on the levels of which I prioritized things that I'd always made myself the primary person in my life to suffer my loss the greatest, and would always end up in the position within my own values of not even ever having stood a chance to be a priority to myself because of how true to my nature I loved everyone else so immensely and to depths of which I needed to be loved by myself the most. Whether I loved someone with the expansion of all that I am, to the core of my being and past every extent my heart and love could stretch, so I could reach the entire world with a hand in love, and if I did so effortlessly and so openly for those who of which my undying love for was beyond unfounded extremities, I gave all I had and all I was in love to every soul I crossed.
I pray that every soul I touched can't ever forget me, for those who have used my giving nature to their advantage and had nothing else to do with me past the point of gaining what they wanted from me without regards of the pain they left me in will live with the guilt in my memory. In counter to that, the ones who valued my endless love, appreciated my giving nature, and returned everything I invested into them multipled, will remember me with admiration, and I pray that they know they are the greatest, most valuable blessing to me. I pray that the Universe, the world, and this life continue to bless them every day, in every way, then let the river of abundance flow unto them, as I hope they receive also as I did, the gift of themselves. I want the ones that I mattered to know that they mattered to me the most. I want nothing less for them than to receive everything they deserve, but most importantly, to know what it was for me and what it is be loved by them.
Now, I understand I can not be someone who loves so heavily without the cost of doing so amounting to the same weight of what it takes from me, because not everyone you love will love you in your grave. Not every one will save you like you'd done with the life you gave for them, nor will everyone pull you to the surface when they see you going under. Most just expect the giver to give until their death, will take and take until the giver has taken their last breath, then will place the blame on them when they flounder with since they're unable to swim by themselves, or will just leave them to cave in alone once they're weak because that person is useless to them when that breaking point is reached.
You can not save everyone you love, and the ones you love will not require you to do so for you to obtain their love in return. The ones who truly love you will not require your company in order to survive, they will only desire your companionship while they fight, because the power in your mutually shared love will be their motivation to stay alive.
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// Minerva von Medon - Interview (more info found on about)
What has led you to where you are today?
“The unwavering ambition of others, bathing my path in blood and war at every step.”
She scoffs, shaking her head ever so slightly. “I am the first to admit that I am not perfect, nor will I ever be. But people have always looked to me for guidance, both as a leader, and as a person. While I may have led the Whitewings, the true power I had over myself amounted to none, time and again. How could anyone ever look up to me, when I couldn’t even lead my own country without revolt and further devastation? How could anyone ever look up to me, when my choices have harmed those I hold most dear?”
Hold, she thinks, not held – Maria, she will always love and adore. And Michalis…
“I have spent so much of my time in the shadow of others. It shaped me; I am not hateful because of it, but in my blind trust, I was forced to do many things which I will regret until my death. I can blame the circumstances, the blackmail, as much as I want to reassure myself that I did nothing wrong, but… Could I not have acted sooner? Would I have been able to prevent the tragedy that my family became?”
Minerva shifts, crossing her arms to hug herself. “With all of this, I have never had room to falter – to take the chance to slow down, to learn, to heal from all of the pressure and responsibility that was foisted on me. I never wanted it. Any of it.” I have only ever wanted my family, hale and whole. “I cannot keep flinching at praise, even if I don’t think I deserve it. I have to earn it, and fill the hole left with doubt within before I can ever trust myself to lead once more. I have to be an example for my sister, so that we can both move forward.”
She raises her head – eyes glinting with challenge, and longing.
“I am done being a tool for destruction. I will make myself worthy once more, worthy of trust. I have forever lost it from one of the people who matters most to me, and I cannot let that happen again. There is no time to stew in my own sorrow, when my path is now clear before me from the influence of others.”
What do you believe are your greatest strengths? Your greatest weaknesses?
“My greatest weaknesses… My judgement, my doubt. I am often far too afraid to take action because of the consequences. Now, I am no pushover, but my throne was stolen from me in a coup – a contradiction, a lesson, which I do not think I have fully learned from even still. I had to be rescued, and…” Minerva grits her teeth, fisted nails digging into her hands. “I also was not proactive enough to stop soldiers deserting, and bringing about justice to anyone was a struggle of authority.” She sighs, tired and low. “And… To bring about the justice I thought was right, hurt in ways that will never heal. I loved my brother enough to spare him death on some stranger’s sword, if only to punish him by myself; could I not have found another solution? Was there some other way to get Maria out of there, something I overlooked?”
Minerva drops her hands, gaze distant. “And yet… all of this doubt, all of these misbegotten choices led me to become ever stronger, which eventually led me down the right path. My dedication and determination to see things through has only ever proven me to be as reliable as I can be, and has made me a figure for others to look up to, no matter how much I disagree. My strengths and weaknesses go hand in hand. My doubt has led to growth, but my own fluctuating self-image has reflected unto my actions, both good and bad.”
If a story were to be written about your life, what role would you play?
“For some, a renegade; I betrayed my country, in the hopes of saving it from itself. For others, a hero – one who took action against my tyrannical brother, who could not see past his own ambition and the harm he caused. While I may have renounced my claim to the throne, I will always be known to my countrymen. And,” she says with a small smile, “despite everything, I would not have it any other way.”
Placing a hand on her hip, her gaze settles in the distance. “Perhaps it is a bit strange for me to say, but as much as I hated having leadership foisted upon me time and again, I loved my people. I want to help, and I know that I had, have the strength to do so, even if I am not the one to lead. For those who ousted me, I was spineless, irredeemable, a traitor. I know my choices were right, as we most certainly would not be alive today otherwise. But for those I learned to call my allies, they gave me a sense of purpose, and a drive that I thought I had long since lost.”
“It may be naïve, but I can only hope that my family can be together again, like we used to – that is my dream, for our strength to be shown not through battle, but through our bonds together, old and new. No matter how I am remembered, I want Macedon to be the country I always believed it to be, and if that takes the rest of my life, so be it.”
#OOC#( more info found in the linked page )#( artwork by me! )#( i usually never do something this stylized but i was having fun lmao)
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I'd love to know if you have any quotes on grief / pain / woundedness. (preferably prose but poetry works too!)
"The great griefs come to us disguised, long after, as ghosts, when we believe them far removed, it is then they come, slip, unrecognizable, anguishing, in incomprehensible forms, changed into vertigo, into chest pains [...]"
"The worst part of grief is this grief that doesn’t let itself be suffered, this absolute, infinite, indolorous suffering."
"What! (one can’t even suffer one’s suffering) one can’t even eat the bread of suffering, and drink one’s own tears? Amongst the unexpected discoveries that await us, the most unexpected is this one, that reveals to us what we call mourning: the worst part of mourning is that we must mourn grief. (One can’t even enjoy one’s own suffering.) All is less, all is much less, and therefore much more, than what we had imagined."
"Once the wound closes up we speak of it no longer, but we never forget it."
— Hélène Cixous, Stigmata: Escaping Texts; from 'What Is It O’Clock? Or the Door (We Never Enter)', tr. Catherine A. F. MacGillivray
"I separated myself from too much hurt. Even now, there is a close association in my gut between feeling and pain. Logically I recognise that feeling is, often is, pleasure and delight. Nevertheless, at an instinctual level, at a level outside of logic, feeling is pain."
— Jeanette Winterson, from ‘Gut Symmetries’
"Anything, anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough."
— Jean-Paul Sartre, from ‘No Exit’, tr. Stuart Gilbert
"An immediate weight of despair and loss pressed on me until I was suddenly, unalterably, concave with grief."
— Hannah Kent, from 'Burial Rites'
"But what if pleasure and displeasure are so intertwined that whoever wants as much as possible of one must also have as much as possible of the other - that whoever wants to learn to 'jubilate up to the heavens' must also be prepared for 'grief unto death'?"
— Friedrich Nietzsche, from 'The Gay Science', tr. Josefine Nauckhoff
"The lullaby of grief enveloped him..."
— Toni Morrison, from 'The Bluest Eye'
"I admit the wound."
— Clarissa Pinkola Estés, from 'Women Who Run with the Wolves"
"Moving on, as a concept, is for stupid people, because any sensible person knows grief is a long-term project. I refuse to rush. The pain that is thrust upon us let no man slow or speed or fix."
"Grief felt fourth-dimensional, abstract, faintly familiar. I was cold."
"MAN I agree. It changes all the time.
BIRD Grief?
MAN Yes.
BIRD It is everything. It is the fabric of selfhood, and beautifully chaotic. It shares mathematical characteristics with many natural forms."
— Max Porter, from 'Grief is the Thing With Feathers'
"I bare a wound, and dare myself to bleed."
— Theodore Roethke, Words for the Wind; from ‘The Dying Man’
"My rest might have been blissful enough, only a sad heart broke it. It plained of its gaping wounds, its inward bleeding, its riven chords."
— Charlotte Brontë, from 'Jane Eyre'
"So you must not be frightened [...] if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloud-shadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any agitation, any pain, any melancholy, since you really do not know what these states are working upon you?"
— Rainer Maria Rilke, from Letters to a Young Poet, tr. M. D. Herter Norton
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how my love springs deep
by stiltonbasket
(read here on AO3!)
Summary:
My Lan Zhan, his husband calls him. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.
Or, the one where Wei Wuxian feeds rabbits, and Lan Wangji reads a love letter.
(brief a/n: this fic was inspired by this heartbreaking work of beauty by @pakhnokh--I had to write Lan Wangji getting adored after witnessing it, come join me on the angst parade T~T)
____
My Lan Zhan,
It has been two years and more since I last wrote you a letter, for marriage has joined us both at the hip, and ensured that we are never more than a touch or a cry away from one another. I have you by me always, in every hour of every day; and every love-word that crosses my mind finds its way to my lips in the very moment of its birth, and reaches your ears just as quickly, for I could no more keep silent in my devotion to you than swim the full length of the Songhuajiang against the current. And so I go about my days hence, calling “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan” all the while: but today I have woken before chenshi, and you are still asleep beside me with Xiao-Yu in your arms, and though my every nerve and vein is aching for love of my husband, I cannot bear to wake you to say so.
Lan Zhan, sweetheart—when we were first married, you told me once that I colored the world for you the instant we met, and brought every shade of the rainbow with me from Yunmeng to make the Cloud Recesses beautiful. You said that the air that touched me at the gate smelt as if lightning had passed through it, and that the very stones I knelt on in the lanshi’s courtyard began to glitter after I departed, though they had never done such a thing before—and that the Cloud Recesses itself, having been a place of peace and reflection before my arrival, was filled with delight and warmth after my coming, as if that first day was the dawn after a long, long night, and I the sun who gifted it to you.
Heaven knows I had no equal words with which to worship you then, my darling, for I was young and still bewildered to know that you loved me. But I have been your husband for nearly three years now, and so I must tell you this—you have driven me mad for love of you, Lan Zhan, and it has been so since we first crossed swords on the rooftop gate when we were eighteen.
How mad, you ask? The classics say that love is a proper, courtly thing, to be shown with modesty before others and in its full force only in confidence. But I have never been proper, and so I must tell you that if you were a flint and steel, seeking only to light a flame and a tinder-heap to light it in, I would take form as a sun-parched forest, and set myself afire at your touch so that I might be beside you thus. If you were a god, roaming the heavenly kingdoms while my mortal flesh kept me constrained below, I would take the habit of a priest and devote myself to your prayer; and if you were a grain of sand in the Gebi desert, and I a traveler sick with thirst, I would fall to my knees and sift through every dune and basin to find you before drinking even a drop of water.
If I were freezing in the great mountains above Gusu, whose peaks are lush in the springtime but shrouded in snow in the winter, I would be well and happy if I had the warmth of your hand in mine; and when I am in my jishi, with the doors thrown open to let in the wind, I drop my knives and tools at the sound of your voice and stand there enraptured until you fall silent again. My heart nearly beats out of my body with everything you say, and everything you do; and when you look at me I lose all knowledge of speech and reason, recalling nothing but your name and your smiles unless some show of wit is necessary—which it very well might be, with you and I being what we are, and all our doings riddled with puzzles that would have bewildered even the scholars who founded our clan.
Lan Zhan, I love you so desperately that to be away from you is torment, and to be with you has always been paradise, even when you were sitting on one side of the library pavilion and reading Lan An’s poetry, and I was on the other with my brush and parchment, pretending to copy lines while I sketched a portrait of you and painted flowers into your hair. You have made me more your own with every passing day, though in every moment I fully belong to you, and there is no strangeness in it—as if new pieces of my spirit are formed shichen by shichen, and bound unto you before drawing their first breaths.
I could go on endlessly, xingan, and exhaust even the lanshi’s stocks of paper in my adoration—but it will soon be breakfast time, and the hens have not been fed, nor the eggs collected, and neither have the rabbits been given their greens. I must go and tend to them now; only wait for me, and I will be back at your side again before you have time to miss me.
Ever yours, my husband—
Wei Ying.
P.S.—I left a pot of ginger porridge on the table by the bed, if you should wake and be hungry before I return. There is only a little, since the rest is still cooking in the kitchen, and you and A-Yu will still have an appetite for breakfast if you finish it all.
_____
After Lan Wangji wakes and reads the folded letter on his bedside table, he scarcely glances at the tiny blue pot of ginger congee before stumbling out of bed and putting his shoes on. He is dressed in nothing but a thin white undergown, since he gave up dressing warmly at night when he first began sleeping beside Wei Ying; but he does not bother putting on a coat, and pauses only long enough to tuck a sleepy Xiao-Yu back under the covers before bounding out of the jingshi and hurrying downhill in his nightshirt.
“Wei Ying!” he calls, when he passes the tidy chicken pen—home to ten brown hens, which Lan Wangji brought to the Cloud Recesses as a gift for Wei Ying before they were married—and finds the chickens pecking away in the yard, eating grains of fresh corn that had clearly just been thrown out by Wei Ying’s dear hands. But Wei Ying must have finished collecting the eggs, and gone on towards the warded field on the fringes of the bamboo forest to scatter vegetables for the rabbits; so Lan Wangji presses on, running with the wind at his back and the sharp pebbles underfoot almost piercing through his slippers. He reaches the rabbit field in less than a minute, careening between stalks of bamboo like a man possessed, and throws himself at Wei Ying so forcefully that he knocks his husband backwards into the soft grass at their feet.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying wheezes, as his lettuce basket flies out of his hand and lands near the entrance to a burrow: mercifully, the basket of eggs must have been set aside somewhere else before Wei Ying arrived to feed the rabbits. “Lan Zhan, sweetheart, what are you doing here? Is Xiao-Yu—?”
“Do not worry. Xiaohui is still asleep,” Lan Wangji assures him, bringing Wei Ying’s sun-warmed hands to his mouth and kissing them. “I came to find you because I read your letter.”
Wei Ying smiles, beaming from ear until Lan Wangji finds himself gasping for breath at the beauty of the sight before him. “I thought you must have. You were cuddled up against me when I woke up, and you were holding Xiao-Yu between us to keep him warm...and I couldn’t help it, Lan Zhan! You were so sweet that my heart could scarcely bear it, so of course I had to write it down for you.”
“Perhaps I should take up the habit of writing you love letters,” muses Lan Wangji, kissing Wei Ying’s delighted grin straight from his lips. “What do you think, xingan?”
“I think that waking to find you beside me every morning already brings me so much joy I could burst, darling. If you really did start leaving love letters for me to find, I would fold myself into your arms and never come out again.”
“Mm, perhaps you would. But that would please me greatly, so I suppose I will have to do it.”
His husband pinches his cheek. “Lan Zhan!”
“I am listening, beloved. With all my heart.”
Wei Ying covers his face and tries to roll out of Lan Wangji’s grasp, wriggling about six inches away before Lan Wangji takes him by the waist and draws him back. “Lan Zhan,” he wails, as a couple of baby rabbits hop up onto Lan Wangji’s back. “You can’t say such things, you silly man! See how my face is burning, look!”
“I’m looking,” Lan Wangji teases, tracing Wei Ying’s red cheeks with the pads of his own pale fingers. “I am always looking. I love my husband dearly, and he is very beautiful to look at.”
“Well, my husband is not so young as he used to be. Perhaps he is mistaken.”
“Oh?” He punctuates the inquiry with another searing kiss, pulling Wei Ying up into his arms and holding him so close that he can feel the stutter of his breathing, and his pulse beating quickly against Lan Wangji’s wrist. “Do you really think so?”
But the only reply Wei Ying gives him is a tender look that shakes Lan Wangji down to his jindan, and leaves him struggling for air all over again as Wei Ying wraps his arms around him.
In the end, they do not leave the clearing until nearly half an hour later; the grass is as comfortable a cushion as two sweethearts could want, and the rabbits keep leaping around them and making Wei Ying laugh, so they lie there, cheek to cheek and chest to chest until they remember Xiao-Yu, all by himself in the jingshi with no one to hear him cry if he wakes up frightened to find himself alone.
The thought of their son has Lan Wangji leaping to his feet with Wei Ying’s hand in his, and then they bolt back towards the house and retrieve the basket of eggs on the way, running nearly fast enough to outstrip Wen Ning at his swiftest before Wei Ying throws the doors open and barrels into the bedroom.
“A-Yu!” he calls, letting out a shout of laughter as Lan Wangji comes jogging up behind him. “Xiao-Yu, baobei, what are you doing?”
“I’m eating ginger porridge,” Xiao-Yu chirps. The little lotus-shaped pot of congee is nestled snugly in his arms, and A-Yu is eating out of it with the large spoon Wei Ying left behind for Lan Wangji. “Papa and A-Niang went out, so Xiao-Yu is having breakfast.”
“Aiyah, Xiao-Yu,” Wei Ying groans, taking the pot away from A-Yu and wiping his dirty face with a handkerchief. “That was for you and Papa, sweetheart, since I was going to be late back. How will you eat your breakfast properly now?”
“But A-Yu is still hungry,” the little boy insists, trying to grab the spoon. “A-Niang, let me finish?”
“Wait a little longer,” scolds Wei Ying. “I still have to cook the rest of the porridge with steamed dan, and make chicken soup to go with it. Now be a good child and go with Papa to take your bath, and breakfast will be ready when you finish dressing.”
Xiao-Yu nods and jumps off the bed, scurrying off towards the washroom on the other side of the house, and leaves his parents to embrace each other once again before they part to attend to their own duties.
“What do you want this afternoon, qinai?” Lan Wangji murmurs, as Wei Ying’s head falls onto his shoulder. “The tradesmen ought to have sent up the day’s groceries by now, so I will make lunch while you teach your talisman class.”
Wei Ying blinks, very slowly, and then he stands up on his toes and plants one last, lingering kiss between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows.
“Teach my talisman class with me,” he entreats. “When we get back, we can make lunch together.”
(And so they do, and just like all the other dishes Lan Wangji has shared with Wei Ying, that afternoon’s luncheon tastes fresher and sweeter than every meal before it.)
#wangxian#the untamed#mo dao zu shi#lan wangji#wei wuxian#my fic#i was heartbroken i had to take ACTION#*sobs*#please check it out on ao3 if you can!
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The Tower: Happily Ever After - 31
The Tower: Happily Ever After
An Avengers Fanfic
Series Masterlist | Character Reference
PREVIOUS //
Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)
Word Count: 2479
Warnings: smut (FF, tribbing and Wanda uses her powers)
Synopsis: Almost 40 years after Elise Cooper first crashed into Natasha Romanoff outside the library at Columbia University, she and the Avengers are adapting to a near-immortal life together with their large brood of children. Yet things aren’t perfect. Life is moving on without them and they’re starting to discover who isolating being immortal can be. When Angela comes and asks Thor to take the throne of Asgard once more, the group leaves Earth in the hopes that they will find their Happily Ever After there.
