#and once again i've consciously forgotten the glasses

[ashwithapen]

(CW for referenced/implied self-harm, implied dissociation)

"one day. maybe not now, and maybe not for a while, but one day."

i wrote those words once, some years ago now. i put them in my ipad's notes app, probably late one night when i shouldn't have been up, shouldn't have been on my ipad, shouldn't have been crying in prelude. i wrote those words to hear what i needed to, the voice inside me wrapping my naked body gently in my own arms and smothering the growing pains, not in my legs, but my lungs, it seemed, breathing aching and stuttered at best.  

i don't remember most of it, instead preferring to forget my forgottens and be done with the whole thing. why should i need to remember that i don't? why should i need to know that something in my memory is amiss? but i remember you, light. i remember the warmth you shed upon me in the growing dark of the evening. i remember the numb transition from cold tile and warm blood to warm water and then cold air, softly kissing our cheeks where they poked out from beneath the blanket that was more a home than the walls around us. i remember it without question: "oh dear, sweetheart. we can't have this happening. let's get you cleaned up." and for why i should be a sweetheart, and for why i should deserve your care, and for why i should not have just keep lying there in the shower, waiting for something gentler than the painful reminders that were going to sleep, and waking up, and going for 18 hours, and winding up in the shower again just to be bathed in deep red—my very own. and for why? not what; what is too easy, is too specific, too general, too cliche, to falsely layered with what my mind tells me is manipulation. don't tell me a thing that starts with your "because". tell me for why.

to write, i hope so damn dearly. for why: to write, to become the author, to become the creator, to finally say everything that sewed lips failed to. to scream and be heard, to talk and be heard, to sigh gently and be heard. to raise awareness, not in the way that makes me the fighter, but in a way that makes me the poet, the bard, the reminder as they were for me that you can do this and make it to "one day". 

"one day. maybe not now, and maybe not for a while, but one day."

i still finger over the words in my mind, still have them tossed to my corner of this unending consciousness by somebody who'd been lurking in the bright, blurry shadows. when they came back from their trip and turned my mother's perfume sour just by twisting their key in the lock, i swallowed far too hard (so hard i must have buried my tongue down there) and felt the words on the cold metal and glass run in front of my eyes all over again, the prior six weeks be damned. 

i still feel them fluttering like a mindless little thing in a glass cage, wings like the most precious paper, body the most vulnerable thing alive. my ribcage, i suppose, and the flutter the stutter of my pain-wrung lungs, and the body my heart, anticipating the other shoe dropping. and the whole mirage dares to name itself "hope": the fissures in the glass, the walls of this cage, of this house, this family, the smothered gasps as my bedroom door shuts behind me, hands on my mouth and nose, and the feel of the back of my head knocking against tile again in the same old hideaway shower. despite it all, the mirage dares to name itself hope, and with bitten-back cries, it will have to be enough. 

"one day. maybe not now, and maybe not for a while, but one day."

when i looked in the mirror the other day—the two of us, actually—and saw our lips pinch up in the corner, knowing it was you outrightly, i heard the words again. this was no 'she', though. while she does come by, that day it was you. i've known you for as long as my memory goes back, haven't i? you came with my return (assuming i'd been here before) and flipped the switch that was a hand on my shoulder amidst the meetings, the arguments, the dinners (which often were all the same). 

and the other, other day, when i brought up with dad the topic of how to save us. and he said in return: "you cannot make life-changing decisions at 17. you need to focus on getting into university." as if university will not also change me. as if i'd not always wanted this more than education. as if i haven't wanted this for as long as my memory dares to go back. and i pray that our mother will hear us out, and that when i turn 18 my voice will finally matter, and that by next summer it will be as i imagine. i plead it, i plead it, i plead it. and i try to ignore whoever it is telling me that realistically nothing will change, and nobody will hear us, and our voice still will not matter, and that a year from now this body will still be unrecognizable until another, further "one day", maybe even after i get that rolled paper that means i'm not a sham. your hand rests on me again as you read over my shoulder and we both know what i refuse to write. please. 

but it's always been about hope, hasn't it? since i first wrote that sentence and let it plague me, going on some four years now. four years. it doesn't sound so long, i suppose, until you realise how many weeks that is, and how many days are in a week, and how different 13 and 17 are as ages. if i could show that kid one thing, i look to my right and think it might be instant mocha, not for anything but the mundanity, for the proof that i'm still here. these next few months are going to get pretty tough, but i'm still here. just so that the kid knows there's one more person out there on their side. hope is nothing new, but damn, i'm surprised it's still kickin'.

but you know me now, the words come from nowhere, as if, ironically, i should know what they mean. i can see it clear in my mind: in the dark, a character spins, wide-eyed, holding a flaming torch out in front of them, and calls into the nothingness "who's there" or "show yourself". "who do i know now?" i wonder, and only everyone comes to mind. the light, soul, hope, pride, myself, this house. if the answer is even one of those, i'd like to say yeah, i guess i am getting to know you. i want to sit cross-legged at your feet and look up and keep getting to know you. tell me your stories, just know that i'm still wearing children's skin—in other words, please be kind. 

dizzy is a good word. my head spins with your presence, and suddenly i'm forgetting who i am. the other day i smiled, sitting on my sofa, when i remembered how much i love to write, how proud of how far my writing is coming, and that i'd just toured universities and spoken with the professionals. it's weird to forget yourself; it leaves you feeling dizzy.

and what if i did not stop? if i stayed here until the ritalin wears off, shoved more leftovers in my mouth, took another dose, made more instant mocha, and kept on going, filling this document until it overflowed? i smile when i realise that that is what it is to be an author. i smile when i realise i am becoming myself. 

it's always when nobody's home that it's cold, and always when i'm confined to my bedroom that the air likes to bubble over, spilling sweat on my forehead and pillows. if that is the case, i hope the sun never comes out. i hope to keep this childhood home as mine and mine alone, hope to be the only one walking down the hallways, the only one wiping water from the kitchen counters, the only one sprawled on the sofa. and as the cold wind blows, yet again the words rewind and replay.

"one day. maybe not now, and maybe not for a while, but one day."

[slytherpuff98]

Trinity: " I can't believe it! How did you find it?! "

Tia: " You just needed to look around a little longer. "

Trinity: " Thank you! Thank you really much! You seriously are the best! "

And here it is @tiablackraven ~ ❤ I really wanted to thank u for always being the first one to answer me on the server whenever I make some mistake and/or need some help. Not to mention the lovely request you sent to no53472 ~ 😭❤😭 So, I drew Tia helping Trini find a book: hope you'll like the colouring tvb

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 19

First time reader click here

Summary+TWs: We're talking serious feelings here, okay? Reader, you're literally emotionally illiterate. You also have PTSD, which is finally addressed - kinda. Bruce does his best. And he also knows how to kiss... But y'all know that if you read my ramblings about lucid dreaming/shifting/whatever... Chile-, anyways...

My phone kept buzzing and I ignored it until Bruce declared it was time to take a break and review the results. Whilst the man was typing up the data on a nearby StarkPad, I fought the sudden influx of messages that I received from haters and supporters alike after Tony decided on tweeting a reply that could be interpreted in an alarming variety of ways. It was a smart move, I'll admit, but a fucking bother for me nonetheless.

Disabling my DMs and dealing with a follower increase in the thousands wasn't hard; I didn't consider myself a problematic asshole and didn't need to be afraid of "exposure". The parties I went to - I doubted there was any blackmail material in there and the few nudes I'd sent over the years were always face-less. As a gen Z, I knew my internet safety.

The trolls didn't bother me either. It was more sad than annoying, people shitting on others for clout. Iron Man stans were witty, at least, if jealous. I must admit I've never considered the influx of popularity I would experience should I publicly out myself as a friend of Tony's. Girlfriend? Intern? Science child? Whatever cover story he was going to feed the press worked for me, as long as I still got the hugs, the kisses, the dick and the attention.

"Tony..." Bruce groaned, evidently done with the data processing, had to have opened his social media to see his own skyrocketing popularity.

"Yeah, our Tony is being a Tony again," I chuckled, having reset my social media settings so my phone wouldn't constantly beep, vibrate and bother me. School was going to be fun.

Bruce shook his head, fond, coming over to my side of the lab after removing his own hazmat suit. His eyes shiny with newfound knowledge and hair turned adorably fluffy in the confines of the head covering. He was smiling softly. "Food?"

"Sure."

We chewed our sandwiches in silence for a moment, each of us lost in our thoughts.

"I still can't believe Tony told everyone on Twitter you're his girlfriend, usually he keeps this stuff private or schedules a fancy press conference," Bruce's tone was thoughtful.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what it was? Seemed ambiguous to me..." I trailed off, confused.

"He worded it like that on purpose, I mean, you're still in high school," The scientist was confident in his words. "But I know Tony. I'm a hundred percent sure that he meant exactly that. Aren't you?"

Shock flooded me. Suddenly, I understood I completely misread the situation. "Um, no? I thought we were, y'know, just fucking. We never defined our relationship and we're definitely not exclusive." I said, chewing on my lip. "You make a valid argument, I'm a high school student and he's a grown ass man that does grown man stuff. Putting aside the fact that he could have anybody in the world so why would he choose me?" I was rambling, thinking out loud. Discussing my feelings has never my strong forte. "It would be stupid to impose monogamy on such a complex man like Tony. Downright idiotic to expect a genius to confine to social norms just because it suits others." I finished with a wave of my hand. Another bubble of thought that had festered within me for the longest time. I felt relieved, finally voicing it out loud. A weight had been lifted off my shoulders, a weight I wasn't previously consciously aware of.

