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klausinamarink · 4 months

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You Said I Would Live, So I Did

rating: M | cw: temporary character death, minor gore, blood and injury | wc: 3k | tags: angst with happy ending, canon divergence, disabled Eddie, hurt Steve, injury recovery | prompt: Love is healing each other’s wounds

sequel to this

written for @steddielovemonth

If Steve had nearly lost his voice from that nervewrecking day when Eddie had floated in the trailer park, then Steve was shredding the column of his throat into nonexistence as the exact thing was happening in the Creel House attic.

Eddie’s right arm was broken thrice. His left leg followed soon after. Then his left eye burst with a horrid pop, splurts of blood already staining the side of his face.

All Steve had to do was keep watch of Eddie while the others went to the Upside Down to distract the bats and kill Vecna. All he had to do was to wait for the right moment to return the headphones over Eddie’s ears.

But then the Cunninghams had come over with Jason Carver and a few of their friends.

It wasn’t easy to fight them off, especially when Carver held him at gunpoint while the adults instantly believed Eddie was currently listening to Satan’s messages to destroy their perfect town. But Max had come in swinging. Literally. She had held onto Steve’s trusty nailbat and showed them another reason why she liked the moniker Mad Max.

Steve had his back turned on Eddie for too long.

After the last adult finally scuttled and Carver went unconscious on the ground, Steve couldn’t use the music in time.

Eddie suddenly dropped. Steve just barely caught him in time before his body hit the ground.

“I got you, Eds. I got you right here. You’re gonna be okay. We’re taking you to the hospital-” Steve was rambling, trying to keep his composure as he held onto Eddie. Because he can’t take Eddie to the hospital without making his boyfriend cry out in pain whenever he moved an inch.

“I wa- I want-” Eddie was gasping for air, choking on nothing and everything. His chest was frantically raising up and down, each round making his breath more winded. Steve swore he had heard a few of his ribs breaking right before Eddie had fallen.

“What is it?” Steve asked as calmly as he could despite the wet tremor in his voice. He wanted to look away from Eddie’s face, half of it streaming out thick blood and viscera from the socket. His surviving eye was still glazed over with a few specks of brown with a red tear stain dropping down his cheek.

“W-Wayne,” Eddie gasped out painfully, “I want Wayne!”

“He’s on his way right now.” Steve lied. He had no idea if Wayne and Nancy and Robin were okay and actually coming back. He twisted his head over to Max, whose terrified gaze hadn’t left Eddie since he started floating. “Max! Call an ambulance!” He couldn’t believe how much of his voice still held.

Then Max was staring at Steve, her blue eyes welling up as she started shaking. Steve looked back to see Eddie had gone limp. His heartbeat, frantic and jackhammering against Steve’s palm just seconds ago, was no longer there.

“No. No, no, no-” Steve’s voice stopped working then, even when a sob worked its way out of his ruined throat. He pulled Eddie closer, his hand cupping the back of his head when glowing red cracks started splintering the wood right underneath them.

—

There was still blood under his fingernails.

Steve stared at them dully. It was a better distraction than the mechanical beeping and the faint throbbing on his sides. The demobat bites were long stitched-up during those early chaotic hours of waiting. His throat had already been looked at, but nothing but a pack of ice, water, and an easy rest was prescribed.

Steve had almost laughed. He hadn’t gotten an easy rest since he saw a monster burst out of Jonathan Byers’ ceiling.

He couldn’t lift his eyes up. Not because he was tired, no matter how his brain felt it had turned into jelly and dripping out of his ears, but if he brought his gaze up, then he would still see Eddie.

Eddie, who laid in bed with half of his body in thick casts and bandages around the left side of his face and an oxygen tube down his throat, comatose even after two and half days. Eddie, whom Steve had promised over and over to protect him even before Vecna laid his nasty claws on him.

But Steve failed to do exactly that and had let Eddie die.

Because of him, Vecna’s plan succeeded and tore Hawkins in half.

Even though it was a fucking miracle that Eddie’s heart started pulsing again, Steve couldn’t forget it. He could scrub the blood and grime off himself and the high-pressure of his shower wouldn’t do shit to erase the sudden lightweightness of Eddie’s body in his arms. Steve’s stomach swooped with nausea at the recollection. He had always complained of Eddie being so heavy despite his flat ass whenever Eddie had taken the opportunities to randomly launch himself at Steve, who had always caught him even if he was already holding something.

He never wanted to know how light Eddie had felt after dying, but now he does and it was going to forever haunt him.

The doors opened. Without looking, Steve greeted tiredly, “Hey, Wayne.”

Big mistake. He heard the man pause before his boots strode over to him. Neither of them hadn’t talked in between the chaos of the ‘earthquake’, the brief volunteering at the high school, and Robin’s attempts to distract him out of the hospital. Now, they were in the same room and Steve braced himself for a punch. Actually, Wayne wasn’t that physical. So Steve braced himself for a cold warning to leave and never show his face again.

Instead, Wayne gently clamps a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

It makes him look up then. Wayne’s wrinkles had deepened and his eyes were slightly red. He looked more exhausted than Steve had ever seen.

“You need to rest up,” Wayne said gently. Why was he still nice? He shouldn’t be. Not after Eddie-

Before Steve could protest, Wayne led him to a small couch at the corner. It was horribly uncomfortable and itchy but once he laid down, Steve immediately fell asleep.

—

Steve hated dreams.

Most times, he lost the fight. He was manhandled, forced to watch as Carver shot a bullet into Eddie, splattering brains across the ground and walls. Sometimes it was Max who was shot. Whenever the floor broke apart, Steve let himself fall and burn in the gate instead of dragging Eddie away. Eddie’s bones broke, all four limbs like the others. Sometimes his eyes melted first. Sometimes his ribs burst out of his chest. Sometimes his neck snapped as well. Sometimes his skin peeled itself from his hands and turned into claws. Sometimes he came back fine and unharmed but then he dropped with wide unmoving eyes. Sometimes it was one of their dates that never went that way it had actually happened because Eddie would float up and then they were in the attic again.

Every time, Eddie’s mouth twisted into a snarl, “You’re a shitty liar, Steve Harrington.”

Steve started to lose count how many times he’d woken up with a scream caught in his throat.

—

Three weeks later after Vecna shattered half of his body, Eddie woke up.

Steve wasn’t there when it happened. Robin and Dustin had pushed him to shower and change so he went to his house, sat under the shower as it turned cold for probably an hour, and came back to the hospital just in time for Dustin to suddenly shove his face against Steve’s chest and blubbered out-

“He’s awake.”

In another universe, Steve would have sprinted immediately towards Eddie’s room with nothing but immense joy.

Instead, he felt utter cold numbness as Dustin took his hand and dragged him there.

There were doctors fretting around Eddie. Wayne was holding Eddie’s uninjured hand like a lifeline with teary eyes. The other kids were clamoring at the foot of the bed.

During the commotion, Eddie’s eye had flickered over and met Steve’s. There was a crinkle of hope and relief behind them.

Steve was back in the attic, split between the before and after of Eddie’s eye losing life behind them, mere seconds before the ground split.

For the first time, Steve ran away.

—

To his credit, it had taken a week before anyone found him. And by anyone, it was Robin of course.

“What are you doing here?” Robin wrinkled her nose as she looked down at him, hands in overall pockets. She was upside down from where Steve was laying down.

“Enjoying the view.” Steve gestured up with the can he was drinking from.

Robin looked at the sky and glared back down at him, “It’s cloudy and about to rain, smartass.”

Steve giggled, chasing the tipsiness while it lasted. He never stayed high or drunk long enough after the Russians injected their truth serum in his veins. “You called me a smartass.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Robin groaned as she squatted down and pulled him up to a sitting position. Steve tried to swat her away but she refused to let go.

“Where the hell are you?” Robin asked. Steve raised an eyebrow at her and gestured to the wide wheat field they were in. Couldn’t be Indiana without them.

“No, where-” Robin snatched the beer can out of his hand despite Steve’s protests, “-the hell are you?”

Steve glared back at her. “Don’t speak riddles- ow!”

Robin hit him square on the cheek with the can, which was better than another hit on the head. Then her fists curled into the stained collar of his shirt and Steve was treated to the up-close view of her snarling teeth.

“Why the fuck aren’t you at Eddie’s side? Why aren’t you with everyone else giving him support to start physical therapy? Where were you?”

Steve swallowed. The tippiness was already gone. He had been holding it for about.. two hours? That had to be a new record.

Robin shook him violently, “Where-?”

“Nowhere!” Steve yelled. His voice carried across the fields for a few seconds before the echo died. He continued before Robin opened her mouth again, “I just want to be nowhere in Hawkins because I let that town fall apart! So what if El is fixing the fissures, none of it changes that everyone knows it’s my fault they were even there!”

Robin had loosened her grip but Steve kept going, the pieces of himself that died with Eddie he had tried to bury under the broken floorboards at that attic resurfacing. It all came out watery and salty in his mouth.

“I told everyone - you, Wayne, Dustin, Nancy - that Eddie will be fine! Nothing would happen because I would stay with him. But something happened and he died! He died in my arms, Robs, and now he’s awake and I can’t just let myself pretend that I looked away for one second and let Vecna kill him while I could have done something.” Steve sucked in a shaky breath. He looked into Robin’s eyes and tried to smile like used to.

“Steve…” Robin was no longer angry. She looked like she was about to cry.

“His heart stopped.” Steve whispered. It was a well-known fact among the party. Dumb Steve was distracted and Eddie got his bones broken and was medically dead for a minute. “I felt his heart… it just stopped.”

He had spent the rest of that week listening and feeling Eddie’s heartbeat. It had become his own song, the lifeline between them. It had both assured Steve and nearly drove him mad. It was a sacred prayer made between their devoted lips on that blissful night when Eddie had survived.

“You will live. You will live.”

Steve should have known better than to pray. No one listened to his prayers since he was seventeen.

His teeth started chattering, a habit from clenching his jaw so hard whenever he was about to cry.

“His heart stopped and I had to hold him while the gates opened.” The tears finally slipped. “Now ask me again where I was.”

Robin doesn’t. She hugged him tight, making no comment even as the rain broke out or when Steve wiped his snot over the shoulder of her shirt.

—

Steve lingered at the door for another minute before he took in a deep breath and finally stepped inside.

To his surprise, Eddie was alone. Steve briefly wondered if this was Robin’s work but he shook that away. He approached the bed quietly, not willing to announce himself yet.

“I know it’s you.”

Steve froze. Eddie made a quiet chuckling sound before he turned his head towards Steve’s direction. His sole eye had cleared slightly, more brown than white. Most of the thick bandages were removed in lieu of a simple eyepatch. There was a thin tube running out under it.

“Like my new look?” Eddie tilted his head up slowly, probably not to jostle the tube. “It’s modeled after my ancestor Edward Blackbeard. Can’t grow the beard though, something about hygiene.”

It was almost a shock how Eddie retained his humor despite the worst week of their lives. Yet it was so Eddie that Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“If you can’t grow a beard, then your hair genetics are terrible.” Steve joked back, letting himself sit on one of the chairs.

Eddie opened his mouth to mock-retort back, but winced soon after. He was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again, slowly this time, “Apparently I have so much leftover brain juice that the docs need to drain it out before I get approved for physical.”

“Ah,” was all Steve said.

“Yeah.”

They fell into silence again, less comfortable than Steve was used to. He glanced at the casts around Eddie’s arm and leg, all covered with doodles from the kids. It clenched at his heart.

“You know what was one of the things he showed me?”

Steve snapped his gaze back up. Eddie wasn’t looking at him.

It was the first time that either of them dared to breach the topic of Vecna’s visions.

“W-What?”

“He showed how you were an asshole at school, but mega-worse. Made you into someone who was with me just for the sex and weed.” Eddie shrugged like it was no big deal. “Then you ran away even when I called for you to come back.”

Nausea hit Steve like a freight train. He just stared at Eddie because that was what Steve had done.

He had run away because when he saw Eddie looking at him after being comatose, Steve had seen the exact opposite of that moment’s future. Steve had been convinced that Eddie would never forgive him for not saving him and Steve would rather flee like the goddamn Cowardly Lion than face another spit of anger.

“Eds-” Steve started but Eddie was looking back at him and he wasn’t done.

“You know I never believed that last part? Because I knew what kind of person you were and you would never leave.” Eddie’s eye flashed with anger. “So why, on the day I finally woke up, you looked at me in the eye and ran?”

Steve came apart. There had to be something wrong with him, that maybe Vecna secretly targeted him before his ass got fried up, because he was good at shoving the worst of his emotions down. But he had been making more waterworks in the past month than the Niagara Falls.

Steve clenched his nails into his thighs as he blubbered out, “I’m sorry, Eds, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Eddie made some kind of dying animal noise at the back of his throat. Steve felt sick again. He was back at the stupid attic, Eddie on his lap as he breathed too fast and Steve wanted him to slow down before he choked on his own blood-

“-eve, Steve, come here, c’mon.”

He felt his upper body moving. Then he was pressed against another below him. A hand on the side of his head.

“Listen, listen, Stevie.”

Steve bit his lip and stayed quiet, waiting for what Eddie to say next.

But he only heard an ongoing rhythm of babump-babump-babump-babump against his ear.

“You hear that, sweetheart?”

Steve shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears racing down his face.

“Remember what you said that night? That no matter how we defeat Vecna, that I will live.”

“You died.” Steve blurted, “You died and I got Hawkins destroyed.”

Eddie was silent for an awfully long time. Steve felt him swallow a few times before he replied firmly, “Don’t say it like that.”

“Huh?” Steve finally lifted his head up. Eddie still looked angry but it seemed directed elsewhere entirely.

“I took that risk to be the bait. I knew that there was a fifty-fifty chance I would make it out unscathed. I knew what I had to do, but no matter what-” Eddie paused for a moment, clear drops of tears falling from his eye. “I will live.”

With a shaky breath, he smiled wearily at Steve, “And look at me, sweetheart. I kept that promise.”

Steve cried again. He desperately wanted to kiss Eddie but his boyfriend was clearly still in pain, so he carefully cupped his hands under Eddie’s jaw, mindful of the bandages and tube. “I’m so sorry I ran away. I was scared you would hate me, well you kinda did now-”

Eddie shushed him, “Please stop doing that. I never hated you, I was just mad and now I’m not anymore.”

“Still-” Steve was cut off by Eddie leaning forward, bopping his nose against Steve’s. Eddie made another wince and the two of them waited for whatever pain to subside before Eddie spoke again.

“If you promise to be there every day of my physical therapy and don’t be a dick about my missing eye and whatever of me needs extra care, then your sins will be forgiven.”

Steve gave out a watery laugh, “Easy promise.”

#klaus writes #steddie #stranger things #steddielovemonth #was eddie’s ‘death’ inspired by sarah’s death in tlou? perhaps.#also I may have written this as more loose than the og prompt so hopefully that’s fine

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peterman-spideyparker · 9 months

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Seven Years (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader) (Horses and Zebras 3/4)

Author’s Note: So I wanted to post this earlier in the month, but my phone just decided it wasn't having it anymore and stopped working, and that old phone was where I had a lot of WIPs, and it's just taken me a bit to find the energy to move it from one phone to another and then edit it, but, it's here! This one is angsty, so strap on your sad pants. Enjoy! :)

Summary: It's been seven years since Matt Murdock broke your heart, and it's taken seven years to push all of the feelings for him away. So when he comes to your apartment out of the blue, it tears those wounds right open again--not to mention the huge secret he brings with him.

Warnings: Angst (seven years of bottle up emotion, hurt, tears, emotional conflict/fighting/shouting, sobbing, two broken hearts breaking) canon typical violence (Matt getting seriously beat up in the black suit and passing out on Reader's floor), sweet delicious tension, swearing

Other Characters: OFC

Word Count: 2,955

You tighten the grip on your bat as you carefully walk from your bedroom down the hall to your main living space. You don’t see anyone, and part of you only thinks you were dreaming of it, but the distinct sound of labored breathing confirms that your was right.

Someone’s in your apartment.

Rounding the corner around your sofa, you see a masked man dressed in all black on your floor. As you raise your bat, ready to swing down on him, he speaks to you.

“Wait!” he pants, feebly holding up a bloody hand in surrender. “It’s me. It’s Matt.”

Matt . . . Columbia Matt?

He grunts and groans as he pulls off his black mask, revealing a face that you worked day after day to forget about. You are beyond confused, but you drop your bat, using all your strength and adrenaline to pick him up and place him on the couch. Once he’s settled, you rush over to where you keep your first aid kit, immediately cutting his shirt open and working to take care of him.

“How did this happen?” you breathe after a long while of concentrated work.

“It’s a long story,” he grunts, his face twisting in pain.

You swallow hard, nervous as you think of my next question. “H-How did you find me?”

“That might be a bit of a longer story.”

“Matt.”

“Just . . . I’ll tell you. I swear. But maybe not while you have a needle in your hand.”

Your lips pull into a tight line as you start to suture a large wound, feeling as if he’s just dodging the question. Doing the best you can to keep down all of the old hurt feelings from college, you finish patching him up and cleaning him.

“Rest here for a while,” you say as you take off your gloves and tie off the bag of supplies waste. “I’ll be back in a few hours to changes some of the bandages.”

