#Jerry would surely have liked this prayer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thehighpriestess1 · 1 year ago

Text

August : 14

Synopsis : The final part.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x y/n

Genre : Angst, smut, fluff

Warnings : Gun, blood, torture, smut, Minors do not interact.

Masterlist ✨ Previous

✨ Ask box ✨

Whatever you do to me I’ll do to her. You have one week to decide :)

Gojo stared at the text. His hands shook as he locked the phone and clasped his hands in prayer. “Please!”. He whispered to himself. He didn’t know whom he was praying to or if anyone would even answer his prayers after all the sins he has committed. His mind came up with thousand different solutions but not one of them would save his relationship with you. He stayed that way for a while and stared at your phone in his hand. Yuri had your number. She can contact you any time. He opened your phone and deleted the chat before blocking the number immediately.

He walked inside and stared at you sleeping peacefully in his white shirt. His skin crawled thinking about sharing the bed with anyone but you. He felt disgusted at himself for letting that happen. You deserved better than this. He sighed and wiped his eyes and got in the bed. He held you close like you would evaporate into thin air.

“Satoru..”. You murmured in your sleep.

“Yes love, I’m here”.

You opened your eyes slowly, “Why are you up?”. Your speech slurred.

“I had to get water. Go to sleep baby. I’m here now. I love you”. He pecked your forehead with quivering lips.

You relaxed and fell asleep within seconds. Gojo wasn’t sure if you’d remember any of this but he was sure of one thing. He can not lose you again.

-X-

You sat across Gojo at the breakfast table, watching him type aggressively on his phone. You sipped your tea quietly and tried to gauge the situation. Gojo had been restless since last night and you could only think that it was something to do with you. “Are you okay?”. You asked, placing the cup back on the saucer.

Gojo looked up from his phone, “Yeah. Why?”.

“You seem..disturbed”.

Gojo sighed, and locked his phone before placing it face down on the table. “Just work”. He brought his cup of coffee to his lips. This was another usual thing that you had noticed. Gojo didn’t like coffee. Gojo pressed his lips together and placed the cup back on the table. “I think we should get your medical test done at home”. Gojo said.

“At home? Is that even possible?”. You frowned.

“Of course it is. I don’t want to tire you out with all the hospital procedures. I could have a medical team visit us and another one can stay on the grounds”.

“Why? The visit would hardly take a couple of hours and..”. You looked at him and then at his phone and smiled. “..Satoru, if you’re busy then we can postpone it or I can go alone or with Jerry”.

Gojo stared at you blankly. How he wished he could tell you that it was not his schedule that concerned him but rather a psychopathic woman. “No, it’s none of that”. Gojo smiled and reached for your hand across the table. “I have been thinking of doing this for a while. It would give me more time to spend with you and Keisuke and it’s always better to have doctors on call. Safe for all of us”.

Had you not known about his mother, you would have argued with him, called him paranoid, But his paranoia was not misplaced or meant to cause you harm, it steamed from losing people close to him time and aga. It was for you and your son. “Alright then”.

Gojo brought your hand up and kissed your knuckles.

“Will I see you for lunch today?”.

Gojo’s smile dropped. “I’m sorry, I have to take care of something”.

You got up and walked around to his side and gently ruffled his hair. “That’s alright. I’ll send lunch to your office. Don’t skip your meals”.

Something about the domesticity of the whole situation made the coldness evaporate from his body. Never had he ever had someone dote over him like this but now he had you, his wife. Before you could walk past him, Gojo grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you stood between his legs and molded his lips to yours. It wasn’t a chaste kiss. It wasn’t a kiss a husband gives before leaving for work. You knew very well what this kiss meant when Gojo swiped his tongue between your lips.

“Satoru! You’ll get late for work!”. You protested as Gojo moved his trail of kisses to the mark on your collarbone.

“But you said I should not skip my meals. How can I skip the most important meal of the day?”. Gojo replied with a smirk as he slowly scrunched up the silk nightgown you were wearing.

His words made you blush and his actions sent shivers down your spine. But you were in the kitchen and anyone could come in. “You..”. You breathed out. “...need to go”.

Gojo chuckled, “I need you”. He groaned when he realized you were completely bare under the nightgown. He slid two fingers inside making you choke on your moans. “How can I not want you where you’re so wet for me already”. He whispered against the shell of your ear as you clenched around him.

Gojo pumped his fingers as he sucked on every exposed skin he could. But as soon as you were about to cum he pulled his finger out and smiled.

“Why?”. You whined.

Gojo smiled and picked you up by the back of your thighs and sat you down on the top of the counter. “Because I want to taste my meal”.

Before you could voice your concern about someone walking in on the two of you and finding you in this position, Gojo had his mouth on your core. You balanced yourself on your elbows and threw your head back when he parted your folds with his tongue. Your thighs tightened around his head as he set a perfect rhythm between sucking on your bundle of nerves and abusing the spot inside with his tongue. He knew your body like it was made for him.

“Satoru…”. You breathed out.

Gojo groaned in response which sent a jolt of spark inside you. Your homely kitchen was now filled with sounds of heavy breathing and slurping.You clenched around his tongue which made him even more desperate to please you. Within moments Gojo had you gushing around his tongue. He sighed in satisfaction like a man who had just finished eating his favorite dessert. He licked you clean before standing up to kiss you, giving you a taste of what he had.

“Want me to carry you to the bedroom?”. Gojo asked as he gently picked you up and placed you down so you were almost standing on top of his shoes.

“I’ll be fine”. You smiled and pecked his lips.

“Please let me carry you”. Gojo whispered against your lips making you chuckle. “That’s a yes”. He said and scooped you in his arms. He walked through the marbled corridor carrying his wife and everyone in the path stood aside and gave him the way you blushed and hid your face in his chest. He was not the ice Prince anymore. He was a doting husband that radiated warmth and comfort.

He walked in the bedroom carrying you and placed you softly on the bed next to Keisuke. “There you go”. He said and placed a kiss on top of yours and Keisuke’s head. “Don’t be a naughty boy and take care of your mom for me”.

-X-

Geto sat silently, ankle crossed over the knee, left index finger pressed against his lips, his fox eyes fixed on the phone in his right hand. He was reading through the text for the third time. He felt guilty. Angry. He felt responsible for all of this. How can he introduce someone like this in Gojo's life?

He kept the phone back on the oak coffee table and let out a heavy sigh.

"It's not your fault". Gojo said for the second time in the past one hour.

Geto shook his head ever so slightly, silently disagreeing with Gojo. But this wasn’t the time for wallowing in the guilt. He needed a way to help his best friend. “Have you told y/n about this?”. He asked, lighting a cigarette.

“No. I can’t”.

Geto frowned, “Why not?”.

“I can’t hurt her. The video is real”. Gojo’s hands were shaking at the thought of your reaction to the messages. “She will never trust me again”.

Geto hummed. The situation was complicated. “We can’t let her leave the estate”.

Gojo shook his head.

“We can’t tell her about this”. Geto added. “Though on one hand it could prove that you did not kill Hiro, but then we have the video..”.

“Even if I show her the video, even if she believed that I did not kill Hiro, she would never look at me the same way”. Gojo said. He was helpless. It felt like Yuri cut both of his arms off and asked him to save you from drowning.

The two men sat silently thinking about a way out when the phone rang again. Gojo and Geto exchanged a quick glance before looking at the message notification from the same number. Gojo took a deep breath before picking up the phone.

It was another photo.A mirror selfie .Yuri was standing with her one leg stretched out and her phone hiding half her face. She was wearing the same dress that you had worn to the hospital.

Yuri : It looks better on me ;)

Blood drained from Gojo’s face. He felt disgusted with himself.

“Shit”. Geto muttered. “She is clearly stalking y/n. Does y/n have any social media accounts?”.

“No. She doesn’t”. Gojo replied. Eyes still fixed on the photo. Before Gojo could reply, another image popped up. Geto was the one to open it this time.

A photo of you and Hoshi talking while Gojo stood by your side with Keisuke.

“She was at the hospital!”. Gojo frowned.

“It doesn’t have to be her. Maybe someone else is doing the work for her. I will get the security camera footage from the hospital”. Geto spoke as he types away on his phone.

Gojo leaned back in his armchair. Yuri wanted him to be scared. She wanted him to act out of fear. He looked at Geto, “I will call Yuta and have a tracking system set up in the office. We can track her location every time she sends a message”.

Geto nodded in response. “You’ll need more security around her and Keisuke”.

“Or less”. Gojo added. “More security would mean we will have to keep an eye on more people. I think we should have a small team of closest people around them”.

Within two hours the office looked like a scene from a cybercrime movie. Yuta ordered two men on laptops, Geto and Gojo were giving orders on the phone, two men were interrogating househelps lined on the outside of the office, men were checking every corner of the house for hidden cameras and other devices.

Gojo cut the call and ran his hand through his hair. “I am moving them on the other side of the house”.

Geto stared at his friend, “You mean..?”.

“The left wing. It might need some renovations but I can’t let y/n stay in the same room and sleep on the same bed”.

“Just get a new bed then”. Geto suggested. He knew that for Gojo stepping foot in that part of the house was like taking a trip down horrifying memory lane. It was going to open a pandora’s box of emotional trauma.

“No. I..I can’t let her stay in that room”.

“What will you say to her?”.

“I don’t know…I’ll come up with something”.

The two men stood in silence. Gojo had never stepped foot in that part of the house for the past ten years. When his father spent his final years overlooking the lawn, Gojo would stay on the other side of the house. He didn’t want to give his father the company of a son. For Gojo, his father deserved to be alone in his final days. The thought of bringing up Keisuke in the same rooms as he was brought up made bile rise in his throat. But that can be changed. Once all of this was over, Gojo was determined to move somewhere else. Away from this cursed house.

“Yuri is not in Japan”. Yuta’s voice made both men snap out of their thoughts.

“What do you mean she is not in Japan? Where is she?”. Geto spoke first.

Gojo remained silent. A part of him knew that Yuri would not dare threaten him in this country.

“Where is she?”. He asked coldly.

Yuta remained silent.

Gojo stepped forward, “Yuta, do we know where Yuri is?”.

Yuta shook his head, “The signals are bouncing across different servers in different countries. For all we know she could be in the next street”

Gojo’s phone rang and your name flashed on the screen, He walked away from the group and onto the balcony. “Hi, love”.

“Were you busy?”. You asked.

Gojo could hear Keisuke giggling in the background and wished he could be there with you. “Not really. Had your lunch?”.

“Yes and so did Keisuke”.

“Did you take your medicine?”. Gojo asked.

“Yes.I have sent lunch for you”.

“Okay. I’ll eat it”.

You chuckled. “I have also sent lunch for Geto and Yuta. I heard the three of you were working together”.

“You didn’t have to. I could have asked the kitchen to make it”.

“It was no trouble. By any chance are you on your office balcony?”.

Gojo frowned, “Yes. Why?”.

“Look down, to your right”.

Gojo looked down to the cobbled walkway stretching from the inside of the estate and leading to the gazebo at the back and smiled widely when he saw you standing there in your white floral wrap around dress that he loves so much, holding Keisuke with one arm and your phone with the other. He leaned with his elbows on the granite railing. “This is a nice surprise”.

You chuckled and moved the phone from your ear to Keisuke’s. “Say hi to dada”.

Keisuke babbled and blew spit bubbles.

“Hi baby”. Gojo said, smiling fondly at the two of you.

You put the phone back to your ear, “Why do you look so tired”.

“Because you're away from me”.

Even from this distance Gojo could see you rolling your eyes at him. He chuckled on the phone. "It's because you skip your lunch".

"Maybe I should skip it often if that means you'll come to see me".

"You're unbearable, you know that right?". You asked, shaking your head slightly.

"I know that you love me". Gojo said. Even though you hadn't said it and maybe you didn't love him like you used to but Gojo was sure you loved him.

You bit your lip, "Go back to work Satoru".

Gojo blew you a kiss, "I love you".

You brought Keisuke's tiny arms to his lips and blew a kiss in Gojo's direction.

Gojo stood there watching you disappear inside the building with tears in his eyes. Each day he fell for you more and more. He was ready to face the trauma he had buried for a decade only to see you happy. Nothing else mattered to him in the entire world. Not Yuri, not his past, not his life. He was ready to die for you right now. For him you were his world. His wish granted. His reason to live.

Gojo walked inside and found Geto and Yuta sitting around the table with food in front of them.

"Tell y/n I said thanks!". Geto smiled.

Gojo walked over and sat with them. "Will do".

"Can I call her my sister in law?". Yuta asked innocently with his plate in his lap.

Gojo blushed a little. Until now you were just his wife but now you were a part of his entire family. "I guess you can".

Geto bursted out laughing, "you guess? You have a child with her!".

Gojo groaned and picked up his plate. "You can call her sister in law".

Yuta smiled gleefully. He was young compared to the other two men. But he was smart beyond his age. His talent in risk assessment made him a close aide to Gojo. He had looked up to Gojo since the day Gojo started defying rules of the clan. In a way, by doing so he saved Yuta's life. Had Gojo not set the precedent, Yuta, at the age of 23 would have been married to an heiress whose name he didn't bother to remember. It was Gojo who stood up for him when he told his side of the family about his intention to marry his girlfriend, Rika.

He had met you twice and he was sure you wouldn't remember him. But from everything he had heard about you, he was sure that you had a good heart. It is not easy to make the decisions you had made and for that he respected you.

"Y/n-san cooks really well".

Gojo beamed visibly, "Yeah she does".

Geto remained silent as Gojo and Yuta discussed something about Keisuke. His brain was still trying to get around the fact that Yuri did this. Yuri. "I think you should divorce y/n".

Gojo's words died down this throat. He turned towards Geto, "Suguru". He warned.

"Just to convince Yuri. A fake divorce".

Gojo weighed this option. "But I'll have to tell y/n about it and if Yuri finds out that it's fake she can get worse".

The three men discussed every possible solution and it became clear that it was imperative that they find Yuri first. She was unpredictable. Psychopathic. Powerful.

Geto and Yuta realized the complications it would bring with telling you about all of this. It might save your marriage with Gojo but it would leave some permanent scars.

-X-

It was well past midnight and Gojo walked groggily towards the bedroom. The hallways were silent with most of the staff retired to their quarters.

His phone rang, he smiled thinking it could be you asking about his whereabouts but his smile dropped when he saw Yuri's name pop up on the message notification.

Yuri : You have 6 days to go :)

Gojo chose not to reply.

Yuri : I know something about y/n that you don't :)

Gojo frowned at the message. This could be a trap. A way to get a reaction out of him. There was no way Yuri could know more about you than he did.

Gojo's finger hovered over the text box. He swallowed harshly and locked the phone. If there was something you were keeping from him then he would respect your decision.

Yuri : Did you know that Y/n had to be resuscitated?

Gojo almost dropped his phone. He knew about your anemia. He knew that you suffered excessive blood loss. But this….this couldn't be possible. You would have told him about something this serious.

Yuri : Now that I think about it, y/n's fate is the same as your mother's. She ran away with your child, almost died during the childbirth, wouldn't it be better if you let her go? Free her from the curse of the Gojo clan?

Gojo : What do you mean?

Gojo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Praying that Yuri reveals it to be a cruel joke and that he had fallen for her prank.

Yuri : Your dear wife didn't tell you that she knew that going through with the birth could kill her? Maybe she forgot to mention how doctors advised her for abortion but she refused and risked her life for the baby? How heroic of her!

Gojo's hands trembled. This was like living through a nightmare…..again..

Gojo : prove it.

Gojo received an email from an unknown email address. He opened it to find multiple attachments, medical reports, prescriptions. He read to each of them carefully.

Yuri : Let her go, Satoru. Unless you want a dead child and a dead wife :)

Gojo locked the phone. He briskly walked towards the bedroom. Determined to get an answer.

You were sitting outside the bedroom, in the living room attached to the bedroom, reading a book, wearing one of Gojo's shirts with your hair in a claw clip.Your legs sprawled over the velvet couch. You flipped through pages intently, so immersed in the story that you couldn’t see him standing at the doorway. Gojo leaned on the doorframe and folded his hands over his chest. If what Yuri had told him was true and all those documents were original then he wanted to know why did you risk your life? Would you have come with him if Keisuke was not in the picture? Would you have stayed with him if it wasn’t for Keisuke?

Gojo cleared his throat as he walked in with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi”. You looked up and smiled at him. You closed the book, placed a bookmark between the pages and put it on the table.

“Why aren’t you in bed?”.Gojo sat on the other end of the couch and put your feet in his lap.

“I was waiting for you”. You said, as you rested your head sideways on the backrest.

Gojo smiled and gently massaged your feet. “Geto and Yuta thanked you for the lunch”.

You smiled. “What do you want to ask me?”. You asked.

Gojo chuckled, looking down, tracing circles on your calf. He looked at you, “You know me that well?”.

“Very well”. You retreated your feet and sat cross legged on the couch, facing him,

Gojo opened his mouth to say something but then closed it immediately.

You placed your hand on his, “Satoru..”.

Gojo gulped harshly and turned towards you. You could see he was in pain. The kind of pain that couldn’t be fixed easily.

“Was there any complications during your pregnancy?”. He asked. He crafted his words carefully, he couldn’t say ‘how dare you risk your life?’

You knew he knew. In that moment with the sadness in his eyes and his careful choice of words, you knew he knew. You didn't want to hide it anymore. You didn’t want to keep him in the dark anymore.

“I…I don’t know how you find out but..yes there were complications. But nothing to do with Keisuke”. You squeezed his hands gently.

“What about you?”. Gojo asked, still looking down.

“Yes. There were”.

“When did you find out?”.

“Satoru..it doesn’t matter now”. You pleaded, scooting closer to him.

“It does”. Gojo nodded his head. “It does. To me. So please, tell me”.

You took a deep breath, “In my second trimester. The doctor told me that I was at a higher risk for hemorrhage and…it could be fatal to ..”. You bit the inside of your cheek, you didn’t have to complete that sentence. You didn’t want to. You still remembered receiving that news and crying the entire night.

“What happened during your delivery?”. Gojo asked with tears in his eyes.

You didn’t want to answer. Knowing very well how triggering it could be for him. You remained silent.

“Y/n please…I..I need to know”.

Your lips quivered and you intertwined your fingers with his. “Everything was fine until Keisuke was born but after that…it happened. They couldn’t stop the bleeding and I..-”.

“You had to be resuscitated”. Gojo finished the sentences for you. In any other case finishing each other's sentences is seen as a romantic gesture but the gesture was nothing but grim.

Your silence confirmed everything about his worst fear. For the longest time Gojo cursed his mother for dying with his sibling instead of living with him. He needed to know why would you condemn him to the same fate. Was he that unworthy of love? Was he that rotten of a human being? Did he not deserve love? Why didn’t you choose him? Why didn’t you reach out to him if there was a threat to your life?

“You were given an option to terminate the pregnancy”. Gojo said, it was neither a question nor a suggestion. It was a reminder.

“I was”. You agreed.

Gojo squeezed his eyes shut and let the tears roll down his cheeks. This was the first time he was openly crying in front of you.The ache spread across his body. “Why? Why? Why?”. He turned towards you.

Your heart broke seeing him like this. You took both of his hands in yours, “I had to, Satoru. I …had to”.

“Why?”.

You swallowed the lump in your throat harshly. “Because …you are you and I am me but..Keisuke is a part of both of us. I didn’t think we could ever be together again or if you even cared that I was alive, but Keisuke was the only way a part of me could ever be with a part of you and that was more important to me than my own life. For me just wanting to be with you was enough. It has always been enough. Even when I saw you with…Utahime I still hoped somewhere that one day I'd be with you and …someday you'll love me so…when the doctor told me of the risk, I was ready to accept it…”.

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat. You didn’t have to say anything else. You loved him. You didn’t have to say it. Keisuke was proof enough that you loved him how he loved you.

“I knew that even if I don’t survive, someday you will find him…and he will be proof that I..I ..love you…”.

Gojo let out a shuddered breath. This was the first time you had openly confessed your love to him, “Why didn’t you reach out to me? I could have done something..anything…if you loved me then why didn't you trust me that I would come for you”.

“It wasn’t that simple, Satoru. What was I even supposed to say? I couldn’t just call your office and say ‘hi I am alive and I am carrying your child and I might die?’. No one even knew about us, who would have believed me?”.

“I would have..I..if you would have said one word I would have left everything and come to you”.

You remained silent. You put your arm on his shoulder and kneeled on the couch. “I promise I will call you next time ”.

Gojo chuckled and wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you on his lap with your legs resting neither side of his waist. "Next time? There will be no next time. I am not letting you go anywhere y/n Gojo. I have only ever loved one woman in my life and if she asks for my life I'd give it to her". Gojo tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Even when I was with Utahime, I only thought about you. Even when I didn't know you were out there I only thought about you. The thought of you kept me alive and kept me going through the day. It still does. When I'm at work all I can think about is coming home and lying in bed with you. So don't you ever think for a second that I'm not thinking about you. You occupy my mind, heart and soul y/n Gojo".

You blushed, "Alright then. I will call you even if I don't need you".

“You promise?”.

“I promise”.

“You’ll call me even if it’s for something small”. Gojo kissed the tip of your nose.

“Yes”.

“Even if you’re just missing me?”.

You cupped his face and wiped the tears off of his cheeks. “Yes”.

“Even if you need a massage?”.

You corked an eyebrow. “You’ll leave work to give me a massage?”.

“Obviously”.

“Then, Yes. I’ll call you”.

“Even if you need help reaching the top shelf?”. Gojo asked, smiling.

“You’re pushing it now”. You pinched his nose and Gojo laughed.

"Just tell me if anything is bothering you. Even if it's the house temperature".

You smiled and kissed the tip of his noses "Okay".

Gojo rubbed your arm as you lay next to him with your back pressed to his chest.

“Y/n..”.

“Yes?”.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I..found out about..”.

“No”.

Gojo frowned. “Why not?”.

“I’m sure you have your ways”. You said flatly.

“Are you mad at me for..finding out?”.

“No”.

“Why not?”.

You turned around to face him. “Do you want me to be mad at you?”.

“No”.

Gojo lay awake wondering if it was right of him to confront you. Do you really think that he can…he would find out whatever he wants to know instead of asking you about it? Sure he might have done that in the past but this was different. Gojo made a mental note to never do this again.

“Then stop asking stupid questions”.

"What you did for Keisuke....was really brave. He is lucky to have you as a mother"

-X-

Gojo stood uncomfortably inside the closet, waiting for you to get done with dressing Keisuke.

When you walked inside you saw Gojo standing between the rows of clothes. "Why aren't you ready yet?". You asked, putting away Keisuke's clothes in the laundry basket.

"I want to talk to you about something".

"What is it?". You asked, ruffling through the clothes, looking for your yellow dress.

"Y/n..". Gojo called out.

You picked out the hangar with the dress and turned towards him. "Yes?".

"We are moving". Gojo said abruptly.

Your arms fell by your side and you frowned, "What do you mean we are moving? Where are we moving to?".

Gojo stepped forward and caressed your arms, "It's not that kind of moving. I am just shifting everything to the left wing of the house".

You looked up at him, "Left wing?". You didn't know what prompted Gojo to make this decision but you knew that something was going on.

"Yes".

"Why?".

"It's better".

"How?".

Gojo chuckled, "I grew up there and it's ideal for a family. There is a nursery which we can renovate for Keisuke".

You bit your lip, "Satoru, that wing has been closed off for years. I wasn't allowed to go there and now you are asking me to move there? What is going on?".

Gojo frowned and took a step back. "You tried to go there? Why?".

You cursed yourself mentally. "I was just….exploring".

Gojo studied your face and nodded slightly, "Yes it's true. I had closed it off because of-"

"I know". You admitted, shamefully.

"What… ". Gojo tilted his head, "...what do you know?".

You sighed heavily. There was no turning back now. "Everything. I think…. everything. You never spoke about your family and that wing was forbidden from me so I…I got curious and I asked around".

"To whom?!". Gojo frowned.

"Jerry".

Gojo sucked in a sharp breath and looked away.Of course out of everyone Jerry would be the one to tell you. "Y/n….". He didn't care that you asked around. You had every right to do so. He wondered why you didn't ask him?

"I know that it's something you didn't want me to know and I'm sorry that I went behind your back". You looked down, playing with the hem of Gojo's shirt.

Gojo stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, "No need to apologize". He kissed the top of your head and smiled to himself when he felt you relax.

"But why are you asking us to move there? You don't have to. I am perfectly happy here". You said, resting your chin on his chest.

"There are some security issues. I can't go into the details but I also don't want to keep you in the dark. It's for yours and Keisuke's safety. Please trust me on this".

"Safety?". You stepped back.

"Yes".

"Why? What's happening?".

Gojo could sense the fear rising inside you and put his arms on your shoulder,"It's nothing to worry about. Just a precaution".

"If it's nothing to worry about, then why are we taking precautions?".

"Because…I don't want to take any risk".

"But…. Satoru, that part of the house can be very…disturbing for you. I mean…it has some bad …memories attached to it".

Gojo smiled, "That's why I want to make good ones there. It's also closer to the office and much more secure".

You took a deep breath "Okay…. If it's for Keisuke's safety then sure".

"Thank you. You don't have to do anything. Just call me if you need anything".

You nodded your head. "And you can also tell me if you need anything". You smiled.

"I need a kiss". Gojo said, immediately.

"I gave you a kiss this morning". You hit his chest gently and moved away.

"Since when did we start counting kisses?".

You giggled and stood on your toes to peck his lips. "There you go".

Gojo wrapped his arms around your waist and didn't let you move away, "One for last night"

You rolled your eyes and gave him another peck.

"One for this morning".

"I kissed you this morning!".

Gojo raised an eyebrow letting you know that he could tell when the kiss wasn't genuine.

You gave him a pressed smile and kissed him again but this time Gojo didn't let you break the kiss so easily. Instead he placed a hand on the back of your head and deepened the kiss.

You moaned loudly when he sucked on your lower lip and ran his tongue across it.

"Now that's how you're supposed to kiss your husband".

"Are you my husband though?". You teased him.

Gojo looked at you, "You wanna get married again?".

Your laugh died down, "What?".

"Do you want to marry me?...again?".

You moved back and tucked the strand of hair behind your ear. "I … I…guess...I mean …I was just…teasing you".

Gojo held your hand and walked over to the shelf with all the jewelry. "Whenever you're ready you can wear the ring". He spoke as he wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the side of your head.

Your smile dropped. "I don't want to wear that ring".

"Why not?". Gojo asked and turned you around to face him.

"Too many bad memories ". You smiled sadly and Gojo understood. You were right. You didn't have to start from where you left off. You can start from a new chapter.

Gojo smiled and walked around you to open the glass case. He looked at all the rings he had bought and smiled to himself when he found the one he was looking for. He picked out the carrier Trinity ring and got on one knee. "Y/n Gojo, will you do me the honor of marrying me again?".

You laughed and nodded your head. Gojo kissed your hand and slipped the ring in your ring finger.

"But where is your ring?". You teased him. Gojo stood up and tugged your hand and walked over to his side of the closet. He opened the glass case with his watches and cufflinks and picked out the silver Cartier ring that he had bought along with yours.

"There you go". He gave you the ring and you couldn't hold your laughter.

"Are we really getting married in a closet?".

"Yes ma'am we are". Gojo replied. Laughing along with you.

You slid the ring in his ring finger and while you were giggling the entire time, chalking this as another one of Gojo's playful tactics , Gojo almost had tears in his eyes. Yes you were wearing white, his white shirt. He was in his black trousers. Yes you two love each other and for him this was a wedding.

"Congratulations, you are now my husband!". You smiled at him and Gojo chuckled before picking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the closet.

He held his and your left arm in front of Keisuke and gloated ,"look your mum and dad are married".

You couldn't stop giggling and Keisuke followed suit which made you laugh even more. You didn't remember the last time you had laughed this much or you were this happy. You tiptoed and pulled Gojo into a kiss which he happily returned.

-X-

There had been no message from Yuri this morning and it relieved Gojo but also scared him. What if all this was a silence before the storm? He had questions he wanted to ask her but he knew he wouldn't get an answer. How far did she dig to find out about your pregnancy? What else does she know? What else can she find out?

A team was already cleaning up the left wing of the house. Gojo had gotten a new wardrobe, one that was untouched by Yuri's filthy hands. He was sure you wouldn't know the difference given your lack of interest in those clothes. There were more cameras in the bedroom. Even more in Keisuke's nursery. Gojo was apprehensive about keeping Keisuke in a separate room under these circumstances but the architecture of the room made the nursery even safer.

The master bedroom was big, almost twice the size of one he was living in. A semi-living room was at the entrance of the suite. The entrance to the bedroom was at the far end of the living room. No one could enter the bedroom without passing through the living room.

Inside the bedroom, the bed faces the ceiling length windows that opened up to the balcony. On the left hand side, little further from the door, was the ensuite followed by the walk-in wardrobe. On the farthest end of the bedroom was the entrance to the nursery. Making it impossible for anyone to enter the nursery without crossing the length of the bedroom.

The nursery possessed the ceiling length bulletproof glass window, a crib, a bed, wardrobe, toy shelf and a bookshelf. It had been Gojo's nursery when he was born. The walls were freshly painted baby blue with little clouds and carrots on it. All of Keisuke's toys were thoroughly inspected for any hidden cameras. All of his clothes had a tiny GPS tracker stitched under the collar. Gojo didn't tell you about this detail to retain your peace of mind.

The only downside was that the kitchenette was farther from the bedroom than it had been before. But Gojo dismissed it as a tiny sacrifice.He needed to buy time to execute everything so he had told you this morning that he would take you and Keisuke to the left wing in the evening to familiarize you with it. So for now, to his annoyance, you were still in the same bedroom.

Before leaving for work, he had told Jerry about everything that was happening. He had to know to protect you. Jerry was given strict instructions to not let anyone near you or Keisuke. Even limiting your movement inside the house to the bedroom and his office. Jerry understood of course and gave his word that he would do his best to protect the family. Gojo was grateful that you chose Jerry to help with Keisuke. It made everything a lot easier.

"What do we know about her location?". Gojo asked, typing on his laptop.