Bruce was watching me intently, with an unreadable expression that held the tiniest bit of awe, admiration perhaps. The silence that followed was unnerving. I fidgeted with my hands, not really knowing where to put them or where to look.

"You know," He took off his glasses, fiddling them in his hands. "I'm not going to sugar coat it. For the longest time, I thought you were going to inadvertently hurt him when you get bored with whatever you've got going on. I respect you, don't misunderstand me, but you are young. Now, I've changed my mind. You've changed my mind," He punctuated his statement with his hand on mine, grasping it. "I think you managed to understand him in a way most people can't. Or don't want to. Understand and accept him in a way that some of us can't even after years of working and living side by side with him." Bruce's gentle fingers skimmed along the top of my palm.

"I don't always understand Tony but I do accept him," I agreed. "Because Tony is a great man."

"I think you're in love with him," Bruce said, absolutely having ignored my previous statement. Just like that, point blank, he pushed to the surface the very feelings I got so good at ignoring. There was no rest for me in this place.

My heart fluttered, picking up the pace. I kept my mouth shut, not trusting it whatsoever. My thoughts became akin to panicked hares, jumping and zigzagging aimlessly in my skull. I didn't see the point in defending myself because the scientist had pointed out the obvious.

Bruce looked at me, softly, warmly. "And don't think we haven't noticed the rise in team morale. The improvement not only in communication, but on the battlefield, too. It's easier to entrust your back to someone with whom you've shared a laugh and a drink the previous night. You're the glue that keeps us together."

Something warm and wet was on my cheeks. I stared at our clasped hands, his words echoing in my head over and over and over. The moment I realized I was crying, I willed myself to stop and failed spectacularly - only more salty fluid streamed down, some of it getting in my nose, on my lips. The sleepless nights were making me unstable.

It took a single sniffle for Bruce to pick me up and wrap up in his kind embrace. I didn't resist, tucking my face into the crook of his neck, holding onto the back of his lab coat, inhaling the smell of his skin and chemicals. It was familiar, calming. Minutes ticked by with me slowly leaking the tension out of my body.

"He loves you, too, maybe he just doesn't realize it yet." Bruce whispered into my hair. "I've never seen Tony so happy, even with Pepper. You are special and you are loved."

There was something unsaid, I felt it. It hung in the ear, it burned the tips of my ears, stood sharp on the tip of my tongue. "I love you too, Bwucie-bear," I whispered into the space between his ear and his jaw. His arms tightened around me.

The man placed several chaste kisses in my hair, running a palm over my back. In moments like these, the crush for him, the very crush that got out of control, blossomed fully into a deep sense of respect and admiration. He made me feel safe. He said all the right words at the right time.

Drowsiness overtook me. As usual, any worries and anxieties I had evaporated, once Banner had his arms around me, shielding me from the world. I didn't forbid myself this time: delicately, my hand slipped through the man's soft messy curls, eliciting a contented sigh.

"You haven't been sleeping well," He more stated than asked.

I had no choice but to nod. "Clint keeps dying in my dreams. Or even worse, he doesn't, he just suffers, endlessly, painfully." I admitted.

Bruce flinched under me, tensing. My face was in between his hands in a second, the scientist sternly looking into my eyes. "Why didn't you say anything? All of us assumed you were okay after what happened." He looked - angry. Not Hulk-out pissed but Bruce-pissed, which equalled a kicked-puppy look seasoned with a great pinch of disappointment.

"I am okay." I lied, shamelessly. "It's getting better. That's why I want to have a party - relax a little, dance, socialize. I don't think Tony would let me go on my own so I figured I can convince him to throw one here." I looked away. It was better for everyone if I dealt with my own problems - they were superheroes, not babysitters.

Bruce frowned. "Why wouldn't Tony let you go?"

"Because of that one time I snorted coke," I rolled my eyes at Bruce's naiveté, leaving the less obvious parts unsaid. Tony knew exactly what I was going to do once I got free reign, he considered it destructive and told me so himself. Admittedly, he had a point but still... I wished I'd been given a choice.

"I'll talk to him," Bruce nodded firmly. "That's not acceptable. He can't forbid you from making mistakes and learning from them."

He was met with my shrug. No excitement came from me regarding this particular turn of conversation. I was drained, limbs like jello, thoughts sluggish. My face was drooping.

"Let's get you to bed," Banner stood up with me wrapped around him. "You need a nap."

"No," I protested. If I went to sleep now, only Satan knew at what ungodly hour I would wake up.

"Yes, Princess," Bruce smirked. I wiggled uncomfortably - when he went all caretaker like, my ovaries wreaked havoc on my body and brain. My thoughts weren't appropriate if Bruce wanted me to see him as a father figure. The signals he was sending were mixed. People around me did that a lot and I wasn't sure how to act so I usually just went with the flow. I decided to do the very same thing in that particular moment.

Curiosity sparked within me, tightly interwoven with the deep longing that settled below my collarbones whenever Tony or one of the others wasn't sitting next to me or talking my ear off. I've almost forgotten how it was to be alone with my thoughts. The maze of my very own self was becoming unfamiliar territory. Alarming.

I allowed Bruce to help me shed my shoes and outer layer of clothing, shivering in the coolness of my room. Despite being a frequent visitor, I still had a 'guest' room in the tower - I mostly stayed at Tony's or Wanda's anyways. During our sleepovers neither me nor the witch minded sharing her enormous bed, to be fair, we could have fit at least two more people in it besides us. Tony took care of his own - all the tower's residents had their apartments furnished with the best stuff.

"Sleep now, Princess," Bruce chastised, tucking a blanket around me, having noticed an earbud in my ear and my smartphone in my hand. I had hoped to kill some time online, damn well knowing sleep wouldn't come easy.

"I don't think I can fall asleep, Bruce," I admitted, looking away. There was just so much going on. My brain wouldn't shut up and if I couldn't drown out the cacophony by being productive, I'd troll the internet, as usual.

Banner sighed, coming to sit next to me, leaning against the headboard. Gently running his fingers through my hair, brushing the outside of his palm against my cheek. "How do you usually deal with this?"

Involuntarily, my eyelashes fluttered. "Tony does most of the work," I admitted coyly. The engineer had a whole arsenal of tricks up his sleeve - sexy and exhausting tricks.

"I see," Bruce muttered, thoughtfully.

I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me with a look I haven't seen before. The usual mildly absent, slightly anxious face he wore was replaced by something I could only describe as hurt envy, like a kid looking at their schoolmate who had all the newest, coolest toys. I used to be on the receiving end of that look far too often and I hated it.

I hid my face against his leg, rubbing my cheek on the raspy corduroy fabric of his pants. "Got any good ideas of your own?" I wondered lowly, thinking about what in the world possessed Bruce to wear corduroy trousers on a semi-casual day, in the twenty-first century.

"Only bad ideas," He replied in a matching low tone. His soft fingertips relocated to my nape, goosebumps rising down my back.

"Humour me," I grinned against his leg.

Bruce was quiet for a moment, the sound of his thinking screaming louder than any words could have done. Knowing the scientist so closely, I found out he was full of surprises - bolder than he appeared outwardly and competitive to a boot. He thought he had a lot to prove to himself and by extension, to others. The unknown, the mystery dangling in front of my nose was exhilarating, trepidation addictive. It took me away from the chaos in my mind.

A gentle grasp on my chin had me turning to look upwards, Bruce's face flushed and focused on my own, open and trusting. He needed to see the obvious, that I trusted him to take care of me. He pulled and I followed, sitting up on my elbows, coming up to his shoulder level, our faces inches apart, enveloped in the unique, intense scent of his herbal tea. It was a tart, strong smell and it suited his quiet but passionate character.

Once, twice, I caught my eyes sliding to his plump lips. They looked far too appealing in this position. I usually strategically stayed away from positions so compromising, fearing the very thing that I'd already let happen, however this time the atmosphere was different. We stood on ambiguous grounds, waiting for Bruce to make a decision.

The man wasn't stupid, he saw the way I looked at him. The nightmares and inability to take a break from life put a significant dent in my resolve to keep a distance between us, romantically - I could have settled even for a pity kiss, a pity fuck. Anything to put my brain on pause.

His lips were softer than I had imagined. Skilled, too, he easily steered the kiss into the shallow waters of our combined longing.

With Tony, it was like an avalanche. Tony ran hot like Peterbilt engines, hard and fast, almost angry in his race for satisfaction. Tony was a man that was used to getting whatever he wanted and it became plainly obvious when we fucked.

Bruce was the opposite. He savoured the kiss, losing himself in a way that could almost be described as delicate. Bruce was humming, softly, as we tasted each other, holding the left side of my face with careful fingertips. Almost as if he was afraid to break me. The feel of his skin on mine was soothing in a way that made me sigh and relax even further.

"Wanna make you feel good." His voice had dropped, gone husky, but his breathing held even. He must know all about self-control.

"Yeah," I was ready to agree with whatever the fuck he was offering. My eyelids remained shut.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

PS. Letsby, please don't combust. The underwear is coming off in the next chapter. 😶

[obiwhat]

Hey! I've been reading one of your fics and I kinda felt the need to request one! Your writing is so good! If it's levi/erwin is up to you, but that is the ship I'm usually going with 😍🙃

My rec is; Levi is acting out after his squad is killed (Petra, Eld, Gunter and Oulo/Auro? Ouro? I don't even know anymore-) in the way of how he would let out steam in the underground. He goes out drinking and instigates a fight, intentionally or subconsciously, and ends up getting overpowered by a group of men, probably because of his drunkenness and perhaps because of the injured ankle he sustained after the meeting with the female titan. His injuries after the fight are significant and eventually, he's found in an alleyway (or something), by Erwin who's been worried about his mental state (cause obviously, Levi has been trying to hide it, all though rather poorly), and takes care of him.

