Elektra.
@FuryInRed
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“You've agreed to pay me. I've agreed to solve your problem. Each of us trusts the other to not do anything stupid. Understand?” | parody
Joined January 2018
perhaps i am no one. true， i have a body and i cannot escape from it. i would like to fly out of my head， but that is out of the question.
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From the warmth of bed, she’s eyeing @FearTheDeviI as he moves around the bedroom, pulling on his clothes. The morning is bitingly cold, and still pitch black outside aside from the never ending illumination of city lights.
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— said it out loud, she can show him. Show him that she loves him, as her arms wrap around his neck, her form pressing to his. She loves him, a little too much, and that is exactly why she feels to has to leave, to keep him at arms length most of the time. It hurts too much.
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She tilts her head, pressing her lips to his own instead of speaking. Taking his words against her lips; not because she doesn’t want to hear it. No no, she craves it — it’s so rare that they get to actually say these things out loud to one another, and while she hasn’t —
They were. He could lie to himself as much as he wanted but there was no greater feeling than being with Elektra. “Just this once,” he jests, grasping onto her lower half as their noses touch, lips mere inches apart. “I love you.”
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His cheek is cold against her own, but it’s pleasant; her eyes closing as her hands move up to the top portion of his chest. “We’re together right now.” Of course, they will be together again, but this is what they do. Worry about the future, missing out on the right now. —
it was only a matter of time before she reappeared.
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— attempting to deflect some of the emotion before she continues. “I have to.”
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Maybe one day, but for now she has to cling to what they have in the moment. That’s how she has to operate, in the fleeting moments. His forehead presses to hers, her eyes closing as he kneads a touch harder into her back. “You know me. Fidgety.” She says softly, —
their place. His palms dig into her back muscles, forehead slowly closing in on her own. “Do you have to?”
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Her senses are not honed as his, but his scent is familiar, unmistakeable. The cold of his fingers soon feel warm as he kneads her aching muscles, her hands moving to rest against his chest. “I have to leave Hell’s Kitchen for a while.” She admits, her voice soft, apologetic.
ache plagued her back, Matthew’s fingers begin to knead into her skin, tips softly massaging the area. “Feeling better?”
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It wouldn't be too on the nose to put on an 'I'm The Punisher' sweater.
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— lower part of her back, her skin warm and unflinching against his cold digits. “Here.”
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He asks her to show him, and so she slips from the countertop; standing in front of him, close enough that when she reaches for his hands, she doesn’t have to move him far. Gently, she moves him, watching him as she moves his fingers beneath the warmth of her top to the —
Hm. He can see what she was getting at. The pain is only what drives them forward. One learns to live with it until the burden hurts all too much. “Show me,” he says in a light whisper, hands extending.
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“Where doesn’t it?” She retorts; playing with him, only an undercurrent of truth. Both of them are tired, aching at all times. Sometimes it just aches more than the day before. “… my lower back.”
“I do, yes.” It was one of the rarer occasions where he didn’t feel tied down by burdens only the Devil could alleviate. Things were different. Refreshing, even. “Where does it hurt?”
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“You are enjoying torturing me.” A miraculous smile, just for him. Only ever for him, one he can feel in his touch before she dips her lips to gently brush against his hand. “I’d like that. You can rub the ache in my back.”
“Mm. Make sure it’s pink too,” Matthew laughed, softly exhaling as he reached for her chin. She was exactly the way he last saw her. The way he first met her, even. All those curls, the dimples on her cheeks whenever she smiled. If only. “I can spend the night if you’d like.”
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Her hands gently meets his faces, thumb brushing away a touch of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “I know.” She says softly; she’s not being cruel, it’s her way of saying she missed him too. Her thumb lingers on him, before her hand falls away. “Will I have to wear an —
“If you want to be.” Between the numerous cases that were piling up on his desk and the beatings he’s both handed and taken, he hasn’t had much time for . . well, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. But he wanted to put in the effort. “I missed you.”
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She takes a piece of the chicken from him; he’s hungry, which makes her wonder what he’s been doing all day. “Am I still invited?” She asks, before she takes a bite for herself, pulling one leg up to the counter so she can rest on her knee as she eats.
out of the chicken before offering her some. “Not until next Friday. I plan on wearing my ‘I’m not Daredevil’ sweater per tradition.”
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“It wasn’t an invitation.” She smirks a little, before she’s stepping out of the way so he can help himself. She pulls herself up onto the counter top, eyeing him as he walks over. “What was it, a Christmas party before the Christmas party with Foggy?” She asks; wondering —
“Holiday season,” he jests in a light chortle, folding his cane in halves, slowly kicking the snow off his boots. “I could smell the takeout from seven blocks over.”
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