Yuta stopped up, balancing his laptop on his forearm and walked over to Gojo's desk, "We have zeroed it down to Japan and China". He said, placing the laptop on the table and showing Gojo the screen that flickers with red dots over the suspected areas.

Gojo nodded. It was not enough but it was progress. It was only the second day. He had to track down Yuri at all costs. "Send me the list of places that are in and around Tokyo, we'll start from here".

Yuta nodded and took the laptop back to the conference table where he and his team were working.

Geto walked in and gave a quick nod to Gojo before walking over to the coffee table and chugging down the entire jug of water.

Gojo watched him intently, "What happened?". He asked.

Geto walked over and sat opposite him and lit a cigarette. Gojo brought over the crystal ashtray he keeps in his office only for Geto and placed it in front of him.

"Did you talk to y/n? About moving to the left wing?"

"Yes. She agreed. I told her it was for security reasons".

Geto nodded and took another drag.

"What's up with you?". Gojo asked, frowning.

"Yuri..messaged me". Geto said and placed his phone in front of Gojo.

Unknown: Are you sure moving y/n to the left wing will save her?

Gojo's jaw dropped. How did she know? How could she know? You hadn't even moved yet?

"Yuta, take everyone with you to the seco office". Gojo said, still staring at the phone.

He looked up at Geto and Geto nodded, confirming Gojo's suspicion. "It's someone on the inside".

"But we interrogated everyone!". Gojo said, slamming his hand on the table and walking over to the window.

Geto rotated his chair to face Gojo, "Not everyone".

Gojo turned around, "What do you mean?".

Geto took a deep breath and ashed his cigarette. "Y/n… We didn't interrogate her".

"We don't need to interrogate her". Gojo said.

"Look, all I'm saying is, isn't it suspicious how y/n has suddenly developed this trust in you? She ran away from you! She hid the baby from you! If you hadn't found her then maybe…she would have continued that way. For all we know she has conspired with Yuri and this is her way to get a divorce from you! She wouldn't even have to share custody!".

"Suguru!". Gojo glared at him. "That's enough".

Geto scoffed, "You love her. You went insane because of her! That's the effect she has on you! I don't blame you for wanting to punch me in the face right now but I am just looking out for you!".

"Keep y/n out of this". Gojo warned, glaringly.

"Satoru"

"Even if y/n is behind this, I can't let her go. I won't let her go".

Geto let out a heavy breath. "Fine. Can I at least talk to her?".

Gojo raised an eyebrow, "talk to her?".

"Yes". Geto smiled. "I swear I'll just talk to her".

"In my presence". Gojo added and walked back to his seat.

"Come on, you have to trust me on this. I swear I will just talk to her. I haven't even met Keisuke yet!".

"No. If you want to talk to her then either do it in my presence or don't ".

"20 minutes. You can come in after that"

Gojo groaned and closed his eyes. "Fine. You get 10 minutes, that's all. Meet Keisuke, talk to her, But not a second above 10 minutes".

"Perfect".

When lunch time rolled around Gojo and Geto made their way towards the dining area. Gojo had already told you that Geto would be stopping by for lunch and you were genuinely looking forward to seeing him. The last time you had seen Geto was years ago, before everything went down. You didn't even know what to say to him but good food is a universal language.

When you saw Geto walk inside the dining room alone your eyes immediately went to the empty space behind him. Why was Gojo not here?

"Hi, y/n". Geto Suguru said as he stood in front of you.

"Hi".

Gojo stood outside, at a distance from the dining room. He checked his watch every minute, waiting for the 10 minutes to pass by. He trusted Geto. But he knew you were smart.

As soon as the 10 minutes were up he walked into the dining room, concerned, ready with explanation, but his worries faded away when he saw Geto holding Keisuke and playing with him while you watched them.

"Sorry I'm late". Gojo said and walked over to you. He placed his hand on the small of your back and pulled you towards him gently.

"He's so…..small". Geto said as he gently tugged on Keisuke's cheeks. "...and soft".

"Now you understand how tough it is to leave this and go to work". Gojo added.

The three of you sat around the table and talked like old friends catching up. But beneath the laughter and nostalgia, one of the three of you was hurting.

"You okay?". Gojo asked as he stood at the doorway.

"Yes".

Gojo studied your face. It was blank. "Are you-"

"I need to change Keisuke. I'll text you later". You smiled and pecked his lips.

Gojo smiled, and kissed you back. Geto called for him from a distance and Gojo left you standing there at the doorway.

"Are you alright?". Jerry asked as he brought Keisuke to you.

"Yes Jerry. I am".

"Your medicine ma'am". Jerry handed you the pills and you swallowed them with water.

"Thank you".

"What did you ask her?". Gojo asked Geto as soon as they were out of sight from the dining hall.

"Just questions". Geto shrugged.

"What questions?". Gojo stopped walking and stared at Geto who stopped two steps ahead.

Geto turned back and sighed, "I just asked her how she was adjusting to this life".

Gojo studies Geto's face. "She might look strong but she isn't. It's not easy uprooting your life every year and starting fresh. I hope you were…gentle".

Geto looked at the genuine concern in Gojo's face and bit the inside of his cheeks. "I was".

-X-

The cool breeze of the evening brought you relief as you sat cross legged on the balcony chair.You didn't know what was going on but you knew you were a suspect. You twirled the tea spoon in the lukewarm tea and thought about your conversation with Geto. He was trying to get something out of you, trying to get you to confess to something, but what could it be?

You also knew that Gojo was probably in on it. Did he not trust you? Why didn't he ask you directly what he wanted to know? Could you confront him about this? Should you? Would it affect his and Geto's friendship? Or would it put you in trouble?

You leaned back in the chair and watched the birds fly against the setting sun. They were on their way home. But what about you? Could you ever be home? You had moved here with Gojo and yet he was doubting you. There was no right answer. No right way to approach this. You knew Gojo would come any minute now. He said he was going to come home early today. While he wanted to move to the left wing tonight, you had messaged him after lunch to move tomorrow morning because Keisuke was being fussy today and changing his environment seemed like a bad idea to you. But now you wondered if that put you under more suspicion.

Your head was spinning conjuring all these theories. But you had to look out for yourself. Gojo loved you, you were sure of it. But did he trust you?

"Hey". Gojo walked in on the balcony.

You craned your neck back and smiled. "Hi".

"Why are you out here?". Gojo asked as he sat down next to you.

"Just…needed to be alone".

"Why?". Gojo asked, moving his chair closer to yours.

You shrugged with your eyes fixed on the distant point on the lawn. You were human, you had your limits and you were tired.

"What did Geto ask you?". Gojo asked, looking at your hands folded on your lap.

"Just questions".

Gojo bit his lip in annoyance. "What questions?".

"Why don't you go ask him?". Your words came out sharper than you had expected. Maybe it was because you were reaching your tipping point.

"Y/n... If there is something bothering you then I want you to tell me".

You scoffed. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?".

Gojo's heart dropped to his stomach. He was at a loss of words.

"Nevermind. I'm going to bed". You got up but Gojo stood up and blocked your way. "Satoru, move. Please".

"Let's talk about it. Please".

You looked up at him, "I have nothing to say to you except that whatever it is that's…going on, I have nothing to do with it. You want to put me under surveillance then go ahead and do it. I don't care anymore". You tried to walk past him but his hand on your waist stopped you.

"I know you have nothing to do with it. Geto just wanted to talk to you". Gojo spoke softly.

"I know when I'm being talked to and when I'm being interrogated".

"He didn't mean any harm. I'm sorry if he was harsh with you. He just wanted to be…safe".

You nodded your head. "Okay".

"No no no. Don't give me an okay ".

Gojo's hands dropped by his side. He'll fix it later. When he has an answer or an explanation.

"Just ….let me go. I need to rest".

"y/n.... please talk-".

"I don't feel good. I should sleep now".

-X-

There was a heavy silence at the breakfast table this morning. No morning kisses were exchanged. By the time Gojo had woken up you were already done getting ready for the day and so was Keisuke.

"The left wing is ready to move in. Let me know whenever you're ready". Gojo asked, giving you a short smile that was not reciprocated.

"Okay".

"I won't be coming for lunch". Gojo added. Hoping to get a glare from you but was meant with the same icy expression.

"Okay".

Gojo bit his lip. "You look beautiful today". He smirked.

But your expression didn't change. You opened your mouth to say something but Gojo cut you off. "Please don't say okay".

"Fine".

Gojo groaned and let his fork clank against the ceramic plate.

"If you're mad at me then just be mad at me!". He whined.

You kept your fork down on the plate and looked at him. "I'm not mad at you".

Gojo scoffed, "I can see that. All he did was ask some questions y/n! For your safety!". Gojo closed his eyes in regret as soon as the words left his mouth.

You gritted your teeth and looked at him. "Satoru I uprooted my whole life! Moved here with you! Tried my best to give us a chance! And now I am being questioned by you and Geto?You...Who has always lied to me from the beginning! Why am I the one who is being questioned here when you were the one who left me for someone else, lied to me, drugged me, forced me to move here by threatening to hurt people I care about! Why?! Why am I expected to trust you when you can't even do the same for me!". Tears rolled down your eyes as you let out your pent up frustration.

Gojo was frozen in his seat. He knew it was a bad idea. He should not have listened to Geto. "Y/n….".

"I'm fine. I'll be fine". You wiped your tears with your palm. "I'm sorry I got carried away. I didn't mean to bring up all that". You got up to keep the plates in the sink and Gojo followed you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and turned you to face him. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing. You don't have to be fine with all of this. Complain as much as you want to. Demand what you want. But don't be …fine".

"Okay". You relaxed in his arms.

"Don't say okay".

"Fine". You replied, a smile tugging at your lips.

Gojo looked down and shook his head. "Don't say fine".

"Alright". You chuckled.

Gojo smiled and kissed your forehead. "I'm sorry for letting Geto talk to you".

"No it's alright. He was just doing his job".

"I'll punish him, don't worry". Gojo winked at you. Trying to ease the tension. When you voiced out your frustration it dawned on him just how stupid and hypocritical the whole idea was. His eye drifted to your ring finger and his tension eased a little when he saw that you were still wearing that ring. Maybe this is what a secure life feels like, when even when you fight and disagree you still stay by each other's side at the end of the day.

You silently wrapped your arms around him and took a deep breath. "Promise me we'll be fine".

"I promise". Gojo hugged you tighter and kissed your forehead. "We'll be fine".

You nodded your head and pulled back. "You should go now. You'll get late".

"I can stay with you today. Work can wait". Gojo said, studying your face. You looked shaken up. Tired. Your eyes were sunken in and your face looked pale.

"I'll be fine".

Gojo studied your face. You were not fine. He took his phone out, "I'm staying with you".

You kept your hand on his arm that was holding the phone and brought it down. "No need to stay. Why don't you go and stay after lunch? That would be better".

Gojo bit his lip nervously, "You sure?".

"Yes".

"I'll send in a doctor to check on you. You don't look so good".

You nodded your head. He was right. You had been feeling more tired than usual and your bones ached with every moment. But hopefully you'll get to rest with him after lunch.

"Okay".

Gojo texted Jerry on his way.

Mr.Gojo : Keep an eye on y/n. I want an update on her every hour.

Jerry : Yes sir.

Mr.Gojo : If she seems slightly distressed, call me immediately.

Jerry : Yes sir.

Gojo glared at Geto the moment Geto walked inside the office.

"I'm sorry". Geto said firstly. "I ..I might have gone overboard but I didn't mean any harm". He raised his hands by his side.

Gojo remained silent. "You should be apologizing to her".

"She should have fought with me".

"She didn't fight with me. She was upset but she understood that we are doing this for some reason".

"She didn't ask you the reason". Geto asked, lighting a cigarette.

"No".

"Why?". Geto smirked. You were still under his radar.

"Because she was saving me from lying to her".

Geto hummed. "Did she tell you that?".

"She didn't have to".

"Right….cause couples have telepathy".

"She understood that you were doing your job. But I want you to remember that it's not easy for her either…living here with me. Dealing with all of this? She didn't sign up for this. You can doubt her if you want to but at least be gentle with her. She might look strong and collected on the outside but…she's going through a lot".

Geto hummed. "We'll if you put it that way…then you're right. I do owe her an apology. I'll meet with after lunch…in your presence of course and apologize to her..but she's still not in the clear*.

Gojo scoffed. If Geto hadn't been his best friend Gojo would have buried him six feet under yesterday. "Why don't we find Yuri first and then we can confirm your suspicion?".

"We can do both".

Gojo frowned, "How?".

"We send y/n to Yuri".

Gojo's glare turned icy. The temperature in the room dropped and everyone was aware of the shift in mood.

Geto straightened up. "Not alone. Obviously. We will be tracking her".

"No".

"Satoru".

"No".

"Alright. I'll find another way".

Gojo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. No. There was no way he was going to let you go to Yuri.

-X-

Yuri sipped on her coffee and twirled the phone in her other hand. She was waiting for the good news. If everything was going according to the plan then Geto must have confronted you somehow and that would have pushed you and Gojo apart. Little by little.

Mr.Man : Didn't work

Yuri looked at the text and her self reassuring smile dropped. Fucking Geto! She wondered whether the plan fell through because of Geto or because of Ms. Goody two shoes attitude. If exposing your pregnancy to Gojo didn't push you two apart, if Geto's suspicion didn't push you two apart then she knew none of her other minor plans would. She had to pull out the big guns.

She gulped down the searing coffee and slammed the mug on the table. The ceramic mug broke in her hand and sliced her thumb. She chuckled. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her throat burned and hands bled. She brought up the sliced thumb and smeared the blood across your photo on her desk. She brought up Gojo's photo and put her thumb on his lips. "I'll burn for you, I'll bleed for you…soon you'll be mine"

Yuri : Plan B.

-X-

Gojo and Geto were going over different locations where Yuri could have been. Geto had a stack of paper in front of his hand which outlined every connection to Yuri.

"What about the man at the hospital? The one that clicked the photo?". Gojo asked.

Geto shook his head, still flipping through pages, "He was picked up randomly on the street and paid to click her photo". Geto looked up at Gojo. "He thought y/n was a celebrity and the paparazzi wanted a photo of her. He had never seen the man who approached him and paid him for the job. We have his sketch and the police are still looking for him".

Gojo cursed under his breath. Geto was calm, he was moving in a calculated way but Gojo on the other hand was getting restless. There was no text from Yuri and it was not a good sign. He knew that Yuri was playing with Geto. He knew Yuri would do everything in her power to pull you two apart but Gojo was not going to let that happen.

His phone chimed and both men exchanged nervous looks. Gojo carefully picked up his phone and frowned.

Geto took his phone from his hand. "What does this mean?".

Yuri : Run.Run.Run.

Before Gojo could reply Jerry barged through the door, sweating, panicked, scared.

The three men stood outside the bedroom,waiting for Shoko, as you lay unconscious inside. The medical team had left an hour ago and Gojo was counting each second pass by. He had asked Shoko but she refused to say anything until the blood reports were back.

Keisuke cooed in Gojo's arm, oblivious to the condition of his mother. The sun had set long ago and it had been over 5 hours. Gojo was going restless with each passing minute. Geto had been watching CCTV footage of the house the entire day to see if there had been any intruder but he found nothing. Gojo hadn’t asked anything to anyone while Shoko and the medical team were here but now he wanted to know. “Jerry tell me what happened, exactly".

Jerry wiped the sweat off his forehead and took a deep breath. "Mrs.Gojo had just finished with master Keisuke's bath and she was going to dress him up. She walked out of the wardrobe but master Keisuke started crying so she picked him up and asked me to get his bottle from the kitchen. But before I could reach the kitchen I heard her call for me so I came running inside. She looked ..pale. the color drained from her face and she was gently swaying. I sensed something was wrong so I rushed to where she was standing. She asked me to hold master Keisuke and call for a doctor and then…then she collapsed on the floor. Then I called for the medical team before calling you".

Gojo gently rocked Keisuke in his arms. "Did she take her medicine?".

"Yes sir". Jerry replied.

"Did she ever skip a dose?". Geto asked next.

"No sir. Never".

Geto turned towards Gojo and he knew by the look on his face that Yuri had hit her mark. "Maybe it's because of stress or fatigue".

Gojo took a deep breath, "Do you really believe that?".

Geto closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. Keisuke stared at him over Gojo's shoulder and smiled. Geto returned the smile and winked at him.

"Satoru, can I talk to you?". Geto asked standing upright, "Alone?".

Gojo nodded at Jerry and Jerry took his leave. Gojo put down Keisuke in the pram carefully and covered it.

"You said, there were cameras in the room?".

"Yes". Gojo replied and handed Geto his phone which showed the camera feed.

Geto watched it carefully. Then, he replayed it again. "Interesting…" he hummed.

"What?". Gojo asked, looking at the phone screen.

"Everything happened just as Jerry had described it".

"He was there. He saw it all".

"It's still weird that he was able to describe it scene by scene. Usually when people go through such an experience, their recollection varies slightly from the reality but he was spot on".

"Suguru, I trust you, but you suspected y/n and we know how that turned out. Now you are suspecting Jerry? He has been with my family forever. He was the one who alerted us and the medical team. If he was involved in this then he could have run away".

Geto listened to Gojo carefully. "He stays with them everyday?".

"From 9 am to 9 pm".

"Is y/n close to him? Do they discuss her problems?".

Gojo bit the inside of his cheeks. "Yes".

"Has he ever interfered with your…". Geto shrugged for the lack of words, "..marital issues?".

Gojo scoffed, "Not in a bad way".

"But he has?".

"Yes. He has".

Geto nodded and looked down at the pram, "Who chose him to be with them?".

"Y/n did"

"Interesting. Why didn’t she choose anyone else from the staff?”.

Gojo sighed, “Because she was not close with anyone else. We both trusted Jerry and decided it is best to have someone like him to stay with them”.

Geto sensed Gojo’s frustration and refrained from talking further about it. It was best to wait for Shoko’s analysis.

“Y/n will be fine”. He put an arm on Gojo’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

Gojo nodded. “She has to be”.

Shoko walked in, glaring at Gojo. The two men immediately straightened up in her presence. “How is she?”. Gojo asked.

“You knew she had anemia”.

Gojo frowned and looked at Geto, “Of course I did. I called you ..remember?”. He added.

“I do. I also remember looking at her reports and prescribing her medicines which she had to take daily”.

“She was taking them daily”.

Shoko looked at Geto, who corked a brow. “No she wasn’t”.

Gojo’s pulse raced. “What..what do you mean?”.

“Her reports are back. Her anemia has worsened”.

Gojo’s world stood still on its axis. “That’s..that’s..not possible. She was taking her medicines daily”.

Shoko shook her head. “I had my suspicions so I sent her medicines to the lab and they were not the ones I had prescribed. Well one of them was. The others were Dapsone”.

“Shoko I don’t understand….what do you mean?”.

Shoko sighed. “Satoru, let's sit down”.

Gojo pushed the stroller and sat down opposite her and Geto. “Shoko what’s going on? Is she going to be fine?”.

“I have my suspicion that someone switched her medicines. Her blood count was too low so I sent the medicine in the lab and out of five only one was the medicine that I had given her and the rest were a drug called Dapsone. Dapsone is used to induce Anemia, not cure it. I can estimate that she was administered this drug for no more than five days but given her condition it could have been fatal”.

Gojo’s mouth ran dry. “Fa..fatal? You mean…”

“Life threatening”.

Gojo’s shoulder dropped. “Is she going to be fine?”.

“Yes. But she needs rest and care”.

“Who gave her the meds everyday?”. Geto asked,Gojo looked at him . The two men exchanged nods and Geto was already on his phone.

Gojo nodded his head. Had Yuri continued to torture Gojo, he would have beared it all. Had she asked for all his wealth, he would have given it all to her. Had she asked for his life in return of yours, he would have given it to her. But she made the most fatal mistake of her life by going after you. No one was safe now. No one was in the clear now. No more interrogations. No more suspects. Yuri had declared a war and now she would have to fight it.

Gojo thought about the fight last night and how this morning he didn't even tell you he loved you. He made the same mistake he made last time, leaving you when his gut told him to stay.

"I don't care who gave her the meds..I can't hurt her anymore. She deserves to live a happy life". Gojo picked up his phone and called Yuta, "Get me the divorce papers".

The man on the other side of the wall listened to the conversation. He smiled. The plan had worked.

-X-

Yuri : I need updates!

Yuri : Why are you ignoring me?!

Yuri : Is that bitch dead?

Yuri : Where the fuck are you? Pick up my call!

Yuri : Did they move her to another location?

Mr.Man : Things might have gone out of control.

Yuri : I told you we should have gone for a lighter dose!

Mr.Man : Have faith.

Mr.Man : He might reach out to you. I overheard him talking to the detective.

Yuri : What should I do?

Mr.Man : Strike when iron is hot.

Yuri : What does that mean? Should I meet him?

Mr.Man : Yes. But ask him to meet alone. He might come with a backup. He has agreed to the divorce.

Yuri : What? Really?! Why hasn't he texted me yet?!

Mr.Man : Have patience.

Gojo finished typing the last text and locked Jerry's phone and stared at him. Jerry's gaze remained fixed on the floor. Five men surrounded him as he sat in handcuffs.

Gojo kept the phone on the table and pulled a chair to sit opposite to him. He stared at Jerry, the man that he respected like a father, the man that he trusted enough to be around his wife and son, the man that took care of him in the darkest days, but he was no longer any of that. Now, to Gojo, he was the man that tried to kill his wife. When Gojo saw the messages between him and Yuri he wanted to put a bullet through Jerry's brain. But he knew he needed him to reach Yuri.

"Why?". Gojo askedz crossing his one leg over the other and folding his arms over his chest.

Jerry remained silent.

"Why did you try to kill y/n?".

Jerry looked up at him with anger in his eyes. "I didn't try to kill her".

"You drugged her. Knowing well that it could be fatal to her".

"She wouldn't have died. I wouldn't have let her die".

Gojo bit the inside of his cheeks. "Why help Yuri?".

Gojo scoffed at the silence. "I know where your family lives. Your daughter is at Ginza, waiting for her train to Ueno. Your son is 300m away from your home. Your wife is at the neighbor's house and she will be leaving in the next 5 minutes when a man will tell her that her son has been hit by a truck and her daughter fell on the train track. Do you think given her heart condition she would survive the news?". Gojo smirked.

Jerry had tears rolling down his eyes. His chest rose and fell with each breath. "No. You can't hurt my family!". Jerry yelled.

Gojo let out a chuckle. "Are you really in the position to ask for that? Fine. You're right, you have served the Gojo house for a long time and I should honor that. How about…I get you convicted for pedophilia? The word would spread around quickly, I'll make sure of it, your daughter will be ostracized at the college and your son will probably kill himself. Your wife…dies anyway".

Jerry was sweating and shaking. He hid the details of his family from Gojo and yet he found out. Gojo smiled and got up to get his phone. He stood in front of Jerry and showed him the live video of his family members. The first video was of a man moving through the crowds at the station and standing just behind his daughter. "What are the chances that the safety door in front of your daughter malfunctions and the crowd pushes through?".

Gojo played the second video, it showed another man walking behind his son on the bridge less than 300 m away from his home. "I have heard that this bridge is quite dangerous. You see the speed with which these cars are moving? It would hurt so much if he got hit by one of them".

"Please…not my kids. Please". Jerry begged.

"Hmm okay. I won't kill them. Just injure them enough so they spend their entire life in a wheelchair, unable to talk, walk, react.."

Gojo chuckled and played the third video which showed a man standing outside a neighbor's window and Jerry could see his wife on the couch talking to her friend.

"Imagine when your wife's friend finds out that you are a pedophile! They would be so disgusted".

"No no no. Please". Jerry cried. His tears fell on Gojo's ostrich leather shoes.

Gojo walked back to his chair and assumed the same position. "Then start talking. You have 3 minutes left to save your family".

Jerry shook his head. "I didn't want to hurt Ms.y/n. I didn't. But I couldn't let her stay with you. You don't deserve her! You're just like your father! I…". Jerry paused. "....I couldn't save your mother. I wanted to. I even helped her run away but you monster of a father brought her back!".

Gojo gritted his teeth as he listened to the sick man.

"I loved your mother. I wanted to help her…but I couldn't". Jerry looked up with a frenzied expression. "...Ms.Y/n reminded me so much of your mother. She is kind. A good mother. Doting wife…and you". Jerry's gaze darkened, "…a monster. A selfish man who is only capable of thinking for himself…the day you made her cry, I knew that this time I will save her!".

Gojo swallowed the lump in his throat. "So you tried to kill her?".

"No no no no. I would neve hurt Ms.Y/n. I just wanted you to realize that the life you live puts the life of others at risk".

"You were there with me! You raised me! You out of all the people know what I went through!". Gojo screamed, making Jerry flinch.

"I pitied you as a child. But as you grew up you became his splitting image and as much as I wanted to help you, I felt disgusted by you! You were treating her the same way you dad treated your mother"

"Y/n trusted you. She was the one who suggested that you should be the one to help her with Keisuke".

"I know. I would rather die than let anything happen to Ms.Y/n. That's why when Yuri asked me to kill her, I made this plan. I was going to kill Yuri after you divorced Ms.y/n".

"And then?".

"Then then…I would have asked Ms.Y/n to stay with my family. So I could care for her like she deserved to".

Anger rose inside Gojo. "You're a sick man".

Jerry chuckled. "Love makes us sick, Mr.Gojo. I used to wonder how a man could go insane because of a woman..who was this woman that made the great Gojo Satoru lose his mind. But then…I met her and I got to know her. It all made sense. Anyone would go insane over-".

Gojo stormed out of the room wiping the blood off of his knuckles. People stopped in their trail as they saw him walk past. No one had seen the Ice Prince in the last one month but now he was back. Gojo didn't care if Jerry thought that he was just like his father. Gojo didn't care that Jerry called him a monster, maybe he was a monster. But he loved you. If he was fated to love you as a monster then so be it. He will become the monster that will protect you, avenge you, love you.

Before Jerry could finish a sharp blow landed on his jaw. Jerry fell on the floor with his hand cuffed in front. Gojo grabbed his collar and lifted him off the ground, "That's my wife you're talking about you sick bastard!". Gojo threw him across the room and Jerry's head collided with the wall as he fell on the floor leaving a red streak in the trail. Jerry thought about all the times he saw with Gojo, like you were a happy family when you were nothing but a trophy for him. He remembered when he first heard yours and Gojo's moans mixed together it made him throw up. Gojo didn't deserve a woman like you. Every time he looked at Keisuke he was reminded of the love you had for Gojo and he would have killed Keisuke first if it hadn't been for you. Losing Keisuke would have broken your heart, especially when you risked your life to save his.

Gojo sat on his toes and glared at Jerry. "Did you kill my mother?".

Jerry chuckled, coughing out blood. "I didn't mean to kill her. I just wanted that child of hers to die".

Gojo gritted his teeth. He felt sick. He got up and kicked Jerry in his guts. "You are going to pay for what you did".

He took his phone out and texted Yuri,

Gojo : You win. I have the divorce papers. Where should I meet you?

Yuri stared at the text and bit her nail. She was scared to face Gojo. Maybe she can ask him to drop the papers somewhere. Instead of texting Gojo she texted Jerry.

Yuri : Gojo texted me. Where should I meet him? Does he really have the divorce papers?

Gojo unlocked Jerry's phone with his other hand and replied,

Mr.Man : Call him at the warehouse near the pier. He has the divorce papers.

Yuri : How did y/n even sign it?

Gojo rolled his eyes and huffed.

Mr Man : She was slightly conscious. She doesn't know yet that she had signed the Divorce papers.

Yuri : Serves that bitch right. I'll call him tonight at 12.

Yuri took a deep breath and texted Gojo,

Yuri : warehouse number 12 near the Pier. 12 am.

Gojo : okay.

Yuri : come alone. If I see another guard or officer with you, y/n will be dead before you even reach home.

Gojo looked at her text and chuckled.

Gojo : Okay.

He walked over to where Geto and Yuta were sitting with Keisuke. Yuta gently rocked Keisuke in his arms and walked around the room but as soon as Keisuke saw Gojo he started crying and stretched his hands towards his father. Gojo's icy exterior melted as he smiled sadly and took Keisuke from Yuta's hand. "Thank you for looking after him, Yuta".

"No problem. He seemed to like more than his uncle Geto"

Geto, who was sitting cross legged, rolled his eyes. "He would only calm down with Yuta".

Gojo chuckled and rubbed Keisuke's back. He immediately calmed down as soon as he took in the scent of his father. Gojo kissed the back of his head as he sniffled. "Any update on y/n?".

Geto and Yuta shook their heads.

"I called Shoko and she said y/n might be unconscious for the next 12 hours. Something about her body needing time to recover. They are changing her drop every hour".

Gojo nodded his head. "Can I go see her?".

Geto and Yuta exchanged looks, Yuta hesitated but spoke first, "Ms.Shoko didn't say you can't but she didn't say you can either..so I guess you can".

Gojo handed both the phones to Geto, "I'm meeting her at 12 tonight. Yuta go through the texts and see if we can find anything else on her".

Gojo rubbed Keisuke's back and walked inside the guest bedroom where you were lying unconscious.

He let out a shuddered breath as he saw you lying still with tubes going into your arms. Your face pale like a ghost, cheeks sunken in, he swallowed his tears as he moved slowly towards your bed.

"Hi, love".

Keisuke turned around at the mention of your nickname and moved in Gojo's arm, stretching his arms towards you. "No baby. Mumma is sleeping". Gojo gently put his arms down but Keisuke fussed in his arms and continued to get out of his grasp and into his mother's.

Gojo kneeled by the bed and gently put Keisuke next to you. Keisuke stretched his arm out and grabbed your dress and tugged it to have you turn and face him. Gojo pressed his lips together and hung his head low as he let out a silent cry. How can he explain to Keisuke that you can't play with him now? If anything were to happen to you how can he explain to him why his mother is not there with him? He prayed to God that if he wants a life then he will hand over his only for you to live. Gojo cried as he watched Keisuke pout trying to get you to turn to him. He sucked in a sharp breath and mustered his strength. He had to be strong for him. When you wake up, you will be so proud of him for being a good father. A strong father.