Chapter 31: Eddie’s Family
On the day of Edwin’s arrival with Rory and Lyra, we wanted to have a meal to welcome them without the associated feast in case it proved to be too big of an event. Besides, we’d had so many in the five months we’d been there, we all wanted a break from them.
So rather than a full feast, we had organized a large meal in the dining hall and invited the family and Thor’s closest friends. All the people I shared a thread with on Asgard would be at the dinner. When everyone was there it would be like a rainbow loom of light overlaying everything for me. The meal would be served to us as a series of courses rather than platters on the table, but it wasn’t going to be a ridiculous number of them. There would be five in all. Appetizers, followed by starters, a soup, main, and dessert.
Tony, Thor, and Riley went down to meet them at the Bifrost and the rest of us waited in the dining hall. We hadn’t started either Thour or Nova on solids yet, but the two would be sitting in high chairs while we ate and before they were even put in them, Inky and Icy were waiting under the chairs for them.
“How do they know where the babies are going to sit?” I asked.
“They are used to seeing Flynn in one of these and assumed that the twins would be going in these two,” Bucky said. “And they figured that if Piper drops a lot of food, these two will drop more.”
“Tell them they’re not eating food yet,” I said.
Bucky crouched down and patted Inky’s head. “You hear that? No solids for the babies. They’re still nursing.”
Inky chittered impatiently and Bucky laughed. “He thinks you’re coddling them too much.”
“Oh good - parenting advice from a couple of alien foxes,” I laughed.
The doors opened and I spun around to see Riley, Thor, Edwin, Rory, and Lyra enter. I rushed over with Thour on my hip and hugged Eddie. “Welcome back,” I said.
“Okay, mom,” he chuckled as he wrapped his arms around me. “Settle down. I haven’t been gone that long.”
“Long enough,” I said.
Bruce cleared his throat behind me. “El, you gonna give the rest of us a go?”
I laughed and pulled back. “Be patient,” I scolded, letting Edwin move past me to Bruce. I turned to Lyra and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to Asgard,” I said.
“Thank you,” she replied. “Getting here was straight out of Star Trek or something. And then… it’s - it reminded me of the Never Ending Story or something.”
I saw a lot of myself in Lyra at that moment. It was funny how you think you can know your children’s partners and then they say something that throws them in a whole different light. “Oh yeah,” I said. “The Ivory Tower.”
“I can’t believe the palace,” Rory added, kissing my cheek. “I’ve been to Buckingham palace of course but that looks like a tiny cottage compared to this. It’s like a city unto itself.”
“It takes some getting used to,” I agreed. “But we all hope that you grow to love it here.”
“Let’s all take a seat,” Steve said. “We can catch up while we eat.”
“Is this Eddie's new brother or sister?” Lyra asked.
“His sister. Thour,” I said, and Thour started babbling happily.
“Can I hold her?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said, holding her over.
Lyra smiled down at the infant who was still babbling away. “Oh really?” Lyra said. “Is that so? I had no idea.”
“Ly, come check out their weird little familiars,” Edwin said, waving her over, to where he was crouched with the Vulparev.
“Oh no, they’re like pokemon,” she squealed, excitedly jogging over with Thour in her arms.
I took a seat between Wanda and Bucky and Wanda took my hand and threaded her fingers with mine. “Everyone’s here,” she said.
I kissed her fingers. “It’s good isn’t it?”
She wriggled in her seat a little and grinned at me. “You have no idea, Elly,” she said cryptically.
“Can you two stop being so cute?” Bucky teased. “It makes the rest of us look bad.”
Lunch went really well. It was exciting to have everyone here again and to be able to see the way our kids interacted with each other when they were all together again. I often wondered what Steve, Bruce, and Tony thought about when they watched our kids together given they’d all been only children. For me, who had been the scapegoat child in a large family, I loved seeing the way they bantered and playfully teased each other. I felt like I was part of something that I’d always sat on the outside of, and getting to watch my kids grow and find themselves and how they fit with everyone else had always felt like such a blessing. Even when they were fighting - which didn’t happen a lot - helping them solve that problem felt like I was getting something that had been stolen from my own childhood.
Now they were mostly all adults making their own way in life and I loved seeing that too. Whether that be focusing on a career like Rebecca, or being a stay-at-home parent like Rose, or trying to find a place between the two the way that Billy did. I loved how they were all still close, even if they had different and even clashing personalities and life goals. I loved how they always got excited for new babies, regardless of if Rose was getting pregnant after trying for over a year, or Billy adopted, or something unplanned like with Sarah. I like how they were just as excited if it was a new niece or nephew as it was when they found out it was new siblings. I love how they always had each other’s back.
I truly hoped that Edwin would stay, though I knew that I had to prepare for the fact he might not. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for kids to move away from their family, and in this case, it was us who had moved away from them. It was a tall ask to expect all eight of our adult kids and their four partners to want to move too. It was sheer luck that Paul and Teddy had been so supportive of going in the first place.
From the sounds of it, the two main reasons that Edwin, Rory, and Lyra might not move here permanently were work and Rory’s equally large family that he was also very close to. I hoped that what Asgard had to offer was enough to draw them in.
After dinner, the family went to take a tour of the palace and the grounds. However, the really little ones were starting to wane, so while Billy took Flynn back to their quarters, Wanda and I took Thour, Nova, and Zak back to ours.
I was feeding the twins when Wanda came out of the room that doubled as an office and Zak’s bedroom when he was with us. There was a knock at the door and Wanda squeaked and rushed to it, throwing it open.
“I can’t believe it, Eddie!” she squealed as she pulled Edwin rather reluctantly into her arms.
“Daj!” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and patting her back. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“What? What can’t she tell anyone? Why are you here and not on the tour?” I asked.
“Arghhh…” Edwin groaned dramatically and pulled away from Wanda and came and flopped down on the couch beside me. Wanda closed the door and practically skipped after him.
“What’s going on?” I asked, genuinely perplexed at what would make Edwin so distressed while also making Wanda so excited, and why he’d have come here to make sure Wanda would keep his secret.
“Okay, mom,” he said. “I’m gonna tell you something that’s gonna make you flip out, but you have to keep it together, and it’s a secret. Okay? No telling anyone else. Can I trust you?”
“Yes?” I said, uncertainly.
“Is that a question?” Edwin said, sounding way too much like Tony. “Mom! You have to promise.”
“Okay! Okay! I promise.”
Wanda started bouncing beside him which made Edwin roll his eyes. “Daj, calm…”
“Please, just tell me,” I begged.
“Lyra is pregnant!” Wanda squeaked and quickly covered her mouth.
“Daj!” Edwin yelped.
My jaw dropped and I stared at them both. “Oh my god! Really?”
“Yes, mom,” he said. I wanted to hug him and congratulate him and tell him how happy I was for him, but I was still nursing Thour and Nova and so I was a little trapped. I tapped my feet impatiently on the ground as Wanda hugged Edwin again.
“This is from your mom,” she said as she rocked him back and forth.
“Thank you,” he said, rubbing her back. “But I mean it, you can’t tell anyone. We only just found out yesterday. We haven’t even seen a doctor. I’m trying to convince her that seeing the healers here will be just as good.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I said. “They’re really advanced with some things. Normally I’d rather a healer than a doctor for most things, but there were complications with the twins and I hemorrhaged and they didn’t know what to do. Your dads and Daj had to take over.”
Edwin frowned. “Well, that’s not going to convince her to stay.”
“I know, but… that was really scary, Eddie,” I said. “I think - I think at least for when she’s due you should go back to Earth.”
He shook his head and let out a breath. “I’ll talk to her, and the healers, and maybe Loki too,” he said.
“You’re going to need to have this conversation with your dad too,” I said. “Thor that is. He can not only tell when someone’s pregnant, he’s able to tell who the biological father is. And he will absolutely ruin it for you if you don’t tell him not to.”
“Ah, fuck,” Eddie cursed and looked up at me. “Sorry, mom.”
I laughed and shook his head. “I don’t care if you swear. And I’m really excited for you all,” I said. “No matter what we do, we’ll all be there, you know that right?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said, and kissed my cheek. “Okay, I better go back. I told everyone I needed to use the bathroom. They’re probably wondering where I went.”
“Thank you for telling us,” I said as he got up.
He turned back as he got to the door. “No telling anyone. It’s my news!”
Wanda started bouncing as soon as he left the room. “Can you believe it, Elly?”
“It’s so exciting,” I agreed. “Our sixth grandbaby.”
“Could you see if her thread had split?” she asked.
“Not yet,” I said. “Or at least I didn’t notice. But if they only just found out that doesn’t mean anything. It’s really just the spark of life at this stage.”
“Oh right,” Wanda said, sitting back. She reached over and played with Nova’s hand. “He’s asleep.”
“I know. They both are,” I said.
She took him from me, and the two of us carried the babies to their cribs. When we put them both down, she wrapped her arms around me and nuzzled into my neck. “I’m so happy, Elly.”
“Me too,” I hummed, rubbing her back. “Sometimes I still feel shocked by how lucky I am.”
She looked up at me and smiled. “Me too,” she said, and leaned up and kissed me.
It started as something gentle and chaste, but I don’t know if it was the fact that we were both so excited or just that we hadn’t had any real alone time that didn’t directly involve looking after the kids for months, but it soon became deep and passionate.
She pulled back breathlessly and tugged on my hands. “Let’s go to bed, Elly.”
“I was thinking the same thing, beautiful,” I said.
She hurriedly led me across the room and up the stairs to the bed, and with a wave of her hand, our clothes went flying.
“Wanda!” I squealed and pounced on her. She started giggling and the two of us sank onto the mattress as we kissed passionately. I tangled my legs with hers, and we ground against each other as we kissed.
Neither of us wanted to stop kissing, our hands roamed over each other’s bodies, and I gradually rolled her onto her back and straddled her waist, but our lips never left each other, even when they started to prickle and feel numb.
I angled my hips so that my vulva rubbed against hers, the slick of our sexes sliding against each other, making a warm prickle spread out through me. Wanda started to moan into my lips and I broke the kiss and leaned down to pull one of her nipples into my mouth.
She cradled my jaw and pulled my face back up to hers and I leaned my forehead against her.
“I’ll use my powers,” she said. “I just want to kiss you forever.”
“Forever is a long time,” I breathed.
“And we have it,” she said and brought her lips to mine. As we kissed passionately, she flicked her wrist, engulfing us both in the warm buzz of her energy projection.
It made my skin prickle and flush, and my core clenched. I moved my hips faster, grinding down on her, and with each roll of my hips, the buzz from Wanda’s powers increased against my pussy and made pressure push down in my core.
We kept kissing passionately and as my orgasm built hers broke and she jerked back suddenly with a loud moan, and her powers flickered out.
Her fingers dug into my ass and she pulled me up away from her pussy. “Come here, on my face,” she panted.
I straddled her face and leaned back as she spread the lips of my pussy and began flicking her tongue over my clit. I used one hand to brace myself on her hips, and with the other I pulled back the hood from my clit, exposing the little bundle of nerves to her tongue. She suckled at it and flicked her tongue over it. I was already close to my release and it barely took anything to get me there. I bucked against her face and with a loud cry, I threw my head back and came.
I climbed off her with shaky legs and she rolled back into me, tangling her legs with mine and we started kissing again. That’s how the others found us when they returned from their tour an hour later.
// NEXT
#the avengers#steve rogers#bucky barnes#tony stark#natasha romanoff#bruce banner#clint barton#wanda maximoff#sam wilson#avengers fanfic#avengers x oc#steve rogers x oc#bucky barnes x oc#tony stark x oc#stucky#clintasha#natasha romanoff x oc#wanda maximoff x oc#clint barton x oc#bruce banner x oc#sam wilson x oc#all caps#thor x oc#thor#fanfic#fanfiction#smut#the tower
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hooray for open ask box! how about Martyn, or Etho, or Ren seeing Skizz’s ghost on the altar?
hell yeah i love writing about Skizz, even in death :D
cw blood, dead body
…
Less than a day after Skizz’s abrupt death, Martyn returns to the crastle alone, with a sombre mission. His stomach drops when he sees Skizz’s body hanging upside down over the ramparts, exactly where it fell the moment Skizz died. It’s horrifying to see the blood still dripping down the walls of the crastle, the gaping wound in his chest clearly visible.
An arrow shoots into the ground at his feet just in front of the drawbridge, causing him to stop.
“What business do you have here, Red Army scum?” snarls Bdubs’s voice.
Martyn carefully lays his sword and shield on the ground, before standing back up with his hands raised to show he’s no longer armed. “I come in peace and I come alone.”
A pause follows this.
Martyn looks up and finds Bdubs’s face just visible through a slit window. Another face can be seen through the slit window just to the left but this one is less visible, so Martyn can’t identify who it is. He suspects it might be Impulse.
“What do you want?” Bdubs demands, though his voice is less hostile than before.
“All I want is to retrieve Skizzle’s body so we can bury him.”
Another pause.
This time, a different voice comes from the castle: “His body stays here.”
“Scott-,” Martyn begins.
“No, I’m not budging.” Scott’s voice is full of grief and anger. “He killed my husband and my friend. I want his body displayed exactly where it is. You’re lucky Grian and Bdubs talked me out of slicing his head off and displaying it on a stake.”
Nausea rises in Martyn’s throat at the grisly image. “Please,” he says, almost begging. “He died in battle just like Timmy and Cleo; he deserves a proper burial. We… We need to say goodbye to him.”
“Do it here,” Scott snarls, “cuz I’m not budging.”
Bdubs’s face disappears from the slit window, but his voice is still just about audible to Martyn on the ground. “Scott, I think we should give them Skizz’s body.”
“What?!” Scott’s voice snaps back. “Why would you even consider that?! Don’t you care that he murdered your best friend?!”
“Yes, but I’m not thinking of Skizz,” responds Bdubs. “I’m thinking of Cleo. She’s been avenged already, Scott. Jimmy’s been avenged. Do you really think either of them would want us to deny him being laid to rest, despite everything he did? What’s the purpose of that? Skizz is dead, Scott, and seeing his body on display is only going to remind us of our losses every time we look at it. In order to start healing, you gotta let go of your anger.”
Bdubs’s voice cracks and he says something else that Martyn can’t quite hear.
Martyn waits anxiously, wondering what will happen. He’s half expecting Scott to just shoot him there and then, or at the very least destroy Skizz’s body out of bitterness and anger.
But eventually, the door to the crastle opens and Bdubs appears, holding a crossbow at his side. “You can come in and get it,” he says. “Tango will help you take it back to Dogwarts.”
Martyn lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
As he crosses the drawbridge, Bdubs gives him an odd look. “You’re really okay with walking into the enemy base on your own with no weapons? What if this was a trap and we just killed you right here?”
“I did consider that possibility,” Martyn admits. “But I decided that my mission is more important.”
Bdubs nods slowly. “Okay. Fair enough.”
Martyn follows Bdubs up to the first floor, where Tango is already starting to pull Skizz’s body inside. Now that he’s closer, Martyn can see that Skizz’s eyes are still open, so he kneels beside his body and gently closes them.
“We can use one of the coffins outside to transport him,” says Tango, his voice low and serious. “And you can keep it to bury him in.”
“Thank you,” says Martyn. “After we bury him, you’re welcome to visit his grave whenever you wish.”
“What about me?” Impulse asks quietly, standing on the upper staircase.
Martyn turns and looks him dead in the eye. “Like I said. Tango, you’re welcome to visit anytime.”
Impulse blanches as Tango nods gratefully.
…
It takes the two of them less than ten minutes to carry the coffin to Dogwarts. As they get close to its walls, Etho and Ren dash out to meet them.
Etho takes the burden from Tango, who steps aside to a safe distance, keeping a wary eye on Ren.
“Thank you for returning Skizzle to us,” Ren says, all hints of his former fake accent and overly dramatic tone gone.
“Of course. I hated seeing him left up there like that.”
“I know you can’t give anything away but can I just ask… how’s… how’s Impulse?” Etho asks hesitantly.
Tango briefly makes eye contact with him but has to look away. “I wouldn’t hold out any hope that he can be saved if I were you. He wasn’t just there when Skizz died; he watched him die and did nothing to help or comfort him. There’s no coming back from that.”
“Oh my god…” Ren breathes out, suppressing a shudder. “How did this happen, Tango? What turned him into such a monster?”
“Trust me, Ren…” Tango turns to face Ren, a sombre expression on his face. “...I wish I knew. Anyway, I’m gonna head back now. Give him a good sendoff.”
“We will,” promises Ren. “Thank you.”
Etho and Martyn carry the coffin into Dogwarts and to the site that they have already picked and prepared for the burial. All three of them lower the coffin into the freshly dug grave and then kneel down beside it: Etho to the left, Martyn to the right, and Ren directly in front.
“Today, we celebrate the life of our good friend and loyal ally Skizzleman,” Ren begins. “Right from the start, even before he fought for us in battle, he proved himself a dedicated friend to Renchanting. He provided me with shelter when I was nothing but a lowly travelling merchant. His leather made the book that created the first enchantment table we ever used. And his cobblestone helped build the walls of Dogwarts that still stand to this day. He took care of us, he fought for us, he killed for us, and in the end, he died for us.” He addresses the coffin directly. “Thank you, Skizzle. For everything.”
He clears his throat. “Does- Does anyone else have anything they want to say?”
Etho nods and gently tosses the allium he’s holding onto the coffin. “Nothing special, just… Thank you, Skizz. For always being there for me.”
“I have some things to say,” says Martyn quietly. “I honestly didn’t think much of Skizz at first. I thought he was a nice guy but not someone I could see myself even being friends with. But he became so much more than that. We shared the same drive, the same passion and commitment to our convictions. When the two of us were out there fighting, it was like we’d known each other for years. But most importantly, he would always put his life before others, even mine, and even after he turned red. He was fun to be around and he always made me laugh.” His voice cracks. “I’ll miss you, Skizz.”
Twirling the tulip he brought from outside, he drops it into the grave, on top of Etho’s allium.
Ren wordlessly starts to scoop dirt over the coffin, and Etho and Martyn join him. Finally, once the coffin is properly covered, Ren plants his flower - a poppy salvaged from Skizz’s destroyed home, over the top of it and sits back.
After a moment, he starts to sing softly: “Fill to me the parting glass, and drink a health whate'er befalls. And gently rise and softly call: good night and joy be to you all. But since it fell unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not, I gently rise and softly call: good night and joy be to you all.” (this song is The Parting Glass, sung by The High Kings)
This breaks the dam. Martyn hurriedly rises to his feet and flees towards the altar, tears falling freely from his eyes. He drops to his hands and knees in the centre of the stone platform, hanging his head and crying openly.
He hasn’t cried like this in a very VERY long time. It’s just so unfair to him that Skizz, one of the kindest people he knows, is gone so soon from the server. There’s so much he wishes he could have said back there. How he blames himself for not stopping Skizz from charging in there, how much he dreams of slaughtering Grian for taking Skizz away from them, how he wishes it was him who died instead. But he couldn’t manage it.
A chill suddenly runs down his spine, causing him to involuntarily look up.
His heart skips a beat.
Standing a few blocks away on the altar is the ghostly image of Skizzleman, back to normal except for a slight magenta tinge to him. He’s smiling kindly down at Martyn, his eyes sparking with a kind of energy that he hasn’t had for a long time.
He holds out his hand to Martyn, who hesitantly reaches for it. Despite not being able to touch it, something helps Martyn to his feet, some kind of invisible energy.
Martyn gazes into Skizz’s face and manages a smile. “Goodbye, Skizz,” he whispers. “Good luck.”
The words “you too” echo in Martyn’s ears, not spoken by anything of this world.
“Martyn,” calls Ren’s voice. “Are you coming?”