I hope this isn't too specific 😅 I take requests myself and appreciate people being as thorough as possible. If not; take whatever you like and run with ut 😄😄

AHH THANK YOU FOR SUCH A DETAILED ASK!! good stuff right here^^ big brain moves^^

Fix You: 

(AO3)

(warning: language, violence, a bit of a emetophobia and drinking ofc)

His heart ached. 

It spread through his chest into every limb of his body, to the point where the horrible throbbing from his ankle felt like a slight ache in comparison.

Every time Levi lost someone, it broke away a little piece of him. Even though he’d never let it see the surface, there were several cracks underneath. When he found his squad; bloody, with limbs dangling from trees and branches, it broke off another rather large piece. 

These were people he had trained closely. Erwin had trusted him enough to assign him a special leadership role in the Scouts and a special operations squad to suit it. When he trained them, he had drilled it into their heads everyday not to die. He gave them every bit of his knowledge on how to survive in the shitty world they had to endure.

He wasn’t a leader. He never had been. Unfortunate people just tended to follow behind him. Levi never knew the right thing to say or how to express what he was thinking, but his squad had still learned quickly. They were smart and skillful and he was… proud of them. Truly.

And their blood still painted that forest floor.

Levi knocked back another shot, numbing the pain for a moment longer. A fleeting escape from the horrors that crept into his mind yet again that night. He was dangling off of his bar stool as he slouched forward even further with his shoulders barely holding his head up. He flagged down the waiter for another round.

It wasn’t exactly clear what had driven him to the rougher side of town, to drown himself in shitty booze. It had a lot to do with his hands, which he refused to look down at. Every time he did, he saw red. Dark crimson. The blood of his comrades. Paired with the echo of radiating pain from his ankle. A pain, he felt, was well deserved.

He wasn’t even supposed to be walking on it, as much as possible at least. Hanji had given him grief about going to an actual doctor for the pain and the swelling. At the moment, he couldn’t find the will to care. As long as he could shove it into his boot and stumble his way into a bar for the night, then he was fine by his standards.

He downed another shot of whiskey, barely feeling the burn in the back of his throat any longer. The room spun, he huffed out a broken laugh quietly under his breath. It’d been years since he’d drank himself to this pathetic point. Not since the underground. Or maybe not since Farlan and…

He threw back the next shot and took in a sharp breath as he stubbornly blocked the memory from surfacing. His eyelids shut tightly as he tried to remove the thoughts of his failures from his mind. All the people he’d failed to protect. Despite his overwhelming strength. 

Humanity’s strongest soldier… 

What a load of bullshit.

He flagged down the bartender once more and asked for the whole damn bottle, slurring his words to the point of near incomprehension. The bartender didn’t seem to mind. Money was money. Even if his patrons drank themselves into a ditch. That’s how it went in these parts of town. Money was the only language anyone spoke, because money was the only way anyone could make it through the day.

It reminded him of home.

He slammed down his money and swiped the bottle from the counter, the bar spun wildly as he stood on his feet again. Levi had nearly forgotten about his injury, the sudden shift of weight onto his ankle sent him stumbling a bit. He hissed in pain, but only responded with another pull of the whiskey, straight from the bottle.

As the chilled night breeze hit him, Levi felt a sudden wave of disgust. It was the smell of sewage and grime. These alleyways were radiating with it. Swaying a bit, Levi grabbed out blindly for purchase. His palm found a brick wall, covered in something sticky. He winced, pain shooting up his leg as the alleyway walls spun dizzyingly around him.

The pain was welcome. In fact, he’d decided he didn’t deserve the numbness that the whiskey brought. He should feel it all. He’d gotten his comrades killed. Again. He wanted to feel something. To hit something.

Levi’s chance was walking down the other side of the alleyway, feet dragging confidently through the sludge of the streets. A group of men walking together, talking irritatingly loud in contrast to the quiet night streets Levi had enjoyed before.

“Haha! He was dumber than he looked!” One hollered confidently.

“What’d you expect from a son of a whore?” A burly man spit as he laughed, his dull voice echoing through the alleyway. He was obviously somewhat of a leader to them.

His last word perked Levi’s attention. He gripped his whiskey bottle tightly in one hand, nearly busting it into pieces.

“That’s a choice word there.” Levi lazily brought up a shaky finger, along with the whiskey bottle, to point in the direction of the burly man. Or at least where he thought he was. His vision was dancing.

The leader laughed a grating chuckle and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What is, you drunk idiot? You got a problem with the word whore?” 

“I gotta problem with your shit leaking face.” 

Levi growled out his words with a half cocked smirk, looking much like a wild animal in the dark of the alleyway. Although his threatening appearance was subdued by the fact that he could barely balance on his feet, without the help of the wall nearby.

“Haha!” The man belly-laughed once more, drawing near, his companions followed closely behind him. 

“You got some guts, short stuff. Got the chops to back that shit up?”

The leader rolled back his sleeves, his friends followed suit. They were all geared up to fight him. Levi laughed hollowly in the dark. A sick, empty, laugh influenced by the whiskey fueling his veins.

He swung hard at the burly man, a bit surprised to have connected with his jaw. Levi could barely see straight at this point. A hit was coming from his left, which he barely dodged sluggishly before grabbing the man’s arm with the hand that wasn’t still gripping his whiskey. He twisted it, breaking the man’s wrist.

Levi took a slow swig of the whiskey before he caught a glimpse of something shiny out of the corner of his eye, coming from his right. Someone had pulled a knife. Interesting.

It didn’t quite register properly until the next man lunged at him and he barely had the chance to grip his hand before the knife could plunge into his chest. This new face looked angry. Angrier that Levi had felt about the burly man’s comment. The cause of this chosen chaos. In fact, Levi wasn’t feeling much anger at all over this fight. 

The knife drew closer and closer. Levi managed to smack it away, not a moment too soon. The sound of metal crossing the stone ground echoed over the heavy breathing of the group. Levi had placed a heavy weight on his ankle with his last move causing a bit of a wince to unconsciously form on his face. Before he could register what had happened, he felt an even more crippling shock ripple through his entire leg. 

He gasped suddenly, vision darkening.

The whiskey bottle hit the ground, spilling the burgundy liquid all over the stone floor. Glass shards scattered all around.

The man had kicked him, hard, in his wounded leg. Right where he’d shoved his bruised, aching flesh into his boot. Levi’s legs gave out beneath him and his knees connected with the stone below with a loud thud. His palms hit glass in front of him as he could barely hold himself upright.

His head was spinning, swirling, and darkening his vision around the edges as he knew nothing but white hot pain for what felt like an eternity.

“I knew it! He’s got a bum leg!” The man who’d pulled the knife shouted gleefully to the remaining members of the crew. 

He must’ve noticed Levi’s wince from before. The man sent another crack into Levi’s wounded leg, sending ripples of agony through his entire body. It sobered him to another level fairly quickly. The other men were getting to their feet again as Levi quivered on the ground in pain, gripping his palms into glass and whiskey.

Everything was dark around him as another anticipated strike came through, this one connected harshly with his ribs. There was a deafening crack of bone. There was nothing he could do but wait for the next impact. He couldn’t help but yell out in pain as the agony overwhelmed him. Levi nearly passed out as his head hit the cold stone, whiskey and grime covering one side of his face.

With the side of his face, not plastered to the ground, Levi could spot more legs swinging, connecting with his side, and more sounds of shouting. He couldn’t tell if the shouting was his own anymore. He couldn’t feel much of anything anymore, everything was fading out slow. He was fading. 

There were six faces dancing around above him in his hazy vision. His head pounded as he tried desperately to get a grip on his consciousness.

Had there always been six of them? Or were they doubling from his drunken, wounded stupor? They all swirled into a confusing mess of faces. Ugly, contorted, swirling faces. He felt sick.

Another shock connected with his ribs. He heard another sickening crack over their laughs and hollers before his vision finally graced him with complete and utter darkness.

—

Another dead end and no sign of the captain. 

At some point he was going to have to send out a missing report. Erwin was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to that, but after hours of scouring the near entirety of the city and finding nothing, he was beginning to accept the facts. Levi was missing.

Missing. Out of bed. Injured.

Erwin remembered when he first saw Levi’s leg after the expedition. He’d only caught a glimpse when Hanji was looking him over. It was horribly bruised and swollen, raw. A part of him blamed himself, he’d sent the captain to fight the female titan. Yet again, Levi had sacrificed a part of himself for humanity. His wounded leg was a sacrifice, but Erwin knew there were much heavier weights on him, paining him deeper than flesh would show.

This small section of town was not one he expected to find Levi in. It was full of filth and squalor. A familiar sight to that of the underground. Something he’d assumed Levi would never return to willingly. 

A chill was in the air. Cool breeze passed on the outside of his hood as Erwin pulled it over his eyes. He turned into what he assumed was one of the last streets he hadn’t checked yet. There was a group of men who had just left an alleyway quickly, Erwin noticed a bit of blood on their clothes and faces, not exactly a shock in this part of town.

One man was gripping at his wrist and complaining loudly as they passed Erwin by. 