"Mumma's sleeping. You want to give her a kiss?". Gojo asked and picked up Keisuke so he could softly kiss your cheek. Keisuke tried to grab your face but Gojo picked him up immediately "no no no. We can't disturb mama".. Gojo leaned down and kissed your forehead softly, "By the time you wake up, this will all be over. I promise".

Keisuke cried as he hopped in Gojo's arms to be free and lie next to you. It didn't make sense to him as to why his mother won't play with him? Why won't she hold him? Why won't she feed him?

Gojo walked out before Keisuke's cry could disturb you. "It's okay baby. She will be up soon. Then we'll all stay in bed all day". Gojo cooed as he rocked Keisuke gently.

It was around his dinner time so Gojo walked straight to the kitchen, he tried to prepare the formula while carrying Keisuke in the baby carrier. It was evident that Keisuke missed his mother as he would start wailing every half hour. Gojo struggled to make a formula while talking to Keisuke at the same time. He was too scared to let anyone either hold his baby or make his food. He could only trust himself. A task that usually takes about ten minutes took him 30 minutes to complete. Gojo sat down on a couch, draped a towel over his shoulder and held Keisuke in his arms as he tried to feed him with the bottle. But Keisuke refused and continued to cry. Gojo sighed and looked around the empty kitchen. He didn't know what to do. He had tears rolling down his cheeks.

His wife was unconscious, his baby was crying and he didn't know what to do. But then, like a message, he remembered your advice. Gojo carried Keisuke and the bottle to yours and his empty bedroom and sat down on the bed. He put Keisuke on the bed gently and ran inside the wardrobe to fetch your cardigan that you were wearing this morning.

"A baby recognises the mother by scent". Your words rang in his ear. He wrapped your cardigan around his arm and went back to hold Keisuke. Almost like magic, Keisuke stopped crying immediately. He sucked on the bottle gently and looked up at Gojo with wide blue eyes.

Gojo chuckled, "you're a mama's boy". Gojo shook Mr.Carrot above gently and continued to talk to Keisuke while he drank. When he was done Gojo put the cardigan on his shoulder and Keisuke smiled when he put his head on the cardigan. Gojo breathed a sigh of relief as Keisuke burped twice and dozed off happily.

Gojo walked around the bedroom with Keisuke in his arms. He thought about his own childhood, how when his mother had run away his father did not even bother to check on him. If it wasn't for the help he would have gone to bed starving. He would never let Keisuke feel that way. In a way he was glad that Keisuke is too young to remember any of this.

Shoko stood by the door and gestured to him to come out. Gojo walked out and gestured to her to be quiet as Keisuke was asleep. Shoko simply rolled her eyes.

"Is everything okay?". Gojo whispered.

Shoko nodded her head. "Y/n's vitals are fine. I am here to look after my godson". She nudged her chin towards Keisuke.

Gojo smiled. It was a relief that he had someone he could trust to look after Keisuke as he goes after Yuri. "Thank you".

Geto walked in with his hands in his pocket and smiled at Gojo. "Looks like he is finally asleep". He whispered.

"Yeah. It was quite hard".

"I am looking after him so you two be safe out there". Shoko said as she gently took Keisuke from Gojo's arm. Keisuke,wrapped in your cardigan, cooed in his sleep and grabbed her hair strand. Shoko remained still for a moment. She has always been the stoic one, the sassy one, but now as she held Keisuke in her arms she glared at the two men in front of her. "If anything happens to this baby I will burn this world down with my lighter".

Gojo chuckled and nodded. He leaned in and kissed the top of Keisuke's head and when he pulled back Geto leaned in and kissed the top of Shoko'a head. "a kiss for my baby".

"Thanks". Gojo smiled at Shoko.

"If you do something stupid I will steal your baby".

Gojo chuckled and nodded. In her own twisted way it was Shoko's way of saying she wanted him to be safe and that she loved Keisuke.

"Do I really need this?". Gojo asked, holding the bulletproof jacket in his hand.

Geto fastened the jacket over his black shirt and tied his hair in a neat bun.

"Obviously! Y/n would kill me if anything happened to you!".

Gojo chuckled and took his shirt off to put on the jacket. It was better if Yuri didn't know that he was prepared. He felt like he was going on one final battle of his life and on the other side a good life awaited him.

He buttoned his shirt and turned towards Geto, “Hey..”.

Geto, who was tying his shoelaces, looked up at him and crooked a brow.

“If things go south and if anything were to happen to me..there is a letter for y/n in the first drawer of my desk, give it to her”.

Geto chuckled, “Fuck off”.

-X-

Gojo had never felt so sure of his destiny. But now he knew. He knew as he kissed you and whispered his promise in your ear. He knew as he checked his gun. He knew as he walked out of the estate with Geto. He knew as he drove his black lamborghini huracan.

He stopped the car at a distance from the warehouse. He stared at the silver band on his finger. There was no set plan to follow. There was nothing to talk about. He got out of the car and glanced at a distance where Geto’s car was ready with the back up. He grabbed the papers and made his way towards the warehouse.

Yuri paced around the warehouse. She had kept it simple, at least tried to. A metal table at the center. Two chairs on either side. She had tried to keep her attire simple but sexy. Leather pants and a leather corset top. He knew Gojo hated loud makeup and stuck to her no-makeup makeup look. Her heels clanked on the ground as she paced from one end to the other. Jerry had texted her a while back, assuring her that Gojo had left alone.

Yuri stilled as she heard the approaching footsteps. She went and sat on one end of the metal table with her legs crossed, like a tigress waiting to pounce on her prey. The rolling doc doors opened, revealing a silhouette of a man. Yuri recognized Gojo right away. Gojo stepped in and the doors closed behind him.

Yuri took in a deep breath and shifted in her seat as Gojo walked towards her. Her breath hitched when his face became visible. Sunken red eyes, disheveled hair, tense jaw, arms flexing by his side.

Gojo didn’t say anything. He walked over and sat on the other side of the table.

“Hello, Satoru”.

“Hello, Yuri”.

“I’m sorry to have done this to you. I hope you know that I didn’t mean to hurt you”. Yuri spoke softly. “None of this was meant to hurt you”.

Gojo smiled. He wanted to get up and bash her head against the metal table but he held his ground. “It’s alright. It was best for both of us anyway. Y/n does not fit in my life”.

Yuri smiled, ear to ear. “Exactly! That’s exactly what I wanted you to see!”. Yuri took a breath of relief and relaxed in her seat.

Gojo smiled and nodded. “How did you get Hiro’s video?”.

Yuri chuckled. “Satoru..you are too innocent for this world! You see, I knew you way before Geto introduced me to you. Or should I say I introduced myself to Geto”. Yuri laughed.

“What do you mean?” Gojo asked. Trying his best to keep his demeanor pleasant enough.

Yuri took a deep breath. "You see.. I saw you for the first time the day you killed Naoya Zenin. I didn't even have to ask around much to find out about the history between the two of you". Yuri chuckled. "I just knew I wanted to be with you. You were strong, so sure of yourself. But I couldn't just approach you right?".

"Right…".

"With Naoya's death the clan was in pieces and I gathered all the important information I could. That's where I found the security footage of his townhouse and I was going to delete it. It seemed useless until I saw your face in one of those. So I kept it with me. I didn't know who Hiro or y/n were but I knew who you were".

Gojo stared at her blankly. "So you used the information you had on Zenin to gain Geto's trust?".

"Bingo! When I saw what you had become it broke my heart. I thought to myself whoever this dead woman was, she should not have this hold on you! But it turns out the dead woman was alive!!!!". Yuri threw her head back and laughed.

Gojo didn't want to hear your name from her mouth anymore. "Give me Hiro's video and I'll give you the divorce papers".

Yuri took out a phone and played the video for Gojo. "There you go". She slid the phone across the table. Gojo picked up the phone and sent the video to Geto, as a backup and to let him know that it was time to move.

He smiled and slid the papers across the table to Yuri. Yuri grinned and picked up the stack of papers. She flipped and her smile dropped and pulse picked up. These were not divorce papers. They were photos of Jerry, handcuffed and tied to a chair. Yuri blinked and looked at Gojo who was smiling at her.

"You made a huge mistake going after y/n".

"I…I…Satoru…Satoru..I..". She fumbled with the words and stood up immediately letting the metal chair fall to the floor. "..nno…this was all his idea!". She yelled, pointing at the photo of Jerry.

Gojo smiled and stood up with his hands in his pocket. He took out Jerry's phone and tossed it on the table. "Regardless of whose idea it was…". He walked around the table and Yuri took a step back for every step towards her. "...you should not have even thought about hurting my y/n".

Yuri trembled with fear. "I didn't want to! I swear I didn't want to hurt her!".

Gojo pouted and bent down to her eye level, "Right, you wanted to …kill her. You wanted to kill my y/n".

Yuri shook her head and stepped back. "No no no I…I didn't. You…you can take the video. I…I swear I won't ever hurt her again…please…please let me go". Yuri fell to her knees and begged.

Gojo sat on his toes and cooed at her. "Come now Yuri…where did your confidence go?".

"Please Satoru…please…don't kill me".

"Kill you?". Gojo clicked his tongue. "Why will I kill you? You didn't kill my y/n did you?".

"No no I didn't!". Yuri shook her head and swallows her tears.

"Exactly..you hurt her!" Gojo grinned in her face. "So now I will hurt you". Gojo said, pushing her forehead back with his index finger. He stood up and walked over to the table and pressed the button opening the rolling doors. "You're terrified of water right?". Gojo asked, tilting his head.

"Satoru please! No no! I saved your life! Do you not remember any of that?".

Gojo's smile dropped, "You're right". He said glaring at her. "You saved me. Then you drugged me. I can still forgive that. But you hurt y/n. I will never forgive you for that". He smiled as men rushed around him and stood in a semi circle around Yuri.

"As much as you love surprises, let me tell you what's going to happen to you. I owe you that much". Gojo cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck. "You are going to be taken to the middle of the sea. Then your arms and legs will be tied and you will drown in a metal cage…not killed. Of course not killed. I cannot kill someone who saved my life right?". Gojo shrugged.

Yuri stood up with trembling legs. She regretted telling Gojo about her worst fears.

"And this will continue the entire night, or till my y/n wakes up. Whichever comes later. Then you'd be given a choice…to either shoot yourself in the head or drown to death".

Before Gojo could turn and walk away, Yuri grabbed a gun from the holster of the man standing to her right and fired in Gojo's direction.

As soon as the noise rang every gun around her was pointed in her direction. Gojo stared at her blankly. His right hand went over to the left bicep and touched the wound. Gojo brought his hand forward and looked at the red coating his fingers. "You missed". He smirked devilishly. Yuri watched in horror as her shot missed the mark. Bullet that was aimed for his heart simply scratched his bicep. A wound that would recover in a few hours.

"You know salt water really stings on wounds? How about a wound for a wound?". Gojo smirked and took out his pocket knife. He held Yuri's trembling hands and made a long diagonal cut on both of her palms.

"That should do. Enjoy your night Yuri. It's your last one". Gojo winked and walked away as Yuri's screams faded in the background.

Gojo sat at the back seat of the G wagon with doors open as a medic patched his wound. Geto, who stood outside, glared at him with his arms folded over his chest.

"Fine you were right! I am glad I listened to you and wore the vest!".

Geto shook his head and lit a cigarette. The air was cool and this wasn't their first post fight banter. He watched as the men took Yuri away in a blacked out car at a distance.

"Why drowning?". Geto asked, staring at her flailing silhouette.

Gojo chuckled, "Because it's her worst fear. She can't swim and has been terrified of the open waters since she was a kid".

Geto nodded his head. It was fair game. She played with Gojo's worst fear and he played with hers.

"Any news on y/n?". Gojo asked.

Geto shook his head. "Shoko said she's stable and Keisuke has been sleeping well".

The medic was done wrapping a bandage around his bicep and Gojo got out of the car and stood next to Geto.

"Does it hurt?". Geto asked.

"Why? Are you going to kiss it?".

"Do you want me to?". Geto smiled and looked at Gojo through the corners of his eyes.

The van carrying Yuri went past them and Gojo finally felt free.

"How are you going to show y/n the video?".

Gojo sighed. "Maybe when she is awake and a bit more stable, I will tell her that you helped me find the video and that can also help justify your interrogation".

"I owe her an apology".

"She'll understand".

Gojo checked his watch, it was 2 am. "We should head home".

-X-

Yuri screamed and shouted as the guards locked her in a 6ft metal cage. By the time the cage was suspended in the air above the vast black ocean, she had accepted her fate. These men won't listen to her. She offered them money, sex, power but they wouldn't dare go against Gojo Satoru.

"Oh god of god of god". She muttered as the cage was slowly lowered to the ocean. She closed her eyes and held her breath as it completely submerged in the dark water. She flailed around in the cage like a fish. Her lungs burned and the scars on her palm stung badly. As soon as she thought she was going to drown the cage was lifted in the air. She fell on her knees and coughed out the salty water. Her wounds burned even more now as she tried to wipe them on her pants. She hissed and cried but her eyes burned with every tear that rolled down her cheeks..this was worse than hell and it was only the beginning of her long night.

As soon as she caught her breath the cage was dropped in the ocean again. Unlike last time when she was given a moment to catch her breath, this time the impact had her screaming under water. She grabbed on the rails on the roof of the cage and tried her best to stay above water but her palms hurt so bad that she immediately let go of the rods and floated in the cage, screaming, crying. Once again, as soon as water began to fill her lungs, she was brought up again.

The cage was brought up and Yuri looked down at the vast black ocean. Open water bodies terrified her but open water bodies at night was a whole other ballgame. She felt dizzy and disoriented. All she could taste was salt. All she felt was pain.

She remembered Gojo's words, "Don't worry Yuri. When you reach hell, the devil will pity you". Yuri smiled. Gojo always stood by his words. She looked up at the sky and prayed to fall unconscious so she wouldn't have to feel anything. Ironic, she thought to herself, how she wanted your fate right now. She laughed and then the cage fell again….

-X-

As soon as Gojo reached home he rushed through the doors to see you. It was around 3:00 am and though he was tired, mentally and physically he needed you. He was hoping that when he sees you you'd be up and waiting for him to get into bed but as soon as he reached your room, his heart fell.

You were still asleep.

He walked silently and kneeled by your bed and held your hand gently. "It's over. It's all over". He kissed your knuckles and smiled.

"When you wake up, you'll be in a new world. Where we will live happily. I have so much to tell you but all of that can wait. We have all the time in the world now". He kissed your cheeks and whispered three little words that he hoped you'd hear.

"Satoru?". Geto called out in a whisper, standing at the doorway.

Gojo kissed your forehead and walked out.

"Did Yuri tell you anything about how she got the video?". Geto asked.

Gojo walked alongside him with his hands in his pocket, "She used to work for Zenins and when Naoya was gone, she stole information from them to gain our trust. Somewhere in that pile of information she found the video…pure stroke of luck".

Geto cursed himself for not running a thorough background check on her. Had he known she had worked for Zenins he would have never employed her. How could he let that go under his radar?

"Drop it already, will you? It's not your fault".

Geto nodded.

"Why don't you and Shoko take the guest room? It's been a long day and I am sure she's tired too".

Geto smiled and nodded his head. He too was tired from everything that had happened. His added guilt only amplified his need for a good sleep.

-X-

You let out a heavy breath and suddenly were conscious of every muscle in your body. You felt awake but in a dream. Your arms felt heavy by your side. Your legs felt heavy. Your head felt heavy. You tried to raise your hand but could only manage to twitch your fingers. Was it night? Was it noon? Where was Keisuke? Where was Satoru? You opened your eyes slowly and saw the darkness around you. Something was attached to your arm, you moved your eyes to the side and saw a tune going into your wrist. Then it all clicked.

Your heartbeat picked up, you remembered feeling dizzy, you remembered calling for Jerry but you didn't remember whether he came or not. Shit did you faint with Keisuke in your arms? Did you hurt him? Was he okay? You tried to call for help but your throat felt painfully dry.

"..toru". You managed to whisper. Your vision was still clouded and the lack of visible light only added to your paranoia.

You took a deep breath and swallowed painfully to muster up courage to call for help.

"Satoru!". You managed to call in a hoarse voice.

You felt someone's hand on yours. You looked down and saw the tuft of Arctic hair. You smiled. Of course he was here.

"Satoru..". You called with tears rolling down your cheeks.

Gojo woke up with a jerk. He heard you call for him. He looked up and before the single tear could reach your jaw he was on his feet and leaning over you. "I'm here. I'm right here, love!".

Gojo pressed the button and was about to run out to get help but your feather light grip on his band stopped him.

"Stay". You whispered and Gojo relaxed.

"You're alright. Everything is fine". He assured you as he kissed your forehead.

"Ke.. Keisuke..".

"He's fine. He is sleeping right now. He's fine. You're both fine".

You smiled as you let out a sob.

The nurses rushed in and Gojo kneeled on the other side of your bed and held your free hand. "It's going to be alright". He assured you again.

A part of you felt like he was assuring himself. Like he was trying to convince himself that you were alright.

Shoko walked in rubbing her face and stood by your side and smiled. "This is not the reunion I had expected but good to see you y/n".

You smiled. "Can't…move".

Shoko smiled. "It's alright. You have just woken up and the dose I gave you was quite high. It'll take some time". She sat down on the chair Gojo had been on and checked your pulse. "Low but good". She stood up and gently helped you sit up slightly.

She helped you drink water with a sipper and wiped your face with the towel that Gojo handed her.

"What happened?". You asked meekly. Your voice lacked strength but at least you were able to talk now.

Shoko and Gojo exchanged looks and before Gojo could start she turned towards you and smiled. "You fainted. But luckily we were able to get you the help that you needed and you are stable now".

You frowned at her. "I..took meds".

Shoko's smile dropped and it concerned you. "Someone…Jerry switched your meds".

You tilted your head to register to what she just said. Jerry switched your meds? Was she talking about the same Jerry? You turned your head towards Gojo and his guilt ridden face confirmed your suspicion.

Gojo turned to Shoko, "Can I talk to her alone?".

Shoko nodded and got up. "Call for me if you need anything".

You turned to Gojo and fear in your eyes made his heart drop to his stomach. Gojo held your hand with both of his and explained everything that conspired in the past 24 hours. You listened with your heart on the edge as Gojo showed you the texts between him and Yuri.

Anger rose inside of you when you saw the video but it was soon replaced by sadness knowing that Gojo was in such a state where people like Yuri took advantage of him. Yet here he was, more worried about you than what could have happened with him. You wanted him to be angry for himself but instead he was worried about how you'd look at him.

Anger rose inside of you when he showed you Hiro's video. How could you let that happen? Had you stayed for a minute more then Gojo would have witnessed the birth of his son. You were angry at Hiro for taking this one thing away from you. Sure he wanted Gojo to suffer but what about you? What did you do to deserve not having the love of your life by your side? How could Hiro disregard your feelings? You were thankful to him for giving you an escape but did you even need one? You needed to have Satoru by your side. You needed a peaceful sleep. You needed to feel loved. You needed to hold Gojo's hand when you thought you were dying…and Hiro took all of that away from you.You sobbed as the video finished playing. "I'm so sorry". You sobbed in your hand. "Oh god…what have I done….I'm so so sorry".

Gojo stood up and wrapped his arms around you as he let you sob in his chest. "It's not your fault y/n. It's not your fault". Gojo let out a shuddered breath when he felt your body tremble in his arms. He sat down on the bed and rested your head on his chest. "It's going to be fine. We are going to be fine. Breathe, please".

"No no no no…I…I'm so sorry". You clenched his shirt in your hand. “I..shouldn't have listened to Hiro…I..Oh god..I’m so sorry Satoru. I..I am so sorry”

"No love. You have nothing to apologize for. You did what was best for you and our son. You did a good job".

You looked at him, “But…you..you couldn’t be there because of..If only I would have stayed for a minute longer..”.

“Y/n…You didn't do it with the intention fo hurting me, okay? You were just protecting yourself and our son”

"What about Jerry? I let a man like that near Keisuke and …if only I hadn't…".

"No no no. It's not your fault that people are bad".

"Satoru , he could have hurt Keisuke…oh god ..He could have hurt my baby!".

Gojo sighed. "It's my fault y/n. I told you I'd take care of you and Keisuke and I…couldn't".

"It's not. You did everything right. It just happened to be Jerry. Nobody …could have expected it”.

Gojo kissed your head. "Okay".

"Where is…Jerry?".

You closed your eyes, and Gojo cupped your face with one hand and wiped the tears off your face.

"Why didn't you tell me about this? I would have believed you".

Gojo was at a loss of words. He looked down, ashamed and shook his head. "What was I supposed to tell you? I know the look on your eyes y/n. You love me but I know a part of you is also scared. I see that. I wanted to tell you about Hiro but I had no memory of that video. I ...I told you there was nothing between Yuri and I and then....this...I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't let you go"

You looked down. You had been too harsh on him and you felt bad for making him feel that he had to hide things from you and Jerry used it against him. He knew Gojo would not confess to you. He knew Gojo would be scared of the video and that's why they sent both the videos together. You were so angry at everyone for hurting him.

Gojo shook his head, "You don't have to see him, love".

"I just… How could he even think when you would be anything like your father when he has practically raised you? Satoru, you are nothing like your father…You are kind and attentive and you always prioritize us over your work …. Keisuke is so lucky to have a father like you…I am lucky to have a son with you".

Gojo looked at you and smiled sadly, “Do you mean it? Really mean it?”

“Yes!”. You said, immediately. “I mean it with every fiber of my body”.

“Thank you”. Gojo kissed the side of your head.

“I hope Jerry rots in hell for everything he has made you and Keisuke go through”.

Gojo smirked, "As you wish".

"And Yuri too..but where is Yuri?".

Gojo took a deep breath, "She's there. Do you want her to live?".

You remained silent. You didn't know whether you had it in you to kill someone. But Yuri threatened your son, drugged Satoru…"No. I don't think she deserves to live".

"Okay".

Your eyes drifted to the white band under his shirt. You sat upright and touched it gently. "What happened?". You looked at Gojo.

He sighed. "It's nothing"

"It doesn't look like it's nothing. What happened, Satoru?".

"Y/n ..You need to rest right now".

"No…no I need to know what happened to you?".

Gojo sucked in a sharp breath. "Yuri…. shot me".

Your mouth hung open as you tried to get up but Gojo put his hand on your shoulder and calmed you down "What…what do you mean she shot you? …why are you not in a hospital?".

Gojo smiled sadly and pulled you into him."Because it wasn't serious and I wanted to spend time with my wife".

"Satoru…it’s not ..corny. It can be serious and It can get infected or something". You glared at him.

Gojo smiled. It was adorable how your knowledge of getting shot comes from movies and his’ comes from his experience.."Y/n…It's just a scratch.I am more than fine. I'm here and you're here and that's all that matters".

You shook your head disapprovingly. What happened to all the safety and security when he was almost shot? “No no. You should still get it checked once again”.

“Okay, I will but not now. I need to be with you now”. He grinned.

"Did you have a hard time with Keisuke?". You asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Gojo took a deep breath and thought about how he had never seen Keisuke cry this much. How clueless he felt every moment you were not around. "He missed his mom for sure".

"Did you feed him?".

"Yes".

"Did you bathe him?".

"No. He was too fussy and I didn't want to risk it".

"Where is he now?".

"With Suguru"

You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you mad at Suguru?:. Gojo asked.

“No. I understand now. I am glad you had him”.

You yawned and groaned, feeling the tiredness creep in.

"You should sleep now y/n. It's been a tough day". Gojo got off the bed and helped you lie down. He pulled the duvet and tucked you in how you do for Keisuke.

"Can you…. stay with me? …..Please?". You bit your lip nervously. After hearing everything that happened while you were unconscious a part of you was scared to be without Gojo. You needed him to feel secure. You needed him to tether you to reality and save you from spiraling into your what ifs.

Gojo nodded "Of course I will", and got in bed with you. He winced as he lay on the arm that was injured and you glared at him. "just a scratch?".

Gojo smiled and rubbed your back. "Yes, love. Just a scratch".

-X-

When you woke up again you were no longer ridden with anxiety. Instead you felt even more relaxed when you saw Gojo walking around the bedroom with Keisuke in his arms.

"Good morning". You said, sweetly.

As soon as Gojo turned towards you Keisuke started crying and stretching his arms out to you. Gojo brought him to you immediately and you took him in your arms.

"Did you miss me, munchkin? Sorry mummy took a long nap". You cooed as you wiped his tears. Keisuke buried his head in the crook of your neck and wrapped his tiny fingers tightly around your necklace. His wailing stopped the moment you kissed his chubby cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I promise I'll never leave you again". You kissed his head as he sniffled. You peppered kisses on his face and it made him relax in your arms. "Were you a good boy? Did you give daddy a hard time?"

"Did he give you a hard time?". You asked, looking at Gojo.

Gojo sat down next to you and stretched his legs, wrapping one arm around you and resting the other one on your lap. "Not at all. But he missed you. I was so scared for him. I couldn't even explain anything to him".

You smiled sadly and pecked Gojo on the lips. "You did a great job".

"You think so? It took me over 30 minutes to make the formula".

You chuckled at him. Sure that was surprising but you didn't blame him. "That's alright. You still did a good job". You understood that it wasn't easy to take care of a baby when everyone around you was a possible threat, when your wife was lying unconscious, and there was a psychopath out to get you.

"I'll call Shoko. You still look weak".

You kept your hand over his and looked at him pleadingly, "Few more minutes.. please".

Gojo smiled and sat back down pulling you into him.

You rested your head on his chest, brought his hand up and kissed his scarred knuckles. You felt safe in his arms. Somewhere in your heart the last crack closed up and you finally…after four years…felt like you were home.

-X-

1st August,

You stared at yourself in the full length mirror and smiled. You looked like those dolls on top of the wedding cake. The lace veil draped behind you and the white silk gown fit you like a glove. The diamond earring that Gojo sent for you this morning casted a kaleidoscope pattern on your collarbone. Your eyes drifted towards the calendar on the wall. August 1st. The weather outside wasn't gloomy. It was surprisingly pleasant. Not too windy, not too sunny. Gojo had wanted a grand wedding but you insisted that you get married in the lawns of the estate that you had spent months taking care of. You didn't want a grand ceremony. You wanted to get married at a place that you called home.

Contrary to advice of the wedding planner, you had decided to do your hair and make-up yourself with help from Shoko. You wanted to keep it all very minimal. You looked at your hands and smiled at the imperfect white nailpolish painted by Gojo. He wanted to add his own touch to your look and you couldn't say no.

You picked up the sapphire brooch and pinned it on your left, your something blue belonged to Gojo's mother. Your something old was your own mother's hairpin that you had treasured for years. You wondered if your parents were her would they be happy? You hope that wherever they were, they were smiling for you.

You needed this time alone in your bridal suite to gather your nerves. The last few months passed by like a gust of wind. Keisuke was not almost 7 months old and Satoru decided that it was the right to get married for the second time…or third. Though you didn't demand for one as you were already officially married, Gojo insisted that you have a ceremony. You agreed.

Though he didn't need to propose, Gojo still went on a knee when the three of you took your first family vacation to Ginzan Onsen. It was your Ghibli dream come true and you said yes to the ring once again. You still remembered being so in love as you walked along the streets with Gojo’s one hand in yours and the other pushing the stroller. You were no longer with Gojo because you had to be. You were here because you wanted to be. You wanted to welcome him home and make his lunches. You wanted to write notes for him and pack it in a bento box. There was something adorable about the most feared man in Tokyo blushing over a note in his bento box.

Now you stood here, on the 1st of August, thinking about how a year ago you were pregnant with Keisuke and had just found out about the risks of pregnancy. In the August before that you were sitting in a bus, on the way to the office where the love of your life was engaged to another woman. Now you are about to get married to the man you love .Funny how life changes in three Augusts.

As you walked down the aisle with Mr.Itadori on your right and Mrs.Itadori on your left , with your bouquet of orchids in your hand, you saw the man you had loved for the last five Augusts stand on the other end. Everyone was looking at you and you were sure you should have acknowledged them and smiled at them but you couldn't tear your eyes off of the man in the deep blue tuxedo. Handsome as ever.

Gojo felt like someone punched the air out of his lungs as soon as he saw the doors open. The wedding march faded in the background and his world stopped moving. This is what he lived for. Everything that he had endured till now led up to this moment and he would do it all again just to see you smile at him as you walked down the aisle. You were his sun, his moon, his star.

“You look beautiful”.

“Thank You”. You smiled and took his hand.

Gojo had boasted that he would not be the one to get emotional but here he was, fighting his tears as he read his vows. He lost the battle when you read yours and you chuckled as you wiped the tear off of his face. You cried a little too when he kissed you. But Gojo was quick to wipe it away with his thumb.

Geto stood next to Gojo with Keisuke, in a matching blue tuxedo, in his arms. He looked at Shoko and they exchanged smiles.

Instead of a flower girl you had Yuri happily scattering flowers for you. It was surprising how quickly he bonded with Satoru. During the reception Yuji ran up to you and introduced you to another kid, who Yuji claimed to be his best friend even though they had met an hour ago. Megumi,whom you recognized to be Toji’s son. He seemed like a quiet kid, opposite Yuji. You smiled and patted both of their heads as they ran away hand in hand. You turned and continued to talk to the man who was taking over part of Gojo’s business so Gojo could spend more time with you. Nanami Kento. Few minutes later you saw Megumi and Yuji being scolded by a girl, about their age, and smiled. You wished that these three retain their youthfulness even when they grow up.

Months later when you and Gojo took Keisuke to Gyoen park. The lake smiled. Years ago two hearts broke by its shore and now they had found their way to each other like waves to shore. Gojo smiled as he saw you show different flowers to Keisuke. It was surprising that his first word was "addada" and Gojo rubbed it in your face for weeks. He claimed that he had won the bet but you only rolled your eyes at him. Even now as you point to a flower Keisuke looks at Gojo and calls him in a come here motion. "Addada", Gojo gave you a smug grin, reminding you that he had won the bet. Gojo smiled and walked to his son. In that moment Gojo was grateful that he never stopped fighting for you. If there was anything worth fighting for in this world, to him it was you.

