#I want to call it poor taste this is an hour before he dies saving her but I know it’s just narrative reflection of the fate they’re caught | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

farfromstrange · 2 years

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Foreigner's God | m.m

Matt Murdock x avenger!OFC

Chapter thirty-three: How To Save A Life

Previous part XXXII ° series masterlist ° main masterlist

Summary: She’s not the same as she was before she almost died, and as her recovery drags on, she realizes that part of her might have actually died on that table.

Warnings: ANGST, description of injury and death, flashbacks, mentions of drug use, mentions of relapse, mental illness, Matt gets treated like shit in this one (poor thing)

a/n: Should have named this chapter How To Ruin A Life tbh. Also, I hope it’s not too out of character. I poured my soul into this and some of my own experiences with mental illness breaks. Read at your own caution!

This is to 2022! (It’s angst because fuck you, 2022, I mean it!)

The minute hand on the clock moved slower than usual. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours and hours started to feel like days.

Steve helped Matt sit down in one of the plastic chairs that were lined against the wall. The same man who had just been about ready to fight him because someone he loved was in the operating room next door, didn’t move a muscle now. He sat there, his face gone pale with his hands crossed in his lap.

When Sam offered him a variety of drinks to hydrate, he didn’t even look up to decline. Eventually, Steve stepped in, took the water bottle and piping hot cup of tea from him, and placed it down at his feet. He ushered his friend away from the man.

Matt was too caught up in his head to notice. Through the thick hospital walls, he couldn’t hear anything. His heart drummed an unsteady rhythm against his rib cage. The blood rushed in his ears like an uncontrollable river flooding the shore. He could even hear his breathing, the way the oxygen entered his lungs and then escaped as carbon dioxide through his nose.

Her blood was sticky on his hands. It had dried, leaving no space for his true skin color to poke through. It weighed heavy, dragging his shoulders down into hell, and even then he wouldn’t stop falling. He couldn’t even lift his hands anymore. The scent clung to the hairs on his nose. Copper mixed with vanilla, sweat, and the faintest tang of metal and burned skin. Smoke from the gun lingered on him from where she had laid on his lap, his suit soaked to the point he was sure her blood even stuck to his torso. Every time he shifted, the wetness seeped deeper.

He began to scab at his fingernails. The blood began to burn. He could no longer stand either the scent or the feeling, it was driving him insane. The sound of her heart-stopping haunted him. It had beat, then it suddenly stopped and never picked up again until they wheeled her away from him. She begged him to hold her and he did. She said goodbye, even though he told her not to, but he let her because deep down, he knew the odds stood against them. They were not in his favor, and the ball wasn’t in his court either.

Chances were he would never see her again, the blood on his hands the only reminder of her existence he had left. He wanted to keep it, though at the same time he wanted nothing more than to shower for days on end, to wash her out of his system and evict her completely. He couldn’t stand the thought of never smelling, hearing, or tasting her again. He didn’t want to bury her. He didn’t want to go to another funeral and explain to father Lantom just what had happened, what he had done, and who the person was who died. He would surely call him crazy, call him a menace, and he would blame it on him that god wouldn’t listen because Matt believed he deserved it. He deserved the punishment, the torture, and the blame.

If she died, it was because of him.

While he was so aware of his bodily functions – and it made him want to scratch his eyes out – he only paid faint attention to the world around him. The sand in the hourglass had run out, yet the clock kept ticking, and he lost count of the time that passed by. He didn’t even want to know. The longer he was without her, the more his thoughts pointed in the one direction he refused to let them go. He had to hold onto hope, although it was already dying like a plant that hadn’t been watered for weeks.

The pain in his chest was dull. Physically, everything was numb. Mentally, he felt too much while also nothing at all. The mountain of rocks dragged him down, latching onto his ankles to tear him further down the rabbit hole and into the endless ocean where the water began to fill his lungs. But he didn’t struggle to get back to the surface. He let the current drag him, swaying with the waves and going with the tide. He was tired of fighting. Life suddenly meant very little to him. If it wanted to drown him, he was fine with that.

He had long stopped crying. The tears dried on his cheeks, and no more left to give. Her blood was on his face too, still hot on his dry skin. It had probably tangled in his hair too. Matt kept his unseeing eyes open. He let the fire consume him. There was no use in trying to be kind to himself.

He witnessed only subconsciously when a man walked up to them. Natasha stood up instantly. “Nick,” she said to him. Her nostrils flared.

She was, next to Matt, the most scared of them all. She refused to cry anymore, and she had paced more than she had sat down. He could only faintly hear the strong humming of her heartbeat, the crack of her knuckles every time she clenched her fists, and the anger that made her muscles quiver.

The man with the eye patch who he figured had to be Nick Fury crossed his arms behind his back.

“Our troupes just got back in contact. The base is taken care of,” he said. “They’ve also got Volkov in custody. He will be here soon.”

“That’s great, but not what I was asking,” said Natasha.

She looked as if she was ready to kill him if necessary.

Dark circles adorned Fury’s one good eye. He sighed. “Her heart stopped.”

Matt blinked. He should have jumped up, but he couldn’t move.

“Oh, my God.”

“For thirty minutes,” he told her, “but they got her back. They’re not sure whether her brain sustained any lethal damage, but… she’s alive.”

Instead of relief though, Natasha was filled with anger, and Matt had never related to anything more. They got her back, but at what cost? He knew she didn’t want to live as a vegetable. She never actively said it, but brain dead and attached to monitors, kept alive by machines, was not something Eliza wanted.

She shook her head. “No, this isn’t right.”

“Nat,” Clint urged her, “you should sit down. You heard him, she’s alive. That’s all that matters.”

“How can you be so calm?”

“I’m not calm, you know that, I’m just trying to keep cool.”

“Cool? Eliza is dying! She died for thirty minutes and who knows what other damages will reveal themselves after she’s out of surgery? There is absolutely no reason for you to keep cool, Clint. I thought she meant more to you than that. In fact,” she turned around to face Matt who was still tightly pressed with his back against the wall, silently staring into the void, “Why does none of you seem to care? You all said you loved her but all of this sitting around? That’s what cowards do! The woman we all love is on the verge of dying and you don’t even care!”

Matt shot up from his seat. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way!” he roared. There was the strength he had been lacking, a strength that came out of despair and weakness. “You have no right to accuse me of not loving her,” he said. “Because that’s not true. I love her. I love her more than any of you could ever understand.”

“Then why are you just sitting there and taking it like Nick didn’t just tell us she died, and she might still die?!”

“Because I’m so scared of losing her, I can’t fucking breathe!”

“SO AM I!”

The hallway went quiet.

Natasha looked at him once more, his teary eyes and the tremor of his lip. He waited for her to say something, but instead, she turned on her heel and sprinted down the hallway.

He went weak in the knees, falling back down into the chair. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he lowered his head. The salty wetness washed some of the blood from his hands. He rubbed his face, but the wave crashed back in, not wanting to stop. He thought he ran out of tears to cry – he had been wrong. The world crashed down on him once more, swallowing him whole, but not in the comforting way that he had drowned earlier, but in a way that had him tied to a stone with faceless people whipping his bare skin until he was bloody and begging for mercy. Every one of Nick’s words was a jab in his side. The knife drilled deeper, nudging his heart, though the mercy of death never came.

“Barton,” Fury said. “You have a minute to talk?”

Clint looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Seriously?” he retorted. “The girl most of us saw as family is fighting for her life in there, already died once and might now actually be brain dead, and you want to talk to me?” He got up, towering over the man. He had unshed tears in his own eyes and for once, he let his defenses down. “I’m not leaving until I know she’s alright. I might not seem like it, but every time that minute hand moves just a little further, it feels like my soul is being torn apart with the fear that I might never see her again. I’m scared that she might die, you hear me? Die. Dead as in not coming back. And we should all be allowed to sit in that fear for as long as we want without being prodded. If I’m only hanging on by a threat, imagine what it’s like for them.” He nodded toward Matt, then the direction Natasha left. “So no,” he said, “I’m not leaving to talk. I’m staying right here because that’s what family does.”

Nick lowered his head.

“If you couldn’t tell already, that was a silent fuck off. Let us mourn in peace.”

The third heartbeat disappeared. Matt no longer felt suffocated by the intimidating man’s presence. Clint slumped back in his seat, almost defeated. His hope had long died out.

Matt couldn’t help it. He reached for the chair next to him, lifted it, and tossed it across the hallway. The plastic hit the wall loudly, breaking in two. He continued rubbing his face, uttering a silent apology, but he wasn’t really sorry. If he could, he would have torn the walls down. He wanted to bang his fist into the concrete until his knuckles were bloody.

He tugged at the roots of his hair, hoping that maybe, the pain would ground him. It didn’t. Every fiber of his being was on fire.

More time passed with no news. Eventually, he stopped crying. He instead returned to banging his head against the wall. With his eyes closed, he didn’t pay much attention. He only stopped when he felt the seat next to him shift and a cold hand reached for his. He became hyper-aware of the blood again, feeling it stuck to the other person’s limb. He shuddered, though accepting the gentle action of comfort gladly.

"...I don't want to lose her. I thought I already lost her once, and it was..." he said.

Natasha next to him only nodded. "I understand.”

She sniffed. Her closeness made him tear up again. His chest heaved and he growled in the back of his throat, swallowing the lump in his throat. She placed her head in the space between his neck and his shoulder, her hand still holding onto his. It was her silent apology, and he accepted.

After six hours, finally, the sealed doors to the surgery floor opened and one of the doctors stepped out. The door had barely closed before she was attacked with questions of “How is she?” and “Is she alive?”, and she sighed, drained from the several hours of surgery she just stood through.

She turned to Matt first, the only one whose mouth didn’t work fast enough to ask questions. The doctor placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“She’s alive,” she said.

He frowned. He wasn’t sure if he heard her right.

There was a slight hint of a smile in her voice when she repeated, “Eliza’s alive. She’s going to be fine.”

Matt tuned out everything else. She’s alive, she’s going to be fine. He didn’t lose her. The words felt surreal. He wasn’t sure whether to believe them or to pinch himself to figure out if he was dreaming. She was alive, which meant she was going to come back to him. The blood on his hands wouldn’t be the last he had of her. He couldn’t believe it, not really. His mind went black.

“Her initial EEG showed maximum brain activity, and her nerves seem to be responding well to stimuli, which means chances are that she will wake up.”

Natasha fell into Clint’s arms. “Oh, thank God!” she cried.

“Can we see her?” Steve asked.

“One of you can. Since I know most of you already,” the doctor stopped at Matt once again, “You must be the infamous Matt Murdock.”

How she figured that out, he wasn’t sure. His mouth opened, but no sounds would fall out.

“Two days ago, Eliza changed her medical proxy,” she stated. “It’s no longer Natasha but you.”

“What?” he stammered.

Natasha was her best friend. Matt couldn’t even call himself her boyfriend. They weren’t a couple. He wasn’t her husband or family, he doubted he even counted as her friend.

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds like she trusted you to make the right decisions in case something happened to her. And since she can’t talk…” she made an opening motion with her arms. “You’re her healthcare proxy, so you get to make all the important medical decisions for her.”

“I- I know how a healthcare proxy works,” he said. “What I don’t understand is why?”

“You don’t have to understand why. She signed the papers, which makes it legal.”

A hand found his shoulder from behind. “Eliza put her life in your hands,” Natasha told him. “I haven’t been here in a very long time, but you have, and you know what she wants. She chose you because she trusts you to make the right decisions for her.”

“I’m not asking you to consent to shut off her machines,” the doctor chuckled, “She’s going to be fine. What I’m saying is,” she said, “since you’re her proxy, that makes you her closest family and I’m legally allowed to talk to you about her condition. I want to take you to her if you’d let me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Take me to her?” he breathed. His mind just wouldn’t wrap around the fact that she was alive, and that she wanted him to decide over her health in case she wouldn’t wake up again. She chose him.

It made him want to cry again.

The Avengers looked at him expectantly. “Go,” said Natasha.

“You guys deserve to see her too, I…”

“What’s important is that she’s not alone when she wakes up, and I know how badly you want to be with her, so go.”

Matt gave in. The doctor offered him her elbow, not even questioning his get-up, and he didn’t care about his identity either, he just wanted to be with Eliza. Natasha was right, she shouldn’t have to be alone.

He could hear her heartbeat. The monitor next to the hospital bed beeped steadily. Her chest rose and fell in a natural rhythm. She still had a tube down her throat, supplying her weak lungs with oxygen, but he could tell she was fighting. She was fighting for her body to stay alive. Her heart sounded stronger than before. The sound overwhelmed him. The last time he’d held her, her heart stopped underneath his very fingers. It was beating again now though, and that could only mean she was truly alive.

He stopped halfway into the room. What if he touched her and she slipped away? What if she got hurt again because of him?

The doctor seemed to sense his hesitation. “We don’t know when she will wake up or what deficits she might have suffered,” she said, her voice kept low in the comfort of the hospital room.

“Deficits?” Matt asked and dared to step just a little closer. He wanted to touch her hand. He wanted to hold her.

“Her injuries were severe. We pulled three bullets out of her chest, one nicked her aorta and the other tore vessels in some of her organs. Needless to say, she lost a significant amount of blood and that’s not something that goes over easily.”

She pushed him gently into the chair next to the bed. Her scent evaded his nose. Even the sterile environment couldn’t kill what made Eliza so unique. He touched the cold sheet next to her warm body. Life pumped through her veins. His fingers ghosted close to hers, but he still had his reservations. The last thing he wanted was for his perfect bubble to burst and to wake up in a cold sweat to the news of her death.

“We gave her several units of blood, but when she continued bleeding out internally, I chose to remove her spleen and one of her kidneys. We managed to fix her liver though, so a transplant won’t be something you’re gonna have to concern yourself with, and she can easily survive with only one kidney.”

He grasped her hand. Time was too short, he realized that now. She came close to finding her end that night, and if he had lost her he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself. He had to cherish that he got her back and not let fear dictate his behavior into cowardice. So he took her hand, and the second her motionless fingers molded into him, he tightened his hold and pressed his lips to her knuckles. She was real and she was alive. Two of the things that mattered most to him.

“Her left lung collapsed and we had to drain the fluid that built up. Her oxygen levels plummeted while we operated, which left her brain without oxygen for a while. She continued to code for over thirty minutes, but we managed to get her heart beating again, and her blood pressure has been holding steady since,” the doctor told him. “Though she’ll only be completely out of the woods once she wakes up, and even then we can’t be sure what the future holds. This was huge abdominal surgery, Matt. May I call you Matt?”

He nodded.

“Well, she’s been on the table for almost seven hours. The whole ordeal took a huge strain on her body, so she might need a few days to recover before she wakes up. Right now, she has a tube in her throat helping her breathe, but if her oxygen levels keep increasing like that, we might be able to take her off the ventilator soon. Still, she has a long road of recovery ahead of her; a super soldier or not, this surgery was complicated and she almost died, so her body will need some time to get back to where it was before. I mean, we can help with painkillers and-“

“No,” he said. “That’s not what she’d want.”

“Sorry?”

“Painkillers. No opioids. She’s, uh, a recovering addict. She wouldn’t want you to give her any of that. Hell, she even refuses Ibuprofen and Paracetamol when offered to her.”

“You do realize she’s going to be in a lot of pain, right?”

The corners of his lips dropped slightly. “I know.”

But he was sure that if he allowed any doctor to set up a morphine drip for her, Eliza would forever hate him. It would be hell, for both of them, when she woke up in excruciating pain. He wasn’t sure if he could sit by and watch, but for her sake, he would. He would help her through it however she needed, but the last thing she wanted, that he knew, was for them to pump her with opioids and push her down the same path again that she fought so hard to get down.

“No pain medication, that’s my final decision,” he said, clearer this time, knowing the doctor had to hear him confirm it before she could declare his decision as legal. “If she changes her mind when she’s lucid, that’s her choice. I- I know AA doesn’t say anything against using opioids as pain relief after major surgery because I researched after I first met her, but if I tell you to give her something for the pain without consulting her first, I take away her choice to make decisions over her own body, and I can’t do that.”

The doctor smiled softly. “Okay then, I will note that in her file,” she said.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re a good boyfriend,” she patted her shoulder as she said that. “I will give you two some time now.”

She closed the door behind her, leaving them alone in the quiet of the room. Matt focused on her heartbeat, already reaching for the off button on the monitor. The beeping only distracted him. He turned the sound off. Silence filled the room, only the steady thump, thump, thump of her heart and the occasional push of oxygen from the ventilator to be heard.

He reached behind him to retrieve the gold necklace below his suit. He pulled it over his head, placing it in her palm and then enveloping her hand with both of his, the cross tangled between them. He could feel the cold metal even through her fingers.

His lips pressed against her knuckles again. They were wrapped in bandages from the many bruises that adorned them. Part of him didn’t even want to know what she did to Viktor before she came to save them. He wasn’t afraid that his picture of her might change, but rather he was scared that if he knew, he wanted to finish what she started. That man hurt her more than anyone else. He took her childhood and her pride. He didn’t even want to fathom the true extent of their past, and he didn’t want to find out. Hydra almost killed her; if he ever got his hands on Viktor, he couldn’t guarantee anything, religious beliefs be damned.

Matt breathed her in. It became his new favorite thing to do. Breathing her in proved to him that she was there with him. He wasn’t just imagining things. And he was afraid that if he didn’t paint another picture of her soon, he might not have anything left of her if things went wrong. Because everything could still go wrong. He wasn’t one to easily accept the kindness that was granted to him and rather expect the worst still to happen. He was always on the lookout, always vigilant, always waiting.

As he leaned over her sleeping body, the cross dangling between her fingers, he decided to pray once again. It was Matt’s only response in a situation in which he saw no hope. He didn’t talk much as a child, he communicated through prayers and confession with God. His feelings were never really a topic to be discussed. He wasn’t sure what to do but to call out for God, the only source of hope he had left, though even the lord himself kept disappointing him almost on a daily.

Still, he prayed. He was a good catholic boy. He owed it to God. He owed it to him, especially after Eliza survived and he didn’t take her away from him. He thought the world was against him, but perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps God had been listening to him all along. He just needed her to wake up again, so he could hold her in his arms once more.

“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love,” he began to recite psalm 51, “according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you may be justified in your words and blameless in your judgment.”

But it wasn’t enough. He squeezed her hand harder, feeling her pulse jump only slightly.

“I know, O Lord, that the way of man is not in himself, that it is not in man who walks to direct his steps. Correct me, O Lord, but in justice; not in your anger, lest you bring me to nothing. Amen.”

He placed his head on her chest. Her heart rutted right into his ear. It sounded just as he had memorized.

He nuzzled further into her skin, allowing his eyes to rest for just a moment. They did it. They were going to be okay. Hydra was gone, Eliza was alive, and they would make it over the remaining hurdles too.

Matt didn’t leave her side for the following days either. He stayed in his seat next to her bed, switching from holding her hand to analyzing her features with his fingers, then playing with her hair. Her condition didn’t change, the doctor told him.

He wasn’t sure when they removed the tube and took her off the ventilator. It wasn’t long after the surgery, probably the day after. There were no windows in the hospital room and he was too tired and exhausted to listen closer to the outside world.

Natasha came in eventually, making her bed on the chair in the corner. She draped her jacket over herself. They took turns taking naps, but Matt barely found enough rest.

Sam and Steve took turns in getting coffee, though he got sick after the first cup, and he refused to eat because it only made the nauseating feeling in his stomach worse. He couldn’t focus on anything but the fleeting time, and the fire of fear reignited with every hour that she didn’t move or wake up.

“Foggy is probably worried sick right now,” he told her whilst he played with her fingers. “I want to tell him, but that would only make things worse ‘cause he can’t do anything from home either. He’d crawl up the walls, almost like I am right now. Except I’m too exhausted to do anything. I’m just crawling up metaphorical walls, more like.”

Matt moved on to trace his index finger over her nose.

“Every hour you don’t wake up, I wonder if you’re even still in there. I mean, the doctor said your EEG shows that your brain is active, but I can’t help but worry that perhaps, you’re simply not strong enough to wake up again and that’s why you’re still asleep. And if you don’t wake up, I… I don’t know what to do with myself. Hoping that you’d come back to me has kept me going the past few days and now that I finally have you back, you’re not here. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do without you. Quite frankly, I’m scared.”

He propped his head up on his elbow, the other hand still busy tracing her delicate features.

“I’m scared of losing you,” he murmured. “So do me a favor and wake up. You have to. I can’t do this without you.”

Matt snuggled back into the nest that he had built on her chest.

“You have to…” he yawned. “You have to wake up, okay? For me, for all of us, but mostly for me.”

Staying awake for days on end started to wear him thin. He was exhausted and tired and his whole body was in some sort of pain. His eyes closed against his will. He wanted to be awake when she woke up, but he could only wait so long. His body chose to take what he denied himself, and so his consciousness slipped away as he fell into a deep sleep to the tune of her heartbeat.

He woke up when he felt the body underneath him shift. Her heartbeat picked up. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming.

“Ugh,” her hoarse voice filled the otherwise quiet room, “I need coffee.”

Matt sat up straight. He wasn’t imagining it. Her hand squeezed his.

“Hey,” he choked on his tears.

She tried to move, but even the slightest motion lit her body on fire. She winced. “Matt?” she asked.

He chuckled. His hand found hers, stroking her messy hair back. A sheen of sweat coated her forehead, but he couldn’t care less. He pressed his lips to her skin, feeling her lean into his touch as much as possible.

She missed this.

“I’m here,” he said. “I’m right here. Hey.” He kissed her forehead again. “You’re awake. You’re okay. Jesus… Oh, I missed you so much. You have no idea how much. I was so… I was so worried, sweetheart. I was so fucking worried, don’t ever do that again.”

She smacked her lips. He reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, guiding the brim to her lips and helping her take a sip. The first one hurt her esophagus so badly, she considered starving. The next sip went down better, though her throat still hurt badly when she swallowed, an aftermath of the tube they had shoved down there after her lungs refused to take any kind of oxygen they offered to her.

As the first soreness moved into the front of her mind, she slowly grew more aware of everything. Not just the sounds and the sensation of the cotton bed sheets that must have been so uncomfortable for Matt to touch, but every inch of her body that was in some kind of discomfort. And with each breath, the pain only got worse.

He stroked her cheek. “Are you okay?”

“How long?” she asked instead.

“Two days,” he told her. “Three, almost. It’s pretty late. Night Shift just came in.”

He had grown accustomed to the sound of the nurses and doctors going out and about outside. The longer she slept, the more he focused on the smaller things – he could differentiate the day and the Night Shift from the sound of their feet hitting the ground and the different voices that filled his ears in commands he couldn’t quite understand. Matt was a lawyer not a medical professional, after all. He could tell the different perfumes and deodorants apart as well as memorize the break schedule of everyone present on the floor. It had become his routine to distract himself from her unnerving state.

Eliza was awake, she was alive – his fears that she wouldn’t come back to him had been for nought. Part of him still doubted that this was real, that she had come back to him just like that after days of praying and crying until he eventually gave him asking God for help and instead appealed to the universe to save her, though he wouldn’t close his eyes again, not now, not when he already received the biggest gift he could have asked for. He had her back, there was nothing else he could have possibly wanted.

“You’ve been here for…” she swallowed, the pain in her side growing tenfold. “For two days?”

He nodded, smiling softly down at her. “Never once left your side.”

“Volkov?”

“They got him. It’s over. We won. All because of you.” He wiped the stray tear that slid down her cheek. “You did it, sweetheart.”

Eliza took a look around. The walls were brown instead of white, and the ceiling light wasn’t as shrill as usual hospital lighting. The monitor next to the bed had been turned off. Tubes stuck out of her arms and there was a healing incision right above her trachea.

Her hand ghosted over the bandage on her torso. The wound underneath was hot and thudding, and the crippling pain that tore through the mutilated skin had her gasping for breath. She probably just imagined it, but she could feel the blood running under her skin, her organs moving and the stitches tearing at her very sensitive abdominal cavity. She wanted to rip them out. They were burning her.

“Where are we?” she questioned.

“SHIELD,” Matt continued stroking her hair in soothing motions, somehow having sensed her discomfort but too scared to ask her about it. “They took care of you. After you passed out, I thought… I was so scared I was never going to hear your heart beating again.” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “But here you are,” he chuckled as he sobbed. “You’re alive and you’re right here with me, that’s all that matters. Don’t worry about anything else right now, okay? I took care of everything.”

His finger brushed over the call button next to her pillow, alerting the personnel that she was awake.

Matt wasn’t stupid. He could tell she was holding back. Her muscles were completely tense and her teeth broke her gums from how hard she bit down on them. She was good at hiding her pain, but even Eliza would reach her limits eventually.

As she laid there, he realized that her state of mind was unpredictable. Still distraught, she sat right on the edge of panic. The only reason she hadn’t freaked yet was because he was holding onto her so tightly, she had her support system right here. One wrong move and she would jump off the cliff into the abyss, sure to leave him again.

The door opened shortly after he set off the alarm. Eliza tried to sit up and shy away, but her injuries and the many tubes sticking out of her kept her restricted. Her breath hitched along with the spike in her blood pressure. She clawed at Matt’s arm and he instantly leaned closer to her, shielding her with his body.

“Hey,” he said, “It’s okay. It’s okay! They’re just trying to help.”

She shook her head, trying to find a way out. She blacked out entirely. Her first instinct was to run. She didn’t know the woman who entered, nor did she recognize the name on the tag. She was wearing scrubs. Nurses and doctors wear scrubs. Some of the doctors at the White Room had worn scrubs. They poked her with needles too and attached her to heart monitors, and it got her nowhere other than the same bed she found herself in.

She wasn’t sure what was real or fake anymore. Eliza couldn’t even tell what the difference between the present and the last was. Matt was the only familiar face, and even he started to blur.

He grabbed her face, stilling her movements. She was only going to further injure herself. She stared at him with panic in her eyes, nails digging into his wrists. Her lips formed his name and he heard it, even when no one else did. He tried to smile, but it was hard with the fear nagging in the back of his mind.

“Hey,” he said again, firmer this time, “Shh, you’re okay. I’m here. No one’s gonna hurt you. It’s just you and me, see?” He forced her to look into his eyes, even though he completely missed the mark. “Focus on your breathing. There you go! Keep your eyes on me.”

She inhaled sharply. Her chest burned, traveling from her heart to her torso.

“Listen to me,” Matt applied more force to the back of her head to bring her forehead down to meet his. “No one will hurt you when I’m here,” he whispered only for her ears to hear. “You are my person and I will protect you with my life, okay? Nothing will happen to you as long as I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

With her forehead pressed against him, he shifted slightly so she had no other choice but to lie back down. He moved to the edge of the bed, keeping his hand around her neck to hold her close to him. Her breathing slowed and she relaxed into him, returning to her body slowly.

The nurse stared at them. Behind him, more workers from the hospital had started piling up. The doctor, whose name Matt had learned was Sophie, told them to wait. In any other hospital, they would have attacked her with needles by now.

Matt nodded in their direction. They began to approach. Eliza whimpered.

“They’re just doctors trying to help you,” he cooed. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Promise?” she asked weakly.

He took her hand to place it over his chest. “Promise.”

She felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying.

“Would you feel better if it was just her?” He motioned to Sophie.

She shrugged, suddenly too embarrassed by her outburst. She wanted to hide in his chest forever.

“Tell me, what do you need?”

Her eyes flicked between the different nurses, landing on the man in his late thirties who had first entered.