“(Y/N), wait,” he starts, but you don’t do as he asks, throwing the bag into your kitchen trash before you rush into your room. Once your door is closed, you start to cry quietly, running your fingers through your hair as you try and figure everything out. Why is he here? What’s going on? Why . . . Why did you help him without a second thought? You’re a doctor, that’s why! But that’s not the whole story, you know that. You helped him so readily because he’s Matt. He’s Matt, for God’s sake. No one ever made you feel like how he did back in college. He was kind, compassionate, warm . . . and a two-timer. But is it two-timing if you weren’t even just a couple but more of a hookup?

“What the fuck?” you whisper, whimpering slightly before you collapse on your bed, tears starting to stream down your cheeks.

As you lie in bed, your mind racing a million miles a minute, something urges you to wipe your eyes dry and sit up, moving back to the living room when you hear him grunt in pain.

“You’re pulling at your stitches,” you say quietly, but it’s clear you’ve been crying. “Lie back down so I can change out the gauze.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“Please.”

He swallows, his eyes blinking fast to fight tears as he does what you ask. Carefully, you pull the paper tape back, using clean gauze and cotton balls to soak up the blood seeping through his wounds. He air is charged with seven years of things unsaid and unresolved feelings, but neither of you dare speak it into existence.

“The stubble is a nice look,” you say quietly as you prepare a needle and some sutures to help reinforce what he’s pulled. “There was something endearing about the smooth baby face, though.”

A small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “You’re still using that hand lotion. That special one with the mastic in it your aunt sends you from Greece.”

You’re shocked that he remembers that, but you’re even more taken aback that he can smell it on your skin— you put a little of it on your hands early this morning before your shift today.

“Y-Yeah,” you swallow, doing your best to push down the bubble of emotion ready to burst in your chest. “So . . . Is this a recent hobby of yours? Dressing in black with a mask and getting brutally beat up?”

“(Y/N), you wouldn’t understand.”

“Sure,” you scoff. “What’s another secret, right?”

“Huh?”

You finish tying up his wounds as his brow scrunches.

“Is this . . . This that why you ended things?” he asks quietly. “You thought I was lying to you about something?”

“That’s not a simple question to ask, Matt.”

“But I deserve to know. There were two people in that relationship.”

“I left when there were still two, yeah. It was almost three.”

“What?” he asks with furrowed brows. “Were . . . Were you—?”

“No, Matt, not that,” you say softly, discarding your supplies as you sit down and lean froward, your elbows on your knees whalebone of your thumbs gently strokes the back of your other hand. “There was a girl, she had a really unique rich name . . .”

“Elektra?” Of course he knows. But as soon as the name leaves his lips, his demeanor changes. “What did she do to you?”

“Nothing,” you lie. “I saw the end coming, and I left before I could get burned.”

“You left and you never told me why. Maybe you didn’t get burned, but I did.”

“No, Matt, you didn’t. You didn’t notice. Yes, I completely cut you out, and yes, I stopped talking to you. I didn’t stop talking to Foggy. I heard how you were out gallivanting everywhere with her, throwing everything away for her and the thrill of it. You didn’t miss me for a damn second after I left because I was just a way for you to get an A. You couldn’t have cared less, and I sat and suffered the biggest heartbreak of my life.”

The silence is so thick it could be cut with a butcher’s knife. But you’re not prepared for how fragile Matt sounds when he speaks next.

“You . . . You talked to Foggy?” he cracks.

“I did.”

“Do you still talk to him?”

“S-Sometimes,” you stutter, and you sound just ask broken as he does. “We get coffee now and then.”

You watch as tears glisten in his eyes. “What happened?” he begs softly. “Please, what happened?”

“I told you—.”

“That was a lie, (Y/N). I know it was. Something happened.”

You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “That night, after we slept together, I woke up in the middle of the night. I was so happy, Matt. I was over the moon. Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and it was a bright red thong with a note from Elektra for your ‘next adventure’. It was dated two days before we were together.”

Matt’s tongue peaks out over his lips as he works to processes everything you’ve told him. “If . . . if she wrote a note . . .”

“It was in braille, Matt.”

“You . . . You can read braille?”

“We spent so much time together, I learned it for you. You were important to me, Matt, I wanted to be able to be able to share that with you.”

“(Y/N) . . . “

“Please, Matt—.”

“Elektra wasn’t in the picture while we were together. I promise you. After you left, after I couldn’t get in touch with you, that’s when I met Elektra. That’s when that part of my life started.”

“Then how did those panties and note get in your room?”

“I don’t know. But I swear on my life, my law firm, and my vigilante secret that I didn’t know her while we were together and I don’t know how those got into my room.” He takes one of your hands and places it directly over his heart. “I swear. I could never lie to you.”

“But it didn’t take long for you to start seeing her after we—after I left,” you say pulling your hand back. “How can you say you cared about me that much if you went right into her arms?”

His face contorts in pain. “I was heartbroken! I didn’t know what to do! You switched sections of health law, you wouldn’t answer my calls, I couldn’t find you! I thought something awful happened to you! I thought . . .” He starts to cry in frustration. “I was lost, and Elektra was at least something to focus on, because I had an awful feeling in my stomach that I’d never see you again!”

Hurt and rage mix in you as you listen to his words, how he tries to explain it—how he tries to justify it. “You could have tried to find me! You knew where I lived! Hell, you found me tonight, didn’t you? If you could do it tonight, you could’ve done it then! You could have tried to explain things! You would have fought for me if you actually cared about me!”

The silence is deafening, and you shatter as Matt’s face falls with your last sentence. “Sit here and rest,” you say quietly, your tone far different than what it was seconds ago. “Please, don’t move. I’ll be back in a few hours to change the dressing. I don’t want you pulling at more of your stitches. Anymore than you already have, at least.”

Before you can move away, Matt takes your hand in his. Every last function in your body freezes as you stare down at your hand, completely wrapped in his. It’s warm and comforting, and even with the calloused and scars on his hands, they’re so incredibly soft. His face is fragile and vulnerable as he tilts his head toward you.

“This isn’t . . . I-I have a boyfriend,” you breathe as you pull from his touch. “I have a boyfriend.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“I have a boyfriend,” you repeat, but it doesn’t sound like you're trying to tell him a fact. It’s like you’re repeating it to yourself to remind you that you’re seeing someone so you don’t do anything with Matt.

“Do you feel about him how you did about me?”

“That’s not a fair question.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Matt—.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“No what? You won’t answer, or you don’t feel that same?”

“I could never feel the same about anyone like I did for you.” You finally pull your hand from his as you wipe away the hot tears that fall from your lashes. “You were the love of my life, and I was a notch in your belt.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel.”

“No—you’re saying I didn’t love you. I loved you more than anything.”

“So you loved me so much you waited seven years to get this all out?”

“(Y/N), I told you, I didn’t know what to do when you weren’t with me in the morning. And then after . . . I didn’t know how to go about it all, and the more time passed, the more it felt like I couldn’t do anything. Stop trying to put this just on me.”

“I’m not trying to, I’m trying to figure this out. Words and actions don’t match up. You’re telling me you were broken and lost when you couldn’t find me. Four days later, Foggy tells me you and him crash a party and then you start doing God knows what with Elektra. I could see you on campus, how you acted with each other. How she looked at you and how you leaned into her. There was affection and tenderness and passion—things that I wanted to have with you. I felt every last strand of my soul shatter when I saw you because every time I did, it told me that I wasn’t enough. That there was someone better suited for you than me. Matt, you have to understand where I’m coming with this.”

He closes his eyes and dips his head. “I do. I . . . I wish I could do it all over. But . . . (Y/N), it’s all so complicated. I want you in my life, and I’ve wanted that since the day we met, but I know the reality. My life—even then—if I kept you in it, you would be hurt far worse than a broken heart. I mean, you saw how I came through your window.”

Your throat is thick as you swallow. “So even then, even in Columbia . . .?”

“No. But my past . . . My past followed me to Columbia. I didn’t know it then, but it’s why Elektra came into the picture. It’s why I’m Daredevil now. If you had been with me for any of that—for a second of that, (Y/N)—you would’ve gotten hurt, I’m sure of it. And if you got hurt . . .” It’s his turn to wipe away tears. “I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt.”

“But what if you had told me?”

“It’s not that simple, and I know you know that.”

“I don’t mean a casual sentence drop in a conversation, Matt, I mean an actual discussion where we get to talk everything out, and where you can explain things.”

“Even if I had done that—.”

“I swear if you say it’s more complicated that that, I will slap you.”

His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a sigh. “I’ve already told you, though. I’d expose you to the possibility of getting hurt if we did that.”

“How would that be different than what we’re doing right now, Matt?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but his jaw just hangs, unable to form a sentence because he knows you’re right. He lets out a breath, his eyes blinking rapidly as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips.

“I can count on one hand the things in this world that are most precious to me,” he starts softly, holding up the hand on his good arm. “Foggy, helping others, my faith, and you. If I did something to jeopardize any of those in any way . . . I’d be questioning who I am as a person.” He grunts in pain as he sits up, his labored breathing evidence of his determination to get it all out, and for once in his life be vulnerable to someone that matters to him. “I thought that when you left, maybe it was good, you know? That you could see my red flags before . . . Fuck, I don’t know. And then when I started doing this . . . one night, I just remember thinking over and over, ‘I’m so glad (Y/N) can’t see me like this now. It would kill her.’ Not just my bruises and cuts and scars, but what I became—what I am. Part of myself disappeared after you left. The happiness, the light . . . it started to disappear when I woke up without you in my arms one morning, and I’ve never been able to find it since.”

“Matt,” you breathe.

“I want to find it again. I want to find that happiness I had with you in college. But I can’t find it without you. Being here talking with you, I know that, now. I need you. Don’t go,” he say softly as your noses rest together, your lips extremely close together. “Please don’t go.”

As your brain misfires with his words spinning in your head, his touch intoxicating your senses, he squeezes your hand and pulls you close, pressing a deep, tender, urgent kiss to your lips. He’s begging you not to go, silently pleading for you to change your mind about whatever you’re thinking of that doesn’t involve him.

“I can’t loose you again,” he says against your lips. “Please. I can’t survive that again.”

“Matt . . . This isn’t the right time.”

“It’ll never be the right time. But there’s a reason that I got hurt near you home. There’s a reason why you helped when you could’ve turned me away. There’s a reason that we’re still talking. Please, please don’t go. Stay with me. Let’s . . . Let’s figure this out. Please.”

“You said that you can’t survive loosing me again. But I gain survive getting hurt like that again.”

“I won’t. I swear I’ll never hurt you like that, I’ll never let you get hurt like that again. I just need you.”

It breaks your heart how the tears stain his face, his eyes even puffier from the drops he refuses to let fall, telling you that you hold the last glimmer of hope he has.

“I . . . I—,” you start when your phone begins to ring. Glancing over, you see your phone light up with your boyfriend’s name on the screen. Pulling your hand from Matt’s, you go into the kitchen and pick up.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey, baby,” he says, his words laced with exhaustion. “ER is short staffed.”

“What else is new?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “I’m not getting out of here for a long while. I’ll probably be leaving the ER when you walk into the lobby in the morning, in all honesty. But I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” you hum. “Remember to try and take a rest if there’s a lull.”

“Always looking out for me. Get some rest yourself, babe. I’ll see you.”

“Night, Chris.”

When you turn around, you see that your couch vacant, Matt absolutely no where to be found. Feeling your lip quiver uncontrollably, you drop your phone and fall to your knees, absolutely blubbering, your heart shattering to pieces just like it did all those years ago. Only this time, you’re the one who is left behind.

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dontcareplusthisholeistoosmall · 1 year

Text

soul eater characters + piñata

maka:

told herself she would play it cool (after all, this is a children’s party game) but we all know her well enough to know that’s not going to happen

the first swing is so-so on purpose but a snarky comment from soul awakens a fire in her

the next swings are full power blows intent on destruction

even when it’s not her turn, she makes sure that the rules are enforced (no one can see through the blindfold, everyone is spun around exactly 8 times, etc.)

soul:

insists he’s too cool for this

swings the bat with one hand to prove he just couldn’t care less

this aloof attitude would be convincing if he wasn’t clearly white-knuckling the bat

it’s all fun and games until he hears the first crack then goes apeshit

a lot of the candy is broken but it’s fine

pretends to not want the candy

the entire cycle begins again

black star:

has an insane wind-up strategy

goes the whole nine yards: angling the bat perfect, positioning his body just so, and then………

a swing and a complete miss

well, not complete… he manages to hit soul directly in the brain stem

maka has to pull soul away from his throat

begs for another chance which no one wants to give him

is satiated with a handful of candy

tsubaki:

finds this whole game incredibly sweet and fun

knows that if she manages to crack the piñata, black star will have an aneurysm

is dragged by liz to the candy pile once it’s open

uses her skills to make sure that crona and patty get the best pieces (and to make sure black star doesn’t give himself a concussion)

liz grabs enough candy for her, don’t you worry

insists on taking pictures the whole time (she just loves having little keepsakes and reminders of good times with her friends)

liz:

is the one who ordered the piñata (a rainbow cat)

does silly swings to make patty laugh (and tsubaki too)

is the one to tie the bandana and spin everyone around

almost gets a bat to the face several times

when the candy spills out, she grabs black star by the collar to prevent him from trampling everyone

patty:

begged everyone for weeks to do a piñata

swings wildly in every direction (managing to hit kid directly in the neck)

flies into a blind rage as soon as the first candy wrapper can be seen through the paper mâché

despite everyone’s best efforts, she does draw blood from both soul and black star

steals candy directly from black star’s pockets (he does not notice)

kid:

has studied the art of piñatas and knows their exact weak spots

has calculated the exact angles, speeds, and power needed to open the piñata in three hits

everyone boos him for this

he executes his first two hits exactly and before he can strike on the third, soul and black star shove him, throwing him off his rhythm

he is INCONSOLABLE

and by inconsolable, i mean gripped by animalistic fury

he begins his assault on soul and black star, striking them each eight times in the knees and spines

crona is worried but everyone else finds this HILARIOUS

crona:

has never done a piñata before

is very overwhelmed by the task

maka offered to have them take their turn without the blindfold but they insist they want to do it right

the first swing misses entirely but the rest of the gang cheers them on

the second swing makes contact

the third is harder

ragnarok comes in for the assist on the fourth and the piñata goes flying and opens right up

everyone SCREAMS the instant it opens and they think they did something wrong for a moment

maka takes them by the hand and drags them over to the candy pile, expertly dodging the wild dogs

secretly plans to have a piñata for their next birthday

#soul eater #soul eater anime #soul eater au #maka albarn #soul eater evans #black star #tsubaki nakatsukasa #liz thompson #patty thompson #thompson sisters #death the kid #crona gorgon #soul eater ragnarok

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devilfic · 2 years

Text

❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

IX. from now on.

parts: previously. plot: endings give way to beginnings. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: romance, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, grief, the author only understands so much about medical protocol I’m sorry, minor character death, grief. words: 5.5k.

a/n: well, this is the last chapter. thank you all for keeping up with this series! I’ve had a wonderful time exploring this little world with my bruce and I’m happy to have gotten to share this series with all of you. your enthusiasm and kindness has meant a lot to me. hope y’all enjoy~

You had a memory—shortly before the death of the Waynes—of seeing Wayne Manor for the first time. Of course, by that point, the sprawling mansion was being called Gotham Orphanage and Thomas, Martha, and Bruce Wayne were christening its rebirth on live TV.

You weren’t any different than every other kid in your class for daydreaming about the place. How lucky little Bruce Wayne must have been to have all that to himself! It was a far-off dream for someone like you, but you’d wanted to visit. Just once. Then it burned down on the news and that dream went up in smoke with it.

Now, as you wade through weeds and broken beer bottles that decorate the front yard, careful that you don’t trip in the dark, you realize that childish dream of yours never really died. Bruce is waiting for you in the foyer when you finally get through the door, “I get that you’re a bat and all, but some of us can’t see very well at night.” Before you can clock his reaction, Bruce shines his flashlight directly into your eyes.

“Neither can bats. They use echolocation.” The sound of his voice and his approaching footsteps cut through the blinding light until he’s standing right before you.

“What are we doing here, anyway?”

Bruce follows your line of sight to the broken chandelier overhead casting reflections of light against moldy, torn wallpaper. Shining his flashlight directly on it makes diamonds dance in his eyes, “Research.”

Without further discussion, Bruce turns abruptly and leaves the hallway without you.

You’re quick to catch up, only stumbling on wet, loose debris every few feet. Bruce is always quick to grab hold of you when you lose your footing. “Not that I’m not having fun, but this kinda seems like a job for you and your pal Gordon. I can’t imagine I’ll be much help here.”

“You’ll be plenty,” and then Bruce pushes his flashlight into your hands once you reach the staircase, every other step fractured or chipped off, “point the light up?” You do as told, light landing on a large hole going through the floor of the second story.

“What’re you researching?”

“The manor.”

“Pretty sure this place has a Wikipedia page.”

Bruce cuts his eyes to you and smiles, “I need a closer look.”