“Piece of shit broke my wrist!” He cried out and kicked a stone on the ground irritatedly.

“Be glad it wasn’t your neck, I bet he would’ve been a lot more dangerous if his leg wasn’t busted. I think he was trained or something. Did you see the way…” Their conversation trailed off as they disappeared around a corner. 

Erwin was no longer listening, he was more focused on a particular phrase in their conversation.

Busted leg? Erwin thought for a moment, fearing the worst in the back of his mind. It couldn’t be…

The commander broke into a quicker pace, sweat dripping nervously down the back of his neck as he followed the alleyway, where the men had come from. It was dark and smelled of filth, blanketed in whiskey. There was glass covering the ground as he walked further, he could hear it crunch underneath his boots with each step.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erwin caught a glimpse of black dress shoes. A body lay slumped up against the brick wall of the alley. A head of dark hair, shadowing a pale and bloody face. 

Levi.

Erwin kneeled down quickly and placed a warm hand on his shoulder, attempting to rouse him gently. His body was shaking horribly, covered in his own blood and the scent of whiskey. 

“Levi…? Please.” Erwin winced as his voice died in his throat. “Say something. Are you alright?”

There was no response. Erwin pushed his dark locks out of his eyes to get a better view of his face. The blood he’d spotted earlier was dripping from his lips which made him immediately check his torso for wounds. He couldn’t find any blood, but when he lifted his shirt carefully, he spotted it. 

Erwin had looked emotionlessly at many wounds before, but this made him winced in sympathy. Seeing black and blue paint the side of Levi’s porcelain, perfect skin made him want to run and find those men from before. But no. Levi was the most important thing right now and he had injured himself even worse than before. 

The thought over his previous injury crossed Erwin’s mind as he hesitantly lifted Levi’s pant leg. If the bruising on his torso was dark, his leg looked like the night sky. His bruises were black and dark purple, spiraling their way up to his knee. The flesh was swollen and warm to the touch when Erwin hovered his hand above it nervously.

How did this happen? Why was Levi here in the first place? He smelled heavily of alcohol, it was probably what was covering his clothes and turning his cheeks pink. Had he come here to get drunk? To start a fight in an alleyway? 

It would be very uncharacteristic of him. But, of course, finding him here in the first place was very uncharacteristic. He wasn’t himself. He hadn’t been for some time now.

Without time to spare, Erwin pulled his cloak off of his shoulders and wrapped Levi’s broken, shivering form. He frowned as he watched the man continue to shake harshly despite the warmth of the cloth. He hadn’t even noticed Erwin’s presence, unusually unalert and dazed.

“It’ll be alright Levi. I’m here now.” His hands hovered over his chest. He’d have to carry him back. “I have to lift you. Please endure it for a moment, we’re not too far from my house.”

Erwin scooped him off of the filthy stone floor and into his warm hold as carefully as he could muster. Levi moaned in pain in his embrace, Erwin pulled him tighter against his chest as he brought them out of the dark alleyway and back into the light.

—

A bath was in order. Erwin knew Levi inside and out. He knew he wouldn’t be too keen on waking up smelling like alcohol and blood. He’d be better if he was cleaned up a bit and his wounds were wrapped. Erwin was determined to fix this. To fix him.

He laid Levi’s still, unconscious body carefully into his bathtub, kneeling beside him and washing off the dirt and the blood from his face with a cool rag. He was so delicate with him, like he was handling fragile glass.

Erwin surprised even himself with how carefully he guided the rag across Levi’s broken skin. He wasn’t used to being this careful and soft. War and death had all but stripped him of these qualities. But not with Levi. With Levi, he was different.

It had been a struggle carrying the captain back, with his wounds being so extensive. However, Erwin had made it to his house in record time without much unconscious complaint from the shivering form in his arms. He had been light. Far too light for Erwin’s liking. 

He tried to ignore the way Levi’s collar bones stuck out slightly as he washed away soap and the whiskey smell with the soft scrub. Erwin couldn’t bear to glance at the curious patterns of bruises over Levi’s thin body or the way his chest rose and fell with a heavy struggle. He just continued to wash away the soap and water.

Erwin scooped a bit of water into his palms and washed it through Levi’s hair, watching as the last of the blood and whiskey found its way down the drain. As the water trickled through his dark hair, down the back of his neck, Levi stirred a bit but never opened his eyes.

“E-Erwin…” Levi breathed through his words, dazed and unaware of his own incoherent mumbles.

“I’m here, Levi.” Erwin gripped his slender hand tight and ran his other across the man’s creased forehead. “I’m right here. You’re alright.”

“No…” Levi mumbled, voice breaking as his eyes pinched together tighter. “Can’t leave me… Not you… too…”

“I won’t leave you Levi... I promise.” 

Such promises were foolhardy in the work they did, but Erwin couldn’t stop himself from making it. He couldn’t stand the way his captain cried out in pain and heartbreak, it was worse than any gruesome scene he’d witnessed. 

Levi leaned into his touch as Erwin cupped his palms around his cheeks and kissed his forehead gently. He didn’t know exactly what possessed him to do so, but it seemed to cause some relief from his captain so he allowed it. 

Once he was clean, dry and warming up again, Erwin took him to his warm bed to rest finally. He dressed his wounds carefully, glad to see that Levi was finally resting somewhat peacefully. He hoped he could now sense his presence at least. To know he wasn’t alone tonight.

Erwin was concerned with the heat radiating from Levi’s ankle as he wrapped it. He was determined to get Levi to an actual doctor in the morning to look everything over. He would command him this time, to ensure he actually did so. For now, he placed a cool rag on the man’s forehead just in case a fever began, which was entirely likely.

He was in rough shape. Erwin had been lucky to find him when he did. 

What if he hadn’t? Would he have caught his death in the chilled night? Or slept on the cold stone ground, injured and alone?

Erwin couldn’t understand Levi’s behavior. It wasn’t like him in the slightest. He was usually so level headed and composed. It made the commander ache to think that this sacrifice had made the man fall so low.

—

A dark ceiling was spiraling above him. One that seemed vaguely familiar. His head hurt too much to even try to deduce where the hell he was. There was a cool cloth placed on his brow, wrappings covered his ribs, palms, and leg, his shirt was missing.

All this spinning was aggravating.

He was going to be sick. 

Levi crumbled off the side of the bed, hardly making it to the floor as his legs refused to hold him. His body was broken, defeated, exhausted beyond belief. A dizzying roll to his stomach made him clutch it in pain. There was a waste bin by the bed frame which he gratefully and regrettably clutched to his chest.

For a moment, nothing happened. He wished it would, feeling unbelievably nauseous and confused. But he could do nothing to help himself rather than sitting there, shakily clutching the bin.

“Levi…” A familiar whisper found him in the dark. 

He jumped and lashed out with a blind strike that hit nothing but air. Erwin’s hand gripped his wrist softly and lowered it, slow. “It’s just me. You’re here with me, at my house.”

Levi’s chest collapsed in breath as he winced again and dry heaved into the bin. Nothing had come from it. He hadn’t eaten enough. He hadn’t eaten much at all… Since… 

Blood… Everywhere… 

He dry heaved again, gripping the bin with white knuckles. Erwin rubbed soft circles on his back. The familiar touch was welcome despite the circumstances.

“You haven’t been eating, have you?” He asked, quiet so as to not upset Levi further.

Levi didn’t respond. Not because he was unable, but because he simply did not want to. It was pointless. He couldn’t have stomached food. Not while looking at the blood on his hands as he chowed down. Not while his comrades were left bloody in those damn woods.

He slid the bin to the ground and brought his knees into his chest despite the pain it caused him. Levi rubbed cruel circles into his thigh as his wound echoed agony through his entire leg.

He heard Erwin inhale deeply. 

“Levi… Why were you…? You can’t just do something like this. What if I hadn’t found you?”

“How did… you… find me?” Levi coughed slightly as his breath caught in his injured chest. 

Something deep inside him almost wished Erwin hadn’t found him at all. He shut it away.

“I came to your room to check on you.” Erwin explained, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “You weren’t there, so I went looking at your regular spots.”

Levi faced his head towards his chest and buried his face deeper, to try to escape this. He wanted to escape again. It was all too much.

“I didn’t think you’d be in the bar district. It was the last place I tried looking.” 

He’s been looking for me all night then. 

What an idiot.

“Why were you there, Levi?” His voice turned soft, a tone that only Levi had probably ever heard from the man. Something sacred between them.

“Why do you think?” Levi’s tone was more venomous than he intended. If his head wasn’t pounding, he might’ve corrected himself.

“I was worried about you.” Erwin maintained that soft voice despite Levi’s defensive nature. He placed a hesitant hand on the injured man’s knee. 

“With everything going on, I can’t lose you too. I need you.”

He needs me, huh? 

Why?

Levi hadn’t realized he’d asked it aloud. 

“Why?” Erwin repeated his words back to him, looking damaged by the question. “Because…”

The words caught in his throat, at a loss for the right phrasing.

“You’re important to me. To humanity.”

Humanity…

It all feels like a bad joke…

What part of humanity am I even helping if everyone around me gets killed?

“Why’d you even let me train a squad? I just got them all murdered…” Levi felt his chest hitch. 

“Their blood… Erwin…”

He finally risked a glance at his shaking hands and clenched his fists so hard he thought his fingernails might draw blood from his flesh.

“It’s all over my hands.”

Erwin was silent. Without his drawing of breath nearby, Levi wouldn’t have known he was even still there with him. But he was, he knew Erwin would never leave him alone right now.