Matt tilted his head in the direction of her eyes, listening to the sound of his heart and the way he smelled. He was clean and kind and he had often checked up on her when she was still asleep, but of course, she hadn’t been conscious back then. She didn’t get the chance to tell him that strange men were not something she wanted to have around, especially not after facing the one who took away her childhood and abused her in more ways than one.

He bit his lip. “Every person in here who doesn’t have a dick or a medical degree, leave!” he declared.

She gasped. Nail hit right on the head.

“No men, right?” Matt asked to clarify.

“No men,” Eliza whispered.

“How about me? Is this too much?”

The hold she had on his arms left him no choice but to keep holding her. “No, you have to stay with me. You can’t leave me.”

“It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

The doctor sent out everyone except herself. She closed the door quietly, making sure she kept her distance as she circled the bed.

Eliza narrowed her eyes at her, and Matt hugged her tighter against his chest.

“I’m Doctor Michaels,” she introduced herself. “But you can call me Sophie. I was the lead surgeon on your case. How are you feeling today, Eliza?”

Sophia took the chart from the foot of the bed, skimming over her newest labs. She checked with the numbers on the monitor – Matt told her why he turned off the sound and she promised she would let him keep it that way, but only if he told her if anything changed. Nothing did.

“Well, your labs look good. Your heart looks healthy.” She pulled a small flashlight from her pocket. “May I?” she asked.

Eliza gave Matt a questioning look. “It’s your choice,” he said.

She didn’t need to ask him permission, though she somehow felt better with him making the decisions for her. She wasn’t sure how to live by herself anymore. And this fear that consumed her only eased up every time she looked at his fear, the only familiar thing she knew would never hurt her.

Sophie shone the light into her eyes. She frowned. The thudding in her head worsened. Next, she was told to follow her finger with her eyes. She did. When she went to touch her though, she flinched again.

Sophie sighed. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” she reassured her. “I just want you to squeeze my hands real quick. Are you okay with that?”

Matt kissed her forehead. “You can trust her, she’s my friend.”

They had been spending a lot of time together, indeed. Sophie did every health check personally, on Fury’s orders, and every time she came, she talked to Matt to keep him just a little saner. She told him about how she was about to marry her girlfriend soon, but they couldn’t agree on a color theme, so she rather spent time at work than at home. She brought light into the room whenever she came around, and he suggested she should try pediatrics instead, to which she only laughed.

Eliza squeezed the doctor’s hands, earning an approving nod. “That’s good. The neurological exam looks good so far. Are you in any pain?” she asked then, the dreaded question. “Any dizziness?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine,” she said. She lied. This pain was unlike anything she had felt before. Ignoring it was exhausting, but Matt didn’t deserve to see her like this, not again. She had to stay strong, for him.

Whatever was happening to her, in itself, was utterly humiliating.

“Are you sure?” Sophie didn’t seem to believe her.

“Yeah,” she ground her teeth, “I’m fine.”

“Well, it might get worse, so I can offer you some morphine-”

“No! No drugs.”

“I know, Matt told me, but you will heal significantly slower when you’re in pain than when you’re not, and the road of recovery you have ahead of you is long enough already. There are programs-“

“How long?”

“We had to remove your kidney and your spleen, your lung collapsed and you coded for over thirty minutes…”

“I asked how long?”

“It could be weeks.”

“Weeks?” she tried to sit up, but the excruciating stabbing in her stomach forced her back. “I can’t… Weeks are too long. I need to…” the stitches pulled her back by the throat. She cried out. The pain traveled into her legs, making it almost impossible to find a comfortable position. Ever her back was sore, but she couldn’t turn on her side either.

Matt stopped her harsh movements. “Woah, easy,” he said. He fluffed the pillow behind her back, which was already embarrassing enough that she needed his help to sit up, but it also made her incredibly angry that he continued to be so nice to her. What she had cherished after she woke up suddenly tasted incredibly wrong on the tip of her tongue.

Eliza slapped his hand away. He couldn’t tell what was happening. Something changed. She changed.

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “I don’t need help.”

“Matt,” Sophie cut in, “Can we talk?”

Since Eliza had already turned away from him, he nodded.

She stared at the wall. Her soul had never been more empty, more painfully void of anything. She had never felt so physically helpless, useless in her entire existence. Bunching the fabric of the hospital gown up, she stared down at her bandaged torso. She traced her hand over it. Weeks of recovery time… She wasn’t ready for that. She didn’t want to spend weeks tied to a hospital bed and go through physical therapy. She could do this on her own, she didn’t need anybody’s help. Help would only lead to pity and sorrowful eyes and there was nothing she loathed more than that.

Matt listened to the sound of her heart breaking. “I know what you’re going to say,” he said, hands placed on his hips.

“That she needs a psych eval?” said Sophie. “Because she does.”

“She’s fine, she just needs a minute to get readjusted.”

“She’s traumatized. Seriously, a fear of men? What the hell happened to that girl?”

“What didn’t?”

“If I should have conducted a rape kit…” her green eyes had sunken into her eyes, the hope replaced by darkness and a kind of sympathy he had only ever experienced once – in court, when he observed the case of a rape victim in front of a grand jury and ninety-seven percent of all women in the room carried the same expression Sophie did just then.

He didn’t want to even consider that possibility. “No, it’s not that,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, the man… he’s more into young girls than he is into adult women.”

The color around her nose faded. “God, I’m gonna be sick! She needs psychological help, Matt,” she said. “That’s not something that just goes away, and a constant fear of strangers is not something you want to carry around in life. That’s no way to live.”

“I can talk to her,” he insisted. The last he wanted was to put her in a position where she had to talk about her feelings when she wasn’t ready.

Sophie sighed. “What if she hurts herself?”

“She won’t.”

“But say she does, what then?”

“I’ll figure it out. Just give her some time.”

“I’m coming back in an hour to change her bandaging,” she caved. “Talk to her. If she hasn’t calmed down until then, I’m pulling some strings.”

Eliza was still staring at the wall when she heard the door close. Matt walked quietly even with his heavy boots, sitting back down on the chair beside her bed.

She exhaled, still not quite daring to look him in the eyes. “You didn’t deserve that,” she muttered, “you deserve so much better.”

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and down her cheek.

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

He felt her shrug under where his hand found her shoulder. “It’s all my fault. If you hadn’t met me none of this would've happened.” She didn’t sound as if she was crying, though he could taste the salt in the air. Her voice was weak, but it didn’t waver.

“Sweetheart,” he said.

She flinched away from his attempt to take her hand. He sighed. He wished he could help her somehow, but she was fading right before him and he didn’t know how to stop her. He thought once she woke up everything would return to normal. At first, it seemed like it. She was happy to see him, but the more time he spent with her, the more he started to worry that the Eliza he loved was gone. Her brain didn’t sustain any damage, but her psyche did, and sometimes that weighed more than any physical injuries could.

Finally, she turned to him, her teary eyes glaring holes into him. She just didn’t understand what she was feeling. Something strange happened to her, it twisted her heart and scorched her soul. The invisible hand squeezed around her organs. She wanted to curl up and hide. She didn’t want his sightless eyes on her, knowing they were filled with worry and love she didn’t deserve. It was hard to focus when her head kept telling her the most awful things, and she couldn’t even put them into words.

She felt crazy, unhinged like her mind was slipping out of her reach. At the same time though, she became painfully aware of her situation, and it dragged her chest down even further.

“I just don’t understand how you can sit here after everything I did and hold my hand,” her mouth had a mind of its own. “You’re supposed to be angry at me. You’re supposed to hate me.”

Matt trapped her hand with his. “I would rather experience every possible pain in this world than never meet you,” he told her. “You’ve changed me more than you know, and for that, I am so grateful.”

“Stop.” She turned away from him. “Just stop, please.” Wiping her tears, she stared back at the wall opposite her. “Perhaps you should go.”

She couldn’t stand being in the same room with him anymore. It hurt and it suffocated her. She was already in enough pain, she didn’t need him to squeeze her so tight that her whole world was set on fire.

Matt only sighed. The mattress dipped next to her. She tried to move away, but she was too weak to fight him this time. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. He didn’t care that the bed was too small for two people or that the sheets scratched at his skin like thousand tiny needles.

Eliza stiffened at first. She attempted to shove him off, but he only held on tighter. Eventually, she relaxed. Her fist wrapped in the fabric of his suit, pressing her cheek to his chest, and then she cried. She cried because her body was in pain and her soul ached even more, and she had missed him so much, she could barely believe he was there with her. It seemed too good to be true.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

Matt ran a soothing hand down her back. “It’s okay,” he shushed her. “I’ll take care of you. You’re not alone anymore.”

“It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me, not if it’s you.”

She nuzzled into his palm as he touched her cheek. She needed the shield, she needed the world to stop.

He tilted her chin up with his index finger. “Hey,” he whispered, “When I thought I lost you, I… I felt like my entire world just ended and I felt… empty. I sat there and I couldn’t move because this fear paralyzed me. I don’t ever want to feel like this again. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

Eliza kissed his palm. His skin tasted of the salt of her tears and the hand soap from the bathroom. She wondered how long her blood lingered on his hands, how often he had to scrub to get it off. There was still a faint trace on his cheek, over which she brushed with her thumb. His eyes fluttered close.

“I’m just glad you’re alive. That’s all that matters, okay?

Her tongue darted out to lick over her bottom lip. He caught onto her plan, leaning down slightly. She tried to reach his lips, but the stretch caused a sharp pain to rip through her torso, along the incision site and the stitches. She could feel the tearing, even though she knew they weren’t. They tugged at her skin, opening the already healing wounds as if the scalpel cut through them once again.

She groaned, curling back in on herself.

“Sorry,” he said. He rolled her off of him, back onto her back.

She exhaled a sharp breath. The position only made matters worse, not because of the non-existent pressure on her torso but because the shame seemed to crush her under its weight.

“Let me just…” Matt adjusted the pillow to support her head. His hand reached for her cheek again. “Is that better?” he asked.

She nodded, grabbing him by the hairs at the back of his neck, urging him closer. He chuckled at her impatience. Just as he was about to lean down, he accidentally got tangled in one of her IV tubes. She hissed when the needle threatened to come loose.

“God, I’m so sorry. There are just so many… tubes. Hold on.” Almost like an impatient toddler trying to get to his hidden toys, he tore the nasal cannula off her face, knowing her lungs didn’t need the extra oxygen anymore and moved her arm above her head so he would no longer lie on her IV.

She giggled when he finally came face-to-face with her. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he breathed back.

He leaned in, his lips brushing over hers. For a second, he was scared he might hurt her, but before he could contemplate any longer, she pushed his head down.

Unlike their first time, the kiss wasn’t gentle. It was full of desperation and words left unspoken that neither of them quite understood how to voice, so they restored to their sense of touch, pouring the truth into each other’s mouths as they lost themselves in the intimacy.

Their teeth clashed, tongues meeting in a battle for dominance.

“Are you okay?” he asked between soft bites to her jaw and neck. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

She sighed contently at the soft caress of his calloused fingers. “I’m fine,” she said.

His lips moved to her forehead.

Depression is a tricky thing. You can feel perfectly fine one second, and the next the world is crashing down on you, burying you alive under its weight. Eventually, everything becomes too much and you can no longer carry yourself. You let the fear, shame, guilt, and agony consume you and it turns you bitter; depression makes you think you’re not strong enough, that you’re a burden and that everyone around you doesn’t love you. It makes you hate yourself more than the monster inside your head. You hate yourself, which makes you angry at everyone who seemingly doesn’t because depression tricks you into thinking that no one can ever truly love you. And instead of talking about it, depression often forces you to build a cage around your heart and suffer in silence because who would want to hear the burden talk about their feelings?

Eliza had caused the people around her enough pain for a lifetime. She traumatized them. No matter how hard she tried to see the good things, to appreciate the effort Matt put into making her feel safe in a situation that was naturally threatening after something like what she went through, she couldn’t find it in herself to turn the voices off for more than a few seconds.

His love was overbearing. He overwhelmed her with every little sweet gesture he made. Kissing was one thing, she could blame it on the physical need for touch and comfort, but the kiss on the forehead was too soft. It was too nice, too loving, too kind. He enveloped her in his little bubble of silk where she could twist and turn whoever she wanted – the world was dull and everything was soft enough to make her senses explode with joy. Though it was poisonous. The joy turned into acid as soon as it hit her bloodstream, and her nerves fought hard against the intrusion. Her brain didn’t want the oxytocin he provided, it wanted pain.

Eliza hadn’t felt like herself from the second she opened her eyes. Her body felt foreign as if she were an alien. Her mind was under someone else’s control and that made her feel numb and scared at the same time. While her physical body was in terrible agony, her mind was dull. She searched for ways to wake up, but even his gentle kisses only applied more pressure on the bricks that were already lying heavily on her soul.

She broke the kiss first, staring up into his once again worried brown eyes. Even with his hair disheveled and greasy and his beard grown out, he was still the most beautiful person in the room. Her brain sent a signal straight to her tear ducts and she swallowed, refusing to cry in front of him. It would only make him feel worse. He wanted to help but he couldn’t and she knew how much it bothered him. She had hurt him enough. She had hurt all of them enough.

“You, uh, should take a shower,” she made it sound like a funny little joke, while deep down all she wanted was to get rid of him so she could wallow in this darkness that took over her mind.

Matt chuckled. “I smell bad, don’t I?” he said.

“Not necessarily bad, but you’re sticky and sweaty and you haven’t showered in how long, three days?”

“Almost four.”

“Matthew!”

He caught her hand before she could hit him, though he doubted her blows would be anything but a small tickle at the moment.

“I’m sorry, I was just so focused on getting you back that I didn’t even think about me, and then this happened…” he stopped himself before he could touch the bandage and hurt her anymore. “And I didn’t want to leave your side, not again.”

“I get that, but isn’t it like torture for your senses or something?” she wondered aloud.

He sniffed at his suit. She wasn’t wrong, he did have a slightly unpleasant smell about himself. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You should go,” she told him.

“Nah,” he chuckled, “I’m not going to leave you.”

“There is a bathroom right next door.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“You almost did!”

She flinched at the tone of his voice. Matt got up, surprised at his outburst. He didn’t mean to raise his voice, it just happened.

“You almost died and I wasn’t there,” he said, softer this time. “So forgive me if I’m not keen on leaving you again.”

Eliza picked at her dirty nails. He went ahead and poured an entire container of salt into the wound. With every chap of her nails, the voices in her head grew louder. They started screaming. The guilt took a good bite from her heart, nails clawing at her soul. She was her depression’s last meal and it got ready to feast until the table was empty.

He sighed, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“It’s fine,” she waved him off.

“No, it’s not. This isn’t your fault.”

Much to his surprise, she stopped him when he tried to touch her cheek. “Don’t,” she sounded distant. “I don’t need your pity right now.”

“This isn’t pity,” he argued.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what? You know I can’t exactly look anywhere, I…” he tried to laugh it off, but she didn’t even smile at his half-hearted blind joke.

Eliza shrugged. The skin around her thumb’s nail started to bleed. She sucked the finger into her mouth, licking away the blood.

“You look at me like I’m fragile,” she said. “You know I hate that. So just stop fucking looking at me like that.”

“I’m sorry.” Though the look in his eyes manifested. All she could see was the pity he tried so hard to hide, and the fact he wasn’t doing a very good job only enraged her more.

She turned her head to evict him from her vision. The cracked skin around her nail started bleeding more when she flicked at it again, trying to get the dead piece of skin off.

Matt grabbed her hand rather forcefully. She struggled against him, but he had her fist tightly locked with his, she couldn’t even move an inch without him pulling at her. It wasn’t fair of him to assert his dominance when she was at her weakest, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

She sneered.

He didn’t speak when he took a bandaid from the tray of bandaging next to the bed, wrapping it around her bleeding finger.

“I’m not intentionally looking at you like that,” he began to explain. “It’s just… I’ve been scared for the past two days that you might never wake up and now that you’re finally awake, I…”

Eliza sniffed, sucking the tears back up her nose. He wiped the remaining ones from her cheek.

“I know you’re not fragile,” Matt smiled softly, knowingly, and she believed him, but her mind wasn’t quite rational lately. “You’re far from it, actually, but to me… after what happened, you will always be somewhat fragile to me.”

“I don’t want to be fragile,” she quietly admitted.

He chuckled as he ran a hand through her hair. “I know you don’t. You’re one of the strongest people that I know.”

“Right now, I’m not.”

“And that’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” She fell back into the pillows, defeated. Her finger throbbed underneath the bandaid. “God,” he groaned, “None of this is okay!”

“Hey.” He took her face with both hands, once again trapping her in position. “You’re okay,” he said. “And you will be okay.”

She sighed, already closing her eyes because what else was she supposed to do? He was never going to let up.

Eliza shivered when he dipped his head to capture her lips with his. He thought things were easily solved like this, that the demons in her head would easily be exorcized with a kiss and some loving words of encouragement. He thought he said those three magic words over and over again and it would just magically fix what was broken inside of her. He couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able to fix her, not like this anyway, and her hope of getting back to the way she used to be had long died out.

He kissed her deeper this time, though more gently than the first. He breathed her in, no tongue, no teeth. He simply inhaled as he tasted her lips. The conscious response was to kiss back, but he could tell she seemed less and less into it.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She winced, at the same time whining at the vulnerable confession. God, that hurt.

“Matt, I…”

Fortunately, she didn’t get around to breaking his heart. The door swung open with unmatched enthusiasm.

Natasha stared at her, at Matt, then back at her. Her green eyes widened. Her lip twitched into a bright smile. All of the fear and tension from the last two days fell off her shoulders. She had changed, unlike Matt, but her eyes showed signs of clear sleep deprivation. Her condition kept them all awake, robbing them of necessary rest. They shed tears for her.

Eliza loathed herself.

“You’re awake!” she said.

He moved aside so she could get a better view of her friend.

“Oh, my… You look…”

“Like death?” Eliza teased.

“Beautiful,” said Natasha.

“Oh, please. You can’t- oh!”

The redhead had already thrown herself on her, hugging her tightly to her chest. For a moment, she forgot the extent of her injuries. Though when her hold didn’t cease, she let out a strangled grunt.

Natasha let go immediately. “I’m so sorry! I forgot. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she nodded weakly.

“Oh, thank God, I thought…” she sat down on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in hers. She traced her finger over the bandaid incredulously, not making a secret out of her suspicions. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she questioned.

“I’m as fine as I can be.” Eliza slid her hand under the covers, too embarrassed to reveal the truth of her stupidity. “Uh, where are the others?” she changed the subject. “They’re okay, right?”

“What? Oh, no, they’re fine. They’re just… actually, why don’t I give them a call? They must be here somewhere.”

“Maybe you can also tell Matt to go take a shower now,” she said.

Natasha turned to the man who had situated himself in the corner. He scoffed at her judgmental eyes. “You need a shower,” she told him.

“Yes, thank you,” he retorted. “Seriously, were you just waiting for someone to come and support you?”

Eliza shrugged. “You wouldn’t listen to me.”

“I said I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’m not alone, Matt,” she reminded him almost gently. “I’m going to be fine. Nat’s here now.”

“Yeah,” she said, “and I’m not going anywhere either.” She gave the top of her head a quick kiss. “I have her, Matt,” Natasha told him. “She’s no longer on the verge of death. You can take five minutes to shower.”

“Please,” Eliza begged him again. “You need to do something for yourself right now. You’ve been by my side for so long…”

“You deserve a break.”

“Exactly!”

Matt rolled his eyes. “This is so unfair,” he mumbled.

Though if there was anyone he trusted with her life, it had to be Natasha. And Eliza seemed calm in her presence. She wasn’t scared or about to lash out. Her friend grounded her and perhaps that was what she needed more than his constant hovering. He couldn’t help it, he was too far in his head. Perhaps some space was a good idea for both of them.

“I brought you a change of clothes,” Natasha added.

He frowned at her. She brought him a change of clothes? He, out of all people. He wasn’t sure if his ears were working right.

“I, uh, went to your apartment. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I…” he stuttered, “I just thought you’d rather have me suffer in my blood-soaked suit than get me fresh clothes.”

She snorted, “Don’t push it.”

“Well, thank you, Natasha.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and,” she rummaged through her jean pocket, “Here,” she said and handed him the keys.

He traced his index finger over the object. The ragged edges quickly indicated that it was, indeed, a key. His eyebrows furrowed again. “What’s that for?” he asked.

“I convinced Fury to get us all a room while Eliza’s here in the hospital. That way, we’ll all be close by and we can all get a good night’s rest, but,” she smirked, “I know you won’t be sleeping in your own bed anytime soon, so I just got you one that you can shower somewhere with privacy. One of the nurses will take you so you won’t get lost. I already told them, and I mean, they know you now. They like you. They’d be glad to help.”

Eliza caught onto the hesitation on his face rather fast. She reached out, urging him to come closer. He met her hand halfway. “Hey,” she said, “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

He sighed, falling to his knees next to her head. “But what if you’re not?” he said.

She brushed his hair back. “You said it yourself, I’m going to be okay.”

“I also said I was going to protect you with my life.”

“I trust the doctor now. Sophie, she’s… I like her. I’m sorry I freaked out. I promise it’s not gonna happen again. Just please,” she tugged at his bottom lip, “go and take a shower.”

He pressed a longing kiss to her fingertip. “Do I have a choice?” he asked.

“No,” and she tried her best to smile at him.

Matt nodded. “Okay.”

“Thank you!”

“Here, have that,” he kissed her forehead, “I’ll only be gone ten minutes, tops. And if anything’s wrong-“

“I’ll call you,” she cut him off.

“Please.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Okay.” His lips lingered a little too long, and she worried he might have changed his might. He almost did. Desperate for more, he broke the distance and captured her lips instead.

Natasha noticeably gagged. “That is so gross,” she cursed under her breath.

Matt broke the kiss. The shit-eating grin on his face made her want to drop-kick him. “Take care of her,” he told her. “Make sure she stays.”

She deadpanned. “No, I’m planning to fly her out of the country tonight.”

He placed his hands on his hips, glaring holes into the wall behind her. “Seriously? You’re joking about that now?”

Eliza bit her lip so she wouldn’t giggle. The motion alone would cause the bulldozer to run over her organs – or what was left of them – all over again.

“What do you take me for?” Natasha bit back. “Of course, I’ll make sure she stays. It’s not like she can move very far anyway.”

“You know, you’re very annoying and I don’t like you.”

“And you’re overthinking. Go!”

“She’s right,” Eliza agreed.

“Ten minutes,” he said.

She sighed in response, “Ten minutes.”

Natasha paid close attention to the way her face contorted as soon as the door fell shut. “You’re in so much pain right now, aren’t you?” she asked.

Eliza curled in on herself. “Yeah,” the word came out as a strangled breath. Her stomach flipped.

She just so managed to reach the empty bowl before pure stomach acid traveled in the wrong direction up her throat. Natasha held her hair back as she emptied her already empty stomach, back hunching, and chest heaving. Her esophagus burned. The acid was aggressive, tearing through the skin already. The lurching motion also caused the stitches on her abdomen to tear, or at least it felt that way.

The gasoline started as a small puddle at her feet, though as soon as it was set on fire, the flames spread over her entire body, searching for any way to multiply. Thousands of small knives cut through her skin, not just from the outside but the inside as well. Fire ants crawled over her limbs, turning her fingers numb. The muscles in her shoulder stiffened, locked in place with the sudden tsunami of agony that destroyed the village which, in other words, was a fancy metaphor for her body.

A thin layer of sweat coated her forehead.

“Why didn’t you just tell him?” Natasha wanted to know. “Or the doctor? She could have given you something for the pain.”

“That’s exactly why I chose Matt to be my proxy,” Eliza choked out. The pain made her toes curl. “I chose him because I knew he wouldn’t make decisions based on his worry for me – fuck! – If it were up to you, I’d already be hooked up to the morphine by now.”

“You just had major abdominal surgery…”

“I won’t do it,” she said. “You can’t convince me. If I say yes, I’m going right back down the same road. The last time… I started all of this because another doctor here at SHIELD handed out Oxy like candy. I’m not making the same mistake twice, so just… just drop it.”

“How long do you think you can keep this from him?” she conquered.

“As long as I have to.”

“Eliza.”

“Natasha.”

“Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

"I'm an addict,” she said. “I’m an addict whose drug of choice used to be opioids. I’m not risking my sobriety just because AA once said that drugs as pain relief in severe cases of injury don’t count as relapse when a doctor recommends it. We both know that if I say yes, it won’t just stay with a dose or two.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m gonna crave more, I just know it, so my answer stays the same. I’m not giving in. How much worse could it possibly get?”

Have you ever twisted your knee? The pain travels, spreading to your entire leg, and with every ounce of applied pressure, it only gets worse, possibly even swells and the swelling gets worse the first few days, too. You’re in so much pain, you can’t properly walk. What you thought was just a twisted knee turns into so much more, which often turns into a terrible week or two, depending on how fast you get back on your feet – pun intended.

Eliza felt about the same, with the only difference being that she was cut into for seven hours, lost two organs, her heart stopped and her lung collapsed, all in the same setting. Her usually strong body turned into an immobile sack of potatoes. She wasn’t used to this helpless state. She couldn’t even get up to use the bathroom because every movement made the pain worse, and eventually, it caused her temperature to rise and her muscles to tremble.

She developed a slight tremor in her hand, which wasn’t a good sign, but it wasn’t neurological. The pain wore her thin. She tried everything, even meditating, and talking worked most of the time, but as soon as she consciously breathed, she could only think about the sharp pain that tore through her abdomen and spread into her legs.

Matt didn’t take Fury up on his offer – who still refused to see her, by the way – and stayed with Eliza in the hospital room. She offered him the bed, but he wanted to give her space, so he stayed in the chair. His care slowly grew suffocating, and even though she enjoyed the company, he could be quite annoying at times. The pain had already worn her thin, more agitated than usual, and more often than not she shut down. Matt noticed that, but he refused to acknowledge it.

Eliza kept staring at the wall more and more. She wanted to try and stand, but Sophie told her not to. She wanted to do something, anything, that wasn’t lying around and suffering through the pain with nothing to do, but she couldn’t even if she tried.

On the second day, she was allowed to change into proper clothes. A pair of leggings and a shirt with the SHIELD logo – even in secret, the organization stood strong and healthy. She wondered how Fury managed to get it done behind their backs, though she suspected something like this all along.

She refused to eat, every bite causing her to throw up. It was something she couldn’t hide from Matt. She told him it was normal, but Sophie quickly shut that hypothetical down. Still, she refused to admit the true extent of her pain. She explained discomfort, but she never said what it truly felt like.

Clint often came to visit. Steve and Sam took their turns, often coming in to tell stories to distract her, then leaving to conduct some unofficial SHIELD business while they were still around. She wasn’t sure for how long, but Natasha made herself at home in her room too eventually, and she realized that they wouldn’t go anywhere as long as she was still incapacitated. No one knew how long this was going to be, and she slowly drove up the walls.

She wanted to claw her eyes out, kill the people around her, or even both. She didn’t want to feel like this anymore. She was tired, but she couldn’t still. She was starving, but she couldn’t eat. Eventually, even her appetite faded and she started to turn apathetic. She didn’t care anymore. She wanted out of her body, she just wanted the pain to stop, but she couldn’t admit that. She didn’t want to fall into old patterns.

Though Eliza reached her breaking point eventually. A nurse changed her bandages and she got a good look at the wound for the first time. She instantly got sick again. The cut went along the full length of her stomach, the entry wounds of the bullets sewn shut. She looked like a train wreck. Her skin reddened and inflamed, slightly discolored, and she suddenly felt insecure about her body. That was the day she also stopped letting Matt touch her entirely.