When Bruce starts moving to the next room, you obediently follow at a much slower pace. There isn’t much to look at given the history of the manor. Smoke clings to the walls and the architecture is falling apart at the seams, but it fills you with enchantment all the same. You try to imagine what you’d seen in pictures before, and though you know your imagination will never live up to the real thing, you still try.

The next room ends up being a much bigger space. The chandeliers in here are more intact thanks to how high the ceilings reach. If you looked hard enough, you could even make out the detailed cornice all along the ceiling. As for what you can clearly see, chairs are lined up in broken rows; it��s the shell of a movie theater or a common room for the children. But long before that, it was something else, “Was this the ballroom?”

“It was,” his voice is tinged with melancholy, examining the room, “it was much more impressive when I was younger.”

“I bet. Would’ve killed to come to a ball here. Did you guys ever have a chocolate fountain?”

“No, though it wasn’t for lack of requesting.”

You giggle, a younger, more petulant Bruce Wayne appearing in your mind. “Can I ask what you’re researching in here?”

Behind the cowl, you make out a nervous twitch at his brow. “I’ve been seeing your mother.”

You blanch, “I’m sorry?”

Bruce recoils at the sharpness in your voice, realizing his mistake, and he scrambles to fix it, “I’ve been visiting her. In the hospital.”

“Oh... really? She hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

“I asked her to keep it a secret.” At your scandalized reaction, Bruce smiles in what you think is an attempt to be reassuring, “It’s nothing bad.”

“Is it something I’m not going to like?”

“The opposite, actually.”

“That just makes me nervous.” You found it difficult to believe your mother had much to offer someone like Bruce, even more so when Alfred was there. Unless Alfred was in on it too... You couldn’t be the only one out of the loop, could you? Now you were sufficiently unsettled. “Can I know what it is, at least?”

“At least.”

“Bruce.”

“I promise,” and he keeps the humor out of his voice to convince you, sincere, “I can’t leave you in the dark if you’re a part of it.”

“Part of what?” Ideas begin to swim in your head, each more incredible than the last.

Bruce captures the hand that’s closest to him, holding it between both of his own, saying nothing for a moment. You’re glad he isn’t actually a bat; if he could hear your frantic heartbeat, he’d probably have you rooming with your mother in Gotham General until it calmed down... or maybe he’d finally just tell you. You scoot up to his shoulder to see which possibility might win.

“Mayor Reál once told me that I could be doing more for the city, and I’ve been thinking about what Selina said to you. About me doing nothing for Gotham. It didn’t really... hit me, that my name could be anything other than a burden. Your mother gave me some advice on what to do with that name recently. I’ve been working on an idea, and if you’d like, I want you to be part of it.” You notice the slight shake of his hands clasped around your own, though you don’t detect any fear. Nerves, actually. Excitement. He was excited.

You watch, in awe, as he turns his head to meet your eyes, “I’m going to the mayor’s office next week with a proposal: offer rehabilitation to the dropheads seeking shelter in the orphanage, and then tear it all down. And rebuild,” Bruce’s voice trembles, “rebuild everything. Give a new generation of children in Gotham a chance. This time, there will be no mistake. I’ll make sure of it myself.”

“Bruce.”

“And I want you to... do it with me. I’ve been wanting to do some rearranging of Wayne Enterprises anyway, give Alfred a break and put someone permanent in charge. And you can stay as you are, or, if you’d like, I’d like to put you in charge of the finances for the new orphanage. I don’t want that money going to anyone other than those kids. There’s no one I trust more than you for this.”

Well, out of all your incredible ideas, you’d expected nothing close to this.

The orphanage had been a chilling reminder of Gotham’s failure long before it burned down. It’s why it was a graveyard now, a shell of the home it was and was meant to be. At least it being in ruins had been more favorable to the hell it had been before.

But there were people willing to take a chance on Gotham. It might’ve started with a vigilante, but it was trickling down. Mayors, police commissioners, normal people like you. You hadn’t felt this much hope since the dawn of those horrible floods. Not since you realized while watching that soon to be unmasked vigilante- no, hero, standing on that arena rooftop and pulling people to safety, that there could be something more.

“I, uh... Jesus Christ,” your disbelieving laugh draws a nervous one out of Bruce, “you’ve really thought this through. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could’ve helped.”

“I wanted to do it alone. I wanted to be ready.”

It was a large step up from being a CEO’s butler’s personal assistant, and the responsibility of being in charge of something so dear to Bruce and so important to the city was a heavy one. It wasn’t a choice for you to make lightly.

But could you really imagine doing anything else?

“Well... we’ll definitely have to talk more details, of course. I’ll help you proofread everything, and then we’re going to have to meet with the accountants at least once to smooth out the logistics but... yes, I would love to. I would really love to.”

Bruce exhales in relief, swirling the early summer air between your faces, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so big in his life. It’s gone in an instant but his joy still vibrates through his touch. He resembles a younger Bruce in that moment, a Bruce you never got to know before news of the Waynes rocked the nation all those years ago. You can’t help but take his face into your hands and burn it into your memory. You don’t ever want to forget it. “Now, can we continue this research in the light of day, maybe?”

When the mayor’s receptionist instructs you both to take a seat, you run your eyes over the proposal in your hands until each word is printed into your mind, and then you do it a few more times for good measure. “She’s not going to bite, you know.” Bruce points out.

You roll your eyes, “Cut me some slack. I’m meeting the mayor.”

“I didn’t have you pegged as a fan.”

“I’m not,” though, your cheeks go a little hot anyway, “I just think she’s... cool.”

Bruce snorts low in his throat, not even gathering the attention of the receptionist mere feet away, but it’s enough to make your ears burn. “Would you like to pitch the proposal, then?”

“God, no! I’m too nervous to make any sense.” Bruce reaches over and pats the back of your hand, discreet. It’s more than enough to help calm your nerves that little bit. You take a deep breath and try not to leave sweaty fingerprints in the paper you’re holding. “I’ve got to keep my phone on, anyway. The hospital could call.”

“We can reschedule.”

You look at Bruce with wild eyes, “Reschedule with the mayor? You’re crazy.”

“I don’t want to add more stress to your plate,” Bruce answer simply, “and for what it’s worth, I’m sure it went well.”

The surgery had been penciled into your calendar for weeks at this point. With your mother’s illness growing more arduous on her body, she’d been advised to get as much of the malign growth removed before her quality of life plummeted even further. It would be a routine surgery, you were assured over and over, but it hadn’t made you any less nervous. You’d been jittery ever since leaving her behind.

“Yeah,” you murmur, “you’re probably right.”

A solid voice cuts through the moment, just as powerful in a small room as it was on stage in front of thousands. Bella Reál stands in the doorway to her office and gives you both a smile, “Mr. Wayne. I’m glad you could make it.”

Bruce is more than capable of doing all the talking. He’s rehearsed enough on his own, replaying his pitch to you at breakfast and over the phone and in your bed (or his) late at night. He’d repeated it so much that you’d remembered it all word for word, mouthing each sentence as he spoke. He’s nervous and keeps his hands clasped in his lap in lieu of reaching for you, but he does it. By the end of the pitch, Bella is sold.

Somewhere in between discussion of when to break ground and sharing specific costs, you feel your pocket begin to vibrate. Bruce only needs one look from you before you’re excusing yourself into the lobby.

“How’d it go?” You breath out before the nurse on the other line can even get a word in.

It’s Annie, you realize, but only halfway through her sentence when what she’s saying starts hitting you. You can hear her voice quiver as she relays back the standard protocol, “The surgery was successful, but your mother’s condition has worsened. She woke up in an abnormal amount of discomfort, and after some testing, it seems to be due to internal bleeding.”

“Bleeding? Has it stopped?” The receptionist’s eyes cut to you as you stammer.

“We’ve been trying to get her stabilized, and we don’t think the bleeding is severe enough to warrant another operation just yet, but we’ve given her a transfusion and we’ve got her on more fluids to help the process. It would be best if you came by as soon as possible, she wants to see you.”

There are several different thoughts going through your head. The assurance that the situation isn’t as severe as it could be is only comforting to an extent, but the invisible war your mother’s body was fighting left a pit in your stomach. There was nothing you could do to help her but be by her side. There was nothing you could do but hope that she would be fine.

She would. She would make it through. You couldn’t afford to think otherwise.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Thanks, Annie.”

You exchange your goodbyes and barely have the soundness of mind to leave the receptionist with a message for Bruce. She seems frazzled by the suddenness but assures you she’ll pass it on once the meeting adjourns, and that’s all you really have time for before your brain shuts out everything else. You just need to be with her. There would be time for everything else later.

It’s half an hour later when Bruce gets the news.

Life buzzes on about the hospital floor, but it feels lonely standing here, as if room 614 had been carved out of time and space and existed in a separate world to Bruce’s own. Annie doesn’t even spare him a smile, unlike herself, “Hey, Bruce. You can go on in.” His thanks is simple, certain that the nurse is in no shape for conversation, but before he can get the door open, Annie intervenes one last time, “Eline’s peaceful, but... it can be difficult. For family members.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

She gets out of his way then.

Your chair is pulled up to the hospital bed. One of your hands is clasped in Eline’s while she watches the news on its lowest volume, your other tucked against your waist as if you might be sick. Your face, however, is the most lifeless he’s ever seen it. If you felt sick, you didn’t look like you had the heart to care.

You register he’s there when your eyes flit to him, but you don’t make a move to say hello. Eline does, however, smiling, “Took you long enough.”

Instead of bringing his chair to her bedside, Bruce rounds the foot of the bed and hovers behind you, “I considered calling an ambulance for a ride, but I didn’t want to steal the spotlight.” He’s thankful for the comforting sound of Eline’s laugh, “How are you feeling?”

Despite her jovial tone, she’s sickly with exhaustion written deep into the bones of her face. He wasn’t familiar with the slow toll your body failing on you could have; he’d experienced seeing the life sapped out of others in an instant, faces often still full of life even as they went cold. Your mother, on the other hand, looked as if she needed a long, long sleep. “I could be better. How’d the meeting go? Kid told me the mayor loved it.”

At the moment, you didn’t look capable of talking about anything. You continued to stare at your hand intertwined with your mother’s. You move only to breathe. Bruce feels strange sharing good news, “We can break ground starting late June. Maybe sooner.”

You twitch just a little. Your head moves like you intend to look up at him but you don’t complete the action. You continue to stare ahead.

Eline reaches her free hand out to him and Bruce is quick to take it, noting how cold it was. Back when he’d first held it, it had kept his own hands warm. Her touch is no less motherly, but it feels... wrong. All of it feels wrong, “Knew you could do it. I’m telling you, it’s only going to look up from here. First, the orphanage, next... well, who knows?”

“I’d love for you to come see it when it’s all fixed up.” His voice drops low, and those who can hear it are aware of its hopeful undercurrent.

“That’d be nice, huh, kid? You always wanted a look inside that place.” Her prompting doesn’t elicit any response from you. You’re catatonic while Eline looks on, heart visibly breaking a little more with every silent second that passes. Her eyes slowly shift back to Bruce. “It can happen sometimes. Complications in surgery. Doctor said they’ll keep an eye on it, but I just get a feeling. You know?” Bruce can’t say he does, but he nods, “But I think I did pretty good.”

“You did. A star patient, I heard.”

“Not that. I mean... I think I did pretty good for myself. To go out like this.”

Your mother had been dancing around it this whole time, and only now were the words out in the open, the force you needed to break apart completely. Bruce reaches forward and grasps your shoulders as you lurch toward her, body shaking all over, “Don’t say that.”

A stranger could mistake Eline’s expression for one of indifference, but in the few weeks that Bruce had gotten to know your mother, he’d learned of all the layers that lied beneath. It was taking all there was in her not to react to you the way he was sure she wanted to. “It’s not going to get better,” her tone is cruel, forcing reality on you, “I’m weak and it keeps spreading and... how many surgeries can I really afford to have?”

“As many as you need. I would make sure of that.” Bruce insists.

“It’s a waste,” you flinch at your mother’s assertion, “no, no it is. I’m tired. This isn’t going away. The fact I’ve made it this long is a miracle, and I’m happy I made it this long. I’m happy I got to have a wonderful kid. And I’m happy I got to see you grow up. And I’m happy that you’ll be loved even when I’m gone.”

Your head shakes back and forth, muttering to yourself. Bruce has never seen you this way. He doesn’t want to see you this way ever again.

It is just so slow.

When Thomas and Martha Wayne’s lives were taken in front of him, Bruce had skyrocketed through so many emotions. The terror from being cornered, the shock at seeing the gaping wounds, the panic upon realizing he was utterly helpless, and an overwhelming agony as he cried, alone, until he’d screamed himself numb.

Seconds. He’d lost them in seconds. So quickly had his parents been taken from him that details blurred if he didn’t think about them hard enough. What came first? The tears or the rage?

But Eline goes slowly.

It’s between you and Bruce to hold onto hope that she doesn’t have. She murmurs a thought every once in a while, pointing out something on the TV, and hums a broken tune. Bruce watches the TV to give her privacy, his heart racing each time he looks over to see if it’ll be the last time. You alternate between crying and humming along too.

When her vitals plummet, they find what Eline had already suspected. It doesn’t take them long to wheel her away for emergency surgery. The nurses assure you both that it’ll be quick. They know what’s wrong, they know how to stop it. They just need a little more time.

She doesn’t come back.

Comforting in this gentle way doesn’t come easy to him, but it’s almost second nature the way Bruce takes you into his arms and holds you.

It’s the worst feeling in the world. It’s excruciating. He’d always thought it’d be different for you, when it ever came time to grieve, because you’d have time that he never had. You’d had years to say goodbye, as callous as it was to think, so maybe it wouldn’t tear you up so much.

In reality, you cried just like he did, voice cracking after the strain became too much. Bruce remembered how raw his throat had been the next day, barely able to speak, and resists the urge to smooth a hand over your own throat.

You deserve to cry, and you’re allowed to let it hurt.

Bruce Wayne isn’t there for the funeral.

Someone is, but it’s not Bruce Wayne. Throughout the service, you see him at the edge of the crowd, dressed unrecognizably to the untrained eye, flanked by (more recognizably) Alfred and Dory. The few people that inquire of the sinewy stranger can never get close enough to look at him. You don’t blame the little family and friends that waver in the pews, sneaking glances.

He’s the first person there and the last one to leave. Alfred and Dory come to pay their respects together. Dory is a chatterbox complaining about how hectic the traffic was to get here, and Alfred smooths his hands over your sleeves and promises to leave the lights on for you. The only one who doesn’t approach you is Bruce.

Though there’s a feast of a reception going on for a good hour or two after the funeral, he waits outside in the rain until you come around with a slice of cake one of your aunts had made. It was your mother’s favorite. “You sure you’re not hungry? There’s some food left in there.” You ask, peeking under the bill of his Gotham Knights’ baseball cap.

Bruce leans closer in some vain attempt to guard you from the weather, though it’s difficult with his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. Inside, there are still some people lingering around the reception hall laughing over memories they shared of your mother. You notice Bruce’s discomfort and nudge him with your arm, “You’re gonna catch a cold.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

He’d seen you plenty. The first few days—sure—you holed up in your room and left only when necessary. The others shuffled around you, leaving you a breadth of room to be alone. What waking moments that weren’t spent in sorrow were for getting preparations together, and you’d only forced yourself to function recently, but he was always still there: food put away on its own, clothes picked off the floor, things put back in their places when you were sure they hadn’t been before. You’d assumed the lapse in memory was why everything was always just... taken care of.

And then there was the Bat.

You didn’t leave the tower often, but when you did (because you didn’t want to talk, because you needed more time), you’d take solitary walks in the city. You kept your head down the way you’d been taught and stuck to the crowded parts of the city, walking at a speed that kept others from approaching you. Sometimes you did look up though, just because you would get a prickling at the back of your neck that something in the air had shifted.

After all, every rooftop in Gotham is his perch. Your eyes had started to naturally scan where the city ended and the sky began to find him, and it usually only took a glimpse for him to leave. You’d still be registering his cowl against the backdrop of the full moon and he’d already be gone, smoke in the night. In his own way, he took care of you.

Despite his wet jacket, Bruce’s body heat burns through, and you’re quickly reminded of how much you missed touching another body like this. “How are things?”

“Alfred and Dory miss you,” you smile at that, “Mayor Reál sends her condolences.”

“And you?”

You don’t even have to see Bruce’s face to know he’s pink in the cheeks now. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Bruce mulls over your words for a few minutes. Twilight lingers on the horizon, and soon you’d be seeing Bruce off for his nightly duties as the Bat, but you’re thankful he’s in no hurry. “I didn’t want anyone around when it happened to me. Not Alfred, not anyone. Still, he... was always there. Even if I couldn’t see him. Even when I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to do the same. I wanted to wait until you were ready.”

“I... figured.” Bruce shifts lightly, not enough to disturb your head on his shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m ready. But I do miss seeing you. Out of the shadows, I mean.”

Bruce brings one hand out of his pocket and brings you a little closer. Unsure if you’re comfortable with more. You’d think you’d been starved of touch since birth with the way you react to it. “Maybe I’ll... wait in the corner of your room at night until you wake up.”

The very image makes you shiver and laugh. “I’d prefer you just sit with me. Or let me sit with you. I’ll even let you tinker with my car a little more.”