A.N : Thank you to everyone who has supported this story. It's been a long and happy journey and I hope you enjoyed your time with the story. I hope it brought you comfort and happiness when you needed it.

It's 2 am as I write this and I can't describe how emotional I feel having completed this story. I hope it was everything you had expected and that you are happy with how things turned out. Thank you for supporting me so far and I promise that I will continue to do my best for you 💗

With lots of love,

Your Priestess.

@hiqhkey @chemtrails-club @simplyrosesxr @foggyperfectiondragon @sofi786 @vesta-ro @kimvmarvel @mykyoon @shintin @attackonsimpp @pyschopotatomeme @lilith412426 @shuxjodie @sagejin @cloudsinthecosmos @hecateria @froggylust @lightblueexorcist @watyousayin @creolequeen11210 @s13nnnna @shartnart1 @the-crane-wives @musababy @loquia @ackerstain @allofffmypeaches @regalillegal @erintaro @commandertorinshepard @gojo-sunglasses @tspice283 @iam-mia9 @screwyou3 @denypipa @smolkazumi @winter-bearv @mc-reborn @pangolynnn @sindela @daintyazra @purpleguk @iam-mia9 @sammyiguess @ritsatoru @5seos @kirby-star @vr00m-vr00m @qualitygiantshoepsychic @littlemochabunni

532 notes · View notes

siberat · 11 months ago

Text

Mukbang part 6

“So, how about we give these pancakes a try? *Grins* As I said prior, this treat is what I am most excited to try! I found this recipe online and was excited to try it for this event. Cinnamon Pancakes! These were fun to make; I loved watching them change color on the frying pan and fluff up! *Licks lips* I cannot wait to sink my teeth into these!

*Takes a bite, face lights up* Wow. That cinnabar is potent! But it’s so tasty and goes well with the fluffy and buttery taste of the breakfast cake. And this syrup? So sweet and warm! Perfect combination, if you ask me!

And it looks like a topic of conversation just pinged. *Reads text* Oh, this is definitely on point. But it's a tricky question for sure. *Looks at camera* Why do you all make me suffer so? Just listen to what this ‘Nonny asked. If you had to choose to only ever eat lunch, breakfast, or dinner for the rest of your life, which would you choose?

*Clearly throat* First, I am going to have to have a little chat with you. I don’t usually get angry, and I am trying to hold back the inner beast here. But listen. *Face goes stern as a finger is wagged at the camera* You forgot a meal. Dessert. How could you? You cannot forget about cannolis, cakes, ice cream, and pies! *Busts into laughter* I’m just playing; I am not mad. Though there really should be that fourth choice, however, that would not be the healthiest choice.

Hmmmmm *Face deep in thought* I suppose I couldn’t pick brunch? I think that would be considered cheating. * Takes another bite of pancake* This is tough. I simply adore breakfasts; they seem the most comforting and wholesome. And nothing beats chowing down on such rich and sweet foods first thing in the morning. Well, after my morning yoga and prayers.

But my absolute favorite meal would have to be supper. To me, it’s the most filling. I love Cyber/tonian sushi, noodles with all the fixings like a sunny-side-up egg, fresh veggies, and meat. *A dreamy look appears on face* Even some of Rat/chet’s favorites are up there, believe it or not. Greasy burgers and fries, lasagna, fried cyberchicken. *Giggles* Yes, I ate plenty of the food tonight. But another reason I enjoy suppers is that Rat/chet and I usually eat these meals together. Yes, our suppers are later in the evenings, but my mech loves coming home to a fresh, home-cooked meal on the table. *Pouts* if he runs late, sometimes I have to microwave them. *Gives a sweet smile, then devours the rest of the pancakes* But we always enjoy the time spent together!

Now it’s time to move on to another dish and another ask. What shall I try next, hmmm? *Bites lip while looking over the table* Ooooo, I know. This pudding. Doesn’t it look so yummy? It has a layer of crunchies on top of some thick whipped cream, then two flavors of pudding: amber and bronzite. And the very bottom is a moist bed of hematite cake. *Grabs a spoon and takes a bite* This is so rich and creamy!

Alright, the next question comes from Auto/bot Jerry. This is one crazy robo-mouse! Let’s see what’s on his mind. ‘Dri/ft, it’s Jerry! I always wondered how you’re able to eat so much and never get full, even from getting so huge. Speaking of, mind if I rest inside your flabs while you eat? Please? I haven’t bothered Rat/chet today, I promise!’

*Raises brow* Well, I am glad you haven’t pestered Rat/chet today, but I am banking on you saving that for another day. *Sighs* I’ll find out when you do; my lover always comes back in an extra grumpy mood when you do tease. *Eats more pudding*

How can I eat so much? Well, that’s simple. This food is just so flavorful and, dare I say, addictive. Each mouthful tastes like another! And before you know it, your dish is finished, and you are ready for another one. *Smiles and laughs* Now, about never getting full…. Well, that’s not quite the truth. Trust me, I am feeling it right now. *Rubs his grumbling belly* The dull aches are turning into a steady pain that’s radiating all over my belly. Do you hear my belly crying angrily? *Huffs out air* I just hope I can finish! *Gobbles up more pudding, licking some from his lips* My golly, I sure did get huge…Just look out how thick my thighs became and how my belly takes much of my lap!

But I am onto the best part of this treat. *Shows camera* I have reached the cake layer! *Scoops cake and pudding into mouth* Now, as for resting in my flab rolls…. Oh, I bet it would be so warm and cozy for sure! Perfect place to take a nap. Sadly, I am gonna have to decline, though. I am simply too stuffed to house a little robomouse between these rolls. I don’t think there’s enough room! Plus, my belly is all achy and quivery as is without you squirming around. You’ll have to take a rain check for another time. *Polishes off the pudding*

Well, that sure was scrumptious! And eating one sweet tastes like another. How about this Alti/hex roll? I just love this earthy-red brown shell and pink cream rolled in such a pretty little coil. And the confectionary copper flakes look ever so pretty. *Picks up the dish and shows camera* Now, this usually serves four. And I know I should save some for my conj/unx…All I can promise is to try! * Takes a huge bite, optics light up*

Hmmmmmmmm. Very tasty! The cake is light and fluffy, yet the cream filling is thick and sweet. Such a perfect combination! *A ping is heard* We have another ask from a viewer. This one comes from Soup. Oh, that is a lovely name…. soup is such a comforting food to eat on cold winter nights! But Soup wants to know my record for the most I have ever eaten in one sitting. *Raises brows*

Not to sound lame, but I think this time. I know I came close some other times, but if I finish all these plates of food, this one will take the cake. * Chuckles, eating another large slice of rolled cake* I rarely go overboard like this, to be honest. While it feels ever so lovely and cozy to be soft and squishy like this… *Kneads at pliable belly flab* …The next few days are going to be restrictive. Sure, I can walk still…*Optics dart back and forth* Well, at least I hope so. Waddling would be more like it! *Nervously chuckles, takes another bite*

But it’s challenging. Plus, the extra weight gets tiresome lugging around and you get out of breath so quickly. I ensure I have a few days off after eating so much. *Shrugs* You know time off doesn’t come around often.

Needless to say, I cannot overindulge myself to this extent that much.

This kind of ties into another question I just received from Hoot. ‘Has your weight gain been distracting to yourself or other crew mates?’ *Tilts his helm as the last of the cake roll is consumed* Yes, it has distracted other crew members, and sadly, some of it wasn’t very nice. When I get this huge, I usually don’t go strolling out and about. Thankfully, no emergencies ever popped up that needed my presence. I typically make sure some other high-ranking officer is available.

But I have gone out and about with more of a starter belly. Most mech’s didn’t really care. *Optics glance over remaining dishes, widening upon spotting the next dish, a cinnamon bun* There would be some glances at my spare tire, and some would try to poke. *Bites lip* I don’t mind if Rat/chet pokes at me, but I do not like to be touched by other mechs. I know it wasn’t meant in jest, but it makes me uncomfortable. *Sighs*

But let me interrupt by showing off this little gem. Just look at all this thick icing on top of this cinnamon bun! This is going to be such a sugary snack! And it’s going to go right to my hips.

*Takes a bite* Hmmmmmmm… Very fresh, buttery taste. And the icing? Very delightful! *Smacks lips* But to continue on what I was saying. Who would think it’s alright to just walk up to someone and touch them? Does anyone else find that invasive? I’m not talking about a clap on the back or touching my arm… poking a tummy is…a bit private, I think. *Takes another bite* Some people get too handsy if you ask me.

But I noticed some turned heads as I wonder about. Some linger long enough to make me question if they like what they see. *Winks*

But then some laugh and make fun. Wh/irl was the worst. I mean, okay, I can overlook the staring at my paunch, but the calling out was embarrassing. I was at Swe/rves, and he shouted insults about my weight and appearance across the whole bar. He hollered stuff like fat pig, heifer, what a lumpy sack of slag. *Cheeks redden* And to hear the laughter erupt from other bar patrons? It was just too much! Trust me, I have been called worse but turned right around and left. *Takes another large bite of the baked good*

They act as if chub is the most disgusting thing in the world. Like it’s some kind of disease that if you get too close, you’ll catch it. *Shakes helm* They need to learn more about contagious diseases. And understand that just because someone sports a belly, they still deserve to be treated with respect. We’re not cyber/animals, after all. *Finishes off cinnamon bun*

However, I do not wish to dwell on the bad times. Now, Have I ever distracted myself? Never during anything super important. I am good at staying focused on the tasks at hand. However, during…um... *Sheepishly smiles* I sure hope he’s not watching! But during Ult/ra Mag/nus’ long, rambling speeches, I caught myself idly groping belly flab. It just helps pass the time during the boring- I mean informative speeches. *Smiles* Really, Ult/ra Mag/nus makes several good and wise points… he just tends to get into so much detail over everything. Before you know it, you just listened to how important it is to use matching paperclips or something like that. *Shakes helm* He means well, I can tell you that.

This has been ever so fun tonight. I sure am enjoying myself so far. How about my lovely viewers? Are you having a good time? I sure hope so! It sure has been fun sharing a meal together and getting to know each other! And I am almost finished, though, definitely going to struggle to finish! Please send good, encouraging thoughts!

… ……

Still taking on more askes! So, if you have a question for Dri/ft, send it in! You can send multiples. Also, if you wanted to ask as another T/F character- just state so! Let’s keep this mukbang going and see if our dear swordsmech can handle all that food infront of him!

#chubformers #siberatart #mukbang #chubby belly

12 notes · View notes

dollarbin · 1 year ago

Text

Dollar Bin #2:

Jerry Jeff Walker's Viva Terlingua!

There are certain truths we hold as self evident. Anyone who ever takes their valuable time to read the nonsense in this blog knows that Blood on the Tracks and Damn the Torpedoes belong in every middle aged white guy's record collection. Similarly, they know that Eric Clapton, post Cream, is not worth listening to and that you are better off never having seen Van Morrison live in my lifetime, and I'm older than you. It's easy to know the truth. Neil Young has no faults, unless you wind up marrying him. Beer is good for me.

This second installment of the Record Bin makes the case for a lesser known truth: Jerry Jeff Walker deserves intentional, honored space in your very own dollar bin. Indeed, he deserves to take up significant quality time in your life! We'll use his best known record, Viva Terlingua!, as our basis of proof.

But first, if you don't already have its perfectly shambolic opening notes running in your head, give a listen:

youtube

Walker tells us exactly what we need to know in that opening riff and his "Ahhhh..... Buckeroos": we are mid-story already; he's just back from a smoke break in the pig pen and he's picking up where he left off, sliding some seemingly insignificant musings at us and his anxious producer Mike, musings which actually contain the meaning of life, at least according to Jerry Jeff.

This whole record sounds like a legendary party we are forever sad to have missed. Come to the end of the record and you'll wish the party would keep going - and then it does keep going, with the band diving back into yet another chorus of London Homesick Blues. Are these people still drunk?

I don't know about you but other music which strives to conjure up a live drunken hoedown - I'm thinking of Rainy Day Woman and the frat boy early take of Madame George - always sound a little sinister. Getting stoned, as in rocks being thrown at you, doesn't sound fun no matter how much those Nashville Cats scream, nor does getting raided by transphobic cops. But I'm forever fired up about the party inside Viva Terlingua. Burritos! Tacos! Everclear!

youtube

Not even The Basement Tapes sound like this much fun to me. Sure, I'd love find myself in Big Pink, making shit up with Bob during I'm Your Teenage Prayer. But while we were at it, I'd have to keep an anxious eye on Richard Manuel, knowing the doom that lies in his/our future. No so with Viva Terlingua: transport me back to Luckenbach, Texas in August 1973 and I'd get drunker than I did on car bombs at my famous brother's (https://doomandgloomfromthetomb.tumblr.com/) wedding. I'd remember every glorious moment of that night with Jerry Jeff for the rest of my life.

But let's talk about Jerry Jeff's singing. Van Morrison is my favorite screamer and Sandy Denny is the best singer in the history of white people, but who else can turn their own voice-crack into joyful art? Catch Jerry at the end of Sangria Wine: Woah-OH!-oh-oh-oh, he LOVES sangria wine. Jerry shows us just how high you can get on the stuff, his voice staggering with joy. It's not beautiful; it's awesome.

The voice-crack, I declare, is a vital ingredient to a lot of the best manrock from the 70's. It's a big part of Kristofferson's whole wonderful shtick, and I'd argue that one of the big reasons why we all love hanging out in the Ditch with Neil is because he falls apart vocally while telling us he's a vampire or while describing the sun climbing his hood ornament. Sure, Richard Thompson has shown us since the 80's that he is well poised to voice a cartoon British lion in a musical remake of Robin Hood, but I prefer him when he's searching for notes he'll never find on his first record. Apparently his song Mary and Joseph from that outing is too bizarre and off tune to even merit existence on youtube, otherwise it would appear below this sentence. But trust me, it features some Jerry Jeff level voice-cracks.

While we are at it, the voice-crack seems to be missing from modern music: a problem! Jeff Tweedy reaches for one on occasion, I suppose, and Adele has taken over for Sarah McGlachlan, turning them into graceful beauty. But who's out there Bob Pollarding themselves from amateurism to epic in one wild ride of a syllable?

Don't be fooled, however: Viva Terlingua is far more than just a jubilant rager. The songwriting and arrangements are discreetly brilliant: everyone sounds drunk, and maybe they really are, but they worked their asses off to get things straight beforehand.

Let's start with the second track, Desperadoes Waiting For A Train. Walker had already introduced the world to the relatively unknown Guy Clark with his cover of LA Freeway a few years before but Clark's Desperadoes is on a whole other level. It's the kind of song that leaves you wondering what else a songwriter could possibly have left to say afterwards about their own biography. Write a song like Desperadoes and there can't be much more in the tank. Name another song that is convincingly about the love between a boy and his grandma's drunk boyfriend. Can't be done. Find me another song that's half as sad and sweetly funny at the same time, or that's so straight-forward and concise in its story telling, yet cryptically elusive in its chorus. How are this kid called Sidekick and the weeping old man who is teaching him how to drive like Desperadoes Waiting For a Train? I don't know, but they are, and it's awesome.

The whole thing is a master class in song lyrics as far as I'm concerned, standing alongside Paul Simon's Hearts and Bones and Kristofferson's Sunday Morning Coming Down as songs that tell you exactly what you need to know about a relationship or person through surprising, crystalline imagery. They are perfect short stories.

And Walker owns the track, mournfully and righteously working through each stage of the boy's unique relationship with that driller of oil wells, that old school man of the world. Walker can flat out sing, and the slower the beat, the deeper and more aching he becomes.

Somehow, even though he was capable of writing a transcendent song like Mr Bojangles, Walker is often at his best when singing other people's songs. He doesn't cover them, he recreates them, a la our beloved late Sinead O'Connor. Check out Walker's version of One Too Many Mornings from Viva Terlingua's sequel of sorts, A Man Must Carry On. Jerry Jeff writes his own damn verse!

youtube

Finally, how about his amazing band. Take one of the album's lesser tracks, Get it Out. Leading into the bridge an organ surges, then backs off; no player on this record claims their own space for more than a perfect moment. Instead, they pass around leadership with as much care as a shared bottle of the good stuff among thoughtful friends. Later in the bridge all the players rest together and let Jerry ad his choir of drunken angels dive into some CSNish do do do dos. Together they make the blog's favorite villain, Stephen Stills, and his dopey band mates sound like they'll never even get the chance to love the one their with because everyone out there would rather get it on with Jerry and his crew.

Anyway, go and get your own copy of this record. I've bought not one, but three copies of Viva Terlingua in my life: the first for $12, which skips, the second for $5, which skips, and a final one, with full exasperation, for $1, which.... doesn't skip! Why, oh why, do I ever look outside the dollar bin?

#jerry jeff walker #vinyl records #richard thompson #sandy denny #sinead o'connor #bob dylan #neil young #stephen stills sucks #Youtube #guided by voices

9 notes · View notes

outpost51 · 1 year ago

Note

hi happy blorbo day pls tell me about the big beeboo crime lizard pls pls pls

[cracks knuckles]

For the uninitiated, Baxog “Bax” en-Dagha is the Syndicate’s current Big Boss. Emphasis on big. Bax is unnecessarily large at 8’6 and he’s built like an armored tank. He’s fast on land, he’s fast in the water, and if you give him a good enough ship (and you will give him that fucking ship, baspe) he’s fast in the air, too. He doesn’t just run Eir Terminal, he owns the damn thing, so like. Good luck with fuel prices and not getting robbed and or stabbed if you haven’t kowtowed enough. BIG fan of gourmet cooking. Downside to this: he’s a marine ix’ai. Which means if he can buy it, catch it, or kill it, he’ll eat it. He draws the line at large sapients most of the time — really hard to enjoy a meal you have to pry out of armor but he will absolutely chow down on an uknuk to make an example.

GREAT fucking chef tho. Might feed you one of your crewmates. Just don’t ask what you’re eating, it’ll be fine, I’m sure Jerry is fine.

So, how does an ix'ai from a prominent bloodline with a long history of bold, brilliant military officers and highly successful business owners end up one of the galaxy's most feared criminal overlords?

Mommy issues. Ambition.

His childhood was pretty great — his dad, Zydeg, is the Admiral of the Black Fleet, his mom, Sresi, is the CEO of Tallox Defense Solutions, and he grew up in a big house with four little sisters (Odis, Dagne, Betrig, and Sada) and a beautiful cliffside view of the Tonyes Ocean. When their chores were all done for the day, he and his sisters would often go sailing, cliffdiving, or swimming with their cousins. He graduated at the top of his class at Eastern Ridge State School, maintained his sparkling reputation throughout mandatory service, and quickly cemented his spot as the family’s golden child. When he was 25, his mother decided to open a new branch of Tallox in another quadrant. Naturally, Bax expected Sresi to place him in charge, especially since he’d been her second-in-command for the main headquarters.

Nope. Dagne. Bax had plenty of charisma, sure, and he was quick as a whip, but charisma and book smarts only got someone so far in the business world. Dagne, though? Mumsie’s little bluescale was cunning. Cutthroat. Vicious. Bax was too much like his uncle (her brother, Kenos) — he let the opportunities come to him, rather than making them for himself. Fine. Mumsie knew her children best. He took his forehead kiss with a strained smile, and dropped it.

Just kidding, it ate him alive. He didn’t sleep for days. He was second-fucking-best. To his third-born baby sister, no less.

He’d show her. He’d show all of them that he wasn’t just a layabout lounging on his laurels.

Bax decided to start his own business. But he couldn’t ask his parents for the startup funds, that would defeat the purpose, and he had limited funds of his own, so what was a poor lizard to do?

Steal. Duh.

So he did. Well… sort of. Is it technically stealing if it was the GEA agent that fell for his charms, diverted the shipment of confiscated weaponry to Bax’s warehouse, quit his job, sold his home to fund the startup for which he was definitely going to be a partner, and ultimately got shot behind the warehouse and sunk into the Tonyes?

Charisma only got so far in the business world, Bax’s big beefy ass.

Bax bought a piece of shit deep-space mining station with the life insurance money. Hey, he’s not all bad — he named it after Eir… something-or-another. The man had a last name that Bax definitely remembers. Anyway, he used the sales of that first shipment to pay for the heavy, heavy renovations Eir Terminal needed. It was 70% rust and 20% prayers at that point, it — oh, the other 10%?

That’s somewhere out in deep space, it’s the amount of mass that was vaporized when the reactor blew. It’s fine, Bax has a high resistance to radiation and the meter read well below that threshold — it’s since been mostly cleaned up, nothing to worry about! Maybe make sure your own meter’s hardware is up to date and don’t eat or drink anywhere it clicks too much.

Where were we? Right, renovations proceeded smoothly, with Bax funding each step of the way shipment-by-shipment — it wasn’t the most efficient way, no, but it got the job done within a year. Then came the next step: sustainability.

Of the business, that is. Eir Terminal is out in space, there aren’t any trees to kill in outer space, so as far as Bax was concerned, the environments of the galaxy were someone else’s problem. But, there was also no wind or sunlight or water out in space either, so fuel was needed to keep the lights on, and fuel costed credits. He gathered his “board of directors” — which, at the time, consisted of his uncle Kenos, Besh Starhopper, an uknuk engineer he’d become fond of, and Čimte, the tamerron he won in a game of cards — to come up with something that could make the station pay for itself.

Kenos, ever the brilliant entertainer, suggested a nightclub to start, and partition out the rest of the space they weren’t using for docking and storage to other restaurants, bars, et cetera.

Eir Terminal was paying for itself twice over within a galactic standard year.

So, when Baxog returned home to Ehek for the next big gathering — the anniversary of the ceasefire between the zal and the ix’ai — it was with his head held high, a spring in his step, and Čimte on his hip (she likes to be tall). He was ready to be the prodigal son again, Mumsie’s favorite, rub his profit margin right in Dagne’s little face —

The welcome he received wasn’t anything like the welcome he expected. Sresi’s first words to her son weren’t “welcome home” or “we missed you” or “I’m so sorry I put your sister in charge of the second branch when it should have been you.” No, the first thing out of her mouth was: “I hope that thing has had its shots.”

That thing was his darling little princess and the second friend he’d ever made rather than bought. That thing was his rock when the business wasn’t doing so well at the beginning, while they were still waiting on the advertising to draw people in. Did Čimte have legal rights as a person anywhere in the galaxy? No. But it didn’t make her any less sapient, and it certainly didn’t warrant vitriol so blatant it made her flinch.

Odis once had a short fling with another student she met in her night classes — an uknuk whose name Bax had never learned — when she was twenty. They never intended for it to be anything serious, but the girl missed being around a big family after so long in the dormitories, so Odis invited her to one of their gatherings. Rather than introduce her as a friend, which likely would have gone over much better, Odis introduced her to their mother as her girlfriend, emphasizing that they were keeping it casual for both her companion’s sake as well as their mother’s.

“And it better stay that way,” Sresi had replied.

Odis never had her brother’s spine, but she still had one, and fired back: “What if it doesn’t?”

Their mother, ever the cutthroat who refused to be bested in her own house, scoffed. “I raised you to have higher standards,” she said, and Odis… deflated. Her friend left, and she hadn’t brought anyone home since.

Fuck that.

“This thing,” Bax gritted out, “is my companion, Čimte, and I’d appreciate her being treated as such.”

The whole family was silent save for his father and uncle Kenos cackling somewhere over by the bar — “That’s my boy!” Zydeg shouted, and the party resumed.

He never got an apology, but Sresi at least stopped scowling every time Čimte sat on the furniture. When it finally came time to regale his mother and Dagne with his business venture — Dagne had been doing much better. Tallox opened a third branch under her direction. They’d acquired new permits and government contracts.

He returned to Eir Terminal without his praise — but not without a few bottles of liquor from his mother’s secret stash in the basement. He had a plan, and he’d need the good booze to pull it off. She owed him for making Čimte sad, anyway.

Step one: Through one of his uncle’s contacts, Bax managed to secure a meeting with the sitting head of the Syndicate, Darro Galot.

Step two: Naturally, Darro arrived with an entourage. Kenos was more than happy to distract them with drinks and dancers.

Step three: Make Darro an offer he couldn’t refuse. No, not with credits, that wasn’t showy enough. He needed his reputation to get back to his mother, and a boring business deal wouldn’t get people talking.

Have I mentioned tamerron are functionally fluffy, four-armed organic railguns?

Step four: Inform the entourage that the Syndicate is under new management. Where’s Mr. Galot? He’ll join us for dinner. :)

Step five: Cook dinner. Give Čimte so many samples. She needs to replenish her energy.

Step six: Serve dinner. Receive many compliments. Enjoy expensive, ill-gotten liquor.

Step seven: Wait for entourage to ask about Darro again. “He was supposed to be here for dinner.” And he was! :) Very pleased his obnoxious cologne cooked off.

Congratulations on your new reign of terror, big guy!

Oh, you thought I was kidding about the — no, that’s. That’s definitely. A thing. Anyway, Dagne couldn’t top that one. The prodigal son returns!

Since then, he’s been pretty laissez-faire! Loves fooling around, who isn’t his type, spends the latter half of his day at his nightclub chatting up patrons and the former half Doing mob Business crimes. Very open to bribes and trading favors for favors, both carnal and financial. HATES owing anybody, god forbid you save his life or some shit, now he’s gotta buy you a planet and a private chef immediately. He’ll repay a favor before the other half is even done, though — now you owe him, and you don’t wanna owe Bax. :) He collects bones interest.

#i am so normal about bax #it's a wonderful day in the quadrant and he is a horrible lizard #i'm sorry this took me literally a week to write up asdfsdssfdafdfa #xatal galaxy #xatal ocs #blorbo blursday

9 notes · View notes

bloggerspam · 5 months ago

Text

It was just a joke, at first.

You've grown up around hunting, having it be a part of your life, scheduled and seasonal. Like rainy season, or football season.

That didn't mean that when it came time to actually do it, it came easy to you.

Because it didn't. You were shaking so bad---you grew up on gun safety, at the shooting range, but the fear is still there.

Not the fear of guns, because what would a gun do when it's unloaded and locked up? No. The fear of killing.

You learned early on that guns were dangerous, and you learned early on that life was precious, and some hunters get numb to it, but you never did. There was some part of you that always thought it was a waste, that you were disrupting the cycle.

So it was a joke, at first, dedicating your hunts to Artemis. You needed it to matter, because you had this irrational fear that you'd be numb to it in a way that was Different, in a way that was Bad, and so you made it matter.

You would say a little prayer to the Goddess of the Hunt, and it was like all was okay again. These hunts were for sport, but the Goddess made it matter, and you were numb to the deaths of these small little lives and it was Okay.

Because the Goddess of the Hunt would surely be pleased, and this death will not be in vain.

(You tried to explain it, once, to your favorite cousin. She never thought you silly for it, but you could tell she didn't understand.

"You could just, not go. Mom wouldn't blame you. Uncle Jerry doesn't join because he's squeamish and nobody cares. A lot of the other cousins don't join because they think it's dumb, there's nothing wrong with not going. You're young, it makes sense."

You stayed silent, then, because she's right. But she's wrong, too, and you're not sure why that matters. In the end you keep your thoughts to yourself, and she keeps her thoughts to herself, and life moves on.)

===

It started simple, these small dedications.

You would whisper to the dead thing before you, I dedicate this hunt to you, Artemis, and the world would turn as you picked the offering up.

And so every year, every hunt, you go and you dedicate your hunt to Artemis. Sometimes with a flair, sometimes as simply as you can, you've even tried your hand at google translating a Greek version, just in case.

I dedicate this newly born star to the Goddess of the Wild Moon.

An inside joke with yourself, a small little comfort for a hunter with too soft a heart, a humble believer who didn't believe.

I dedicate this once feral thing to the Queen of all Feral Things

Someone who just wanted to belong, and make these senseless little things matter. Silly little throwaways for silly little creatures.

I dedicate this bounty to you, the Lady of the Hunt, this bounty of bounties.

But always, always, the same.

I dedicate this hunt to you, Artemis. Always, always.

===

You're alone, this hunt. You're not sure why you came.

Maybe it was the routine of it.

Maybe it was because you were already here, you made the trek, so you might as well.

Maybe it was because you wanted out of the house.

Maybe it was because it felt like the thing to do.

Maybe it was none of those things.

Your family came up to hunt, per usual, but started dropping like flies to food poisoning. You could never stomache meat before a hunt, and it made you the sole survivor.

Your cousin, the one you opened up to all those many years ago, smiled at you through the sweat and pain, and said Lucky Break.

When you told her you would still go, her brow furrowed, but she said nothing. She has never denied you your choices.

And so you're here, staring at a dead rabbit, feeling so very alone.

"I dedicate this hunt," you say into the wind, "to Artemis."

You pick up the offering and wonder to yourself, again, why you came.

And then you look up, and a woman stands before you.

You jump, as she made no noise, and almost scream, except---except you know this woman, don't you?

She extends a hand to you, and mindlessly, you hand her the rabbit.

She inspects the offering, this way and that, rough-hewn hands prodding particularly at the bullet wound. A clean shot.

She looks up at you, pale eyes milky like the moon, with a feral smile and a predator's countenance.

"Teach me how to use a rifle." She says, voice without a voice, and you know.

You know who she is but Gods above, only one thought comes to mind:

What. The. Fuck.

Saying you dedicate your hunts to the Goddess Artemis started as a weird private joke to yourself. You never thought it would result in the actual goddess visiting you and asking to teach her how to hunt with a rifle.

#and so you do.#because what else can you do but obey the Goddess you've been beholden to for years and years?#what else can you offer to a Goddess whose comforted you by just existing #narrator has autism and is a theatre kid i say its so and so it shall be #i know nothing about hunting #unnecessarily dramatic and poetic as per usual #my writing #original work #greek mythology #hunting

7K notes · View notes

e-devotion · 2 years ago

Text

honoring Dr. Charles Stanley

There are so many people who make our lives better and stronger. We could name so many of those people, but really I want to be one of those people for others. It is a choice.

Some of the people that encourage us and make us better are ones we know very well. Maybe this is family or co workers, pastors or friends. We need these people. They make our lives richer and so much sweeter. I am grateful for each and every one.