Martyn automatically turns to look at Ren. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
When he looks back, he’s alone on the altar.
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Spencer Reid x Reader
Talking To The Moon.
Inspired by the Bruno Mars song, because it’s the one I listen to when I come up with my Spencer Reid fantasies😃.
Type : Angst (It’s just so fuckin’ sad, man)
Warnings : A LOT. Detailed mentions of r*pe / sexual assault, child m*lestation / assault / r*pe, physical abuse, physical fighting, broken bones, dislocated joints (Replacing them! Which is so disgusting, the thought makes me cringe), trauma, the usual Criminal Minds terminology (in terms of describing an UnSub), emotional breakdown, a lot of Death Talk™️ (which could somehow be perceived as suicidal, I guess?), and actual death, there is one (1) kiss. It is a PECK, crude language (profanity), and I think that’s it.
Word Count : 16.3K (this was NOT supposed to be that long, ohmygod)
Request : Not Requested. (This idea came to me in a really horrifying dream that I had, a few weeks ago. I always document my dreams, and this was... Well, it was more of a nightmare. I won’t share, but from the tone of the Fanfic I’m sure you can gather the terror that it endured.)
Summary : There’s a lot of plot for this one. The reader takes on a case (an unauthorised case, you understand), that she relates to on a very personal level. Determined to take on this UnSub, after observing his crimes within the media, and finding thelselves enraged by the Police’s futile attempts to make progress in his arrest, they search for him themselves, and they happen to forget every ounce of Federal Safety training they have ever experienced. Uh, Oh! Do I smell kidnapping? Yes, I do! The reader is kidnapped by the Unsub, and tortured for four days straight. The team are searching for them, but are they fast enough? Either way, Spencer will never forgive himself, and the reader isn’t sure they’ll make it out the other side, alive.
Authors Note : First of all, Baby Spence🥺🤚 the way he was RIDDLED with trauma?? PLEASE?? Got me out here trying to shift realities just to give this man a hug- like he really needs some love, y’know? I have other one shots in the works where he IS receiving his well deserved affection, but it’s not really this one (though he is comforting the reader. Well deserved, methinks)😭 this is perhaps the most graphic and depressing one shot I have ever written😃 I mean, enjoy??? I don’t know if that is the right word. Make sure you read the warning, man, the topics at hand are dealt with in depth and I do not want to trigger anyone!!!!!
Talking To The Moon, Spencer Reid x Reader
They say that the barrel of a gun is cold; that it seeps into the precipitation of your complexion, and the steel aches a circular coolness. They say that your life flashes before your eyes, and that your fight, flight, or freeze, kicks in, when the initial shock of fatality flashes, and blinds you for a defining split second. They say that in your final moments, you show who you truly are.
They are wrong.
The metal is warm, upon my forehead, as I blink slowly, a thousand thoughts - words, and probabilities; numbers, and statistics, and the thumping of my heart (thump, thump, thump; thump, thump, thump) everything, and anything; anything, and nothing - all find themselves meandering their way throughout my congested conscience. I think not of my childhood, the warm touch of my mother’s embrace, and neither the pride in my chest as I received my first ‘100%’, with a wonky smiley face, feedback for my very first official essay in school; not the swarm of flying insects, rampant within my stomach, as I first walked into the Behavioural Analysis Unit, of the Federal Investigations Bureau. I think not of Spencer, not of Morgan, or Penelope, Hotch, and Emily. I am… I am not…
The barrel of the gun is warm.
I blink slowly.
A sheen of smeared colour - like the pretense of a dull oil painting, perceived too close to the canvas - washes over my vision, steals the breath from my aching throat - thump, thump, thump, my heart cries; lodged beneath my tongue, thump, thump, thump - I swallow it back. Thickly, like treacle, and I… There- There is-
The barrel of the gun is warm.
I blink slowly.
I collect myself, in my throat, and I gulp with a softness that simply does not suffice. The flavour of something- of something burned, something charred, lies upon the dry thrum of my tongue, and I allow myself to taste it. Just for a- just for a moment. Just for a moment, I taste it, and it is charred- charred and metallic. The burned flavour of my chest, thumping iambically beneath my heavy-set jaw, wafts up, up, up, throughout my trachea, and it coils between my teeth. From the back, to the front, around, and around, does it crawl, and my heart thunders on in my thoughts; thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump.
The barrel of the gun is warm.
I blink slowly.
The same ache rolls around my motionless joints; it burrows beneath my stained complexion, and I do not flinch as something pop’s, and another bone crack’s. It is not- I am warm. An uncomfortable sense of warmth, that settles upon my grimy skin, and collects itself among my wounded figure, and- and it’s- and it’s hot. It’s hot, and it aches-
But the barrel of the gun is warm, and I blink slowly.
I blink slowly, and the barrel of the gun is warm.
I yearn to think, to obtain coherency, but the barrel of the gun is warm, and it hurts. Oh, it aches, and I- a shuddered breath falls from my unnaturally moistened mouth, tainted by the spill of internally displaced fluid, and I force my eyes to peel open. To unveil beneath their thick hoods, to dismiss the burning heat that flares from my slow blinking, to show him no weakness. I force my eyes to peel open, because, by God, if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do, I will look him in the eyes, and I will silently congratulate myself on my victory. I will not lose; I will not surrender.
And so I peel back my lids, and I ignore the sweltering ache that rushes upon my discoloured, broken, cheek, and I observe him with a gaze of (what I pray to be) great indifference. I slack my features, and I spare myself the wince, as the temptation of heat, licking away the wet droop of my bruised face, engulfs the structure of my poised, blank, expression. Dark, dark, circles; the kind of spherical matter that the mariana trench may find envy within, roam me. Thoughtlessly. Not a thing behind those eyes - no feeling, no rage, no pain. There is no tremble to his digits, as he holds the trigger of the sleek revolver, cherry-wood-handled, and there is no twitch within the muscular construction of his nonchalance, as it fades between four-a-piece, and a regular, blurred, arrangement.
This is it, I think, at last, and the silence between my irrevocably untelling orbs infiltrates its way through my subconscious. Soon - a mere matter of seconds, that spirals to the incoherent detailing of a slurry construct - there is nought but the mulling tone of my heart, thumping endlessly beneath my burning sternum, and I force myself to breathe evenly. In, my chest rises softly, and out, I exhale something shaken through my nostrils.
By God, I think; this really is it.
And the barrel of the gun is warm, as I blink up at him slowly, and I do not regard the noiseless sobbing of the child, to the darkest corner of the room.
This is it. It pounds within my ears, morphed upon the rhythm of my steady heartbeat; this is it, this is it, this is it.
This is it, and the barrel of the gun is warm, and I blink up at him slowly, and the breath on my tongue tastes like the charred meat of my steadily thumping heart, and I think of nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, at all - nothing but the silent shake of a tear-stricken expression, caught beneath the dim lighting, as her circular, little, face, enlarges. Enlarges, and morphes, by shadows, and yellow light; approaching. I do not regard her, as she nears in my peripheral, and the curve of her small, fragile, shoulders tremble, and the flush of her moistened cheeks glimmer among the bulb’s reflection, but the burned flavour on my tongue ceases its subtlety, and there is a taught capture about the breath in my lungs. It is reeled back, and stored deeply beneath my broken bones.
And, suddenly, my heartbeat lurches into my throat.
I miss the warmth of the metal, as it flinches away from my bloodied forehead, and I miss the dark discs of his thoughtless eyes, as they leave me, and the ache of my tongue dissipates to a resolve of bitter dryness.
There she stands, beneath the weight of the revolver, with a violent shake to her thin figure, and a harsh, bruised, red, to her cheeks; puffy eyed, and traumatized. She breathes not a word, she expresses not a sound, and still his finger curls. Curls subtly, ever-so-gently, and my heart tumbles into my mouth, before I can drag it back down. “Coward.” It spits, unbearably rasped upon the echo of my dry, naked, throat; like wood upon sandpaper, it grits, and it grits, and the shavings collapse in my lungs, as they heave; in, I rasp; and out. “You’ll-” I gather my cheek between my jaw, and I nibble it tearsly, a deep, seering, heat erupting- erupting, and sprouting; multiplying, between my very cells. “You’re gonna shoot a- a little-” Another pained, hollow, heave; I clamber for steady footing. “Shoot a little girl?” Dark, dark, circles… no feeling, no rage, no pain. They catch within the light, and never before have I observed a shadow exposed by the sun, and still obtaining its darkness. But there they are, as they gaze unto my own, and I level our stare with ease. “Impotent son of a bitch.” I murmur, a mere breath upon the quiet.
Antagonize him, my conscious crows; rile him up, give him reason for distraction.
“That is-” I stutter in my respiration, and the wheeze of a wet cough finds the depth of my chest. It rumbles through the rasp of my throat, and a slick, metallic, moisture coils upon the flesh of my lower lip. The coppery taste ravishes my mouth, and I allow the liquid to spit between my words. “That is why you do it, isn’t it?” I say, no more than a whisper, gargled by the congestion of the red fluid pool, congregated about my tongue. “You couldn’t-” Another ragged breath, “Couldn’t perform. Not for the-” I swallow the metallic, warm, liquid, and it burns my aching throat. “Not for the pretty women. Hm?” He regards me, motionlessly, and the discs of irrevocable blackness roam my hot, burning, features. “So you too-” I gulp back the rise of blood in my throat, unsettled and naturally rejected. “So you took to little girls, instead, didn’t-” A softer, shallower, inhale, “Didn’t you?”
Silence. The iambic thrum of my heartbeat interrupts the depth of the quiet, but I push it down - down, down, down, beneath the crushing weight of my charred sternum, and I force myself to continue.
“Yeah.” I say, quietly, “You did.” I harden my gaze. “You do.” You take them, their vulnerable, defenseless, innocent, selves, and you steal their childhood; you steal their youth like the dawn to the night, and you rip the world from beneath their fucking feet. “They’re small.” I rasp. “Young.” I try not to think of the dry red, that - the dry, dark, blood, that stains her little thighs, and I try not to picture the tears on her cheeks, and the seeping crimson that cakes the lower quarter of her sweet, white, dress. I try not to entangle her contorted features with a familiar reflection, try to ignore the burning ache of my sweltering chest, as it burns, and it binds, and contracts so ferociously, and I swallow back the lump, riddled with- with- with something. (Bile, blood, bitten down sobs, does it matter? Does it matter?).
There she stands, with a violent shake to her thin figure, and a harsh, bruised, red, to her cheeks; puffy eyed, and traumatized.
“They’re small enough to-” I nibble my inner cheek, and the rasp engulfing my tone threatens to tinge with a bespoken darkness. “They’re small enough to feel you, aren’t they?” I say, and there’s something- there’s something that flashes, be it only a split moment, behind those unforgiving holes he deems the window to his soul. Black, and inhumane. Fitting. “They feel you enough to react.” The muscle to the corner of his left eye contracts, a mere millimeter, or so, but I catch it. Oh, do I catch it. “They cry.” I say, softly, and I hope that the girl holds any kind of oblivion she once may have obtained. “They scream. They bleed.” They die. “But, hey,” I murmur, “any liquid is liquid, right?”
It burns, and it aches, and I nibble the eroded flesh of my inner cheek, and I blink up at him slowly, but at least he is here. At least he is here, at least her blood is dry, at least she can walk. At least I can buy her some extent of recovery time. “You’re sick.” I spit, tone lowered significantly, but still strong. Somehow, I obtain my strength, and I continue. “You’re twisted, and you’re useless.” I say. “You’re nothing but a freak, a shrimpy coward with no sexual capability.” Twitch, twitch; the muscle of his left eye contracts, once more, with more force; more concealed rage, bubbling away beneath the surface. “Pathetic.” I continue, a mere grumble upon the thickening silence. “You couldn’t satisfy a woman if you tried-” The barrel of the gun is colder, now, as he forcefully presses it’s rim upon my forehead, but the steel soon begins to warm. I blink up at him slowly, and I prod. I prod, and I prod, and I wait for the sleeping lion to snap and bite. A breathy chuckle falls from my dry tongue. “There it is.” I whisper. “There it is- you’re an embarrassment, aren’t you?” I mock, tone thick with some kind of congealed, faux, amusement. I swallow back the uprising liquid, lodged thickly amongst my throat, and I offer him a blank, condescending, smile. Bloody-toothed, and bitter. “Tell me, Ben, can you even get it up, properly, anymore?”
SMACK.
I hear it, and then- then I feel it, and before I know what has hit me, he has. The tang of warm liquid, filling my mouth, is entirely indifferent to the coppery flavour I have grown to know, as of late, and I bite back the bubbling groan, a flare of burning heat traveling through the very cells in my ruptured cheekbone. Bruised, and tender; the flourish of agonizing heat pulsates, like the steady beat of my burning chest, and I regain my sturdy posture, gazing back unto the deep, dark, discs. Lifeless, enraged. I ignore the pulse in my features, and the thump of my circulation, gushing rampantly through my senses, as I adjust my blaring joints, and I maneuver my strung limbs. Wrists confined to the sufficient, tight, expertise of Benjamin’s personal experience, they hang perpendicular to my sides; expanded, outstretched, like the span of a bird in flight.
I hang from them, there, upon the wall, and I ignore the raging fire, engulfing my (dislocated) damaged shoulders. Slumped upon my knees, bruised and discoloured for all their worth, I tilt my head up, and I blink at him slowly. My eyes water, a natural reaction, and the sting in my cheekbone echoes with the afterthought of his gun, freshly stricken, throbbing. But still, I bore my gaze unto his own, and I force my jaw to loosen. “Touchy.” I grumble, bitterly. “What’s the-” I swallow the consistently uprising clump of blood, and of rejected bile, and I try again. “What’s the matter, Benny?” I press. “You insecure?” I say. “Ashamed?” Of course he isn’t, he’s furious. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. “Challenged?” The muscle of his left eye twitches, again, and I force a crooked, toothy, smile. “Yeah.” I say, “That’s it. You’re afraid.” Another twitch. “Out of your dep- out of your depth.”
“Shut up.” He snaps, “Shut up.”
My eyebrows raise, and I allow another breathy, rasped, chuckle to fall from my cracked mouth. “Raping little girls is one thing,” I continue, “But kidnapping, and torturing an Official Officer?” Another fleeting, thin, laugh. “Jesus. Who knows what they’ll do to you in there?”
“They worship Pig killers in that place.” Benjamin snarls, and, for once, I find myself smiling with an unmissable genuinity.
“Yeah.” I say, with a grin. “They do.” And I allow my humour to dance within my gaze, as I motion the man closer, with a subtle toss of my head. He follows, nose aligned with the warm barrel of the revolver, and I ignore the throb of my cheek, and the iambic scream of my heart. “But, see, Benny-Boy,” I whisper, my breath fanning his thin lips, “I ain’t no Pig.” I tongue the soft mutilation of my inner cheek. “I’m a Federal Fucking Agent.”
The breeze is not calming, as it brushes upon my face, and I throw myself forward, crashing my forehead upon the smooth curve of his foolishly close expression. A barbaric crack rips though the disturbed quiet, and the sudden splat of warm liquid dignifies itself upon my sopping complexion, as the muffled tumble of retreating, unsteady, footsteps echo clumsily around the room. I think I got his nose, as I fall back against the wall, arms useless, and I connect with the concrete behind me, dragging my bruised and bloodied limbs out, as they abandon their position of lying beneath me. I sit aloft the ground, and my legs roar with a thousand shallow wounds; pins and needles scattering hoarsely about the flesh of my weak anatomy. “Fuck,” I murmur, as I ignore the dizzying, blurred, contortion that warps my unsturdy vision. From a multiple of four, to adjacent and blurred, but singular, Ben scurries to his feet, displaced to an enclosing distance.
Thump-thump-thump, my heart cries in my ears, and the white noise of the blurred silence seems to hum along to it’s rhythm, thump-thump-thump, but I can’t leave her behind. I cannot bring myself to let her down - not again. Not again. Not again.
I can’t let her down - thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump - as the pins run up my limbs, and the needles pivot their course around, and around the flesh of my legs. Thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump, he draws closer. One stumbled step at a time; one step, two steps, three steps, four, I use the wall and bend my knees, groaning beneath the weight of my fucking agony, and I tear myself from the concrete ground, allowing the yell to rip from my moistened, raspy, throat. Thump-thump-thump, thump-thump-thump, he tumbles; closer, closer, closer, closer.
The cry that rips from my throat, as I throw my leg to his side, it bounces upon the thick walls. It mocks me, in my dizzy breathing, and it laughs along with his soft, quiet, grunt. I strike at his chest, with the ball of my foot, and I pray that my quivering muscles suffice. Ignoring the ambush of sweltering heat, coursing throughout my ankle, and the damaged joint of my knee, I tear up to his throat (his frame hunched, and breathless) with the inner curve of my ankle. SLAM. I revel in the slap of skin, upon skin, as his betrayed choking engulfs my rugged, teary, silence. Oh, how it burns, it aches, and I cry- I cry with such volume, as I draw down upon his cheek, as he falls to the ground, and I crush it beneath my aching heel.
His parted lips heave with an airy groan, and I force myself to repeat. To repeat, to repeat, to repeat, until the blood beneath my throbbing heel all but retracts my complexion’s grip. The flesh of my foot slips upon his motionless expression, the curl of his digits slowly unravelling, and I slam my limb down upon his broken, bloodied, face, again, and again, and I ignore the warmth of the tears upon my cheek, as they dribble their way down. I notice the first, and then the rest seem to follow, uncontainable and relentless, and still I pummel the structure.
Bruised, and toughened, the sopping entrapment of my wounded heel draws down upon his fractured features, and I release a withheld, shuddered, breath. It is warm, as it fans my chin, and I allow my legs to feather themselves unstably upon the ground. I stop. I pause, and I gather myself with brief collection. The tight stinging behind my eyes seems to worsen, as I force the lump in my throat to dissect, and to surrender to the flames of my burning, charred, sternum, but I swallow it all back, and I shake my legs loose, slowly dropping my frame back down upon the concrete below.
There he lies; still, and unmoving. Not dead, but not quite alive.
The girl. It rings in my ears, as my heartbeat settles to something familiar; the girl, the girl, the girl. The girl who’s name I have yet to learn, the girl I have failed to protect - the girl I must save. The girl I refuse to let down, again. “Hey,” I call, quietly, and I soften my tone with significance, just enough (I hope) to eliminate the threat of the glimmering, red, blood, that begins to dry upon my body. “Hey, sweetheart.” I shake back my hair, and I turn to face her, ignoring the glassy shein that warps upon my vision, as my body entraps in a wave of unforgiving warmth, and the hot, burning, sensation engulfes my entirety; running up, and down, from left, to right, in and out of my limbs, from my eye sockets, to the tips of my bloodied toes. It aches, and it burns, and I plaster on a kind, gentle, smile, and I observe the tears upon her scarlet cheeks. “What’s your-” I nibble the ruined flesh of my inner cheek, as a flare of something (something like agony) curls around the joint of my displaced shoulder, and runs sharply through my arm, “What’s your name?” I ask, quietly, and I try to bereft the strain from my tone.
But, oh, it aches, and oh, it burns.
“Alyssa.” She replies, quietly.
“Alyssa?” I try the name on my tongue. “Alyssa, Okay.” I say. “Alyssa, I need you to do something for me.” I tell her, “I need you to do something for me, is that Okay?” Her nimble, sad, face, nods, and I feel something shift in my chest. The burning increases, and the blood on my tongue tastes more like heartache, than of copper. “Okay.” I say, “Can you try to untie these ropes?” I nod gently to the strong grip of my wrists, entrapped within the beige confinement, and I hope - oh, how I hope - that her little fingers are good for something.