Bruce doesn’t answer in time. People start pouring out of the reception hall as the rain lets up and the sun goes down, exchanging well wishes as Bruce hides his face under the cover of night. By the time everyone is cleared out, twilight has turned into the cloudy, black night characteristic of Gotham. It won’t be long now.

“Bruce, can I ask you for a favor?”

Bruce catches your eyes, breath going still. You don’t know what he thinks you’re going to ask for, but he looks braced for the worst. “Anything.”

“Will you take me for a ride?”

His shoulder relaxes beneath your head. The bike is just across the lot and you walk hand in hand until Bruce situates his helmet on you. You’d insisted once that he be the one to wear the helmet when riding together, though that was shut down with such intensity that you dared never to suggest it again. It did help that he bought you your own helmet days later, though.

You climb on once Bruce settles down, arms finding their familiar place around his torso. You hope he doesn’t mind that you’re holding him much tighter than usual.

With the cheek of your helmet pressed in the spot between his shoulder blades, Gotham flies by in a flurry of lights and sounds. At every stoplight, citizens of the city rush about: some to work the evening shift at a diner, some finally on their way from work, and others just like you—wandering. At every stoplight, Bruce reaches a hand back to your knee. Each time, you snuggle that much closer into him.

You go on for what feels like hours. Perhaps it is. All you know is that Bruce doesn’t take you home until your grip starts to go slack.

You think he might leave.

Instead, once Bruce has settled you under your covers, he crawls into the other side—his side—and waits until you reach for him to hold you.

“Don’t you have patrol tonight?” You whisper.

“Yes.” He replies, hesitant.

Perhaps he knows. There’s no way he hadn’t heard you waking up with night terrors, heard you crying and mumbling in your sleep before your dreams released you. He probably knew already, but it didn’t hurt to ask, “Then... can you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep.”

You can’t see his face with your own concealed against his chest. You can only hear his very steady heartbeat thumping in a peaceful tune, one single breath his answer, “Okay.”

The night terrors make it hard to fall asleep on your own, but you’re out within minutes and hope that at least you won’t wake to him pulling away. You don’t think you can handle tonight alone.

But morning comes, and there are no night terrors, and Bruce is still holding you in the same position you’d fallen asleep in. The certainty that this was no mistake on his part is enough to lull you back to bed. Sleep is the most peaceful it’s been all week.

2 months later.

“Careful, whole place is a mess right now. You’ll need one of these.”

A hardhat is passed into your hands seconds before the construction worker abandons you to help tear down a nearby wall, though you don’t struggle to find where you’re going in the daylight. The last time you’d been here, you might as well have been trekking through the set of a horror movie.

It’s not much prettier than before, but it’s definitely a start.

You’re careful not to get in anyone’s way, what with wooden planks being marched through hallways and sawdust flying in every direction. Most rooms are flush with busybodies tearing away at the diseased parts of the house, and others are storage rooms of material you’re not qualified to touch, but none of them seem to have what you’re looking for. If you tried calling out for him, your voice would barely carry over the bustle.

You really shouldn’t be surprised about where you do find him.

Alfred stands at his side, hands politely tucked behind his back as they examine the ceiling of the ballroom. You hear the butler muttering something that makes Bruce look eager to shut him up. Luckily for him, he spots you then. A smile that had become more commonplace on Bruce’s face is what greets you first, “Well? What do you think?”

You cross the large hall and kick up dust as you go, “Very industrial. What with all the uh... construction.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, “Besides that.”

“It’s got a lot of potential. I can’t imagine what it’ll look like in a few months. Hell, I can’t imagine what it’ll look like when kids are running around in here.”

Alfred smiles, “I can, though a distant memory.”

A lightbulb goes off behind your eyes. “Oh yeah, Dory told me Bruce was a very... active child in here.” At the same time, the light goes out of Bruce’s eyes.

Before Alfred can get any ideas of adding in his two cents, Bruce very unsubtly guides you by the small of your back to another part of the ballroom.

Despite the joy in his features, you couldn’t ignore how tired he’d been looking recently. With his nightly duties and getting the orphanage up and running, you’d found Bruce to be more of a weighted blanket in bed than a partner. You didn’t blame him; you did worry, though.

Your hand naturally finds the curve of his jaw, fingertips brushing where his hair had grown back out again. With Alfred busy training his successor, he hadn’t had the time to trim it out of Bruce’s eyes, but you couldn’t say you were in a hurry for him to get it under control. Sentimental, you were. “It’s amazing, Bruce.”

Your assurance doesn’t penetrate as deeply as you’d hoped. “Wish I’d done it sooner.”

“You needed time to get to a place where you could do it right. Could you imagine trying to get something like this done under Mitchell? Absolutely not.” Bruce looks past you, still not entirely convinced, but you gently guide his gaze back to you, “And you’re not the same Bruce you were before. Everyday, you’re getting better. You’re learning. You can’t rush that.”

A vulnerable look crosses his face. His warm, stubble-ridden cheek leans into your palm searching for more comfort and you gladly give it.

You still can’t quite wrap your head around where the two of you have ended up. Watching Gotham shift alongside the man responsible for so much of its metamorphosis often felt more like fiction than fact. More than that, though: it felt hopeful. While you didn’t imagine Gotham would ever be “perfect”, its baby steps were a welcome change. “You’re doing a good job, Mr. Wayne. Your parents would be very proud of you.”

Bruce shuts his eyes, “Thanks.”

“I’m very proud of you.”

Bruce’s eyes reopen just a smidge, hooded eyelids revealing only blue half-moons, and he turns his cheek just far enough to press a tender kiss to your palm. Another way of saying thank you.

“By the way, what was Alfred saying to you before I came in? You looked kinda peeved.”

Bruce groans, pulling you closer by the hand until your elbow rested on his shoulder, “He kept insisting we invest in a ballroom for the tower.”

“Whatever for?”

“Something about... how I should’ve kept up with my dance lessons as a kid. He’s convinced I could’ve been a dancer in another life.”

A silly grin breaks out on your face. “You’re still a good dancer. I recall us dancing on my kitchen counter, on the kitchen floor, in my childhood bedroom-”

Bruce pulls you all of the way into him to shut you up with a kiss, indignant as he was, though Alfred was too far away to have even heard any of that. Out of curiosity, you peek open an eye to look in the old man’s direction.

You’re met with his usual, knowing smile. Perhaps it’s best you don’t ask.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman imagine #the batman #battinson x reader #mjwrites #this is also absolutely named after the song that plays during edward and bella's honeymoon in breaking dawn

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 year

Note

on a scale of 1 - 10 what would you say the alcohol tolerance of the characters in FnF are.

2 - Caitlyn: She isn't a fan of drinks, and even at social functions, tends to eschew the champagne for a tall glass of water. Sometimes if there is wine served at her family's dinners, she'll take a few sips, make appreciative noises about the label/year, then put the glass on a maid's tray when nobody's looking. The staff know the young miss dislikes spirits, and the nicer ones will sneak her a fresh juice at her mother's parties.

4 - Jayce: Like Caitlyn, he's not too fond of strong drinks. Champagne just goes up his nose, and the hard stuff makes him queasy after a few sips. At galas, he'll snag a glass of champagne - and then proceed to hold on to it for the duration of the night so nobody tempts him with refills. On the rare occasions he partakes too much, he's a friendly but somewhat pensive drunk. Will ruminate at length over his Hex-tech projects, science, magic, philosophy, the human condition - and his mom. Awww.

6 - Viktor: Undercity-born and bred, so he's had his share of gutrot hooch when growing up in the Fissures. Has better tolerance than Jayce, and sometimes monitors his science-buddy's intake to make sure he doesn't fall asleep facedown in some caustic solution. On principle, he is a teetotaler. Not only would booze exacerbate his poor health, he's generally at once drunk and high off the adrenaline of his and Jayce's projects. If he breaks his own rule and actually gets drunk, you'd best leave him alone. He's a quiet, bitter, irritable mess who just wants to lament his fickle mortality in peace.

7 - Jinx: Likes the fruity concoctions and cocktails, and can knock 'em back like a pro - but she isn't allowed a lot of opportunity to partake, because 1) Silco orders his crew to keep watch over her intake, and 2) having grown up in a bar, she doesn't find alcohol a huge novelty. Mostly, she sees liquid cheer as something losers need to give them courage. She's already got plenty. Not to mention loads of heavy artillery, all which requires a cool eye and a steady hand. She'll stick to her favorite cherry soda in her favorite sippy cup, tyvm.

8 - Vi: She's not much of a drinker. Like Jinx, having grown up in a bar, she also doesn't find alcohol hugely interesting. In many ways , the opposite: she's watched people get belligerent and make absolute jackasses of themselves while drunk. If invited to a night of drinking, she'll indulge in moderation, then quickly go into 'designated driver' mode and begin watching her companions' intake. Booze isn't bad for a little buzz, but she hates having to break the seal and go pee every twenty minutes.

9 - Silco: This man grew up drinking absolute poison. By this point, either his liver is made of steel - or on its last legs. That said, he's more of a casual drinker; he can go without alcohol if necessary, but nicotine is his real vice. Has an appreciation for top-shelf whiskeys, and the rare vintage wine - but in a pinch he'll drink the same swill as everyone else in the Lanes without batting an eyelid. Best stop him from getting drunk though. He's prone to rants full of billingsgate and general belligerence. Might threaten to gouge out someone's eye with a broken bottle right before he blacks out.

9 - Mel: Has a surprising tolerance for strong drink, and enjoys using them to smooth tempers and sweeten temperaments during galas and negotiations. A little liquid cheer enhances a good verbal spar in her experience. That said, she prefers high-end wines and will turn up her nose at hard liquors and beers. She also prefers to drink in moderation, so it's very rare that you'll find her tipsy, let alone drunk. On the rare occasion that it happens, she'll get somewhat quiet and melancholy, and want to go paint by herself.

10 - Sevika: An enigmatic well of a woman. Booze goes in. Nothing comes out. Not words, not tears, not tantrums. She's been known to drink the toughest comrades under the table, then shrug it off and go shoot pool or enjoy a round of darts. She's also the person the crew summon when Silco threatens to get too deep into his cups. He'd never tolerate being bodily hauled up to his quarters. But she can match him shot-for-shot and take his invective in stride, until he subsides into sleep. (She'll treat herself to his fine cigars afterwards. The next day, Silco will pretend he doesn't notice they're missing.)

#asks #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane sevika #arcane silco #arcane mel #arcane jinx #arcane jayce #arcane viktor #arcane vi #silco #vi #jinx #sevika #mel medarda #jayce talis #viktor #arcane headcanons #arcane headcanon

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bees--in-my--bones · 1 year

Text

Silver Linings - Terry Silver Part 1 of 7

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

----- / Chapter 2

Character: Terry Silver x female reader

Summary: Terry has been spending far too much time away from home, and you've had enough of the dojo taking up all his time.

Warnings: fighting, manipulation, mention of cocaine, mention of violence, fade to black scene, but really nothing too crazy (surprisingly)

Word Count: 3400

A/N: This man makes me so insane. This was meant to be a one shot that went a little differently but I ended up outling a seven part series. oops. keep an eye out for those. anywho I've been reading a lot of @terrence-silver 's stuff and I just wanna tell you right now that's where the good Terry Silver writing is. I literally wrote that sentence then got distracted for 20 minutes looking at their blog. but anyway they characterize him far better than i ever could but here's my shot at it

While you didn’t appreciate being treated as an assistant, your husband had that glint in his eye that you knew all too well. He was planning something, and whether it be trying to get a leg up on a rival businessman or purely just to spite someone, you knew better than to get in his way. Best to let him have his fun, and it would all blow over in a few weeks at the most.

-----

Terry had come to you only a few days ago with a request: Clear out the house and have the staff get to work. You were hosting a charity auction.

So had you sent Dorothy, your personal assistant, off to make arrangements with the head of household staff, and kept your mouth shut. Terry had been on edge more often lately since getting back into Cobra Kai, so you were positive that a more passive approach to his sudden burst of charity was far better suited to the situation. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if this whole thing had something to do with his dojo. Most things did nowadays.

Unfortunately, you were right.

You hid your surprise and annoyance when Daniel LaRusso himself showed up on your doorstep, silently observing the fear on his face from your spot on your husband’s arm, as the karate champion turned car salesman turned sensei realized exactly whose home Eva Garcia had thrown her charity event at.

Again, you kept a stony facade when Terry outbid everyone for Daniel’s bonsai trees, then took the opportunity to spin another spiel about Cobra Kai’s expansion.

And no one would have guessed that you had even registered Daniel LaRusso’s outburst, the one that caused Terry to fall into the bonsai trees and send them flying, more than likely egged on by your husband himself, had you not leaned over to Dorothy with a murmured instruction.

“Have someone clean those up. I want them in my office. And place an order for a book on the care and keeping of bonsai trees.”

Weaving through the crowd, you made your way to Terry, who now had a considerable amount of dirt on his jacket, but was standing. Eva Garcia was fawning over him, trying to ensure that he hadn’t broken anything. You nearly laughed at the thought of your husband being “frail” in his old age, but that seemed to be the front he had decided to put on.

Silently, you took his hand and led him away from the party. You took him to your room, where you slipped his now dirt-covered jacket off of him and made him sit on the edge of the bed. He obeyed every prompt from you without a sound, eyes watching intently as you moved across the room and into the closet, emerging shortly after with a different coat.

You set it on the edge of the bed, then grabbed a brush from the nightstand. You slipped the ponytail off of his frazzled hair, which was met with some protest, but you batted his hand away, and he was silent after that.

Gently, you combed out the tangles and the frizz, and you felt him relax under your touch. You did this daily, and you couldn’t deny that the trust he put in you to take care of him filled you with pride, even if it was as simple as brushing his hair. “Do you want your hair back up?” you asked him, the first thing you had spoken this entire time.

“Yes,” he answered bluntly, and although you missed the days that he more often let his long hair flow more freely, the way it gently curtained his face when he looked down at you, you obliged, expertly smoothing his locks back into his signature ponytail. Not that you cared all that much anyway. You had fallen in love with him with the ponytail, and you genuinely didn’t think he could do anything that would make him less attractive.

“I’ll be outside,” you told him, intending to leave him to put on the suit jacket himself, and effectively avoid rejoining the party at his side. But when you began to walk away, you had barely even made it a few steps before he grabbed your wrist and stood up in one smooth motion, pulling you into him.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “What’s bothering you?”

So he could tell you were upset. You weren’t surprised. After all, you hadn’t tried too hard to hide it.

“Nothing’s bothering me,” you replied. You smiled your best fake smile and took his hand in yours.

He seemed skeptical, but did not argue. You turned to face the mirror, and he turned with you. The both of you were dressed in a matching deep blue, an undeniable team.

"Thank you for making the arrangements for today," he said in a gentle voice you had only ever heard him use with you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. "It's going exactly as well as I hoped it would have."

You felt a twinge in your stomach at that statement, which was practically a confirmation that the whole point of today had been to interfere with Daniel and Amanda LaRusso. But you didn't dare let your smile drop as you stretched up to his face to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Anything for you. But we better get back."

He looked away from the mirror, and his eyes softened as they found you once more. "Right as always, my love." He took the lead, and the two of you returned to the party as one.

It wasn't long before you were separated again, though, called in different directions.

You played the part of the passive bystander well, you knew that. But you were an observer, and at that point, you were positive you knew exactly what was happening. And with your husband’s observation skills being as keen as your own, you knew you had a matter of minutes to enact the plan slowly forming in your mind. Grabbing two flutes of champagne off of a passing tray, you made your way over to Eva Garcia.

The glass of champagne outstretched, you gave her your most dazzling smile. “How are you liking the accommodations Ms. Garcia?”

She accepted the drink, her friendly smile matching your own. “Thank you, Mrs. Silver. Your home is wonderful, and we're so grateful you and your husband were able to put this on with such short notice.”

“Of course!” you said, briefly touching one of your hands to hers. “We were positively honored to do so. But between you and me, I did far more of the work than Terry did,” you said with a wink.

She laughed. It was a lie. You had given one instruction and Dorothy and the rest of the staff had taken care of it. But that’s not a story that added very much to your little game, and creating some sort of friendly solidarity with Garcia was your main goal.

“You both have been very generous hosts,” Eva responded politely.

“A little too generous if you ask me,” you replied. This was the most pivotal part of the conversation. Screw it up here and it all went out the door. You raised your glass to your lips, eyes darting quickly around the room. Terry hadn’t spotted you yet. Good.

“Whatever do you mean?” Eva asked, her brow furrowing.

You sighed. “In all honesty, I think my husband only wants a spot on the board. I mean, the hosting on such short notice, the overbidding at the auction, the bit of theatrics he pulled with Daniel LaRusso… They’ve been rivals for some time now, of course.” You swirled the champagne around in your glass. “Probably just wants a tax writeoff.” You shrugged and took another, conspicuously large drink of the alcohol. Eva blanched, and you knew you had her. The host’s wife, slightly tipsy, slightly bitter, and loose of lip. Like always, you played your part well.