It all went downhill when Sophie took her temperature. She uttered the numbers, then left as fast as she could when she saw Matt’s nostrils flare.

“That’s it,” he said.

She met his eyes only momentarily before she returned to staring at the wall, tears forming in her eyes. She hated that it happened. She was not one to cry out of physical discomfort, but all things had to end eventually.

He got up from his chair, the metal scraping against the floor with a noise that made her head ache.

“You’re running a fever, you’re constantly shivering and you won’t even look at me because there are tears in your eyes. I know you’re in pain, excruciating pain, but you’re just too goddamn proud to admit it because you’re afraid of what might happen if you took something for it. I get that, believe me, but I can’t sit here and listen to you hold back your pain just so I won’t suffer with you. I already am!”

She sighed deeply.

“And now you won’t even talk to me. Eliza, please,” he took her hand in his, running his thumb over her healed knuckles, “Talk to me. I miss you.”

Her other fist clenched around the sheets. The pain got worse every day instead of better, and she was barely healing. She heard Sophie loud and clear. She was too weak to heal, and her body was starting to fight itself instead of recovering. She was destroying herself, she knew that, but somehow she stopped caring about that a long time ago. Her will to live went down the drain. She hated that she did this to him, but she couldn’t help it. Her need for destruction was greater than her worry for him or everyone else, for that matter. Even Natasha was starting to spiral, being the only one who knew how she truly felt, and it was a burden. It was a burden to know about her pain in such detail.

She was a burden. She was useless. She didn’t want to continue living like this. That became frighteningly clear when she dared to look at Matt again, who was holding back tears of frustration and sleep deprivation from holding her hand every night.

She shifted, a cry breaking free from her throat. He went to help her. This time though, she didn’t push him away, which he appreciated.

“You can’t even sit up,” he murmured.

“I know about my condition, Matt,” she spat. “I know it, so stop telling me!”

“I just want to help.” Through all of it, he stayed calmer than ever.

“You can’t help me. No one can. I just have to sit it out.”

He touched her burning forehead. “You can’t sit it out, not like this. You have to realize that.”

“I can’t…”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if it weren’t so pressing. You need to get better and you can’t do that when you’re in so much pain, your body is starting to derail instead of getting better. I mean, you have a common infection that’s getting worse, and that’s only the beginning of a very dangerous list,” he said. “Please, consider letting Sophie give you her option on pain medication that might be less addictive.”

He hadn’t openly suggested it since she woke up. He hadn’t dared, but even Matt was growing tired of experiencing her pain alongside her.

She bit her lip. The tears made her angry. “I don’t want that,” she said.

“You don’t want it, but you know you need it. Listen,” he flicked the switch on the health monitor. The beeping was rapid, the lines high and following in short periods after one another. “That’s not normal,” he told her. “The fever is not normal. The shivers are not normal. Throwing up is not normal. Please, I can’t watch you kill yourself. It’s not worth it. I need you to allow me to do something. If you hate me, that’s fine, but at least allow the doctors to get rid of your pain.”

Eliza couldn’t do this anymore. She nodded faintly, her sight blurry and her head dizzy. Matt turned off the monitor again, internally patting himself on the shoulder. He pushed the call button.

“We can get through this,” he promised. “We will find a way that what happened back then won’t happen again. You just have to find it in yourself to trust me on this.”

She wasn’t sure how she would react to the medication. Frankly, she was scared. She was so scared of relapsing, it made her sick again. She threw up just as the doctor entered the room, and she let her talk about her options. They all seemed cruel and the last thing she wanted, but she needed to do something. She wanted to break free of this helplessness. Perhaps her mind would feel better too, and she would stop hurting Matt with every change in her personality.

Her friends were in the room when she made the decision. Since she had tried fentanyl with her last surgery and it didn’t work, she made the hard decision to go with the morphine, although it was the pathway to heroin, and she had tried that plenty. Still, the excruciating pain made it almost impossible not to take the offer of even the smallest dose, and Matt made the official request because she was in no state to make important medical decisions on her own.

That night, the pain finally stopped. It was like a truck hit her. Her entire body relaxed, and the pain in her abdomen turned into a numb thudding that she barely felt. She was on cloud nine, and not in the way she used to get high. It was just a state of pain relief, nothing she did to herself, and it made her feel a little better about the whole thing. Perhaps she could go out of this without craving more. She was in an exceptional situation. With the pain gone, she could finally breathe again. Thinking clearly, not so much, since morphine tended to make her rather fuzzy. But she didn’t need to think.

Matt came into the room with a cup of what she suspected to be coffee. He had drank a lot of that in the past couple of days, and she didn’t even get to take a sip.

“Matty!” She blurted happily. Her arms stretched out.

He blinked in surprise. The drugs had taken full effect. While he was glad, the sudden behavior change had him a little concerned for her safety.

The light fell on the dark circles under his eyes. She had never seen something so divine.

“You look like an angel.”

“I’m sorry, what?” He blushed at the compliment. Setting the cup down, he lowered himself onto the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

She giggled. “Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?” she said. “Your face is just… you are so dreamy.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re talking again, but how are my looks relevant to this case?”

“Why is there a case?” He could hear her eyebrows furrow. “We’re not in court.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I think it wouldn’t be legal for me to give testimony under the influence of drugs.”

“It wouldn’t be, no,” he chose to play along. Her giddiness was refreshing, almost.

“I’m so glad you’re a lawyer,” she said. “I think I might have to file a lawsuit.”

“Against whom, exactly?”

“Doctor Michaels.”

“And why is that?”

“She’s an organ stealer!”

He chuckled in disbelief. “What?”

“An organ thief! Yes, she stole my kidney and my spleen.”

“You don’t actually need your spleen.”

“It was still mine.” Eliza pouted. “I want my organs back.”

“I believe that’s not possible, sweetheart,” Matt said, helping her pull a hair out of her very dry mouth. “Water?”

“Um… Earth, air, and fire?”

“No, I mean, do you want some water?”

“Oh, sure.” She took the bottle with greedy hands. “Thanks, Matty.”

“You’re welcome.”

“About the lawsuit…”

“Sophie didn’t steal your organs.”

“Stop calling her that.”

“Sophie?”

“Is she your girlfriend? I don’t think so. So you don’t need to call my doctor by her first name. Oh, can I have some coffee?”

He sighed. “You can’t have coffee in your condition. We talked about this.”

Her bottom lip started to quiver. She pushed it forward, her eyes growing wide and glossy.

“Don’t you dare pout right now,” he said.

“But I want coffee,” she said. Her voice bordered on a pathetic whine, and if she had been lucid, she would have punched herself for acting so immature and needy, but she wasn’t exactly in control of herself.

Matt tried not to let his mental image affect him, but it was hard when he could imagine her expression to the tiniest detail.

He sighed again, this time guiding the cup to her lips. He named his condition, “One sip.” And she squealed happily that she managed to change his mind.

How could he say no to that? Seeing her happy again after all this time caused him to relax too, and with that came the overwhelming urge to give her everything she wanted because after the torture she put herself through for the sake of her sobriety, not because she was too proud of which he had accused her before, she deserved it. He had a lot to make up for, he just wasn’t sure what that was yet. The guilt was starting to take over his mind too, and there was seemingly nothing he could do to stop it.

He was supposed to be the strong one, but the more time he spent at her bedside, listening to her suffer day after day, the more he was starting to fall into a state of suffering.

He expected her to take the cup and turn away from him. “Sweetheart,” he warned.

She blinked at him through innocent eyes. “Hm?”

“That’s my coffee.”

“Can’t I just drink it, please?”

“You know how much caffeine is in there?”

“Yes!” Her face lit up. “Why do you think I want it?”

He chuckled softly, taking the cup from her. She pouted again, to which he only pushed her bottom lip back into her mouth. She bit down on his finger.

“No more coffee for you,” he said, leaving no space for discussion.

Eliza snuggled back into the pillows. Not a single thought bothered her mind. She was in a state of relaxation and pure bliss. The sheets felt incredibly soft under her fingers, and she pulled them further up her body to enjoy more of it. She missed Matt’s silk sheets, but the ones the hospital provided weren’t all too bad. They didn’t scratch her skin and she could wrap herself up in them entirely without any limbs poking out, almost like a burrito.

She eyed the man next to her. He kept a protective hand on her bicep while he sipped his coffee, listening to the sound of her heartbeat that had finally slowed down.

“Matt,” she whispered.

He turned to her with a soft hum.

“Come here.”

He leaned down.

“More.”

Only when his ear was close to her mouth, he stopped.

“I’m high,” she said. “But shhh! No one has to know.”

“Sweetie,” he whispered back, “everyone can tell that you’re high.”

She gasped. “WHAT?”

Her voice rang in his eardrums. He flinched.

“Oh, sorry. What?” she lowered her voice to a whisper again.

“Nothing.” He rubbed her arm. “I won’t tell anyone. It’s our little secret.”

“Thanks.”

She fell silent again, but only for a moment before her mouth opened again and she returned to babbling nonsense into his ear. He could’ve easily fallen asleep like that, but he didn’t want to, not before she finally found rest.

“You’re so pretty,” she cooed, raising her finger to poke his cheek. “You look like a Disney princess.”

Matt caught her hand, sneaking a kiss to her wrist. “You should try to sleep,” he said.

“I’m not even tired. I’m hungry. I want jello. Can you get me some jello, Matty?”

He was already on his feet, extending his cane. Natasha had brought it along with the change of clothes, leaving him in a red shirt and a pair of jeans. The outfit was already more comfortable than his Daredevil suit, but that wasn’t all that hard. “Let me guess, the red one?” he asked.

She gave him a thumbs-up. “You know why?”

“Because you hate the artificial apple flavor in the green one.”

Her smile only grew. “You know me,” she said in awe. “I love that. Means you care about me.”

She loved that he knew her. It was just a stupid adjective, but to him, it meant a step closer to putting an end to this endless pining and finally having his feelings reciprocated.

He smiled back at her. “I’ll be right back.”

Over the past couple of days, his reservations about leaving her alone had gone down. He realized she wasn’t going to disappear if he put some space between them every once in a while. She needed it too. The hospital room was miserable and void of privacy already, the last thing she wanted was to spend every living second next to him.

Matt made his way down the hallway toward the nurse’s station. His hand searched for the counter, eventually reaching his destination. He had foregone his glasses; the thudding of his temples made it impossibly painful to add more pressure through a foreign object. The nurses had gotten used to him by now. They were always eager to help, which he appreciated, though it took them some time to get used to seeing a blind man move more effortlessly than the average person. He explained it to them, but they had only wrapped their minds around the fact recently. The offers for help didn’t fade though. They were more than happy to offer him a guiding hand, and he more often than not took it gladly because he was getting more and more tired, which made it harder for him to navigate the world around him.

The nurse's station had become a place he often frequented. He memorized the path like the back of his hand. Even though he couldn’t see the building he was in, he had an inkling as to what the new SHIELD facility looked like.

This time, a new heartbeat joined the group of nurses. The woman stood next to him at the counter, watching him intently as she flipped through what sounded like a paper file.

He smiled at the elderly nurse behind the counter. “Do you guys happen to have any jello at hand?” he asked.

“We have,” she answered, her grin sheepish. “What flavor do you want, darling?”

“The red one, please.”

“Alright, just a second.”

She headed to the small fridge they kept in the back. Matt listened to her footsteps retreating. The woman next to him still kept staring at him. He turned to her. Before he could question her intentions, she chuckled and spoke up.

“She’s very dictating, isn’t she?” she said.

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Eliza. She’s very demanding when she’s high.” The paper file closed and she offered her hand. “Maria Hill, I work for Nick Fury.”

“Everyone here works for Fury,” he said, ignoring her extended hand.

Maria pulled back, shifting from one heel to the other. She was wearing a pencil skirt, he could tell from the lack of fabric around her thighs and ankles. Her shirt must have been fitted professionally; he could not find an inch that was off. Apart from that, he imagined her as a tall woman, considering her breath came from somewhere above him. She had to be an inch or two taller, thanks to her heels.

He straightened his back, shifting his weight onto his cane. Eliza hadn’t told him about Maria, nor had Natasha or any of the other Avengers. At least he couldn’t remember her name. It had been a long week.

“You know, the first time she almost died and was bound to a hospital bed for four days, she almost killed me. The only thing that got her mojo back was red jello, ironically.” Maria chuckled. “That’s why I said that she’s very demanding when she’s high. I didn’t mean any disrespect, we actually worked together for a very long time.”

“She’s not demanding,” he said, “she just has a strong will. Which is about the same thing now that I think of it.”

“Let me guess, she is rambling absolute nonsense instead of sleeping as she should?”

Matt scoffed. “You have no idea. Getting that girl to sleep is like trying to catch a mouse. Not that I’ve ever tried to catch a mouse, but I imagine it would be something like this.”

“So nothing has changed,” she said.

“I guess it hasn’t.”

The nurse placed the small cup of jello on the counter before him. “There you go, love. Tell your girlfriend I said hi,” she said.

“I will, thank you so much.”

“Oh, and Matthew…” she scrambled for something in her paperwork. “Ah! Yes, they’re holding a small sermon in the chapel tomorrow morning. You know, since you said that you’re catholic and you miss going to church.”

He realized she was reading from a post-it note. She had done that for him. He only mentioned it once after she caught him praying over Eliza’s body when she was still passed out from surgery. He didn’t expect her to remember.

Matt smiled at the gesture. “Thanks, I’ll, uh, I’ll check it out,” he said.

“Even if you don’t, I just thought you’d like to know.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Of course. We’ve grown quite fond of you around here. Between the two of us,” she leaned in to whisper, “You’re the only person who’s ever been this dedicated to Eliza, and we’ve seen her through it all back when she still worked for us. Well, me, at least. So I like seeing that she’s found someone who’d do that for her.”

She had a small, golden cross necklace dangling from her throat, almost like his. She often clutched it when she was nervous. She complimented his back when she first caught sight of it, and ever since then he had been paying more attention to her choice of jewelry. She was catholic too, though not as devoted as him, more out of family tradition.

The familiar scent of holy water nestled into her clothes from Sunday mass, he observed. He would undoubtedly see her at the sermon if he decided to go. He hadn’t even been to the chapel, too occupied in praying for Eliza’s survival with her right there to think about any institutions of faith. Did father Lantom worry about him? He hadn’t been around in a suspiciously long while. But he knew about his secret identity and what he had been up to, so perhaps he wasn’t all too worried because he knew. And Eliza met him too. He probably put the variables together already. He was smart like that, always has been.

Matt was about to leave with the jello when Maria stopped him. “Matt, was it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“You know, I’m not heartless. I’m her friend. I visited her last night when you were asleep, but she hasn’t been very talkative lately, especially since she’s mad at Fury for not telling her about Volkov’s apprehension personally. She had to learn it from you, and she hates that she can’t confront him herself. But I went to see her.”

That was the strange perfume he smelled in the air after he woke up from two hours of rather restless sleep.

He let out a sigh. “I never said you were heartless.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t blame you for thinking about it. The past few days have been a lot for all of us.”

“Tell that to Eliza,” he bit back. “She’s the one who suffered the most.”

“I get that.”

“Good, then you won’t mind if I go and bring her this jello now.”

“Sure. But when you’re done,” she said, “Fury wants to have a word with you.”

Matt stopped. His eyes shut, though not without rolling back into his heart first. “Why?” he asked.

“He doesn’t disclose that kind of information with me. I’m just following orders.”

The last thing he wanted to do was face him. He had met him briefly when he fought with Clint, and they didn’t even talk then. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it couldn’t have been good.

“Tell him I decline,” he said coldly. “I have no interest in speaking with him.”

“It’s important,” Maria urged.

“Then he can come and tell me himself. I’ll be taking care of my girlfriend if he decides to show up.”

Matt opened the door to her room and slipped in, making sure it was shut tightly behind him.

By the time he came back, Eliza was fast asleep in her bed, the jello long forgotten as the morphine knocked her out completely.

There was a reason she hadn’t slept before. Her body relaxed into the mattress, but she only got a few minutes of rest before the pictures started flickering across the screen in her head. She remembered waking up in the White Room. Her clothes stank of disinfectant and gunpowder. She remembered fighting her way out. The blood of the man she killed weighed heavy on her hands. He lay lifeless in her arms as she watched the blood squirt from the cut along his throat. His aorta was completely severed. He bled out, painting the white walls a dark crimson. She made quite a mess, and she didn’t even care, she stepped over him and moved on as if she hadn’t just broken her moral code.

She remembered standing across from Volkov, the feeling of his hands on her body without even touching her. His words had tugged at her soul, wrapping her up like a Shibari rope and forcing her to listen to his ideology. Her mind was twisted enough to believe him. She was a monster and he was the only one who would ever accept that. She had almost fallen for him, almost fallen for the love he claimed to have. He raised her, he was her father for most of her life, while also using her as if she had been his toy to play with. But she had been his everything, his favorite, his golden child. He lectured her and punished her, but he had never been anything but proud of his girl.

His attention set the fireworks in her belly off. She didn’t want him to, but as she stood across from him, she felt compelled to fall to her knees and submit to him. It was all she ever learned how to do, bow down to authority and do as she was told because only good girls get rewarded. She wanted him to punish her for what she did, but at the same time praise her for taking another life, for playing the part of his strongest soldier perfectly once again. Every twisted thing she had ever done was for him and him only, even long after she was gone. He lived in her head. Viktor dictated her life without even being there. He poisoned her, crawled his way into her mind and her bloodstream, and he stayed there like a relentless bastard.

But she managed to shake him off. She managed to break out of her shackles and force him to his knees for a change. Her knuckles were broken and bruised when she was done with him. She remembered him lying there in a pool of his blood, barely breathing. He had laughed at her and called her weak, but she proved him wrong. It should have been victorious. She should have felt good. He was out of the picture. But she crossed the line already, and not by killing him but by killing someone else because even after all these years of trying to escape him, he controlled her every move. She heard the song and she snapped. She stood in front of him and could barely act, but she jumped at the slightest chance to kill someone else to get herself out of a situation she hadn’t even been helpless in.

If only Matt knew what she had done while being lucid. He would surely hate her. He would despise her and wish her dead. She couldn’t tell him, though at the same time she had to if she ever wanted to give him the space to be happy. He needed to break this invisible bond between them. She wasn’t strong enough.

She remembered staring into Ivan’s eyes as the bullets rained down on her. He had laughed maniacally as she fell to the floor. Matt was holding her as she bled out, his hands stained red with her blood. He told her the sweetest things, told her he loved her and told her to hold on, but she hadn’t been strong enough. She died in his arms. She died until she was on the operating table. They got her back, then she died again only for them to force her back to life when all she wanted was to move on.

The worst part wasn’t reliving the events as if she was back there. She remembered being in the abandoned hospital and going through every door to her memories, remembering what had been done to her and what she had done to others. Her mother died, her father gave her away, Viktor trained her into a killing machine and then they took even the last thing that made her feel whole. They took her choice to decide for herself how her future would look like. She was trained, watched, prodded, and touched. Greedy hands grabbed at her, things were said and she found herself on a pedestal with the spotlight on her body as she danced for men who only saw her as an object paraded by Hydra. They got off on it. She was the center of attention back then, their most precious gift, and some even bid to get her to themselves. He never went as far as to allow them. He rather chopped their hands off because she had been his, no one else’s.

She remembered the murders she committed, and the missions she went on. She remembered going on a mission and meeting Natasha, only for her to take her to SHIELD and do anything to reverse the brainwashing. She spent days tied to a chair until the effects started to wear off and she realized she was somewhere else, someone else. She forced herself to become a functioning member of society, though something had been missing within her, something she had searched for so long. Finding it only hurt her more than it helped, although she had a better connection to her powers and knew where she came from. She learned Tony lied to her, that her entire life had been a lie, and Hydra was doing this because of her because she held the key to eternal power.

As so often, she survived. She woke up in a hospital bed, far from dead. Though something had died. Eliza died inside, not physically but mentally, and while she refused to admit it, she slowly began to stop caring. She was, quite frankly, terrified of herself.

Eliza woke up in a cold sweat. She even screamed when a pair of hands started to touch her clammy body and she moved back, stopped by the reappearing searing pain in her abdomen, but she still fought back. She wouldn’t let them take her again. They could kill her, but they would never hurt her this way again. She no longer wanted to be this person. She no longer wanted to be Viktor’s perfect girl. She wanted out of this life, and she would never go back there, even if it killed her.

But those hands weren’t made by Hydra. Those were familiar hands trying to calm her down. Still, the fear overtook her. She forgot how to breathe, forgot where she was. She only saw the hospital bed and found herself back in the White Room, attached to machines and needles. She only waited for the electroshocks to ripple through her body.

“Eliza,” that was her name, but she only heard it faintly. “Eliza, look at me!” he demanded again. She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Let me go,” she squeaked. “I’m not going back there. I don’t want to go back there.”

She wasn’t sure if she meant the White Room or the empty hallway of the afterlife that only showed her worst demons instead of the paradise her mother lived in.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Matt! No one’s going to take you.”

Her vision became clearer. His brown hair came into view, as did the deep frown on his face and the thin line of his lips. His hands swayed in the air, afraid to touch her but desperate to do so to ground her. She wasn’t sure if she could do that.

She hugged her arms around herself. “This can’t be happening.”

“Hey, you’re safe. You’re safe, okay? There is absolutely no one who’s going to hurt you.”

“No, I saw them. I…”

It was just a dream.

She felt silly, pathetic, useless; all the bad adjectives that put her in an even worse light.

She choked on a sob.

“Hey.” She didn’t flinch away when he touched her this time. He gently grabbed her shoulders before moving one hand up to cup her cheek, the other urging her hand against his chest. “Feel my heartbeat. C’mon,” he said.

Thud, thud thud, thud… it was real. Her dream, while realistic, hadn’t been real. His touch was real, the bed was real, and the four walls were real. Hydra was gone, the White Room burned down and Viktor was in custody. That was real, nothing else, nothing more.

But the memories of her past were real too, and she had killed someone in cold blood, which hurt even more. That was all just as real, and it caused her chest to ache with the guilt. She thought it was going to kill her. She thought she was going to die, for good this time.

“You’re okay,” Matt told her. “You’re safe now. They destroyed the White Room, remember? You took them down, SHIELD got rid of the remains. We won, we did it, there is nothing here that’s gonna hurt you. Feel that,” he drummed his finger against the back of her hand, “Tell me if I’m lying.”

“I can’t…” he wasn’t lying, but she couldn’t stop feeling everything at once. “I can’t breathe. It hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much? I just want it to stop.”

He moved the covers aside, sliding into the bed next to her. She curled into his chest.

“You’re going to feel better soon.” He pushed the little red button that was attached to the morphine drip. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, breathing into her hair. It wasn’t the right choice, not at all, but he didn’t know how else to stop her from further hurting herself.

She shivered against him. “I don’t want to go back to sleep,” she cried.

“I know, but you have to.”

“No, I can’t.”

“I’m sleeping with you so you can listen to my heartbeat.” He readjusted her position so her ear rested right over his rib cage. “No one’s going to hurt you as long as I’m here with you. I’m going to hold you so you can sleep, and everything’s going to be just fine. I promise.”

The steady beating of his heart did work to calm her down, but she still fought against the sleepiness the drugs brought on. If she closed her eyes, she would be back there again. She knew it.

Eliza was paralyzed. She couldn’t blink, she simply stared at the wall, her eyes empty. Her soul faded into oblivion. There were no more colors when she looked at people, only their silhouettes. She couldn’t see or feel emotions other than hers, and it was utterly overwhelming. It felt like she was nothing anymore. She didn’t exist, she was just floating around in space waiting for a meteor to hit her and end her miserable existence.

Even though Matt begged, he was the first to fall back asleep. The morphine didn’t knock her out this time. She turned completely numb. She shut everything out to protect herself. Her heart would break if she didn’t, she was sure of that. One more crack and it would shatter to pieces.

Two more days passed by. The pain had gotten significantly better, although the reduction of the morphine dose made her feel uneasy. She wasn’t sure how she would react to the withdrawal. However, the soreness in her abdomen reminded her why she chose to do this in the first place. She no longer was in excruciating pain when she tried to sit up, only the occasional sting from her stitches and an overall soreness that had her crumbling in on herself. The infection faded with the added steroids.

The clock showed that it was six in the morning. That was when she decided to no longer lay around helplessly and wait for her body to reach the proper point of recovery. She had only been able to walk to the bathroom without the help of a wheelchair, and it had been utterly humiliating. She also couldn’t shower standing up, she had to sit down on the tub and was always dependent on help. The first few times, she cried. After that, she stopped caring. She stopped caring about everything, instead succumbing to anger and shame. She lost herself. The downward spiral dragged her down, the quicksand swallowing her, and she suffocated.

There was talk about releasing her and getting her a proper room with a window, but Matt disagreed, saying it was not a good idea if she couldn’t even stand for longer than ten minutes. He was still there, no matter how many times she insisted he should go back to work. It was an excuse to get rid of him, really, and it didn’t work. She tried, at least.

One night, Natasha brought food to her room, and she sat with her friends until the next morning. She let them tell her stories about their time on the run as she pretended to listen, but really, she was somewhere else. Anything that happened after the first night she had that dreaded nightmare was a blur, no longer real. She couldn’t remember it the second after it happened.

Her friends were so happy that she was getting better that they didn’t pay attention to the way she slimmed down or her sentences got shorter, or that she was barely sleeping at all. Matt noticed, but she laughed it off. She was good at making jokes in even the worst of situations, and so they often sat together eating jello while she tried to reassure him she was fine. She just couldn’t stand being incapacitated anymore. He understood that. He tried to make it as enjoyable as possible for her, but there was nothing enjoyable about her situation, so he watched as she slipped out of his grasp completely.

He decided he would confront her as soon as he got the chance. Little did he know that Eliza had other plans.

She rose from her bed when no one was in the room. The motion made it feel as if her entire weight dropped into her knees. Her organs seemed to move around aimlessly, and her stitches dragged her down.

When Sophie entered for her usual check-up, she was surprised to see her on her feet, leaning against the foot of the bed. “Why are you trying to walk without someone present to catch you if you fall?” she asked, though she didn’t attempt to stop her.

Eliza looked up at her. “I want to be discharged,” she stated.

“You want to be discharged?” The doctor gawked at her. “You just reached the state in which you can start moving around on your own. Your stitches are still there. You need to regain some of your strength first.”

“I’m tired of being watched, shoved around, and taken away by privacy because you think I’m not strong enough. I feel better. You can discharge me. I will start training as soon as I can.”

“You don’t need training, you need physical therapy.”

“It’s all the same to me.”

“It’s really not,” Sophie emphasized. “I can’t discharge you. You need at least another couple of days until you can be on your feet again.”

She straightened up. “I am on my feet.”

“Strong on your feet, I mean.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Sophie,” Eliza snapped. “I’m tired, don’t you get that? I want to start training again so I can get better. I’m going crazy in here.” She pressed a hand to the aching wound. The pain only spurred her on to stand straighter.

She sighed. “Lift your shirt.”

Eagerly, she jumped up on the bed, lifting the soft blue SHIELD shirt. Sophie removed the bandage that no longer stretched around her whole torso but rather only stuck to the incision site. Eliza looked away from her body, the sight making her queasy. She felt anything but sexy.

The doctor scanned her stomach, feeling for tenderness. On cue, she hissed. She shot her a knowing, disapproving glance, before resticking the bandage.