“No matter how many times I scrub them…” He swallowed a wave of nausea as he could see the red start to blanket his palms again. He felt insane. “I can't clean the blood off.”

Suddenly, large warm fingers wrapped around his slender hands, steadying them for him.

“I can't either.” 

Erwin’s voice was hoarse in the dark. He rubbed a thumb across the back of Levi’s hand softly, despite the pain in his voice.

“I’m sorry.” His words soothed something deep inside Levi’s aching chest. “We’ll never be able to wipe this blood away.”

Levi released a captive breath, leaning forward into Erwin’s chest despite the burning in his ribs. Erwin could soothe it. He could soothe this pain. Even just by a fraction. Levi sunk into him with fatigue in his bones.

“It reminds us of their sacrifice. What they did for humanity. What we will continue to do for humanity, with their strength fueling our fight.”

Humanity… Humanity’s Strongest… 

Never strong enough to save anyone important though… 

No one really needs me… Especially not like this… 

Broken…

“Stop. You’ll regret it.” His deep voice was stern now. A command from years ago. A call back to reality. “You were a good leader to them. They did their duty well. Perfectly.”

“Don’t—” Levi’s voice caught in his throat.

“You taught them well. They were able to live as long as they did only because of you. Because of what they learned from their time with you.” Erwin brushed a hand through his hair softly and held him closer. “You did well by them. They were proud to die under your last command, I can promise you that.”

Levi wanted to argue, to refuse this, but he couldn’t find the strength behind words just yet. He could only be held tightly by his commander and hear his voice next to his ear.

“I saw the way they looked up to you. Worshipped you in some cases. Loved you in others. They would not do this if you weren’t worthy of it.” He pressed further. “Just the idea of you makes our soldiers confident in a future of freedom. It’s not just your physical capabilities, Levi. It’s the strength within you as well. That is why you’re important.”

He meant it. He meant every damn word. Levi had never heard someone speak so passionately about another person. With such vigor and honesty. It made his heart clench painfully in his broken chest.

“You have to continue. For them.” He whispered in Levi’s ear now, soft and comforting. “For me, as well. I need you, most of all.”

Tears finally found their way onto Levi’s cheeks, eyes turning red in irritation. He cursed himself and crumbled in Erwin’s arms completely. 

“God it hurts… It hurts all over.” He couldn’t tell if he was talking about the pain in his heart or the pain in his body. It didn’t really matter as Erwin caressed him softly and made it fade for just a moment.

Erwin didn’t numb him like the alcohol had. He allowed him to feel, to cry, to express. And he held him tightly through it all.

Until the morning sun rose, finding them fast asleep in each other's embrace on the wooden floor. Soft rays of sunlight crossed their cheeks in unison.

[the-coffee-story]

Rise of the Forest God

Chapter 12 - A surprising Encounter in the Basement

The sky had cast over a dark, rainy grey shadow by the time Violet could get off the bus. A strong wind rustled and poured through the groaning trees and the long, yellowing grass that had slowly become to infest the forgotten land around Graytown Prison, loudly announcing the coming of a storm.

Violet was feeling a little sickly again, but that was the natural consequence of being six months pregnant. She rest a hand over her belly and felt a soft kick.

"Stay calm in there," she whispered. "Or I'll tell your dad."

Thunder snarled at her from a distance. Violet glanced up at the sky. It was about to rain. Then, as luck would have it, she spotted Gary Fox dawdling from the other side of the prison building and waved at him enthusiastically. He noticed her and ran over, his long chestnut hair blowing in the wind.

"Hi!" He was breathless. "Sorry if you've been waiting here for longer, I was coming from my lunch break..."

"No stress." Violet smiled. "Hey, Gary, I need to go through the archive to check on murders in Forest Lane and a bloke called Wesley Sallow."

He shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Our principal archivist is somewhere downstairs, you know the way."

"Thank you." Violet gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "You're the best."

The stairwell to the basement was uncomfortably damp and the lingering smell of mould and stale water hung in the air. Only the flickering green exit lights offered any form of illumination. Violet had once again been unable to find the light switch. She shivered. Graytown Prison's basement was creepy as hell and she did not enjoy being there at all.

Suddenly she heard irregular footsteps and squinted her eyes. "Hello?"

Then, she noticed a slender figure with a bushy black ponytail, tinted sunglasses and a black scarf covering the lower half of his face materialising from the shadows. "Oh, hallo!" He waved, and Violet immediately recognized Wilhelm Wisper's German accent curling around a remarkably soft voice. He came over to her as quickly as his limp allowed him. "Great to see you! I'm on my break right now, come along!"

Wilhelm led Violet to a small communal kitchen down the corridor and turned on the light.

"Water?", he asked, and Violet shook her head. He shrugged his shoulders and grabbed a plastic bottle. "Alright." Holding the bottle between his chest and the counter he opened it with his right hand.

"I didn't know you work here now," Violet admitted while he poured himself a glass.

"You are standing in front of Graytown Prison's new principal archivist." Wilhelm mockingly bowed. He pulled his scarf down to his neck and took his sunglasses off, placing them on the countertop. It took only a few seconds of squinting his narrow dark eye until it just about adjusted to the harsh light. The cool white lamps sharply illuminated the scars that marred the left side of his face, and for a moment his hand self-consciously slid, ghosting over the gaping hole where his nose once rested.

Then, with a slight sigh, he dug through his pockets, pulled out a handful of colourful pills and downed them with the glass of water. "Mein lieber Schwan. Hottest spring I've witnessed in years."

"Well, if you're wearing all that..."

He waved it off. "It's a great deal less unnerving for someone to spot me in that than without it." Wilhelm laughed and gesticulated towards his scarred face. His smile was a little crooked from the burns. "People aren't exactly expecting to see stuff like this."

"I'm probably used to it at this point."

He chuckled and nodded towards her belly. "You been getting any mood swings lately?"

"You'd have to ask Coffee, I haven't noticed any..." Violet laughed.

"I remember when my wife was pregnant she constantly threatened to set me on fire," Wilhelm commented. Then his smile disintegrated a little. "Of course, that was before she actually went through with it...anyway, why are you here?"

Violet leaned against the counter. "I need to get some information."

"Oh? On what?"

"We're investigating a series of pretty brutal murders in Forest Lane, and I need to check whether a suspect has any criminal record, and whether there's been anything like this before."

"Oh, alles klar!" He beamed. "That's gonna take a while, but I'm sure we can find something!" A little quieter he added: "Nothing is digitalized here, it's horrible. I'm working on scanning and typing out the files but oh mein Gott."

Violet sighed. "Gary's predecessor was not a fan of technology, and you know Gary. He procrastinates."

Wilhelm laughed. "That's true. Well, let's go then."

***

"What did you say his name was again?", Wilhelm asked. He was standing on a stepladder and going through the dusty files.

"Wesley Sallow." Violet leaned heavily against the shelf.

"Ah." Wilhelm squinted. "Well. The closest I've got is a Theodore Sallow who was arrested in 1979, but I doubt that's it."

"Me too."

"Especially since he's been dead for fourty slutty, slutty years."

"That might be a point as well."

Wilhelm back down and slid it over to the shelf, proudly labeled with a faded, bronze F. "Forest Lane you say?"

Violet nodded. He hummed, pulling out a sizeable file, causing both of them to start coughing in the cloud of dust.

"Jesus, how do you even survive this?", Violet winced, burying her nose in her sleeve and waving the flying dust away from her face.

"I'm covering my mouth most of the time." Wilhelm grinned.

"Oh. Right."

He giggled. "It's hilarious eigentlich. Yesterday I successfully burned our dinner because I didn't smell the smoke." He trapped the file under his arm and climbed off the stepladder. "I come into the kitchen and it looks like it did when Geannie set me on fire and I'm just like, thinking, oh mein Gott, what's going on?! And it's just the meatballs. That's one of those moments when I'm glad that I don't have a sense of smell anymore, because if I can trust Maury the kitchen not only looked like when my ex fried me, it smelled like that as well."

Violet laughed.

Wilhelm held the file up. "I got something. Might be what you're looking for."

[the-mykie-show]

After your night with Negan you have to make an important decision, meanwhile your ex struggles to accept that your relationship is over and after he takes things too far Negan comes up with a plan to teach him a lesson once and for all. 

*rating* explicit 

*warnings* rough sex, multiple sex positions, semi public fingering, blow jobs, unprotected sex, dirty talk, kind of stalking. 

In your dazed, half asleep state you almost mistake Negan's arm still wrapped around your waist for your ex's, before memories of last night flood back into your consciousness. You let out a contented sigh, remembering how Negan touched you, the way his tongue felt between your legs, how his cock filled you.

“You awake, darlin’?” he asks, his fingers brush your hair off your neck for him to press a soft kiss under your ear.

“Yeah.” you whisper, rolling over on the plush pillows to face him.

You're both still naked, and you feel the unmistakable ache that only really good sex could leave between your legs.

“You sleep alright?” he asks.

“Like a rock.” you replied.

“Yeah, couple of good orgasms will do that for you” his signature cocky smirk lights up his face.

You smack his shoulder playfully.

“You want to shower before you go?” he asks.

“That would actually be great. You joining?”

“Nah I got some shit to take care of.” Negan shows you to his personal bathroom, it's just as lavish as his bedroom, a large tub sits in one corner, a glass shower stall in the other, with plush black rugs,and matching fluffy towels. You could almost forget the apocalypse even happened in here.

He gives you some shampoo and soap, and leaves you to it.