“Mrs. Silver, if I understand you correctly,” Eva began hesitantly, but allowing her curiosity to get the better of her, “you believe Mr. Silver would not be suited to be on our charity’s board?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be a very good wife if I said it quite that frankly…”

She nodded, but her voice was still unsure when she spoke again. “I suppose I’ll have to take what you said into mind, but I can’t overlook the generous contributions Mr. Silver has already made to our group. With him on the board-”

“Two million dollars, right now, if you cut all contact with my husband and his corporations. I don't care who the position goes to.”

In all honesty you would choose Amanda LaRusso, out of spite, but you didn't want to sully her name with your bribery.

Eva’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Silver! What kind of game are you playing?”

You looked her dead in the eye. “My husband is playing ringmaster right now, and everyone at this party is a clown in his circus. I simply want to throw my own hat into the ring. I don’t know what his plan is, or why he’s doing it exactly, but I have been married to that man long enough to know when he’s manipulating someone, and he’s manipulating the hell out of you right now. I’m offering you a chance to get away from his scheming, with an extra two million dollars to boot.”

She set her mouth in a firm line. You could tell she was a woman of high morality, but two million dollars was two million dollars. “I would have to consider it.”

“That’s all I ask,” you replied. You took a business card out of the pocket of your dress. “My assistant’s number is on here. Call her when you've come to a decision.”

“Mrs. Silver I-”

“My darling!” A deep voice interrupted her, and a moment later you felt a kiss on your cheek. Turning, you met Terry’s eyes and your face broke into a grin. Despite your suspicions and scheming, you did love the man. You wouldn’t have married him otherwise.

“My love,” you responded, and placed a kiss on his cheek in a similar fashion. Your gazes did not leave each other for a tense moment. To an outside observer, it was impossible to tell whether you were sizing each other up or simply swept away in a moment of romantic passion. You didn’t quite know yourself.

“My apologies for the public display of affection Ms. Garcia,” Terry said, snapping his attention toward your guest and away from your eyes, but not without snaking an arm around your waist. “I got a bit excited at the sight of my wife. I feel as though I've hardly seen her today.”

Or at all lately, you thought. Not with all your Cobra Kai bullshit.

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Silver,” she replied. She seemed, for the most part, casual, but you could hear a hint of tightness in her voice. “You two make a lovely couple.”

Terry grinned at this, and you smiled politely. “Thank you very much, Ms. Garcia. Y/N is nothing short of the light of my life.” A small squeeze of your waist as he said this. Threatening or affectionate? Who could tell?

“I trust you’ve been enjoying the party?” Terry continued. “We worked hard to put it all together, but I do think we pulled it all off well.”

Eva glanced at you. “Yes, the whole organization is very appreciative.”

“Truly, it was our pleasure,” your husband responded. “Now, I do apologize for this, but do you mind if I steal my beautiful wife away? Some friends were asking for her.”

“Of course,” Eva replied, some of the tension dropping from her shoulders. “Thank you both again.”

With a nod Terry guided you away from her. “What did you talk about with Eva?” he asked. His tone was light, and with anyone else in the world, it may have sounded like casual conversation, but you knew Terry Silver better than you knew anyone, and you knew that he was suspicious.

“I was chatting you up,” you replied. “You wouldn’t have put this event on without some sort of goal in mind, so I figured I could put in a good world for you. Talk about the work we’ve done together.”

“You don’t believe that I did all this out of the goodness of my heart?”

You laughed. “That would be the day, Terry.”

“Hm,” was all he said after that, a faint smile on his face. Unfortunately, Terry Silver also knew you better than he knew anyone, and there was a very good chance that he knew you were lying. But he said no more on the subject, although you noticed he had plenty of excuses the rest of the day to be sure that you stayed by his side.

—--

You hadn’t had the chance to talk to Eva again, Terry, however subtly, had made sure of that, but you were fairly certain you didn’t need to. You had seen the look in her eyes when Terry approached you, and you knew that giving her the impression of a sleazy businessman with a wife who offered bribes would be plenty to keep Terry away from that organization. Whether she actually took the bribe or not was inconsequential to you, so long as she got the idea that getting involved with Terry Silver would be getting involved with a lot shadier practices than she first thought.

You sat on the couch in your living room, sipping on some tea before bed. It was a serene ending to a hectic day. Your serenity was soon disrupted, however, by Dorothy, who entered the room, clipboard in hand.

“Is everything alright, Dorothy?” you asked. “It’s awfully late.”

“Mrs. Silver, you’ve just received a call from Eva Garcia. She says that she’s decided to accept your offer.”

“Hm.” you said, slightly surprised that she did accept after all. “Dorothy, first thing tomorrow morning I need you to set up a transfer of two million dollars to Ms. Garcia’s charity accounts.”

“Yes ma’am,” she replied, scribbling down the note on her clipboard. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dorothy.”

She made a quick exit, and you set your tea on the coffee table, laying back down on the couch, shutting your eyes with a contented sigh. It did feel good to win, even if it was against your husband.

Footsteps entered the room. “Dorothy?” you asked, not looking up. “Is there something else?”

“Not Dorothy,” a deep voice reverberated in the otherwise quiet room, causing your eyes to snap open as you quickly rose once more to a sitting position.

“Terry! It’s past one a.m.! Where did you go?”

He smiled his ever-placating smile. “It was just a small late night session with a few of my senseis. I needed to prepare them with some new techniques for tomorrow’s classes.”

Your brow furrowed and you turned from him, now sitting facing straight ahead. “Yes, the dojo. Why bother asking when that’s always the answer?”

He sat down beside you, and ever so gently took your chin into his hand, guiding your face back to look him in the eyes once more. You saw only love in them. His hand didn’t leave your face, and he stroked your cheekbone tenderly as he spoke.

“I’m afraid that’s true, my love, which is why I’m glad you’ve waited up for me. We see so little of each other these days. I have a vision for these children, for the dojo, for our very methods of karate, a vision that has regrettably taken my time away from you.”

Slowly, almost mournfully, he drew you in closer, placing a sweet kiss upon your lips. Even all these years later, you still felt the same butterflies, the same rush of heat to your face as you did the very first time he kissed you. Which is probably why you didn’t register the slow subtle movement of his hand down the side of your face, didn’t notice as his fingers wrapped around your throat.

His grip was as gentle as could be, his hand merely resting there, as he broke the kiss, but the threat was clear. His eyes, tender only moments before, were now cold as ice.

“You forget how long I’ve known you, my love. I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

You placed your hand onto his, deftly moving it so that your fingers interlocked. You had neutralized his “threat” but the message was still there. “What do you mean?” you asked. Better to deny until you couldn’t deny anymore.

“Eva Garcia. You paid her off.”

You took some silent offense to his accusation, however true it may be. “What makes you say that?”

“I had my suspicions this afternoon, but Dorothy is quite loud. Loud enough to confirm those suspicions at least. I could hear your discussion from the entryway.”

“Damn,” you whispered, averting your eyes.

He pulled you in close, the gesture forgiving, even if he was upset. “Why did you do it, beloved?”

Because none of that matters, you wanted to say. None of the scheming and manipulation mattered if it meant that Terry cared more about the dojo than you. What mattered was that you were in his arms, he was so close to you, and he was looking at you, really looking at you, in a way that he hadn’t in months. All it took was one “My love,” one hint of the old Terry to send your defenses crumbling.

You buried your head in his chest and his arms wrapped tighter around you to hold you closer. “I just miss you. And I hate Cobra Kai.”

“You what?” came his reply, his tone dangerously low, not at all the comforting sound you would have hoped for.

“I hate that damn dojo and Danny LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence and John Kreese and all of it, because it’s taking you away from me and I don’t know what’s happening to you.” You looked up at him, placing a hand on his cheek. “What happened to the sweet Terry that played piano in the mornings and saved the scheming and manipulation for business deals instead of wasting all that energy on a bunch of children?”

His face shifted into what you could only call a sneer. “That Terry was a facade. He let the world tell him who he had to be. I’m finally me again, darling.” A bitter laugh. "I was about to start a mindfulness app with some millennial internet personality for God's sake."

“And I forgive you for that!”

He gripped your shoulders tightly. “I’m alive in a way I haven’t been since Cobra Kai in the 80s.”

“You told me you were on cocaine back then!” you exclaimed. You looked into his pupils trying to see if they were dilated. Not being able to discern anything, you rushed pushed yourself off of the couch and rushed to your bedroom. Terry only sighed and followed after you. You dashed to his nightstand and began rifling through its drawer. “Please tell me you aren’t on something, Terry.”

He took your hands into his own and shut the drawer, effectively calming the frantic state of your body, but not of your mind. “I’m not on anything.”

“Are you just telling me what I want to hear?”

“You’re the one person in this world that I could never lie to.”

“Then promise me something, right now.”

“Anything, my love.”

“Just… be here. Even when you're here, it’s like you’re not here. Do your karate crap, destroy your enemies, truly, I don’t care, but I can’t keep going like this. I need you.”

You saw the beginnings of a smile on the edge of his lips when you said that, and you knew that you had said the right thing. If there’s one thing your husband enjoyed, it was the idea that you needed him above all else.

Suddenly his hands were gripping your waist, tense and itching to move lower, and although his face was only inches from yours, you could see how wide his grin was. “What do you say I prove it to you right now?” he asked, slowly backing toward the bed.

You gave no verbal reply, only captured his lips in a heated kiss before succumbing to him completely.

-----

A/N: I don't write smut, but I just want to say, smut definitely happened.

----- / Chapter 2

#terry silver x reader #terry silver imagine #terry silver x you #cobra kai x reader #karate kid x reader #cobra kai imagine #karate kid imagine

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beautifulhigh · 1 year

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Since we’re all up in the feels today (thank you @queen-saltyfries for this!) then lemme just go off about how TK utterly changes in the space of a handful of episodes, and that is no mean feat.

We meet this kid, seemingly loving life and living the dream. He has this impressive rescue of the winder cleaner from the Chrysler Building, he’s about to propose to Alex (he’s bought a ring! Boy is serious!), he’s got this cute lil’ smile and he’s adorable. He’s nervous but that’s normal, right? He’s taking after his father, making big swings, grand gestures. Go big or go home seems to be the Strand way.

And then he crashes. Big time. RIght in front of us. We get exposition in two scenes showing us that behind this façade we have an addict whose boyfriend is in love with someone else and he had his heart broken to the point of relapse.

It is established for us, right off the bat, that TK Strand is not a hesitant kind of man. He rolls right up to that ledge without a second thought, he’s clearly planned the proposal to make it really special, and when he relapses there’s no hesitation there either. (More on that later.)

But when he goes to Texas with Owen he takes the time to rebuild himself. He isn’t hesitant with Carlos (”I recall the fifteen minutes after we first met.”) and it’s all fun and games - until it’s not. And TK gently shows a piece of the real him in 1x03 when he tells Carlos about his addiction. The 126 don’t even know yet, his brothers and sister in arms, and yet he tells this cop he’s been hooking up with and he’s “not looking for this” with him. Up to that point TK has been going right up to that ledge Carlos and enjoying the thrill of it but he’s been keeping anything real at arm’s length. He did real, it ended in a ring and some pills. But in the moment when Carlos calls him out on “doing something so suicidal” it strikes home. He sees the pattern and he sees that Carlos sees the real him and so he breaks the cycle - something I don’t think Owen has ever managed to do, but that’s another meta.

TK changes on a dime, having established one character he then becomes something else. Something a little less rash, impulsive. He’s still that guy who shoots from the hip - he blows up at Carlos in 2x08 because of his own insecurities (although Carlos isn’t blameless) and he blows up their relationship between seasons 2 and 3 because of his own insecurities (although Carlos again isn’t blameless), but he comes back each time. Right up to the conversations in 3x13 where he stays every time. He doesn’t walk away from the table and he doesn’t cut off the conversation on the couch.

He looks to be better. He fails sometimes, but he tries. He is honest with Carlos in 1x10 that he doesn’t know what he wants instead of stringing him along which would have been the easier option. But he knew Carlos was catching feels, he wasn’t sure about the feels he was catching, and so he took a step back to think about it. This time walking away was a good thing - something he should have done with Alex when he realised he was being so distant. TK is learning when to stand, when to walk, when to talk and when to listen.

Even when he stands on the ledge of a full on relapse in 3x08 we see hestitation. He’s laser focused when he gets to the firehouse: he gets changed, he grabs the pad, and he’s right into the ambulance. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, do not stop for red lights until he has the vials in his hand. That moment when it becomes real, he hesitates. He’s not pocketing them right away and acting like nothing’s wrong (and he certainly had enough time to do that before Owen found him). I’d like to think that he realises that the impulsive side of him is winning out and that a part of him doesn’t want it to.

In the first half of 1x01 TK seems like the kind of guy who has everything going for him: good at his job, getting to do impressive rescues, a seemingly serious relationship, and it’s all crashed down around him by the halfway point. The TK who dances with Carlos at the end of 1x01 is not the same TK we met in that elevator in the Chrysler building. But he also kinda is. He’s impulsive, but he’s not all in. He cares but he’s cautious. Big gestures in small moments - because you can’t tell me telling Carlos about his relapse isn’t him going “here, this is the heaviest part of me” and Carlos goes “well if you want or need a hand carrying it let me know” like it’s nothing when it’s everything TK has ever wanted.

And in 3x18 he is impulsive again, but it comes from a realisation he had in 3x13. He knows he’s going to marry this man, he wants to marry this man, and he can’t wait any longer to ask the question. He stays when Carlos tries to deflect, assuring that “it’s not drama, it’s love - the kind you can’t get away from”. He’s fearless in a very different kind of way. He’s rescued himself in an impressive way, starting a sobriety journey twice over with love and support. He’s about to propose to this man (they own property together!). He’s not nervous, but why would he be? His heart is on the bed between them, right with Carlos’ in their joined hands, and while it’s thousands of miles - literally and figuratively - from where we met TK in the pilot, it’s also him.

And I’m just in awe of how much he’s changed and how much he hasn’t.

#idk what this is #I just word vomited onto a post #so have my thoughts #there are more where they came from #overthinking jen is overthinking #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star #911ls #tw: addiction #tw: relapse #tw: drugs

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batrogers · 8 months

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hello bat

ask prompt: hateno biting ordon bc ordon told him to stop eating his hair? (u bribed me to finish my chem hw)

You are correct! Lemme see what I can do... (Characters are from my own Linkverse, That Broken Promise)

IIII

The first time Ordon got on his nerves, it didn't seem like a problem. They were walking, following Rabbit, Prince and Kokiri as they argued about campsites and where they thought they were, and he'd been boredly twisting his hair around his finger. In an idle gesture, his hair went between his teeth and he reached down for Purah Pad to check his supplies, and someone jerked on his hair.

He let go; of course he let go, because he turned and levelled a flat, angry stare at Ordon.

The other man just laughed. "Sorry, its habit with my kids. You don't need to keep doing that, you're gonna get a hairball."

"I don't care how many kids you have," Link said. "Don't touch my hair. I can chew on it if I want to."

That should've been it. He was irritated the rest of the walk, and fell back to talk about mechanical things with Smith and Skyloft, who was more than happy to show off his beetle to his fascinated audience, all of whom had opinions on how it was constructed.

They made it all the way to dinner without more problems, and then, while he watched the meat sizzle, absolutely no thoughts in his mind at all, he felt the tug again.

The spoon, hot grease and all, smacked into Ordon's arm with a crack.

"Ow!"

"I'm not your kid! Stop doing that!"

"Ordon, he holds things in his mouth all the time," Skyloft pointed out. "It's probably useful."

"It's just when its his hair."

"Who cares?" Link could hear Ordon considering another argument, and Skyloft cut him off. "I have kids, too."

The fact that he was easily as old as Ordon himself, Link thought, didn't come up because he was unfortunately one of the smallest of their group, one who looked younger no matter what he did.

"Next time," Link said, without looking up, "I'm gonna just bite him."

Skyloft shrugged. "Seems fair enough to me."

There wasn't a next time; around the time the food finished, and everyone had eaten and was resting, Prince started sword practice as he usually did most nights. Most of them were in the habit: a good third had formal training, and another third had learned the hard way. Link hadn't joined in so far; he was still a little uneasy about how well he'd adjusted to being suddenly and forcibly left handed now.

But this time, Prince actually caught his attention. "Hateno, why don't you and Ordon have a go?"

Link paused. He hadn't realized Prince had caught them, but he should've known better. Prince was used to command; he would know to watch for fights. Pitting them against each other sparring was one way to get them to sort it out.

He got up and went over with a slightly wry look, running his fingers over the Purah Pad to pick his sword. Ordon had his own, and as far as Hateno could tell, he had no idea what Prince was doing.

That was his problem. Link eyed him for a minute, recalling what his fighting style was like, and Ordon smiled winningly.

"Do you not want a shield?"

In response, he flexed his right wrist, and blue light arced out from the back of his green stone arm. He could explain: this way, it absorbed impact and reduced what he felt at his shoulder and the risk of it triggering phantom pain, but he didn't bother. The moment Ordon nodded and settled into guard, Link rushed him.

The swords met, briefly, until Link's caught the guard on his sword and wrenched it form his unprepared hand. Ordon swore and jerked back in shock.

"Shit! You're fast."

"Thanks," Link said. "Again?"

Completely unfazed, Ordon agreed. "Yeah, sure."