“I can’t discharge you,” Sophie said.

“Please,” Eliza begged. “I’m just a little sore. It’s no longer infected and I can walk around, as you could see, I just can’t do it very fast. I do some cardio and muscle-building exercises and I will be as good as new. I just…” she closed her eyes. “I need to get out of here. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Her expression softened. She sat down next to her, chart in hand. Seemingly checking her labs, she hummed. Eliza wasn’t sure what that hum meant, especially from a doctor. She eyed her, then the document, then eyed her once again. Her eyes had sunken, her cheeks were pale from the lack of nutrition and sun, and overall she looked like she could need a bed that wasn’t in a dark hospital room.

Sophie wasn’t proud of her decision, but she wouldn’t move far away, only into the building next door, and she could recover from her own room if she tried hard enough. So, she caved.

She took the discharge form, checked some boxes, then signed off. “Here,” she said, handing the clipboard to her. “I need you to sign this.”

Eliza raised her eyebrows. “What does this mean?” she asked.

“It means that I’m discharging you if,” she lifted her index finger, “But only if you promise and consent to get yourself checked out once a day, and that you have supervision while you go on about your day. And I want you to take physical therapy seriously, so we can restore your strength.”

“Physical therapy as in…” she trailed off.

“You can do your training, but I want you to do it with a professional present. As soon as you’re strong enough to be on your feet for longer than ten minutes and your stitches are out, you can start with cardio, and eventually, you can start training your muscles.”

“And when will that be?”

“If you show self-discipline, I give it three days. I mean, your healing process is picking up the pace, so I suppose you might be healing faster than I originally expected. Although I will have to give you some medication to take,” she said.

Eliza nodded, not wasting a second to sign. “Deal,” she said.

She couldn’t wait to get out of this room.

Sophie took the forms back. “Don’t make me regret my choice.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

She forced herself back up just as the doctor was about to leave. “Thank you,” she threw after her. “I mean it. Thank you, Sophie.”

Sophie saluted, finally leaving her alone. And Eliza instantly got ready to pack her bags.

Staying at SHIELD was a compromise. She would rather find someplace else to stay, but as long as she got her own room, she was okay with the establishment. She never thought she would return to where she started turning into a hero, something she no longer identified as. She was a hypocrite, someone who shouldn’t be allowed around other people, but no one knew what happened. No one knew what she had done.

Word traveled fast in the hospital hallway. The door fell shut loudly behind her, and judging by the intensity, she knew who it was.

“Did you ask the doctor to discharge you?” Matt asked. He had this bewildered look on his face. “Eliza, are you out of your mind?”

She didn’t turn around, she simply sighed as she packed another one of her shirts into the duffel bag Natasha brought. Not that she had much to pack, but it still felt good to scramble her stuff after staying in the same place for so long.

Matt heard the rustling of the fabric. “So they weren’t lying. You’re leaving.”

“I can’t stay here anymore, Matt,” she said. “Besides, I’m not leaving, I’m just moving to a room here in the compound until I’m completely healed.”

“You shouldn’t even be standing up, let alone be discharged.”

“You’re not my doctor. Sophie agreed that it was time, so she signed off on my decision.”

“Okay, what’s going on?”

“Excuse me?” She turned around to face him. She didn’t like the tone he took with her.

With his signature stance, hands on his hips, and a deep frown on his face, he towered over her. “Don’t you think I can tell that you’re distancing yourself?” he said.

She scoffed, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m fine.”

“You see, I hear you say that, but then I listen to your heart and I know you’re lying. Just tell me,” he exhaled deeply, “Was it something that I did?”

“You didn’t do anything,” she retorted, “I’m just tired of being cooped up in here all the time with the same people and the same four walls, and I can’t stay in bed anymore either. I need to do something. I need windows, I need to live. I can’t do this anymore, so I chose to discharge myself. Easy as that.”

The last shirt hit the inside of the duffel bag with the hardest thud. Her stitches screamed at the way her muscles tensed with anger.

“You’re lying to me again, and the worst part is, I can’t tell about which part.”

“Certainly not about the first one.”

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” the desperation became clearer in his voice.

Eliza shivered. His heart was breaking right before her eyes, and only she had the power to stop it. A power she chose not to exercise. Perhaps this was a sign. She had to do the thing she had been too scared to do before. He didn’t deserve all she put him through, and he needed to learn the hard way that holding onto her wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth risking his everything for.

She turned back around. “There is nothing to talk about,” she stated plainly.

“It feels like I’m losing you and it’s so fucking scary because you are the one I care about the most.”

“Yeah, well, I keep fucking up all the good things in my life. I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that to you too.”

“Okay, now you’re talking, but I’m so confused. What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, actually,” he said, “Because what you just said sounds like total bullshit if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you!” she roared.

He leaned back slightly, blinking the shock from his face before wiping over his stubble. “So what does this mean? What exactly are you trying to tell me in your own, I-don’t-know-how-to-express-my-feelings kind of way?”

Eliza sighed. “You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.”

“What?”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” she said. “If you did, you would hate me.”

“Try me.”

Hate me, she thought. It would be kinder.

“Back at the White Room, before I even got to Volkov, I killed someone.”

The confession ran his blood ice cold. His fingers dug into his hips, surely leaving bruises. He couldn’t have heard her right. She didn’t say what he thought she had said.

She turned back around to him, closing the duffel bag. “Remember the electricity guy from the news? Yeah, I killed him. I slit his throat. I didn’t even care.”

There it was, the change in her heartbeat, and he visibly relaxed. He finally understood.

“You didn’t do it because you wanted to,” he said, “you did it because you felt like you had to.”

“That stupid song…” she muttered. “But I did it and I would do it again. He deserved to die.”

He had never heard her words come so cold and unbothered. It made him slightly afraid of her, and he didn’t like that he felt that way while still loving her in a way he shouldn’t have. He couldn’t possibly stop it. He wanted to hug her and tell her he forgave her, that she wasn’t a bad person but rather someone who had been tortured for so long, she didn’t know any better. But she was so distant, he couldn’t reach her, not even with his words.

“Maybe he did,” he said.

Eliza cried out. “Oh, God! Stop defending me! Just fucking stop it, I’m so sick of this! I’m so bad for you,” she said. “I’m so bad for you and you don’t want to admit it, so you keep hurting yourself on my broken edges. That’s not healthy. I’m toxic and I’m poisoning you, but you keep making excuses just so you won’t have to let me go. You have to stop!”

“Eliza, please. You don’t mean that.”

“I do ‘cause you don’t seem to care.”

“I know the things you can’t undo are keeping you awake at night, but out of all people you deserve a clean slate the most.”

She chuckled darkly. “I don’t want a clean slate. The Eliza you fell in love with is gone. You have to accept that or there is no more hope for you.”

He wiped a hand over his eyes. Oh, he was so tired. She was right, this was toxic, but he thrived off the pain, and a life without her seemed impossible. Easier said than done.

“You know,” he said, and he broke off to chuckle. “You know, I could never want anyone else the way I wanted you - the way I still want you. And that might be twisted, but newsflash! I don’t care. I’m toxic too.”

“No, you’re not,” she said.

“I am, you just haven’t seen that side of me yet. But I saw your rough edges, I acknowledged them, accepted them, and then I fell in love with you anyway.”

“I never told you to fall in love with me.”

“You didn’t have to. Your heart is very convincing.”

“Well, I manipulated you. Are you happy now?”

Eliza slipped into her shoes. He followed her movements with his head. She managed to raise his anger levels to a new high.

He sneered before he said, “Remember how you were the one who told me I was worth it?” he asked. “Now you’re the one making me feel less than that.”

She turned to reach for her duffel bag. Her eyes filled with regret as she played with the handles. She had to do it.

“I think I’m done,” she told him.

“Done with what?”

“This. Us. I’m done. So you can go now. We’re done. I don’t want to do this anymore,” she said. “I don’t want you. So it’s best if you just leave and return to your normal life before I drag you down further than you need to be.”

Matt laughed in disbelief. “Come on, you don’t mean that,” he said.

Eliza shrugged. She didn’t dare to look at him, see the broken look on his face as he listened for signs of a lie in her heartbeat and came up with none. He couldn’t smell the regret, he wasn’t an empath, and he couldn’t see her face either. He had no way to tell how much this hurt her, not with her heartbeat in complete balance with the rest of her body.

She was done.

“You can’t change my mind about this,” she said. “We’re done.”

“There is something seriously wrong with you,” he spoke from the back of his throat, choked up and fighting tears. He wouldn’t let her see how much she hurt him, even though she could already tell. That part of her wasn’t entirely gone, but only because it was him. She knew him better than she knew anyone, especially his soul. She didn’t need her powers to prove that.

The more it pained her to hear him say those dreaded words again.

“And you need help,” he said. “Serious help because like this, I don’t think anyone will ever love you again, and you won’t be able to love anyone else either, which only make you lonelier and bitter.”

“Nah,” Eliza shook her head, “Can’t change who I was born to be.”

“Well, then you’re colder than I thought.”

“Congratulations! Are you happy now that you’ve figured it out? You want a reward before you get out of here, is that what you’re waiting for?”

He shook his head. “You want me to leave? That’s fine.” His hand wrapped around the door handle. He prayed for her to call him back. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore, I got the hint loud and clear. I don’t need charity, especially not from you.” He wanted her to stop him and take back what she said, but her mind was set in stone. There was no getting through that wall. “I’m giving you what you want,” he said. “But if life comes to bite you in the ass, don’t pick up your phone and call me. I won’t pick up. You want us to be over? We’re over, Eliza. Once and for all. I’m done trying to fix something that clearly can’t be fixed anymore. I certainly don’t deserve the world, but even I know that I deserve better than that. I’m leaving.”

Instead of crying out for him to stop, she drew the line under their relationship that had never been quite what either of them needed or wanted or deserved.

“Goodbye, Matthew.”

And with that, he left the hospital room, and for the first time, he chose to never look back.

#matt murdock #daredevil #foreigner's god #matt murdock x female!oc #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock imagines #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #foggy nelson #matt murdock x original character #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #hurt/comfort #emotional #angst #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock needs a hug #charlie cox

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rjalker · 2 years

Text

The Man Who Was Dead

By Thomas H. Knight

Published April 3rd, 1930, in the magazine Astounding Stories of Super-Science.

Here's the link to the full April edition:

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29390"

Here's where all the editions of Astounding Stories of Super-Science can be found:

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/search/?query=astounding+stories+of+super+science&submit_search=Go%21"

= = =

It was a wicked night, the night I met the man who had died. A bitter, heart-numbing night of weird, shrieking wind and flying snow. A few black hours I will never forget.

"Well, Jerry, lad!" my mother said to me as I pushed back from the table and started for my sheepskin coat and the lantern in the corner of the room. "Surely you're not going out a night like this? Goodness gracious, Jerry, it's not fit!"

"Can't help it, Mother," I replied. "Got to go. You've never seen me miss a Saturday night yet, have you now?"

"No. But then I've never seen a night like this for years either. Jerry, I'm really afraid. You may freeze before you even get as far as—"

"Ah, come now, Mother," I argued. "They'd guy me to death if I didn't sit in with the gang to-night. They'd chaff me because it was too cold for me to get out. But I'm no pampered sissy, you know, and I want to see—"

"Yes," she retorted bitingly, "I know. You want to go and bask in that elegant company. Our stove's just as good as the one down at that dirty old store," continued my persistent and anxious parent, "and it's certainly not very flattering to think that you leave us on a night like this to—Who'll be there, anyway?"

"Oh, the usual five or six I suppose," I answered as I adjusted the wick of my lantern, hearing as I did the snarl and cut of the wind through the evergreens in the yard.

"That black-whiskered sphinx, Hammersly, will he be there?"

"Yes, he'll be there, I'm pretty sure."

"Hm-m!" she exclaimed, her expression now carrying all the contempt for my judgment and taste she intended it should. "Button your coat up good around your neck, then, if you must go to see your precious Hammersly and the rest of them. Have you ever heard that man say anything yet? Does he speak at all, Jerry?" Then her gentle mind, not at all accustomed to hard thoughts or contemptuous remarks, quickly changed. "Funny thing about that fellow," she mused. "He's got something on his mind. Don't you think so, Jerry?"

"Y-es, yes I do. And I've often wondered what it could be. He certainly's a queer stick. Got to admit that. Always brooding. Good fellow all right, and, for a 'sphinx' as you call him, likable. But I wonder what is eating him?"

"What do you suppose it could be, Jerry boy?" questioned Mother following me to the door, the woman of her now completely forgetting her recent criticisms and, perhaps, the rough night her son was about to step into. "Do you suppose the poor chap has a—a—broken heart, or something like that? A girl somewhere who jilted him? Or maybe he loves someone he has no right to!" she finished excitedly, the plates in her hand rattling.

"Maybe it's worse than that," I ventured. "P'r'aps—I've no right to say it—but p'r'aps, and I've often thought it, there's a killing he wants to forget, and can't!"

I heard my mother's sharp little "Oh!" as I shut the door behind me and the warmth and comfort of the room away. Outside it was worse than the whistle of the wind through the trees had led me to expect. Black as pitch it was, and as cold as blazes. For the first moment or two, though, I liked the feel of the challenge of the night and the racing elements, was even a little glad I had added to the dare of the blackness the thought of Hammersly and his "killing." But I had not gone far before I was wishing I did not have to save my face by putting in an appearance at the store that night.

Every Saturday night, with the cows comfortable in their warm barn, and my own supper over, I was in the habit of taking my place on the keg or box behind the red-hot stove in Pruett's store. To-night all the snow was being hurled clear of the fields to block the roads full between the old, zigzag fences. The wind met me in great pushing gusts, and while it flung itself at me I would hang against it, snow to my knees, until the blow had gone along, when I could plunge forward again. I was glad when I saw the lights of the store, glad when I was inside.

They met me with mock applause for my pluck in facing the night, but for all their sham flattery I was pleased I had come, proud, I must admit, that I had been able to plough my heavy way through the drifts to reach them. I saw at a glance that my friends were all there, and I saw too that there was a strange man present.

A very tall man he was, gaunt and awkward as he leaned into the angle of the two counters, his back to a dusty show-case. He attracted my attention at once. Not merely because he appeared so long and pointed and skinny, but because, of all ridiculous things in that frozen country, he wore a hard derby hat! If he had not been such a queer character it would have been laughable, but as it was it was—creepy. For the man beneath that hard hat was about as queer a looking character as I have ever seen. I supposed he was a visitor at the store, or a friend of one of my friends, and that in a little while I would be introduced. But I was not.

I took my place in behind the stove, feeling at once, though I am far from being unsociable usually, that the man was an intruder and would spoil the evening. But despite his cold, dampening presence we were soon at it, hammer and tongs, discussing the things that are discussed behind hospitable stoves in country stores on bad nights. But I could never lose sight of the fact that the stranger standing there, silent as the grave, was, to say the least, a queer one. Before long I was sure he was no friend or guest of anyone there, and that he not only cast a pall over me but over all of us. I did not like it, nor did I like him. Perhaps it would have been just as well after all, I thought, had I heeded my mother and stayed home.

Jed Counsell was the one who, innocently enough, started the thing that changed the evening, that had begun so badly, into a nightmare.

"Jerry," he said, leaning across to me, "thinkin' of you s'afternoon. Readin' an article about reincarnation. Remember we were arguin' it last week? Well, this guy, whoever he was I've forgot, believes in it. Says it's so. That people do come back." With this opening shot Jed sat back to await my answer. I liked these arguments and I liked to bear my share in them, but now, instead of immediately answering the challenge, I looked around to see if any other of our circle were going to answer Jed. Then, deciding it was up to me, I shrugged off the strange feeling the man in the corner had cast over me, and prepared to view my opinions.

"That's just that fellow's belief, Jed," I said. "And just as he's got his so have I mine. And on this subject at least I claim my opinion is as good as anybody's." I was just getting nicely started, and a little forgetting my distaste for the man in the corner, when the fellow himself interrupted. He left his leaning place, and came creaking across the floor to our circle around the store. I say he came "creaking" for as he came he did creak. "Shoes," I naturally, almost unconsciously decided, though the crazy notion was in my mind that the cracking I heard did sound like bones and joints and sinews badly in need of oil. The stranger sat his groaning self down among us, on a board lying across a nail keg and an old chair. Only from the corner of my eye did I see his movement, being friendly enough, despite my dislike, not to allow too marked notice of his attempt to be sociable seem inhospitable on my part. I was about to start again with my argument when Seth Spears, sitting closest to the newcomer, deliberately got up from the bench and went to the counter, telling Pruett as he went that he had to have some sugar. It was all a farce, a pretext, I knew. I've known Seth for years and had never known him before to take upon himself the buying for his wife's kitchen. Seth simply would not sit beside the man.

At that I could keep my eyes from the stranger no longer, and the next moment I felt my heart turn over within me, then lie still. I have seen "walking skeletons" in circuses, but never such a man as the one who was then sitting at my right hand. Those side-show men were just lean in comparison to the fellow who had invaded our Saturday night club. His thighs and his legs and his knees, sticking sharply into his trousers, looked like pieces of inch board. His shoulders and his chest seemed as flat and as sharp as his legs. The sight of the man shocked me. I sprang to my feet thoroughly frightened. I could not see much of his face, sitting there is the dark as he was with his back to the yellow light, but I could make out enough of it to know that it was in keeping with the rest of him.

In a moment or two, realizing my childishness, I had fought down my fear and, pretending that a scorching of my leg had caused my hurried movement, I sat down again. None of the others said a word, each waiting for me to continue and to break the embarrassing silence. Hammersly, black-whiskered, the "sphinx" as my mother had called him, watched me closely. Hating myself not a little bit for actually being the sissy I had boasted I was not, I spoke hurriedly, loudly, to cover my confusion.

"No sir, Jed!" I said, taking up my argument. "When a man's dead, he's dead! There's no bringing him back like that highbrow claimed. The old heart may be only hitting about once in every hundred times, and if they catch it right at the last stroke they may bring it back then, but once she's stopped, Jed, she's stopped for good. Once the pulse has gone, and life has flickered out, it's out. And it doesn't come back in any form at all, not in this world!"

I was glad when I had said it, thereby asserting myself and downing my foolish fear of the man whose eyes I felt burning into me. I did not turn to look at him but all the while I felt his gimlety eyes digging into my brain.

Then he spoke. And though he sat right next to me his voice sounded like a moan from afar off. It was the first time we had heard this thing that once may have been a voice and that now sounded like a groan from a closely nailed coffin. He reached a hand toward my knee to enforce his words, but I jerked away.

"So you don't believe a man can come back from the grave, eh?" he grated. "Believe that once a man's heart is stilled it's stopped for good, eh? Well, you're all wrong, sonny. All wrong! You believe these things. I know them!"

His interference, his condescension, his whole hatefulness angered me. I could now no longer control my feeling. "Oh! You know, do you?" I sneered. "On such a subject as this you're entitled to know, are you? Don't make me laugh!" I finished insultingly. I was aroused. And I'm a big fellow, with no reason to fear ordinary men.

"Yes, I know!" came back his echoing, scratching voice.

"How do you know? Maybe you've been—?"

"Yes, I have!" he answered, his voice breaking to a squeak. "Take a good look at me, gentlemen. A good look." He knew now that he held the center of the stage, that the moment was his. Slowly he raised an arm to remove that ridiculous hat. Again I jumped to my feet. For as his coat sleeve slipped down his forearm I saw nothing but bone supporting his hand. And the hand that then bared his head was a skeleton hand! Slowly the hat was lifted, but as quickly as light six able-bodied men were on their feet and half way to the door before we realized the cowardliness of it. We forced ourselves back inside the store very slowly, all of us rather ashamed of our ridiculous and childlike fear.

But it was all enough to make the blood curdle, with that live, dead thing sitting there by our fire. His face and skull were nothing but bone, the eyes deeply sunk into their sockets, the dull-brown skin like parchment in its tautness, drawn and shriveled down onto the nose and jaw. There were no cheeks. Just hollows. The mouth was a sharp slit beneath the flat nose. He was hideous.

"Come back and I'll tell you my yarn," he mocked, the slit that was his mouth opening a little to show us the empty, blackened gums. "I've been dead once," he went on, getting a lot of satisfaction from the weirdness of the lie and from our fear, "and I came back. Come and sit down and I'll explain why I'm this living skeleton."

We came back slowly, and as I did I slipped my hand into my outside pocket where I had a revolver. I put my finger in on the trigger and got ready to use the vicious little thing. I was on edge and torn to pieces completely by the sight of the man, and I doubt not that had he made a move towards me my frayed nerves would have plugged him full of lead. I eyed my friends. They were in no better way than was I. Fright and horror stood on each face. Hammersly was worst. His hands were twitching, his eyes were like bright glass, his face bleached and drawn.

"I've quite a yarn to tell," went on the skeleton in his awful voice. "I've had quite a life. A full life. I've taken my fun and my pleasure wherever I could. Maybe you'll call me selfish and greedy, but I always used to believe that a man only passed this way once. Just like you believe," he nodded to me, his neck muscles and jaws creaking. "Six years ago I came up into this country and got a job on a farm," he went on, settling into his story. "Just an ordinary job. But I liked it because the farmer had a pretty little daughter of about sixteen or seventeen and as easy as could be. You may not believe it, but you can still find dames green enough to fall for the right story.

"This one did. I told her I was only out there for a time for my health. That I was rich back in the city, with a fine home and everything. She believed me. Little fool!" He chuckled as he said it, and my anger, mounting with his every devilish word, made the finger on the trigger in my pocket take a tighter crook to itself. "I asked her to skip with me," the droning went on, "made her a lot of great promises, and she fell for it." His dry jaw bones clanked and chattered as if he enjoyed the beastly recital of his achievement, while we sat gaping at him, believing either that the man must be mad, or that we were the mad ones, or dreaming.

"We slipped away one night," continued the beast. "Went to the city. To a punk hotel. For three weeks we stayed there. Then one morning I told her I was going out for a shave. I was. I got the shave. But I hadn't thought it worth while to tell her I wouldn't be back. Well, she got back to the farm some way, though I don't know—"

"What!" I shouted, springing before him. "What! You mean you left her there! After you'd taken her, you left her! And here you sit crowing over it! Gloating! Boasting! Why you—!" I lived in a rough country. Associated with rough men, heard their vicious language, but seldom used a strong word myself. But as I stood over that monster, utterly hating the beastly thing, all the vile oaths and prickly language of the countryside, no doubt buried in some unused cell in my brain, spilled from my tongue upon him. When I had lashed him as fiercely as I was able I cried: "Why don't you come at me? Didn't you hear what I called you? You beast! I'd like to riddle you!" I shouted, drawing my gun.

"Aw, sit down!" he jeered, waving his rattling hand at me. "You ain't heard a thing yet. Let me finish. Well, she got back to the farm some way or another, and something over a year later I wandered into this country again too. I never could explain just why I came back. It was not altogether to see the girl. Her father was a little bit of a man and I began to remember what a meek and weak sheep he was. I got it into my head that it'd be fun to go back to his farm and rub it in. So I came.

"Her father was trying out a new corn planter right at the back door when I rounded the house and walked towards him. Then I saw, at once, that I had made a mistake. When he put his eyes on me his face went white and hard. He came down from the seat of that machine like a flash, and took hurried steps in the direction of a doublebarrelled gun leaning against the woodshed. They always were troubled with hawks and kept a gun handy. But there was an ax nearer to me than the gun was to him. I had to work fast but I made it all right. I grabbed that ax, jumped at him as he reached for the gun, and swung—once. His wife, and the girl too, saw it. Then I turned and ran."

The gaunt brute before us slowly crossed one groaning knee above the other. We were all sitting again now. The perspiration rolled down my face. I held my gun trained upon him, and, though I now believed he was totally mad, because of a certain ring of truth in that empty voice, I sat fascinated. I looked at Seth. His jaw was hanging loose, his eyes bulging. Hammersly's mouth was set in a tight clenched line, his eyes like fire in his blue, drawn face. I could not see the others.

"The telephone caught me," continued our ghastly story-teller, "and in no time at all I was convicted and the date set for the hanging. When my time was pretty close a doctor or scientist fellow came to see me who said, 'Blaggett, you're slated to die. How much will you sell me your body for?' If he didn't say it that way he meant just that. And I said, 'Nothing. I've no one to leave money to. What do you want with my body?' And he told me, 'I believe I can bring you back to life and health, provided they don't snap your neck when they drop you.' 'Oh, you're one of those guys, are you?' I said then. 'All right, hop to it. If you can do it I'll be much obliged. Then I can go back on that farm and do a little more ax swinging!'" Again came his horrible chuckle, again I mopped my brow.

"So we made our plans," he went on, pleased with our discomfiture and our despising of him. "Next day some chap came to see me, pretending he was my brother. And I carried out my part of it by cursing him at first and then begging him to give me decent burial. So he went away, and, I suppose, received permission to get me right after I was cut down.

"There was a fence built around the scaffold they had ready for me and the party I was about to fling, and they had some militia there, too. The crowd seemed quiet enough till they led me out. Then their buzzing sounded like a hive of bees getting all stirred up. Then a few loud voices, then shouts. Some rocks came flying at me after that, and it looked to me as though the hanging would not be so gentle a party after all. I tell you I was afraid. I wished it was over.

"The mob pushed against the fence and flattened it out, coming over it like waves over a beach. The soldiers fired into the air, but still they came, and I, I ran—up, onto the scaffold. It was safer!" As he said this he chuckled loudly. "I'll bet," he laughed, "that's the first time a guy ever ran into the noose for the safety of it! The mob came only to the foot of the scaffold though, from where they seemed satisfied to see the law take its course. The sheriff was nervous. So cut up that he only made a fling at tying my ankles, just dropped a rope around my wrists. He was like me, he wanted to get it over, and the crowd on its way. Then he put the rope around my neck, stepped back and shot the trap. Zamm! No time for a prayer—or for me to laugh at the offer!—or a last word or anything.

"I felt the floor give, felt myself shoot through. Smack! My weight on the end of the rope hit me behind the ears like a mallet. Everything went black. Of course it would have been just my luck to get a broken neck out of it and give the scientist no chance to revive me. But after a second or two, or a minute, or it could have been an hour, the blackness went away enough to allow me to know I was hanging on the end of the rope, kicking, fighting, choking to death. My tongue swelled, my face and head and heart and body seemed ready to burst. Slowly I went into a deep mist that I knew then was the mist, then—then—I was off floating in the air over the heads of the crowd, watching my own hanging!

"I saw them give that slowly swinging carcass on the end of its rope time enough to thoroughly die, then, from my aerial, unseen watching place, I saw them cut it—me—down. They tried the pulse of the body that had been mine, they examined my staring eyes. Then I heard them pronounce me dead. The fools! I had known I was dead for a minute or two by that time, else how could my spirit have been gone from the shell and be out floating around over their heads?"

He paused here as he asked his question, his head turning on its dry and creaking neck to include us all in his query. But none of us spoke. We were dreaming it all, of course, or were mad, we thought.

"In just a short while," went on the skeleton, "my 'brother' came driving slowly in for my body. With no special hurry he loaded me onto his little truck and drove easily away. But once clear of the crowd he pushed his foot down on the gas and in five more minutes—with me hovering all the while alongside of him, mind you—floating along as though I had been a bird all my life—we turned into the driveway of a summer home. The scientific guy met him. They carried me into the house, into a fine-fitted laboratory. My dead body was placed on a table, a huge knife ripped my clothes from me.

