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thelonelylakegifts and smiles at my door. all elite wrestling, mina/toni, marina~mina. mina, on the hunt for her wife's killer. 250w, rated t. for sapphic summer 2026 any/any, 'call off the search'.
Marina's waiting backstage, cradling a bundle of flowers with a gentleness she shouldn't be capable of. Mina's adrenaline spikes, calcifies, sinks to the pit of her stomach ready to tear open a hole just the size of Marina's hand.
"Leave," she says. Steps forward anyway, into this little alcove that can't replace the dressing room her wife died in.
"You have to let it go," Marina says. Watches until Mina's too close to move away. "Toni would want you to be happy. Not wasting away searching for her killer." Her fingers smell like roses, like rotten things as she caresses Mina's cheek, still so, so soft.
Mina wrenches the hand from her face, twists Marina's arm up behind her back. This close, she can barely breathe for the scent of flowers, so different from Toni's perfume; this close, she's chest to chest with a mockery of everything Toni is. Was.
"I don't need to search," she says. "She's standing right in front of me."
Marina's flat, dead gaze is unmoving, and the sheer unfairness that this must have been the last thing Toni saw before she died takes what air is left in Mina's lungs. "I'm not a mirror, sweetheart."
Each word prickles like the thorns digging into the tops of Mina's breasts, and she wrenches harder on Marina's arm, wonders how long until the shoulder pops—
"You'll join her," she promises. "I'll make sure of it."
Marina arches her back and laughs, and Mina has never hated her more.
Marina's waiting backstage, cradling a bundle of flowers with a gentleness she shouldn't be capable of. Mina's adrenaline spikes, calcifies, sinks to the pit of her stomach ready to tear open a hole just the size of Marina's hand.
"Leave," she says. Steps forward anyway, into this little alcove that can't replace the dressing room her wife died in.
"You have to let it go," Marina says. Watches until Mina's too close to move away. "Toni would want you to be happy. Not wasting away searching for her killer." Her fingers smell like roses, like rotten things as she caresses Mina's cheek, still so, so soft.
Mina wrenches the hand from her face, twists Marina's arm up behind her back. This close, she can barely breathe for the scent of flowers, so different from Toni's perfume; this close, she's chest to chest with a mockery of everything Toni is. Was.
"I don't need to search," she says. "She's standing right in front of me."
Marina's flat, dead gaze is unmoving, and the sheer unfairness that this must have been the last thing Toni saw before she died takes what air is left in Mina's lungs. "I'm not a mirror, sweetheart."
Each word prickles like the thorns digging into the tops of Mina's breasts, and she wrenches harder on Marina's arm, wonders how long until the shoulder pops—
"You'll join her," she promises. "I'll make sure of it."
Marina arches her back and laughs, and Mina has never hated her more.