Yes, I am a preacher. That makes me strange, at least to some people. It also means I really enjoy listening to other preachers. Some get my attention even more. Some of them I have never met, but I am so encouraged by their ministries and messages.

Again, I pray that I am that for others. Many people have encouraged me through the years. Some school teachers come to the top of the list. My parents are at the very top of the list. A few are close family friends or people I have met along my life journey. We need these people. We need to be these people.

Make others better. That is a high goal to set and an important one.

Preachers that have encouraged me are men like Jerry Amstutz, WA Criswell, Leonard Dupree, Michael Claunch, John McAurther, Jesse Duplantis, Michael Palmer, Johnny Hunt, Robert Morris, James Merritt, Jerry Vines and so many, many others. One that stands out is Charles Stanley.

Charles Stanley passed away yesterday at the age of 90. His ministry at First Baptist Church of Atlanta was long and incredible. There is no telling how many lives have been touched by his ministry and preaching, especially through the TV and radio ministry.

What stands out for me with Dr. Stanley is his stance on and preaching of the Word of God. He chose to stay close to the Bible and to make sure to share with confidence what God said. He clearly shared some of the deepest truths of Scripture and did so in a compelling way. I have read articles and books of his that left me better and strong. I have listened to countless sermons that challenged my faith as well as made me want to preach better. I only heard him preach in person a couple times, but those messages stand out for me.

He will be missed, but his entrance to heaven must have been sweet. Those touched by his ministry need our prayers as well as his family.

Another thing that happened in the last year was a partnership with InTouch Ministries to share Bibles. They gave over 1,000 Bibles to our church and some recorded Bibles in Spanish that I have taken to Cuba. These Bibles have been given out each week from his ministry and been a blessing in many places.

1 Peter 1:25 NLT

But the word of the Lord remains forever.” And that word is the Good News that was preached to you.

I am grateful for Dr. Charles Stanley and his encouragement to always be ready to share the good news about Jesus. Make it all about Jesus!

I ask you pray for my trip back to Cuba in May and for the leadership retreat that I will help host for the sports ministry leaders. If you would like to help sponsor this retreat, please reach out to me. Thanks ahead of time, and please pray for the ministry here through The Community Fellowship and in Cuba.

#e-devotion #devotion #devo #charles stanley #charles #stanley #honor #God #Jesus #pastor

1 note · View note

jdgo51 · 2 years ago

Text

Caregiving: To the Community of Faith

Today's inspiration comes from:

A Grace Disguised

by Jerry Sittser

"'Where can I go from Your Spirit? Where can I flee from Your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, You are there; if I make my bed in the depths, You are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there Your hand will guide me, Your right hand will hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to You; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You."'

— Psalm 139:7-12

"No one can endure a significant loss alone. Still, many people try to, often out of necessity because no one is there for them.

I write this new, final chapter during a global pandemic.

Caregivers are going to be busy for a very long time. There is trauma now; grief will come later, like a tidal wave. You are a member of the community of faith and a caregiver, which means you are going to be busy for a very long time too. You want to be there for suffering people. The number of those people is skyrocketing.

Then again, the community of faith has always been there for suffering people because that is simply what the people of God do.

As you know, caregiving is hard and demanding work. But it is also good and meaningful work.

In this case, hard and good are not opposites, any more than are winter and sunlight. Crises of all kinds invite and challenge us to comfort the needy and to serve the common good of society.

Suffering provides the community of faith with an opportunity to live as genuine followers of Jesus who take care of friend and foe alike.

Jesus responded to the needs of people, no matter who the people were or how unworthy they were.

I have been on both sides of the equation. For a long time, I was a recipient of caregiving, and now I am a caregiver. I have learned a great deal over the years. Caregivers contribute in a myriad of ways. Some excel at quiet listening, others at serving, still others at organizing. In the end, it is not the expression of care that matters so much as the consistency and longevity.

Those who suffer loss need help that goes beyond a card, a meal, a kind word, and a visit, though these contributions are meaningful. They are just not enough.

I was lost after the accident, like a man swimming in open water with no land in sight. I had my own grief to address, which was bad enough. But I had the grief of my children to worry about too, which was even worse. After the initial shock wore off and the adrenaline receded, I began to drown from exhaustion, despair, and utter terror. I was sinking, my arms flailing about and my lungs gasping for air. I thought I would never return to the land of the living or see the light of day again. I could see nothing on the horizon but more water.

Some people — in truth, it was just a few — committed to me for the duration, however long it took and whatever it required.

This small group of people became my caregiving team.

My good friends Ron and Julie Pyle, as well as Monica and Andrea, stepped in to provide child care. Diane and Jack, my sister and brother-in-law, called me almost every day. Sister Florence invited me to her prayer center for an occasional visit, and she often sat with me in silence, a sentinel keeping watch.

Rachel, now a good friend, served as my therapist. A small group of men encircled me. Now, thirty years later, we still meet together. To this day my wife, Patricia, comforts me when I mourn. I could not have survived without these friends, my caregivers.

They said very little. Their presence mattered more to me than their words. They became a refuge for me, a warm and safe home during a long and brutal winter. Being with me, not doing anything for me, met my greatest need. They never tried to solve my problems, which were mostly unsolvable anyway.

They never offered answers, which I had to come to on my own.

They never put me on a timetable, which would have met their needs, not mine. They were simply present, the only visible object I could see on the horizon. That was their gift to me.

People feel uncomfortable around someone who has suffered a catastrophic and irreversible loss. It feels awkward. It is awkward. They hardly know how to respond or what to say. Some ignore loss, as if nothing ever happened. Others try their best to make it all better.

Christians are as guilty of this as anyone, if not more so. They want to make everything better. There is a reason for their discomfort and insensitivity, and it is born out of the best of intentions. Christians believe they know the truth. They assume that speaking the truth will somehow diminish the pain. But truth is no more effective in eliminating pain than a doctor’s word of explanation mitigates the pain of a surgical procedure.

Mere words lack power, even when they communicate truth.

Caregivers believe

Sometimes it is best to be quiet. Job’s three friends rendered him the greatest service when they sat with him in silence (See Job 2:13). Once they opened their mouths, they did more harm than good.

Besides, I did not begin by asking questions, to say nothing of searching for answers. I was simply too confused and immobilized by pure pain to ask even the most basic questions. I sat in that pain for a long time.

I felt utterly bewildered, as if I were staring at words on a page — simple English words that I had known since I was a child — that made no sense to me. The world became a puzzle. I could not understand why the accident occurred. The sheer irrationality of it turned the entire world upside down.

Loss is not a rational experience. There is no way to explain it.

Countless people have said to me, “Just tell me how to think about this,” as if a rational answer would provide a way out. But people who have suffered major loss cannot reason their way out, work their way out, or feel their way out. They can do nothing to escape it. Before they find a way out, they first must find a way in. Once in, they discover that the way out is very different from what they had imagined.

As I made my way in, I did find a way out. But it was not sequential — in, then out — but simultaneous — in and out. I became like a window. Standing outside myself, I looked in.

Standing inside myself, I looked out. I learned how to observe my grief, as if I were a scientist studying myself. I was aware of being studied, even as I did the studying. I was both reflective and emotional at the same time.

I learned over time that the two big dangers in facing loss are to indulge the loss, as if it is death itself, and, conversely, to dismiss the loss and “move on,” as if no death occurred at all.

But I think it is possible to learn from the loss and experience the full force of it at the same time, engaging both head and heart. Standing outside the self, we ask, What is happening to me right now? Standing inside the self, we ponder, What is happening in me?

As I tried to walk this tightrope, a new world opened up before me. Of pain, to be sure. But so much more. Of memory. Of horror. Of confusion. Of darkness. Of beauty. Of transcendence. Of light. And of God.

But what kind of a God? Not a God of goodness but of terror and mystery, or so it seemed at the time. Where was God during that horrible experience? Was God present? How could God be present? These questions were not speculative and abstract, little more than intellectual curiosities that a search on Google can answer. They were life-and- death questions to me.

How would I be able to survive, especially if there is no God?

What would happen to me if I had to live in this pain forever? If there was no recovery and redemption? If the darkness swallowed me up?

At just this point I discovered why belief plays a central role.

What suffering people choose to believe about reality does matter, not because it has magical power to answer every question and deliver them from suffering, but because it can provide a deeper kind of power and perspective that will help them understand it, grow into it, and carry it.

Every human being believes something, but not all believe the same thing. By belief, therefore, I am referring to Christian belief: God created a good world; human rebellion damaged it; God has acted in history to make all things right; God eventually came as a person, Jesus Christ, to win the world’s redemption. In the end all will be made right, well, and whole again.

It is this belief — Christian belief — that saved my life.

But it was actually not my belief that mattered, at least not initially. It was their belief, the belief of my community: family, friends, pastor, therapist, and the like.

Their faith carried me when I could muster none myself. My community of friends stood beside me, held me, and believed for me.

The stakes were high; they always are. People suffering loss may struggle, wallow, rage, weep, and whimper for months, even years. But eventually they come to a moment of decision. What they choose to believe in that liminal moment will make an ultimate difference in their lives, one way or the other. It may call forth life in them, like Jesus commanding Lazarus to wake up from death. Or it may push them deeper into darkness until they are lost forever, like Judas giving up on God and on his very life.

At this point, caregivers stare into an abyss of mystery. They feel utterly powerless and inadequate, as they should. They wonder if their grieving friends will ever find life and faith again. They have no idea what to do and how to help. It is all too much.

Which is why their belief plays such an important role. It has unspeakable power; it exercises incredible influence. Because it enables them, members of the community of faith, to remain steady, available, and present.

Caregiving almost requires belief in the existence of God — a good God who cares about people, even when He seems absent and cruel; a patient God who stays with people, even when they slip into a terrible lethargy and depression; a redemptive God who calls people into a new and better story, even when they keep returning to the old one; a powerful God who can turn death into life, even as death continues to reign.

A God we see and know in the face of Jesus Christ.

Caregivers believe for suffering people when those people find it impossible to believe for themselves. They are like parents sitting with a child suffering from nightmares. To that child the nightmares are real, more real than reality. Parents know morning is coming, though the child refuses to believe it. But they believe it for him or her. They hold that child tightly until morning arrives.

You hold loved ones tightly until morning arrives. It is what the community of faith simply does.

I thank God for people like you. In the months and years ahead, the world is going to need more of you to stop the bleeding, comfort the grieving, mend the broken, and get people back on their feet."

Excerpted with permission from A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser, copyright Gerald L. Sittser.

0 notes

cal-kestis · 4 years ago

Text

If I Could Never Give You Peace

(Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Gif by @pedropcl [original gifset]

Summary: Two years after resigning from the DEA, Javi finds himself in Los Angeles, haunted by glares of gunshots and blood-stained hands. He’d succumbed to the idea that he’d never have peace — doesn’t deserve it after everything he did in Colombia. Then, she moves in next door and maybe, he thinks, things could be different. “I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.” Word Count: 4,357 A/N: A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. No “Y/N” or "you," but the reader can be anyone. Inspired heavily by Taylor Swift’s “Peace.” How many TS references can you find? Lol. Tags: Fluff, Angst (with a happy ending), Mentions of death (but no one dies, I promise), Alcohol, Cigarettes

[Read on AO3]

The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me... All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret... Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace? — Taylor Swift, Peace —

When Javier Peña handed in his DEA badge and gun two years ago, he knew he couldn’t stay in Texas. Not forever.

Texas held too many familiar faces, old friends calling him a hero when he felt like a villain. It held too many ties to an old version of himself he’d rather not remember… muddied images of him with a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise. No, he couldn’t stay. Not even for his father.

So, Javier Peña and the unwelcomed overcast of his nightmares found a one-bedroom apartment in sunny Los Angeles.

In time, he realized he needed the city: constant motion, endless traffic, and hoards of busy people who would never remember his face. He could blend in. He could be alone.

He could have a clean slate.

But each night, glares of gunshots flashed behind his eyelids and invisible bloodstains marred his calloused palms as if to remind him:

He could never have peace.

Then, she moved in next door.

The first time he saw her, he only caught a glimpse. She and her boyfriend, he assumed, held towering stacks of brown boxes in front of their faces — sweating as they lugged the dusty weight into the empty space.

For a moment, he considered offering some neighborly help but decided against it — When have you ever cared about being a good neighbor, Javi? — closing himself in his quiet apartment with a glass of whiskey.

The second time he saw her, she came knocking on his door the next night.

“Hi, neighbor,” she smiled brilliantly. And for a split second, he swore he felt something foreign flutter in his stomach, but dismissed it as the after-effects of spoiled dinner. “I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.”

He could not take his eyes off her. His gaze stayed glued to a small bead of sweat trailing a slow path down from her hairline, where she’d pulled it back with a makeshift scarf-headband. The droplet slipped down her cheekbone, over a smudge of dust that had settled in from her moving boxes. It drifted down the curve of her jaw, dipping into the slope of her neck until finally hiding away below her tank top. And by some miracle, she only needed to repeat her name for him once before he came out of the trance.

“Sorry.” He gulped, removing the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Javier.”

He extended his hand and she met him halfway. Soft. So soft.

“Good to meet you, Javier.” She smiled again. Flutter. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she swiftly turned on her heel to walk the few steps back to her door, bare feet strutting off, flaunting her daisy dukes, and — God help him, he’s a man and she’s beautiful — he stared.

The nail in the coffin?

When she opened her door and gave him one last smile over her shoulder, she winked.

No, he could never have peace.

—

After that, he hardly ever sees her.

Part of him feels relieved, unduly wary of the strange flutter he’d feel just thinking of her name. The other part, the traitorously curious part, dreams of catching another glimpse of her glistening skin or a quarter note of her honeyed voice. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he finds himself often wondering if her boyfriend gets to enjoy her sun rays and melodies. Lucky bastard.

He blames his roaming thoughts on the fact that it’s… been a while.

This is what you wanted, he’d remind himself when he’d wake to an empty bed — a stark contrast to his time in Colombia. This is the way things should be.

Just when he starts to believe those words, he finds her crumpled on the floor in front of her apartment — the contents of her purse strewn across the hardwood beside her, palms pressed firmly against her eyes. One tiny sniffle and a tremble of her shoulders, and he melts into a puddle beneath her muddy sneakers.

“Hey,” he whispers tentatively, voice raspy with cigarette smoke.

She jolts at the sound, immediately wiping her face with her sleeves and plastering on a saccharine smile.

“Javier,” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the vowels. “Sorry, I was just— rough day. And to top it off, I think I left my keys inside. I tried Jerry but no luck.”

“Jerry’s a shit landlord,” he sighs, earning a nod from her. He takes out an old, faded receipt from his pocket and kneels in front of her, finding a pen amongst her spilled belongings. “Try this number. He’s usually fast. Can get you back in your apartment tonight.”

He hands her the scribbled receipt and she takes it with a real smile, albeit small. “Thank you, Javier.”

He nods, a tiny dimple forming in one tanned cheek, before getting up to unlock his apartment. The door clicks but he stands there for a moment longer, listening to her waning sniffles as she throws her things back into her bag. His eyes screw shut tightly, a silent war waging behind his forehead, his fingertips feebly trying to rub it away.

He sighs long and heavy when he realizes which part of him has won.

“Would you... like to come inside my place while you wait?” He mutters, mainly to the floorboards. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Okay.” Her smile is warm like the sun, despite the cloud of tears still glazed over her eyes. “But you don’t strike me as a cream and sugar kind of guy.”

“No,” he admits with an amused smirk. “But I’ve got some old whiskey, older milk, and a phone you can use, toll-free.”

“Thanks, Javier,” she sniffles. “Coffee sounds nice. But hold the booze and tainted milk.”

And that’s how she ends up in his apartment, sitting at his small dining table, slowly sipping from his coffee mug, using his landline to call the locksmith.

Maybe it’s the caffeine or the three (stolen) pink packets of sugar she found in her purse (“It’s not stealing. Diners offer dozens of them in cute little boxes, I mean practically gift-wrapped, and I modestly accepted three.”), but coffee gets her talking the way alcohol coaxes even the darkest secrets from iron-barred lips. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her — found some younger, hotter-than-her aspiring actress in Hollywood and left her in the dust of the boxes she’d just unpacked.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “You’ve been so nice. Really, Neighbor of the Year,” she laughs, but he thinks it sounds off. He wants to hear the real thing. “And here I am, taking up your space, drinking your coffee, and dumping all my problems on the table. Tell me if I’m talking too much, Javier. I tend to—”

“Javi,” he says, furrowing his brows as if mildly stunned by the two syllables he just spoke. She looks confused. “You can... call me Javi, for short. And I don’t mind listening.”

“Javi,” she tests the name on her tongue, smiles. His stomach flutters. “A good name for a good guy.”

The argument dies on his tongue the minute he thinks it, even though she’s horribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

If she knew...

“I should be out of your hair in 20 minutes anyway,” she says, breaking him out of his dark reverie. “Locksmith’s on his way.”

When she finally gets back into her own apartment, Javi jostles her doorknob, double-checks the lock, and knocks on wood for good measure.

“Find your keys?”

“Got ‘em!” She chirps, jingling her lost keys. “I’m gonna have to memorize that number.”

“I’m next door, too, if you ever need anything.”

“Me too. I can lend you some sugar for your sad-man, bitter coffee,” she jokes. “Thanks again, Javi.”

He sends her a tight-lipped smile and a short nod, a familiar weight settling in his chest as he turns back to his lonely apartment.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” She asks, quiet and suddenly timid. “I’m no chef, but I’ve never made a spaghetti I couldn’t tolerate.”

He opens his mouth to refuse but she beats him to the punch. “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out. Please?”

And it’s the way she asks that gets him. The way “please” seems to fall from her lips like an unanswered prayer. He wonders, maybe she’s just as lonely as him.

So, he walks into her apartment, she smiles, and his stomach flips.

—

Months pass by with this new routine. He joins her for dinner at least once a week, if their schedules allow. If not at the local diner where she infamously loots sugar, it’s usually at her place. For one thing, although it’s usually pasta, she tends to have more appetizing (read: edible) groceries stocked up than him. But if he’s being honest, something about her apartment just feels more like… a home.

Framed smiles of her and her loved ones line the walls. With each visit, he finds himself studying a new one, imagining the story behind each snapshot. (He noticed after their first dinner, she’d thrown out the photos of her ex, replacing them with Polaroids of the city.) Piles of pillows stack up neatly on her couch, vibrant hues and patterns decorating the space. He adores the soft waves of music always floating around her space. She plays a different record each time, but somehow, each one compliments the sweet tones of her voice perfectly.

Her place feels brighter than his too, and he’s not sure if it’s the east-facing windows or if it’s just her.

Soon, he doesn’t need to decode the photos on the walls anymore. She tells him more than she’s told anyone before — about her hometown, her family, what she studied in college, her travels, her favorite books, her irrational fears, her dreams.

He tells her considerably less, especially when it comes to his time in Colombia.

For now, she doesn’t mind. She likes the way he watches her when she talks — brown eyes soft and warm, brows pinched together as he takes in each word, the ghost of a grin tugging at one corner of his lips when she gestures dramatically.

He realizes, one night after dinner, he comes home smiling now. And he thinks the nightmares have started dwindling, ever since that first dinner.

Maybe, he lets himself imagine. Things could be different.

—

He calls for you over and over, shouting until his throat burns and the echo of his frantic voice pounds in his ears.

“Where are you?” He screams.

The narrow hallway is dark, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He crushes his body into the hard wall, arms sliding roughly against cold brick as he tries to keep himself concealed. The gun in his hand feels icy and impossibly heavy, and his arms tremble as they lift the weapon higher, rounding the corner.

“Llegas tarde, Peña,” a deep, gravelly voice sneers. “You’re too late.”

“Tómame!” Javier yells. “Tómame en su lugar.”

“You would die for her?” The voice chuckles. “Llegas tarde.”

The voice’s shadow moves, revealing a smaller shadow crumpled on the floor — lifeless.

“Javier! Javier!” A distant voice chants, accusing him. Boom! Blaming him. Boom!

“Javier!” Boom!

The pounding sound wakes him up with a jolt, and his sweat-slicked chest rapidly rises and falls as he reaches for the gun inside his bedside table.

Slowly, Javier creeps to the front door where the loud pounding started. But when he peers into the peephole, he only finds her — looking as tired and distressed as he feels. A wave of relief floods through his overheated body.

She’s wrapped up in a blanket, a worried look wrinkling her forehead.

He puts his gun down in a drawer and lets her in.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Almost 4 in the morning.”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, suddenly worried about why she’d be waking him this early.

“You tell me,” she says, frown lines still etched by her eyes — mirroring his own tired marks. “I heard you yelling. I was worried, Javi.”

“It was...” he starts, squinting as the images flash in his mind again. “Just a dream.”

It only takes one glance into his eyes for her to reach out to him, pulling him in by his neck until he nuzzles into hers.

He breathes her in, holds her like he’s not sure she’s real, like she might be gone tomorrow. “It was just a dream,” he echoes, but he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“It was just a dream,” she repeats after him.

She pulls him by his hand toward his couch, sitting down before patting the space beside her. And just this once, he allows himself to let his head rest in her lap, lets her drape her fuzzy blanket over him, lets her soft fingers draw slow circles in his hair, lets her lull him to sleep with mumbled whispers he can’t quite make out, and lets her ward off the lurking darkness like a nightlight.

He’s asleep before he can hear the quiet secret that spills from her lips.

“I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.”

She comes over to his apartment more frequently after that. Whether to bring him dinner or just sit on his couch in comfortable silence, she doesn’t like to leave him alone.

And maybe, she’d rather not be alone either.

—

He doesn’t remember how she convinced him, but here he is... sitting at a crowded bar drinking water, watching his tipsy neighbor bouncing alone on the small dance floor.

Every so often, some cocky drunk comes up to put his hands on her waist and tries to dance with her, but she plasters on a faux smile and shakes her head at them, muttering something while nodding in Javier’s direction. Each time, they sulk away and he chuckles.

Finally, she bounces over to him, tugging at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Dance with me, Javi. Please,” she draws out the word, an octave higher than normal.

And despite himself, he follows her voice like a sailor enthralled by a siren’s song.

She puts her arms around his neck, swaying her body against his. And then she shouts over the music, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

And the heart on his sleeve falls straight to the floor, clanging loudly in his ears like metal.

‘Friends’ is more than you deserve, he reminds himself.

But then she continues, resting her head against his chest, her index finger coming up to tap a tantalizingly slow beat over his collarbone. “Good friends,” she sighs, lifting her gaze until her chin digs into his heart, her lips just inches from his. “Really… good… friends.”

She’s kissing him before he can even process the feeling. And despite his better judgment, he lets her. She’s everything warm and soft and good, with just a hint of alcohol — and he’s what you get when you turn those words upside down, jumble the letters, and crumple the paper into a jagged ball. But he craves the way her curves somehow fit perfectly against his cold, shattered edges. And he knows he shouldn’t.

So, when he feels her tongue trace along the seam of his mouth, he gently pulls away, hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

“You’ve had too much to drink, cariño,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling with half-lidded eyes, drawing her finger across his mustache then below his ever-pouting lip.

She’s passed out in his car by the time they’re back home. When he unlocks her apartment door for her, she stays latched onto his arm as he turns to leave.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I—”

“Please?” She asks, in that way he knows he can’t fight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

And just like that, the door closes behind him and he stays.

He finds her an oversized shirt to change into, helps her wipe the smudged mascara off her face, and holds her until the sun rises.

When she wakes, the space beside her is empty but warm and indented, the shape of his body lingering in the sheets. A full glass of water, ibuprofen, and the phantom taste of Javi’s lips are the only other traces of her really… good... friend.

—

He’s not avoiding her… per se. But it’s a long, lonely week later when he sees her again, on an uncharacteristically rainy Sunday outside their apartment building.

“I just got home,” she blurts after standing there dumbfounded for a good minute. She nods to the soaked brown paper bags in her arms. “Groceries. Uh, obviously. Were you...?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” he answers.

“Same,” she chuckles awkwardly, droplets hanging on her lashes and the ends of her hair, only partially covered by her hood. “Obviously.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the bags from her, keeping the door open with his foot as he waits for her to head inside.

“Thanks, Javi-er.”

He follows her upstairs silently, his wet, squeaking shoes punctuating each slow and heavy step.

“I can—”

“Let me just—”

They fumble and dance around each other in her doorway as he sets her bags in her apartment. And, as if to torture herself, she decides to stand under her door frame when he leaves to grab his umbrella, waiting the longest minute of her life for him with a forced smile.

He waves his umbrella at her after locking his door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and walks back down the stairs.

“Javier, wait.”

He pauses, his back still facing her, drenched shoes balanced on two different steps.

“Can we talk?” She hates the way her voice sounds when she asks, tinny and trembling. Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “About what happened... at the bar?”

He sighs, screwing his eyes shut tight and rubbing his forehead.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, low and barely audible as the rain starts picking up outside. And he walks away.

She’s stunned still, watching as his figure shrinks with each step he takes away from her. He’s already out of the building by the time frustration fuels her feet to follow him into the rain.

“Like hell there’s nothing to talk about,” she yells over the downpour, hair quickly sticking flat to her face. “Javi, we kissed!”

“You were drunk,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, still walking.

“I wasn’t drunk,” she argues to his back, remembering with perfect clarity exactly how his lips felt on hers. “Just a bit braver. Javi, stop! Look at me. Please.”

And like clockwork, he turns slowly but doesn’t move any closer.

So, she closes the distance to stand beside him under his umbrella, taking in his features without the obscurity of rain.

“What are you running from?” She wonders, reaching for his fidgeting hand. “I would never hurt you. I—”

The line between his brows looks deeper than usual, as if they’d been stuck in that pinched position for weeks. Shadows lay in rings beneath his eyes, accompanied by smaller lines that carry untold stories she hopes he’ll entrust her with someday. His mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something he knows could change everything.

And it does.

“I have to go.”

Her hands are empty and wet when he leaves. And the rain buries his parting words into the pavement.

I don’t want to hurt you.

—

She doesn’t hear from him for two weeks. Doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

The rain sticks around longer than usual for Los Angeles, making her apartment feel cold and gloomy. But maybe, it’s just missing him as much as she is.

Then, while she’s folding her laundry one night, she hears his door rattle and practically bolts to her own. He’s there. Keys in hand, rolling luggage in the other, hair tousled like he’s been pulling at it with his fingers. He looks at her when she opens her door, just for a beat too long, before hiding away in his apartment.

She sighs, closing her door in defeat.

But just as she starts getting ready for bed, she hears two knocks at her door, heart beating rapidly as she slowly makes her way to open it.

“Hi, neighbor,” he greets her softly, and the sound of his voice after so long without it nearly brings her to tears.

“Where did you go?” She asks. But she really means, Why did you leave?

“Texas,” he says. “I... needed to see my dad.” But he really means, I was scared.

“Oh.”

“Can I...” he mutters. “Can I come in please?”

She hesitates for only a second before stepping aside and he looks around like he hasn’t seen the inside of her apartment hundreds of times already.

He stops near her bedroom, where a new picture hangs proudly: a goofy, blurry photo of him stashing three pink packets of sugar in his shirt pocket.

“It’s the only photo you’ve let me take of you,” she says quietly, standing next to him with a wistful smile on her face. “I miss our diner dates.” But she really means, I miss you.

He doesn’t respond, just silently walks to her couch and sits, fingers rubbing circles into his forehead.

Minutes roll by slowly as she watches him from the other side of the room, battling with some invisible hand covering his mouth, holding on until the end to keep the words locked up.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispers, so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of... back in Colombia. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you. I think a part of me is still there, fighting some unwinnable war. Hell, even before Colombia, I—”

Muddied images of a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise flash in his mind.

“Fuck. I can’t shake it,” he says, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, waving the invisible iron shackles on his wrists to show her. “Any of it. The nightmares...” He recalls her shadowy body and a dark, menacing voice. “They’ve followed me for years. I—” he looks at her, eyes darting across her face. “I could never give you peace.”

His head hangs low and a wayward curl brushes against his forehead. Despite how much space he takes up on her couch, he looks so small, defeated — the weight of his past crushing him into this tiny, torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in red-inked, scratched-out sentences.

“Javi,” she whispers, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. So, she crosses the room and kneels in front of him, her palms reaching for his cheeks and lifting his gaze to hers. “Javi, who said anything about peace?”

The wrinkles deepen between his brows as he studies her, tries to understand what she means in the cloudy orbs of her eyes.

“The past is the past. We’ve all done things we can’t speak of. And sometimes at night, we live it all again. God knows I’m far from perfect. But I know you’re a good man, Javi. I see you,” she tells him, stroking the curves of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I’m not—”

“Do you trust me?” She interrupts his argument. He stares at her, blinks, before nodding once.

“Then trust what I’m saying. You’re not perfect. But you’re good.”

His eyes close as soon as she sees water beginning to pool behind his lashes.

“I’m not asking for peace. As long as I get to be with you, it would be enough.”

And then his lips are crashing into hers, pulling her into his lap until he’s covered in her. The sound he makes when they touch is devastatingly beautiful, like she’s a balm soothing his freshest wounds and healing his oldest scars. It feels like his entire body has exhaled — lungs deflated, bones liquified, mind released from a decades-old straitjacket. If not for gravity, he could float from the way his stomach is fluttering. His shoulders lower and he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath for his entire life until this moment.

He’s drowning in her, submerged to the top of his head. But he can finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m sorry I left, cariño,” he kisses just below her ear. “My dad said I was the biggest asshole on the planet for leaving. I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he licks the seam of her lips.

“Mi alma, you have no idea,” he sighs when she parts her lips for him. “How much I love you.”

And she captures the words on her tongue, kissing him with a ferocity that says, Yes, I do.

“Want to know a secret?” She gasps when his lips trail down her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper, as feather-light as her fingertip skating across his shoulder.

He hums, a soft, lazy smile stretching his lips wide, so wide.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” she says, staring into his deep brown eyes. “That I’ll ever love anyone more than I love you, Javi.”

Her finger stops, retracted to shield herself after such a heavy confession. His eyes blink slowly, head lifting off the couch cushion.

He doesn’t say a word. He only stares at her, the softest smile on his face — his edges blurring into gentle curves in front of her very eyes.