You notice in the floor length mirror that you have several hickeys on your neck and inner thighs, and a bruise shaped like Negan's fingers on your hip. You don't mind them though.

Once you've showered and wrapped yourself in a towel you leave the bathroom to go find your clothes wherever they were scattered last night. You expect Negan to be long gone, off attending to whatever the Sanctuary needed today, but instead he's waiting for you by the bed. He's already gathered your clothes and put them into a neat pile on end of the bed, next to them however is nice set of lingerie accompanied by a short black dress.

“What's this?” you ask looking between Negan and the dress.

“It's a proposal of sorts. If you want to say no you can, no questions asked, but I was hoping you would be my wife.” you're stunned by him yet again, you thought last night was a one time hookup, you weren't expecting him to ask you to join the six other girls he called his wives, you'd never given if you're opposed to the idea or not any thought. You'd never had reason to having been what you thought was a happy relationship.

“I don't know. Can I think about it?” you ask sheepishly.

“Yeah, of course. Regardless of what you decide, I'd fucking love to have a repeat of last night.” he says, pulling to him and planting a kiss on your lips. It starts to heat up right as someone knocks urgently on his door.

“What the fuck do you want?” he breaks the kiss to shout at the person on the other side of the door.

“We have a problem, sir.” Negan rolls his eyes.

“If you'll excuse me I have some clusterfuck to fix.” he leaves you to make your choice on your own. In the end you decide to keep the back dress but wear your own clothes for now.

You make your way down to the cafeteria for breakfast, loading your plate with your favorites, shooting the grumpy lady in a hairnet who always serves your morning meal a friendly smile which quickly fades once you remember that you no longer have a boyfriend to eat breakfast with.

Your steamy fling with Negan was enough to make you forget all about your lying scumbag of an ex for one night, but now in the cold light of day you're forced to confront the fact that you're alone now.

The little black dress laying upstairs in your room begins to look better and better as you find an empty table and settle in for your morning meal alone. You watch Negan's wives as you eat, they've always intimidated you since you arrived at the Sanctuary, but watching them now they seem nice enough. You watch as a pretty redhead throws a rolled up napkin at a tall dark skinned women sitting across from her and all the girls laughed together.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by an unfortunately familiar voice “Y/N! I've been looking all over for you all night. Where were you?” your ex stands in front of you.

“None of your business.” you snap.

“Come on, don't do this babe. I made a mistake, and I'm so sorry. Can you please give me another chance?” he pleads.

“No. You can go fuck yourself.” you take an angry bite of your breakfast not even bothering to look at him.

“Are those hickeys? Are you already fucking someone else?” he's angry now, he grabs your arm yanking you to face him suddenly.

“Who the fuck is he? You little whore getting with another guy the night you break up with me!” his grip on your arm gets bruising tight on your arm.

“I broke up with you because you cheated on me you stupid prick!” you try to jerk your arm away from him but he won't let you go. You start to get a little scared.

“You're hurting me, let me go.” he does, but you're certain it's only because people are starting to stare.

You feel sick to your stomach, you don't even want your breakfast anymore.

You managed to make it through the rest of the day without another run-in with your ex, you do run into Negan a few times but he doesn't ask if you've made a decision yet, just shoots you a knowing smirk and winks at you on his way by.

That night when you go back to your room you notice a small wicker basket by your door, it's filled with fresh wild flowers, a stuffed animal, and a bottle of wine that someone had to have spent a shit ton of their points on. At first it makes you smile, you think it must be from Negan, an attempt to win you over and get to say yes to being his wife no doubt. Then you see the card attached to the basket and realize it's from your ex.

“I'm so sorry, please forgive me. I need you. I love you.”

You stuff the stupid note back into the basket and shove it aside.

You don't care if he spent all his points on this apology basket, you don't care how much he wants you back, it isn't gonna happen.

The next morning there is yet another basket outside your door, this time with chocolates, a heart shaped necklace, and a bottle of whiskey.

After lunch another one arrives. At this point you start to fear that your ex is turning into a stalker, and people on your hall are starting to notice the heap of gifts outside your door, you hope someone will steal them so that you don't have to deal with them, but Negan has rules against such things that he enforces harshly when necessary so no one dares to.

That night when you returned to your room your door is unlocked. You know you locked it, your heart beats violently with fear, but you open the door anyway, your hand wrapping the knife at your hip.

You recognize the figure standing at the end of your bed seconds before you stab him. It's your ex.

“What are you doing in my room you psycho?!” you yell at him, flipping on the light, still branching your knife. You notice that he's spread rose petals around the room, as if a sappy romantic gesture was enough to win you back.

“I came to prepare a romantic evening for us.” he says, turning around slowly “Instead I found this.” he holds up the black dress Negan gave you.

“So you fucked Negan huh? And he asked you to join his little whore house. Can't say I'm surprised, that is his MO. Just like he did to Dwight. You gonna have him burn my face off too?” he laughs bitterly. “Just at least answer me this. Did you sleep with him when we were together?”

“No of course not. I was loyal to you, even though you cheated on me, lied to me, ignored me, treated me like shit. I was loyal. That night was the first time I've slept with anyone that wasn't you in years. In fact it'd been so long I'd forgotten sex is actually supposed to feel good until Negan.” you know you're playing with fire but you just can't help yourself.

“Come on Y/N you can't possibly mean that. We had good sex, you loved me. It's not too late, we can still get it all back.” he's pleading with you again, desperation in his eyes.

“I don't want it back. I don't want you back.” you say matter of factly.

“Please don't say that Y/N! I love you, I need you back.” you shake your head gesturing to the open door.

“I said no, now take your shit and get out of my room.”

“It's our room. Please just let me make it up to you. I could fuck you so much better than him.”

“No you really can't, not that it would matter if you could because we're over, and tonight I'm saying yes to Negan.” you hadn't even completely made up your mind about Negan's proposal until that moment but you know you're making the right decision.

“No! You can't, you belong to me, you're my girl.”

“I don't belong to anyone, I'm a person you shit head! Not a piece of property. But tonight I will be a married woman and you're going to have to accept that.” his eyes burn bright with anger, and for a moment you fear you're going to have to use your knife, lucky for you your neighbor across the hall, a sweet older lady who works in the gardens, comes home at the right moment.

“Are you okay, dear?” she asks, poking her head into your room. Your ex shoots you a dirty look and throws the black dress at you on his way out with a growl of “This isn't over.”.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you assure your neighbor before closing the door and going to work cleaning up the rose petals all over your room.

It takes forever to get them put into a pile on the floor, and before you can finish you hear a knock on the door. You freeze, you fear its your ex back to harass you more, but then Negan's voice speaks from the other side of the door.

“You in there babygirl?” you open the door, he sees you're wearing the little black dress and grins from ear to ear.

“You're saying yes?” he asks.

“Yes.” you returned his grin and he yanks you into a tight hug and presses his lips against yours in deep kiss. When you both come up for air he sees the mess of petals and gifts spread around your room.

“What's all this shit?” he gestures to the room with a leather clad hand.

“What do you think?” you sigh “my ex wants me back. He's trying very hard.”

“Of fucking course he does, you're a goddamn catch.” he smirks, playfully slapping you on the ass.

“Yeah, well he should have thought about how much he loved me before he did what he did.” you shake your head with disappointment.

“Yeah, he sure as shit should have. Do you want me to talk to him?” Negan offers, picking up the bottle of wine the idiot had left and examining it.

“I think that might make it worse, he thinks I belong to him.” Negan places the bottle down with the rest of the unwanted gifts and pulls you to him, his gloved hand sweeping your hair back to press his lips against your ear.

“Well then, maybe we just need to show that little prick who you really belong to.” he nips your ear lobe and your knees go weak.

Negan explains the rest of his plan, all while letting his hands wander all over your body, gently kneading your breasts, and eventually working your dress up over your ass, feeling you up and admiring the way your ass looks in the lingerie he gave you all the while.

You're unsure about his plan, you worry it will make the situation worse, not to mention it's a little intrusive and awkward, but in the end you decide to trust Negan.

You wait in Negan's office with him while he sends a Savior to find your ex, “you look nervous. Don't be,” he reassures you “it's not like this is anything either of us hasn't seen before.”

“I know, it's just I feel weird about this.” you admit.

“You don't have to do this if you don't want to, we can call it off.” you knew Negan would let you stop this whole thing on a moment's notice with no questions asked, that was a big part of why you trusted him with this. If anyone else had suggested this idea to you, you would have laughed in their face and told them to go fuck themselves. But this was Negan.

“No, let's do it.” you say.

Negan lifts you onto his desk, standing between your legs, he pulls you into a kiss that starts soft but soon turns rough, his tongue slipping into your mouth, the ache between your legs already stirring up again.

His lips move to your neck, “You sure you're good with this? You feel a little tense.”he says against your skin.

“Yeah, I'm just nervous, what he reacts violently?” he keeps kissing your neck, softly sucking in the sensitive spots, and pulls you closer to the edge of the desk.

“Do you realize who you're talking to?” he asks “He wouldn't dare. Now spread your legs for me, baby.” you do as he asks, opening your legs to reveal your bare sex, this plan requiring you to take off the lace panties.

He presses two fingers to your lips, “Get em nice and wet,”

you take them in your mouth and suck on them softly, wetting them so they'll slide inside you easier.

“Damn I can't wait to feel that mouth around my cock.” he groans pulling his fingers from between your lips and sliding them between your thighs, you feel them press against your already wet entrance.

“You ready?” he asks, and you nod. His fingers fill you all at once in one smooth flick of his wrist, your thighs clamping around his hand.