“Okay.” Alyssa says, softly, as she teeters a step closer, and she approaches the still figure of the bloodied, unconscious, man. “Is it-” She steps over his arm, “Is it painful?”
She reaches up to the knot, be it just above her head, and she works at the painfully tightened enigma. I hiss, softly, at a gentle jolt of my shoulder, and I ignore the loud pop of its agonizing displacement, pulsating with heat, as I murmur my quiet reply. “Only a little.” I lie. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask, tenderly, “Does anything hurt, down-” Another hiss, I swallow it back audibly, “down there?”
“Only a little.” She mimics, not at all unkindly, as she works at the knot, and she straightens her small, tear-slick, mouth. There is mulled silence, for a passing moment, and I tongue the rough complexion of my inner cheek. “I didn’t cry.” She admits, as though I should be one to offer my congratulations. “I didn’t fight him.” She says. “I’m a good girl.” I swallow the lump in my throat, and I blink slowly, as to diminish the sting of my eyes, and I allow my breath to fall shaky, and uneven, as I regard the girl with a furrow to my brow. I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight him. I’m a good girl.
“Alyssa, I-” I meet the sharp blue of her cerulean, glossy, gaze, and I observe the seeking ache behind them - the dull rim that seeps upon the light’s reflection. “Alyssa,” I whisper, “listen to me.” Her hands work at the knot, and the curl of it all begins to shuffle loose. “That man is a bad man.” I say. “He’s a monster. You know the kind you read about? In- In the- In the books?” She nods, softly, and I reciprocate her action. “Well, he’s one of ‘em.” I say, and her gentle expression of repressed agony crumples; dissolves to the pinch of a furrow.
“He looks normal to me.” She says.
“They always do.” I reply, with something like sympathy curled among my smile. “The monster lives inside them.”
“Like a house?”
“Sure.” I say, “Like a house.”
“I don’t like that house.” She whispers, hardly that of a breath upon the laboured quiet, and I feel the subtle breeze of freedom beginning to slither around my aching wrist.
The strong simmer behind my eyes seems to ignite a stronger burn, and the blur of colours coaxing my vision adheres to engulfing my senses entirely, a clamp in my jaw to withhold the overwhelming urge to burst out with some kind of vocal sob. I bite it back, gnawing softly upon the mauled flesh of my inner cheek, and I offer Alyssa a gentle, toothy, smile. “Good.” I say. “Good. You don’t have to worry-” A scream tears from my throat, and the barricade of blurring moisture spills over with ease. “Fuck!” I hiss, “Fuck- Shit-” My arm audibly slaps down upon my side, the wrist an awkwardly angled bend, as it cracks aloft the harsh concrete below, and the mocking double-act-popping makes its merry way through, the joint finding itself inverted and ajar, and, oh, it aches, it burns. It fucking burns, and I- “Do the other one.” I murmur, strained by the bite of irrevocable pain, as a teary eyed Alyssa forces herself to overstep Benjamin’s right arm, and to meet the limp hang of my dislodged limb, and her nimble little fingers get to work on the opposing knot.
I try to grind my teeth, try to swallow back the uprising sob that teeters thickly among my taught throat, and I try to focus solely upon the unmoving man upon the floor, as my arm hangs loosely at my side, and the pulsating ache rivets throughout my entirety; it swirls behind my eyes, and up, up, up, up around the iambic thrum of my cold, incandescent, mind, and down to the very tips of my sharp collarbones; to the steady rise of my chest; in, and out, in, and out, and I listen to the thump of my heartbeat, as it sings it’s hellish chorus in my ears, and it rings true for yet another second - thump, thump, thump; thump, thump, thump - and I pay attention to the melody, the sporadic pulse, the rhythmic reminder that: Here I Am. Living. Breathing (Barely?). With The Life Of A Little Girl In My Hands. There it is. There it is. The truth. There it is. And I listen to it, again. I listen to it again, and I look at her.
I look at Alyssa, with a violent shake to her thin figure, and a harsh, bruised, red, to her cheeks; puffy eyed, and traumatized, as she works at the knot, and she sniffles to herself quietly. I look at Alyssa, and she isn’t crying. I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight him. I’m a good girl. She is a good girl. I look at Alyssa, and I see nothing but a girl that deserves the world, and I know that she is a good girl, but why should she have to learn her worth in such an earth-shattering way? I nibble my inner cheek, and I digest the uprising urge to allow my eyes to water (excessively, for they have already washed the blood of my bruised, and broken, features, and they lay wet upon my cheeks), as I call out to her gently, and I watch her glimmering gaze remove itself from her concentrated scowl.
“Lissy?” I call, softly, with a furrow to my eyebrows. I meet her cerulean stare, and I observe the reserved redness that circles her glassy orbs, as she draws back her own impulse to cry, and I speak again. Quietly. Always quietly. “Can I call you Lissy?” I ask.
Alyssa nods. “Mommy calls me Lissy Doll.” She says, and the burning flavour flares up, again, upon the back of my dry tongue. I concentrate on it, as the heat of my dislocated shoulder begins to fade, and I suppose that the taste of charred flesh is better than the agony of broken bones.
I offer her a smile, though I feel it comes across more as a grimace than that of any reassurance, and I nod gingerly. “Alright.” I say. “Lissy, it is.” There is something like heartache, and like the dullness of doubt, that clouds the brightness of her young, infantile, orbs, and I force my lower limbs to shuffle, to face the readily repressing girl before me, as she holds back her upcoming wave of cries, and she swallows back her sorrow. “It’s Okay to cry, you know.” I say, gently, and she shifts her gaze to engulf my warm, piercing, stare, within her own, and the glassy shein begins to thicken. “It doesn’t make you weak.” I whisper. “I know it-” I force down the uprising lump in my throat, a sudden lodge beneath the muscle of my tongue, and I try again, with a tone somehow softer than before. “I know that it hurts, Lissy.” I say, “I know that you want to be strong, and that you- that you want to be a good girl,” A shaken exhale falls from my lips, “but, sweetheart, you don’t need to go through something like that to prove it.”
She nods, softly, and she purses her lips together, trembling and shaken by her trauma.
“Lissy, if you can-” I swallow back an audible groan, as I shuffle my injured frame, and the pulse of reconciling heat flares violently within the loose hinge of my displaced shoulder. “If you can untie me, Okay, we can get out of here.” I assure, attempting to convey something like promise with the stern stare of my unwavering eyes. I pray that Alyssa does not notice the tremble of my limbs, or the shudder in my ribs, as something crawls, and winds, its way between my shattered bones, and I pray that she does not notice the exhaustion behind my determination, that she does not catch wind of my growing fatigue, and the difficulty I face in trying to suppress my growing agony.
“Okay.” She murmurs, and I find myself deflating with a soft exhale, shoulders falling, and dismissing the grave pulsation of fiery heat that depicts its bitter eruption throughout the damaged nerves of my bloody anatomy.
“Okay.” I nod, attempting to compile any form of reassurance, as I tilt my head back, gentle as I can possibly muster, and I let the crown loll back upon the brickwork. It aches, and it burns, but we’re almost there. By God, we are almost there. “Alright.” I repeat, breathless in my movement, as her small digits begin to unwind the tight knotting of the rope. “I need you to-” A subtle jolt, as the rope loosens, sends a great flare of agonized heat throughout my limb, and the rumble of a deep-routed groan falls from the hollow of my throat; low, and honest. “Fuck.” I murmur, softly, as Alyssa wraps her grip upon the burning ache of my wrist, and she removes the restraint entirely, supporting the arm with minimal (though violently painful) adjustment. A roar of unavoidable flames engulfs the limb, as she lowers it gently, and she drapes the limp wrist upon the concrete. I suppress the bubbling hiss that threatens to fall from between my gritted teeth, and I gulp back the wave of nausea that grips me suddenly.
A swirl of something bitter, something terrible, begins its sultry dance among my stomach - empty, by a four day solitude - and I feel the burl of air, and of ingested blood, of salivation, gargle nastily toward the very pit of my protesting stomach. Still, I ignore it.
“Lissy, you need to-” I swallow the uprising concoction, warm and smooth in my throat, and I try again, forcing my words through a clenched jaw. “I need you to fix my arm, Okay?” I need you to re-locate my fucking shoulder, and I need you to do it now, before Benjamin wakes up. If he wakes up, I suppose. The slow, unstable, rise and fall of his darkly clothed back is difficult to judge, among my dizzied vision, and the blurred contortion of the world. I do not dwell on this. I do not have to tear my eyes away, they drift naturally, and there she stands; wide-eyed, traumatized, silently begging me to let out a sudden laugh, and to declare my insinuation a practical joke. “Now, Alyssa.” I say, with a sternness that I suppose she is not used to. Not from me, at least, as the glossy depiction of her wide orbs returns, and, again, I find myself unable to dwell on it, as I turn to where her hands hesitantly hover about my sagging limb. “Just-” I exhale a shuddered breath, because, Jesus, this was never in the job description, and I allow my head to fall back upon the wall behind it, as my eyes flutter shut, and I open my mouth to continue. “Just grab onto it - gently, for the love of God - at the upper- at the upper arm.” A small hand wraps around my bicep, and I flinch involuntarily. Oh Fuck, my mind chants, pulsing throughout my body; Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck. “Put your other hand-” I swallow back the bile concoction, “Put your other hand next to my shoulde- Shit!” She rips away the palm of her small hand, explicit with a short cry, as I yell out my curse, and the pulse of agony spreads upon the damn wound she placed pressure upon. Be specific, Y/N, my conscience scolds; she’s a fucking child.
It’s not her fault - not her fault, not her fault - but fuck, if that didn’t hurt. I let out a shaky breath, and I force the erratic respiration of my rising chest to calm the fuck down; in, and out, in, and out, and I offer her a tight-lipped grimace, as she regards me with wide, cautious, eyes.
“Sorry.” I breathe. “I didn’t-” Another groan; the pulse of my pain continues to mock me, to taunt me violently within the unsteady strum of my gushing ears. Thump, thump, thump, it cries; Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” I say, softly. “It just, uh-” I bite back another cry. “It hurts. That’s all.” She nods, timidly, and I observe the aggressive tremble of her hand, as she begins to re-insinuate her previous positioning. “Not there!” I splutter, abruptly, and she halts in her movement, “Not there, Lissy,” I murmur, as my head rolls back against the brickwork behind me, and I tilt it away from her. “Closer to my- closer to my neck, alright? Not on the shoulder, itself.” She murmurs a noise that sounds similar to some kind of agreement, and I clench my jaw. I clench my jaw, and the nausea bubbling within my stomach seems to heighten. Fuck. And I-
Oh Fuck. It pulses around my aching body; Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh- “FUCK!”
A loud, excruciating, crack, snaps out within the laboured silence, and I am submerged in (what feels like) the damned flames of Hell, licking and biting upon the sore flesh of my battered body, devouring my arm in sharp, agonized, nibbles; ripping chunks of my consciousness with them. “Jesu- Fuck. Holy fuck.” I murmur, slurred and messy, as a hot bout of drunken agony spouts throughout that damned joint. Up, and down, does it stumble; here, there, and everywhere, and I find myself unable to bite back the wave of tears, as they force themselves to grapple my attention, and to erode the bloodied concoction of fresh coating about my features, and I can hardly process the weight of their thickening moisture, as it gathers upon my cheeks, because - Oh, God, holy fuck - oh, I can hardly- It burns. It aches, and it burns, and it devours my limb entirely.
“Do the other one.” I demand, lowly, tone riddled with a rasp of violent agony, as the heat springs forth to my complexion in a tuft of dampening precipitation, and the salty layer begins to seep the red wash of my skin. “Alyssa.” I say, with a grave harshness to my tone, as she remains unmoving (sobbing silently, to herself) beside me. “Do the other one.” I do not dwell on her quiet crying, as she makes her way before me, and she nestles down at my opposing side, and I do not dwell on the ever-burning fire that seems to corrupt every living cell within me, swirling, biting, licking, ruining, me; running circles upon my exhausted frame. Exhausted. It paints the inner lids of my eyes, and the thought of rest seems so entirely delightful, that I have to peel them open. Exhausted. Exhausted. Exhausted. Exhausted. I resent myself for protesting my bodily wishes, and I heave the silent cry of my sobbing frame, denatured and entirely unaware. Unaware. Oblivious. Unfeeling, as another riveting POP echoes throughout the subtly disturbed volume of the room.
I feel it.
Oh, do I feel it.
But it does not register.
I am so alight, I am so wholly consumed, as the flames lick, and they engulf my frame; they wind brutally throughout the broken possession of my bone marrow, and they curve within the bruise of my jutting spine, my fractured rib; they grapple the cranium of my mind so violently, that I feel my slow blinking may rupture me an explosive head, at any given moment; they rip, and they tear, at the flesh of my muscles, running laps around, and around, my pain threshold; daring me, taunting me. Still think you’re winning? They laugh. Still think you’re winning?
But Alyssa is still here. Alyssa is still here, and Benjamin is still unmoving, at my feet, and I am still breathing. Alyssa is still here, and I am still breathing, and-
And soft, small, fingers wind through the matted knots of my bloodied, stained, hair, at the base of my neck.
I shift my watery gaze upon the girl beside me, stricken with a glaze of unforgettable, lurching, fear, as her blue eyes blubber silently, and she cries, and she cries, and she does her best to offer me comfort. She does her best to offer me comfort, and she smiles with closed, tear-tousled, lips, as I furrow my eyebrows, and I find myself bubbling with a warm determination.
Still winning, my heart thuds, still winning, still winning, still winning. Still winning, and I force my limbs to shift. To move an inch, or perhaps a mere centimeter, as that damned fire engulfs my arms, and it wraps them up, up, up; up, and down, spiraling throughout the system of my nerves. From the depth of the crook in my elbow, to the muscles hung loosely amongst my shoulders. Around, and around, but still, I try. “Come here,” I whisper, softly, and I motion with a nod of the head for Lissy to approach. She follows, a stumble or so trodden, and then she stands before me. I lift my arm - jaw clenched, swallowing back the rise of that bile concoction, and ignoring the violent flare of heat that deems eruption amongst the joint of my fucking shoulder - and I run my thumb along the red flush of her tear-stricken cheek. Trembling, though it is, I hold her face with soft assertion. “We’re gonna be just fine,” I say, almost inaudible beneath my bitten down cries, and I offer her a tight-lipped smile. “I promise, Lissy.” I say. “I promise.”
Alyssa doesn’t nod, she doesn’t offer me one of those (non)comforting, teary, smiles, that find my chest clenching with some sort of heartache, rather than warmth, and, instead, the girl furrows her eyebrows. “Does it hurt?” She asks, again, and I know that she is looking for honesty. That she wants the truth, despite her youth; that her innocence is gone. That whatever spark she once attained no longer resides within her cerulean orbs, and that they are darker beneath the dim yellow lighting. That they are darker beneath her trauma.
“Yeah.” I say, softly. “It does.”
“Can you move?”
No. “Yeah.” I smile, nodding gently, as I lower my arm, and I open my mouth to offer another white lie. “Just a little sore, that’s all.” I say. “Why don’t you-” I swallow the uprising bile that congregates within the over-salivation of my glands, and it scratches upon the ache of my tired throat. “Uh, why don’t you check- Check that, uhm-” I gulp back down my words, rearranging them upon my tongue, as the flaring pulse throughout my entirety finds itself momentarily blinding. Still think you’re winning? Still think you’re winning? “Check the door, Okay?” I say, quietly, and I do not dwell upon the observational quirk of her eyebrow, as Alyssa regards me cautiously, and she retreats her silent footwork. “Try and open it.” I offer her a reassuring (?) kind of smile, crooked, and bloody, but she does not seem to acknowledge it - not anymore - as she approaches the darkened corner of the room; the shadow of the great, steel, door. “Can you do it?” I call, tone impossibly rasped upon the echoing silence around.
There is the distinct sound of struggling metal, as the door jutts back and forth, stuck strictly within its positioning; locked. “It won’t open.” Alyssa says, quietly, and I wonder just how the little girl remains so consistently composed. Of course, her cheeks are littered with unforgiving layers of drying, and thickly moistened, tears, and her eyes are red raw, wide, and traumatized, but not yet has she… broken. Still, she speaks calmly; still, she bites back her loud sobs, and she contains the shudder of her frame. I can only assume that this gravely resolve will crack very suddenly, one day, and, much the same as the floodgates to an overflowing river, everything will come crashing down upon her city of composure. I do not allow myself to dwell upon this thought, however, as the pressing matter of escaping (preferably before Benjamin regains consciousness) thumps iambically throughout my bodily matter.
“Try the bolts.” I offer. “Are there any bolts?”
“No.” She says, distantly, with subtle strain, as though she is poised upon the tips of her toes, attempting to grapple the top of the door frame. “Nothing.” She says.
“Is there a keyhole?” I try, again, as I bite back a subtle groan. Fire. Fire. Heat, coursing throughout my motionless frame. Can you move? No. No. I cannot. I can hardly breathe, and I-
“Yeah.” She hums. “Right here.”
In, and out. In, and out. “Okay.” I say, “Keys in the door?”
“No.”
Fuck. There is no need for an IQ of 187 to figure out quite where the missing puzzle piece resides. Benjamin’s belt. The very same belt that he rather enjoyed wrapping around my throat, and observing the silent purple that flared upon the taint of my bloodied, fractured, face, just the evening before. Perhaps it was not evening - the concept of time has evaded me entirely, and I rely solely upon the scent of his breath, to know which meal he has likely devoured, before roaming his way within the… the room. Coffee, and something else particularly sweet (often a pastry, I like to believe) linger upon his words when he speaks, some days, and I know that it is morning. Sometimes the scent of seafood, or a cold sandwich filling, wafts upon my face, and the potent stench of a carbonated drink, with the distant flavour of a cheap beer, and I know that it is midday, or just after the fact. Warm, meaty, scents, with cheap red wine tend to find him delighted, by the time that dinner rolls around, and, I realise, that must mean that it is currently night.
Hours have since passed, from when he first entered the room, smelling strongly of a meat pie, and a three quarter bottle of cheap, red, wine, and, now, around twenty-five (or so) minutes have slipped through my fingers. Time flies when you’re in agony. Abiding by my own, personally devised, day clock, I might assume that I have been submerged within this room for four days. Almost five, I do suppose, should we not escape before the morning sun rises. Not that we may find out when that is, of course. There are no windows.
My capture had been no fault other than my own. The ‘case’ (Benjamin Fackle, a serial Child Molester, and Rapist, whom the media deemed the ‘Baby Raper’, and a creature the Police Department have been desperately searching for, for many a month) was not official. His name had not crossed my desk. The team knew of him - of course we did, he was a monster in disguise, and we ached for an invitation to work on the case - but, alas, our company was not beckoned for. I spoke to no one of my private research, my geographical profile, and neither my personal profile, but, with the aid of an unsuspecting Garcia (whom did not know the details of my expertly worded, and secretive, request) I had delved upon the narrowed depiction of three addresses.
The first, an Orphanage, which had since been demolished, and held not a single occupant, was futile. An easy occupation to discard from my list. And, then, came the second. In possession of my gun (and only my gun, my naivety be damned), with no vest, and no back-up-protection, I entered the grounds. That, among a conundrum of other things, was my first mistake.
There, waiting for me, among the looming shadows of night, was Benjamin Fackle. Crouched behind the door of an easily concealable blind-spot, I disregarded my Federal training, and I dismissed that damned corner. Always check your blindspots, Agent. I could hear the drilling tone bouncing around my mind, mocking me, much the same as that pulsating heat that continued to rivet around my conscience. You don’t check your blindspots, you’re as good as dead. You hear me? I heard him, alright, but that doesn’t matter, now. Not when it didn’t fall into practice, and I failed to do so when it mattered the most.