“You’re it for me,” she finalizes.

And then they’re crashing into each other again and again and again.

End Notes: Look, it’s been almost 10 years since I sat in a Spanish class and watching Narcos only restored 3% of my limited vocabulary. Here’s what I got from Google Translate: “Llegas tarde.” = You’re too late. “Tómame!/ Tómame en su lugar.” = Take me!/ Take me instead. “Cariño” = Darling, honey “Mi alma” = My soul P.S. Please let me know if I missed any tags/triggers!

#javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal #javier pena #javier peña x reader #you know i've fallen deep when i start writing #your honor she's simping #mine*

195 notes · View notes

aiorevelations · 2 years ago

Text

From This Day Forward: Final Part

Finally after almost a year we are posting the third and final chapter of “From This Day Forward.” And now we can celebrate as we have completed all our WIPs. Now on to some new stories!

Whit stood at the front of the church with Jack beside him. His gaze rested on the church doors as he eagerly waited for Jenny to arrive. His heart raced at the thought of his soon-to-be wife walking through the white doors at any moment. The realness of the moment overwhelmed him. All the waiting was nearly over. He and Jenny would be forever united as one.

The place they had chosen for this momentous moment in their lives was a small white wooden chapel which was located in a luscious green meadow that looked as though it were taken from a Thomas Kinkade painting. The decorations were simple with baby's breath, white ribbon, and tulle decorating the pews as well as arrangements of white roses, white hydrangeas, eucalyptus leaves, and silvery gray dusty miller adorning the room which was bathed in natural light coming in from the stained glass windows just as Jenny had wanted it.

Harold and Fiona sat in the front row. Harold was beaming with pride while Fiona was already dapping the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. In the opposite row, Susannah Morrow sat, an expression of pure joy etched on her face. The doors opened and the sound of Mr. Vargas playing “Here Comes the Bride” on the organ filled the room.

Whit was overcome with emotion and his heart skipped a beat as Jenny entered the church on the arm of her father. She looked purely radiant with her beautiful red locks and hazel eyes. So hopelessly beautiful in her dress - an utter vision in white.

Emily and Jack each glanced at Whit and then at each other. The effect Jenny had on their friend was clear for them all to see.

As Jenny came closer, Whit felt himself tear up at the sight of her. Jenny found herself also becoming emotional as she saw Whit wipe his eyes. “Don’t cry, Jenny. Don’t cry,” she whispered to herself. “It’ll ruin your makeup and there’s nothing worse than a bride with ruined makeup.”

Jenny and her father reached the end of the aisle as the song came to a close. “Wow…” Whit began in a soft voice. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he finished, a beaming smile on his face.

“Thank you, John. You look dashing” Jenny said happily.

Pastor Hardwick tenderly watched the unfolding exchange. He then stepped forward and asked, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

“Her mother and I do,” Jerry Morrow replied. He turned to Jenny, tears in his eyes, and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you too Dad.”

Jerry turned to Whit. “Make sure you cherish and love her forever. She’s a priceless treasure son.”

“I promise I will,” Whit said with unflinching resolve. Jerry knew Whit meant every word with his whole heart.

Jerry kissed his daughter on the cheek one final time and placed her hand in Whit’s. He then took a seat beside Susannah.

Jenny took Whit’s arm and the two of them made their way to where the pastor stood and turned to face each other.

Pastor Hardwick spoke, “Jenny, will you now please pass your flowers, and join both hands with Whit.” Jenny passed her bouquet to Emily. Afterward, Whit took her hands in his.

Pastor Hardwick resumed, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together on this sacred and joyous occasion to witness the union of Guinevere Clara Morrow and Johnathan Avery Whittaker. On behalf of both families, I would like to thank you all for being here on this very special day. Please join me as we begin with prayer.” Everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes.

Pastor Hardwick began to pray. “Father God, we are so grateful that you, the creator of heaven and earth, love us, care about us, and listen to our prayers. Lord, we ask that you would bless Whit and Jenny today and every day in their marriage. Help them to keep you as the foundation of their lives, and to love one another in good times and bad. We ask all this in the name of Jesus. Amen.”

Everyone then opened their eyes and lifted their heads. Afterward, Pastor Hardwick began the homily. “Marriage is not the invention of man; it is the invention of God. The purpose of marriage resides within the design and plan of God. Your marriage is to honor God because it was created by him and for his glory.”

Pastor Hardwick turned his attention to the wedding attendees. “I would also remind those who have been invited here today, that you are not here as spectators but as witnesses. You have been invited by this couple to witness them pledge their lives to one another in the sight of God, before you, and before one another. Whit and Jenny, as you hear the charge that you will be given today and make vows to another, know that these witnesses have assembled to hold you accountable to God and one another. At this time I will invite Ms. Harris to sing All Things Bright and Beautiful.”

Ms. Abigail Harris, a petite middle-aged woman, made her way to the front of the church. The organist began the melody and Ms. Harris’ melodious voice filled the church.

Once she was finished, Pastor Hardwick resumed the ceremony. As he spoke, a multitude of memories about Whit and Jenny flooded his mind. “Whit and Jenny, over the past couple of years that we have known each other I’ve seen you both grow in your faith and your love for one another. I’ve seen you acknowledge both your strengths and imperfections. Be there to comfort each other and lift the other up. Inspire the other and encourage them to pursue their dreams. Even more importantly, I’ve witnessed within both of you a desire to submit yourself to God’s will and allow him to use you both in his service. I have seen your desire to live according to the truth of God's word and reach others for his kingdom. I am honored to be here today not only as your pastor, or as a mentor, but as your friend. When I see the two of you together and the way you look at each other, I can’t help but smile seeing the love you have for each other.”

Whit offered a boyish grin while a blush tinted Jenny’s cheeks. Pastor Hardwick continued, “Now most people, when thinking about love, think about the emotion – the romance of falling in love and the desire to share every moment, and learn everything about this other person. We think of the kind of love we see in movies that usually end with a wedding like this. But love is far more than an emotion. Emotions are fleeting. They are here one moment and gone the next. Anyone who has been married longer than a day knows that the feeling of love, of butterflies in your stomach, comes and goes. Just ask my wife.”

Laughter escaped from the wedding guests as Amanda Hardwick playfully shook her head at her husband’s words.

The pastor resumed speaking, “Marriage is not easy because true love is more than a feeling. It is a choice. There may be times after an argument or a fight that you don’t feel exactly like loving each other. But it is in those times that you choose to love the way God, despite all our shortcomings, continues to love us. As First Corinthians thirteen says, ‘Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.’ As you walk through this journey of marriage don’t just remember these words but carry them out in everything you do. If you put the Lord first and foremost, continue to build your relationship upon Him, and commit yourselves to one another unconditionally - your marriage will grow. You will be able to weather the storms of life, handle the uncertainties that certainly will come your way, and unflinchingly brave any obstacles. Remember these things. Then your marriage will stand the test of time.”

Jenny and Whit carefully considered every word and took them to heart. “Now, as a sign of their promise to one another, Jenny and Whit are going to exchange the vows they have written for one another.”

Jack pulled a folded piece of paper from his suit pocket and handed it to Whit. Whit unfolded his vows and took a deep breath. His heart was racing as the significance of the moment fully hit him. He was now going to recite his vows to the love of his life. Several nights he had been kept awake by terrifying hypotheticals. What if he messed up his vows or stumbled on a certain word? He pushed these negative thoughts to the back of his mind. So what if he didn’t recite his vows perfectly he was getting married to Jenny. She loved him completely and that was all that mattered. “Jenny,” Whit began, “from the time I was fifteen years old I prayed that God would bring the perfect woman into my life to be my wife. When I met you I was captivated by your beauty, sense of humor, and intelligence but most importantly your love for people and God. As we got to know one another and our relationship grew stronger I knew we were meant to be together for all of our days. You have become my anchor, my companion, and my best friend. Each and every day you’ve inspired me to reach for my dreams. When I feel overwhelmed or discouraged you are by my side to encourage me. I vow to always be your protector, and confidant, responsible for making sure your every need is met, every want is reached, and every dream realized. I promise to comfort you during your hardest days and celebrate all your achievements. I vow to be the best father to our future children and to cherish every moment we spend together. It's said that he who finds a wife, finds a good thing and obtains favor from God. From this life we have built to get to this moment, this great moment in our life, looking into your beautiful eyes, I vow to cherish you as my good thing, with love in my heart, to my last breath. I love you.”

“Whit…” Jenny began breathlessly, “that was so sweet. I love you so much.”

Harold wiped the corner of his eyes as seeing his son recite his vows to his future wife filled him with emotion. “Looks like I’m not the only emotional one today.” Fiona chuckled as she passed him the handkerchief. “Doesn’t this bring back memories of our wedding?”

Harold took Fiona’s hand. “Yes, wonderful ones.”

Emily passed Jenny her vows which she quickly unfolded. “John, today, surrounded by all of our loved ones and cherished friends, I choose you to be my husband. You love me and complete me in ways I never knew possible. In you, I have found a partner in life, a lover, a friend, a safe place, someone I can be my most vulnerable with. You support me, inspire me, and encourage me to be the best version of myself. Thank you for embracing me completely and loving me unconditionally. Most importantly thank you for being a God-fearing and devoted family man, I could not have picked a better person to be a father to my future children.”

Now it was Whit’s turn to become emotional again as he heard his soon-to-be wife’s vows. “I promise to listen to you and learn from you, to support you in your endeavors. I promise to be the best mother to our future kids. I will celebrate your successes and mourn your losses as though they were my own. I will love you in word and deed. I will laugh with you, cry with you, grow with you, and always be with you. To be your partner in all of life's adventures is all I could hope for in the world. Loving what I know of you and trusting what I don't yet know, I give you my hand. I give you my love. I give you myself, the good, the bad, and the yet to come. I will love you, my husband, and rejoice in your love for me for all of the years of our lives.”

Whit took Jenny’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “You are everything to me and I’m so grateful God placed you in my life.”

“And I am grateful that he gave you to me.”

“Whit, in the presence of God and these witnesses do you take Jenny to be your lawful wedded wife?” Pastor Hardwick said. “Do you promise to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better for worse, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, for so long as you both shall live?

“I do,” Whit answered without any reservation.

“Jenny, in the presence of God and these witnesses do you take Whit to be your lawful wedded husband? Do you promise to love and cherish him, in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better for worse, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him, for so long as you both shall live?”

“I do…with all my heart.”

“Whit and Jenny will now exchange rings as a symbol of their commitment to each other. May I have the rings please?”

Jack and Emily handed the rings to the pastor. “These rings are a daily reminder and a public declaration of the promise that you have made to each other. While holding the ring in the air, the pastor said, “Notice the circle of the ring has no beginning and no end. It is an eternal and never-ending circle meant to represent your life-long vow to love each other.”

Pastor Hardwick placed Jenny’s ring in John’s hand. “John please place this ring on Jenny’s finger and repeat after me, with this ring, I thee wed, and pledge to you my loyalty and love, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Whit slid the ring on Jenny’s finger while repeating Pastor Hardwick’s words.“With this ring, I thee wed, and pledge to you my loyalty and love, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The pastor passed Whit’s wedding band to Jenny. “Jenny please place this ring on John’s finger and repeat after me, with this ring, I thee wed, and pledge to you my loyalty and love, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Jenny continued placing the wedding band on Whit’s finger, “and pledge to you my loyalty and love, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“As a sign of their commitment to one another, Whit and Jenny will light the unity candle. The individual candles represent their individual lives before they met which they are willingly surrendering in order to become one. As such, their union today is symbolized by the two flames becoming one. Just as God said when he joined the first pair in marriage, a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and the two become one.”

Whit took Jenny’s hand and led them to the unity candle. Upon finishing lighting the candle the two of them took their place in front of Pastor Hardwick.

“Join me as we ask God's blessing on this new couple.” Whit and Jenny, along with the audience bowed their heads in prayer. “Eternal Father, we now turn to you, and as the first act of this couple in their newly formed union, we ask you to protect their home. May they always turn to you for guidance, for strength, for provision, and direction. May they glorify you in the choices they make, in the ministries they involve themselves in, and in all that they do. Use them to draw others to yourself, and let them stand as a testimony to the world of your faithfulness. We ask this in Jesus' name, Amen.”

“For as much as Whit and Jenny have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and these witnesses, and thereto have pledged their faithfulness each to the other, and have pledged the same by the giving and receiving each of a ring, by the authority vested in me as a minister of the gospel according to the laws of the State of North Carolina, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those that God has joined together, let no man put asunder.” Whit and Jenny gave huge smiles to each other as feelings of elation overwhelmed them at the thought of now being officially married. Each of them waited eagerly for Pastor Hardwick’s following words.

“Whit you may now kiss the bride.”

In one swift move, Whit brought Jenny into his arms. He wrapped his arm around Jenny’s waist while her hands rested on his shoulders. Whit captured Jenny’s lips in a passionate kiss. Jenny brought her hands to the back of Whit’s neck and pulled him in closer, deepening the kiss. Reluctantly, they each pulled away breathless.

Emily handed Jenny back her bouquet. “It is now my great honor to present for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. John Avery Whittaker.”

Cheers and applause erupted from the crowd. Whit and Jenny were absolutely beaming as they headed down the aisle while “Wedding March” played in the background. The wedding guests followed them outside and gathered around the newlyweds on the church steps. Rice was tossed all around them as they entered a decorated red convertible.

The car sped off to The Mayton where the reception was being held in the hotel dining room. Family, friends, and the rest of the guests followed behind. The room was exquisite with a lovely coffered ceiling, dark hardwood floors, crystal chandeliers, gray floral wallpaper, and one wall made of glass French doors and windows which gave a view of the beautiful countryside. It was furnished with French vintage tufted upholstered fabric dining chairs and round mahogany tables set with white tablecloths, tableware, silverware, and flowers.

The evening was spent indulging in delicious food, delightful music, and festive dancing. The highlights of the event had been Whit and Jenny’s first dance as husband and wife, them feeding each other a piece of the wedding cake and the celebratory toasts proposed by the closest family and friends. It truly had been a magical day. One Whit and Jenny would cherish for the rest of their lives.

Now later on that night, Whit and Jenny sat at the sweetheart table, completely lost in each other. “I can’t believe we’re actually married now” Jenny began speaking. “If this is a dream don’t wake me up.”

“I was going to tell you the same thing,” Whit laughed as he placed his arm lovingly around his new wife. Jenny relaxed into his touch, relishing the feeling of his skin against hers.

“Some days it felt like today would never get here but today has been more amazing than I ever imagined. I’m just savoring every moment. Part of me doesn't want this day to end” she said thinking back over the day’s events.

“Yes, today has been perfect but now we have our lives together to look forward to and all that it has in store - the memories we’ll make, the places we’ll visit, and the things we’ll accomplish side by side as husband and wife” Whit responded as he took Jenny’s hand in his own.

“As long as I have you in my life that’s more than enough” Jenny lovingly replied.

Whit and Jenny shared a sweet kiss much to the delight of the guests surrounding them who cheered and applauded.

After their lips had parted Whit got up from the table. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

“Where are you going? You’re not getting cold feet now are you?” Jenny teased.

“It’s a surprise.”

“You know I don’t like being left in suspense.”

“We’ll since you’re married to me now you’ll have to get used to it” Whit playfully remarked before he walked away from the table leaving Jenny wondering where he had gone.

Meanwhile, on the dance floor, Emmy and Jack took in the unfolding scene. “Those two are definitely made for each other,” Emily said.

“Yes, they are. Just like the way we’re made for one another.”

“You’re gonna make me blush Jack,” Emily said as Jack gave her a twirl.

“I mean every word of it. You make me happy Emmy. I’m more thankful every day that you’re in my life.”

“I’m thankful for that too. I didn't realize until we got together just how incomplete my life was without you.”

Jack and Emily smiled tenderly, their eyes clearly showing the depth of the feelings they felt for one another. Emily laid her head on Jack’s shoulder. Jack thought back to the diamond engagement ring he had seen in Ballantyne Jewelers. He imagined herself down on one knee proposing to Emily. It would no doubt be a day they each would never forget. They had both tried to convince others and themselves that they were going to hold off on getting engaged for a little while but after today, seeing Whit and Jack so happy and in love, he knew that day would come sooner rather than later.

Back at the sweetheart table, Whit returned to Jenny with the surprise in hand and a grin on his face. “I seem to remember my beautiful wife mentioning that she would love to have a chocolate milkshake at our reception” Whit smiled as he presented the sweet beverage to Jenny.

“You remembered?” Jenny exclaimed, deeply touched by Whit’s gesture.

“Of course. How could I ever forget anything about that day?” Whit replied as he set the milkshake on the table. Jenny and Whit thought back to the day of their engagement. After Jenny was discharged from the hospital the two of them searched for somewhere to eat. Every restaurant and cafe was closed except for a small ice cream shop that was nearly out of ice cream. Whit and Jenny split a chocolate milkshake. Jenny, a lover of all things chocolate, especially milkshakes, remarked to Whit how she would love to have one at their wedding reception.

Jenny took Whit’s hand in hers. “John Avery Whittaker you never cease to amaze me.”

“And I’ll never stop trying.” Whit and Jenny both smiled. He placed two straws in the milkshake and passed it to Jenny. “Shall we dive in?”

Jenny eagerly took a sip and closed her eyes as she savored the delicious flavor. Whit joined in partaking of the drink. After sipping the milkshake for a few seconds Jenny stopped, leaned over toward Whit, and whispered in his ear. “I love you, darling.”

Hearing her words Whit took a break from drinking himself and turned towards Jenny. “And I love you sweetheart.”

In that moment everything and everyone seemed to fade away as though they were the only two people in the world. Whit placed his hand under Jenny’s chin and brought his lips to hers in a tender kiss. A sweet and romantic gesture he would do countless times throughout their beautiful years of marriage. In the days to come their life together would be filled with moments of unspeakable joy and days of unbearable sorrow yet through it all their hearts would always be overflowing with love.

#Adventures in odyssey #adventuresinodyssey #AIO Fanfiction #aio fanfic #adventures in odyssey fanfiction #adventures in odyssey fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #john whittaker #Jenny Whittaker #Whit and Jenny #jack allen #emily capello

4 notes · View notes

buckysnumberonegirl · 4 years ago

Text

April showers

A fic inspired by the poor weather by me today and a new follower the very lovely @officialchrisbeck

Warnings: fluff, slight animal cruelty(don’t worry it wasn’t committed by our space daddy or the reader)

Possibly 2 parts of there’s interest 🤷🏻‍♀️

Pairing: Chris Beck x neighbor!reader

Word count 1.3k

You paused your music and pulled out your headphones, admiring the freshly painted wall with a smile. The guy at the store said a lady shouldn’t use darker colors, that you should pick something more bright and colorful. But the color of the grey reminded you of storm clouds and rainy days.

Rainy days like today. You looked out the window to see that the beautiful sunlight that was once illuminating your small townhouse had now turned into sheets of rain.

‘THE PLANTS’

You jumped up and sprung into action thinking of the poor seeds and tiny plants you’d stuck outside for a bit of sun, that were now probably drowning.

You shoved your feet into a pair of boots and searched for a jacket.

Milo, your dog, wagged his tail happily thinking it was time for a walk.

‘No buddy, you’ve got to stay here’ he turned his head but walked away. You gave up on a jacket and bolted out the door. You hit the steps forgetting the rain for a split second as you slipped. Falling straight into the arms of your new neighbor.

“Are you okay, it seems like a bad time for a run” the man smiled at you as he held your arm. You let out a little laugh before reaching down to grab a pallet of your violets.

‘The plants they’re too young to have this much water they’ll drown, I’ve got to bring them inside’

The man looked down at the plants and grabbed a sheet, looking at you. You propped open the door and welcomed him in, the two of you carrying in the many sprouts and seeds as you said a silent prayer that they didn’t all die.

You grabbed the last plant, your tiny cactus. ‘I’m so sorry Jerry please pull through this’ you whispered into the little flowering succulent.

The man held your door open for you “I don’t think I got your name when you moved in, I’m Chris Beck”

You set down the cactus and held out your hand ‘I’m Y/N, sorry for not introducing myself sooner I’ve been a little busy. It’s just me and..’

Before you could finish Milo ran out of the house, stopping on the sidewalk. He put his paws to the ground and wagged his tail. ‘Milo please not again’ he took a few steps back towards the house, then took off down the street.

You took a deep sigh when you heard a cough.

You looked over to see Chris standing awkwardly with a jacket in his hand. “Do you have a jacket?”

‘Oh um, I’m sure I do in one of my boxes…’ he held the jacket out to you.

“If you give me a second to grab another and an umbrella I can help you look, there’s a park not to far away from here that he might have run to”

You looked down the unfamiliar streets, ‘yeah I’d actually really appreciate that, let me grab his leash’

You quickly grabbed the leash on the table by your door and went back outside. Chris put up the umbrella and led you down the street.

About 20 minutes of walking you found yourself at a small park, relatively empty due to the rain. It was easy to see why any dog would love it. You and Chris both called out hoping that Milo would come running back.

You spotted a gazebo in the center of the park ‘we should check there, he really isn’t a fan of the rain’

Chris laughed “well then he picked a horrible day to run away”

Before you got there you heard the soft whimpers of a dog in distress. You left the safety of the umbrella and jogged over to see Milo pawing at a sealed garbage bag. ‘Hey buddy what wrong’ you crouched down and Milo walked over to you tail between his legs. He let you put his leash on, but still pulled you to the bag.

Chris stepped into the gazebo and shook out the umbrella. “I’m glad we found him, the rains getting worse” as he spoke a loud clap of Thunder struck.

‘I’m so sorry to drag you out in this, I owe you a coffee or something when we get back’ you looked up and smiled at him only to find his brow furrowed and his eyes on the garbage bag.

“It’s moving”

‘What?’ You turned and looked to see Milo sniffing the bag, it moved slightly reacting to his nose.

Before you could even think it through you grabbed the bag and carefully tore it open. A pair of tiny blue eyes looked up at you.

You reached in and pulled out a kitten, no older than a week or two old.

It let out a weak mewl and wiggled closer to your chest. Milo let out a tiny whine and sniffed the kitten.

Chris bent down and pet the pooch “good boy Milo, I’ve got a steak in my fridge that is all yours if it’s okay with your mom” he looked up at you and reached out to pet the small kitten you held close to you.

It was then that you actually took a moment to look at the friendly neighbor who had helped you save your plants and find your dog. His eyes were gorgeous, so was the rest of him. You hadn’t noticed before that he truly was a beautiful man. You studied every feature as if it was the last time you’d ever see him when he turned to look at you.

“Do you think you’ll keep her?” He smiled still petting the tiny cat

‘I don’t think I can, I had to fight the landlord quite a bit to keep Milo. I don’t think he’d appreciate a kitten’ you looked down, she was sleeping now curled up in your hand so small and weak.

“I could always take her, she’d be right next store and you could visit of course, if you wanted too”

You smiled at him and stood up ‘do you think you’ll get in trouble, they seem to have a pretty strict pet policy’

He looked down and laughed a little bit “I’ve been here a while, and it can be our little secret”

Chris winked at you and smiled.

The rain started to slow a bit, the two of you walked back to the townhouses, you couldn’t help but notice how warm he was every time your shoulders bumped. Or maybe it was just that you were feeling cold, the chill from the rain earlier was finally getting to you despite being in the oversized jacket you borrowed from your new friend.

You got back to your home, invited Chris in and made some tea and hot soup.

You both talked for a while going on as time flew by. He left for a bit to go get supplies for the cat, which he so lovingly named Luna, claiming he just had a thing for space.

You pet Milo smiling at the tiny kitten sleeping in your lap, you heard a knock on the door then the sound of it opening. Chris walked in with a smile and several bags of supplies.

“I hope this is enough for now, I’ll probably go get more tomorrow once this rain starts”

You stood up, Luna in your arms and walked with him to the door.

‘Well you know what they say about the rain’

You smiled at him as he raised an eyebrow

‘April showers bring may flowers’ you gestured to the plants he had helped you carry in earlier that day.

“That’s true” he laughed “maybe when it’s time to plant everything I can help, I’ve always wanted a garden out back”

You handed him Luna and grinned ‘I look forward to it Chris’

Both of your doors shut together, the two of you thinking the same thing.

Chris held Luna up and whispered “you, little one, may have just found me my future”

#chris beck #chris beck fluff #chris beck x y/n #chris beck x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #space daddy #the martian

42 notes · View notes

prome-th3us · 3 years ago

Text

I thought a lot about how I should set up this part of the series, if I should give a mythological background or not, and I came to the conclusion that no, I won't do that right now. I will talk about the Greek and the Norse Pantheons when I will be free from exams, but for now I will just give my personal experience with the Gods and how we've built our relationship during those years together.

Here you can find the rest of you are curious 💜

My dieties: Hekate

She has been the first diety for me (I mean I had Loki around but hey I didn't know yet). As I said in the previous part, she's one of the guardians of our family, so she has been with me since I was born too.

When I first started getting into paganism, it was natural for me to call out for her, I didn't have any doubt that the Goddess I was seeking for was her, and she didn't disappoint me.

She has always been present since I started to notice her energy, whenever I needed or I was calling out for her, she was right by my side. We've been through the worst time of my life together and even if I wasn't able to have a dialogue with her, I was never alone. She uses to touch my head when she's there and this is what made me know at that time that she was here with me.

Considering her loving presence and how many problems I have with my mum, with time I started to consider her a motherly figure and now she's the only goddess I'm "working" with and the only one that I trust (I have serious problems with trusting women in general, it takes me a lot of time and effort).

I can describe her like the goth mum who likes to hype her son/daugher and wants them to be their truly self: fascinating, intriguing and dangerous. Her energy is dark, powerful, but also very calm and fascinating, like a particular perfume; I associate her with with a mixture of spices and other smells: vanilla, lavender, incense, cypress, sandalwood, nutmeg. Like all together, it's very particular. The Goth Mum does smell good.

My work with her

We don't actually work together but she isn't here without doing anything. Considering that she is a goddess related to the Underworld and, to make it short, basically the main goddess who were invoked for necromancy rites, she had been helping me a lot to get in touch with spirits and how to behave with them.

She's also a protector of the household, so even though I consider her my foster mum basically, she always wanted me to get back to my real mother: for a long time I didn't want to, until my therapist made me do that too and when things get harsh, she's always there to give me courage and love. Also, she's the one who keeps away the bad guys, both "friends" and strangers: she made me do a wooden guardian with this specific intent as an offering for her. Jerry is outside near her altar.

She's a goddess and she embodies a strong and independent woman, as a lot of other goddesses: she knows my struggles with my gender and how much Loki helped me with it, and even though she knows that I don't really need labels for who I am she wants me to get in touch with my woman-side. She doesn't want to make me become a woman: she loves what I am and she respects that, but at the same time she knows how important it is to get in touch with both our feminine and masculine sides (we all have these two polarities and we should normalize this topic). We are currently working on this together, how I perceive femininity on me and on the others as well as working on its archetypes. Just let me say this: it has been months since we started and I'm still genderfluid but hey, I've never felt more comfortable in my body and in my mind, I'm just feeling in harmony with what I really am and I'm so fricking exited to start to balance both polarities (i've always been more on the masculine side), I'm sure it will be AMAZING.

I also perceive her as the goddess of choices: she is associated with crossroads and this is a place in which you choose your path, both physically and spiritually. Everyone at a certain point has to make a choice: she's there watching over us. She will never tell you if you're making the right choice because she knows that this is up to your free will, but she will always be there, challenging you to take those steps alone. This is what she taught me: I never got at advice from her about my spiritual and life paths, because she wanted me to be able to get through decisions alone, but this doesn't mean that she wasn't actually ready to help me if I really needed. She is a diety who will make you cross your own boundaries, just like Loki, and she will bring you to the edges of your personal reality: you will start questioning everything and everyone, every choice you make, until you understand that this isn't the point. She isn't thinking when she is crossing the line between the material and the spiritual world: she is using her intuition and this ability comes mostly from experience. This doesn't mean that she won't teach you anything: she taught me a lot of things but she never said when I was wrong nor she got angry. She patiently waited until I realized and then we had a talk about it. That's also why I consider her a mother: she gives me the independence I deserve but she's never distant and she's always ready to intervene if I mess up too bad.

For example, one day I really wanted to try necromancy. I knew it was a bad idea but hey, I just can't think about anything else when I get hyper fixated. While Loki and Hades were so concerned because I wasn't obviously ready and were trying to change my mind, she came and said:"let her do what she wants. If she's not scared, why not? And anyways it's better since we are here now. My dear, come with me and tell me what you had in mind". My idea was obviously terrible, it was just trying to remake what Odysseus did, but I tried anyway. I still don't know if I messed up or if I got really scared and my body reacted in this way, but I had this sharp pain on my right shoulder in the middle of the ritual. I started to have migraine and feeling nauseous as well (this was probably my anxiety or the fricking pain but ok). Loki and Hades were here as well but she made them swear that they wouldn't get involved unless she asked for their help. She came near me, touched my shoulder, and turned her key in the air. I immediately felt better except for the shoulder, since that day it's hurting from time to time. She looked at me and said:"sweetheart, I suppose we both agree on not doing this again for a long time, right? " Nothing else. This is how she teaches me things.

She does help tho if I explicitly ask: in spells especially. I had to do this protection spell which was active, not passive: this means that instead of just giving protection, it would do something to the person crossing her boundaries. She gave me that spell and it was my first time doing that, so I asked for her help. The spell lasted three hours and her candle was basically non existent when we started: that little flame lasted until I sealed the spell, to let me know she heard my call.

She is also the one who taught me that witchcraft isn't always safe: with a lot of spells are going to change the reality around you, this is what you are doing them for. She didn't go easy with me: we were doing basic spells together, but soon enough I learned that they can have bad consequences on your life, and she didn't help me fixing anything because I had to learn how to do that by myself. Thanks to her my practice is completely gray: one day I can do a self-love spell or a protection sachet and the next day I can throw an hex on someone who really did bad to me (please don't be moralistic: it's bad and everything, but trust me when I say that they deserve every inch of that hex. They made me go through a lot with my parents when I didn't do anything and still my relationship with them isn't ok due to those guys, so yeah). But as I said, mostly there's a price to pay and I know I will deal with the consequences sooner or later, the solution is the balance between those two aspects of my craft: dark and light always go together, that's the biggest lesson she gave me.