"Quickly the loads from ten or a dozen hypodermic syringes were shot into different parts of my naked body. Then it was carried across the room to what looked like a large glass bottle, or vase, with an opening in the top. Through this door I was lowered, my body being held upright by straps in there for that purpose. The door to the opening was then placed in position, and by means of an acetylene torch and some easily melting glass, the door was sealed tight.

"So there stood my poor old body. Ready for the experiment to bring it back to life. And as my new self floated around above the scientist and his helper I smiled to myself, for I was sure the experiment would prove a failure, even though I now knew that the sheriff's haste had kept him from placing the rope right at my throat and had saved me a broken neck. I was dead. All that was left of me now was my spirit, or soul. And that was swimming and floating about above their heads with not an inclination in the world to have a thing to do with the husk of the man I could clearly see through the glass of the bell.

"They turned on a huge battery of ultra-violet rays then," continued the hollow droning of the man who had been hanged, "which, as the scientist had explained to me while in prison, acting upon the contents of the syringes, by that time scattered through my whole body, was to renew the spark of life within the dead thing hanging there. Through a tube, and by means of a valve entering the glass vase in the top, the scientist then admitted a dense white gas. So thick was it that in a moment or two my body's transparent coffin appeared to be full of a liquid as white as milk. Electricity then revolved my cage around so that my body was insured a complete and even exposure to the rays of the green and violet lamps. And while all this silly stuff was going on, around and around the laboratory I floated, confident of the complete failure of the whole thing, yet determined to see it through if for no other reason than to see the discomfiture and disappointment that this mere man was bound to experience. You see, I was already looking back upon earthly mortals as being inferior, and now as I waited for this proof I was all the while fighting off a new urge to be going elsewhere. Something was calling me, beckoning me to be coming into the full spirit world. But I wanted to see this wise earth guy fail.

"For a little while conditions stayed the same within that glass. So thick was the liquid gas in there at first that I could see nothing. Then it began to clear, and I saw to my surprise that the milky gas was disappearing because it was being forced in by the rays from the lights in through the pores into the body itself. As though my form was sucking it in like a sponge. The scientist and his helper were tense and taut with excitement. And suddenly my comfortable feeling left me. Until then it had seemed so smooth and velvety and peaceful drifting around over their heads, as though lying on a soft, fleecy cloud. But now I felt a sudden squeezing of my spirit body. Then I was in an agony. Before I knew what I was doing my spirit was clinging to the outside of that twisting glass bell, clawing to get into the body that was coming back to life! The glass now was perfectly clear of the gas, though as yet there was no sign of life in the body inside to hint to the scientist that he was to be successful. But I knew it. For I fought desperately to break in through the glass to get back into my discarded shell of a body again, knowing I must get in or die a worse death than I had before.

"Then my sharper eyes noted a slight shiver passing over the white thing before me, and the scientist must have seen it in the next second, for he sprang forward with a choking cry of delight. Then the lolling head inside lifted a bit. I—still desperately clinging with my spirit hands to the outside, and all the time growing weaker and weaker—I saw the breast of my body rise and fall. The assistant picked up a heavy steel hammer and stood ready to crash open the glass at the right moment. Then my once dead eyes opened in there to look around, while I, clinging and gasping outside, just as I had on the scaffold, went into a deeper, darker blackness than ever. Just before my spirit life died utterly I saw the eyes of my body realize completely what was going on, then—from the inside now—I saw the scientist give the signal that caused the assistant to crash away the glass shell with one blow of his hammer.

"They reached in for me then, and I fainted. When I came back to consciousness I was being carefully, slowly revived, and nursed back to life by oxygen and a pulmotor."

The terrible creature telling us this tale paused again to look around. My knees were weak, my clothes wet with sweat.

"Is that all?" I asked in a piping, strange voice, half sarcastic, half unbelieving, and wholly spellbound.

"Just about," he answered. "But what do you expect? I left my friend the scientist at once, even though he did hate to see me go. It had been all right while he was so keen on the experiment himself and while he only half believed his ability to bring me back. But now that he'd done it, it kinda worried him to think what sort of a man he was turning loose of the world again. I could see how he was figuring, and because I had no idea of letting him try another experiment on me, p'r'aps of putting me away again, I beat it in a hurry.

"That was five years ago. For five years I've lived with only just part of me here. Whatever it was trying to get back into that glass just before my body came to life—my spirit, I've been calling it—I've been without. It never did get back. You see, the scientist brought me back inside a shell that kept my spirit out. That's why I'm the skeleton you see I am. Something vital is missing."

He stood up cracking and creaking before us, buttoning his loose coat about his angular body. "Well, boys," he asked lightly, "what do you think of that?"

"I think you're a liar! A damn liar!" I cried. "And now, if you don't want me to fill you full of lead, get out of here and get out now! If I have to do it to you, there's no scientist this time to bring you back. When you go out you'll stay out!"

"Don't worry," he grimaced back to me, waving a mass of bones that should have been a hand contemptuously at me, "I'm going. I'm headed for Shelton." He stalked the length of the floor and shut the door behind him. The beast had gone.

"The dirty liar!" I cried. "I wish—yes—I wish I had an excuse to kill him. Just think of that being loose, will you? A brute who would think up such a yarn! Of course it's all absurd. All crazy. All a lie."

"No. It's not a lie."

I turned to see who had spoken. Hammersly's voice was so unfamiliar and now so torn in addition that I could not have thought he had spoken, had he not been looking right at me, his glittering eyes challenging my assertion. Would wonders never cease? I asked myself. First this outrageous yarn, now Hammersly, the "sphinx," expressing an opinion, looking for an argument! Of course it must be that his susceptible and brooding brain had been turned a bit by the evening we had just experienced.

"Why Hammersly! You don't believe it?" I asked.

"I not only believe it, Jerry, but now it's my turn to say, as he did, I know it! Jerry, old friend," he went on, "that devil told the truth. He was hanged. He was brought back to life; and Jerry—I was that scientist!"

Whew! I fell back to a box again. My knees seemed to forsake me. Then I heard Hammersly talking to himself.

"Five years it's been," he muttered. "Five years since I turned him loose again. Five years of agony for me, wondering what new devilish crimes he was perpetrating, wondering when he would return to that little farm to swing his ax again. Five years—five years."

He came over to me, and without a word of explanation or to ask my permission he reached his hand into my pocket and drew out my revolver, and I did not protest.

"He said he was headed for Shelton," went on Hammersly's spoken thoughts. "If I slip across the ice I can intercept him at Black's woods." Buttoning his coat closely, he followed the stranger out into the night.

I was glad the moon had come up for my walk home, glad too when I had the door locked and propped with a chair behind me. I undressed in the dark, not wanting any grisly, sunken-eyed monster to be looking in through the window at me. For maybe, so I thought, maybe he was after all not headed for Shelton, but perhaps planning on another of his ghastly tricks.

But in the morning we knew he had been going toward Shelton. Scientists, doctors, and learned men of all descriptions came out to our village to see the thing the papers said Si Waters had stumbled upon when on his way to the creamery that next morning.

It was a skeleton, they said, only that it had a dry skin all over it. A mummy. Could not have been considered capable of containing life only that the snow around it was lightly blotched with a pale smear that proved to be blood, that had oozed out from the six bullet holes in the horrid chest. They never did solve it.

There were five of us in the store that night. Five of us who know. Hammersly did what we all wanted to do. Of course his name is not really Hammersly, but it has done here as well as another. He is black-whiskered though, and he is still very much of a sphinx, but he'll never have to answer for having killed the man he once brought back to life. Hammersly's secret will go into five other graves besides his own.

#Rjalker reads Astounding Stories of Super-Science #The Man Who Was Dead #Astounding Stories of Super-Science #Public domain stories #public domain books #free books #science fiction #scifi #reanimating the dead

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aizawasbrazybaby · 3 years

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Jōichirō X Black Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, Masterbation, Public Sex, Cheater!Joichiro, Sprinkle of angst, Praise Kink, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Cervix Kissing, Oral Sex

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A/N: Hey my loves! More content will be coming soon I’m working on shit ton rn. n e ways enjoy this smutty messʕ-᷅ᴥ-᷄ʔ

Taxi

Demon time made itself known on the touch screen radio. The raging red ‘Taxi’ light reflected off of nearby cars. Dark rings appeared under Joichiro’s eyes from stress and lack of sleep.

Constant arguing with his wife over his job. The traveling miles away from home for long periods of time to the endless phone calls from his boss.

Granted he was keeping the bills paid and his family dripped out in everything they ever desired. However that wasn’t enough for her. The pair came to an agreement hoping to save their marriage.

He would take a year off and find a part time job while spending more time with her. It was perfect in the beginning. Cuddling, road trips and family visits. That was until he started seeing her true colors.

Always finding things to bitch about. The stubble on his face going grey, the way his face looks when it’s resting, and overall the way he was aging. Soon finding more things to degrade him over.

The depression he spiraled into led him to getting a job as a taxi driver. Giving him as many hours to neglect her verbal taunting as long as he wanted.

He pulled over in front of a night club where a younger woman waved him down. She hugged a friend before hopping in the backseat.

“Hello,” he glanced in the mirror, “where do I have the honor of taking you.”

You gave him your address, “you welcome to come in and have a few more drinks with me.”

He blushed slightly, “haven’t you had enough tonight?”

“It take way more than a few shots to get me drunk,” you giggled, “so what’s your verdict sir?”

He sighed staring at a halting stop light, “I really shouldn’t, I’m a married man.”

Shifting in your seat you slid off your panties. The mini black dress slipped above your hips. Slick leaked from your pussy just admiring Joichiro’s fit build. Fixating on the peppery hairs coming from the side of his face. What they would feel like against your thighs.

“You don’t seem too happy about that.”

“She’s just..a lot to deal with sometimes.”

“Sounds like you need a reliever,” you flicked your panties in his lap like it was a hair tie, “pull over and Let me help you, promise I know how to keep a secret.”

His foot slammed on the brakes once he realized what was sitting on his clothed crotch. His fingers lifted them as he looked in the backseat. God was he stuck between his morals and how hell-bent he was on feeling how creamy that pretty pussy would feel around him.

Your black dress was in the seat next to you. Hands rubbing your throbbing clit. How can he just leave you in a state like that. He swung his head back getting a small whiff of the red lace he was holding. Eyes rolling back.

Joichiro pulled his car into the parking lot of a closed store. Very few cars were scattered around. He flicked the alerting taxi light off.

“You poor thing,” you smiled as he hungrily pulled you under him leaving the backseat door open, “so hard and you’ve barely touched me.”

His lips clung to your neck quickly making there way down. A slight shriek left your throat as his tongue rounded your swollen clit. Nails desperately digging into your thighs.

He moaned just at the taste. So sweet and soft. How plush your skin was. How content he would be if he died between your luscious thighs. It didn’t sound so bad either. You were just that perfect.

The prickling of his beard became less noticeable the closer your legs closed around his head. Fingers wildly gripping the door the more he bought you to your high. Eyes going white and your mouth agape.

“Fuckkk,” you whined.

Cum spilled from his mouth onto the leather seats. In a few swift movements his fingers were curling inside of your clenched pussy. Sending you in a state no one else ever bought you too.

“So you like that too huh.” he said more to himself.

He got up shutting the door that was left open. Centering himself in the backseat he lowered his pants below his knees.

To say he was big was an understatement. It wasn’t any smaller than eight inches. You lowered your face ready to return the favor. Joichiro’s hand quickly grabbed your cheeks pulling you to him.

“No need princess, just enjoy the ride.” he lined his tip with you. Hands cautiously lowering your hips allowing you to adjust to his size. With that he moved your waist pushing his dick in and out of you, occasionally doing circular motions.

“Just like that princess,” he tossed his head back becoming more aggressive. You yelped as he bottomed out. Thighs pressed against his. A pain derived with satisfaction spread through you. His hips smashed into yours causing your toes to curl in pleasure.

His tongue pushed passed your lips meeting yours. The smell of cigarettes and mint stained his breath. He forced your hips down pressing his tip to your cervix once more.

“I love you,” he murmured, “I love you so fucking much.”

Those empty words entered your brain. How weightless they were. How he pretended you were his wife. You knew they were meant for her. But you didn’t care one bit. Too focused on how good his dick was making you feel. Through the overwhelming orgasms he gave you making you want to ride him forever.

Spurts of his cum coated your pink walls. His face pressed against your breast. Arms straddling your waist keeping your still. His hips pumped up emptying his load into you.

“I should probably take you home now.” He grinned through panted breathes.

You nodded squirming back into the slutty black dress. It didn’t take long for him to reach your apartment. Grabbing your belongings you pushed the door open.

“Wait,” he dug in the cup holder passing you a card with his number on it, “in case you need another ride.”

You nodded smirking to yourself, “tell wifey I said hi.”

#food wars x black reader #joichiro x black reader #black female reader #black reader #black women #dark skin #brown skin #light skin #black writers #Joichiro #food wars #poc reader #poc writers

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y-so-hungry · 3 years

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Midnight Food For Thought

Beelzebub x MC

Ok I wasn't sure whether to write it as "MC did this, they did that" or "you did this, you did that" or even "I did this, I did that" for this fic, so I went with the first option, lemme know if you guys prefer it a different style (I don't mind any way) and I'll keep that in mind for if/when I write another one of these!

This wasn’t the first time MC had gone downstairs for a midnight snack and found Beel already in the kitchen, but this was the first time they’d seen him in demon form at this hour. They supposed that’s why they lingered just by the steps, watching rather than going in. Not that he was scary in this form, but they worried he was upset, and would rather not be bothered. Beel didn’t have his head in the fridge like usual, oddly enough he seemed to be making something. Usually he was too hungry and tired at night to cook, so it was rather odd to see him kneading dough.

What was odder than that was it seemed he didn’t actually have any other ingredients out, just flour and a cup of water next to him. MC watched for a couple more minutes as he continued making more and more of this dough, adding flour and water and flour and water over and over again until the ball of dough was as wide as a dinner plate. That seems to be when he ran out of flour.

He sighed an oddly miserable sigh, and MC watched in confusion as he took a handful of dough and started… eating it. And it was only when he sat down a second later that they actually caught sight of his face.

There were tears running down his cheeks.

“Beel?” they said, finally calling attention to themself. Beel snapped up, fear flashing through his violet eyes before he saw them. After that, all that showed on his face was a mixture of guilt and embarrassment, his face turning as red as his hair and eyes filling with even more tears.

“Beel?” MC repeated, making their way into the kitchen. “What’s wrong, why are you crying? And why are you just eating dough? I’m sure there’s something a lot better than that to eat.”

Beel looked down and took another bite of his pitiful midnight snack.

“There wasn’t,” he muttered.

“What? What do you mean?”

“There wasn’t anything else to eat,” he said, louder this time. “It was all gone, there was only a little bit of flour left. I-I didn’t know what else to do. I’m s-so hungry, I-I didn’t think I’d make it to Hell’s Kitchen before I passed out o-or something so I-I just--” he cut off with a tiny sob, raising a wrist to scrub at his eye.

“Oh Beel, I’m so sorry,” MC said, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and pulling his head to rest against them. His horns didn’t feel exactly comfortable against their ribcage, but they didn’t really care at the moment. “I could’ve sworn there was plenty of food earlier today--jeez I don’t know what happened to it all.” They gazed around at the now completely bare cupboards, feeling almost angry at them for being empty despite the fact it’s not actually their fault.

“There was food! I saw it! We must’ve eaten it all at dinner, I didn’t even go in the kitchen to make sure I’d have something for tonight,” Beel said. His stomach snarled right then, and he quickly shoved another handful of dough in his mouth, grimacing at the taste.

“There should be more, Lucifer always takes into account how much you need to eat--wait, who went shopping this week?” MC asked.

“Mammon,” Beel growled. “He probably spent half the money on some sale and didn’t get enough food.”

“Goddammit Mammon,” MC said, pinching their brow and squeezing their eyes shut. I’ll have to beat him up later, they thought. Snag his credit card, buy poor Beel all the cheeseburgers he wants. They opened their eyes to see the hungry demon was already halfway through his tiny meal, more tears coursing down his face as he watched his food disappear.

“Hey,” they said softly, cupping his cheek and tilting his head up so he could meet their eyes. “We’re gonna go get you something to eat, okay? Something real, not just sticky dough. We’re gonna go to Hell’s Kitchen and you’ll end up so full your shirt doesn’t fit right, how does that sound?”

The rumble that sounded from Beel’s stomach at the suggestion seemed to be rather painful; he wrapped both his arms tightly around his belly, curling in on himself with gritted teeth and a small whimper.