But I simply couldn’t resist it. Not this case. Not this kind of UnSub.
Not when he has been ripping the innocence from seventy-nine children (and counting), and disregarding them so heart wrenchingly. Not when he has been putting them through the same damned trauma I experienced, as a child. Not this case. Not this UnSub.
And so I force myself back, upon the brickwork behind me, and I ignore my burning frame with a foolish ignorance, engulfing the movement with stuttered fluidity, as the fragile joint of my wounded, bruised, knees, bend, and they shakingly heave my weakening body from the cold compress of the concrete floor. Up, and down, do the sharp pins flow; around, and around, do the needles pivot, but still, I force myself to stand. I force myself to stand, and my arms hang loosely at my sides; not dislodged, but still not quite intact, still burning violently, still thickly riddled with agony.
I stand, and I rest back upon the brickwork, and I heave my ragged breaths. In, and out, I stutter; in, and out. In, and out, but it aches, and it burns, and I blink slowly. I blink slowly, and I swallow back the protest of my uneasy stomach, that crawls within the salivation of my tight throat, and I force my stuttering frame to take a stumbled step forth.
Pushing from the wall, I tumble with heavy feet. Mulling within my agony; sharp, shallow, wounds, find themselves imprinting mercilessly about the trembling flesh, inflicting detrimentally upon the complexion, and I almost wish - just for a moment, just for a passing second - that I could halt my breathing. As my legs give out beneath me, and I crumble beside the shallow respire of Benjamin’s still frame, and I swallow down the loud cry that threatens to break through the tight catch of my teeth, as I bite down upon my lips, and I force it down - down, down, down - and I blink back the wave of tears (slowly), and I ignore the heat - God, the fucking heat - that dances, and grips, my aching muscles with piercing ferocity.
I crumble beside Benjamin, and I reach, with trembling, not quite numb, and paling, limbs, for his belt. The clink of the metal upon the stone seems to- it seems to- Alyssa. She lets out a quiet sob, from the corner, and I know what the indication sounds like, as a lump forms in my throat, and I can’t swallow it down, and I fumble with the buckle, and I hope, oh, I pray, that I can find those fucking keys, and I-
Jingle. I drag the metal back, and- Jingle, Jingle.
A soft, breathy, laugh falls from my mouth, as it contorts to the prologue of a violent sob, and I contort my features, I pinch them as tightly as I suppose that they may allow, and I hold it back- I hold it back, and I swallow the lump, and I press the cool metal of the keys to my chest, and I allow it to vibrate with the shudder of a hollow, dishonest, laugh. A laugh, to fulfil the urge of overwhelming moroseness, and exhaustion, that grapples me so aggressively, I find it difficult to breathe, with my head tipped back, and a glassy shein to my eyes, and I force myself to pull it together. I collect myself, there, upon the concrete, and I call out to the crying girl in the corner.
“Lissy.” I say, all too quietly for my liking. “Lissy, I’ve-” I swallow my words, as they threaten to exit in a jumbled mess. Oh Fuck, my heart thrums, with lesser the all-consuming fear, and more of the elation, the adrenaline, as the burning heat begins to dissipate, and I suppose that the adrenaline will not last forever. Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck. “I’ve got them.” I whisper. “Lissy, I’ve- They’re here, look, I’ve got them-” I stumble to my feet, riddled with the deafening thump of my heart, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, Oh Fuck, as it laughs within my ears, and it mocks my auditory joy. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t ache. I can’t feel a damned thing - nothing but the dizzying beat of my heart, that pumps wildly in my ears. It won’t last long, I think, as I stumble unsteadily on my footing, and I make my way to Alyssa.
It won’t last long.
It won’t last long.
It won’t last long.
And so I do not bother to comfort the girl, as she cradles her head in her hands, and she ducks it between her bent knees, curled desperately upon the ground, beneath the door, and I do not bother to grow frustrated, as I try the first key of four, and it doesn’t fit. I try the second, and it jams within the lock - not that one - and then the third. The third - oh, the beautiful third - that twists, with jutted prosperity, and it signals the sequence of unlocking metal.
It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t ache. I can’t feel a damned thing, as I lower myself with unsteadying speed, and I scoop the light girl, trembling, and sobbing, within my arms. My bruised, broken, mangled limbs, and I clutch her to my chest. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t ache. I can’t feel a damned thing, but I’m winning.
I’m winning.
I’m winning.
I’m winning.
I’m winning, as I stumble incoherently through the doorway, and I disregard the nauseating crack, when something collides with the steel of the door, as it chases me through, and I’m winning as I find myself shoving the damned key in the lock, and twisting, and twisting, and leaving it there to rot, and I trap that bastard within those damned, yellow-lit, walls, and I’m winning as I am tumbling through the misleading path of the unfamiliar home. Unfamiliar corners, unfamiliar rooms, unfamiliar sights. But I’m winning. I’m winning. By God, am I winning.
And I am still winning, as I collide with the front door, and I throw it open, thoughtless for the dutiful ache that is silenced by the thudding in my ears, and I make my way upon the pavement, concealed by the evading darkness that is night, and I begin to stutter my rugged footsteps - bare feet bloodied, and slapping down upon the walkway beneath me - and I hold the girl to my chest. I hold her, and I hold her, and I hold her, and I open my mouth to speak.
“We’re free, Lissy.” I say, quietly. “Look,” I point above her head, as I glance down upon her whimpering expression, “Look at the stars, baby.” I whisper. “We’re free.” And I know that we are not truly free, that, should my adrenaline, thrumming throughout my entirety, and consuming my conscience in a consistent hum of evading hope, ware off, should the pain settle back in, and the wind stop cooling the persistent burning that peppers moisture aloft my forehead, should everything fall to nothing, and should the morning sun mark the fifth day of my absence, we will not be free. That we will be, perhaps, as good as dead - Always check your blindspots, Agent - within the confinement of unfamiliar roads, and unfamiliar geography, and a town full of unfamiliar people.
After Benjamin had struck me over the head, a wound that soon sobered up, when he first began the beatings, he had locked me within the boot of his car. I was unconscious for most of the journey, and the back tail light seemed too difficult to kick through, at the time. He had weakened me, considerably, and I found myself unsure as to whereabouts it was that we were going. And, thus, I do not know our current location, either.
The low hang of the moon does little to console me, as the gush of my blood within my ears begins to slowly dwindle - thump-thump-thump; thump, thump; thump-thump-thump - but, with her cheek rested softly aloft my weightless chest, Alyssa stares up at it; bleary eyed, and consumed. Her stare of wonder gives little away, and I find myself praying, with whatever religion I have left in me, that she may recover. That this traumatic experience may dissipate beneath the life she has yet to live, and that, when the time comes, she will be able to face her trauma, and heal the wound indefinitely. That, one day, she may look up at the moon, and she may not be reminded of what Benjamin Fackle has done to her, and that she may capture the light of the stars within her blue stare, again. That she will regain a form of innocence, and that recovery comes quickly.
I know that it does not. I know that the pain never truly leaves you, but one can hope. One can hope, and while I am breathing, I hold on to that.
Just as I hold on to the girl, cradled to my chest, as the thinning beat within my ears begins to fade, and, with every passing second, I find my footing faltering ever-so-slightly. A dreadful kind of suspense begins to well in the pit of my stomach, as a creeping fire begins to erupt, deep within the soles of my bloody feet. It begins in my toes; travels up, up, up, to the uneasy curl of my ankle, the joint bitter in its inevitable damage, and I clench my jaw. I clench my jaw tightly, because I- because I knew that it wouldn’t last long, I knew that it wouldn’t last long, and still, I find myself surprised, frustrated, that the adrenaline is wearing. That, soon enough, I will find myself imobile, constricted by the worst level of pain I will ever endure. Bone, upon bone; fracture, upon fracture; the make-up of my anatomy begs for more adrenaline.
I push forth. Through the dim lighting of the streetlight - contorting to that of my aggressive dizziness, as the scene frame binds back and forth between the figure of four, and the singular, blurred, picture - I am able to… I can see a-
I sway in my footing, caught by the ferocious burn as it runs up, and it runs down, the joint of my knee; echoing around like the mocking laugh of my slow, steady, heartbeat. Still think you’re winning? It taunts, diving from one ear, circling my head, and protruding through the other, with a sickening giggle to warp it all in between. I grit my teeth, and I ignore it, inhaling shakily through my nostrils. In, I try, and out. But the burning ache has returned, and it drawls its slow, merciless, crawl, up, and up, and up, and up, my entirety; locking in the very cells of my biology, and taunting a dangerous song.
Oh, how it burns, I swallow thickly; how it aches.
It burns, and it aches, and I blink slowly, and I raise my foot - up, up, up - and I force it forward. A gentle connection with the floor holds no matter, I comprehend, as a thousand pins scatter about the marrow of my damaged skeleton, and a thousand needles pierce the tranquil complexion of a broken cohesion. It burns, and it aches, but I parry on. I parry on, and I delve myself yet another great number of unsteady stumbles; one foot, then the next, and then another few. I catch myself roughly as I groan out aloud, because, oh, it aches, and oh, it burns, and I blink slowly, and I entice myself to breathe, as I pause. In, my throat rasps upon the cool temperature of the night, and out.
“Alyssa.” I murmur, gently, as it fills the light air that surrounds us. The girl adjusts her attention, shuffling softly among my grip, and I am unable to swallow the cry that forces its way out, as she regards me with wide, watering, eyes, and I lower her (incautiously) to the ground. She lands with a thud, as her bare feet slap the concrete, and a subtle stumble, as I bend my frame, slightly, and I adhere to an unsteady lumber; contorted by the sheer ferocity of the flames, engulfing my arms with an unforgiving depiction. “Fuck,” I whisper, moreso for the expression, than for any natural effect, and I attempt to regain my posture. In, I rise to my full height, and I ignore the blasphemous heat that licks upon every morsel, every joint, and out. In, I ignore the blissful call of exhaustion’s lesion, as it beckons me slowly, and I flutter my eyes shut, arms hung limp at my sides, and out. I breathe, and I breathe, and I remain swaying in my place, silently wishing that the damned payphone was not fifteen feet away.
Still think you’re winning?
Fuck you, am I losing, I spit, internally, and I’m not quite sure who I am fighting, anymore. Benjamin Fackle? My pain? Myself? My exhaustion? Death? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.
I take another step, and I force myself to contain my expression of pain. I swallow it back, as the salivating gland to the inner corner of my throat begins to over-work, and the sleek bile concoction begins to trail its way up, up, up, through my esophagus, once more, and I feel it beginning to crawl through the burn of my throat. But the payphone is ten feet away, and fuck you, am I losing.
A rough swallow, and a softly hidden gip; I trudge another few feet upon the cold pathway bellow me, and I pledge my attention solely upon the approaching, smooth, steel of the payphone, enlarging, and imposing, as it draws nearer, and nearer, and nearer; one step, two steps, three steps, four, do I stumble, stuttering gracelessly in my stride as I go, and, oh, the phone is almost here. I reach for it, the sweet, sweet, plastic of bitter salvation, and a gentle cry escapes my mouth as I curl my digits upon it. I’ve got it. I’ve got it. I’ve got it. I’ve got it.
I’ve got it, and I draw it up, ignoring the flaring heat that roars throughout my entirety, and I allow my trembling grip to pale upon the device; gripping it, gripping it, gripping it, because Holy Fuck, I’ve got it. I’ve got it, but I- I swallow thickly, and I drag my burning frame that little bit closer. I’ve got the phone, and there’s- I check the credit, faintly projected beneath the dim light of the street, and another breathless laugh falls from my mouth, perhaps the first genuine smile gracing my lips, as an unnoticed trail of warm tears track their salty trace down my cheeks.
One Call Remaining.
One call remaining, I hover my hand above the metal keypad. I only know one number. I only know one number, but, as I smile, and I sniffle gently to myself, I know that it’s the only number I need, and I dial it - with shaking, aching, fingers, I dial the number, and I clutch upon the rim of the metal compartment with a wavering grip.
It rings once, twice, three times, and I pray, oh, to any God that may here me, do I pray that he picks up, as the echo of the ringing begins to sound less like the bells of a church, and more like the mocking laugh of someone poking me, prodding: Still think you’re winning? Still think you’re winning? Come on, pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick u-
“Hello?” There he is. Tone thick with sleep, groggy, and deep - down, I notice, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. He picked up. He picked up. “Hello?”
“Spence.” I breathe, as another humourless, teary, laugh trickles from my throat. “Oh, my God, Spencer.”
There is immediate shuffling, across the line, and I can only assume that he is sitting upright, frowning into the dark before him. Perhaps he has switched on his bedside lamp. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. “Y/N?” He rasps, softly, with such a gentleness, I fear that something else hides behind his tone. “Is that you?”
I pause, for a moment, as my expression pinches, and the crumble of agony descends upon my shoulders like the tide upon the shore, and the edge of my eroded cliff begins to fall. “It’s me, Pretty Boy.” I whisper, tone riddled by the repressed lather of edging tears; the misery that threatens to spill. I bite it back, and I relax my contorted expression. I hold it down, and my chest begins to burn, again. It burns, and it aches, and my body is on fire. But he’s here - my Spencer, my Pretty Boy - he’s here, and I am still breathing, and Alyssa is still here, and Benjamin Fackle is not.
I blink slowly, and I swallow down my silent cries, as the warm moisture of irrevocable tears fall solemnly upon my cheeks, and I sniffle it back, as the shuffling continues through the rough auditory of the responding end.
“Where are you?” He asks, a certain heaviness to his tone that has not been invoked by the influence of exhaustion. He sniffles, and I wipe my moistened mouth with the back of my wrist, ignoring the sudden flare of pain that engulfs my arm, my body, as a soft sound falls from my lips. I could hope that he did not hear it, that my quiet whimper slipped through the cracks of the terrible connection, but I know Spencer. Oh, do I know him, and so, when he gulps audibly, and he stutters over his words, I know that he is entirely aware of my pain. “I- I couldn’t, I’m-” He takes a shaken, deep, breath, and he tries again. “Where, uh- where are you, Y/N?” He asks, quietly, as the explicit ruffle of a breeze picks up on his end, and the distant slam of a door alerts me that he is on the move. I almost smile. Almost, if it were not for the grave buck of my knee, as it gives out, and I half-collapse, and an audible yell falls from my lips, the phone slipping from my weak grip, and tumbling to clatter with the metal of the side panel.
The sudden glare of invading heat, rupturing between this cell, and that cell, and every damned muscle in between, catches my body in a crampating hold; forcing me down upon a half-crouch, half-bend, as a forty-five degree angle courses through my hot, hot, agonized, frame. “Fuck,” I groan, as I slowly - oh-so-slowly, with a hiss here, and a quiet moan there - drag myself back up, and I place the phone back to my ear. Fuck. The incessant flourish of heat warps my limbs, carries them upon a throne of daggers, and of bruising pellets, and I find myself stifling back a sob, as he immediately interrupts my discomforted quiet.
“Y/N?” Spencer calls, no less a shout, than an urgent call. “Y/N, what’s going on?” He pleads, not quite bothering to mask the teary tone that he displays. I suppose that Spencer has always been like that - with me, at least - whereby his emotions are so raw, so pretty, that one cannot help being entirely enamoured by the way his tone thickens, and his lower lip trembles, as he forces back his tears, and I cannot help but allow my eyes to flutter shut; to envision his large, brown, eyes, so pretty beneath the glassy shein, and, for the second time, tonight, I allow a thumping thought to re-iterate itself among my pulse.
This is it, it says, and I am not sure if I am winning, anymore.
It just- Oh, Oh it hurts, and it aches, and it burns, and I- and I can’t tell if the moisture on my cheeks is from my silent tears, or the precipitation from my hot sweat, but it doesn’t seem to matter. It doesn’t seem to matter, because the urgent calls of Spencer’s thickening concern seem to fade - drifting, drifting, drifting away - and I lose myself within that certain void of semi-consciousness. Slumped upright, against the payphone booth, it pulses in my ears, and it aches, and it burns, and it hurts, and this is it. This is it. This is it. This is how I die, and I’m not sure if I am winning anymore, and I can’t hear my Pretty Boy, and I can’t picture his pretty brown eyes, or his pretty little face, or the soft embrace I could dare to call home, and I can’t think of anything. I can’t- it won’t- it aches, and it burns, and it hurts, and this is it. This is it. This is it. This is it. And I’m not winning anymore. I’m not losing, I’ve gained some sort of victory, along the way, but I can’t see the finish line, and I’m slowing down. I’m slowing down. I’m slowing down. I’m slowing down, and this is it. This is it. This is it. This is it.
This is it, and small, nimble, fingers, approach my peripheral. Like that slow-motion scene, with distant classical music echoing from the depth of another, airy, room; I watch it take ahold of the phone; watch it disappear, again, and the muffled tone of a child - Lissy Doll, little, little, Lissy Doll - soaks within my senses, devoured like the sweet scent of honey to a sore throat. I hear her, as I slide down the metal of the payphone, and I succumb to the desperate flames; I hear her, but I cannot bring myself to listen. Not as she speaks, with tears - I assume this is what I notice, glimmering upon her pink cheeks, as she cries beneath the moonlight - trailing her face, and she sniffles, and stutters, and she tries to reply as informatively to Spencer as she possibly can. I want to call out to her - want to inform her that this is why she is a good girl, that her unrelenting ability to do the right thing is what makes her good, not her lack of protest, and neither her silence, or her previously dry cheeks. I want to tell her that I am proud of her, as I lower my cranium upon the cold pathway below me, but I am tired.
I am tired, and this is it.
This is it. This is it. This is it.
This is it, and I know that Spencer will save her, now. That, although I am not winning, although I have not won, Alyssa is safe. Alyssa will grow to learn her recovery, and she will regain her aforementioned youth. And, as I roll upon my back, my body aroar with flames that ache, and that burn, and that taunt me desperately within my ear, that thank me, profusely, for my sacrifice, I stare up at the sky, and I smile, softly. Benjamin Fackle will be caught, should he catch his breath, and regain his consciousness, and Alyssa will recover. Her mother will hold her little Lissy Doll, once more, and she will be able to watch her child grow old, and she will know that in my death, her daughter found life. I suppose that death is not quite as morbid, when I think of it like this.
When I ignore the persistent nagging, in the forefront of my mind, as my eyelids droop, and exhaustion overwhelms me, and I pretend that in dying, I would not tear Spencer apart. I pretend, and I pretend, as I attempt to count the stars above me, for I know that I would shred him, limb from limb, and he would never recover. I am not so arrogant as to believe that I hold such power over any other, but Spencer is not just ‘any other’. Spencer - my Spencer - devotes himself, entirely, to the concept of love. He has never told me this - not in words - but- but I know. Love is not something you should ever find yourself questioning, and, if you are, it is not true love. I have never found myself questioning Spencer’s muse of adoration, despite his reluctance to openly admit it (all those months ago), and I know that I am lucky. That Spencer has known far too much pain for someone of such a golden declaration, and that his soul must be woven of the finest silk. There is not a single part of me - not a fraction, not a section - that does not know this, is not consumed by this. But here, as I lie upon the concrete, and Alyssa’s quiet crying forms a background serenade for my slow, painful, death, I wonder if my Pretty Boy would be alright.
I wonder if Spencer would recover, in time, much the same as Alyssa will, and I wonder if he will accept that it was my fault. That, ultimately, had I not imposed myself upon this unofficial case, and attempted to take matters into my own, foolish, hands, I would not be here, at this moment, dying. And he would not be awoken in the middle of the night, to an Unknown Number, and he would not be met with the pained cry of his tortured partner - a tortured partner that stares up to the stars, as they lay dying, and smiles because they are beneath the same sky as the love of their life, and, well, nothing seems to matter, anymore.