He wasn't unfazed when, three tries later, Link had disarmed him or gotten first blood every time. If he'd been feeling kinder, more charitable, he'd have let the bouts go normally, let Ordon practice... but that wasn't why Prince had suggested this, and he meant to take advantage.

As Ordon pressed a bandage to his cut arm, Link vanished his own sword to let someone else go and smiled sweetly his way.

"Think you'll remember I'm not a kid now?"

#ask games #Yes I do reward homework achievements #congrats!#flash fiction #requests #LOZ #ToTK #LOZ: TP #Twilight Princess #Tears of the Kingdom #Another Linkverse #My Linkverse #hair chewing #stimming #my writing #LOZ fanfiction #fanfiction

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farfromstrange · 2 years

Text

Foreigner's God: Chapter 9

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC

Chapter Summary: Stress can be a trigger for so many things, there is at least some truth in that statement. Whether good things come of it, that's to be determined. Or in other words, Eliza is pretty sure she has lost her mind, Matt looks like he's been run over by a bench trunk but he's Matt, so his first priority isn't him, it's her, and Foggy proves once again that has impeccable timing.

Warnings: blood, thoughts about relapsing, drugs, mentioned sexual assault, repeated use of the word 'rape', mentioned child abuse, Matt Murdock crying, making out

Other characters: Claire Temple, Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 11k

A/n: At the beginning of this story I was like (it's gonna take till at least chapter sixteen for the slow burn to stop burning slow) and then I reached chapter nine and was like fuck it! Let's give them some of what they want. Anyway, you're welcome!

Read Chapter 9: Block Me Out here on AO3!

18+ MINORS DNI

“Are you sure you’re gonna be alright?”

Claire stood in Matt’s living room, rubber gloves covered in blood. She had her little first-aid kit with her, and she was still wearing her light blue scrubs from work. Her shift had barely ended when she got the call. The kind person she was, she jumped into her car and headed for Matt Murdock’s apartment. She knew the path like the back of her hand by then. The many times she helped to stitch him up were in the tens, she figured. She told Matt she was done. She wasn’t doing this anymore. She didn’t want to. Being with him hurt her, he hadn’t been good for her. That was the reason why she drew the line underneath their ‘relationship’ if you could even consider it that. They surely didn’t share that much in common. She just had a very skilled chance and he tended to get hurt due to his desperate need to throw fists at criminals. They were nothing alike and yet Claire had never cared that much for a person before she met him. He was truly special but in a broken way. Broken people tend to do stupid things.

Though when the stranger’s voice sounded from the other line of the phone that night, she grew curious. When the woman told her Matt was on the verge of bleeding out and refused to be taken to a hospital, so she took him back to his apartment, barely breathing, and she didn’t know what to do, she packed her stuff and left the hospital in a hurry. She didn’t know Eliza, for all she knew it could’ve been a prank call, but it was the same number Matt gave her to call her and only her, and the woman was crying when she called. Only someone who was truly worried would’ve done something like this. The thought that she might’ve been a danger to Matt or her didn’t cross her mind for a second. She believed her instantly.

That was how the nurse got to where she was in the first place. She stitched Matt up, making sure he was alive and comfortable, before rising from her spot on the floor. Her eyes trailed over the young woman on the armchair across from the leather sofa. The billboard outside shone hues of red on them. She had her shirt taken off, only standing there in her bra, but she didn’t care. She was stitching herself up while Claire took care of the one who needed her attention more. Eliza couldn’t have cared less.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Claire said after her first question wasn’t answered. “I can’t even wax my own legs without crying and you’re threading a needle through a stab wound on your abdomen without batting an eye. It’s…” she shook her head, “It’s insane.”

She tossed the needle back into the kidney dish. Small droplets of her blood covered her sterile fingers. She took the bandage she had prepared before and slapped it on. “Yeah, well, I’ve been doing this for a long time. Eventually, you grow numb to it,” she said.

“You shouldn’t have to though. I mean, isn’t experiencing pain what makes us human?”

“I’m not… it’s a long story.”

“I guess that’s the thing about you heroes, right? Everything’s too complicated. You don’t think anyone would understand.”

Eliza forced a smile. “Something like that, yeah.” She flinched when she got up from the armrest. The stitches began to pull and she was forced back into the reality of the situation. She woke up for the first time that night. Her mouth parted. Silently, she gasped. “Ouch!”

Claire stretched her arm out. In her hand, she was holding a small orange bottle. “Ibuprofen,” she stated. “I would offer you aspirin, but-”

“Aspirin thins the blood,” she finished. “Yeah, I know.” She switched her gaze between the nurse and the drugs in her possession. Innocent painkillers, at least to most people. Ibuprofen doesn’t tend to cause addiction without being attached to other, heavier painkillers beforehand. Still, the consumption could trigger a relapse. It still takes away the pain, only in a much different way than morphine would.

She forced her eyes away from the bottle. “I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure?” she cocked an eyebrow. “Seems like you’re in pain.”

“I’m just sore. Thanks though. I appreciate it.”

“Alright.” Claire stuffed the Ibuprofen back into her bag. “If he needs some, he’s got some pills in his medicine cabinet in the bathroom. The key’s under the soap bottle on the sink.”

Eliza looked at Matt in his bedroom. The door was open and he was snoring softly. “The medicine cabinet in the bathroom?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

The cold of the pack of peas nudged at her forearm. “Here,” Claire said. “Put that on your eye. It should keep the swelling down.”

“Thanks,” Eliza smiled back. It wasn’t a genuine smile, only to ease her conscience.

“You care about him, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Matt, you care about him,” she said.

“Is it that obvious?”

“I can see it in your eyes. You were scared, still are.”

“I just can’t lose him,” Eliza admitted. “Maybe that’s selfish,” she said, “but I don’t care. I’d do anything to make sure he’s okay.”

“I don’t blame you,” Claire collected the last supplies she’d scattered around the living room. “Matt is something, alright.”

She looked at his sleeping frame. “Yeah, he is.”

“I just want you to be careful. Matt’s almost like a broken vase; there’s a high chance you could cut yourself on the pieces as you try to pick him up, or simply by being around him. He might not even realize it, and by the time he finally does, you might’ve already bled out.”

The words struck a place within her she had long ignored. The place first opened after he revealed his identity to her, but his pain blinded her. She felt sorry for him; she wanted to make everything alright again just to make him smile. But the man was broken, he pushed without thinking and he was so laser-focused on pleasing his savior complex that he didn’t realize the pain he was causing to the people around him until it was inevitably too late.

Eliza liked him, she truly did, but she didn’t know if it was the right thing to let herself fall closer into his trap – she was broken too. It isn't like math, two negatives don't make a positive, and two broken parts don't necessarily make a whole. They could hold each other, but there would always come a time when either of them would hurt the other. The pain would drive a stake through their hearts, make them bleed, and then they’d run toward each other again until there was nothing left but broken bones.

It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve that and neither did he. They were too broken to care for someone else – to care for someone else without hurting each other. Life was cruel to them, it made them lose control. They needed to focus on themselves rather than gain feelings for another. Mental issues aren’t fixed by relationships. Mental issues will persist until they’re taken care of individually.

It’s easy to fall in a time of need, but how do you get up when all you can hold onto are the sharp ends of broken pieces?

Eliza wiped her cheeks. She straightened her shoulders. The world was frustrating and she hated it. “I know Matt’s, uh, not the easiest person to be around,” she said. “But I know what I’m getting myself into. I’m broken too and believe me, there’s plenty of space to cut yourself on my edges, too. What I think he needs is someone to stay and never leave, not even when times get rough.”

Claire shouldered her bag. “You gotta ask yourself if it’s worth it,” she said.

“I know.”

“But if you truly care about him, there’s nothing you can’t conquer. I see it in your eyes. You’re persistent. I don’t know you, but it has to be you if there’s anyone good for him.“

“I’m not so sure about good, but I think… I know that there will be pain, lots of it, and I’m not sure if what I’m doing is even the right thing, but there is something between us. I can’t ignore that, not right now. Not when I need him – when I need Daredevil – the most.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Claire said as she reached for the door, “I believe you’ll find your way.“

“Thank you, Claire. If there’s anything I can do,” she said, but the nurse interrupted her.

“There’s no need. Just make sure that he doesn’t almost die next time. I made my peace with never being involved in his drama again and I’d like to keep my distance.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“I wish you the best of luck,” she said. “I’m sure there’s a way where all of this-“ she motioned around her, “ends well.”

Eliza gave her an appreciative nod. Claire didn’t say anything else.

The sudden loneliness made her knees tremble. She reached for the light switch, making the world disappear into the darkness and the flickering billboard outside. She stared at the colors and watched them play on her face in the reflection of the windows.

She made her way into the bathroom like she did earlier that evening. She hadn’t realized the cabinet before. When she stepped in, she looked around with a changed perception. She caught the metal cabinet almost instantly. The key was, as predicted, underneath the bottle of soap. She wondered why he kept it there. Had it been Claire’s idea or his own? She stuck it into the lock. Her fingers trembled. It had been a while since they did that. As she turned it, her stomach dropped.

“What are you doing?” she muttered.

The rational, the left side of her brain, seemed to fail miserably to answer the question. She didn’t have any self-control. The door to the land of dreams opened. Orange bottles lined the shelf. There was also nasal spray and cough syrup in the top right corner. Typical cold medication, only to use when needed. She also found a bottle of Hetlioz, but it seemed like he wasn’t taking it anymore. The medication is used to cure Non-24-Hour Sleep-Wake Disorder. She read about it the other night, after first meeting Matt at the police station. She researched the issue of blindness to understand him better and the medication popped up since Non-24 was a popular disorder among the blind. Matt seemed to have struggled with it, but since his Daredevil schedule made him lose sleep anyway - and his senses kept him awake, even with medication, she figured - he didn’t need it anymore, so he stopped taking it.

Underneath the specific medication and ordinary I’ve-got-a-virus-and-the-pharmacy-gave-me-this medication, the row of painkillers began. Ibuprofen, Aspirin, Tylenol and Advil - over the counter medication. The question was, why did he have so many painkillers on him? Then again, he was Daredevil. He religiously went out, beat up bad guys, and got stabbed at least every two days. He was probably in desperate need of relief every once in a while. She couldn’t blame him. Though when she looked deeper, she saw the lonely bottle of Codeine in the corner. She expected a lot, but not prescription medication on his shelves. He didn’t look like the type of man to go to the doctor’s office and get himself medication for whatever plagued him. Matt liked to suffer.

She took the orange bottle which the narcotic was filled into. His name was on the label. Matthew Murdock. There was no reason for the prescription on it. Maybe he had an accident once, or maybe he’d had surgery. Maybe Claire stole it from the hospital. Who knew?

“How’s your chest?” Nick Fury asked casually.

She was lying in the uncomfortable hospital bed, her body completely coated in white bandages, but she could barely feel it. “It’s fine,” she told him.

“You look better than the last time I saw you.”

“The last time you saw me, I was bleeding out.”

“Yeah. Well, you’re not anymore.”

“Obviously.”

“So, what did the doctor say? Any news on recovery?”

She shook her head. “He gave me some Oxy and told me to get a physical therapist or I might never be able to work again. But at least I got some jello.” She pointed at the small red cup on the table over her lap.

Fury nodded curtly. “I know a good physical therapist,” he said. “I’ll hire him for you as soon as you get out of here. I think it’s in both of our best interests that you can get back to work as soon as possible.”

“Thanks.” She dug into the strawberry jello. “I appreciate it.”

Before he left, he told her, as casually as possible for Nick Fury, which said a lot, “Glad you didn’t die.” And he patted her shoulder, a nice gesture. He’d never done that before.

The nice nurse taking care of her came in when he left. She was carrying the small plastic cup alongside the glass of still water.

“Time for your meds!” she chirped. “Some antibiotics, vitamins, and painkillers. How’re you feeling?”

“Better now,” she answered. “Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate it.”

“It’s my job, darling.”

She swallowed the three pills - the antibiotics and vitamins - easily, though before she inserted the Oxycodone into her mouth, she stared at the white capsule. One hand held the water while the other clutched the drug.

Sarah tilted her head. “Is there a problem?”

She was quick to shake her head. The pill tasted slightly bitter on the tip of her tongue. “All good.”

Eliza swallowed it without a second thought.

She smacked the bottle of Codeine back into the cabinet and shut the door so loudly, she was afraid she woke up the whole neighborhood. At least to her, it seemed that loud. The blood was rushing in her ears. Her fingers itched uncomfortably, still feeling the residue of the orange bottle heavy in her hands. The air weighed a ton, as did her heart.

Eliza leaned against the sink. She looked at her face in the mirror, clear as day, with the soft yellow light in the background. Her eyes were sunken, the bags dark, and the circles even darker. She had a pimple here and there, and her eyebrows had started to grow out. The peas didn’t help much to help the swelling around her eye. The skin began to discolor into a bluish-purple. Her jaw was also bruised, but the skin there turned green instead. The crack in her lip had dried blood all around it - she hadn’t washed her face yet and neither did she brush her hair. She was a dead woman walking.

She opened the tap. Cold water ran into her hands. She sprayed it on her face. The wounds burned slightly, finally being cleaned. She stared at herself again. “What is wrong with you?” she asked out loud. “What. Is. Wrong. With. You? Get it together!”

Something crashed in the bedroom next door. Quickly, she broke through the door just to see Matt thrashing around. He was awake, eyes wide open, and his breathing came labored. His hands felt around for something familiar.

Eliza sighed. “Matt!” she called his name. He didn’t hear her at first. She slowly moved to the edge of the bed. “Matt,” she said and reached out to him. He grabbed her hand, intending to push her away or fight her or both, but when he felt her pulse, he relaxed slowly.

“It’s me. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re home now.”

Matt pulled at his hair, eyes darting around the room, still frantic.

“Hey.” She touched his cheek gently. She turned his head towards her. “You’re safe, okay? I’m here."

“You’re here.” He held onto her wrists. He repeatedly stroked her pulse points as if to make sure she was still alive. A few seconds later, his hands moved to her face. He felt her up gently, checking her features, and he searched for all the injuries she might have had. He caught the split lip, and the bruise around her eye until he moved to her torso. He placed his finger over the bandage on her side. His fingers bunched the fabric of the oversized shirt - his, no doubt. She smelled like him, too.

She tilted his chin up. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He took a deep breath and nodded, “Yeah. Are you?"

“Yeah."

"Okay, good. Good,” he said.

She cradled his head as he fell into her neck. He sniffed her. If it had been anyone else, she would’ve been creeped out, possibly even disgusted, but this was Matt. He used his sense of smell as means to see the world. By smelling her, he felt like he saw her.

He wrapped his arms around her form. “You’re alive,” his nose brushed against her throat.

“I’m alive,” she said.

“I had a dream. It was s-so real.”

“If it involves you getting stabbed and then almost getting blown up in a warehouse with a Russian psychopath, I hate to break it to you, but that wasn’t a dream.”

“You died,” he said. “In my arms. I couldn't-” he grunted, "I couldn't save you."

She took his hand to place it above her heart. "Feel that? I'm alive."

He struggled to get the words into his head. For all he knew, his senses could be playing tricks on him. They did it before.

"Matthew," she called his name sternly. "I'm alive. My heart is beating. I'm okay."

"It was so real," he whispered.

"I know, but it wasn't. It was just a dream."

He exhaled. "Just a dream."

"Yeah, just a nightmare."

His muscles eased.

"You are the one who gave me a heart attack," she admitted then. "You almost died in my arms. That was real. Do me a favor," she peaked up at him, "Don't ever do that again?"

He chuckled. “Are you sure it wasn't a drea- Ah!” His hip screamed in protest and he fell back into the mattress. “Fuck!”

“You probably shouldn’t have done that.” She checked the bandage to see if anything happened, but he looked fine. “The wound was bad, but Claire stitched you up. You know, the nice nurse you told me to call because you wouldn't go to a hospital? She told me you had way worse. I think she was trying to calm me down, but it only made things worse."

He groaned as he shifted again. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Good, that means your head’s still intact. Here,” she fluffed his pillow, “Lay back down. You need sleep.”

“You too,” Matt said and he scoffed at her shocked expression. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I just asked you to kill your dog.”

“Same difference,” she said. She rose from the bed.

His arm shot out. “No.” He squeezed her forearm. “Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You want to sleep on the couch. You don’t have to. I’ve heard it’s pretty uncomfortable.”

“From who? Other women?”

“People,” he corrected her. His eyes softened slightly. “Stay with me, please. Just for tonight? I promise I will stay on my side of the bed. I just…” He hated to say it. He didn’t even want to. “I don’t want to be alone,” finally, he admitted.

Eliza played with his t-shirt absentmindedly. He was asking her to stay. She couldn’t just lie by his side and act like the world was okay - it wasn’t. But at the same time, she was in pain and she needed to get out of her head. She needed sleep, so to say.

“Okay,” she said.

The relief washed over him like an ocean. A lonely tear escaped his eye. “Thank you.”

She walked to the other side of the bed. Her shoulders were tense, her muscles throbbing. The day spun around in her head. She hadn’t taken the time to reflect on all that happened and while she wanted to, she couldn’t bring up the strength to do so. Tears stuck to her cheeks. The second her head hit the pillows, her eyes grew heavy.