So yeah, at the beginning of my path she was very present and rn she took over Loki a little because I really needed to work on my feminine polarity, but we're doing this every Sunday (she gives me homework for the rest of the week), for the rest of the time I can perceive her coming to say hi, but mostly she doesn't interact with me unless it's needed. She's always watching, but from distance, that's because I call her guardian.

How I honor her

During the day I wear a key that I consecrated to her using her candle, so she knows that I always think about her.

When I do my makeup or I express my femininity, I say a little prayer to her because I'm honouring our work together.

As I do for the other Gods, I give her offerings:

Herbal tea

Moon water

Normal water

White wine

Dried fruits

Some sweets (just when I don't have anything else, she doesn't really like them that much)

A lot of keys

Some collectible dog figurines

Some jewelry I don't use anymore

Amethyst

Rocks

Purple flowers

Dry leaves/flowers

Basically that's all about the material offerings. For the rest of the time, I keep in mind what she did for me so I try to behave like she taught me during this time.

#hekate #witchblr #pagan witch #hecate diety

11 notes · View notes

gentlemancrow · 3 years ago

Link

In the quiet haven of Daisy's safehouse, Martin notices he is regurgitating cliche romantic lines from beloved movies in place of his own words when he should be finally able to tell Jon how he's felt about him all along. He becomes convinced this means The Lonely has stolen his ability to love from him and Jon has to reassure him that that, above all else, is a thing absolutely impossible to do.

Presented in Technicolor

The first time it happened, neither of them noticed. It was so fast, so very quick, just a twitch of tracking on a well-loved VHS or a blip of a warped cellulose acetate bubble drowning in a sea of feedback and static.

There was only one bed in the safehouse. So exhausted in body, in essence, in soul, neither of them argued, neither even thought to argue, as they collapsed together and apart on either side to sink into silence. They’d held each other until then, until that moment of tense intimacy foisted upon them, on the endless soundless train ride to Scotland while Martin searched inside the hollowed-out cavern of himself for his voice and Jon held the atoms of him together to keep both of them from vanishing into the ether. But in the bed, in the hallowed safety of soft blankets and distance, they polarized. Still yanking magnetically for each other from around the insurmountable corners of themselves, but held apart by the unspeakable, unseeable force of everything still between them. They could not give it voice or life. It gave life to itself in the not speaking and not seeing, in the friction of invisible things looping around and around and shining an aurora green that burned hot and sang with a shrieking fluorescent crescendo. They lay, back-to-back, vibrating and glowing in swelling, whining incandescence before Jon finally burst in an argon bright concussion of light.

“Thank you, Martin.”

Another pop of flash powder.

“…For what?”

“For loving-“ a bruised pause, “For seeing something, anything to love about me. Before. For writing me into the pages of your heart as someone worth penning an epic about. For thinking me worthy, even in the slightest, of your tragic hero’s end. Of your sacrifice. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Afraid to move the mattress, a cotton scum of fragile ice that might shatter and tip them both into frothing white mist, Martin turned only his head, the ozone burnt agates of his eyes shining.

“What makes you think this is an ending?”

Jon’s head swiveled now, with both twisted bodies at parallel meridians and an ocean between them before their eyes could meet.

“I… I only thought. You said-?”

“I’m still… me.”

Words were still so hard, wickedly barbed on his tongue, raw and blistering as they bubbled over, but it seemed to encapsulate what he wanted to say as best he could.

“Oh…” that carved with a serrated blade from Jon’s chest, “Oh god, Martin...”

His name on his lips sounded like a prayer. Devotion of one gone from heretic to nonbeliever to basking in the glories of his own personal god of love, descended to anoint his forehead in blood and sing the forbidden gospels of passion snatched from the jaws of things that lurked and preyed. He hated how brightly he burned so that he could not look directly at him, how much the light still hurt, hated the jagged rip of yearning through his middle too wide now to suture shut. But the comforter whispered softly as Jon turned and his fingers danced over its oceanic crests toward him, for him. Martin’s fingers sailed swiftly in kind, as he too, turned and surrendered into the magnetism of this beautiful, clueless acolyte, worthier than any, who bound up his colliding hands and kissed them desperately.

“I��m so sorry it took me so long to get to you,” Jon breathed into his strong, cold fingers, “I’m so sorry.”

The warmth of those hands, those lips and breath, bled into his, turned his paperwhite skin pink again and brought the noontide sky rising in his eyes. He smiled in faint, glimmering adulation.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re here now.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

Martin freed one hand to cup preciously over Jon’s pockmarked cheek, over the gospel of him, to thread his fingers into the silken swatch of silvered hair behind his ear and feel out the elegant curve of his neck. Jon’s hand followed a mirror path, painting color and life into his freckled cheek in its wake and stealing the iconographic crystal tears quivering glimmeringly on darkly red lashes. They closed the distance between them forever, nuzzled foreheads piously bowed and touching. A tiny laugh of mingled breathlessness and shattered walls that portended the first smiles bloomed in defiance of endless gray seas.

“I love you.”

Martin’s throat hitched painfully as twin tears rolled down his cheeks. His chest heaved and burned, his lips and teeth clanked and ground to make the sounds he so violently wanted to make, but they were too heavy. Too burdensome, wrapped in rusted chains and sunken too deep somewhere in the hole bored out of him in white acid fog to haul up, but still there. Still there.

“Shhh. It’s okay if you can’t say it back yet. Or if you don’t want to. I understand,” Jon soothed, touching the corner of his mouth.

Martin kissed into his palm feverishly as tears streaked down his cheeks. He couldn’t say much more. He could not possibly convey the magnitude of his endless, ceaseless want, only whisper in a weak, resolute treble into the scarred piano fingers playing a sonata on lips.

“I want to. I-I would have waited… forever for you. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. You complete me.”

Three simple, stolen words that ultimately meant nothing at all in the wake of the kiss that followed. A solar flare of months, years, of plasmic longing dripped into the pits of their hearts effused, hands tangled into hair, hot tears mingling on cold crushed cheeks. They kissed into, through, around each other, kissed until they couldn’t breathe, kissed to atone for all the ones they had missed, for all the ones stolen from them. They kissed until they were thoroughly wound together and sleep claimed them, Martin’s head atop Jon’s chest so he could hear and feel his heartbeat all through the night.

Martin only realized late into the next morning that his words had sounded tinny and stuck like an ugly, thorny burr to the knit of his memory, sifting its way to the surface only after the floodwaters of love had receded. They awoke in a waking dream of gauzy, liminal sunlight in dancing ribbons, of unbelieving laughter and kissing and touching each other’s faces just to make sure it had all been real after all. And it had. Their words of love could be rewound and replayed, etched into magnetic tape finally untangled and wound straight and true around the stalwart barrel of a pencil eraser.

It wasn’t until they were halfway through scraping together a quiet breakfast of stale tea and long expired porridge that the scene his words really belonged to came to Martin in a whipcrack flash of sipping lukewarm beer at two something in the morning in a darkened room lit only by whatever was on the tele that could hold his attention for more than a few minutes. Those three stolen words. A line he had snorted cynically, jealously, at, even then, drunker than he wanted to be and in the solitary throes of habitual insomnia. Three stupid, hackneyed words of pop culture parody. He smoldered in wordless humiliation, but promptly forgot again when Jon interrupted him at the stove to slide his arms around his waist and press a kiss to the corner of his lips for no reason at all other than the late morning rays looked particularly beautiful spiraling in his russet gold curls.

Martin abandoned the bubbling sludge in the pot and kissed him back because didn’t matter in the slightest. Thoughtlessly plagiarizing a mediocre romantic movie with a single line eternally embedded in the zeitgeist of the era and lingering in the subconscious of all who endured it meant nothing at all, especially when they couldn’t stop kissing. Giddy with the freedom of just being together, dizzy with the new toy of kissing, of Jon’s lips, Martin’s hands, of the way they fit against each other, and the thrill of newness in radiant insolence of everything they had escaped. Of course, though, he had to come clean over plain porridge with too much cinnamon and not enough sugar, over-steeped tea, and nervous laughter, lest Jon think he was an even worse poet than he already was.

“It’s the worst thing ever, right? THAT movie. Out of all the movies…”

Jon shrugged through the fluttering bird wings of his laughter.

“I didn’t even notice, I mean, how could I? Kind of a small thing, after… everything… and it was finally just us.”

Martin’s voice came easier now, more like sweet, sugary tea just a little too hot to drink comfortably, so he could laugh and blush and splutter into his hands.

“Still. I can’t believe I could only choke out all of three sentences to you after I’d been waiting so long to tell you how I feel, and one of them was from Jerry fucking Maguire.”

“Hey, it’s a good line,” Jon chuckled, “Cheesy, sure, but good. And I don’t care where you got it, so long as I’ve got you.”

“Pfft, who’s being cheesy now?”

“Us.”

Jon took his hand across the rickety breakfast table with its faded flowered cloth and the line was written over in his mind like hitting record on the high-fidelity cassette right at the first chords of your favorite song on the radio. And none of the DJ’s chatter to boot.

The next time it happened it lingered longer, like a vapid slogan from a commercial, devoid of anything but flagrant rhyme and earworms frustratingly buoyant on the brain. It wasn’t until the next day though, when the shadows of everything caught them up and the newness of their love had dimmed just enough to cast them, mangled and black, across their joined hands. Jon had attempted to breach the unbreachable bulwark of The Plan, because they’d had a day, that was plenty, and he couldn’t not be thinking about watching his own feet and his back at the same time because he was him. They couldn’t stay there forever, after all. Though Martin was always quick with a plaintive ‘why not?’ every time Jon reminded him of that fact. He had tried valiantly, oh so valiantly, to keep pace and contribute, to hear Jon’s voice, to process the things he was saying, as horrible as they were, but everything he said clanged around in his skull like a moth trapped in a mason jar, buzzing and fluttering and indistinct in its blind, supersonic lostness. Every shred of Beholding, or Jonah Magnus, or Smirke’s fourteen, maybe fifteen, was another drop of condensation leaking down the foggy panes of him, scoring a clear, bloodless wound that only fogged over to be slashed open again.

Sometime in the haze of late afternoon, when the sun is pale and stagnant, when the second hand lingers on the twelve a little longer than it should on each revolution, Martin began to breathe just a little quicker than Jon would have liked. Even after he gave up the frantic turning of the gears in his head that was a little too loud, even for him, for softer dialog, Martin’s eyes darted just a little too frantically, pupils frosted over just a little too white and a little too small while his tongue tripped over simple words and his hand leapt shyly away from his touch. Jon knew he had tread too far. Suddenly, mid banal and desperate Band-Aid conversation about how to make a proper Scottish shortbread because he had no idea what else to ask about that wouldn’t recall beaches, loneliness, or eyes, Jon closed his mouth, took one look at the fading marigold of his love, and gently took his hand to lead him outside the back of the cottage. Neither said a word as Jon propped the ghost of Martin comfortably on the small garden bench, set his phone to a classic music station at whisper volume beside him, and kissed his temple fiercely.

“You just breathe for me out here a while, alright?” he said against his translucent skin, the words so quiet Martin could barely hear them. He heard them louder and clearer than anything all day, “Just breathe and I’ll be right inside if you need me. You’re not alone.”

Martin nodded mutely, and closed his eyes to let the sound of the wind in the overgrown hedgerows and the petals of pink primroses, of violins and chaffinches flitting in the trees wash the waxed-on layers of static away. A few hours later, when the sun had tipped to the west and the sky was flushed with peachy orange daubs of cloud, Jon peeked out of the back door of the safehouse. Martin was exactly where he had left him, but his eyes were serenely closed, his full lips were a rosy pink and curved into a gentle smile, and he glowed with the flaxen veil of near dusk settling atop their tiny haven.

Jon smiled and padded as quietly as he could to his side. He perched beside him on the bench, saying nothing, just sitting with him, watching as Martin opened his eyes like bright blue forget-me-nots blooming in a dewy April morning and threaded his warm, sunset kissed fingers into his.

“Hi, you.”

“Hi,” Jon replied breathlessly, heart thrumming, “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you…”

“I’m glad of it. Mind if I sit with you a bit?”

“Please do.”

Unbinding their fingers for only the time it took to extricate his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, fish one out, and light it, Jon scooped Martin’s hand back into his and held it atop the cool stone of the bench as cinders glowed bright against the balmy stirrings of eventide.

“Forgive me my vices in these trying times,” he snickered facetiously, seeing the lovingly judgmental look on Martin’s face.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Martin answered behind willowy wisps of smoke, “For now, anyway. I can nag you to quit again when this is all over.”

Jon didn’t reply right away, taking a long drag of the cigarette and exhaling it slowly, pensively, letting the heavy smoke curl up from his lips and through his nostrils like some ancient sentinel dragon. His warm, dark eyes reflected the tilting sky as he gazed up into its aching emptiness and quelled the bored and hungry thrashing of the thing inside him.

“Do you think it will be…? Over? That is?” he mused in that gravelly tone he only got when he was carrying something heavy.

“Of course I do. I have to believe that,” came Martin’s fervent rejoinder, “I have to believe it. For everyone. For us.”

“For love?”

Jon’s eyes flicked away finally from the crawling heaps of clouds on the horizon toward the man at his side, tethering his hand to solid rock. Martin squeezed that hand as he filled those woody, heady depths with his own gaze of boundless blue.

"People do fall in love. People do belong to each other, because that's the only chance that anyone's got for true happiness," he murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek.

Jon closed those eyes of empty galaxies and polished mahogany and tipped his cheek fully into Martin’s palm, pressing it there with his free hand. The smoldering cigarette balanced elegantly between the knobs of his first two knuckles, painting a wispy circlet of smoke around his head.

“Mmm. That is a nice thought, what’s it from?” he wondered aloud as Martin’s thumb stroked his cheek.

He snorted incredulously.

“Me…? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Really? But it sounds so familiar… oh-!” Jon gasped in epiphany, “I got it! Breakfast at Tiffany’s!”

Martin’s brows knitted tightly on his face as his hand slipped away from Jon’s cheek.

“What? No… No, it can’t be. I-“

“Yeah, it is! You remember! The scene at the end in the cab where he throws the ring at her… tells her she’s… built herself a cage and has to live with herself in it…” Jon recollected, suddenly going darkly joking, “Are you trying to tell me something?”

It was lost in the razor-sharp film reel slithering through Martin’s subconscious, flickering and snapping mockingly in the dark.

“Oh, you’re… you’re right. Hah, dunno where that came from,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head embarrassedly. The other hand, still entwined with Jon’s on the bench, tightened skittishly.

“I should hope you wouldn’t compare me to Holly Golightly,” Jon retorted amusedly, fingers rooting his in reply.

“Oh, there is so much to unpack there, but no. No Jon, it’s just a movie I accidentally pulled a line from because it was one of my mum’s favorites and I used to put it on for her all time,” Martin chuckled, though it was a little thin for his liking, “Don’t read too deep into it. I’ve just seen it a zillion times is all.”

A noncommittal, teasing hum rumbled from Jon’s lips as he put them back around the cigarette and pulled luxuriantly. His long, silvered chestnut waves spilled over his shoulders as he tipped his head back, catching the wavelengths of light in a way that stole Martin’s breath away.

“And anyway. She still makes the choice to put on the Cracker Jack ring and she still finds Cat and they end up kissing in the rain, remember?” he added.

Jon chuckled a husky, smoky chuckle.

“That she does…”

Martin looked down at their joined hands and felt the shuddering reverb of everything that had gone before. A sickly tide of guilt washed up over his heart. He was the reason they were sitting outside quoting Audrey Hepburn movies and idly holding hands when so much was behind them and so much ahead, wedged in the middle of tragedy gone and unknown tragedies to come.

“S-Sorry about all this…”

Jon snapped instantly to attention, sword and shield of emotional chivalry drawn and at the ready.

“For what? Needing a break from me? For chrissakes Martin, I’m not easy to deal with even before… before everything that happened to you. Not to mention I’m probably just about the worst person to learn how to be human again with, if we’re brutally honest. Since I’m… neither here nor there myself. I don’t blame you at all.”

His words struck so obtusely, so off the mark, Martin felt hurled into a vacuum, spinning helplessly in space.

“Th-That’s not it! That’s not it at all! Th-There’s no one in the world I’d rather be learning to be human again with, Jon. I want to be here with you, I just… can’t we just be us? For a little while anyway? I just want to be with you…”

His words settled for a moment, whispering in echo like dust and dry leaves tinkling after a whirlwind. The corner of Jon’s mouth curled into a puckish grin. He paused, just a moment, as if deciding the flash of an idea in his mind was genius or completely deranged, but then stabbed out his cigarette on the cobblestones at his feet. He let Martin’s hand go so he could pick up his phone, still insistently playing some obscure old string quartet composition, searched through the music app, then turned up the volume as Moon River began its first lilting notes through the speakers. Setting it down on the bench and rising primly to his feet, he swept himself up in a gentlemanly bow and offered his hand back out an invitational gesture. Martin stared at it, blinking, and peal of robust laughter rang joyously through his chest.

“…You’re not serious.”

“Deadly.”

Unable, unwanting to refuse, Martin took Jon’s hand and was lifted up into a weightless, awkward dance in the tiny unkept garden to a metallic cellphone rendition of Moon River. They spun with indulgent slowness, as the stars peeked out and the music crooned on, hand in hand and unsure who exactly was supposed to be leading this waltz, no foxtrot, no definitely tango. But they laughed each time they stepped on each other’s feet, as they melded back into congruent shapes, and everything was forgotten again in a kiss like a silver streak of comet dust across the luminous pink-purple horizon.

“Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker. Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way…”

The third time it happened, it was a bloody record scratch and a haunting, grainy skipping of warped vinyl. Jon had woken up after their night full of neon and technicolor splendor completely drained of it and awash in dark-eyed, ailing sallowness. Only able to insist he was fine as far as collapsing into Martin’s arms the moment he tried to get out of bed, he had been stuffed bodily back in and given a stern talking to about neglecting his needs, however unsavory they might be. And unsavory they were, Martin’s gut remembered, as he dutifully fetched the tape recorder and the meager folder of statements they’d managed to filch to tide him over until Basira could secret them some more. They felt grimy and insurmountably tainted in his trembling hands, sticky somehow and cloying with the acrid reminder of what Jon was, what they both were, and what had touched them both with filthy hands and sharp nails. He laid them on the bed beside Jon like they burned, who watched as he took two steps back and faded into the slice of sunlight spilling through the bedroom curtains.

“You… you don’t have to stay,” he told him flatly.

“Do you… do you want me to?”

“Not really?”

“Okay… Okay, then I’ll go make us some breakfast and come back when you’re through. Take your time.”

Jon nodded through the kiss Martin planted on top of his head before escaping the room like mist gliding through the black crags of a lagoon back out to sea. He cooked in choking silence, trying not to let his mind decode words from the indistinct timbre of Jon’s voice in the bedroom through the walls, but it was almost impossible. They dripped like blood rain through the leaves of a tree, fat and blistering and scattered onto the top of his head. Words like sobbed, watching, knife, burned, or devoured, scant snatches of oblique terror from people he didn’t know, would never know, people who were probably long gone and far past their reach to help. Especially now.

The eggs frying in the pan sizzled and popped distantly beside the sliced tomatoes and mushrooms obtained on the day prior’s shopping trip, and together the bright yellows and reds bled out into the cast iron until they were a vague monochromatic hue of cooked. A proper fry-up needed bacon, though, didn’t it, Martin thought, mostly to give his brain something, anything to look at while he waited for the disembodied voice to cease, yes, he should really go fetch the bacon. Staring blankly at the stove, his cloudy, foggy eyes refused to focus on any single point and his feet refused to move, detached and dangling each from a silver thread somewhere. Once he could connect enough points of radio snow to hew a coherent thought, he doubted the kindness of eating bacon, of all things, beside Jon after he’d had to read whatever unknown horror. Instead, just mounded an extra helping of beans onto his plate as he loaded up the tray with tea and toast and everything else and ferried it into the silent bedroom.

Jon was still in bed, as expected, sitting up cross-legged and chewing his thumbnail idly with no sign of the statements or the tape recorder. Martin hated how relieved he was not to see them again, but he loved how much better Jon looked, and how the distance in his eyes fled in bright starry gleams to see him through the gray filter settling over his own.

“Oh, breakfast in bed hmm? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Just one of the many perks of deciding to put up with me,” Martin replied with as much cheer as he could muster to match him.

Jon frowned a little, but said nothing as the laden tray was alighted over his lap and Martin slid carefully onto the bed to join him. Martin was an excellent cook, always had been, but both of them picked at the limp, lifeless spread with appetites long truant and senses perverted. A bit of runny yolk on slightly burnt toast was nothing to a wet crunch of bone and a scream of ire. The canned beans tasted of seawater and squelched like kelp bulbs impaled on the tongs of his fork. Martin poked at them distractedly, watching them leave gruesome red streaks of their innards on the chipped plate until the soft, slender backs of Jon’s fingers pressed worriedly into his too cool forehead.

“Are you alright? You’re the one looking a bit peaky now.”

Martin looked up and nuzzled into the warmth of his fingers needily.

“Am I?” he asked absently, “Sorry, I just… I hate this.”

The miniscule points of light in Jon’s eyes that had winked on at his return, despite everything, dimmed like an empty stage again as he looked down at his mangled plate, crestfallen. His hand shied back away to his lap where it twisted the hem of the comforter instead.

“I’m sorry, Martin…”

Martin’s chest seized. The bright red tartan comforter faded to gray.

“Oh shit- no, Jon, not like that! I-I mean I hate it for you! I hate what it does to you. I hate that the pain of other people is necessary for your continued existence in this world. I hate that it makes you… like it… That’s all. I-I just need to get used to it.”

Protest withered and died in the atmosphere the moment Jon’s lips parted to unleash it. They closed as thought flickered behind his eyes, parted, then closed again before he finally conjured the right words.

“Then… I guess I’m just sorry being with me involves learning the ah… care and feeding of an eldritch demigod…?” he offered with a wan smile and a shrug.

Martin blinked, then chuckled softly, mournfully, and leaned over to press his lips in a slow, indulgent kiss into Jon’s forehead.

“It’s alright,” he mumbled against the scarred skin, closing his eyes and letting the sandalwood scent of his shampoo waft over him in verdant waves, “I think I can manage. Everyone goes through this. Just, most people have to deal with ‘oh he’s a vegan and she hates cats.’ Ours just so happens to be ‘oh he sustains himself on being a voyeur to gut-wrenching terror and he fades from literal existence every so often.’ No better, no worse really, if you think about it.”

Jon laughed in kind, a little deeper, a little louder.

“You’re not going to tell me you hate cats next, are you?”

“Not in the least.”

“Good, because that would have been a deal breaker.”

“And now I know you’re a cat person,” Martin chuckled, reaching out and stealing Jon’s scarred right hand.

He unfolded it reverently out on the comforter, like the painted paper wings of a butterfly, and traced the old lines of it with a fingertip flushing pink again. The trails of his life and heart and fate lines were faint and obscure beneath the crumbling ramparts of healed flesh, but still there.

“But that’s the greatest part about being with someone, isn’t it…?” he continued quixotically, the glow spreading back to his cheeks as his fingers danced atop Jon’s palm, “That’s where the adventure is. Learning about them every day, learning about yourself, too, and how to be two people, but also somehow two people together? And now I can say I have the privilege, no, the honor, to have embarked on the epic journey to learn how to be with you, weird metaphysical dietary needs and all. Because the greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return. Don’t you think?”

It was Jon’s turn to snatch up Martin’s hand with a wry grin, warm again in his palms, and kiss every one of his freckled knuckles as they blazed back to life in ruddy constellations.

“Fancy me a very strange enchanted boy then, do you?” he teased.

Martin balked dubiously.

“I… I’m sorry?” he snorted, raising an eyebrow.

“You know- That song you just quoted. Nat King Cole? Nature Boy? They say he wandered very far. Very far, over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye. But very wise was he…” Jon hummed, half-singing the lyrics in a drowsy velvet purr, “Heh, I suppose I’m a little flattered this time.”

Too much of a pool of serenaded bewitchment to ponder where he’d gotten the lyrics, Martin’s eyes went positively limpid with love as they flushed songbird blue.

“God, you have… such a gorgeous voice…” he gushed, astonished and humbled to have heard it, even if he could never convince him to do it again.

Jon rolled his eyes fondly as the tips of his ears turned a little rosy.

“Oh, shut up.”

“You know I’m never, ever letting that go now,” Martin said with ruthless affection, laughing sheepishly, “B-But yeah I know the song. I guess. I think I must have been thinking of Moulin Rouge though. Didn’t know it was a song before that…”

“Right, right, that film. Excellent use of it. If I recall correctly, didn’t David Bowie do a cover for it as well?”

Jon prattled on for a moment about David Bowie, or covers of songs most people didn’t know were actually covers, or Baz Luhrmann movies, Martin couldn’t tell. There was another sinkhole opening in him. Not one filled with frigid fog that eroded him layer by agonizing layer with the tide in a seaside cave like the first, but one more of rusted metal, jagged and eaten away by the creep of something infectious and voracious. It had started so small, just three stolen words, but now it spread and ate tiny holes in him wherever something beautiful, something his, should have lived, replaced it with a brown patina of rot and decay and overuse. His fragile armor crumbled while Jon shone, animatedly talking about cinema and devouring, with gusto, the breakfast made for him. The least Martin could do was allow his radiant light to pierce the ugly, unnamed holes in him and shine in love-wrought florals and wreaths made beautiful through him.

“You know if movies are a-a thing of yours, I wouldn’t mind… err that is to say, I like movies, too?” Jon continued on in his hopeful ramblings, desperate to catch the drooping sails of Martin once again, “I took a film class like everyone does back at uni and I found it absolutely fascinating. I mean there’s a good reason everyone does, right? There were a few in there I wouldn’t mind watching with y- Ahah, well we don’t have to watch THOSE kinds of movies, any kind will do, really. And I swear I won’t get pretentious or academic about it, or- oh u-unless you like picking apart movies like that? I probably don’t seem the type but, trust me, I am actually capable of watching something and just enjoying it without-“

“Jon,” Martin halted him adoringly, smiling as he met his timid gaze and mentally scrubbing over his rusty spots stubbornly with steel wool and vinegar, for him, for Jon, “I’d love to overanalyze movies with you.”

The anxious bowstring of Jon’s reedy body finally went slack, and he smiled radiantly.

“Oh. Oh! Good!” he breathed eagerly, “I um- I know this place doesn’t have internet for obvious reasons, but I think there’s an old VCR hooked up to the TV? We can hunt around and see if Daisy has any cassettes squirreled away somewhere. She must have.”

“Sure, after you finish your breakfast though. Don’t want you keeling over from starvation of either kind, lesson number one in ‘The Care and Feeding of Your Cryptid Boyfriend’,” Martin reprimanded lovingly.

“Hey, same goes for you, baked bean Picasso over here,” Jon shot back.

They laughed, and for a brief, halcyon moment, Martin felt the holes spackled shut. Perhaps it could be enough, Jon could be enough. Perhaps it was nothing but paranoia and the lingering fingerprints drawn in sea salt and sand on his throat. If he only forged ahead, if Jon’s godlike hands could sculpt him into something sealed and whole, perhaps the stuttering film reel could come to a raucous, flapping conclusion in the projector and fade to black. He only needed to heal. He just needed time. That’s what Jon would say. And that’s what he said, too, but the breakfast still tasted of brine and Bakelite.

The fourth time it happened was the time Martin stopped counting, and instead just let them stack up, sharp and hot, against the back of his skull. It came, a slow and lumbering sound test later that very evening sprawled on the couch in front of an old VHS from the dusty collection Daisy had indeed accrued. They had settled on Say Anything from her surprisingly romcom heavy library, which Martin had seen many times but Jon had never bothered. Horrified and aghast he had never seen the origin of the oft parodied and iconic boombox scene, and then even further scandalized Jon didn’t even know what ‘the boombox scene’ was in the first place, he put it in and figured out the tuning and setup while Jon filched a dusty old bottle of wine of indiscriminate origin and poured it recklessly into two mugs without even searching for proper glasses. Neither could decide if the wine was awful because it was just awful to begin with, or if wine just tasted weird in general out of a chintzy floral ceramic mug, but they both drank to boneless giddiness as they watched the classic tale of Diane and Lloyd by firelight.

They began ever so politely, each on their own cushion on the couch, just close enough to touch knees or hold hands or brush a thigh on the way to pour more wine. One mug in and they were happily squashed side by side between the back cushions, battling for whose head got to be on whose shoulder with encircled arms and fingers twined adamantly together. Martin sitting up to pour a second round freed Jon to slink, catlike, into a curled-up puddle on his lap, all but demanding Martin’s hands in his hair. He happily obliged, sipping mediocre red blend in one hand while the other stroked Jon languidly, starting at the crown of his long, silvered locks and laying out the waves of them in reverent oaky garlands on his thighs. The bottle only yielded a half pour for their third and final serving, which Jon downed in several hurried gulps so that he could claim the lay of the couch, wriggling his back into the cushions and opening his arms invitingly for Martin, a dopey grin on his face and his ears bright crimson with drink.

A more sober Martin would have been deeply concerned about their ability to squeeze horizontally together on the couch, but as it was all he saw was a sliver of very inviting cushion and the tantalizing glimmer of a little spoon. He crashed into those arms, resulting in no less than several minutes of laughing and yelping in pain and mashed limbs, but eventually they wormed their way to equilibrium. Jon had to tuck Martin’s mop of rusty curls under his chin to see the television, and Martin’s knees dangled precariously off the edge, but their ankles tangled together and Jon’s arm draped preciously over Martin’s chest as he folded him protectively in his embrace and kissed into the crown of his head. They glowed softly in their final performance after a tableau of love for each act of the film, watching the seminal scene in inebriated reverie. Both of them pointedly ignored the lyrics of the song that went with it.

“So… the film’s called Say Anything…” Jon mumbled into Martin’s hair as the film marched on, half sleepy, half drunk.