My body tingles - the kind of tingle that curls, and crawls, throughout your broken skeleton - and I let it dance, drunkenly, through the course of my very being. For when I remain motionless, it doesn’t quite hurt, anymore. Quite, because I am unsure as to whether the tingling is a symptom of forthcoming death - if I am numb, and unable to feel anything, anymore, but it doesn’t matter.
This is it, and it doesn’t matter, as I stare up at the night sky, and I sketch my Pretty Boy’s face among the stars, and I know that he fits right in, up there, with his soft chocolate hair, that swoops upon the right side of his face, and curls behind his ear; with his perfect little nose, that buttons, and finds itself entirely symmetrical, and the round, gently crinkled, expression of adoration within his wonderfully dark eyes - creased to the edge, as he smiles at me, and I lose myself in his adoration. And I think that if I am to die tonight, beneath the stars, with the vision of Spencer glancing down upon me with nothing but pure love, and affectionate warmth, I think that I am to die happy.
“Lissy,” I call, softly, and I hear her murmur something to my Spencer. I am unsure as to how long the credit will remain, though I assume it will not be forever, as Alyssa turns to face me, and I offer her a genuine, toothy, smile. “Can I speak to him?” I ask, quietly, and I can hardly recognize my own voice, beneath the rasp of my naked throat, and the relief that courses through my frame from the numbness that dying provides. “Please?” Please, may I bid my farewell?
Alyssa doesn’t say anything, with yet another sniffle, and she speaks another bundle of words that I do not quite catch, as she lowers herself to kneel beside me, the chord of the phone almost entirely outstretched, and she places the receiver to my ear, and the speaker to my chapped, smiling, lips. “Y/N?” I hear, as I see him amongst the stars, and my eyes crinkle at the notion, bewitched by a toothy, genuine, grin. The phone is cold, and I blink slowly up at the sky.
“Hey, Pretty Boy.” I say, quietly. “I miss you.”
There is hardly a pause, though I notice that the wind is no longer present upon the static of his end. “I don’t- I’m-” He catches his words, and he rearranges them. He doesn’t know what to say, but I let him take his time. “Why would you do that?” He hisses, softly, after a moment and there is a returning thickness that bubbles in his throat. I hear him swallow, but it doesn’t quite seem to do anything, at all, as he continues, and he sniffles back his tears, slightly. “Why wouldn’t you tell anyone?” He asks. Not scolding, not angrily, more of the bitter mourning, and the grief, that wraps upon his tone, and I find myself swallowing my honesty, for the moment.
“Can you see the sky, Spencie?” I evade, staring up at the constellations that form before me, as he shuffles, and his silence echoes back to me. “Can you see the stars?”
“Y/N-” His voice trembles, but I cut him off.
“I’m not winning, anymore, Spence.” I say, a mere whisper upon the silent street around us. “I’m not losing.” I continue. “But I’m- I’m not winning, either.”
“What?” He mumbles, voice thick with tears, and I envision them tumbling down his face. Another shuffle breaks forth, and I assume that he has wiped his cheeks. My chest begins to ache, again, as I picture the subtle furrow of his eyebrows, and the way his tongue will run over the pout of his trembling lower lip, as he exhales through his cheeks, and he sniffles with his pretty nose, and I smile, softly, into the night, and, despite the dense knowledge that I will not, I hope that I will make it. That this isn’t it. But, deep down, I know that it is, and thus, I continue.
“I want you to-” I swallow back the uprising hiss, as I move my jaw somewhat to animatedly, and a flare of heat erupts in my throat, and I speak quieter, as I try again, and I know that Spencer’s expression is pinched. “I want you to take care of Lissy, alright?” I say.
Silence.
“Spencer, promise me.” I whisper. “I need you to do that for me.”
“Why would-” He delves a shaky inhale, “Why would I have to do it?” He says. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N.” He continues, a tremble to his tone, “You’re gonna be Okay. You’re gonna walk away from this, just fine, and Alyssa’s gonna have access to as much help as she needs, and we- and we’re gonna be just fine, Okay?” I want to shake my head, I want to interrupt his self indulged, dishonest, ramble, and I want to stop him - want to reach out, and hold him, and to assure him that he will recover - but this is it, and time is simply not on my side.
“Spencer.” I call, softly, and he falls to immediate silence; his breathing inconsistent, and shaken. “I’m not winning, anymore.” I repeat, and I know that he has gathered together the missing pieces. “I’m not.” I say. “And- and it hurts.” I whisper. “It hurts, and I’m tired-”
“I know, baby,” He says, gently, as he gulps in a trembled lungful of air, and he swallows down the lump in his throat, and he tries to speak again. “I know you’re tired, and I know that you’re in pain, but you can hold on. I know you can, Y/N, come on.” He says. “Fight.” And a quiet, almost silent, whimper leaves my lips, until the stars are all a blanket of ill-lit darkness, and I can hardly comprehend his grief as he speaks again. “Please.” He whispers. “You’ve gotten through the worst of it, and if you- if you don’t move, and you stop talking, and you preserve your energy, you’ll be fine. You can survive another three minutes, and twenty four seconds, can’t you?”
A breathless, teary, laugh falls from me, then, and I ignore the blistering fire that erupts throughout my body. “Calculated to the second.” I tease, softly, “How ingenious of you, Doctor.”
He reciprocates my watery laugh, though riddled with far less enthusiasm than I, and he mutters his quiet response: “I do have an IQ of 187, and an-”
“And an eidetic memory.” I finish, smiling toothily to myself, despite the chorus of flames that attempts to swallow me whole. “I know, Spencer.” I say. “And I know that you don’t think intelligence can be quantitatively measured.”
“No.” He says, “I don’t.”
“And I know that you-” I gulp back the concoction of bile, and I try it again, a certain hoarseness about my tone. “I know that you can read twenty-thousand words per minute, and that you don’t much like the taste of coffee, so you- you pour the whole bag of sugar in there-”
“I do not-”
“You do, Pretty Boy.” I smile, and, beneath the soft crackle of the reception, I hear a low rumble of agreement.
“She’s right.” They say, a grin to their tone, and I know that voice. Oh, I know it well.
“Is that Morgan?” I rasp, softly, and I smile up at the sky, as the man in question offers his greeting.
“Hey, Babygirl.” He says, with that same kind of warmth that Derek seems to consistently radiate. My chest aches, again, and I realise that I do not want this to be it. It aches, and the charred flavour of my burning sternum crawls back upon my tongue, and it nestles there, as he offers a question of less-than-casual-conversation. “How you holdin’ up?” He asks.
“Great, actually.” I joke, as I offer a kind smile to Alyssa, and she runs her nimble, small, fingers through my hair, and she reciprocates the gesture, ascending her gaze back to the stars, as she goes. “If you consider two-” I let out a low cough, as the concoction of bile seeps beneath my tongue, and it- I heave, abruptly, and I force myself to twist to the side, unloading whatever the fuck was left, rejected, amongst my stomach. The wet splatter of blood, and of bile, of mucus, and salivation, coaxes the pavement, a mere few inches away, as I retreat, slowly, back to the receiver of the phone, and I dismiss the neverending roar of flames, engulfing my body, still, as I sink back into my vertical position, and I return to the conversation.
“Y/N?” Spencer calls, a thickened tone of worry conveying about his voice.
“I’m fine.” I lie. “Just a little, uh-” I swallow back the coppery aftertaste, and I offer Alyssa another gentle smile. “Nauseous.” I murmur.
“Nauseous?” Spencer repeats. “Do you have a fever?”
“I don’t have the flu, Spence,” I dare to jest, “It’s probably just something to do with my two dislocated, and relocated, shoulders. Or, maybe my- maybe my (probably broken) ankle, and the-” Another strained groan falls from me, as Alyssa slumps herself down upon the pathway, and she (accidentally) knocks the jolt of my displaced shoulder, a great POP echoing out from such a sudden movement. Fire. Heat. Hot, hot, hot; it licks away at the joint, and I let out a great, stifled cry, as she attempts to place her palm upon it, and I- “Fuck!” I cry, “Don’t touch it, Lissy, don’t-” I swallow down another yell, as the fire runs up, and down, up, and down, the length of my arm; pins and needles carouselling their way about the wounded flesh. “Don’t touch it. Please.” I implore, quietly, as I attempt to return to the phone, and I retrain my gaze upon the stars, slurry, and unfocused, for all its worth, as I find myself woozy beneath the beckon of exhaustion, once more.
“What was that?” Spencer pleads, as he holds the speaker somewhat too close to his mouth, and my head naturally jerks away from the volume of his cry. Another rip of gravely flames engulf my figure, as I strain myself to lower the extent of my groan, but it- Fuck, does it hurt. It aches, and it burns, and it licks up the fruit of my torture. “Y/N?” He calls, again, “What was that popping? Was that a joint?”
I grit my teeth, and I exhale through them roughly. In, I breathe, and out. “My shoulder, Spence.” I murmur, “Fuck- Please-” I do not want this to be it. I do not want this to be it. I do not want this to be it. The thump of my heart begins to pick up, and I withhold the uprising sob that threatens to break through. I do not want this to be it. “Please tell me you’re bringing an ambulance.” I murmur, and I hope that my insinuation is correct.
“They’re on the way.” He says. “We all are.”
“All?” I mutter, quietly.
“All of us, Babycakes.” Morgan says. “Don’t tell me you thought we’d be able to sleep, with your face on the news, like that.”
“I was on the news?”
“Headlining.”
“Great.” I scoff, “My big media break, and it’s the one thing that’ll have me fired.”
“It was a preposterous idea!” Spencer cuts in. “Going in alone, like that. You know that above ninety-seven percent of women are sexually assaulted? In their day-to-day lives? Why would you purposely search for a rapist? Why would you do that without back-up? I- I bet, I bet with every fibre of my being, that you didn’t check your blind spot.” He says, and I feel a certified something stir within the depth of my stomach, and pool deep within, for, oh, he knows me so well, and, and I- “You never check your blindspot. I do it for you, because I know that you’ll forget, but Y/N- fuck.” He says, and his breath shakes as he releases it. “And you know, you know that you are required, by law, to wait for back-up, when you do not have your vest, or any other form of protection. Y/N, we didn’t even know that you had worked on this case, never mind that you had gone to visit the UnSub by yourself-”
“He was out of his depth, Spencer.” I defend, quietly. I say it quietly, because it aches, and it burns, and it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts, and he listens to me, anyway, and he lets out a shaky inhale, as I speak. “It wasn’t in the Profile for him to do something that ballsy-”
“Well, clearly your profile was inaccurate.” He snaps, a certain edge to his tone that I find myself unfamiliar with, as I recoil, slightly, and I ignore the flare of heat that congregates about my body. “If you hadn’t-” He pauses, and another trembled breath is to follow: In, and out. “Y/N, I just- I’m- I’m scared, alright? I’m worried. I don’t know your physiological, or psychological, condition, right now, and I’m- it’s just-” Another stuttered inhale. “This isn’t easy, Okay?”
“I know, Spence.”
“I don’t hear from you for four days, twenty-two hours, and thirty-nine minutes, roughly fourteen seconds, and you’re the headline for the news. MISSING: Federal Agent, Y/N Y/L/N, Last Seen in Quantico Virginia, at the Behavioural Analysis Unit Headquarters.” He recites, and I know that it has plagued the back of his eyelids like a lingering, bad, smell, ever since. “You know where you were last seen, Y/N? You were last seen with me, that’s where. And I can’t forget what that headline says, it is biologically impossible, and I can’t stop seeing it every time I close my eyes, and I- and I can’t stop thinking about how, should I have stayed with you for another four hours, or so, you wouldn’t have chased this UnSub, and you would be here, right now, and I wouldn’t be turning down the street, to find you sprawled out on the floor - because I know that’s what you’re doing - in agony, and feeling as though death is knocking at your door, and-”
“Breathe, Pretty Boy,” Morgan cuts in, “Breathe.”
But he doesn’t pause long enough to listen. “And I can’t-” His voice cracks, slightly, and my chest burns, it aches, as the subtlety of silent tears stream down the sides of my face, and they pool within the roots of my hair. “And I can’t listen to you, here, talking to me like you’ll-” He grapples a broken inhale, and he stutters amongst his breathing, and I hear the tears on his tongue. I hear them. I hear them. “-like you’ll never see me again. Like this call is some sort of goodbye.”
“I don’t want this to be it.” I say, gentler than I feel I have ever spoken, before, and Spencer offers his words of protest.
“It isn’t!” He exclaims, with a thick bitterness to his tone. Not quite directed at me, though the agony to his own constricting chest is evident. I find myself accustomed to the flavour of my burned sternum, as it rests upon my tongue, and I do not attempt to protest amongst his continuation, as he cries, and he parries on. “Fuck,” He whispers, and I envision him wiping away the fresh moisture of his expression, once again, as a quiet shuffling invokes upon the line. “This isn’t it. We’re-” He lets out a breath. “Can you hear us?” He asks. “We’re almost there.”
The distant wail of crying sirens engulfs my senses, paired with the static white noise of Spencer's anticipation, and I find my mouth up-tilting, ever so slightly. “Yeah.” I say. “I can hear you.” And maybe, just maybe, this isn’t it. Maybe Spencer - maybe my Pretty Boy Spence - is right. He is rarely wrong, that much may I agree, but he is not always accurate in his future depictions. For once, I find myself thinking, I hope that he is right.
“Good.” He says, perhaps more so to himself, than to me, as he repeats the notion, and he steadies his erratic breathing. “Good, Okay. We’re turning onto your street, now.” He says. “Can you see us?” The wailing sirens approach, they engulf the silence of the night, as they blare, and they scream, and they fall louder, and closer, and louder, and closer, and the stars all morph together, into one illuminated band of darkness, and the sirens blare on, growing louder, and closer, and louder, and closer, and- “Y/N?” Spencer calls.
“The sirens.” I murmur, distractedly, as they ricochet around my mind, and they bounce from one fragment of my inner skull, to the other, and they roll impotently about the curve of the bone. “They’re-” Louder, and closer, and louder, and closer. “They’re noisy.” I say, and I doubt that he can comprehend the gentle tone to which I depict, as the wail of the siren cry calls out, and a sudden screech falls present upon their hellish song.
Spencer does not reply, and I listen to the white noise - the white noise that grows distant, as the wailing aubade of the ambulance approaches - and, then, a chorus of footsteps consume my auditory senses.
I know my lover not by his footfall, but by the way in which he collapses, immediately, at my side, and his large, warm, hand, cusps at my broken cheek, and he observes me closely. And it aches, and it burns, but, oh, there he is. There he is, with a furrow to his straightened eyebrows, and a glassy film aloft his beautiful, warm, orbs - reduced to circles of worry, of anguish, as he observes my… my state of being - and I measure the map of his features, I blister them among the roof of my mind, as though I have not looked upon them fondly a thousand times before, and I offer my lover a soft, closed-mouth, smile. I offer him a smile, and I ache to run my fingers across his parted lips, to recall the feel of his skin, his perfect, perfect, complexion, and the symmetrical span of his face. In this moment, I want nothing more than to feel the weight of his body, sprawled out upon me, as my arms wind around his neck, and I embrace my Spencer, and we pretend that all the trauma of the world does not exist, and we love, and we love, and we love.
I watch the rapid descent of his features, and I gather that he wishes he knew nothing of my physiological well-being, if the subtlety of my pained cries aloft the phone were quite enough to reduce him to tears, and my fingers itch. They itch, they itch, and they itch, to run through the smooth flow of his hair, to brush it away from his pretty little features, and to assure him that: Hey, Pretty Boy, it’s alright. I’m alright. It’s going to be fine. Just fine, Okay? This isn’t it, I was wrong. I was wrong, Okay? This isn’t it, Pretty Boy. Come on. Come on, Pretty Boy, wipe those cheeks. It’s going to be just fine. It’s alright. It’s going to be fine, Pretty Boy. Okay? Okay.
But eyes, red raw, and leaking, stare down at me, and I know that to speak such words would be nought but a cruel spell of dishonesty. I’m not winning, anymore.
Trembling fingers work their way through the matted knots of my hair, brushing back the locks from my face, as they flail out upon the pathway beneath me, and Spencer shudders a quiet sigh. “Hey,” He greets, simply, as though he is not attempting to swallow his raging heart, that threatens to break through the lump in his throat. As though he is not on fire, with burning self-hatred (just like I know that he is), and gritting his teeth to prevent any upcoming sobs. As though I am not destroying him, as we speak. As though I am Okay, as though I am still winning. “Can-” Another shaken, stuttered, inhale, “Can you move?” He asks, and I gulp back the remainder of the bile concoction that has yet to bid me farewell. Can you move? No. No. I cannot. I can hardly breathe, and I-
I shake my head, gently, and I attempt to ignore the corrupting fire that, still, nibbles away at the aching flesh of my body, and I- “It hurts.” I repeat, no less than a whimper upon the business of the night. Blue light carousels around the darkness, illuminating the scene in an azure of flashing cerulean, but I see nothing other than the glassy brown of his wide, fearful, eyes. “It hurts, Spencer.” I say, and I am not quite sure just what it is that hurts, anymore, as my vision blurs, and the warmth of something hot, something wet, trails upon my broken cheeks.
“Shh,” He whispers, tone thickened by the tally of his own violent tear-shed, as he strokes the pad of his calloused thumb aloft my moistened complexion. “Shh,” He says, “I know.” But it aches, and it burns, and I can hardly breathe, once again. “I know, baby, it’s alright.” He says. “I’m here. I’m right here, Okay? Ri- right here.”
But that- it doesn’t- it doesn’t seem to matter, as he trails the dampness of my sopping cheeks, and his salty tears trickle down his throat. It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because this is it. And, as a certain warmth begins to sprinkle upon the curve of my toes, and the quiet patter of uniformed feet scurry upon the pathway, and the roll of a- of the- stretcher? Of the stretcher. Oh, the stretcher. It aches, and it burns, and Spencer seems awfully beautiful, beneath the gaze of the moon, and my eyes- they ache, and they burn.
The angel that hangs above me, my very own offering from heaven (an offering, a fraction, like the stars, from the sun) and I think he has never looked more bittersweet in his beauty, than he does tonight, displayed beneath the moonlight. Displayed beneath the moonlight, as though he is carved, sculpted, so effortlessly, by the most callous, talented, hands that the Gods ever did have to offer. I swallow back my prosperity, as the shein upon my eyes begins to dwindle, and I consider whatever religion I have left, inside of me. I consider it, and I come to realise, as my adoration for this angel, for this sweet, sweet, lover of mine, paints itself in poetry upon my tongue, that all of my religion is made up of him. That he tastes like the body of Christ, or whomever my heart has decided is unworthy of worship in the presence of my Spencer, and he has stained my lungs with the scent of his forgiveness.
He is the religion that I have left, and I fall to my knees before him. As he furrows his eyebrows, and everything seems to dim, and the stars lose their spark, and I am wrapped- wrapped up, up, up, in a tingling sensation, that crawls around, and around, my entirety, and dissolves the fire, relishes the flames; that runs its hand through my hair, and threatens to succumb me to exhaustion.
This is it, I think, and I bore my stare into the warmth of Spencer’s darkening expression. His mouth, that hangs open, and shapes the body of words I cannot hear, but look a lot like my name, and the sirens of the world around, they all fall to nothing.