He easily finds your sweet spot and slowly drags the pads of his fingers against it, your body clenching around him. Footsteps approach outside the door and his fingers still inside you, giving you the chance to change your mind. But you shake your head.

“Good girl, let me feel that tight little pussy come.” you can't hold in the moan when the heel of his hand rubs against your clit at the same time his fingers rub something deep inside you.

The Savior Negan had sent to get your ex knocked on his office door, you fidget nervously as Negan orders them to come in, his fingers still buried deep inside you.

You feel your ex’s shocked stare as realizes what Negan is doing to you. Negan holds up his unoccupied hand, signaling him to wait.

“C'mon baby, I know you like it when I fuck you real slow, but I got business to attend to.” his fingers feel so good inside you it isn't even awkward, you hands involuntarily grip his shoulders, moans falling from your lips as he makes you come. Your core tightening around him as you come, a warm wet rush coating his fingers in the evidence of just how good he made you feel.

You lean back on your elbows on his desk, feeling drunk on pleasure despite your ex standing there dumbfounded by what he'd just witnessed.

Negan turns to face him, licking the arousal and come from his fingers.

“Sorry about that, man.” he says with a smirk “gotta keep my girl satisfied, not that you'd probably know anything about pleasuring a woman” he laughed.

“What the hell is this?” your ex says. “I thought you wanted to talk to me?” he's pushing his luck with Negan.

“I sure as shit do. You got any ideas why that might be?”

“Not really, but is guess it has something to do with her?” he looks at you with disdain in his eyes, maybe even disgust.

“Well looks like you're not as big of a dumbass as I thought, because you are right. My wife here tells me you won't accept that she's over your ass and leave her alone.” his eyes dance between you and Negan, looking rather afraid now.  He knows he should be nervous, even if you weren't Negan's newest wife he wouldn't take kindly to a man harassing, borderline stalking a women. He probably thinks Negan has a much more severe punishment in mind, like the iron or the cells, or maybe even the fence.

“It's not like that…” he stammers “it's just… I.. I wanted to apologize and ask for her back. I wasn't gonna hurt her!”

“The thing is you already did apologize and ask for her back. It became concerning after you grabbed her and screamed at her in the cafeteria, and it became creepy after you you broke into her room. I'm not going to ask you to justify your shit ass choices, but I am going to have to insist that you apologize to the lady and swear on your nutsack this shit won't happen again.” Negan explains.

“I did nothing wrong, in fact that little whore should be thankful someone even wants that used up cunt enough to fight for her at all.” his words feel like a slap in the face, how could he say that about you? You thought he cared about you at least a little even after everything he did to hurt you.

Negan's whole demeanor changes, his eyes becoming dark and cold, almost murderous.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he growls, and before you know what's happening your ex is thrown against the wall and Negan's hands are around his throat.

“You don't fucking talk about my woman like that, you hear me you little fucker?” your ex struggles to breath, trying to push Negan off him. Negan doesn't budge until his face turns blue, finally letting him go and throwing him to the floor.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything Y/N! ”

“And?” Negan growls.

“And it won't happen again, I'll leave you alone.” he looks almost in tears.

“Good, now get your ass out of my sight.” he scrambles to his feet and hurries from Negan's office.

“You okay babygirl?” he asks once the office door slams behind your ex.

“Yeah, I just feel like an idiot.” you stare down at your feet in shame.

“You're not an idiot, baby.” he wraps his arms around you. “and you aren't a whore either. You can't let that shit get to you, he's just an asshole who didn't see what a beautiful, smart amazing woman he had, not to mention hot as fuck and awesome in bed.”

You smile a little at his words. “I'm pretty sure you don't hear this often enough, but you're a good guy, Negan.” you pull him down into a kiss, which he gladly reciprocates. “now why don't we finish what you started?”

“That's my dirty girl,” he smirks. “How about you get down on your knees for me?”

You gladly drop to your knees, reaching up to open his pants and pulling them down his legs with his boxers all at once, his manhood already hard. Staring up at him with the most innocent, doe eyed expression you can muster, you grip him by the hilt, you pop his tip in your mouth, sucking on it and curling your tongue around it, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

“Damn baby!” he groans. You can already taste his precome, so you tongue his slit making his hips involuntarily twitch and slide his cock against the back of your throat. You gag a little, not expecting the sudden thrust.

“Sorry sweetheart, I just couldn't help myself. You don't gotta deep throat me if you don't want to, this feels fucking amazing on its own.” you respond by slowly swallowing him all the way until you feel his tip at the back of your throat, you somehow managed to swallow him almost all the way to his balls, not leaving much of his shaft for you to stroke so instead you cup his balls kneading them while you suck. You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, and he lets out a deep moan.

Slowly pulling off, you suck his tip a little harder this time and then swallow him “Shit baby,” he groans “keep sucking my cock like that and you're gonna be my fuckin’ favorite in no time.” his hand twists in your hair, pulling gently as you bob your head up and down on his shaft. “Oh fuck yeah, just like that.” you feel his balls tense in your hand before he even warns you that he's going to come. You heed his warning by sucking his tip while he comes with a load groan. You swallow as much as you can before letting his half soft member slip from between your lips.

“That's my good girl.” his hand strokes your hair “Now that I've made that pretty little mouth mine, why don't you go bend over my desk and let me take you from behind?”

You stand up, and bend over his desk like he asked, he comes up behind you, his hand pressing your top half down while the other pushes your dress over the curve of your ass exposing you to him.

“You loved coming on my fingers in front of that prick didn't you?” his hand dipped between your legs.

“Yes.” you moan, admitting the truth that you'd gotten off on Negan pleasuring you in front of your ex, showing him how a real man gave a woman pleasure.

His fingers find your core, easily sliding inside you.

“Oh darlin’ you're fucking soaked. Did sucking me off get you this wet?” you nod.

He's already hard again and lining himself up with your entrance, his tip pressing into you.

“Ready babygirl?” he asks.

“Yes.” you moan. Your voice is so full of lust you barely recognize it as your own.

He enters you with one hard but smooth thrust, your body spasming around him as he lets you adjust to his size. At this angle it's even more obvious that he's a lot bigger than you're used to, once you're adjusted to the feeling of being filled so deeply you push your ass against his hips, pressing his cock deeper inside you.

Once he knows you're ready you feel him withdraw slightly and snap his hips forward with enough force to shake the desk, the angle is perfect, each thrust hitting that little spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

“You like that baby? You like my cock filling you up?” he thrusts roughly again. You'd never liked rough sex before Negan, but now it felt amazing, you figure maybe you'd just never had it done right before Negan.

“Harder.” you found yourself moaning the command after a few more rough thrusts, even Negan seems surprised by it, but he does it anyway. The force of his thrusts rattle the whole desk, knocking a lamp over and sending some books crashing to the floor.

You feel your core tightening with your building orgasm, each thrust increasing the intensity, and making your walls squeeze him.

“Damn you're so fucking tight.” he groaned.

“You gonna come for me… again.” you can practically feel the smirk in his voice, and I want to say something snide back, but then his hand reaches around, his fingers finding you clit. He teases the sensitive bundle of nerves with a maddeningly light touch, the complete opposite of his rough, hard thrusts.

You feel your walls start to flutter and throb around him, your orgasm finally over taking you, he drags your pleasure out with slow but hard and deep thrusts, his fingers still working your over stimulated clit, while your toes curl in your shoes and your hands hang onto the edge of the desk for dear life.

Your core is still spasming with aftershocks of your orgasm when Negan finds his release, his body going rigid behind you as you feel him spill inside you. He keeps thrusting as hard as he can until he's spent himself completely and his cock starts to soften.

In one dizzying movement he pulls out and turns you around to face him.

“Fuck, I am a lucky man! I'm glad you said yes, babygirl.” he kisses you, this time it's soft and lazy. And you've never felt more content than you do in his arms, that somehow still pleasurable freshly fucked ache deep inside you and his come on your thighs.

[blackjackmagi83]

Criminal Behavior (9)

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Masterlist

WC: 3.7k

Pairing: Druglords Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes X Detective Original Female Character

Summary: Rose Phillips, one of the best vice detectives in the game, was given a mission to catch the biggest drug lord in all of New York. James Buchanan Barnes. Framing as a lady of the night at a hidden gentlemen’s club, her mission being to do anything it takes to lure her target into her trap. Even if it means going through one of his accomplices to get there. Will the notorious criminals fall for her trap or will Rose fall for their criminal behavior?

Warnings: Lots of swearing, violence, and mild sexual content.

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Note: I'm so so sorry this took me so long to finish/post! I have struggled with writers block and finding my next step with this story so I took a bit of a break for my own sanity. I also didn't want to rush this chapter like I did with the last and be displeased with it, I can't stand being upset with my work like that too often. Plus I have fallen victim to the powers of the men of starwars. I've been a whore for Anakin as of late and I just can't control it right now I'm sorry (Can you blame me though).

Also please ignore how god awful my made up names are in this, I'm so bad at naming characters.

Hope you enjoy the chapter ♡

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Rose was falling endlessly it seemed, her body calm and numb as she plunged further into nothingness. It was blissful . Until the black warmth that surrounded her turned into a memory, forced to be forgotten and locked away in a vault to never be opened again. Or so she wanted to think. Her body contorted to match the one that was pictured in front of her, reliving it through her younger self's eyes. She couldn’t move or speak, she could only watch and listen.