The tightrope was getting thinner and she was getting drunker. Any second and her feet would slip. The fall was several meters high and the ground at the bottom was covered in needles. Her fall would result in the return to old patterns, and she knew better than anyone that old patterns meant a definite death sentence. She knew the chances of survival this time were zero to nil.

She rolled to the side, focused on Matt. She listened to his breathing. He was alive, she had to remind herself of that. All the blood and destruction only claimed Ivan’s life. The man that mattered most was alive next to her, sleeping peacefully, and the danger was averted for the time being. She could rest.

Eliza inched closer to him. His warmth lulled her in. She placed her head just above his shoulder. He surely wouldn’t mind, she thought. As she tangled her legs with his, she reminded herself that this was home. She didn’t have anything to get back to. This was it. She had left everything else behind for this one thing, and Matt was the only constant that remained.

“Are you crying?”

She lifted her head. “No,” she lied.

“You are,” he stated.

She rolled over to the side, her back turned to him.

“Don’t ignore me.”

“I’m not.” Her sobs were stifled through the bedsheets. “Go to sleep, Matthew.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not asking you to leave, only to sleep.”

“I can’t just lie here and listen to your sobs.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not an idiot.” She felt his hand on her back. “Tell me, what’s going on in that little head of yours?” he asked.

His gentle touch only made the tears flow faster and the sobs grow harder. “I don’t- I can’t-”

One swift motion and Matt had her turned around. She fought against him, but even injured his hold was strong, and she eventually decided it was of no use to fight him. She allowed him to curl her into his chest and simply hold her while she cried. The tears pearled off his bare chest.

“I just wish-” she was interrupted by another fit of sobs that made it hard to breathe. “I just wish he’d killed me.” It felt good to say it.

Matt cradled her head in his hand. “Shh,” he pressed his lips to her scalp, “I know.”

“I don’t want to feel that way, but I do and it’s scaring me because the last time I felt so hopeless, I didn’t care, I just-”

“You went into my medicine cabinet,” he didn’t ask.

“I’m so sorry!”

“Did you take anything?” He already knew she hadn’t.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good. Good. I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t,” she cried, “because I shouldn’t have thought about it but I did and now I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, Matt. I’m so tired.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry,” he said. He kept kissing her scalp repeatedly. “I’m so sorry. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do.” He shushed her again. “Just promise me you won’t open the cabinet again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry.” Her sobs slowly turned into small hick-ups. His hand smoothed down her back to help her through it. The aftershocks wrecked her world.

Matt wiped her cheeks. “It’s okay. You okay?”

“I’m okay,” she said.

“Okay.”

Morning came too soon. Eliza barely fell into the endless spiral of sleep when soft sun rays kissed her awake rather roughly. Of course, Matt wouldn’t need blinds to cover his windows. He could sleep soundly with the brightest of lights, and Eliza understood that but she wasn’t an early bird and she certainly hated getting out of bed, especially when she didn’t wake up on her account. She got really grumpy and even Matt’s blindness didn’t matter at that moment because goddamnit, she’d slept so peacefully.

She opened her eyes to the weight on her chest. Sometime during the night, he must’ve escaped his side of the bed, replacing the mattress with her chest. His large frame covered her body almost entirely. Eliza scratched her nails along his scalp. He was deep in slumber. She almost cursed herself for choosing to push him off of her.

Matt didn’t seem to mind though. He rolled over with a pained groan, hugging one of the blue silk pillows close to his chest and that was it. He slept like a baby. She still pulled the blanket further up his body.

Eliza lifted herself off the mattress. The stitches on her side pulled with every move she made. She suppressed the groan that threatened to escape. The pain was nasty, but she had worse. She forced herself out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where she downed at least two cups of water before the burning in her chest subsided.

There was a strange pressure behind her eyes. It pulled at her scalp, her temples, and even her sinuses. She pinched her nose, searching for some kind of relief. Her first guess was stress headache. Her entire body was sore in one way or another, this could just be her muscles seeking revenge for the rough handling in the past couple of days. Her mental breakdown hadn’t been much of a help either. Her eyes were swollen and she looked, quite frankly, high as fuck, although she wasn’t. She was glad she wasn’t, that she put the bottle down and admitted it to Matt. God knows what would’ve happened if she followed through with it. She was angry at herself for even letting it get this far.

She scoffed. “Guess we’re weaker than we thought,” she thought. She did it out loud, whyever that was.

Eliza checked her new phone. There was nothing on it, but she had to follow her habits as if nothing happened. She opened the search bar to type in two words. As soon as she did, several sites popped up. She went straight to Google Maps.

Addicts Anonymous. Hell’s Kitchen, NYC, 900m from your current location. Starts at 12 pm.

The pain hit her like a freight train. A sharp knife drilled straight through her skull. It seeped through every bone in her head, she even felt it on her lips. She heard every sound in close vicinity to the apartment complex. Cars honking, people laughing, loud shouting over the many tourists scouting the city. Like an alarm, the high-pitched ringing shot through her ears out of nothing at all. It just appeared and it made sure to cause damage. She tried to massage her head, but the second she lifted her hand, her entire body went stiff.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She was back there again, in the red wasteland of her imagination. She stood in the middle of the desert. The pain was only a mild throbbing in the back of her head. She stared at the space before her, confused and scared. Yes, Eliza was scared, something she would never admit proudly.

In the smoke, a figure began to emerge. She changed her stance, fists clenched at the sides. If she was going to be attacked in her mind, she might as well try to fight it. For all she knew, she was simply hallucinating. This could be just a migraine, she figured. With her powers, everything was possible.

The figure became clearer. “Who are you?” she asked. She was surprised her voice even sounded in the place of nothingness. The smoke parted. White peaked through the red. A white dress, small feet, even smaller frame. It was a child, a girl, barely seven. She stared up at her through hooded eyes, hair standing wildly in all directions.

"You should have known you'd eventually meet me back here," the voice came from behind her. She twirled around to see the same face that haunted her at the compound.

Eliza switched her eyes between the little girl and the personification of her own evil thoughts. Her doppelganger walked up to her younger self, the suit she wore a mixture of black and red with a torn-apart cape.

She sighed. "But you hate to listen, don't you?"

“They’re coming for us,” the little girl’s voice was dooming.

"See? It had to come down to this. Bringing therapy metaphors to life."

Eliza took a deep breath. "Is this real?" she asked and pointed at the girl.

Her reflection shrugged. "What isn't? You know," she said, "every time you use the word reality, I start to think you might have finally started to remember, and yet every time, I'm disappointed. Honestly, if you hadn't ignored the truth right in front of your eyes for so long, I wouldn't have had to come here. But here we are! Weird, isn't it?"

The circles around her eyes were black and blue. With her skin as pale as the night, fake Eliza looked anything but healthy, and neither did it look like her. She couldn't remember a time when she carried such a dead look in her eyes, evil etched into her features. The woman in front of her was made out of black morals while hers were mildly grey, at best.

She started to pace the floor, drawing circles around her. The girl stood rooted to her spot. It seemed like the taller one was in control of her. She was in control of everything.

"The device was good, I have to give Ivan that," she said, "but you saw what happened. There is nothing that can cage the kind of power you have. Well, we have. I sometimes forget I'm not just some random stranger. My bad." Her laugh sounded manic, and it echoed in the void space.

“Wh- what are you even talking about?" Eliza asked.

"Do you like our new look?" she retorted instead.

"What?"

"I went for crazy bimbo at a funeral. You know, considering Eliza might die soon. Hopefully, before they get the chance to kidnap us, I'm not picky."

Third-person point of view. This was slowly starting to freak her out. "I'm not gonna die."

"You're not. Eliza is. Are you even listening?"

She threw her hands up, groaning loudly. "Who even are you?"

The woman sighed in response. "Here's where it gets complicated..."

"How so? It's not like you've been messing with my head the past twenty-four hours."

"The problem is I can't tell you without you figuring out yourself," she explained. "I don't have a hand in this. I can only stand by and act ominous, waiting for you to come around so we can finally worry about what's really going on with you. It's not like Hydra is the only reason you're changing right now."

"What?" Eliza couldn't follow. She tried to, but her mind blocked out any viable thoughts. She was an idiot in her own head. The other side of her was just toying with her. She had to be going insane. Perhaps she was suffering from a psychosis of some kind. Or she was on drugs and didn't even know it.

The fake rolled her eyes. "You're not high," she said.

"How did you even-"

"Did you miss the part where I said that I am you?"

"Yeah, right, because any of this makes absolute sense. Like, what's that kid doing here?" She pointed at the girl. "She doesn't even fit in."

"Nothing fits in here," she said.

"You certainly don't."

"I'm the most fitting thing in this place and that says a lot."

"Okay," Eliza waved her off with an exasperated sigh. "Get to the point, me!"

The fake snapped her fingers. She wasn't really fake, but she surely wasn't real, so any other word would have been useless to describe her.

The little girl snapped out of her trance. She repeated her previous words. "They're coming for us," she said.

"Who’s coming?” Eliza questioned.

“There’s something in us. Something they want. You can’t let them win. Don’t let them win!”

“You mean Hydra?”

The girl tilted her head. “They’re all coming,” she clarified.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" the fake Eliza seemed to have just as much of an impatience problem as the real one. She placed a hand on the girl's head. "She's boring me." With one push, she had her falling through the smoke and beyond the secret world, she had built for herself. It was just the two of them now.

Eliza cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Hydra's coming," she stated. "And they're coming for you, which also entails me because I'm the one who has to keep saving your ass."

What was happening? This wasn't her. Couldn't be. Though the way she used the words with sarcasm reminded her so much of what she heard come out of her mouth on the daily. It was strange, terrifying even.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, breathlessly.

“I just want to go home." Something human glistened in her eyes.

Eliza wondered, “Home where?”

The next event was a bit of a blur. Eliza stared at the hand as it wrapped around her wrist. The fake's eyes began to glow with the familiar shade of crimson. It was like she was staring right into a mirror. And it wasn't just a threatening feeling this time. This was real, as real as it could possibly get.

Smoke danced around the air, but it was clearer, more dominant, and almost sluggish looking. It crawled its way out of her body and wrapped around Eliza’s limbs. She tried to return to her consciousness, but the foreign substance shot into her chest, right through her heart. Her chest bloomed with new life.

The power she felt was surreal. Her body was on fire and yet she needed more heat. She wanted to burn even brighter. Eliza gasped loudly. Her body slouched. The slug disappeared and she was left empty, shaking. She was on her knees then, alone in the wasteland of her creation. She caught herself on one hand, almost elegantly.

“What was that?” she called out.

“Power,” the fake told her.

“What did you just do to me?” Eliza frantically touched her body up and down, but everything was where it needed to be. “What was that? Oh, my God!”

“Your mind has been closed for so long, you don’t even know who you are. You're finally starting to see, but it's taking far too long. We're in danger, alright? Terrible, terrible danger and there is little we can do as useless as we are without you discovering your true potential."

Now it was getting kind of personal.

“They want us and they know who we are,” she urged. “Your mind is finally starting to open, but they want to use us. We can’t let them use us. The fate of the universe is at stake.”

She seemed to disappear with the growing storm of red sand. Her eyes stayed the same color, boring into her own with such intensity, she could only return the favor.

“What?” Eliza asked. “You haven’t even told me what this is!”

“Figure it out,” was all she said before she disappeared completely.

One last shot of sharp pain and she was back in Matt’s kitchen, sweating, panting, and on fire. The glass slipped from her fingers. She didn’t have the time to react, the glass just crashed against the floor. The sound knocked her back into reality, but not without leaving her confused and speechless.

“Shit!” she cursed at the mess she made.

I won't be able to stick around much longer.

She tilted her head at the broken glass on the kitchen floor. The water was running in her direction. Small whispers broke out of prison. She couldn’t tell what they were saying or if they were even real, but she felt compelled to try something.

Eliza lifted her hand slowly. The shards slowly came back together. They fit together like puzzle pieces. She did a damn good job for someone who hated puzzles. With the glass, the water formed a small lake before making its way back to where it came from. She watched in awe as the red smoke crossed like the curtain before a screen - she thought about putting the glass back together and in an instant, it was back on the counter. Her bare feet were no longer standing in tap water but rather on the cold kitchen tiles.

Somehow it seemed real but also it didn’t. She felt like a stranger in her own body, an alien on earth. She touched the glass, careful as ever. There were no cracks, no glue residue, nothing out of the ordinary other than the fact the glass that had been broken only seconds ago was no longer making a mess on Matt’s floor. She didn’t turn back time, that was for sure. The coffee machine was still running. If she had turned back time, the cup would’ve been empty. She changed something else. It was like she changed reality. She didn’t use telepathy to put the glass back together, she didn’t even touch it. She single-handedly changed what happened to fit her view of the world better, only with the power of her mind and an outstretched arm.

Her knuckles tightened around the glass. Why she did it, she couldn’t figure out, but as fast as they had closed around it, her fingers opened and the glass slid back out. Once again, it shattered on the floor, and it was loud, louder than the first time. She flinched. The water splattered on her toes.

Why did you do that?

“What the-” Eliza pulled out the paper towels in a frenzy. She saw her reflection in one of the tiles. “What is happening to me?” she wondered. The reflection cocked her head. The same black, veiny eyes stared back at her, just without the smoke surrounding them this time, and she also didn't seem to be backing her into a corner. She was trapped behind the tiles.

If I didn't know better, I'd say you were going slightly insane. But since I do know better, I think you know what you have to do.

“What are you doing?” Matt’s morning voice was still groggy.

Her head shot up. She couldn’t explain it, could she? Perhaps she was insane. It certainly felt that way. She looked up from the compromising position. Her reflection was gone. Somehow she always disappeared whenever she wasn't alone anymore, especially in Matt's presence.

Was fake Eliza afraid of him?

No. He's just really doing it for us.

She turned with a slight frown. The voice was most definitely back in her head, still daunting, still knowing better than her.

“You shouldn’t be standing up,” Eliza stated. She kept her voice steady, attempting not to arouse too much suspicion. She could easily blame it on health issues, the way her heart was bouncing, and she would find an excuse for the monologuing too.

Matt stood in the doorway, hand pressed to his several injuries. “I’m fine,” he lied. “What’s wrong? I heard the glass shatter.”

Glass, singular. He only heard the first one.

“Nothing, I’m just clumsy.“

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not- I just had a headache, that’s all. I might have taken it a bit too far yesterday," she said.

"Yeah, you might have."

"Trust me, I'm cursing myself for it plenty, you can get in line. What you doing up anyway?" She furrowed her eyebrows at him. He shivered under her intense glare. "You should lie back down, Matt, before you pop your stitches.”

He made his way from the door towards the sofa. One of his sweaters was draped over the back. “I can handle it,” he said.

Eliza huffed. She knew there was nothing she could do to change his mind. “You want any coffee?” she asked instead.

“Coffee would be great.”

“Okay, but you gotta sit down.”

“Fine,” he sighed.

She had already made acquaintance with his coffee machine, so it took only a couple of tries until she managed to get two piping cups of coffee out of it. She sat down next to him. Matt sipped the caffeine – he was surprised she remembered how he liked his coffee. The liquid parted slightly at his breathing pattern. Eliza seemed to have the same thing on her mind for she placed her cup down at the same time he did.

“About last night-“ they stared at each other, the words coming out in unison.

He cocked his head and she laughed. His lip twitched into a smile at the shyness of it.

“Sorry,” she said.

“You go first-“ again, they spoke at the same time.

Matt laughed, too, this time. “Please,” he said.

Eliza pulled one knee up to her chest, the coffee warming her cold hands. She looked at the man across from her – they were oddly in synch. Not that she minded. The experience was entirely new. As someone who had gotten used to being alone, being abandoned, and being the second choice, always, she didn’t have many stories that went the same. She still had to get used to being so excruciatingly open.

“About last night,” she began, this time without interruptions. “I’m sorry how it went down.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “You gotta stop saying that every time something goes wrong.”

“But it’s true! If I hadn’t pushed us to go in there, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“It would’ve happened, either way, Eliza. You know that.”

“Jesus!” She threw her head back. “I know, it’s just… I’m trying to find an explanation and this one makes the most sense to me. I’m going crazy here. Last night- I was so incredibly triggered. If I don’t explain what happened with something that makes sense to me, I think I’m gonna throw up and die.”

He pouted.

“Anyway. They - the press - are saying it was a gas leak,” she stated.

“I know, I can hear my neighbors downstairs listening to the news,” Matt said. “But wait, can we talk about what else happened last night-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she blocked him.

“Eliza, you almost-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

He sighed. He fell silent until he found something to say. “Do you have meetings you go to?”

“God!” she groaned. “What do you not understand about what I just said?” she asked him. “Why do you have to keep pushing it?”

She was being unfair, but defensive people mostly are.

“This is not something you should ignore,” he shot back.

“I’m not ignoring, I’m delaying dealing with it.”

“You wanted to hurt yourself.”

“Yes,” she said, “I wanted to. Now I don’t. Case closed. Is that enough for you or do you need that in handwriting?”

Matt lifted his shoulders, hands above them. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s your life,” he said.

“Exactly.”