“Oh Beel,” MC murmured, running a hand through his flaming hair. They gently pulled his arms until he stood up, still clutching his grumbling belly. They quickly grabbed his glob of dough still on the table and handed it to him, hoping it would be enough to tide him over until they both got to Hell’s Kitchen.

~~~

MC called the restaurant on the way, letting them know the situation, so despite the fact that it was a rather busy night at Hell’s Kitchen, they were seated quickly, and in a quiet, secluded area of the restaurant. Beel asked for his usual, a large plate of burgers, and said he’d give MC a few. He always seemed to forget that MC didn’t need ten whole burgers to feel full, but they appreciated the thought nonetheless.

Beel’s dough was long gone now, and he kept pressing his fingers deep into his stomach, it’s rumbles only growing louder with time. Besides his belly though, Beel himself was rather quiet, staring down at the empty table with his eyes unfocused and far away.

“You okay, Beel?” MC asked. They felt a little stupid as soon as they said it; it’s quite clear that he’s not okay. But he blinked and glanced at them, seeming to understand what they meant.

“I just… really hate when this happens,” he muttered. “I get all wound up and upset, and now everyone gets to see the Avatar of Gluttony being an idiot and crying because he didn’t have enough of his stupid snacks.”

His face was screwed up now, anger and disgust warping his features into an expression MC wasn’t sure they’d ever seen on him before. They’d never seen him so repulsed, not even when he found out about Lucifer trapping Belphie in the attic.

“Beel, you shouldn’t say such mean things about yourself. You’re not being an idiot, and your snacks aren’t stupid, you need them, and that’s okay. You shouldn’t beat yourself up about this, it’s not your fault,” MC said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently. But his words were still bitter when he answered.

“I bet none of my brothers ever cry about their sins. Why can’t I just be like that? Why do I have to burst into tears if I miss breakfast in the morning, or if someone eats the rest of something I saved for later? Why can’t I just calm down?” Beel muttered, wrapping his arms more protectively over his belly. His shoulders and legs were tensed up so hard MC wondered if it hurt, he looked like he was trying to curl in on himself. Even his wings were wrapped around him, all in an attempt to protect his middle. His muscles bunched even tighter as his stomach gave another pitiful grumble, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

MC sighed and reached over, pulling at one of his arms curled around him until he moved it away with a questioning glance at them. They moved their own hand in to replace his, pressing their palm to his belly. They could feel it rumbling continuously against their hand, and they began rubbing gentle circles into his middle, loosening the knots of pain as best they could. Beel almost instantly relaxed, melting against the cushions of the booth. The grumblings of his belly didn’t stop, but they didn’t seem to be as painful as before.

“Your brothers do cry, you know,” MC said. “Sometimes about their sins, sometimes about other things, just like you.” Beel looked up at them, his eyebrows raised.

“Really?” he said. MC nodded, shifting closer to massage deeper into his middle. He relaxed further, leaning his head back with a small sigh.

“They do,” they said. “Yours I think is the worst of them to be honest. It causes you physical pain, and affects you more often and worse I think than the others. But that doesn’t mean their sins don’t hurt them.”

Beel scoffed, looking away from MC and down at the empty table again.

“What could Mammon possibly be crying about?” Beel snarled. “Getting his credit card taken away?”

“Well… yeah,” MC said. “Mammon can’t control his want for things. It’s a bit like if someone took food away from you. Not quite the same since that would actually hurt you, but it still upsets him. And I mean… He doesn’t actually like how greedy he is. He knows it can hurt people, he just can’t really stop. And that makes him sad.”

“…He actually feels bad about that stuff? I always thought he didn’t care,” Beel said.

“He does,” MC said. “It’s the same with your other brothers. Lucifer is so prideful that when he messes up even a little it can send him spiralling. Levi, his envy can get so intense he feels like he’s all alone in the universe. He gets so jealous of other people that it can blind him to what he has. Satan gets so angry sometimes that he starts crying out of rage. Asmo cries because he feels so much love for people that it hurts to see them in pain. That and of course he gets angry at himself for being so vain. And I’m sure you’ve seen how upset Belphie can get when he hasn’t slept. I've seen him go to bed with tears running down his face after a whole day with no rest.”

“I have too,” Beel said solemnly. “I used to hug him when he couldn’t sleep after Lilith died. Even when I got hungry in the middle of the night, I’d hold him until he fell asleep. …Though I think sometimes he’d pretend to be asleep when he heard my stomach, that way I would go downstairs to get something. He always worried that I didn’t eat enough.”

His stomach growled pointedly right then, loud enough that Beel actually looked down at his belly in surprise before wincing in pain. Those chefs are really taking their sweet time getting his food here.

“Well he had reason to,” MC said, rubbing deep, soothing circles into the place where it seemed to hurt most. “Basically my point is that you’re not the only one who struggles with their sin. I think you struggle the most, but you’re not an idiot for crying over something that hurts.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I never knew my brothers got upset about that kinda stuff,” Beel said, and he shifted closer to them, laying his cheek on their head for a moment and careful to avoid hitting them with his horns. “Thanks for coming with me, MC. You’re the best.”

His words were simple but they made MC’s heart swell with happiness. They were so happy actually, that they may have lost focus and pressed a little too deep into Beel’s stomach. MC only realized this after he grimaced and stiffened up, a loud growl erupting from his middle, the hungry rumbles shaking their fingers before tapering off.

MC opened their mouth to apologize, but Beel was already waving it off with a miserable glance at his stomach.

“Don’t even, it’s not your fault,” he said. “I’m starving. It’s just so empty now, it feels like it’s trying to eat itself. The chefs must be really understaffed today or something, they usually have my food out by now.”

Not a second after he said that though, the rich, thick smell of a variety of foods suddenly got a lot stronger as several people made their way to MC and Beel’s booth. They were waiters, about ten in all, each carrying at least two platters piled high with food, if not more. MC could see burgers, fries, pizza, sushi, and then it seems for dessert they had platters full of Wicked Cupcakes and apple pie.

At the sight of the food MC was reminded that the whole reason they even found Beel eating dough in the kitchen was because they’d been craving a midnight snack, and their own middle shifted hungrily as they gazed at the platters. Their stomach had nothing on Beel’s though, which gave a long, desperate rumble under MC’s hand. He even put his hand over theirs, pressing it deeper into his belly in an attempt to soothe his hunger.

“Sorry for the wait,” one of the waiters said, giving a small chuckle at the look of surprise and desire on Beel’s face. “We wanted to bring it out all at once as a surprise!”

“Well you definitely surprised me,” Beel said, eyes wide as they set down the food in front of him, swallowing thickly at the scent of the burgers only a foot away. But suddenly he got a rather sad look on his face, and he squeezed his eyes closed. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t take all this, Lucifer would kill me if I bought this much food at once--”

“Beel, you misunderstand, it’s on the house!” a curly haired waiter said, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder after setting down a platter of apple pie.

“What?” Beel said, his eyes flicking open again, but staring at the waiter instead this time. “Why?”

“MC told us what happened,” the waiter answered. “And when you came in here you looked so upset, we wanted to do something special for you. You’re our oldest customer here, you were here buying food back when Hell’s Kitchen was small and struggling to stay open.”

“I remember when you found out we were on the edge of going out of business you bought all your meals here for weeks until business picked up again so we could keep everything afloat,” another waiter chimed in.

“And you’ve brought your brothers here for every birthday you’ve had since we opened,” said someone else.

“You’ve been here for us for years, Beel,” the curly haired waiter said. “We figured it was time we tried to pay you back.”

Beel stared at the waiters gathered around him for a moment, his mouth open but with no sound coming out.

“Thank you,” he said eventually. “Thank you, that… that means a lot.” He looked down, his face turning red as his voice cracked with emotion. Several waiters made noises of sympathy or an understanding chuckle, before they all suddenly gathered around the back of the booth, reaching forward to wrap their arms around Beel. MC laughed at the awkwardness of everyone pressed around them, but they could tell Beel was enjoying the affection immensely, a small smile widening on his face, a soft blush in his cheeks.

However, his belly had other plans.

A loud rumble suddenly sounded from Beel’s stomach, sounding quite empty, and desperate for the food in front of it. MC could feel his stomach shaking under their hand, and it was certain that anyone who’s arms or hands were near his belly could feel it too.

“Aww, Beel!”

“Your poor belly!”

“Jeez, you’re really empty aren’t you?”

“Poor thing!”

If it was possible Beel turned even redder, laughing a little nervously as MC patted his belly sympathetically.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’m starving.”

“No shit,” said the curly haired waiter with a laugh. “We’ll leave you and MC to your food. You fill up, let us know if you need anything, alright?” Beel nodded, waving goodbye to the waiters as they returned to their jobs.

“Wow,” he whispered, staring at all the food. “I… fuck, I don’t even know where to start.” He sounded overwhelmed, but in a delighted, eager way. His belly gurgled excitedly, and he quickly reached out, grabbing the first thing his fingers touched, which happened to be a burger. He ate half of it in one bite.

“Mmmmf,” he said, letting his head fall back against the cushion as he chewed. When he swallowed MC could feel his stomach immediately start to churn and contract, breaking down the food rapidly. It seemed quite happy to finally have something to digest.

“Feel better?” they said with a small laugh as he shoved the rest of the burger in his mouth. Beel just nodded, a deep sigh escaping him after he swallowed. It was in that relaxed, blissful moment that Beel’s form changed, his horns and wings retracting, his clothes shifting from the leather of his demon form back to his soft pajamas he’d gone to bed in.

“Much better,” he said. He reached for a slice of pizza next, folding it in his fingers so the whole thing would fit in his mouth easier. He looked a bit like a chipmunk now, and MC laughed at the way his cheeks puffed out.

“How the hell do you fit all that in your mouth?” they said. Beel swallowed, with a bit of difficulty it seems, but his eyes were bright when he answered.

“Lots of practice,” he said. “Chubby Bunny was my favorite game when I was little. I always won, even with Mammon stuffing bunnies in his mouth like a maniac.”

“…Human world Chubby Bunny is very different from Devildom Chubby Bunny.”

Beel laughed, grabbing a plate of sushi and ignoring the chopsticks, instead just picking it up with his fingers and popping the roll in his mouth. Then he suddenly looked down at MC, glancing from their eyes to their hand still rubbing his stomach, and back.

“Do… you want me to stop?” they asked, a little confused.

“Huh? Oh, no, well, I mean--Weren’t you hungry?” he said, pushing another roll of sushi in his mouth. “You came to the kitchen because you were hungry, right? Here, you like apple pie, right?” Beel pushed the large platter of pie slices over to them, looking expectantly from MC to the pie and back. They smiled and thanked him, transferring a slice to their plate and starting to eat. When MC took the first bite he beamed in approval before continuing to eat his own food.

For a while there was silence, each of them too focused on their food to talk much, but after finishing their second slice of pie MC was starting to feel a bit sleepy again. They turned to Beel, wondering if he wanted to box up the rest of his food and eat it at home, but when they actually saw him, that was no longer at the forefront of their mind.

Beel had actually stopped eating, though not because he’d run out of food, in fact there were a few platters still untouched. No, Beel had stopped eating because there was a significant swell in his middle that definitely hadn’t been there before. His stomach was so full it had begun to press against his shirt, making it look a bit smaller than it was supposed to. He looked up at MC after a moment, hands over his stomach, and a sleepy little smile on his face.

“Think ‘m full now,” he said. “You weren’t lying when you said I’d be so full my shirt doesn’t fit right.” MC laughed, reaching over to press their hand into his belly again. It was still grumbling, but it was in a muffled, happy way now. They weren’t sharp noises, more soft and low, almost like the sound of a kitten purring.

“You sure sound full,” they said, massaging slow circles into his stomach. “You wanna head home? We can get boxes for the rest of your food, we can eat it for breakfast tomorrow.”

Beel nodded, but suddenly leaned over, pressing his cheek to the top of their head.

“Thanks for coming here with me. An’ for rubbing m’ tummy. That felt really nice, even when I was hungry,” he mumbled into their hair. MC laughed and patted his swollen middle.

“Well tell you what, when we get home I’ll rub your tummy all you want, how bout that?” they said. Beel made a small noise of delight and wrapped his arms around them in a tight hug.

It was the best hug they’d ever gotten in their life.

#hunger #hunger kink #stuffing #belly kink #belly rubs #starving to stuffed #obey me beelzebub #obey me mc #obey me shall we date #beelzebub x mc #Y's writing

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l4verq · 3 years

Text

fight back | b.b

bucky barnes x enhanced!reader

in which bucky won’t lay a hand on you no matter what :(

tags : a little brawl, fluff cause icanthelpmyself, mentions of blood, john walker (idk if we're supposed to like him now ??) bucky is a cat lady okk

fic : one shot

a/n : inspired by that scene in the final ep of tfatws when karli is screaming at sam to fight back lol😳

|| gif by @unearthlydust ||

one world, one people.

you repeat it in your head one more time, when he comes into view, vibranium gleaming onyx with loops of gold.

you know that he knows you’re here, back to the wall a few feet away, peeking at him.

he doesn’t know that you let him know.

doesn’t know that you laid out a trap and just like the foolish mouse, he walked right into the lion’s den.

although you’re not sure who the fool actually is, when you meet his eyes, knees almost buckling at the sight just cause of how long it’s been without them.

“y/n.” he breathes out, almost in disbelief.

it’s been fourteen months since he woke up to an empty bed and a handwritten goodbye letter folded in a clean white envelope, tucked under a pillow still marked by the soft indentation of your head.

fourteen months since you took off in the dead of night, pulling your- his hood over your head, the cold wind nipping at your skin, almost like it was punishing you.

maybe, it saw what you did.

oh, but fred definitely saw what you did, that damn cat always followed you two around even though it’s owner was the blonde next door. her name wasn’t even fred, bucky came up with it after the third time it snuck into the apartment.

he swore he hated it but always seemed to have a treat lying around in case it did come.

and it did, a lot. neglected by it’s owner, it chose to seek comfort in the couple next door, and sometimes a meal or two.

“sorry, no treat today bub.”

fred scowled - honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if an actual human was living in it - mewling as it came up to you for the usual chin rubs and cooes.

you sighed, caving into it’s antics, squatting to pet it.

cradling it’s head into your palm, she was purring, a very uncommon sight. fred doesn’t purr, she scratches and hisses at anything and everything that moves.

“you’re particularly nice today.” you commented, getting up. it mewled even louder this time but you turned on your heels and headed for the stairs.

you were already late.

your legs picked up pace quickly, easily crossing multiple blocks over in a few long strides owing to the blue serum coursing through your veins.

though your mind remained stationary, fixated on a single face, how it’d crumble at the sight of the letter, how he’d probably end up hating you.

“took you long enough.”

her auburn locks were tied into a loose braid that curved around her neck, the tip sat just below her collarbone, a piss poor job held together by a thin maroon colored band.

it was quintessentially her, the lack of utter patience to spend two minutes looping three knots of hair one over the other.

you jogged over to the other side of the black suv, noticing a stark white rectangle where a liscence plate should be.

“he’s knocked out cold,” you asked as soon as you grabbed the door handle open, “how?”

lazropthalein.

it came in the mail in a brown package, no return address. bucky wasn’t home, he had a scheduled therapy session down the block.

just a pinch is enough.

the text from the unknown number read.

it had no odour, a clean, white colour to it that blended in seamlessly with the flour.

“you baked without me?” bucky gasped, dramatically, hand covering his gaping mouth. his other hand carried two plastic bags, filled to the brim, a purple razor was poking out the top.

he even had to drop the poor bags on the floor, just to emphasize the utter shock he felt.

“i got bored.” you giggled, wiping the countertop with a wet cloth, remnants of flour on the sleek marble turning goopy under it.

“traitor.”

“it’s just cupcakes.”

“still a cake.”

you sighed, “you’re a five year old.”

he huffed, trudging towards the living room, shoulders hunched to really hone in on just how devastating this was for him.

“don’t i get a hug?” you held your arms out, making grabby hands, following him.

apparently, the devastation was to the point where he had to bring out the big guns, the sad baby blues.

the act lasted for another minute? at best. hours later, he was happily munching away.

“i know why it tastes so good.” he moaned, smacking his lips.

your smile faltered a little, did he kn- no, there’s no way he could have known. you burned that little plastic bag as soon as you dumped a pinch in.

“yea?”

he grinned, popping the last bit left in “it was made with your love.”

“how did it work?” your voice rose several octaves higher, amplified further by the cool, silent night.

drugs and sedatives don’t work on supersoldiers yet a certain blue eyed one was back home, unmoving even if you screamed right into his ears.

“dr wilfred, he invented it. the power broker wanted something to balance out our,” she flared her hands at both of you, “super-soldierness, so that we don’t have an upper hand when all’s said and done.”

would the either of you even be alive when all was said and done?

“look, i know you didn’t want to do this but james, he won’t understand. he’s not one o-..”

“yea, can we jus- let’s just get out of here.” you get in beside her, whipping the seatbelt over your torso.

the car was stuffy, felt like a choke around your neck that only seemed to tighten more and more.

“if we go now, there’s no coming back.” she glances at you, hand curled over the gearstick ready to position it in place.

she was giving you an out, one last chance. karli was a lot of things and having a heart inside that cold, bitchy exterior was one.

“i know.”

you sunk deeper into your seat, the hoodie had a faint smell of burnt toast and that cologne which was on sale, almost half off if you cut out the taxes.

it smelled like him, too much like him.

until it didn’t after a few days. but you still slept with it, just outright refusing to wash it despite karli’s snarky remarks about hygiene.

hygiene could go fuck herself, for all you know.

compared to the motels and basements you guys shifted around in, that hoodie was a doctor’s scrubs.

when the moon hung low on the black sky, you tried not to think about him too much. the silence didn’t help, you needed something to drown out your thoughts. that’s when the ‘socialising’ with the other flag smashers started. they were nice.

nice cause you were the leader’s little sister. but also a huge fucking liability because of a certain supersoldier hot on their heels in search of you, ruining every goddamn plan so their niceness was.. limited.

karli was a natural when it came to it, all of it. the talking, rallying of supporters - fuck, she just had a way with words. she could make you believe she hung up the stars in the sky.

probably how she convinced you that holding a room chock full of council members hostage right smack in the middle of nyc was a good idea.

the only idea, more precisely.

you guys had the upper hand, more than a handful supersoldiers at your disposal, capable of taking down the entire military force if you so pleased.

the only playing card they had was one supersoldier, who was better off distracted, kept off the field.

so who better to send to do the deed than the love of his life.

“fred had a baby. multiple babies, spawn of the devil if you ask me. always running around, thrashing the place up.” he takes small steps towards you, slow and calculated, as if a lion stalking around a prey.

“you shouldn’t be here.” you lie through your teeth, a tiny white compared to the ones that’ve rolled off your tongue before.

“i think the neighbours call me a cat lady now,” his eyes shift around and he leans in to whisper, “they haven’t even seen my knitting skills yet.”

“stop.” you think you said it or much rather whispered it, your voice was failing you. he’s getting close, too close for your liking so why aren’t you backing away from him?

“fred misses you, you know. she wonders where you went.” he smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

the hairs on your neck shoot up, a slight twitch of your brow. the way bucky’s ear perk up, you realise it’s not just you and him here anymore.

someone else has arrived.

“i’ve got it handled, john.” bucky turns around, plants him directly infront of you, blocking john’s view of you.

sure enough, it’s john limping in, a nasty gash across his chest.

your blood runs cold because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

john isn’t supposed to be here, he’s supposed to be fighting.. oh god. you notice the various splatters of blood on his cowl, on his boot, on his shield.

it’s too much blood from a guy who’s barely bleeding.

“really? i was thinking you should do more than just talk.” he spits on the ground and wipes his mouth.

you notice, the spit’s all blood too.

“i’m giving you a chance to walk away, right now.”

john snorts, leaning sideways to get a view of you, neck craned out.

“and leave this prize all to yourself?” he grins, “i’d be an idiot.”

“you have a death wish then.” you lift your chin a little higher, praying your quickening heartbeat doesn’t give away your calm exterior.

john whistles, grimacing as he straightens, “so, she does talk.”

you scowl, crossing your arms.

he’s in bad shape. he has no chance, not that he ever did even in his best shape. he knows that too yet he’s still here. that sends a chill up your spine.

“go, i got this.” bucky tips his head, glancing at you.

“i don’t need you to save me.” you hiss at him, which comes out a little harsher than you intended. an apology dies in your throat as he flinches just the slightest.

“trouble in paradise?” john’s barely finished saying it before he’s reached behind his back and swinging the vibranium

you hear it before you see it stopped mid air by a gloved hand. then you charge.

it’s all a hazy mix of blue and red until your fist connects with his jaw, sound of something breaking ringing in your ear.

something pulls your waist back, a grip far too strong to be just flesh.

“go, i’ll ta-..” bucky’s barely said anything before an upward cut from john connects to his neck, violent coughs ensuing.

you grip john’s arm before he’s even retracted it back, jump up his back, settling around his neck and twist until you hear a crack and a bloodcurling scream following suit.

he whips his head back right into your stomach, seizes that moment when the wind knocks out of you to pull you by your hair off him.

“i told you to go.” bucky growls, kicking john right in the shin that makes him kneel and you almost fall off but you keep your fingers tightly looped around john’s hair, pulling as hard you can.

but he’s relentless.

your head hits something hard and you realise you’re on the ground now, legs loosely around john’s shoulders, him also on the ground.

it’s like the both of you realise at the same time but you’re quicker. your legs tighten around his neck, against the spot where a thick neck muscle throbs. he claws desperately around, straining for oxygen

soon, his hands lull down, the dull thud on the ground confirming his unconsciousness.

“are you hurt?” bucky’s hovering over you, seemingly unfazed by john’s neck in a chokehold by your legs right now.

you reject his hand he extends and push yourself off the gravelly concrete on to your feet.

“this was a mistake.” you trail off, saying it more to your own self.

you weren’t the lion, you were the stupid fox who thought it was.

stupid enough to believe you were over bucky and that everything wouldn’t come rushing back as soon as you laid eyes on him.

he whips you around by your hand and before you know it, he’s already caught your other fist heading for his sternum. you barely feel the grip, it’s soft, just so incredibly soft and fits so right.

you hate it.

rage bubbles inside you, mostly at yourself. partly at him because he’s not screaming at you or slamming you against the wall or jus- anything.

you wrench your hand away, land a swing which he does nothing to block. his grip on your other hand loosens and he still does nothing when another hit to the jaw leaves him staggering,

instead, he looks at you softly as if resigning himself to your anger, to let it simmer off.

“fight back!” you scream, outstretched palms pushing him back.

he stumbles a few steps back, hands reaching out to yours resting on his chest, fingers intertwining yours tightly.

“stop.” it’s a soft plead, tears spiking the corners of his eyes.

“hit me!” you’re practically begging at this point, thrashing your arms around.

his hands grapple at your shoulders, bringing you to his chest, “it’s okay.”

he smells so sweet, just so sweet that you almost believe him.

“i drugged you and i left you and i-,” you inhale sharply, “i killed so many people, bucky.”

the last fourteen months had escalated quickly from doing what’s right to doing what’s needed, lines blurred between moral ethics and survival.

“it’s okay.” he repeats, hand patting your hair, gentle and soothing. your body betrays you, sinking into his touch, his warmth.

“you should hate me.” you whimper.

you wouldn’t blame him if he did. you doubt he could hate you more than you already did yourself.

he pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “i couldn’t if i tried.”

god, why does he have to be so.. bucky?

frustated, you spit out, “this? this was a distraction to separate you and sam.”

you don’t say it but it’s understood, understood that you wouldn’t have met him if not for it.

the inner corners of his brows angle up slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “i know.”

your breath hitches, if he knows then wh-

“then, why..?”

you finally look up at him, vision blurry because of the stupid tears pooling at your eyes.

his thumb wipes away a tear dribbling down your cheek, the coldness of the metal a clear contrast to the warm moisture, “you know why.”

a/n : this one’s been sitting pretty, collecting cobwebs in my drafts so thought i’d take it out lol, also haven’t been posting fics in a whileeee cause im dumb and i’ve been working on multiple things all at once lol yea this is me rambling and also i just wanna say that i. love. folklore. sm. that whole album has me crying and sad and just :((

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #fatws bucky #fatws #flag smashers #marvel #mcu

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shushiyuii · 3 years

Text

Atlantic Runaways (Part 2)

I’ll finish requests when i can i just didn’t wanna leave you guys without anything, i might be busy tomorrow too so i’m sorry but heres Atlantic Runaways part 2! I hope you like it!

Warnings: Drowning, mentions of fatal vore, Safe and Soft vore.

Words: 1.2K

It wasn’t the first time he’d almost drowned but it’s the first time he’d ever been close to being murdered, in particular by somebody he considered to be an acquaintance, but who knew he could be such an ass?

He wanted to scream, yell for help but he knew nobody would come, he wanted to cry he was scared, every attempt at swimming back to the surface was just bringing him even deeper into its depths.

He remembered Wilbur had saved him once, but he doubt he would do again, the two had never really bonded. Wilbur probably wouldn’t care if he died, only happy to probably have a snack afterwards.

He saw something swimming in the shadows before his vision began to fade, he could make out a large mer tail in the distance, he could hear Wilbur call out with a thrill, he wondered why he called out? Was he about to be eaten?...

He was surprised he wasn’t passed out yet from lack of air, but he was always a fighter and guessed it was that Wilbur let out another thrill as he came closer to Tommy, Tommy looked back to see him coming closer with his arms reached out, seemingly in worry but he could barely focus and Wilbur seemed to see that.

Instead, Wilbur opened his mouth wide, and Tommy came to the conclusion he was food, the next thing he knew blacked out as he entered Wilbur’s mouth. Wilbur stuffed Tommy into his mouth as quickly as possible, he could feel that the boy was limp in his mouth, he hoped he wasn’t too late as he swallowed, him probably being the only source of air nearby.

He sent the boy down to his storage stomach as he felt him pass his throat, he hopped the pressure would be enough to help with his situation and soon felt him reach his storage, he chirped in worry as he held a hand over his stomach. Not wanting this poor boy to be hurt.

Now, he hated his trainer but now he hated him even more as he tried to kill an innocent human and there was no way he was letting Tommy out when there was him around, especially after he tried to kill the boy.

He hated to admit it but this human may have gotten into his heart a little bit, Tommy was the only one who seemed to care about him, so why shouldn’t he protect the boy? At least as much as he could.

It made him think of humans he’d see with their older siblings, always looking after their younger sibling and protecting them despite pretending not to care? It reminded him of his relationship with the boy and what it was currently like, he hoped that his relationship could only grow deeper with the poor boy.

He swam towards his cave, keeping his focus on Tommy for a while until inevitably falling asleep from exhaustion for a few hours.

The first thing Tommy woke up to was coughing his lungs out, his throat and tongue tasting somewhat salty. Once he stopped coughing, he wondered where he was as he was drowning, it was cramped, squishy, soft even. Until he realised inevitably that he was in Wilbur’s stomach and screamed in panic.

Wilbur woke up a groan as he felt a weight in his storage stomach, surprised by it for a moment when he realised Tommy was inside, he put a hand to where he felt Tommy squirm and put pressure on it, even rubbing and chirping in an attempt to comfort the human.

Tommy felt the walls crush in on him slightly, giving him less room to move, was he finally being digested by Wilbur? But for some reason there was a rubbing in a spot, he wondered why but couldn’t come to a conclusion as his mind was swirling with panic, he could barely breathe.

Wilbur swam towards the surface, focusing on the weight in his stomach as he brought the human back into his throat and into his mouth. He brought his hands to his and carefully brought Tommy out, being careful of his fangs.

Once Tommy was out, he immediately opened his eyes and looked around in a panic, he looked up to see Wilbur staring down at him in concern.

He gently put Tommy to the edge of the pool, being careful to not hurt him. He went to dive back into the water as he didn’t want to startle Tommy more than he already had. But before he could Tommy reached out for him “W-wait!”.

Wilbur looked back to see Tommy clearly startled, shaking somewhat and what seemed to be tears threatening to leak in his eyes. Wilbur brought his face closer and saw Tommy flinch back, the poor boy was probably scared after that. He chirped again in worry.

Tommy didn’t flinch again when he chirped, instead, seeming to understand Wilbur’s chirping came from a place of concern, he was familiar with mers, not only that but people as well.

“H-how am I alive?”. He looked down at the ground, he seemed confused about what had happened. Wilbur hadn’t spoken in a while, but it was worth a shot. “Brood pouch, a thing Mers have…”. He looked away, he heard Tommy gasp.

Despite the voice being somewhat raspy, he heard Wilbur talk! He knew Mers could talk but he had no idea Wilbur himself could talk, “W-wait! You can talk?!”. He sounded surprised.

Wilbur looked back at Tommy with a small smirk, finding the human’s reaction amusing. “Well of course I can! Mers can talk!”. “I-I know Mers can talk prick! I just didn’t know you could talk! Would’ve made things so much simpler than before!”.

“I’ve never talked to humans before so consider yourself lucky”, “Where’d you learn to talk?”. “My mother was a big fan of human culture, often teaching me things about humans such as the way they speak.”. Tommy made an ‘oh’ sound in realisation.

“Wait, you said brooding pouch, what’s that?”. “Essentially what you humans would call a secondary stomach, except without the digesting parts and shit, rather a place to keep younger Mers safe”. “So, I was safe in there?”. “Exactly.”. “Why’d you save me?”. Wilbur looked away again.

“Because I do not simply have the heart to kill anybody, besides maybe that dickhead of a trainer who just tried to fucking kill you”. Tommy looked down after that, realising the fact that he was actually almost killed.

“I- He threw me in there…”. He muttered after a moment of silence, Wilbur turned his head back, worry clear in his expressions as he crept closer to Tommy. “Are you alright?...”. He whispered in hopes of not startling him.

After that the human seemed to break down into sobs, finally coming to terms with the facts. He reached out to Wilbur, despite not expecting comfort. Wilbur responded by putting his nose near Tommy to hug as he cried his eyes out. And brought a claw over the boy protectively.

Giving them privacy despite the place being closed and nobody to intrude. That was when he decided to keep a closer eye on Tommy, as he decided at that moment that Tommy was his human.

He hushed the boy, assured him that he’d be safe and that he would protect him. To which Tommy thanked him, bringing a smile to Wilbur’s face, the first time he smiled in a long time.

“You should get home, your family must be worried”. Luckily enough the staff were incompetent to leave the doors unlocked so the two said their goodbyes for the day. A start of a bond.

#mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #dsmp g/t #giant!wilbur #mer!wilbur #tiny!tommy #tw vore #Shushi's writings #Atlantic runaways au

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asterroidd · 4 years

Text

tempt fortune

↬ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

↬ Word count: 4.5k

↬ Warning/s: swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol, slight NSFW (?)

↬ Synopsis: Too deep in an argument with Hange in attempts to prove you are—in fact—not a virgin, you’ve accidentally lied blurted out that you and Levi are in a relationship.

↬ Notes: Tysm for the request anon! I had way too much fun with this prompt lol.

↬ Minors do not interact. Go away, shoo shoo!

8th prompt: “I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé.”

The night was murky and dark with only the shine of the moon serving as a way to illuminate the streets of the city. Trees stripped bare as a sign of the forthcoming change of seasons, and a milky white fog had encompassed the city’s canals and dark alleyways. The crisp, cold air makes the hair on your skin stood up and shiver despite the layers of clothing you wore.

Though, that feeling will dissipate away as soon as the bitter taste of alcohol hits your taste buds and enter your system.

Earlier that day, Hange and Petra had invited you to a night out to the local pub to wash away the fears and tension of being soldiers of the Survey Corps. A guilty pleasure of some sort, just a way to rid the jitters of being eaten by a titan outside the walls. Despite the three of you being veterans, neither of you could ever shake the feeling of death’s cold hands resting on top of your shoulder.

That said, two of your best friends walked alongside you. Arms hooked with one another for warmth and for comfort. Soon enough, the three of you arrived at the destined place: the pub.