This is it, and I am consumed entirely in something that feels a lot like him. A lot like my Pretty Boy. A lot like Spencer. For it is warm, and it runs a steady hand through my hair, and it caresses my cheek, and I am- I am Okay. Just for this moment, I decide, I am Okay. The dull shadow of my gaze seems to darken, and the world around collapses, and I hear nothing. But I am Okay. I hear nothing; no buzz, no fuzz of the white noise, but I am Okay, and, in a strangely comforting anonymity, I allow myself to sway along with it’s somber aubade. For what, in life, is more beautiful than the transition? Than the end?
This is it, and I am Okay, and it does not hurt, as I indulge a final glance upon my lover, before me, and I strain my arm - my somewhat re-located joint, that doesn’t ache, and doesn’t burn, beneath the symphony that is my love - and I raise it up, up, up, and I cup at the curve of his trembled, tear-stricken, cheek. I hear him not, as he whispers to me, softly, and I do not dispel the announcement of my adoration, as I draw him closer to me, and he follows without question. Without question, because my Pretty Boy is not naive. Because my Pretty Boy knows, all to well, the prologue of agony, and, as he leans in to the heart of my hand, and his sopping wet features pinch with the repression of bitten back sobs, and he approaches, and he nears, and his warm, trembled, breath fans my lips, as it all takes place, and the world falls away, my Pretty Boy knows that this is it. That I am not winning, anymore.
He knows, he knows, he knows.
He knows, and his mouth is warm, is familiar, as it peppers its soft affection upon the wounded pout of my lips, and he cries his salted tears, that melt upon my damaged complexion with anger, and with poorly consumed rage, and he damns the cruel taste of fate, as it settles within his lungs. He knows, as he withdraws his fragile expression, and a gust of cold, frigid, air, wraps upon the flesh of my parted mouth, and his tongue darts upon his lower lip, and catches a bout full of tears. He knows. He knows. Oh, how he knows. And, as those very same lips bless the blood of my forehead with a ginger, angelic, kiss, and they press upon the skin with shaken certainty, our notion of adoration feels more like a goodbye, than an ‘I Love You’. But there doesn’t seem to be much of a difference, anymore, as I watch, through hooded eyes, and a numb, drifting, body, and I observe the violent tremble of his frame, his hunched shoulders, as he looms above me, and he cradles my face within his large hands.
There isn’t any difference, because this is it.
This is it, and I stutter through my final breath, and my half-lidded eyes absorb the dark nothingness before them for one final time.
This is it.
This is it, and I’m not winning, anymore.
#spencer reid#baby spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x reader fanfic#spencer reid x you fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader fanfiction#spencer reid x you fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#oneshot#criminal minds
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Hi!! Can I ask a scenario with Rook and GN!mc where they’re a couple and it’s Rook’s Birthday and the s/o shower him in compliments? Sorry if this is too much, hope your having a great day, stay safe! ✨
Thank you for requesting!! I was a little stumped while doing this so I did a bit of research qwq’’ that’s why I took a little long!! I hope you enjoy (*´∀`*)!
Warnings: none!
Tags: GN!reader, fluff
You wanted to do something special for Rook on his birthday. For someone who finds and values the beauty in everything, you wondered if there was a chance when someone had done the same for him. Has anyone ever found what is beautiful about him and valued his beauty?
You thought over what could possibly make Rook feel special—what could possibly make your gift for him special. He was always praising you for…about everything. Your eyes, your voice, your talent—your everything—are all beautiful in his eyes. His songs of praise make you feel bashful. It doesn’t help that you have the knowledge of Rook’s judgment being clearer than a mirror.
A mirror…that’s right!
No, you aren’t getting him a mirror. You’re sure that Pomefiore has plenty of mirrors in their dorm. Instead, you’re going to mirror what he does to you. Anything that comes from the heart is special. Rook acknowledges the beauty of everything else except for his. It’s simply unfair. You’re going to remind him that he is beautiful, too.
You waited until it was time to interview the celebrant for NRC News to give your present to him. You were nervous—really nervous—in giving your lover your gift. Rook probably noticed that you had not placed your gift by the present table, but even if he does, he doesn’t seem to mind. “Your presence here is a gift enough, mon cheri,” he smiled, pressing a kiss on your knuckles, and you felt as though your heart will fly from your chest. He laughed at your reaction and you had to assure him that you did bring him a gift. “Once the interview is over, I’ll give it to you,” you promised with a twinkle in your smile.
Rook gave you a hearty chuckle. “Why not give it to me now?”
“I want to surprise you,” you simply said, gesturing for him to sit down so you may begin your interview. The smile Rook gives you is a sly one. You noticed how his hand doesn’t leave yours, and it feels oddly risqué that you’re holding his bare hands. You’re sure that he had noticed the heat on your ears. Rook chuckled once more. “Oh, mon filou, you certainly know what votre chasseur d’amour certainly like. I shall wait until the interview is over then!”
You chuckled, charmed, that it calmed your nerves a little bit. His hand feels warm on yours and you couldn’t help but draw a slow breath when he squeezed it. Your eyes locked upon his. Rook certainly knows what he’s doing. He needed no words to praise you—his beautiful eyes can do it for him.
Beautiful…
Dang it, Rook. You’re supposed to be the one to praise.
“It feels weird to see you without your hat,” you started. You shifted your gaze down to your intertwined hands. “And your gloves.”
“In a good way, J'espère?” His smile is just awfully contagious. It was light, warm, and sweet. “Yeah,” you chuckled, “in a good way. Your hat is a part of you, I guess, so seeing you without it is just…new.” You feel your cheeks lightly flush as you watched his soft blonde locks seemingly sway at the air-conditioning. You threaded your fingers through his hair before. They were pleasant to touch. They were beautiful, and most of all they were a part of him. “Your hair is wonderful as ever, too. I don’t think I need to stroke them to feel how soft they are.”
You don’t miss the way he suddenly blinks at your compliment. Though he quickly recovered, and his eyes squinted playfully at you. “Oh, mon filou, as much as I appreciate your merveilleux praises about moi I should remind you that we are having an entretien.” You felt a little cold when his warm hand left yours, so you decided to fold yours on your knee instead. “Right, right, sorry,” you apologized, shaking your head at your attempts. You were supposed to give his gift after the interview not before.
However, you don’t seem to mind changing your plans a little bit.
“I just—well you’re just…” you looked down at your hands, giving yourself time to pause for your thoughts, “…just beautiful, you know?”
Rook made no sound and you lift your head up to him in anxiousness. You were a little surprised at how surprised he was. Taking his unguarded expression, you quickly took the chance. “Everything about you leaves me in a breathless awe.”
You stood from your seat and slowly made your way to stand before him. “Your wit is exceptional, but not as exceptional as your skill for hunting. You hunt as you breathe, and you move like you’re part of your surroundings—” that doesn’t sound as poetic as you hope it would be but “—it’s startling but exhilarating to watch you in your passion.”
Rook still says nothing, but his flustered countenance assures your anxiety. His eyes softened when you kneeled beside him. You took his hand back to yours and looked up at him. “You’re guileless, you simply live as you wish to, and when you’re in your prime I find myself wondering how I end up with such a beautiful, beautiful man—which is everyday of my life.” You kissed his knuckles with a soft sigh and you continued, pressing your lips up to his arm, to his shoulder, then you meet his eyes. You hear him draw a shaky breath like you do—and you both smiled. Your fingers caressed his skin, and he held onto your hand when it cupped his cheek. Your voice, now soft, tender, sounded clearer than what was around the both of you. “I admire so many things about you, Rook. It’s not just your physique but the effect you have on people. The effect you have on me.
“Your smile, your gestures, they’re as warm as the sun in a bright morning. You’re as warm as a welcoming hug and your words are so sweet and encouraging that—that you just lift everyone’s spirits up.” You gazed at his eyes—captivating, hunter greens, as deep as the canopies brightened with the sun—and he saw how limpid yours are. “Looking at you know, my heart feels like it’s gonna jump out of my chest because—well, you just look so handsome!” You both chuckled, feeling each other’s soft breaths touch your skins.
“You’re amazing, Rook. A splendor to witness. A delight to be with...” Rook leaned unto your hand, unto your words, unto the love you pour in the praises. He knows that they are more than words for he can feel you pull them from the depths of your heart—the depths of your being—from your very soul. And when you shower him with words that are more than compliments, for these words mingled with the kisses you press on his skin, he feels special.
Your noses touch and your eyes nearly fluttered to close. “And I am blessed to love someone as beautiful as you.”
And you finally pressed a kiss on his waiting lips. Soft, tender, and clear intentions of showering him with love. When you part with both your hands still on his cheeks, and his hands on yours, Rook exhaled the breath he was holding. “Oh, mon dieu,” was what he said that made both of you laugh lightly with a full heart.
“You rusé filou,” he sighed, a beautiful smile on his lips and a twinkle on his beautiful eyes. “You completely enamored me with your words, luring me with such melody—mon dieu!” Rook’s chin dipped to his chest and he dramatically clutched his heart, still careful not to ruffle his lapel. “Rook!” You exclaimed, kneeling again so you may meet his eyes. His cheeks are a splendid rosy color. When he opens his eyes, they were brighter than they were. “Ce n'est pas l'appel du vide,” he muttered, and you have no clue what he just said but he continued, “c'est l'appel d'une sirène! Oh, mon cheri!”
Rook lifted you by the arms and kissed you again. You gasped at the sudden passion but returned it anyway. You can feel your heart practically leaping from your chest. When you pulled away to avoid escalating things, Rook sniffled rather emotionally. He wiped his eyes, but he could never replace his tearful gaze at you. Tearfulness brimming with overwhelmed gratitude. Rook laughed at your probably goofy face. “That was supposed to be your surprise for moi, non?” You ditched it as a surprise and completely forgot about the interview. You laughed, nodding. “Yeah…but I couldn’t wait. And that isn’t just my gift—surprise to you!”
You sheepishly look down. “You always regard everything as beautiful, meaning you acknowledge their existence. I want you to know that you are beautiful too, Rook. And you exist—and I—along with many others—acknowledge your existence.”
“Oh, mon cheri, you spoil ton bien-aimé too much.” Rook took your hands and kissed it affectionately. “Such loving praises from a deity such as you is a gift. Ah, I did tell you earlier, non?” He brought his face closer to you once more and you blushed.
“Your gift of praise to me is well appreciated. But your love, your beauty, your existence, is le meilleur cadeau.”
#fullcowling#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#rook hunt#rook hunt x reader#twst rook hunt#twisted wonderland rook hunt#twisted wonderland imagines#i was listening to the parting wall performed by hozier on repeat#and it got me out of my STUMP#LEZGO
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a/n: this is 110% inspired by @skarsgard-daydreams and her wonderful eric x reader series unto dead. if you haven't already, GO READ IT, it will change your life.
this is literally just filthy smut. that's it, nothing else, you've been warned why am i nervous? is everyone nervous posting smut? this came out of loving marie's stories with a passion, and wanting to bring some good solo pam smut to the table. with that being said, 18+ and sorry if it sucks lmao ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ enjoy!
Time meant nothing in the dungeon, and even less when you were under Mistress Pam’s rule. It didn’t matter to her if she went against her word and five minutes of spankings turned into fifty. She didn’t care if she promised that after she counted to three you could cum, and then let hours lapse between one and two. And she certainly didn’t care about your opinion on her lack of concern over the loss and fluctuations of time during your sporadic sessions.
Your sessions only happened on the rare occasion Eric was out of town, and the even rarer occasion that he allowed Pam to play with you without him.
Tonight, the stars had a lined and allowed both of the requirements to be met for her to handle his girl all alone. Although, his presence was never really left out of these affairs. The security camera in the corner always reminded Pam, and you, of his omnipresence.
As Pam looked over your restrained naked body now, she knew without even having her maker in the room that he was enjoying himself. Your lithe form shone under candlelight as sweat drenched your skin and wetness slicked between your thighs. Your chest was rising and falling in great succession. You squirmed uselessly in the binds that secured your wrists and ankles to the steel table, as your body subconsciously tried to curl inward for comfort after another orgasm had been cruelly ripped away from you. Pam smirked, lashes batting down at you as she weighed the heavy wand vibrator in her hand.
“Stupid girl, thinking she gets to cum whenever she wants. So greedy,” she ran the wand on low vibration over the length of your form, enjoying greatly the way it made you gurgle and whine, "I own your orgasms, your pussy isn’t allowed to pulse unless I choose to make it do so, correct?”
She rounded your pert nipple with the wand, “Correct?”
“Yes! Yes, Mistress!” you gasped out, knowing that not responding at all would only make your deprivation worse.
“Look at that, maybe you aren’t just a stupid little cunt after all,” she slowly moved the wand away from your nipple to draw it between the valley of your breasts, up your throat and along your cheek, just to press it hard into your jaw and chatter your teeth, “you’ll learn your place one day. Until then, I do enjoy teaching you.”
She said this in a mock sympathy, she said it like you should be grateful for her torture and her lessons.
Though, nothing that had happened this evening was surprising, and you should have mentally prepared yourself for the tribulations she would put you through. The foreplay and the lead up to penetration when you were alone with Pam was always maddening.
“He might be big, but no one fucks like me. We have to make sure you’re really ready,” she’d say in her signature drawl as she’d pull out a new toy to use on you.
“Do you think you’ve had enough?” Pam asked flippantly, pushing the head of the vibrator into your cheek firmly once more before taking it off all together.
This time, you knew better than to answer. Both answers were wrong.
“Let’s check, why don’t we?” she posed it as a question but it was rhetorical. Anything Pam wanted to happen, would.
She turned off the wand and placed it to the side, along with many of the instruments she had already or planned on using on you. Unable to crane your neck far enough to watch her walk to your bottom half, you relied on your peripheral vision and the sound of her stilettos on the concrete to alert you. Soon, you felt her icy soft hands part your thighs wider and the sound of a hum leave her lips.
“Would you look at that?” manicured nails came to spread your lips that were dripping with arousal, “quite the excited little slut, aren’t you? You don’t hate your punishments as much as you let on, it seems.”
Her touch felt so good you could barely control the moan that ripped through your chest when three of her flat fingers started to rub the outside of your pussy.
“That’s right, let that brain of yours melt out of your little cunt. You’re so much better when your Mistress’s little fuck doll and nothing more.”
Pam could smell the delicious aroma of your eager pussy and the sweet blood pumping steadily through your femoral artery. She wanted nothing more than to sink her teeth into your skin and let your oozing blood mix with your arousal so she could slurp up her favorite cocktail. But she knew she had to refrain. Eric was always very strict with her biting his pets, especially when he wasn’t around.
“You just can’t resist, can you?” she chuckled lowly and your breath hitched, “pretending to struggle but soaking yourself between your legs.”
You wanted to reply, you wanted to say anything even if it was just to continue to play into the evening, but the second you felt her fingers breach your center, your brain powered down like a TV set.
“Even wetter inside,” she said in faux surprise, “with no resistance.”
“But you know what, little slut? I think I want more. I want your cunt to drool so much it makes a puddle on the floor for me, and then, but only then, will I think about putting a cock in you.”
The idea of finally being filled had you delirious, and when Pam crooked her fingers and started to pump them inside you, you felt crazed. Her skillful finger tips hooked and rubbed over your g-spot so well, you had the brief worry of passing out cross over you.
“Finally being a good girl, huh? A good little toy for me. You were such an insolent little brat earlier, weren’t you? But after a few hours with mistress, suddenly you're the perfect little pet Daddy and I deserve.”
Her fingers started to pick up their pace, “keep this up and who knows what will happen.”
Faster.
“But you better not cum. You better not even think about that pleasure.”
Faster.
“Because good little pets don’t own their orgasms. No, no they do not.”
Faster.
“Pa- Mistress, please, I-” you stuttered, anxiety started to blossom in your chest as you felt your stomach clench.
“Hold it,” she replied firmly, but didn’t stop her assault.
“I’m gonna- please, slow down!”
“I said to hold it.”
But it was too late, you had already started to tip over the edge before you could do anything else to warn her or ward her off. The way she was hitting your g-spot combined with the heavy edging she had subjected you to made your resistance useless.
The second she felt your muscles tighten hard around her fingers, she saw red. She didn’t even contemplate working you through your orgasm as she immediately pulled her fingers out of you, ruining the euphoria of your high as you were left pulsing around nothing and starved of the release you wanted. An involuntary scream left your lips as you began to thrash hard again, but a hard slap to your thigh stopped you.
“You dirty fucking slut! You’re nothing but a greedy little whore whose cunt rules her. You can’t even follow directions,” she stormed around the table to stand by your face, her hand coming to grip your jaw tight and angle it toward her, “fucking say it.”
You were still trying to catch your breath, to come back to your body as salvia caught in your throat.
Another brutal slap sounded through the room as Pam whacked you across the face with anger and conviction. The sharp sting made tears well in your eyes.
“Do I have to make you say it? Move these useless lips myself? You’re supposed to be a good little toy and yet I still do all the work.”
“I’m, I’m nothing but a greedy, a greedy little whore whose cunt rules her. I can’t even follow directions,” you did your very best to choke out.
“Not even an apology,” she scoffed and dropped your head back to the table with a clang.
“I’m-” but she cut you off.
“Save it. I don’t want to hear another word you have to say. Toys don’t need to talk. They have nothing important to say.”
Tears finally fell over your lash line and streaked your cheeks. But you weren’t ready to tap out yet. You didn’t want to.
“You will prove your atonement to me, and you’ll do it with that tongue of yours buried deep in Mistress’s pussy,” Pam sneered as she slapped your face even harder (if that was possible) in the opposite direction, “you better get to work to prove to me that I should show you any semblance of mercy.”
She started to hike up the latex dress she wore, “and you better get to work. We have a long night ahead of us.”
And you as strange as it may have sounded, you looked forward to it.
xx
i haven't written smut in years, and haven't written good smut maybe ever lmao, so i hope this was up to par! forgive any errors, i wrote and edited this at 2am
once again, plllsss read marie's series (and just everything she writes bc holy fuck are they are all so good) also very much blushing reading this back in the light of day who knows if this stays up lmao
#pam true blood smut#pam true blood x reader#pam x reader#pamela swynford de beaufort x reader#pamela ravenscroft x reader#true blood smut#stevesharrlngtonswrites
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A totally self indulgent compilation of my favorite works on this blog of the year June 13, 2020 - June 13, 2021
2019-2020
The following lists are all in chronological order according to the date each post was first published.
Top 10 panel edits:
#1: It's our first morning
Date: Aug 20th, 2020
Time: ~ 2:18 h
I really like how this one turned out!!! The 2020 Emma b-day edit has a lot of major panel redraws, but this is probably my favorite. I I really enjoy how I made the shadows work!! And the ear banfage looks pretty neat. Nice!!!
Immagine
#2: Norman birthday edit 2021
Date: Mar 20th, 2021
Time: ~ 2:21 h
Awww, soft Norman :')
There was a bit to redraw, but I think everything turned out pretty neat!!! I believe everything works out fine. Though looking back at it, the part of the ID I added is definitely top small :')
#3: Manga dub: Yuugo gets knocked out
Date: Mar 27th, 2021
Time: ~ 5:05 h
Here start the Manga Dub redraws to which I gave my everything ahah. This one turned out nice! I think the shoes turned out particularly good eheh. I like how Yuugo's clothing lineart- for the texture, I wanted to go for something heterogeneous, but I'm not fully confident in the final result. Gilda looks very rushed but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
#4: Manga dub: Yuugo makes his dramatic entrance
Date: Apr 5th, 2021
Time: ~ 4:02 h
This is pretty cool!!!! The coat took ages to redraw, but sis it turned out perfect!!! I'm very proud of this.
#5: Manga dub: RayGildEmma hug!!!