“But I meant it when I said I won’t watch you get hurt.”

“And you won't have to.” She shrugged. “I’m fine. I just need to find these people and bring them to justice. Can we focus on that, please? Just for today?”

“Of course,” he smiled.

Eliza got up. She took his empty cup and her own and traveled back to the kitchen. She stepped over the spot where the broken glass had just been, trying not to cut her feet open. “This is what Hydra wants,” she said as she poured them another. “They want us to lose ourselves. We can’t let that happen.”

Ivan’s words nagged her. Everything about the situation felt wrong. She couldn’t explain it, the sensation bubbled deep in her stomach and made her throat dry. “Ivan knew what he was doing,” she said more to herself, but this was Matt she was talking to. He caught onto her words.

“Who was he, exactly?” he asked.

“A power-hungry Hydra soldier who always wanted to be the best. Back then, I was still in his way, but after I was gone, he could easily climb the ladder.”

“Was what he said true?”

She had been waiting for the dreaded question.

“Partially,” she said.

“How so?”

“I killed the diplomat’s daughter, yes, but when I did, I was her age. And no, I didn’t enjoy it. At that moment, I was focused on what Hydra wanted. I didn’t know what I was doing. I wasn’t in control.” She didn’t dare to look at him. “I killed her. She died because of me, but everything else, especially the reason for why I did that, is on Hydra. I’m not like them, not anymore.”

His words nudged her, “I believed him for a second, but then I heard your heartbeat and I knew it wasn’t true. I know you, and the Eliza I know would never intentionally hurt a child.”

“I, myself, was a child,” she whispered.

“I know. You didn’t do it for you, you did it because they wanted you to. These are two entirely different things.”

“Yeah,” she slid the fresh cup of coffee over to him, “Ivan gets in your head easily though. I wouldn’t have blamed you for still believing him.”

Matt chuckled. “He’s not as good as you think he is.”

“Not everyone is a human lie detector.”

“They should be,” it was a joke. She snorted. “At least you can laugh again. It’s nice,” he said.

“I just- this doesn’t feel right,” Eliza admitted. “I know Ivan. This isn’t his MO. Other operatives, yes, but not Ivan. He wouldn’t make a sacrifice like that without a plan. I mean, they found bodies but who’s to say he didn’t make it out?”

“Eliza,” his lip twisted into an amused smile, “The entire warehouse blew up. I don’t think anyone survived that.”

“Just because he held the box doesn’t mean he died. I looked into it, there wasn’t a bomb when I first checked.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “You think he switched them out?” he asked. His fists tightened around the porcelain cup.

“What other explanation is there? Ivan’s always been so adamant about being the man on the top, of surpassing everyone. Why would he kill himself? Just because of the serum? No, he wouldn’t do that. I don’t think he would. From what you heard, do you think he would?”

“I honestly don’t know."

“None of what happened last night makes sense. Why would they be so careless? If this was the last bit of the serum they had left, they would’ve been smarter than that. The bomb I get, Hydra has done this many times before, but the sacrifices? Something isn’t right.”

“Maybe they wanted us to believe that we got onto them.” He reached for her hand. “All cards on the table. Now.”

Are you going to tell him or are you going to chicken out, like you always do?

Her heart fluttered. “What?” She wasn't sure who she was talking to.

“You were talking about someone," Matt prompted.

“No," she was deep enough in denial to forget the name whenever she wanted to, and she wasn't going to put it at risk.

Eliza got up as fast as she could. Matt’s arm hit the table. He sighed in defeat, or was it exhaustion? She wasn’t sure.

“If you know who’s behind all of this,” he said.

“I don’t!” the words came harsh. “I don’t know who’s behind this. I don’t even know what they want. It’s Hydra, they’re as unpredictable as they come.”

“You were talking about a man, with Ivan. The one who told them to kidnap you. I think I know who it is, judging by the way your heartbeat just picked up. It did the same the night you told me about your past. I know we’re talking about the same man, but I need you to open up to me.”

“What does it matter?” she asked.

“Maybe we can find a connection-“

“He doesn’t exist! No one knows who he is. He’s a ghost, okay? Even if I told you his name, it wouldn’t help us much. For all I know, he’s dead somewhere. I hope he is. If he’s alive… I don’t want to think about it. God!” She pressed her palms into her eye sockets. “Stop making me think about it!“

“Sweetheart,” his gaze softened.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sweetheart,” Matt said again, and her body shook with tremors he could’ve heard without even trying. “Talk to me, please.”

“I can’t,“ the breath got caught in her throat.

Tears welled up in her eyes. The world turned into a threatening box again. She hid behind her hands, but the demons were already in her head and she couldn’t escape their gigantic claws as they sucked the life out of her.

Coward.

“Every time I think about his face,” she choked out, “I remember everything he did to me. It makes me sick. He makes me sick. I just want to scrub his dirty hands off my body.”

Matt wanted nothing more than to get up and catch her in his arms. She tried so hard to keep the tears at bay, afraid to be weak, afraid to cry again, but her body had other plans. He wanted to wrap her in cotton until he had made the world whole again, only so she wouldn’t have to cry anymore. She was like this broken thing he felt responsible for, and while that was wrong thinking, he couldn’t help the way he felt. His heart ached.

“Can you come here?” he asked.

Eliza shook her head. “No,” her voice cracked.

“Okay.”

That seemed to confuse her. “Okay?”

“Yeah, you expect me to force you?” Matt caught onto even the smallest change in her behavior. It didn’t take long for him to piece the puzzle together. “He forced you to do things you didn’t want to do,” he realized. “Did he- did he touch you?” His stomach churned at the idea alone.

“Matt,” she begged.

“I just want to understand.”

“I don’t know what to say. He- after SHIELD finished with my interrogation and got all the information they needed – and it wasn’t much because while I do remember his torture, I don’t remember the details – I swore never to say his name again."

Eliza shuddered. This time, the tremors stemmed straight from anger. “He thought he had this sadistic claim over me,” she admitted. “Sometimes I was his daughter, other times, his plaything. He made me,” she scoffed. “He shaped me in any way he saw fit and every time I disobeyed even in the slightest, he punished me. He conditioned me to follow his every demand and I did, just like that. I would’ve worshipped at his fucking feet if it meant I’d get his gratitude. I was his favorite child because I was proof he achieved something no one did before and I guess I just needed someone to love me, so I accepted every piece of affection I was offered, as twisted as it was. I let him touch me because I knew it would give me the recognition I wanted.”

He looked away. The brown of his eyes was so much darker. He pursed his lips, sucked them in, then released them again. His fists clenched in his lap. She couldn’t read him.

“He didn’t rape me if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said.

Matt shook his head. He still refused to look at her. She was slowly growing anxious.

“He just… sometimes, he would lie with me. He would, like, stroke my back and- and he really liked to watch my thighs when I was wearing something short. He liked to make me put my hair up and wear make-up so I could put on a show for him. Did you know I used to dance ballet?” Once again, he didn’t move. “Well, he liked to watch me dance, and whenever I did what he wanted, I’d get a reward. But he never raped me. I don’t- at least I don’t think it’s called rape when something like this happens.”

“Did he touch you?” he asked. His voice vibrated deep in his chest.

“Yeah.”

“Did he touch you somewhere you wouldn’t let a random man touch you?”

“I-” she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Did he get off on it?”

“Sometimes he would… but he didn’t- he never- no, he never raped me.”

He nodded knowingly, still looking anywhere but at her. “Did he ask for consent?”

“No.”

“Then he sexually assaulted you, Eliza.”

She realized why he wasn’t looking at her then.

“Doesn’t matter if he- it’s still sexual assault when someone inappropriately touches you without your consent, especially when he gets off on it.”

“Matt,” she called softly.

The only reason why he wasn’t looking at her was the fact he was crying. He didn’t want her to see the tears staining his cheeks, nor did he want her to catch the angry look on his face. She squeezed her lips shut. He was crying because of the things she said and it made her feel so endlessly guilty.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop,” he cut in. “Just stop apologizing. None of this was your fault, so it doesn’t need an apology.” Finally, he turned back to her. “You didn’t deserve this.” He cracked. “You didn’t deserve any of this. God, I’m so sorry!”

She sat down in the chair next to him. His hand trembled when he wiped his cheeks. The sobs turned into silent groans at the back of his throat.

“No one should be allowed to touch you without your consent. No one should- he should have never used your body for his pleasure.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. If I ever see him,” he said and his eyes found a spot just below her ear, “I’m going to kill him.”

Eliza ran a hand through his hair. “No, you won’t,” she said. “You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re Matt Murdock and you’re better than this.”

He had his index finger under her chin. Had they been this close before? He used the rough calluses of his fingers to guide her head a little further up and to the side. He was searching for her eyes with his - the unseeing gaze went anywhere but where he wanted them to, but that was okay. Eventually, they landed on her lips. She couldn’t help but stare back. His scent invaded her senses. The disinfectant from the night before was thick in the air, but he still smelled like sandalwood and rain and him. His natural scent was indescribable.

If you had told Eliza at the beginning of the year that she would end up like this, she would’ve declared you crazy. She was prone to taking risks, but she was also careful around strangers. Daredevil was, essentially, a stranger. He wasn't in her usual crowd. She didn’t hang with vigilantes. She never really hung with anyone other than the Avengers. And the men she had spent time with in the past were nowhere near as sincere as Matt Murdock. He set out to steal her heart from the beginning and he was starting to succeed.

She never saw herself in a situation like this, but she had imagined it a couple of times before.

Eliza stared at his lips. He licked over them. She couldn’t stop, she was getting closer by the second, but at this point, she didn’t care. They were both addicted to something, although different kinds of substances, and since neither of them could get their fix, they chose to fall into each other. It was human nature. And this time, they refused to refuse each other this sweet moment of relief.

She wasn’t sure who decided to close the gap. Perhaps it was the both of them. When their lips collided for the first time, she forgot how to breathe. It was gentle at first. They barely touched, but she felt him and he felt her, and she could taste the coffee they shared only moments before.

He listened to her heart for an answer. It jumped. She was waiting for him to make the next move.

He dove in with more pressure the second time. This one was certainly more passionate than the first. The millions of butterflies flew out of their cages in her stomach and fluttered to her heart where they began to build their nest.

Eliza grabbed his cheeks eagerly. She wanted to drown in him. He felt so good and tasted even better. They became one. His lips were soft and the way they moved against hers in the perfect rhythm had her seeing stars. She was an addict; the first taste had her longing for more. She needed more.

Matt moved his finger from under her chin and instead grabbed her face in his. The other stayed just below her neck, his fingers hot yet cold against her shivering skin. She had goosebumps everywhere, even places she hadn’t fathomed as possible. The man wasn’t human. He felt like heaven and tasted sweet as hell. He was the apple Eve stole from the tree, the snake that tempted her, and the Devil that corrupted her. Matt was Eliza’s temptation. The second she gave in, she was doomed, but in the most beautiful sense possible.

The pair breathed heavily between wet, messy kisses. She had her hand tangled in his chestnut hair, pushing him further against her lips. He melted into her.

When her breath ran out, she moved back slightly. Her eyes remained closed, lids way too heavy to open them. Matt sought her out. His lips traveled aimlessly until they found her cheek and he kept kissing there while she tried to breathe. She couldn’t.

His thumb traced her bottom lip. He parted them slowly. She was terrible at taking hints, but this one seemed clear as day. Her tongue darted out. The tip of his thumb pressed down on it, testing the waters, and in an instant, she sucked him in. He moved back in surprise, only so his lips were no longer attached to her skin. He grumbled a string of curses, tongue circling around his digit. Her mouth was so warm and her spit so wet against his heated skin, he felt the desperate need to shove it further down her throat. But he didn’t.

She released his finger with a sinfully wet sound.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

He could have asked her what she was doing, but his brain wasn’t quite connected to the language center of his brain and so all that came out was an incoherent sound.

As an answer, he pressed his swollen, plump lips back to hers. Their teeth clashed. His tongue darted out to force her lips apart, and she let him. Her own fought back against him, neither of them wanting to give in. In the end, he won, and he explored her mouth like Indiana Jones on a mission.

He was way too good at that. The way he guided her face, his tongue in her mouth, and his lips moving against hers in such a beautiful rhythm, made her moan into the kiss. She was embarrassed. A simple kiss wasn’t supposed to rile her up like this, though Matt Murdock seemed to be doing it for her. He took her breath and he stole her heart.

Matt broke the kiss first. His forehead fell against her nose. Eliza was late to catch her breath.

“Foggy,” he breathed.

She only slowly blinked back to life. “What?” she said.

The knocking repeated itself, steadily growing noisier. “It’s Foggy,” he said.

“Matt, I know you’re in there!” the man’s voice yelled from the outside of the apartment. “Come on, open the door! I need to talk to you.”

He pressed another kiss to her forehead. “Hide.”

“Excuse me?” She frowned at him.

“You need to hide. Go into the bedroom and close the door.”

“What the-“ they had just kissed and he was trying to hide her like a teenage boy whose parents had just gotten home early, “Matt.” He shoved her into his bedroom. She stumbled over her own feet, onto the bed and the silk sheets. She stared at him, still shocked about the sudden change of events. Her body was still aching from the kiss, and that was when she realized he could tell. He made sure to linger his fingers a few seconds too long because he knew.

He tucked at her arm, pulling her into his chest. His heart was hammering underneath his skin. He kissed her again. She had to lift herself up a little to reach him and he helped her by slinging his arm around her waist. She had nowhere to go. His palm was pressed between her shoulder blades. The knocking continued, but Matt stayed unbothered. He reveled in the feeling of her against him, the sensation of her mouth dancing against his, and the way her heart beat fast against his.

He pulled back when the yelling started to hurt his ears. She stumbled out of his bruising grasp. Her legs turned to jelly. She could barely stand on her own. Their fingers stayed intertwined as he stepped away, and only slowly did they part ways. It was their middle fingers that held them together the longest, but then he was suddenly too far away and she lost her hold on him.

She was met with the milky glass of his bedroom door. Foggy wasn’t supposed to see them together. He would’ve asked questions and then he would’ve been involved and Matt wanted to prevent that. One less person to worry about. And he loved Foggy, so to keep him out of the line of fire was something he had dedicated his life to when he became Daredevil. Didn’t work so well for the most part, but he was trying and that was admirable, even though sometimes, he used the wrong means to make sure he was alright.

Eliza pressed her ear to the door. Of course, she wanted to know what was happening. She wasn’t the good girl some might think she was. She needed to know more about Foggy’s sudden appearance.

“Hey man,” she heard him say, followed by loud footsteps. “What took you so long?”

“I was looking for a shirt,” Matt said. He was quick on his feet with the lies. Remarkable.

It was silent for a moment. “You went out Daredevil-ing again,” he stated. The disappointment in his voice was clear, yet the worry was heavier.

Matt didn’t speak and Foggy accepted his silence as an answer. “Did you get hurt again?”

Once again, no answer.

“Jesus, Matt!”

Eliza had no idea why she felt guilty for Matt’s inability to tell his friend the truth, but she did. It irked her a little because this, for a change, wasn’t her fault.

“Is it bad?” Foggy asked. “Is that why you won’t answer your phone?”

Her eyes fell on the device next to the bed. His phone was on the nightstand, but it wasn’t plugged in. She checked. The battery was dead.

“My battery died,” she heard Matt say. At least that wasn’t a lie.

“Sure it did after you went out beating up bad guys!”

“Foggy, please-”

“You know that I get a heart attack every time you don’t answer your phone after a night out? I always expect to find you half-dead again.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

Foggy scoffed. “Are you? I mean, have you checked the time?”

“The time?” She only imagined Matt frowning. “What time is it?”

Eliza peaked at the alarm clock. How was it twelve already?

“You didn’t show up to work,” he said. “And you didn’t answer your phone. I thought something happened to you, Matt! I was worried sick. What happened?”

“It’s-” he took a deep breath, “It’s complicated. You just have to trust me, Fog. Everything’s fine.”

“Well, I don’t trust you! And I don’t believe you either. Not when I can see the blood on the floor and that there is an obviously female shadow behind your fucking bedroom door.”

She looked up. Shit.

“So either you did some really kinky shit last night or you were involved in that gas leak that blew up a warehouse at the docks.”

There was no way Matt could smart his way out of that one. Their cover was blown and they didn’t even do anything. Foggy appeared to be better at this than first expected.

“If it’s not true,” he continued, “Then you won’t mind if I just check your bedroom, huh?”

“Foggy,” Matt warned.

“Don’t ‘Foggy’ me! I barely even know you anymore. I thought we were friends.” His steps came closer as did the silhouette she caught through the door. “Friends don’t lie to each other, Matt! I’m tired of being excluded from your life every time you get yourself in trouble. I told you, we either do this together or not at all. And if that means exposing your lies to force you to tell me the whole story, I fucking will!”

He pushed the door open so hard, the hinges creaked.

“Who do you have in- WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Listen,” Eliza said, standing at the foot of the bed, and her hands fidgeted awkwardly in front of her body, “I can explain.”

But instead of listening to the pathetic classic line people tend to use whenever something goes wrong and they’re not sure what to say to prevent a catastrophe – and this went wrong plenty – Foggy shut the door right in her face.

“Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed.

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