There are a couple of tables already taken, but the place is not too full. Even with that, the pub is still quite energetic; with men hollering and throwing their heads back as they chat with one another, weak threats that are carelessly thrown around by drunk individuals looking for a mock fight, and of course the iconic clink of glasses against one another as toast.

“What are we drinking tonight?” Petra asked. She claimed a seat at an empty table, in which you and Hanji followed suit.

“Whiskey!” Hange announced to which brought a grin on your face.

"Getting wasted, I see.“ You shrugged your jacket off and placed it neatly by your side. "Isn’t it Petra’s turn to treat us?”

The female in question instantly whipped her head to face you, a shocked look evident on her face. “I don’t recall making such promises.”

"You sure did!“ Hanji added. "We made a bet weeks ago. Debating whether or not Erwin grooms his eyebrows every morning.”

"In which we won, by the way.“ you said with a smug look on your face. "The commander does indeed groom it and even has a special comb for it.”

“Not fair!” Petra pouted, pushing her bottom lip out and giving Hange the puppy dog eyes in attempts to save her poor wallet. Which was futile, the brunette stuck her tongue out and shook her head. While Petra and Hange continued with their debacle, you took it upon yourself to call the attention of a barmaid. She gave you a beaming smile, her golden locks neatly tied into a bun and crow’s feet visible beneath her eyes. She approached the table wherein the three of you are situated.

“Two bottles of whiskey and three mugs please,” you spoke, not even bothering to wait for her to speak up. She nodded before strolling towards the counter to prepare your order.

Petra slumped her weight onto the table as she heaved a sigh in defeat. “Fine. It’s my treat tonight.”

You and Hange cheered in delight, successfully evading a huge loss of money given that whiskey is quite expensive. The continuous catastrophic storms that beleaguered the farmlands had made an extensive disastrous effect on the supply of barley and wheat. Which, like a domino effect, limits the supply of whiskey within the walls. Increasing the price of the said beverage more than two-fold.

It was a good thing that you put faith in your instincts and thus won the bet.

“How’s the research going, Hanji?” Petra changed the topic.

The brunette let out a drained sigh, “Levi had to kill Hughes.”

“Hughes?” You piped in. “The eight-meter class aberrant titan we caught last time?”

Hange nodded, “He was a good man. An honest man.” She spoke of the titan as if it was her long lost husband that died in a war.

Then, she started blabbering on and on about the experiments she had done to the beast; piercing its eye to count the regeneration time, plucking one of its teeth out to see if it would disintegrate, and many more.

You would’ve stopped her then and there if it weren’t for the barmaid approaching your table with a tray of glass and two bottles of whiskey. You internally cheered, Hange had told stories about Hughes a couple of times already that you basically had memorized it all.

The three of you wasted no time in popping one of the bottles and pouring the bitter liquid into the cups.

"To friendship. And condolences to Petra’s wallet.“ You raised your glass up to which the two mirrored. With one satisfying clink of the glass, you swallowed down its contents in one gulp. Your face contorting in an unattractive expression as the alcohol slid down your throat.

"I was planning to buy a book that I wanted. But it looks like it would have to wait for the time being,” Petra said, pouring another glass of whiskey.

"Pshh,“ your brunette friend snorted. "You have Oluo to buy anything you want.”

Instantly, blood rushed to Petra’s face upon hearing the male’s name.

You joined in the teasing. “Oh yeah. You two are a thing. Now, aren’t you?”

“We’re not!” your friend slammed her fists on the wooden table. “We’re just friends!”

“Oh really?” Hange swished the whiskey around the glass. “That’s not what I heard the other night.”

She leaned in close to whisper. “I heard moans coming out of his room.”

Petra sucked in a breath in shock, her eyes widening in shock and mouth slightly agape. “I- it’s not…it’s–” she said but she was a stuttering mess.

“Already in that stage, I see.” You playfully nudged her. It was an ongoing comical joke in the base that Oluo and Petra are in a romantic relationship after the male flat out publicly confessed to her one night in the mess hall. The room immediately erupted in a mess as howls and catcalls are heard. Ever since then, both of them are continuously teased.

“Say, (____)…” Hange trailed off, her fingers curling around the shot glass. Gulping the remaining liquid down her throat before continuing, “Are you a virgin?”

You let out an inhumane sound in shock. Borderline choking as you tried to swallow down the whiskey caught in your throat. Petra saw your discomfort in which she assisted you by lightly patting you on the back as you coughed air out.

“What kind of question is that?” you said after your body stopped jerking.

Hanji gave you a lop-sided smile. “Just that we are nearing our thirties. Who knows when we’ll breathe our final breath? The least we could do is experience getting laid before that happens.”

“Well, are you a virgin?” You answered with a question.

Hange rests her chin on top of her open palm. “Nope, though it was a one night stand.”

You sweat buckets, you never had someone popped your cherry before, let alone a serious relationship that is romantic.

Are you the only one left that hasn’t got laid?

But it’s not your fault! You were just too caught up with military services that love never crossed your mind

Or did it?

Your mind wanders off to daydream about the small and petty crush you have with a certain captain.

There is just something so captivating about the way his silver eyes met yours the first time you saw him. How his raven hair looks neat every time and you could only guess how soft it would be to touch. Not to mention his impeccable skill with the 3dmg maneuver gear and its blades.

Yes, it was none other than Captain Levi himself. But it was all just a petty crush! A small rosebud of admiration that had blossomed as you fought alongside the male and got to know him better each passing day.

“Well?” Hange snapped you out of your thoughts. “Have you or have you not gotten laid?”

You cleared your throat, you didn’t want to look foolish in front of your friends. Given that the two of them had their own fair share of experience in the topic. They would tease the hell out of you and soon enough, the whole base would do as well.

Lieutenant (____), the virgin soldier. You don’t want things to be that way.

“O-of course I did,” you puffed your chest out more to elicit fake confidence.

Petra cooed, “Really? With who?”

You thought of the closest male in your personal bubble. “Levi!”

To say that the two were shocked was an understatement. They were both flabbergasted. Never in a million years would they expect that you and Levi had a relationship, let alone sexual intercourse. The two, in fact, never saw him and you close enough that would draw out a romantic vibe. So they are completely blown away and confused at the same time.

“Bullshit,” Hange said. “Shorty is one lonely man that has no love in his system.”

“I-is too!” you stuttered out, hand flailing around in panic. “In fact, he is my fiancé.”

Okay, that might be a stretch.

Petra slammed her hands against the table to which garnered half of the customers’ attention. “Get out! No way!”

“Yes way!” You countered. So far so good, now all you had to do is convince them that you and Levi are actually a thing. Which was easier said than done since you would need to bribe or annoy the male enough that he would give in to your pleas.

Though, Hange is still unimpressed as evident with her pouting lips and furrowed eyebrows. “Prove it then, show us that the shorty and you are actually a thing. I would bet half of my salary this month if you could show us that Levi is capable of love.”

“Bring it on four-eyes!”

And so begins the downfall of your life.

Levi had a sick feeling in his gut; a hunch that for the next few hours, he would have a shitty day. However, he couldn’t say for sure what would cause such disturbance to his day. His gut feelings were never wrong, it was an innate sense that he had ever since he lived in the Underground. So he was sure something would happen, he’d have to be more careful.

That said, he instantly regretted the way he jinxed himself.

There you are, standing outside of his office at two in the morning. Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt, constantly shifting your weight from one foot to another as you refuse to make eye contact with Levi. Bashful eyes kept staring down at your feet whilst you find the words to make one coherent sentence.

“I have something important to discuss with you,” you murmured to which Levi quirked a brow. What did you want now that it couldn’t wait until the sun rose up in the sky?

The male crossed his arms across his chest, leaning his weight on the doorway. “What is it?”

“Please pretend to be my lover.”

Levi blinked, his eyes widening and mouth hanging open slightly. Though, he regained back his usual composure in a split second. He narrowed his eyes at you.

You want him to do what now? Is this some kind of prank or sick joke that you thought of?

Taking note of his silence, you decided to explain to him your situation that needs his immediate cooperation and attention.

“You see…” you sucked in a breath. “I kind of lied to Hange and Petra that I got laid and it was you who actually took my virginity. Hange didn’t believe a word that I said and uhh-… Things got out of hand and I told them I was your fiancé.”

What?

Levi sighed through his nose, an exasperated expression on his face. “So this is what it’s all about.”

“Yes. And now I need you to play along and pretend to be my significant other.”

The male scrunched his face up in disgust, “I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé.”

You fought back a sob, “Please. I beg of you, Levi.”

“No.” Levi shook his head. “No way. Don’t drag me in your own bullshit.”

The male was about to close his door but you grabbed him by his sleeve. Clutching on it until your knuckles turned white. You couldn’t just let him shut you out without agreeing to play along. You’d do whatever it takes just to get Levi to pretend to be your lover.

"I’ll buy you the expensive black tea.“

His ears twitched, now that piqued Levi’s interest. You smirked as he froze, you knew that he has a soft spot for tea. And tasty, expensive ones at that matter.

Levi chewed on his bottom lip while he pondered over his next words. The male was supposed to be keeping his hands busy by signing and writing the documents that started to pile high up on top of his desk due to Hanji dumping her workload on him. Levi sighed through his nose, fingers massaging his temple. "How long?”

“What?” You tilted your head to the side.

“Tch.” Levi clicked his tongue. “How long do I need to pretend to be your lover?”

Levi swore that the minute he let go of those words, stars danced in your eyes.

"We just need to convince the others.“

"And then?” He asked.

"And then? What. . ?“

Levi internally groaned and rolled his eyes. Was it really worth the risk?

"Are you expecting that we keep the act up?”

Oh, so that is what he meant by it.

"Well,“ you rubbed your chin with your fingers in deep thought. "We could stop the acting after a few weeks? We’ll just tell them we’re too busy and shit that we couldn’t maintain the relationship anymore.”

Levi shrugged. “Sounds good enough to me.”

You squealed in delight as you threw your arms around his neck, showering him with gratitude and compliments.

Looks like black tea does the trick.

The sun already rose from its slumber, showering the lands with its soft rays of light. Levi had a scowl ever-present on his face as soon as he stepped out of his office room. He knew that something was wrong. Something out of place as he sensed the change in the atmosphere of the base that would normally be heavy and tense.

Still, he persisted on shrugging the thought off and continued with his daily morning routine: which is to quickly brew a cup of tea before the mess hall becomes full with people. Levi walked down the halls, a handful of soldiers are already awake and fully clothed with the Survey Corps uniform. They gave him one brief and firm salute as he passed by them. Though, Levi swore that he could hear them whispering amongst themselves.

When the male arrived at the mess hall, he was surprised to see most of the superiors—along with his squad—are mingling with one another at a table. His mind screamed danger, telling his body to turn around and hide in the comforts of his office. However, Levi wasn’t going to give up his morning cup of tea just because he felt uneasy.

He slid inside like a shadow, going unnoticed by most of his friends that was too energetic today for his tastes. They were chatting loudly about miniscule things; the weather, training later on the day, gear inspection that needs to be done, and the like.

Levi wished that he would be overlooked, that their banter would be noisy enough that he could peacefully grab a cup of tea and run back to his office. Though that wishful thinking of his soon come crashing down when Hange’s cheery voice called out to him.

“Mornin’ shorty! Come sit here beside us! We already have tea brewed for you!”

Levi internally groaned, gripping the empty cup in his hands tighter. The brunette just had to have an innate sense in locating where Levi is. Reluctantly, he left the porcelain behind and walked towards the table. You were nowhere to be found, which was a huge relief for him since Levi doesn’t want to see your face first thing in the morning.

“What’s with the shit-eating grin?” he took a seat beside Erwin.

“(____) told me something important last night,” Hange wiggled her shoulders.

He narrowed his eyes at her, “What do you mean?”

Levi heard Erwin laughing beside him, the blond’s shoulders bouncing up and down. He then placed one palm on top of Levi’s shoulder.

“Congratulations, Levi! Didn’t knew you were engaged.“

Hold the fuck up. What?

Then it dawned on him. He remembered you outside his office in the wee hours of the morning, begging him to play along with your petty bullshit just for the sake of preserving your dignity among your peers.

Levi couldn’t believe that he would start acting right away. He haven’t had a sip of his morning tea.

“Yeah,” he said, eyeing the cup of tea that Eld placed in front of him. Levi doubts that any of them could perfectly brew tea that would meet his standards.

“What?” Oluo joined in the conversation. “So it’s true then?”

Levi grumbled, taking a sip of the leaf infused hot liquid. He relished the dark and malty taste of it sliding down his esophagus before responding. “Any problem with that?”

The male shifted in his seat, “N-no, sir… Just that I am shocked.”

“We all are,” Erwin chuckled. “We never expected it.”

“You are a man of a few words, after all.” Petra added. “Still, we are happy for you, captain!”

Levi stayed silent, if he knew that by accepting your bribery would open Pandora’s box of headache and irritation in his life, then he wouldn’t have agreed to it. Still, he was hopeful that only those close to him are informed of the arrangement. That you wouldn’t go so far as to spread the news around the base.

Scratch that. Everyone knew that Levi is your fiancé.

By the time midday rolled around, Levi was the center of attention much to his displeasure. Of all the years he had served in the military, never did he expect that one small arrangement done at two a.m. would have dire consequences.

All for the black tea. Levi chanted in his mind. Dealing with this bullshit for a box full of expensive black tea.

Whispers could be heard, though he paid no attention to it, dead set on finding you to ask what in the ever-loving fuck is going through your brain for letting everyone know.

Ah, speak of the devil. There you are, by the horses’ stables. Your hands reaching up to caress the nose of your horse, a giggle escaping your lips as its tongue darted out to tickle you.

“(____),” he called out.

You whipped your head around to the sound. Then your smile grew wider as you saw it was Levi.

“Hey!” you replied while wiping your wet hand on a towel. “What’s up?”

The male groaned, you are too casual about it.

“Care to explain why does everyone in the base knew that we are engaged?” The word rolled off his tongue like venom. “I thought it was only Hanji and Petra?”

Your smile wavered down, replaced by a bashful one. “Well uhh-…you see. Hanji kind of started the rumors which quickly spread like wildfire.”

“So it’s not my fault,” you threw your hands up.

Levi sighed exasperatedly. He should’ve known that the source would be four eyes. The brunette had caused more trouble than Levi could count within his fingers. He recounted countless times where she knocked on death’s door willingly when Hange placed her head inside a titan’s mouth. Who does that?

A maniac with a death wish, and that is what Hange is.

“Never mind that,” you trailed off, motioning the male to come closer. He rolled his eyes before obliging. “I have a plan that could finally get Hange off the radar,” you continued.

“And that would be?”

You looked side by side, eyes scanning the surroundings in case someone is eavesdropping. Once you considered the coast was clear, you told Levi the plan. “Hanji would be dropping off a stack of paperwork later this evening.”

Levi doesn’t already like where this is going.

“We could pretend to have sex in your office, loud enough for her to hear it. That for sure would convince her.”

You wanted to do what now?

“Wait, hold on.” Levi shook his head, slowly trying to digest your words. “You want us to have sex?”

“We’re not really going to do it!” you slapped his shoulder blades. “Just create some noise and thuds here and there to make it seem like we are doing it.”

The male internally groaned before hesitantly agreeing with your plan. If it means that this stupid fabrication of a relationship would be done, he’d follow suit.

You could hear the loud pounding of your heart inside your ribcage as you sat on one of the chairs in Levi’s office. Patiently, waiting for the fated moment where Hange would be knocking on the door. Butterflies flew around in your stomach, you couldn’t believe that Levi would actually cooperate with the stupid plan you had just conjured up at a moment’s notice.

The thought of him moaning and grunting made your core burn with desire. As much as you want to calm yourself, you couldn’t help but stir up images and scenes in your mind as to how Levi would look like while having sex. You don’t know which was a better view: him on top of you or you riding him.

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the thought. Why does he have to be so goddamn sexy that you couldn’t resist the man?

“Oi,” Levi called out to you. Though, his eyes never left the paper in his hands as he scanned it. “Quiet down will you? Your foot tapping against the floor irritates me.”

Oh, it was a mindless action of yours when you get too nervous. By bouncing your legs up and down, it helps you calm down and ignore the growing pit of anxiety in your stomach. Nonetheless, you mumbled a quick apology to the male then resorted to fumbling with the collars of your uniform.

Soon enough, you heard the soft humming of Hange outside, her footsteps increasing in sound as she draws near the door. You and Levi looked at each other, it was showtime.

You abruptly stood up, arms flailing around as you glanced between the male and the door. Wait, what do you need to do again? And why is Levi still sitting in his chair and not doing anything?

“Levaii!” Hange knocked. “I got more paperwork for you!”

The doorknob rattled, but you instantly had the metal in your grasp in attempts to keep the female out of the room.

“Huh…?” you could hear Hange utter. “Levi?”

In a panicked state, your mind blanked out as words fail to escape your lips. You shot a pleading look to Levi, to which he rose a brow.

Help me you bitch! You mouthed.

He shot you a confused look. It’s your plan, do it, the male mouthed back.

You gulped down your saliva, shaky hands gripping the doorknob tighter as the brunette jostle it. Time seemed to stop as you suddenly remember one hole in the plan. One important thing that you have overlooked that could potentially blow your cover.

You don’t know how to moan.

A soft whine emanated from your throat. The things you have to do just to preserve your dignity.

“DON’T COME IN! WE’RE uh-… WE’RE HAVING SEX!” you shouted on top of your lungs, too distressed to rethink your words all over again. But now it was too late.

“W-what?” Hange’s voice was muffled by the wooden door.

“Levi. Moan. Now.” You whispered, practically begging the male for his help.

“Why do I have to moan?” he stood up and made his way around the desk to approach you.

“JUST-… Just create one sexual sound! A grunt, a moan, a whine! I don’t care. Just make a sound.”

Levi shot you an irked expression, his nose crinkling up. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to moan (unlike a certain someone), but because he had the initial thought that you would be moaning and Levi would be just hitting the wooden desk over and over again to elicit sex noises. Still, he felt his heart strings being pulled as he looked at your eyes with tears threatening to fall out of them. Your tearducts filled to the brim with the salty liquid. Levi would be a good guy for once, right?

He would surely regret his future actions. Big time.

With a sigh, the male pulled you along with him to the couch. His hands guiding your hips to sit on top of his lap whilst he smashed his lips with yours. Air got caught in your throat as Levi’s hands roamed around—exploring every inch of your body—while his mouth moved in attempts to get yours to move also. You never expected that he would be pressing his lips against yours in a heated dance—a wet one at that matter. Levi’s tongue kept darting and swiping at your bottom lip, which was an oddly delightful sensation that it makes you want to—

“Hngghh…”

Moan.

Your hands curled up, clutching Levi’s shirt and wrinkling it up in the process. Pleasure clouded your mind as hormones took over your system. Testing the waters, you opened your mouth—just a slight—so that his pink muscle could enter your wet cavern. And heavens above, it was such a blissful experience.

Levi exhaled into the kiss to which the air slightly ticked your cheeks. He used one hand to bring your head closer to his so that he could taste more of you, while the other started peeling the jacket off of you, going just past your shoulder blades. A quiet moan slipped past your lips once again.

“Okay, I call bullshit. I am entering,” Hange announced, prying open the doors only to gasp loudly upon seeing the scene before her. “OH. YOU WERE SERIOUS?”

Levi broke away to glare at the brunette, “Tch. Do you mind? Four eyes?”

You are in such a daze that you find yourself staring at Levi’s lips. In that brief moment, you already missed the feeling of his mouth against yours.

The female blinked, too stunned as she stared at the both of you. One powerless lieutenant, with your first few buttons undone and jacket slipping down, sitting on Levi’s lap. Your lower area flush against the male’s ever-growing erection. Not to mention the bewildered expression that you have with a lewd undertone. Hange swore that she saw a string of saliva between yours and Levi’s lips.

“Ah yes. I’ll just place these here, no biggie. Hehe.” The brunette let out an awkward laugh, placing the stacks of paper in the corner of the room. “Have fun you two!”

That said, Hange left the room. Her steps were heavy against the cobblestone floor as she rushed away from the vicinity. A grin on her face as she thought of spreading the news that you and Levi are doing at the moment in his room. Not even minding that she lost the bet with you since you had proved to her that indeed the captain is capable of love. A juicy information such as this is worth half of her salary for the month.

Levi brought your attention to him by kissing you once again. This time, with more force as he pried your mouth open once again with his tongue alone. It was a slippery battle; one-sided, in fact, considering that you weren’t fighting back. You simply let him wrestle with your tongue, yours and his saliva mixing in the process.

Damn, you really couldn’t hold your moan in this time.

“Would you look at that?” Levi pulled away. “You know how to moan, after all.”

You swore, the tips of his lips curled upwards in a small smirk and there was a dark glint in his eyes.

“Wh-Wha—” you were a loss for words. “What did you—…What was that?”

“It’s a kiss, dumbass.”

“That’s not what I meant! Y-your tongue—”

He rose a brow at you. “What about it?”

You sealed your mouth shut, heat rushing to your face in embarrassment. “Just… just don’t do that again.”

Levi kept a firm grip on your waist as you wriggled. “Shut up, you obviously liked it. You even opened your mouth.”

“Did not!”

“Then why did you moaned into the kiss?”

You suck in a breath, cat catching your tongue.

“Though so…” he murmured, diving into your neck to pepper it with light kisses. Head too filled with pleasure, you gripped his shirt in your closed fists as you let out one shaky breath. It takes all of your nerves just to swallow that one moan threatening to come out.

“Hng- Levi. You could stop now, Hange saw us already.”

He hummed, pulling back slightly to gaze into your eyes. There was a hint of lust hidden within his silver orbs. You gulped, finding yourself wrapped around his fingers.

“Why won’t we make your lie come true?” Levi sunk his teeth in your neck.

Guess who is getting laid tonight.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #levi #levi x reader #captain levi #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #reader insert #asters fics

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years

Text

Fated Epilogue

Epilogue

Ares x reader

Word Count: 2041

Summary: Time skip to Zag running around trying to fix everything; then he gets a weird message from Ares.

The affair known to most of the Underworld’s population as The Confusion of Zagreus started as most things in his life did, on a run through the place as he tested the defenses against an escaping entity for what felt like the thousandth time. He’d had Ares’ vial with him, so naturally he’d gotten a fair few of the war god’s boons. Nothing too unusual, right? That’s what he thought right up until Ares said the most curious thing.

“When next you see Thanatos, tell him that his sister wants him to visit more.”

Sister? Zagreus wondered. Than doesn’t speak to his . . . Wait, Nemesis . . . But why would Lord Ares have messages from her?

When he mentioned it to his lover, Thanatos just chuckled. “I suppose it has been a while since I last saw her,” was all he had to say on the matter.

And that set the trend that continued for a while. He’d get a message from Ares to Than, pass it on, and get some cryptic non-answer in return. It was absolutely maddening. Even when he asked others, all they had to say was that it wasn’t any of his business, which was fair, but that didn’t aid his curiosity.

Finally, all that started changing when he managed to squeeze a drop of information out of Than when he asked, “So why does Ares see your sister more than you?” while they were dining together one evening.

And without really thinking, Death Incarnate reflexively replied, “Because she lives with him in Thrace instead of here.” Of course, immediately after that, Thanatos realized what he’d just admitted and promptly clammed up, but it was something at least.

Then Demeter let slip something else in one of her messages after he’d accepted several of Ares’ boons yet again. “Ares is aiding you when you get injured, is he? I’d be surprised if Nemesis didn’t have a hand in that sort of attack.”

And that set him thinking. Revenge was her area of expertise, after all. And many of Ares’ such boons were noticeably more powerful in dealing direct damage instead of causing various other effects. Could Than’s sister have been indirectly aiding him through Ares all this time?

Then came another piece of knowledge, this one from his mother upon inquiring why Thanatos and Lord Ares seemed to be so close.

“Well War and Death were always bound to meet frequently just from their natures, I suppose, but it could also have been because of that mess where he saved poor Thanatos from being chained in a box. I’d wager that was a big help to making their friendship grow.” Before he could ask just what that was about, she continued, “Though it could have also started back when Lord Ares almost passed away, too. I remember Thanatos being quite concerned for both him and Nemesis during all that.”

“What do you mean Lord Ares almost died? He’s an Olympian!”

“He is, but the day Hermes found him was a day that stoked fear in the heart of every Olympian,” Persephone said gravely. “They all worried about Ares’ fate despite how they regularly ridicule the man, because if he could die that meant any of them could.”

Zagreus suddenly found his mouth extremely dry and couldn’t form a response.

“Yes, that was definitely the start of their friendship now that I think on it. It was very kind of Thanatos to linger without threatening the poor dears. From what I heard, he was very calm during the whole affair even in the face of such shocking news.”

“Yes, I suppose learning even the great Olympians might die would be quite dramatic,” he murmured, shoulders sagging.

“No, that’s not--ah! You don’t know, do you?”

He perked back up. “Know what, Mother?” he prompted innocently.

She smiled kindly as she patted his forearm. “It’s not my place to tell you if they haven’t already; I’d forgotten how much they value their privacy when they can get it.”

Who is ‘they’? Zagreus wanted to scream while yanking his hair out. Thanatos and his sister? Her and Ares? Thanatos and Ares?? But he didn’t. Instead, he just smiled stiffly and nodded.

It wasn’t until he managed to broker a peace between the Chthonic gods and the Olympians that he finally got answers.

There was a party you were supposed to be preparing for, but you were having a hard time working up the gumption to move from your current position. Because of said celebration, you and your husband--how you’d never tire of calling him that--had arranged your schedules so that they aligned, which of course was the reason you found yourself lying in bed perpendicular to the man, using one arm as a pillow under your head on his chest while the other hand played with his hair.

His gleaming red eyes flicked over to the open, brightly illuminated window where sheer white curtains swayed softly in the breeze. “We really should be dressing; I have a feeling your brother-in-law wants to meet us sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, but it’s so rare that we get time like this to ourselves.”

His hand found the one you’d been carding through his hair and brought it to his lips to kiss. “You and I have an eternity full of moments like this ahead of us; we can spare an evening for the boy.”

You huffed dramatically. “Let it never be said that you’re not a man of your word.” A sigh left your lips, but still you pried yourself out of bed without further complaint. “Are we doing full regalia or casual?” When there was no answer, you glanced back to see that he was transfixed by the sight of your naked form heading towards the shared closet. “Ares!” you laughed, snapping his attention back to reality.

“Darling, I take it all back; you must come back to bed at once. There’s a rather pressing matter that needs your attention at once.”

Now, you rolled your eyes. “Well that pressing matter can wait until we return. Are we doing armor or not?”

From there, there were a lot of kisses, gropes, and laughter between that moment and being fully clothed--in light leather greaves and cloth chitons rather than the usual full armor, after all, Ares so hated to be unprotected or unarmed--but neither of you were really complaining.

“Boys!” Ares called down the hallway with you tucked under his arm.

Two heads of wild silver hair just like their father’s appeared from the same doorway. “Yes, Father?” they chorused.

“We’re leaving. I trust you can manage things until our return?”

“Of course, Father.” And then they were gone from sight, their snickering still echoing in their absence.

Ares chuckled as he shook his head. “Little terrors, the both of them.”

Though they weren’t yours, you’d grown to love both of the twins the moment you met them. With Aphrodite being so absent in their lives, you’d taken up the role of ‘mother figure’ quickly, and the two were practically your own by now. “Well, to be fair, one of them is Panic.”

You were unsurprised at the Olympian turnout at the party; most arrived near the time when you did, but none stayed particularly long. As fond as they were of Zagreus in theory, their detest of the Underworld would always be greater. Only Ares and Demeter attended from the mountain and stayed past the pleasantries and feast. Otherwise, it was entirely the subjects of the House of Hades that were present. Fortunately, they seemed to be enjoying themselves nonetheless judging from the way Meg and Dusa had quickly roped you and Ares into conversation.

Zagreus hadn’t seemed to notice your arrival yet--too wrapped up in getting to know his mother and grandmother, you assumed--but you caught sight of Hades glaring at Ares every now and then. Every time you caught him, the harsh threat he’d delivered to Ares rang through your ears once more.

“Set foot outside this house, boy, and you shall find yourself in a fate worse than death.” Neither of you were surprised by the warning. He was, after all, still angry about the whole ‘bursting into the Underworld without permission to save Thanatos’ fiasco.

Eventually, you and Ares found yourselves alone for a moment once Achilles and Patroclus excused themselves. You tugged the glass from his fingers to steal a sip of his ambrosia, something that’d been quite hard to find the last time you’d visited. You didn’t want a full glass, and Ares never complained about sharing.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, clearly worried about you partaking in a drink you’d never really managed to develop a taste for. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly. The drinking coupled with the knowledge of how much you hated being dragged to these things had likely set him on edge.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a genuine smile. “These are my family, remember? Much nicer to be around than yours.”

“That’s quite true,” he murmured. No doubt, he was remembering when he and Aphrodite had been paraded around and humiliated as the entertainment at one of his family’s gatherings. His gaze flickered up as he noticed something before you did: Zagreus approaching at last. “And there’s the man of the hour!” he greeted warmly. It was hard to mistake the boy for any other given his attire was his family’s colors and the way he absolutely looked like a mix of his parents.

“Lord Ares!” Zag’s face was alight with happiness. “I’m glad you were able to make it; it’s an honor to meet you properly.” His eyes shifted to you. “You must be Than’s lovely sister I’ve heard very little about.”

You laughed lightly. You like this kid already. “I suppose that’s me, yes.”

“Frankly, I’m amazed I haven’t seen you around the House before now,” he probed curiously.

You decided to indulge him; it was a celebration in his honor after all. “I pop by to visit Mother and Hypnos from time to time, but I see Than enough that lingering isn’t worth it. I’ve gathered that you’re usually gone from the House as much as he is.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he chuckled. “Makes sense you wouldn’t just lurk around when you put it like that.”

“Have to budget that precious time off somehow.””

“Plus, it’s sort of my fault that she resides in Thrace since I stole her all those years ago,” Ares teased.

“Stole her, sir?” Oh, how the poor boy looked so confused at those words. You were willing to bet his mind was just running back over Persephone’s situation and comparing it to yours.

Your brows furrowed. “Zag, has no one told you about Ares and I?”

“No!” his voice was laughing but had a manic edge to it. “Everyone keeps hinting at there being something going on with you two, but no one wants to clue me in! I’ve tried to respect your privacy by not asking directly, but it’s driving me crazy!”

“Oh, for Father’s sake.” Ares rolled his eyes. “I’m going to have a word with your brother about this,” he announced as he started pulling away from you.

“Wait! You’re not mad at Than are you?” Zagreus fretted. “Because I’d hate to cause strife between you because of my own curiosity, and--”

“Relax, Zag,” you soothed.

“Thanatos is the only being I would ever call my friend outside of her,” he gestured toward you. “I thought it went without saying that he didn’t have to keep secrets from you for my benefit, but apparently that isn’t the case. I’m simply going to tell him that. I’ll be right back, my darling.” With a kiss to your temple, he stalked over to where Than was loitering with his sleeping brother at the edge of the room.

When you looked back at Zagreus, he was staring at you absolutely slack-jawed, probably at Ares’ display of affection. “Blood and darkness, my Lady,” he managed to wheeze, “what is going on?”

You snorted a little, amused slightly by his turmoil. “Zagreus, Ares is my Fated. He’s my husband.”

His eyes went a little crossed as he realized it was just that simple. “Oh, is that all?!”

#ares x reader #ares imagine #ares hades imagine #ares hades x reader #reader insert #nemesis!au #hades imagine #hades game imagine #hades supergiant imagine

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seijorhi · 4 years

Note

Oh fuck I haven’t been on tumblr in a few days so I just read Final Girl.... the fucking audacity to write something so suspenseful, terrifying, and exciting is mind blowing. But now all I can think about is the boys making the reader kill someone. She doesn’t want to (or maybe she does) and after reluctantly doing it and having a fucking breakdown, the boys are so full of praise and gentle touches asoksjsisl w complete contrast to how they treat their victims