Date: Apr 9th, 2021
Time: ~ 1:31 h
Awww, a beautiful panel I was really happy to have the chance to redraw. Taking into account what there was to redraw, I'm actually surprised with how little this took! Ray's backpack was a pain to make, but I think it turned out fine. I'm very happy with Emma and Ray's heads!!
#6: Manga dub: Formalities
Date: Apr 12th, 2021
Time: ~ 5:31 h
It is not always easy to give sense to Demizu's perspective, but I do my best!!! In this I am *so* happy with how Don and Ray turned out, they look neat! The background on the other hand... It took hours to make ahah. I'm not fully confident in the perspective, but I'm happy with the details I've added- I really did my best to make it look like athe other manga panels and I think it paid off!!!
#7: Manga dub: We may be weaklings, but we're still alive
Date: Apr 30th, 2021
Time: ~ 1:37 h
This little Emma is so cute!!!!!! I think the redraw turned out pretty perfect. I'm really satisfied with how this one turned out, and it's such a cute little Emma!!!! She's so brave and optimistic, I love her. It's a shame this panel didn't make it to the episode :')
#8: Manga dub: Goldy Pond Gang
Date: May 7th, 2021
Time: ~ 8:44 h lmao
This is probably the panel redraw I'm the most proud of ever :')
Just think everyone turned out very nice!! The ceiling is not exactly perfect, but it still works somehow. I'm very happy with how Gillian's back turned out!! I don't really like the fading effect on the right, but 8h in I got pretty tired of working on this ahah
#9: Manga dub: This is Goldy Pond
Date: May 21st, 2021
Time: ~ 1:29 h
I'm very glad for how the Manga dub has been challenging me to learn to redraw backgrounds, something I had quite literally never tried before. It can be a little frustrating, but it's so satisfying to see the final cleaned piece!! With this panel, I also learnt to use copy and paste, which is something I had never done before beyond texture
#10: Manga dub: Good morning doctor
Date: May 21st, 2021
Time: ~ 3:42 h
This is another background that turned out pretty good!! That one Norman is one I knew I would have had to fully redraw sooner or lager- the background was a bonus ahah. I'm very happy with the final result!!
Top 5 edits as whole:
#1: The Promised Neverland manga ending edit
Date: Jun 14th 2020
Time: ~ 12h 41min (5h 45min of cleaning panels in the edit + 5h 37min of cleaning panels that didn't make it to the edit + 1h 19min of resizing) + time spent cleaning panels I've deleted the file of so I can't see lmao
This is overall very nice!!! The concept of an Emma evolution through her back is cool, and I think overall the edit turned out very aesthetically pleasing. The concept idea came to me while I was working on the 2019 Emma's birthday edit, a long time before the manga ending announcement- back then I wouldn't have imagined using it in occasion of the manga ending, but I think it ended up making a nice tribute. The colors add a nice touch, since so far my edits had always been black and white- it makes a sweet closure. To make that edit I selected 76 panels of Emma framed from her back; I plan to make other versions of that edit using the discarded panels eventually!
#2: Emma - Chapter 181: Beyond Destiny
Date: Jul 12th 2020
Time: 2h 57min
My last edit for the manga 🥺🥺
I think this one is my very "manga ending edit" because to me it really signed the ending of weekly chapters and their weekly chapter edits. It makes me a little sad to look at it, but it's also, I don't know, kinda sweet to see how I grew both in my panel cleaning and as a person since I first started my blog. I'm glad I got into TPN!
#3: Emma birthday edit 2020
Date: Aug 22nd 2020
Time: 8h 54min
This one turned out so well!!! Though I used the same concept for all the trio edits, I think this one is the best one. The two panels on the left / two panels on the right alternation combo never fails ahah. The colors are nice (shout-out to my sister for making me a palette), despite the fact that it was hard for the lighter ones to make them work with the images without having those disappear. I'm very satisfied with the panels I chose for this, I think they work really good together! Also, it got me very happy to read everyone's comments saying they liked the fading effect in the last panel :)
#4: Emma + Eyes Close Ups [1/?]
Date: Jan 24th 2021
Time: 5h 55min
This one was really nice!! Another idea I got when working on the 2019 Emma birthday edit I was glad to finally execute. Started the edit in September, finished it in December. I'm overall very happy with how it turned out... I hope I will be able to make more in the future!
#5: The Promised Neverland Parallels → (9/?) » 114 // 122
Date: Feb 23th 2021
Time: 5h 7min (panel cleaning only)
Aaaaahh I really like this one!!!! A parallel I love very much, and I'm really happy with how the edit turned out. All the hair redrawing looks neat!!!! The gif is maybe a little excessive, but I think overall it's a nice edit. I like it!!! Fun fact, I completed it on August 26th 2020, but I couldn't find the right moment to post it ahah.
Honorable mention: The Promised Neverland Parallels → (5/?) » 08 // 16
Date: Aug 30th 2020
Time: 2h 52min (Second picture cleaning only; I deleted the first picture art file so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )
I don't have much to say about this one except!! It turned out very nice!!!!! Love the pen lmao.
Top 10 analysis:
Too many analysis,,
#1: Post chapter 181 Emma analysis
Date: Jul 9th 2020
Mmmh a nice analysis. I think it was important for me to put down in words what I think of Emma's characterization and the manga ending, so I'm happy I did it!
#2: A long Oliver analysis because I love him very much
Date: Dec 6th 2020
What can I say I just love Oliver tons 😔😔💕💕
This was very fun to make!!!
#3: TPN s2 previsions
Date: Jan 14th 2021
Really love the effort that went into this + me proving that 11 episodes GP could have possibly worked + it's just a lot of fun to read again after s2 ended pffft
#4: More s2 delusional previsions lmao
Date: Jan 27th 2021
I think the points and previsions I made where pretty neat!! In my defense, it was pretty impossible to predict the anime would have ended with this season. I always feel honoured when friends and Anon ask for my opinion, I'm like "you wanna know what I think? Wow. I'm flattered (◍•ᴗ•◍) "
Thank you to anyone who ever sent me an ask!!
#5: Why Emma not wearing pants is 𝕨𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕘
Date: Jan 29th 2021
Really proud of this!!! Pants Emma is important!!!!!
#6: Post episode 5 manga Emma analysis
Date: Feb 4th 2021
A depressed analysis, but a necessary one 😔
#7: Norman analysis
Date: Feb 12th 2021
I love him!!!! And I'm happy I eventually got to put down in words what I love about his character. The day I posted this ww3.readneverland was in maintenance so I couldn't use the volume scans for it- the thought of that post having fan edited and fan translated scans still haunts me
#8: RayDon rambles
Date: May 12th 2021
I had a blast writing this and like. It's likely the post of mine I reread more often of them all. I love this ship tons!!!!! I'm satisfied with how I put down in words what I like about them. I LOVE THIS SHIP
#9: Chapter 58 analysis
Date: May 23th 2021
I've wanted to express this concept since like the first time reading the manga- I'm so happy I finally did!!!! This concept is one of my absolute favorite things about tpn- the feelings that people are good. The concept that kids who got to live in an healthy and supportive environment will always be inclined to kindness and altruism, because humans are just inherently good. From the Three Character Classic: “people at birth are inherently good”. I want to have faith and courage to hold on the goodness in myself, and to hold on the goodness in the world, no matter how difficult it to do that (Chloé Zhao).
#10: Norman and Lambda squad relationship analysis
Date: May 24th 2021
I think this was a pretty sharp analysis and I like what I did with it!!
Other stuff:
#1: Krone birthday edit
Date: Jul 15th 2020
This edit is so good ;; Like not perfect since it was my first attempt at coloring gifs but still I believe it turned out so good ;;;;;;
The time and effort that went unto this is crazy, but... Maybe I'm happy to have dedicated time to something I like for a satisfying result.
#2: Get to know my ship- Wolfpack Trio
Date: Aug 24th 2020
Uuuh a good post. A good ship.
#3: Gilda + blank glasses
Date: Aug 27th 2020
This is such a cute nice compilation!!! I love looking at it. A few panels are missing but still :')
#4: Apollo Ray AU
Date: Sep 7th 2020 (Though it was written Sep 2nd 2019 lmao)
I'm so happy I finally gathered the courage to post this 😭😭
I really enjoy what I did with this AU, so this one and its other installments are all posts I have a lot of fun rereading. More than everything, I was astounded and overjoyed by the positive response it got: that gave me tons of confidence to put my ideas out there, no matter how unique they sound!!! Here's to hoping I will be able to post my RayEmma Hadestown AU, by other big AU from late summer 2019 :')
#5: TPN timeline project
Date: Dec 2nd 2020
This is like. I don't know it's a lot ahah. Arguably the project I'm the most proud of ever making. I'm just so happy of all the months long hard work and of the final result!! The post didn't receive much response (though the ones I got were extremely kind and sweethearted so that totally makes up for it), but in the end I don't really mind? I'm just so proud I accomplished that idea :')
#6: TPN calendar
Date: Jan 4th 2021
A nice sum of the tpn timeline + everyone's birth dates!!! I really like how it turned out visually. It's a cute little tpn calendar!!!
#7: Ray smiles compilation
Date: Jan 17th 2021
Ray's smile. That's it that's the post :')
#8: Trans Oliver headcanons
Date: Jan 24th 2021
MMMH really like this headcanon I think about it a lot
#9: Thoma and Lani theory
Date: Jan 28th 2021
I really don't want to brag but this is the best joke I've ever made :')
#10: My TPN AUs
Date: May 10th 2021
Ok you gotta admit those are very good AUs, I'm glad to have made a list out of them!!!
#11: Ranking Emma promotional art outfits
Date: May 16th 2021
This is one people seem to have liked a lot which makes me happy ahah. I'm glad to know we can all agree Emma deserves more pants outfits!! Please stop it with the gendered clothing :')
This is the post I want to be remembered for
#12: TPN musicals AU part 2
Date: May 20th 2021
A GREAT POST I can't stretch enough how happy I am with those character-song associations. I hope I have time to make a part 3 in the future!!
#13: TPN Drive folder
Date: May 30th 2021
This was born as a way for me to have all the tpn extra contents easily accessible, but I'm happy to have shared it with people- I hope it will turn out to be useful to others too!
#14: TPN s2 recolorings
Date: Jun 12th 2021
A more diverse children cast is good for the soul :')
That's it, this year was really fun!! Thank you to everyone who supported me through it, I can't express how grateful I am for all the kindness and validation I received. Here's to many more months in the fandom!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧
#mine#tpn#the promised neverland#tpn manga spoilers#Tumblr: *literally refuses to let me open the post*#Me: *Turns on my computer* B*TCH YOU THOUGHT I'M POSTING THIS TODAY AND NOTHING IS GOING TO STOP ME#Been working on this for four hours now.. I'm literally dead...#Also thank you Tutu for deleting the other post you're the sweetest :')#Once again this is just a personal report you don't have to read all (or any) of it unless you want to :)#Ok to reblog btw#I'll click the post button now I don't want to hear anyrhing else
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Of Ice and Blood
Part 4
Welcome back! Hope you enjoy✨
Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)
Warnings: Violence, cursing, shouting, and fighting. No blood mention. Just broken bones and stuff.
2.1k+ words [originally 1.6k but I revised it and added more details!]
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 5 Part 6
Sensing another one behind me, I went low and struck his leg with mine, using his fall to punch his chin with my right fist this time, being careful to use a controlled amount of force or else the nerve I hit will result to permanent brain injury and can be fatal.
I got up, swift in my actions as I saw the guy with a raised baseball bat heading towards me from my left flank, and the other one from the right, fast.
On reflex, I leaned back, the bat that was aimed at me hitting his comrade on the shoulder instead. Guy's lucky, actually. He would have suffered internal bleeding if it bashed the side of his skull.
Four down, two to go.
I took my stance once again to ready myself. This dude was a foot taller than me, with muscles packed with raw strength, but even so, pale in comparison to Tai'chi's p—
Stop thinking that! Focus!
"Smash her head Dan!" The man behind him yelled.
This 'Dan' went straight to me with his bat raised with intent once more.
Breathe in.
Everything slowed down. I let my heart rate decelerate, my hearing sharpened, my sense of smell heightening even further.
I closed my eyes, letting the rest of my senses take over. Years of practice, days of pain from training, each motion engraved to my entire body with purpose. To defend not only myself, but also those who are looked down upon, discriminated and stepped on like dirt. My parents had always taught me to defend myself. Me. Don't get me wrong, my parents are good people, albeit wary of the other races in our community. But the moment I left the roof of my home, I knew it was time for me to defend someone other than myself. I don't give a damn about where we come from or what kind of blood flows within our veins. I will protect those who need protecting, and set anyone straight and down to the ground when they deserve it.
Breathe out.
At the last few moments, with my eyes still shut, I changed my form. I followed his aura and pictured out the shape that was drawing up to land a serious blow to my head. Dan is solid and heavy, but everyone has at least one weakness. And this guy is not spared from that.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
I opened my right fist, right foot forward and relaxed my arms, my legs serving as a firm foundation for my upper body. With the bat inches away from me, I smoothly dodged to the side, using my palm to push away the hand holding the weapon and punched a vital pressure point right under his bicep.
I bent my legs even lower and struck the center of his ribs with my thumb, closing my hands as I jabbed his sciatic nerve on each side at the same time, both located in the middle line of the thigh between the groin and the knee. A solid blow to those nerve points will cause intense pain and shock to the person, along with a temporary immobility of the feet.
a/n: Self defense 101! Remember that dear readers♥
With the support of my left leg, I went behind the man, standing straight and proud. Calm, I opened my eyes when I heard his fall, staring right into the fearful ones of the moron that started all of this.
"Y-You- You killed them!"
Is he that dumb?
"Correction, I didn't. I knocked them unconscious is all. And the fellow that attacked me first? Well, he passed out from the pain of his now funny-looking arm." I stated flatly as I trudged to where he was standing.
"S-Stay away from me! Monster! Freak!" He stumbled, his ass on the ground and away from me until he felt a tree trunk on his back.
I scoffed and withdrew my knuckle dusters back under my baggy sleeve.
"You wanna know who the real monster is?" I stopped and held him in place with my scrutinizing gaze. He was trembling like a wimp at this point.
"It's you.
"You and your disgusting racist friends.
"You, along with all the people who view and treats anyone other than humankind as lowlifes and pests that are meant to be squished and eradicated from the society.
"No, it's you, and the ones who have the same mentality as you, who are monsters under the guise of a human."
I paused, not even blinking as I bore holes into his skull.
"I am human, down to every inch of my being. But unlike you, I respect and treat everyone, regardless of kind or gender, and to those who deserve it, fair and right."
Before I could continue, I scented new people coming into the scene. It was the teaching staff, along with the uni's guard.
Shocked of what they have seen, they turned towards me, angry, surprised, confused expressions on different faces.
"What have you done?!" A female, human instructor, looking to be around her late 20s shouted.
"Ma'am, if you would just let me explain—"
"You are hereby expelled from this institution, young lady!"
All the color of my skin left me as I heard the words I have dreaded even before I set foot in the campus grounds.
"Now let's not go straight to conclusions. We need to deal with this professionally AND properly Miss Holson. You are also not in authority to suspend this student." A heavily bearded dwarven professor, clad in a brown suit and Oxfords, told her off firmly.
"What are you saying Mr. Dulrik? Look at her! Look at this! She murdered students and oh my God, is that the dean's son?!"
For the love of— she blind? Why does everybody think I killed someone???
"Ma'am they are—" I was about to tell her but got cut off, again!
"Helpmehelpmehelpme!" He scrambled away from me and ran to the group of teachers and hugged the young instructor. "I don't know what came over her! She just attacked us out of nowhere!"
The audacity of this fucking bitch!
"Pardon me? Attacked you? YOU were the one who followed me out here! You and your" —I gestured to the bodies laying flat on the ground— " buddies over there!"
"She is lying! The orc was with her and and and—"
It dawned on me that I almost forgot about Tai'chi. My eyes widened, and I frantically scanned the area around for him. And there he was, standing by the oak tree, right where I told him not to move.
He seemed...irritated?
Oh no. At me?
"I have not moved an inch from where I am standing ever since I planted my feet here." He said with his deep baritone voice, turning to confront the staff. "What she's speaking is the truth. They were the ones who followed her here and attacked her, first."
"And how can we be sure you are telling the truth, orc?" Miss Holson replied spitefully.
Even the teacher, huh? Her odor smells like vomit. I mean, I knew she was...foul, but I thought it was because of the situation. Guess not.
Tai'chi did not respond. Instead, he moved to look at me in the eyes. His gaze, searching, but not in an awful way. Was he asking me what I'll do?
"How about we discuss this in the office, shall we?" An elderly professor spoke. She was wearing the university's formal teaching uniform together with black, flat, closed toe sandals. "And Miss Holson, please quiet down. As Mr. Dulrik said, we should not jump into baseless conclusions."
Miss Holson fumed and shut her mouth, holding the coward in her arms.
"Now then, Miss...?"
"Blackbell."
The woman paused. I caught a smell of surprise and... astonishment?
She cleared her throat "Well, then Miss Blackbell, please follow us to the Dean's office, along with your, companion."
Weird.
"Oh and Mr. Smith, kindly call for assistance and take the unconscious students to the infirmary to be treated and looked unto. Thank you." She told the guard. With that, she and the rest of the faculty started walking back.
I glanced at Tai'chi once more to find him, again, staring. I approached him warily, expecting him to be mad at me.
"Uh. Hi?"
I let out a long exhale when he replied, with a slight tug of his lips, his tusk jutting out. "Hi."
I fidgeted, trying to come up with words to explain myself.
"I uh, uhm. Are you mad?"
With his brow raised, "Why would I be?"
Yeah why would he be?
"I-I never told why I keep wearing my mask." I stuttered, "You see I—"
"You two! Start moving before I force you to." A teacher yelled at us from a distance.
"We'll talk later, Pearl. For now let's get this resolved first. I know for a fact that they won't expel you unless they ignore the ill intentions of the ones who attempted to harm you first. But better be safe than sorry, he was the dean's son afterall."
"Yeah... Thanks. We should.. go." I turned and started walking along his side.
******pov shift for a bit*******
Little did Pearl know, he was thinking about how...nice, yeah that's the word, definitely not sexy, you were when he witnessed your skills in combat. It awakened something in him that it took a lot of control not to get aroused there and then, which was the real reason why he stood there, unmoving from his place. Not once did he leave his eyes from you, almost jumping to help you when the guy with the baseball bat was closer than we would have liked. But oh no, he was not surprised, he was astonished and shookt , amazed when you pulled that last technique, sending the human plummeting to the ground almost soundlessly. And the way you stood right after, he knew he was smitten. That proud and intense aura you gave off was enough to make him bow down at your feet. He could feel it. He could smell it. That was his secret, he can scent people and catch any mood shift they make. Even though he told her that her eyes and brows gave it away, it was not entirely true as he could smell, literally, you and the changes on your scent.
Oh but little did he know you could to. Just not as observant as he is.
:>
*******************************
Wow— when I copy pasted the original thing from my notes to my drafts in Tumblr I was like "okay, so. I should read it AGAIN before I post it if I wanna avoid more unnoticed mistakes and keep editing it again and again even though I posted it already! " And I never though it would lead me to adding almost a half thousand words and a pov shift— which i found interesting and really nice! Should I do it more often? Like little inserts of what Tai'chi or another characters thoughts in second pov in between fics if necessary? It's just, nice, to put them in and write all out about what they were thinking outside of Pearl's pov! Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed reading❤
Tags: @kokokatsworld @crackinanutshell
#orc#orc x human#orc x reader#orc lover#orc boyfriend#exophilia#my writing#monster boyfriend#monster lover#female human#female oc#original work#athenawrites#fiction#terato#art#terato writing#monster x human#monster x reader#oc#orc x oc
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