“Mmhmm,” Martin intoned in response, idly toying with Jon’s fingers twiddling at his chest as the room twirled merrily around his head.

“And supposedly she can say anything to her father… but then he’s the one who lied to her? And encouraged her to break up with John Cusack even though she clearly loves him?”

“That is indeed what happened, yes.”

“So it’s sort of all about honesty, then?”

“You could put it that way, yeah!” Martin replied, tilting his head up spiritedly, “That sometimes we do horrible things, we lie, to protect and care for the people who mean the most to us. But we still mean it. He’s sort of a foil to Lloyd in that way, you know? Both of them unquestionably love Diane, it’s just Lloyd is going to do it despite not being what society deems worthy, being himself, and Jim’s going to do it to make life perfect for her even though he actually can’t and has to lie his way through it. But the film doesn’t really condemn either of them for their choices though! Sorry spoiler, she forgives him at the end and she gives him the pen to remember her by instead. They all learn something about truth and what it means to love someone, familiarly, romantically…”

Jon melted around Martin, his poet, his bard, his untangler of the mysticism of art and the soul.

“But that’s why Lloyd is such a beloved protagonist, he just loves, uncomplicatedly, honestly. He just exists to exist, you know? No plan, no need for one, he just wants to live life and love her.”

“So you are good at film analysis…” Jon snickered, lips fluttering in barely a kiss behind his ear.

“Heh, well I didn’t get to take a fancy class at uni like you did, but I guess so? I dunno, I guess I always just admired him, choosing the ‘no thanks’ option when it wasn’t even an option.”

“Would you like to?”

“Hmm? Choose the no thanks option? I think the answer to that’s pretty obvious,” Martin snorted.

“No no… If you got the chance to go. To uni, I mean. Would you want to?”

“Oh… that. You know? Yeah… yeah I think I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… I could take that pretentious film class and get a better grade than you. Take a real poetry course for once. Study all the classics and run an on-campus podcast no one listens to except you about classical themes and motifs in modern media.”

Jon laughed, the joy fizzing in his chest for a past that never was, but a future that still could be spilling into another electric kiss, this time at the nape of his neck.

“Incredible. Then what? Business degree? Run an old arthouse cinema?” he inquired, nuzzling into Martin’s broad shoulder.

“Business degree yes, cinema no. I run a bookshop,” Martin said emphatically, “A bookshop with a café… I do all the baking and you curate all the books and run the till. We have this pompous fluffy tuxedo cat who will literally do anything for ear scratches or tuna that we take in everyday and she’s our mascot and everyone loves her.”

“Love it, keep going.”

“Heh… Dunno her name though… Maybe we just call her Cat, a homage to Holly, or no-! No, we do just call her Cat, but it’s because I finally made you read T.S Eliot and now you can’t stand the thought of naming something that already has a name even if we humans can never know it. Feels far too cruel. But we try and guess at her true name anyway and for a few weeks she’ll be called Mrs. Snickelfritz and then it changes for a while to Bumblybabs or The Princess Prisspat or something. I name a cookie after her and it’s the most popular thing on the menu. We secretly mock the people coming in to find an antique copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland just to look cool on the coffee table and we don’t even feel bad about it. Every day we go home and I fiddle about in the garden and my vegetable patch and you take up astronomy. We drink a lot of wine and watch a lot of really awful tele and fall asleep cuddling on the couch before we remember to go to bed most nights. And life’s just… just quiet.”

Jon took a moment to rearrange the twisted vocal cords in his throat, just to make sure the tone of his voice was dry and clear and unburdened with saltwater.

“And uh, what would you call the shop? Our shop…”

“Out of Sight, out of Mind Books,” Martin replied, a smug grin plastered to his flushed face.

“Pfft. A little on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Hey, be nice. It took me weeks of fantasizing at my desk when I should have been researching to come up with that name.”

“I knew it. I knew you were picking out drapes for our proverbial cottage rather than following up on leads,” Jon cackled, “You really had this all planned out huh? Our life together?”

“Well, the cat’s a new character, didn’t know you liked them before,” Martin answered gleefully, “And what can I say? So much of my life’s been a story of some kind or another, but so little of it has actually been written by me or about me. Guess I just wanted a little say over my ending.”

Silence ensued, punctuated with the subtle shuddering of Jon’s breath as it passed through the machinery of him and the pining of the wrinkles raised on Martin’s sweater as he tightened himself around him.

“God I envy you Martin, being able to see a future like that,” he finally whispered, “I can see… well, there’s no telling what I can actually see, but I still have such a hard time picturing anything beyond this… I can’t see the future even in a hypothetical sense. A-And I don’t know if it’s The Eye or-”

“Hey, hey, no. Don’t talk like that,” Martin scolded, grabbing his hand firmly as he wriggled his way inelegantly into turning about face to look up into his eyes, “It’s okay, there doesn’t have to be a whole life and retirement plan or anything. I was literally just talking about how I envied Lloyd for that! It’s just that, for me, when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

The crescendo of proclamation hung in the air, sacred, immovable, honeyed on Martin’s smiling lips. It shattered with one strike of Jon’s crinkling eyes and tittering laughter.

“Ohh, that’s a good one. You know they weren’t actually supposed to be together in the end in the first draft of the film and that line was basically adlibbed for the new happy ending?”

Martin’s body buzzed numbly as the color drained from the television set and the dying flames in the fireplace, the pleasant buzz of alcohol immediately warping into a frigid tremor and a dull whine in his ears.

“Wh… what film?”

“When Harry Met Sally! Isn’t that what you were quoting? I actually love that one,” Jon went on, oblivious, snuggling up against the vast warmness of Martin's chest.

He laughed, still euphorically tipsy with any incorporeal green eyes just as quickly thumbed shut with coins on ashy gray lids as they were opened, as he went on about how no one ever expected him to like movies like that, but how achingly, awkwardly, and awfully human they always were. The ringing in Martin’s ears turned to the soft hiss of tracking on a blank VHS, the short dead space when the story was over and there were still a few feet of regimented magnetic tape left on the reel, as his eyes swam and danced in points of light. One time was happenstance, two a coincidence, three and four were a pattern. The Fog was still there, it had been all along, translated, parasitic, through his soul in static and tracking and monochrome and snow. His very own personal exile riveted to his bones with rusty old quotes from movies he knew forward and backward and in his sleep.

And it was still so gentle. A gentle fear of redundancy and acquaintance, of the Lonely routine of watching the same two fake people fall in fake love in exactly the same way time and time again with a safe throw rug and a coffee table’s distance between it all, severed from life and adrift on that small chunk of it. It fizzled and crackled with fuzzy unfeeling, draped a velvet mantle over his eyes and burned with just enough limelight to see the one shadowy figure emerging for curtain call on the stage. To see Jon, whose mouth was moving with no sound, whose eyes burned with crystal fires of so many worlds and so many paths that all led back to him, whose hands he could not feel on his cheeks.

Even without sound or touch or sight or feeling, he could still reach back through the nothing for him as he had before. He could still take the glossy black bindings of ancient digital tape and wind them tight through their fingers and around his heart for he who had fought through the Fog to bring him home. He could not be selfish enough to ask to be saved a second time, especially not when his heart still surged and swelled and fought with bound and ragged wings to go to him, when Jon was right there, in his arms, warm and soft and heroic and so very fragile.

“I wish I could give you that, Martin, so badly,” Jon was saying as he clicked the THX stereo back on, “Just… rewrite the script to give us a happy ending. I wish I could be The Architect of our happily ever after instead of The Archivist of our path to ruin already walked, but I can’t. I can’t promise you forever, Martin.”

“I know that,” he interjected, his voice unshakable and brimming with adoration, “So just… just promise me tonight then?”

Scenes could still be paused, still be rewound. One beautiful moment could live forever, frozen in time, watched, quoted, uplifting again and again, eternal in its splendor with so much comfort in the not changing. Just like he could rewind the first time Jon told him he loved him, just like he had so many times already when he could not say it back, he could still have this.

“…What?”

“Just promise me tonight. That we have tonight, here, us. That’s all you have to do. Then in a little while, maybe tomorrow, maybe a week from now, who knows? I’ll ask again. ‘Promise me tonight, Jon.’ And all you have to do is promise you’ll promise me that one night again, then I’ll always know I can count on at least one more promise, and that’s good enough for me. Just… a promise of a promise, no obligations attached.”

Jon mulled it over and around in his mind, the corner of his mouth tugging back up in a grin.

“Just a promise to promise, huh?”

“Yep… no grand gestures, no happily ever, no riding off into the sunset on white horses. Just right here, right now, every time, and we’ll figure it out as we go.”

“I think I can manage that.”

There were sunsets and white horses in both their eyes as they smiled at each other.

“Then promise me, Jon.”

“I promise you tonight, Martin, just this moment, just tonight.”

“That’s all I need.”

The rest of Say Anything faded into the background of their heartbeats and breathing and the kiss that the clocks stopped ticking in reverence for. They kissed each other into an exhausted stupor as the finale of the film rolled on, twisted relentlessly into one another, heedless as the ding of the fasten seatbelts sign turning on heralded the end. Everything would be okay. So long as he had the anchor of Jon to come back to, he could plumb the depths of the rusted-out holes in him and scour out the rot himself.

They lay like that for a while, half an hour, an hour, longer, Martin couldn’t say. He just reveled in the stillness and the blanket of quiet darkness settling over them, of Jon’s touch and Jon’s scent all around him and the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. Perhaps he dozed in the absolute safety of his couch haven while it evaded his protector, but after a time he stirred, snuggling up experimentally into Martin’s chest and nudging him gently, feeling out his consciousness to emerge into the emptiness of his wake.

“…Martin?”

Feigning sleep, Martin slipped back into the shadows to keep his plastic touch off the raw earnestness of the moment that was for Jon and Jon alone. Satisfied he was well beyond the reach of him and in the realm of dreams, Jon smiled as he laid a whispered offering of riotous color and bloom against his fluttering chest.

“I love you. I love you so much…”

It could have broken him. It should have broken him. It should have been a single, tiny stone hurled through a window that brought the entire house of glass crashing in on itself. How many times had he secretly, politely left flowers of ‘I love you’ at the gravestone of his love without his knowing? Instead, it was merely a clean pistol shot through a projector screen. A tiny chink in white vinyl silver screen armor stretched taut and infallible around him. He still could not dredge up those words, not knowing what else would cling to them on the way up from the darkest parts of himself. The film reel snagged and caught fire while he pretended to be asleep for a few minutes more, then feigned rousing to urge them both into bed while melted cellulose acetate pooled in the bottom of his heart. Jon pouted so adorably he almost relented to staying in a tangle on the couch, but for the sake of both of their not particularly young spines he ushered them both off to bed.

Martin fell asleep groping in the darkness for any other films his heart might filch a line from and impale upon his unwilling armor shrike-like, searched for their fetid corpses so he might purge them before rending into them for a meal of festering, gangrenous love. He woke up telling Jon that he liked him very much, just as he was, and fleeing the bedroom in a panic to brush his teeth before the line could percolate through Jon’s mind to truth, his own or Knowing. After lunch and a particularly vexing check-in with Basira at the phonebox that roused more than a few demons and stoked the embers of arguments, in the ashes of the mutual apologies he wielded the ubiquitous sentiment of love meaning never having to say you’re sorry. Jon had laughed. Martin had felt sick.

As they days dragged on the tally marks stacked up in turn. Martin caught himself talking about how love doesn’t make things nice, and how they were there to ruin themselves and love the wrong people. He could not stop his tongue as it churned and clanked out another platitude about his poetry, and how poetry, beauty, romance, love, were the things they stayed alive for. The thing in rusty white armor that had taken the place of him became a thing unhinged, carving the crumbling façade of himself with more and more dead word trophies that sagged, heavy and bloated, slowed its stride and left it sinking into greyscale silt and sand as it marched obsessively out to a colorless sea.

All it took was the tiniest one, three words, just like the first, to bring the battlements down at last. It was nothing more than scooping up empty tea mugs and asking if Jon would like a refill. When he replied that he would very much like one, Martin leaned down and kissed his cheek while the crack in the cornerstone of himself exploded into a fatal fractal.

“As you wish.”

Jon said nothing at first, but as Martin headed into the kitchen, he heard him musing innocently to himself.

“Heh, The Princess Bride. Been ages since I’ve seen it. I bet Daisy’s got a copy of that one here.”

The mugs slipped from Martin’s hands and shattered catastrophically on the tile at his feet. It was over. If he couldn’t do something as simple as fetch tea without tacking on some pilfered sentiment from technicolor pixels, he was too far gone. No one would be able to find him in the fog this time. He would be lost in the dark of a theatre forever, the lone patron applauding a blank screen long after the final credits had rolled and waiting for the same film to begin again. Martin’s thoughts were eerily calm, even as his body collapsed to its knees and slumped against the kitchen cupboards, his eyes white and wild, chest heaving as he gulped desperately for a breath that would stay in his lungs.

He never even heard Jon call his name, or the frantic beat of his footsteps as he flew to his side. He barely felt his hands on his shoulders, then his cheeks, and he could not hear the words spilling from his mouth over the high-pitched test tone in his ears. But there were tears in Jon’s eyes, and his face was twisted and wrought in an expression Martin had never seen on it before. His eyes were just a little too wide and too hollow, skin too taut and creased, lips too thin and pale, and as he finally heard his voice, clear and clarion above the rushing and ringing in his ears he realized what it was.

“Martin, Martin PLEASE. Please look at me! Please, you’ve got to breathe please!”

Jon was afraid. Afraid for him. Jon who had leapt headfirst into countless domains belonging solely to fear itself without a second thought, Jon who bore the scars of every time it had lashed out hungrily for him and survived. He was afraid for him. He was still pounding and screaming for him at the gate of his second ruin, or perhaps from the first he had been swallowed by the moment Jon had left it, hand still clinging to his buried beneath the rubble. Martin reached out to grasp it at last, looking into Jon’s earthen eyes as the tears he had not felt before burned like hellfire down his cheeks and his voice choked out tiny and terrified.

“Jon… Jon I can’t… breathe...”

“Yes, you can. You can. Just look at me, listen to my voice and breathe in while I count, okay? Just listen to my voice and breathe with me, in for one, two, three…”

Through wracking sobs that shook him through every fiber of his entire being, Jon led him through breathing in deep, holding it in his chest, and exhaling slowly, all the while never once letting go of his grip on his hand or letting their gaze break. Each breath he drew in calmed the violent sounds in his ears, each time he held it he could feel the firm, cold kitchen tile beneath his knees and the solidly wiry strength of Jon grounding him, coaxing him back from the brink until he was a wilted, weeping heap against his shoulder with enough air and enough pain to just cry.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…. I’m sorry, Jon,” he wailed repeatedly in answer to his prayer from the first night into the crook of his neck.

“Shhhh, shhh. It’s okay, you’re alright. I’m here. I’m right here. I’ve got you. What happened?” Jon breathed in reply, arms wrapped tight around him with one hand tangled comfortingly in the back of his ginger curls.

“N-Nothing…”

If he could not conjure his own words of love, he could not conjure words of pain. He could not tell him.

“It’s obviously not nothing. I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, of course, but please at least let me help you. Tell me how I can help, Martin.”

“I can’t…”

“We’re safe here, you know. Peter’s gone, he’s dead, he can’t hurt you anymore. I made sure of that,” there was an edge to Jon’s voice, not unkind, protective, warriorlike, “We’re far away from the institute and Basira’s looking out for us back home, and I-“

“I KNOW,” Martin snapped through his tears, immediately regretting the venom, “Sorry… M’sorry. I know… I know all that. I-I just… I just…”

“Martin, please…” desperation now, “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“…Me,” he finally sobbed inconsolably.

Jon frowned, unsure he had even heard correctly.

“…What?”

“Me. I’m wrong. I-I came back wrong.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow. What in the hell are you talking about?”

What he once felt as an empty suit of silver screen armor around him, rusted and eaten away by cliché and prosaism and pinned with their trophies had become a leaking vessel of molten cellulose and mylar mixed in the putrid bile and puss of their rotting, full to the brim and seeping out of the lacy holes in him with only two hands to cover them up. His tongue felt hot and sticky and coated in that death shroud of plastic and mawkishness but truth spilled out of him regardless.

“Jon do you… do you have any clue how long I’ve burned for you? Do you have any scope or scale for the magnitude and depth of my feelings for you? Can you even begin to understand the hell I walked through for you?”

Biting his lower lip and stroking the back of Martin’s head soothingly, Jon weighed his words.

“I-I mean… I wouldn’t try to, I would never. That experience was yours and yours alone, I can’t even pretend to-“

“That’s not the point!”

A thin thread of frustration finally twanged and snapped.

“Then what IS the point? Talk to me! I can’t help you if you won’t tell me!”

“The point is-!” Martin snarled, sitting upright and pulling away from Jon’s tear-soaked shoulder.

He looked so lost in the terrifying shadow of his grief, in piebald splotches of the grey light filtering through Martin in reverse, the guilty polycarbonate cased words vomited out of him like magma.

“The point is… the point is I finally got what I’d always dreamed of. For years. You. You coming to save me, whisking me away, looking into my eyes and promising to fight evil, together, side by side. And not only that, but you telling me love me, wholly and completely. You didn’t waste a second telling me how you felt and kissing me absolutely senseless. D-Do you have any idea how many times I imagined how that might actually happen before it did? Or how much better it was in reality? It was every dream I’d ever had come true, and I…” the tears welled, scalding and heavy, in his eyes as he buried his face in his hands and wept again, “And I ruined them. All of them. Every time we find even a tiny shred of something delicate and beautiful between us even despite all the shit we’ve been through, I ruin it because the broken fucking record in my brain dredges up some stupid movie quote instead of what I want to say that derails and destroys our entire conversation! You were supposed to say it BACK… not first. Not first.”

Jon opened his mouth and closed it again thoughtfully, still pulling gently at the tangled mire of Martin’s sorrow to find the origin.

“O-Okay? Forgive me, I’m still trying to understand. I don’t see how that’s-“

“It’s GONE Jon. I’m gone!” Martin bellowed, red-faced and bawling as he slammed his hands into his lap, “The me that used to pen pages and pages of awful poetry about everything, anything and how wonderful and sad and amazing the world was! Gone! Burnt out of me… I once wrote a goddamn poem about how we used to hide the biscuits from each other at work, you know? But now I… The words aren’t there anymore, my words aren’t there anymore. It’s just an empty hole. Every time I’ve tried to tell you how I feel about you it’s just come from some stupid sappy romcom, not me… That part of me, the part of me that loved with my whole heart, that open, senseless, sappy idiot… It took it from me…”

“What did?” Jon asked gently, reaching out but not touching.

“Please don’t make me say it, Jon. Please,” Martin replied, head bowed and tears dripping from his chin.

“Oh… Oh.”

He rolled his lower lip between his teeth as he let Martin’s words fade to indistinct reverb, his light and color growing dim in the harsh glare of the fluorescent kitchen tubes.

“I see. I think… I understand now,” he finally began in a slow, deliberate tone.

“Do you?” Martin cut in nastily, his voice wetly sawtoothed, and was almost sick with regret even midway between words.

He slapped his hands over his mouth, more tears rolling down his cheeks, “Oh god. Sorry that was… Fuck me, I’m sorry that was so unbelievably- of course you do I-“

Jon chuckled hoarsely as he managed a sympathetic smile and reached out to gently brush the messy white gold curls away from Martin’s forehead and tuck them behind his ears.

“It’s fine, I know you didn’t mean it,” he assured him, “We can’t really ever be sure of the full effect they have on us, or how the different entities manifest their… gifts. But I do know this. There are things inside us, inside humanity, that, if not given up willingly, can never, ever be stolen from us. Inherent goodness and beauty impossible to snuff out. Of that much I am certain.”

Martin’s eyes shifted to the baseboards while he scrubbed at his face messily with his sleeve.

“Doesn’t it bother you, though? That after all that, you said it to me, that you told me you-“ he tripped on the word, swallowing hard, “H-How you felt… and I still haven’t said it back? I can’t even say it now…”

“No,” Jon answered swiftly, firmly, “No it doesn’t.”

Surprise finally drew Martin’s eyes back to him, and Jon reached out to touch his wrist, just to let him know he was there, he was real, and what he was about to say was just as real as him. Color sang a single note of a bell and washed out over his hand in rippling circlets while Jon wrapped it tight in both of his to keep them pinging brightly inside.

“Hear me out, Martin. Isn’t it possible… that, and god help me I’m about to use an idiom. But isn’t it a distinct possibility that the cobbler’s children have no shoes?” he ventured coyly.

The sheer random ridiculousness of that apparent non-sequitur strummed a short, tearful bitter laugh out of Martin as he shook his head.

“I… Sorry what…?”

“You know that stupid, asinine saying about how, basically when one is good at something, one is so busy doing it for other people they have no time left to do it for themselves or their family?”

Jon drew light little circles on Martin’s palm with the pad of his forefinger as he watched the color and light trickle thinly into his eyes in a dim wave of serious contemplation.

“Perhaps you’ve poured out so much of your love, so many of your beautiful words, for other people, for the world around you, that you never let yourself have any of them. You wrote with so much feverish, boundless love for everything there was never anything left for you. You let your words be like a… a gilded cage for your own heart, with you looking out of the bars, pretty for everyone else to look at, but keeping you like a little bird inside and thinking it would be awfully nice if someone would only just join you. You spent so long seeing beauty in the world and beauty in other people, you wrote yourself out of the story.”

Martin sniffed back his tears and pursed his lips.

“I suppose that makes some semblance of sense.”

“Of course it does,” Jon chorused without missing his cue, “And let’s be honest. You never thought you’d actually have… me. You never thought even in your wildest dreams that I would actually fall in love with you. But you were okay with that. In fact, maybe in some ways you even preferred it like that? Not because you don’t have feelings for me, just that… Well. It’s easy to make a dream look beautiful, something you can never touch, something that isn’t yours. Just like your poetry. Honoring and cherishing something from afar is easy. The real thing is different. When you have it it’s still that beautiful thing you loved so much, but it’s beautiful in a way you can’t even comprehend because it’s real. You can touch it, hold it, and it’s yours. And how could you ever fully comprehend that? How can anyone?”

The tears glittered like drops of diamond on russet lashes, rays of sunset shot out from behind the discs of cobalt in his eyes. They streaked hot, vibrant pink trails down his face and painted him in pantone heartache.

“It’s so hard, and it hurts,” Martin whispered, voice cracking painfully, “It hurts so much and I can’t tell anymore which are the good hurts and which are the bad...”

Jon held fast to his hand with one of his, while the other shot to Martin’s face, brushing the tears away from his cheek and leaving behind a masterstroke of freckles, peppery and vivacious against flushed pink.

“I know. But it gets easier. Not any easier to bear, of course, but… easier to sort out which bits are you, which bits aren’t, and which bits aren’t even really there to begin with. And once you’ve worked it out then you can fight whatever it was left inside you. Nothing is gone, Martin, least of all you. And even if it DID take something, theoretically. If it was even possible to-to burn your love out of you, as you said. Who’s to say it’s gone forever? Things heal. Worst case scenario, the movie quotes are just your heart going to physio or something, you know? Your words will come back to you once you’ve healed.”

“But you-“ Martin meekly protested to an emphatic shake of Jon’s head.

“Stop. Stop right now. We’ve both been hurt, and we’re never going to get anywhere if we keep ignoring our own in favor of the other.”

Wordlessly nodding, Martin bowed his head again to speak his timid, visceral truths to the ground where they fell just a little quieter.

“I’m just… I’m… I’m so scared…”

“So am I, Martin. So am I,” Jon echoed, scooping his chin in his hands and holding his cheeks tenderly, “But it’s alright. It’s okay to be frightened, I’m with you now. We can both be afraid together.”

Martin looked up and finally caught Jon’s gaze, really caught it, as the lacings of his armor began to fray and the boundless forest song of his eyes hummed its ancient melody through him and bid him to join.

“I’m so afraid that I’ll never… never look at a puddle in the rain and find something indulgently sad about it again. Or wax melancholy at a particularly colorful sunset. Or be charmed by a silly little bird oblivious to the world,” he said, heavy words weightless in their unburdening, “But mainly… mainly I’m so, so deeply, petrifyingly scared I’ll never be able to write a poem meant for you and you alone… all I ever wanted was to gift you my words.”

Jon’s eyes hooded with a mischievous fox’s grin as his fingers settled comfortably on the back of Martin’s neck and he tugged him close to nestle their foreheads together, whispering against his lips.

“But you already have…”

“Wh-What?”

“Don’t you see? You already have written me a beautiful love ballad over the last few days, or at least your wounded heart did the best way it knew how.”

“And how is that?” Martin snickered tearfully, a bit more levity in his voice, tip of his nose brushing up shyly against Jon’s.

“Well, let’s see. Once upon a time… you began with a quote from a movie about a man who was so wrapped up in his work he felt inhuman, who made a choice to go against what everyone else thought was right, who loses everyone around him while he struggles to live up to his own ideals. Then we have a film about two people who are both hiding something, but who are so inexorably drawn to one another they can’t help but be drawn into each other’s orbits, deep flaws and dark secrets and all, who can’t help but love each other even as they learn the truth. Next one features a love for the ages, a love pure and bright and good in the dark underbelly of Paris… but one of them belongs to someone they don’t love, but must serve for the greater good even as their heart yearns for another. And then lastly, a movie that was originally a bit of a tragedy, a movie about a romance that was doomed from the start, became one about a love that flourished in the face of everyone and everything telling them it could never be…. You were writing a story all along, Martin. Our story. Sure, for now the pieces don’t belong to us, but you’re still singing that ballad, loud and clear. You said to me that night you would have waited forever for me, so I’m returning the favor, I’m just waiting until you finish it.”

With each step of his journey recounted in glimmering fondness, the rusted and rotten silver screen white armor sloughed off chunk by chunk. The plastic effluvium that had choked him flooded out in an epiphanic tide while the misquoted rivets snapped and crumbled away, all shriveling into ash and nothing. Stripped down to an open ribcage with delicate, quivering heart throbbing in defiance, Martin shone in full, thrumming, beating technicolor life. Broken and naked, incalculably vulnerable, but divinely free. The words did not have to belong to him to be from him, to sing the gospel of his truth in reply at last, to reach out for the touch of another through bars of poetry and VHS tape further than his own trembling fingers had ever dared to go, and to bind them, once and for all, together.

“Oh my god,” Martin half breathed, half mad laughed, “Oh my god you’re right… Jon you’re right! You’re right! Jon! Jon I-!”

The wings of his heart erupted free of their film reel chains, burst out of his poetic gilded cage, and flew, carrying beginning, ending, epilogue now featherlight in three simple words.

“…I love you.”

Jon laughed euphorically through his own burst of tears, hesitated to allow the quip on his lips to escape, but set it free anyway.

“I know…”

It took a second to filter through the golden haze of joy, but once it did Martin laughed and shoved at his shoulders playfully.

“Oh, you absolute prick! Star Wars? Right now? Are you serious!?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

They both laughed and sobbed and tussled with one another around a messy, raw kiss, repeated until lips were bruised, breath came in desperate pants, and they were a tangled, idyllic muddle of a tearstained embrace on the kitchen floor still surrounded by teacup debris.

“I love you…” Martin sighed blissfully, kissing the words firmly against Jon’s mouth, just to feel them again and make up for lost time, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…”

“I love you, too,” Jon murmured back, kiss drunk and dizzy with love, “And you’re still Martin. Martin K. Blackwood, or MKB, or Mr. Blackwood or whatever it is these days. Whatever you want it to be.”

“Just Martin, I think. For now. I just want to be Martin. Your Martin.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Martin’s breath hitched in his chest with a familiar and all too welcome urge, an itch in his chest and a flutter of his tongue. He teased out a few words from that sensitive and bloodied heart hopping eagerly there in the open, roughhewn and salt of the earth, but undeniably his.

“My love is presented in full Cinemascope tonight. Unspooled, unwound, free from circular aluminum prisons and plastic spools that twist back inside, alight, alive in full glory, My Technicolor Muse…”

Jon pulled back, stunned by the sudden bashful kaleidoscope flash of affection.

“Oh shit, that was- I… Is that me? I’m your muse?”

“Who do you think?” Martin chastised affectionately, “You always have been.”

“A-Ah, well, I-I um…” Jon stammered shyly, grinning from ear to blushing ear, “Thanks. I-I really like that. A-And it’s a nice line regardless, better write it down before you forget.”

“I won’t. Not anymore. Never again.”

“Good.”

Jon nodded, and finally rose carefully from the floor, offering his hand out for Martin. He took it, and rose with clumsy, but effortless elegance into his arms. Together, they set about sweeping up the ruins of Daisy’s tacky mugs and putting the kettle on for a sorely needed and very late cup of tea.

“You know… I’ve never actually seen Star Wars? I only know the line because it’s so famous,” Jon announced as he brushed the last of the ceramic bits and floor dust off his hands into the bin.

“Seriously? Well, we had better remedy that tonight, who knows when we’ll have time like this again,” Martin thought aloud as Jon’s arms snaked around his waist and a kiss was planted firmly on his freckled cheek.

“Well, no matter what happens, we’ll always have the safehouse,” he purred teasingly in his ear.

“Jon, keep that bit up and I swear I will kill you…”

Martin grinned and turned his head to kiss him again while the kettle bubbled, the sun sank low in the west, and they made their tea to drink in front of Star Wars into the night. Jon spent the entirety of the first film draped on Martin’s chest, utterly enchanted and entranced, babbling on about spaghetti Westerns and Kurosawa films and all the various influences he could so clearly see, reminding Martin that beautiful things really did come from a colorful patchwork of those who came before. He knew it now, but for that night, he was content to just hold him and listen to him wax poetic about The Force, just to hear the fervor in his velvety voice. That night they could just be, he could close his eyes to the sounds of lightsabers and X-Wings and the destruction of the Death Star and the comfortable weight of Jon on his chest, to just be wholly in love with him, with any doubt left like so many scraps of 35 millimeter on the cutting room floor.

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #Magnuspod #Jonmartin #Jmart #Jonathan sims #Martin Blackwood #scottish safehouse period #fan fic #Crow Writes

15 notes · View notes