if pomegranates could bleed

It hadn’t been the first time Damsel had done this. On the other hand, it hadn’t become routine yet either. Her palms feel clammy as she repeatedly opens and closes her hands, looking at the slowly beating heart just beyond her reach.

At least Fury never seemed to mind when she got up to this. She remembers one time where she woke up when Damsel was halfway through her climb and just went right back to sleep without any reaction.

Fury is slumped over against the wall, her chin almost touching the topmost ribs poking out of her chest and her horns scraping the ceiling. Deep, slow breaths lift up her entire torso before it is gently lowered down with every exhale. Warm breath flows from her mouth, the smell of iron barely strong enough for Damsel to detect.

With determination and a racing heart, Damsel hikes up her skirt and climbs her way towards Fury’s ribs. Careful to not step on any sensitive looking spots like her exposed muscle. Her shoes barely leaving a dent in Fury’s rough, hairless hide.

After some struggle, and more than one almost stumble, she finally arrives at her usual spot. Or at least what would become her usual spot after many, many repeats of today.

Now, standing before the soft tissue of Fury’s lungs that neatly enclose around her beating heart, Damsel feels calm. The heat radiating off of Fury a welcome contrast against the cool apartment.

She places her hands on the lungs, trying to time her movements so that Fury doesn’t wake up. And then Fury breathes in again, lungs expanding while Damsel’s hand can’t pull away fast enough. Pink foam seeps through her fingers, a slowly disappearing hand print left behind in the lung tissue.

She stands there for some time, hands clasped over her chest, her eyes nervously flitting from Fury’s unmoving face to the gap between her heart and lungs.

And then she goes for it, taking a deep breath and steeling herself. Her dress is stained in shades of pink and deep red when she finally nestles in the crevasse beneath Fury’s heart. Every heartbeat expands the gigantic muscle above her, pushing her deeper into the lungs, covering her in foam.

Every breath lifts her up in kind, pressing her neatly against the bottom of Fury’s heart, feeling the blood rush in through the thick, firm wall of muscle pressed against her body.

In those rare moments where Fury breathes in just a bit deeper, just long enough for her heart to beat against her full lungs. In those moments Damsel feels at peace. When she’s completely enclosed by the warm flesh of her friend. When the outside world is a distant memory and she doesn’t have to worry about anything else.