Tortured Genius (A Marvel Fanfiction: Reader Insert)

Chapter 19: Hold Your Nose And Close Your Eyes

[Present]

What doesn't kill you will probably try again.

At least, from your experience that's how it went. Can't be sure though. Maybe it was just you? Always a possibility.

This lesson, of course, came free of charge while you attempted to add another capable member to your ranks as you took a leisurely stroll through Hell.

Literal hell.

(No, not high school but, good god, same thing.)

Although, after this, you were most definitely redefining the meaning of leisurely. Because--

Whoosh.

"Heck, heck, heck, heck, heck, heck, heck-" You hit the floor to avoid the counter attack from him, his leg rushing over your head, bits of glass slicing into your palms from the shattered vase that had almost but not quite done significant collateral damage to your skull. The pain rushed through your veins; you sucked in a very deep breath.

Analyzing what you could with the split second, you spun away, narrowly missing the couch and instead slamming into the coffee table. Flat on your back you swore, as you had managed to trap yourself between him and a hard place. You're losing your touch, half of you sneered, pointing out the broken vase, the scuffed up wood floor, the pounding headache. (It was clear that you weren't the first to scuff up the floor and yet while you were getting your rear end handed to you, you decided to look into it later.)

I'm calm. I'm collected, the other half of you lied to yourself, rolling away from the second swift kick aimed for your chest. This is fine. Everything is fine. I've still got it.

Jumping to your feet you threw two punches to prove it. But of course, that was just another flaw. They were messy and uncoordinated.

The first missed. The second he caught, dragging you down and pulling you close enough so his knee could connect to your gut. And wow did that spike the agony to a whole other level. "So," you tried, huffing, gasping, his hand squeezing your uncomfortably tighter and tighter. "I take it you don't exactly appreciate midnight visitors, do you, mate?"

I don't got this, you finally acknowledged, feeling more spikes of pain. Tighter. You clenched your jaw and heard your knuckles crack.

"Not really, no." He let go of your hand, shoving you away; his voice was cool when he replied. Smooth, like caramel, in a sense, but stern, like that teacher who was done playing games or beating around the bush. "And neither do I appreciate the fact that someone like you thinks that you can just make yourself at home in my living room when I do not know you nor have I ever heard of you before this moment." Ducking. Sidestepping. Too slow. One of his punches caught you in the ribs. You doubled over, only to meet his roundhouse to your head that knocked you off your feet and into a wall. You sank to the floor, groaning, stars and black drifting across your eyes.

"Okay," you agreed, faltering slightly when you watched him preform a flawless front flip before your very eyes. This guy was out of your league and that was reason enough to give it all that you had. A little late to do so, but every second counts. Maybe. Only sometimes. ... Not often. "You're right: putting my feet up on your coffee table was a bit much."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He snapped, blank eyes white, eyebrows narrowed, hair mostly still undisturbed. His shirt was slick with sweat and his next punch landed solid into your jaw, sending a shock through your face.