👀 bby I saw this ask and almost died I love it so much!! It’s not exactly what you were asking for, but I hope it hits the spot? (Pun low key intended) 😉

TW blood, gore, death, all the good slasher stuff 💕

You’re going to be sick.

“Don’t be nervous, kitten. Here, lemme show you.”

It’s not the warmth of Kuroo at your back, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. It’s not his arms, caging you in, his strong hands wrapped around your own.

It’s not even the weight of the baseball bat in your grip, the faint coppery tang you can almost taste - a curdling mix of rusted nails and dried blood that clings to the air around his favourite weapon.

Or the audience watching from the old, leather couch - Bokuto braced with his chin resting on his palms, a wide, excited grin cracking across his face. Akaashi is more relaxed in his excitement, lounging back in his seat, but as his throat bobs with an unsteady swallow, and those cold, gunmetal blue eyes meet yours, he smiles encouragingly, nodding his head. He’s enjoying this more than he lets on.

It’s the look of sheer terror on the kneeling man’s face before you, the way that he stumbles over his words as he blubbers for mercy. His friends are dead, the trio took care of them hours ago, but they’d dragged him home kicking and screaming just for you.

You thought they were going to kill him in front of you (it wouldn’t have been the first time, and you’d hazard a guess that it wouldn’t be the last) but this is so much worse.

His eyes, filled with tears and rimmed in red focus on you. He’s given up trying to beg Kuroo and the other two, maybe he saw how well that turned out for his friends, or maybe he looked at you, pale and shaking, holding the bat that would end his life, and mistakenly thought that you had any power here to save him.

“Please,” he sobs, his voice broken and cracked. “Please let me go... I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Another knife in your heart, one that twists with each heaving cry. It isn’t dignified, you think, as a gross mix of snot and tears run down his dirty, bloodied face, but what else can he do as he tries to plead for his life?

Were you any different, when Akaashi caught you? Were your friends? Your boyfriend? Any of the other countless people they’ve torn apart for their own fucked up amusement? Fear overrides everything else - pride, anger, dignity - when you come face to face with monsters like that, and you’ve come to learn that these particular monsters enjoy the fear as much as they do the blood and the screams.

And now they’re trying to make a monster out of you too. It’s selfish, but you know the man in front of you is going to die, one way the other. There is nothing you can do to save him, but you can’t be the one to do it. You’ve done so many awful things already - things they’ve made you do against your will - but you don’t want to kill anybody.

You don’t want to have to watch the light in somebody’s eyes go out and know that you’re the reason why.

“Tetsu, I don’t want to do this...”

You only call him that when you’re desperate and trying to calm him down, but from the way he shivers against you, the low, appreciative growl that rumbles out of his throat as he nuzzles against you - it has the opposite effect.

“Shh, kitten. You’re gonna do great, trust me. Here,” his fingers glide against your own, “loosen up your grip a little, you don’t wanna choke on the handle.”

With his arms guiding yours, you’re helpless to stop him as he raises the bat and places it against the man’s temple, the nails scratching at his skin.

“Right here.” He draws the baseball bat back slowly, like he’s lining up the shot, once, twice, a third and final time. “I want you to swing baby, as hard as you can for me.”

No. No, no, no, no!

You can’t do this. You won’t!

“Tetsu, please-”

“Batter up!”

He swings with all his might, your hands caught helplessly in his own and you’re powerless to do anything but watch in horror as it connects with his head, the nails ripping through skin, muscle and bone, blood and brain matter exploding in a gruesome display as Bokuto whoops loudly behind you.

Your hands are shaking, nausea rising in the back of your throat as the poor man’s body slumps to the floor. Distantly you register a voice talking, Akaashi’s maybe, but it’s hard to hear over the ringing in your ears. Darkness blots at the corners of your vision as finally Kuroo releases you.

The bat clatters to floor, falling from your slack grip, and there’s a keening cry that breaks through the horrified haze - it takes a moment for you to realise that it’s coming from you. There are hands on you, Kuroo lifting your face to drag you into a feverish kiss, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realised had wet your cheeks.

Or maybe it’s blood.

#BD drabbles #yandere haikyuu #tw blood #tw gore #tw death #ask #anon

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issamhysa · 4 years

Text

The Mighty Heart [2]

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: Major character death, language, angst (nobody’s having a good time)

Summary: Gojo sees you for the last time.

A/N: This is a part two to this post! You guys asked for it, so I had to. It’s not my best, but I hope you guys like it!

When you’re scared, your body reacts immediately of its own accord. Your lungs take air in faster to give you more oxygen. Your heartbeat quickens to pump more blood into your brain and muscles. Your pupils dilate, and while all this happens, you’re faced with one of two choices.

Fight or flight; you can stay and face whatever you’re being thrown into, or you can run away and escape, unharmed.

Gojo was a stranger to this choice. He was a stranger to fear. Of course he was, he was one of the most powerful jujutsu sorcerers.

What could he possibly have to fear?

The question ringing in his mind was answered the second he watched Nanami walk through the doors. Gojo’s eyes scanned the group that had arrived behind his blindfold, his brain not really registering the haunted expression on Junpei’s face, or Yuuji’s flushed, tear-stained cheeks. He didn’t notice the figure in Nanami’s arms, shrouded by Kento’s bloodied, cream coat.

He didn’t care for them, not right now, he just needed to see you.

It wasn’t until he noticed you weren’t standing amongst the three that his eyes were actually able to focus, hyper-focusing on every little detail. Gojo noticed the tears that threatened to spill from the new boy’s eyes, the slight quiver of Yuuji’s bottom lip, and, most importantly, he was made aware of the figure held in Nanami’s arms.

Gojo didn’t need to see the figure’s face to know it was you. He recognized your hand, hanging limply by your side, by the black nail polish you had both used a few nights prior. He recognized the little white heart you had stamped on your ring finger’s nail, matching his. He recognized the silver wedding band on that same finger, now stained in mud and blood.

The jujutsu sorcerer wanted to rush over and snatch you from Kento’s arms. To pepper your face with little kisses until you woke up and smiled at him, telling him that you were just tired. He wanted to hug you close and berate you for scaring him like that, all whilst running the pads of his long fingers up and down your spine.

He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many different thoughts running through his brain. So many things he still needed to know.

But he couldn’t even fucking breathe.

Nanami set you down on the metal examination bed, and when Gojo finally noticed the blood staining his friend’s hands and the front of his shirt, he felt like he would throw up. Exchanging a look with him, the white-haired male finally shuffled forward, willing his trembling hands to steady as his fingers pinched the top of the dirty coat. Ever so slowly, his hands pulled the garment away to expose your forehead. The more skin he uncovered, the worse the trembling got.

Until he finally saw you.

Gojo’s breathing hitched as his hands gripped onto the edge of the table, knees buckling slightly, but not noticeably enough for Itadori and Junpei to notice.

On the other hand, Kento did. Stepping away from the table, the blonde sighed, reaching up to lower the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He lifted his head to gaze at Gojo, a frown on his lips as he parted them to speak.

“She wanted you to know she loved you.”

Gojo knew that. Of course, he had always fucking known. But the words coming out of Nanami’s lips left a bitter taste in his mouth, because it should’ve been you telling Gojo you love him, not Nanami. He almost sneered at the thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gojo watched Nanami motion for the two students to follow him out of the room. He saw Itadori look over his shoulder at your unmoving body, a solemn expression covering his features before he followed after Nanami.

Junpei, however, didn’t move away. Instead, he shuffled closer to where you lay, a shaky hand reaching out to take yours. He noticed the way Gojo looked up at him the second his bloody fingers touched your skin, but he didn’t falter.

“She saved me,” he said quietly, voice broken and cracking from screaming and crying so much a few hours prior. “Even though I didn’t… I didn’t deserve it, she… she sacrificed herself for me.”

Gojo was silent, though a small, amused huff escaped his lips as he lowered his head to look at you, his fingertips brushing over your forehead, gently and feather-like.

Of course, you had. You had always been ridiculously selfless, putting others before yourself. It was one of the things Gojo loved about you, one of the things that made him get down on one knee and offer you the world.

But right now, he cursed your selflessness.

“It should’ve been me, not her.”

This made the white-haired sorcerer look up at the young boy, eyebrows furrowed. His heart was heavy with indecision, head swirling with thoughts, so many of them, he was sure a migraine would follow shortly.

He wanted to agree with the young boy. To tell him that he was right, that it should’ve been him, and that you should be standing right by his side, right where you belonged. But Gojo would never say such things, no matter how hard his grief-stricken brain wanted him to. No, that would be an insult to your memory.

“Y/N gave her life for you because she believed you were worth it. If you think otherwise, you’re saying she died for nothing. Do not disrespect her memory by questioning her judgment now.”

Junpei looked up at him, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His jaw hung agape, taken aback by the lack of bitterness in Gojo’s tone. He almost flinched at the soft sincerity behind his words, and simply closed his mouth and pressed his quivering lips together. Bowing his head slightly, the young boy began to step away, refusing to let go of your hand until he was forced to let go.

Finally, you and Gojo were alone.

Gojo allowed himself to release the trembling exhale he had been holding in when you were brought in. Shaking hands reached up to pull the black blindfold off his eyes, letting it drop to the side. Crystal eyes clouded with unshed tears now gazed at your lifeless form helplessly, and Gojo took your face in his hands, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. It was then he noticed just how cold your skin was under his palm.

Oh, how he hated this feeling.

The guilt eating away at him, forcing him to find somebody to blame for what had happened to you.

He wanted to blame Junpei for forcing the sorcerers into this situation in the first place. For being foolish enough to trust a curse, and allow it to give him power he was incapable of controlling. For being careless and selfish and only thinking about getting revenge on those who wronged them, as if the actions would come with no repercussions.

He wanted to blame Itadori for lying to him when he joked about how you didn’t need protecting, how the curses would be the ones that needed protecting. Yuuji had promised him he would look after you regardless, that he would make sure his beloved sensei’s wife came home safe. He told Gojo he would call for Sukuna’s help if it came down to it, even though he knew it would never come to that; you were too strong, too stubborn to die.

He wanted to blame Nanami for not getting there fast enough. For not disposing of the other curses quick enough to reach you before the curse struck you. Nanami’s skill was close to that of Gojo’s, so why couldn’t he save you?

But, in the end, he wanted to blame himself, too. He shouldn’t have let you go in the first place, but you were oh-so adamant on going; so keen on wanting to save this poor boy from himself. He should’ve never let you get to him, he shouldn’t have believed you could handle this.

God, what was he saying?

Gojo doubled over with his elbows resting against the examination table, tugging at tufts of his white hair in frustration. His breaths came out in shallow huffs, the tears that were once clouding his vision finally breaking through and sliding down his flushed cheeks.

He felt so fucking stupid.

He knew you were capable enough of handling yourself; more than capable, actually. Being a jujutsu sorcerer was a dangerous job, but one you and Gojo would never back down from, but Gojo had known and fought alongside you long enough to know that you fought with everything you had, and that you would never give up. That, much like him, you’d see things through to the end, no matter the cost.

And you had chosen to marry him regardless.

You had done everything you could to come back home to him, and he knew that.

As he gazed down at you, finally able to rest in peace after all the hell he put you through; after all the all-nighters spent together, handling paperwork and training to protect those you cared about, he felt every negative feeling melt away. All the guilt, the shame, and the agony replaced by one feeling.

Pride. Overwhelming and overpowering.

Gojo was proud of you for protecting somebody who was incapable of doing so themselves. He was proud of you for fighting until you couldn’t fucking move, for protecting Itadori and making sure both boys were able to make it home safely.

The glassy tears sitting on his dark lashes dripped onto your cold skin when he gently set a kiss on your knuckles, rubbing your hand in both of his, just like he used to when you would complain about the cold weather. Closing his fists around your hand, he leaned down, forehead resting against his own knuckles. A bitter smile forced a cracked chuckle from his lips, and Gojo lifted his head, brushing your hair away from your forehead to kiss it.

It would take him a while to adjust, and he was terrified of what would come next. His future seemed so uncertain without you in it. He'd miss how you laughed at his antics. How you'd smack him upside the head when he did something stupid, and scold him before peppering his face with kisses when he came back injured.

But he'd do it, because it's what you would've wanted.

“You did good, my love,” he murmured against your skin, gently nudging your nose with his. “I love you forever.”

#mans has absolutely NO business looking like this #i'm sorry i know the fic is sad and this is not but #it lifts the mood #he's so pretty #grr #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing

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merakiaes · 4 years

Text

The One For Me - Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Requested: By @nuvoleincielo

Prompts: #16, #30 and #63 from the fluff-list.

Warnings/notes: This is my first time writing for Hotch and Criminal Minds in general so please be patient while I get used to these new characters, might be slight OOC😭 It’s also the first piece I’ve written in a few months now and I’m a bit rusty, so please let me know what you think. Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. Send in more requests for Hotch, Reid and Morgan and let me know if you want to be added to the Criminal Minds taglist! I hope you like it💕

Wordcount: 4118

Summary: Hotch has doubts about letting your relationship go further and you reassure him that he’s what you want.

After being raised in one of New York’s worst, most crime ridden and low poverty neighborhoods by a family who was constantly targeted by the law enforcement, the last thing you’d expect was that you would become an active worker of said law enforcement.

Your mother died ten minutes after giving birth to you and your father had never been a part of the equation, most likely having ran the second he found out your mother had gotten pregnant. With no other immediate family, you ended up in the system, where you were stuck for the first seven years of your life.

You jumped back and forth between families of all kinds but for reasons unknown, no one wanted to keep you. It wasn’t until a couple adopted you two days before your eight birthday that you finally felt like you belonged.

They had many children of their own as well as more foster children, all between the ages of ten and twenty-five at the time of your adoption. On top of that, the children had children of their own and aunts, uncles, cousins and friends stayed with you more often than not as they struggled to hold on to homes of their own.

It wasn’t the most ideal way to live, a dozen people staying under the same roof of a two bedroom house, but you had dinner on the table every evening and the love for family was strong, so despite the conditions you lived in and the struggles you were forced to face on a daily basis, you guessed you couldn’t complain; you’d had it better than most.

The people who lived in those parts were always getting pinned for various kinds of crimes, just so the police could get it out of their hands and go on about their lives.

The male members of your family and the company they kept were some of the biggest targets even though they rarely did anything wrong, but despite the injustices they faced every day, they remained respectful when staring in the face of a cop.

You, on the other hand, despised them. You were an outspoken little girl, too feisty for your own good and on more occasions than one, you’d ended up pissing off some rich kid in school for which your dad and uncles were forced to pay the price.

You’d always hated the injustice the less fortunate suffered every day, but it wasn’t until you witnessed your first murder at fifteen that your interest of making the world a better place really piqued.

The victim had been one of the boys living in your neighborhood. He was two years older than you and he always gave it his all to make something out of himself. He walked with you and your younger brothers and cousins to school every day to make sure you got there safely, studied hard, kept out of trouble and always remained respectful.

The only reason he died was because his skin was the wrong color in the eyes of the law and because he was born into a less fortunate neighborhood, and it was then your eyes truly opened to the police brutality and misuse of power plaguing your country.

You joined the police force when you were nineteen years old and you stayed there, on top of your game and determined to do it better than the bad ones, until you were twenty-one.

At that point, most of your family had passed away either out of old age, or simply from being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and your determination to help people was stronger than ever.

But even you, the tough little firecracker as your uncles had always called you, could only tolerate so much.

After two years on the force, you got tired of being undermined by your male co-workers and set out to step up your game, taking up studies of criminology and psychology among several other subjects.

You studied your ass off and was just barely able to get by with the money you had saved up over the years, and at twenty-four, you finally had your degrees and clearance to begin working in higher places.

Starting off in New York, you stayed there for six months before you were transferred to Quantico, Virginia, where you were recruited by the one and only Jason Gideon who had heard word of your talent in the field.

You had worked with the team for little over a year now and Jason, who had always acted as a kind of mentor and father figure for you, was gone, having left only a letter for you and Spencer each.

Taking his place was Aaron Hotchner, a fellow agent to which you hadn’t paid much personal attention before the departure of Gideon. But things changed when he left, a lot of things.

Hotch was fresh out of his divorce, moodier than ever and in a really bad mental state. He stayed in his office until the late hours of the night, sometimes even the early hours of the next morning, barely slept and often forgot to eat if he wasn’t reminded by his team members.

Everyone urged him to take some time off, to go home and get some sleep and to take care of himself, and although he always told them that he would, he never followed through.

Up until then, you still hadn’t spoken much with him except for when you were working on a case. You were just an agent and he was just your boss, there was nothing else to it. But you couldn’t just sit by and watch as he neglected himself, so you followed your team-mates’ example and approached him.

He dismissed you at first, like he had done everyone else who had tried to offer him their support. But as time passed by, in some miraculous way, you made him laugh, and as you continued your attempts on offering him your ear to listen, he opened up to you, and you grew to become more than just colleagues.

Your first and only date had been on your initiative. You invited him to dinner at your house during your weekend off, to which he agreed.

You cooked together and although it started off as kind of awkward – more from his side than yours – you ended up kissing later that night after having had a bit too much to drink, and fell asleep together on your couch while you were flicking through your childhood photo albums.

The next morning, he was gone. You had always been an extremely light sleeper so you found it strange that he had managed to slip off without alerting you and also having managed to wrap you up in a blanket before he left.

He didn’t leave without a word though. A note was neatly placed on the coffee table in front of you, on which he explained that he needed to pick up Jack and that he didn’t want to wake you, finishing it off with a thank you for the night before.

That was the first and last time you spent time together, just the two of you, but it wasn’t like it was intentional.

You wanted to do it again, to continue exploring the budding romance between the two of you and to see where you could take it, and although you knew nothing of his feelings, he wanted the same thing.

But work got very stressful; stressful to the point where you could never find a moment to talk to each other if it wasn’t in the presence of the entire team. But the spark between you wasn’t gone.

It was still there in the way he would let his hand hover above the small of your back when you were walking side by side and step in front of you if you were ever in danger, and in the way you would always take a second to ask how he and Jack was doing, if they were eating enough and getting enough sleep, whenever you were heading somewhere; no matter if the team was with you.

It was there in the way he would always encourage you to go on the less dangerous tasks while he took the ones that were more life-threatening and in the way he would always smile, the slightest of smiles, whenever you were exchanging jokes or sarcastic remarks with Morgan, or messing around with poor, clueless Reid.

It was there, but it was unspoken. At least until now.

The case you had been working on for the past two days was that of Gilbert Stratton; a serial killer who had targeted young women, killed them, drained them of their blood, and then proceeded to hang the bodies up by their feet in trees all around the city.

You had caught him just in time to save the last kidnapped girl and you had originally been the one assigned to question him, but Hotch had stepped in last minute after the man had made a crude comment about how ‘girls like you always tasted the best’.

You had attempted to tell him that you could take it, but before you had even been given a chance to state your case, he had shut the door in your face and you had been whisked off by JJ.

You were the one out of the entire team who was the most interested in the psychology of a serial killer so you really wanted to be the one to interview Stratton, but you knew that Hotch had taken over for the sake of your safety and not because he underestimated you, so you couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad.

While he did his job, you settled at your desk with a sigh, getting to work on the heft stack of paperwork that had been building up throughout the week.

The first ten minutes you kept close track of the clock next to you, wondering why it was taking so long, but the more time that passed, the more focused you became.

Soon enough, you only had a few reports left and you had completely lost track of time, when there was a sudden bang behind you, sounding an awful lot like a door slamming shut.

And your suspicions were proven correct, when you looked up to see Hotch march straight the bullpen.

The corners of your lips tugged up at the sight of him, but the arising smile quickly fell again when he walked right past you, without even an acknowledging glance, heading into his office and shutting himself inside without as much of a word to anyone.

Left behind with dumbstruck looks on their faces were the team, glances of bewilderment being exchanged.

“What happened?” Reid asked the question you were all thinking after a moment of silence, just as Emily walked in from the interrogation room.

Rather than answering Reid’s question, she looked right at you, offering you a small, comforting smile. “I think you better go talk to him.” She said simply, and as confusion and anxiety bubbled up inside of you, you slowly drawled.

“Okaaay…”

They all watched you as you stood up from your seat, brushing down your shirt and turning off the lamp at your desk before heading for the stairs.

You could feel their eyes following your every move and you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous of what you were about to walk into.

Everyone had gotten negatively affected by a case or unsub at some point during their career, most more than once. They were all very good at getting into your head, no matter how little you wanted to admit it. But you had never seen Hotch react this strongly to anything before. The only time you had really seen him snap was during one single case, right after Haley had filed for a divorce.

Still, you kept walking until you reached his closed office door, stopping only then to peek inside the blinded windows to see him sitting at his desk, hands rubbing over his face.

You knocked on the glass gently and in any other case he would have looked up and meet your gaze, but when his head kept hanging this time, you let yourself in, only when closing the door behind you cutting off the curious eyes of the others.

Once you were inside, you wasted no time in approaching Hotch where he sat by his desk, analyzing his every move which led you to only one question.

What the hell had Stratton said to him to make him this distraught?

He didn’t even look up as you reached him, keeping his eyes closed as you came to a stop beside his desk.

Treading carefully, you reached out and gently put your hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?” You asked softly, the sound of your words instantly bringing a long, heavy sigh out of his nose.

“Why are you doing this?” He wasted no time in replying, causing a crease to form between your eyebrows.

“What?” You asked back, confusion lacing your voice.

Finally, he brought his hands down from his face and slowly spun around in his chair, forcing you to drop your hand from his shoulder and to take a step back.

He stared up at you, face wiped free of emotion as always. But the eyes said it all.

“Why are you so adamant on being with me? Why do you try so hard?” He questioned you, taking you by surprise.

Your eyebrows shot up and your eyes grew slightly wider, and you took a moment to regain your composure after the, to say the least, unexpected question.

“What kind of question is that?” You asked once you finally regained your senses. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you want to be with someone? Try?”

One of your eyebrows sank again, leaving only one raised in question.

Hotch’s face softened slightly and for a moment, he averted his eyes, letting out another, smaller sigh from his nose before looking back up to meet your eyes once again.

“What I mean is, why do you want to be with me?” He asked again, clarifying and slightly shaking his head in what seemed to be disbelief. “The second you walked into this office, both Morgan and Reid had their eyes on you, and they still do. They’re closer to your age, they’re energetic, humorous, full of life, while I’m ten years your senior, and can’t offer you what they can. So why do you want to be with me, when you can have them, or anyone you want?”

“What is it that they can give me that you can’t?” You didn’t waste a second in firing back.

You had no idea what had brought this on, but it was clear that it was bothering him and quite frankly, you found it ridiculous even though you didn’t like making it a habit to judge other people for what they were feeling.

“They can make you smile-“ He started explaining, and you instantly cut him off.

“You make me smile, all the time.” You shook your head, but your affirmation only seemed to fuel his frustrations even more as he was up on his feet within the next second.

“But I’m not- I’m not fun.” He stated, staring you down. “My clock is ticking. I’m ill-tempered, irritable, too serious for my own good. I’m barely capable of taking care of myself at this point much less my son. I’m miserable and I’m a bully, who only cares about this job. Why would you want to be with someone like that?”

“Where is this coming from? I thought we had something good going.” Your face fell slightly, and you carefully reached your hands out to grab a hold of the front of his suit, taking a small step closer.

“Is this because of Stratton? Is he the one putting these doubts into your head?” You asked, keeping your eyes on your hands for a short moment before looking up to meet his heavy gaze staring down at you.

And once your eyes met his, he knew there was no point in lying; you were a profiler after all, and a good one at that.

“He did.” He confessed calmly, his lips pursing into a straight line.

“Aaron…” You began, the softness of your voice matching the one in your eyes.

“But everything he said is true.” He quietly interrupted you. “I’m not fun to be around, I push people away. That’s what I do, what I’ve always done.” His eyebrows rose and he stood still.

You knew about the doubts he had about himself. You know he felt inadequate as a friend, as a colleague, as a father, and more than anything as a partner after the way Haley had left him. You were aware of all of it, and yet the sound of those self-doubts being voiced aloud saddened you nonetheless.

Silence fell over the two of you for a moment as you took another step closer, flattening your palms out on his chest and your eyes never leaving his.

“Those people didn’t deserve you in the first place. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they started building a relationship with you, whether it be a romantical or purely platonic one. They knew how passionate you are about your job, how much you value it. Them leaving… That’s on them, not you.” You said softly, shaking your head. “I’m not about to give up on you, on us, just because you happen to be a few years older than me. Derek, he wants to have fun, to be young. He may be attracted to me but he doesn’t want anything serious. Spencer isn’t ready for a relationship either, for obvious reasons, and either way, they’re not the ones I want.”

He watched you intensely as you spoke, lips still tight and strained. “What is it that you want?” He asked you, and you wasted no time in replying.

“Something serious and stable, someone who’s ready to settle down, and for me, the best chance to get that is through you.” You smiled, breaking your eyes away from his to follow your hand as you moved it up to his face. “Regardless of what other people say, you’re an amazing person. You’re passionate, driven, kind, loyal, gentle, and so much more. Despite what you may think, you do have a sense of humor and you’re the only one who can make me smile until my cheeks hurt. If that’s not a good man, a good person, then I don’t know what is. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

By the time you finished, the remaining doubt was wiped free from his face, a small, gentle smile instead having taken its place.

It was a funny thing, Hotch only ever spared the tiniest of smiles, and yet it was them that brought you the biggest and most intense amount of happiness. It was so rare to see his ever-stoic features reflect joy that you couldn’t help but light up like a kid on Christmas every time it occurred.

And true to what you’d always been told growing up, your smile was just so contagious that he couldn’t help but to smile wider at the sight.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and visibly relaxed where he stood.

Your heart swelled in your chest when you took note of the way he was slowly but surely shuffling closer to you, picking up a significant amount of speed when you then felt his hand brush against the side of your hip.

But he didn’t dare touch you, hesitation still lingering in the air. So you did what your heart told you and grabbed a hold of his hand, and pushed it down into the curve of your waist.

From then on, he moved on his own, raising his other hand to mimic the same position at your other side, and you let your hand drop from his, instead raising them to busy with his crimson red tie.

“I know you’re struggling, with yourself, with Jack, and that you’re still processing the divorce. And if it’s time you want, then I’ll wait.” You spoke quietly, feeling your skin flush hot under his touch as his thumbs began to move over the thin fabric of your shirt. “But if you want to keep going and see where this can go, then I’ll be here every step of the way to support and help you in any way I can. You just need to let me in.”

More shyly then before, you dared loo back up at him through your lashes, hands stilling on his chest.

His smile was gone and his eyes creased together in concentration, but his eyes were soft and his head slowly nodded. “You’re right.” He said, and you allowed yourself to smile again.

“Aren’t I always?” You lightheartedly teased, tilting your head to the side.

In return, a smile spread across his face, his head shaking. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“No, no take-backs. What’s said is said.” You kept joking, your smile only widening.

He kept smiling down at you for a few seconds longer, but then his face fell again, just like that, out of nowhere, completely sudden. The gaze he held on your face grew absent as he got lost in his thoughts, and before you could question him about the sudden change of mood, the words spilled from his lips as if there was no tomorrow.

“I think I love you.”

Your mind instantly broke into a flurry of thoughts, countless emotions battling in your body. Nervosity and excitement ended up coming out on top, the mixture of the two creating an uncomfortable, sickly feeling in your stomach.

Your face fell in disbelief and your eyes searched his as he came back to reality.

“You do?”

Your voice came out so quiet and small, you mentally cursed yourself for sounding so pathetic, but luckily, you didn’t get much time to beat yourself up over the anticlimactic reacting as he continued.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel the same way, but I needed to say it. Every day, this job puts all of our lives in danger. I couldn’t bear it if one of us died before I got the time to let you know how I feel.”

You sucked in a breath, feeling yourself growing weak at the knees as he absentmindedly rubbed your waist with his thumbs.

“Just a minute ago, you were trying to end… whatever this is, and now your proclaiming your love for me?” You asked.

It was meant to be a joke, an attempt to ease the anxiety you were currently feeling, but you realized quickly that said anxiety made it sound like the exact opposite of a lighthearted, teasing joke.

Luckily, the man standing in front of you was a profiler and knew that you meant no harm, understanding how shock could render your ability to react appropriately.

“I was never trying to end what we have. I just wanted to be sure that you were sure. That I won’t be holding you back.” He explained, and you finally managed to pull yourself out of the state of shock.

“Being with you motivates me. And I love you, too.” You confessed, the smile once again returning to your face as you moved your hands from his chest to wrap around the back of his neck.

“I’m happy to hear that.” He smiled right back. “Can I kiss you?” He quietly added, and your face instantly lit up in a mischievous expression.

“In the office?” You gasped dramatically, bringing your arms down, taking a step back and lightly slapping his chest. “Aren’t you feeling frisky today?”

A large smile stretched across his lips, his chest shaking as he chuckled. “Come here.” He said simply, and before you got the chance to argue, not that you would’ve if given the opportunity, he sat back down in his chair and pulled you down with him.

The chair spun in the process, causing you to let out a squeal of surprise. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your small laughs of glee quickly became muted as he placed his lips on yours, replaced by low hums of contentment.

You clung to him as if your life depended on it, basking in the feeling of his lips moving against yours and his arms tightening around your waist, and as your entire body burned with passion, you realized that he really was the one for you.

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