The organ weeped along the church walls up to the stained glass windows, it’s tears seeping into the stale carpet. The oak casket was lined with a childhood blanket, soft and warm. The opposite of who was laid to rest in it, undeserving of such a kindness. But she was once someone’s child. Born innocent until corruption seeped into her veins like a disease, rotting the purity that was held at one moment or another. 

She looked so peaceful, hands resting over each other on her chest, eyes closed as if she was soundly sleeping. Innocent almost. This must’ve been what she always looked like before morphine and whiskey were her only companions, everyone fleeing before it was too late. A chance Rose dreamt of often.

An old aching hand warmed her left shoulder but her eyes remained on the sleeping corpse, “She would’ve been so proud Roselyn.” 

Roselyn Evangeline Phillips. A stupid name she always thought, she sounded like a ballerina princess you’d read in story books before bedtime. Delicate, frail, precious. Rose was none of that. Maybe when she was a child but she too was corrupted by the same demons her parents were taken by. Relying on the devil’s gifts to cope with the loss of a childhood and love everyone deserves at one point in their lifetime before choosing the poison to take later on to their own demise. It was her grandfather who pulled her out of her high daze, pumping her lungs with clean air and giving her the structure her body and mental state seeked. That’s where her passion started. Her determination to eliminate as much of the toxins that she let flow into them. If they didn’t exist, then things would’ve been different. She wouldn’t be standing over the corpse of her mother, filled with putty and other chemicals to cover the scars and caved in veins. She’d be showing them a ring, proudly showed off by her husband to their families, maybe even announce they were pregnant with the first grandchild. But it was too late for such delusions.

The memory shifted, contorting into another memory with its hands still gripped tightly around her consciousness. 

The cot creaked beneath Rose’s body as she laid back, melting against the woven cloth that the academy labeled as a mattress. It was something most would need to grow used to but Rose was experienced with sleeping on less than comfortable surfaces. It beat the cold concrete floors that sent a chill to her bones, especially during the winter months. She didn’t complain. 

“Well looky here boys, we got ourselves a dead one.”

Joseph Parkerson. An obnoxious fuck who like most of the men she trained with, believed was a hot shot with the biggest dick and balls around the compound. And the biggest perv she’s dealt with so far.

Rose's arm blocked her eyes from the bunch, but she could hear the heaviness of his boots stop next to her, "Piss off peewee." 

His vile breath fanned across her face, failing at the intimidating approach he sought for, "What did I tell you about calling me that?"

Rose forced her body upright to create some distance from him, her patience was wearing painfully thin already, "Just naming the facts Joseph. Not my fault you got one that lacks an impression."

"You would know of course. You'd take anything to get where you need to go Philips." Ralph, she thought his name was, snickered close by, probably with his paperstick arms crossed against his chest. He was a lanky guy, all height with little to no muscle. A wonder how he survived the brutal training this far.

There was another man or boy she should say. Barely looked 16 with his short height and innocent looking baby face. He was quiet amongst the other two. Must be a new arrival. When first arriving they were either loud and cocky or quiet and hid behind the others shadows. It was clear he was the follower type. Focused on mere survival without having a panic attack in the process. Such a shame. The quiet ones became the most corrupt, fueled to prove their worth by any means. He seemed like a decent kid.

"Even if I was begging for something, wouldn't you think I'd pick someone a bit bigger? I do have some standards.", Rose pinched her fingers in demonstration, holding back the giggle she so badly wanted to let out. She didn't do a good job as her fellow trainee twisted with anger, watching as she hunched over with laughter.

He took advantage of her position, snaking his hand behind her head, knotting in her hair to get her locked in place, "Not tonight you don't."

He tilted his head to the side, silently ordering the two closer while his free hand clumsily fumbled with his belt and pants before his fingers teased the waistband of his boxers. He had this sadistic stare that washed over his face as he mapped out the spots he’d release on her face. A humiliation he knew she’d never live down.

The two accomplices wrapped their filth riddled fingers around her arms, forcing her on her knees, the back of her cot. She could feel the young boy's hands shaking, barely gripping onto her. She felt pity for him, hiding behind these goons just to get through each day without getting beaten too badly himself. Ralph on the other hand had an iron grip, twisting her skin enough to burn and sting. It'd be bruised by morning.

Ralph was panting in anticipation at the thought of watching someone get throat fucked right before he had a go himself. Rose wanted to turn towards the shaking boy, tell him to run while he could, that the depressed, high inducing future wasn’t worth it but she couldn’t take her eyes from the enemy standing before her. She was afraid he’d take advantage of her distracted state again. 

Joseph let himself spring out in front of her, edging himself closer to her face, "Now, let's see what else that pretty mouth could do." 

"M-maybe we should stop, this is going a bit far isn't it?" The boy was glancing anxiously between the two, his fingers barely touching her now. She noted the opportunity arising as his grip lacked and grew sweaty by the minutes.

A disgusting glint coated Joseph’s eye as he spoke to the boy, his hand never stopping his stroke, "Stop being a fucking pussy Peter, you'll get your turn when me and Ralphy boy here are done. Bitch needs a little warming up first."

Rose pushed against their grip, putting an inch of added space between them, "You put that piece of mold anywhere near my mouth, I will rip it off along with your balls." Her teeth gritted for a better effect, her eyes watching as his pupils became saucers. 

He scoffed to cover the shudder that ran down his spine, "You'd be kicked out. You wouldn't dare ruin your chance at becoming a detective."

Her head tilted, her hair falling against her face getting stuck on her lips as the corners turned upward, "Oh but being the general's granddaughter does come with its privileges. Like you said, I'd do anything to get where I needed to hmm?" She leaned forward towards his deflating member, eyes gazing up innocently, "Still want to try? Or are you thinking about my canines shredding the only thing that makes you feel good about your pathetic perverted self?" 

The man didn't respond, he simply gazed down at her, flaccid and stunned by the images running through his head. The others grew still and quiet as well, any excitement built up now gone, tucking themselves as far as their body would let them.

The boy ran at that point, tail tucked between his legs with a trail of piss following behind him. Poor thing won't last long here.

Rose took advantage of the missing grip, grabbing the pen knife she had tucked inside her boot, drilling it deep into Ralph's leg. It was a toy compared to what they trained with but it did enough to get the grown man whimpering on the floor. The sounds sent a wave of pleasure through her. She could already see the small puddle forming on the floor. She’d take her time cleaning it up later, reminiscing about everything playing out right now.

Joseph, still frozen in place with his pants hanging from his knees, barely had time to react before Rose wrapped her hands around his arms, locking his body in front of her with his face pressing into the cement wall. Her nails dug crescent moons into his flesh, threatening the skin to ooze with iron liquid as she pressed his face harder against the surface. The mere thought added another kick to her adrenaline rush. 

Her hand toyed with his buzzed hair, petting it like one would a dog before her fingers stuck onto his scalp and throwing his face forward. The satisfying crack of cartilage nearly made her moan out in triumph, "I'd like you to think long and hard about this night peewee. If you even think of speaking or touching me the way you or your little boy toys just did, I promise you that losing your dick will be merciful compared to what other things I could do to you. Tell that to your little buddies on the other block while you're at it. I don't like to repeat myself."

None of them dared to touch her again after that, let alone look her way. It's all she wanted. To be alone and unbothered. Less people to get in her way.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

James let go of Rose's purpling throat, turning towards Steve with that same lifeless eye he had given her. Internally, James was fighting a battle of his own. Flashbacks to the torture he was put through was fueling the soldier, forcing his body to lash out at the intruder. Steve was nothing but an obstacle in his way, preventing him from completing his mission.

Steve has been through these episodes numerous times since they rescued James but his last one was years ago. A challenge he was in no mood or shape for at that moment. With a hand held out like approaching a scared animal, he slowly stepped forward, “Bucky, listen to my voice.”

The challenge had proved further difficult as James surged forward landing a punch straight to his jaw with unbelievable force, launching Steve through the wall leading into the spare bedroom. 

"Alright, so that's how it's going to be."

Rose tried to watch the two battle it out but struggled as she coughed and inhaled harshly, making her dizzy and nauseous from the rush of oxygen to her brain. She felt herself waving in and out of consciousness once again.

As Rose laid blacked out among the lacquered floor, Steve and James destroyed everything in their paths. Glass and wood splinters coated the floorboards from broken furniture and memorabilia. The occasional splatters of blood smearing beneath their feet from exposed flesh being torn open from the splinterings and skin connecting with skin, backed by inhumane amounts of power and determination. Their faces were littered with bruises and blood as they relentlessly beat each other, both fighting to pin the other.

Steve had managed to pin him down against the counter, pressing his forearm against his chest long enough to grunt out, “I’m with you till the end of the line.”

James’s body froze at the words. They sparked something within the soldier’s mind. Familiarity. A brotherly comfort. He blinked as memories of drunken nights and childhood laughter filled his brain, the soldier sinking as more pooled within the darkness. 

“Steve.”

His arm didn't budge against the soldier, “Which Bucky am I talking to?”

He kept quiet for a moment, his brows furrowing as the gears turned in his head to bring forth a valid memory, “Your mom’s name was Sarah.”, A breathless chuckle rasped past his lips, “You used to wear newspaper in your shoes to make you look taller. It worked until it started to rain.”

Steve’s grip went slack, his body staggering backwards as he let it relax. The ache of the battle was starting to set in as the serum aided in healing the wounds, “Welcome back Buck, sure did a number on me this time.”

James didn't copy the teasing smile or breathless laughs Steve put out, his expression remained stone like as he did a look over at the apartment, torn to pieces and unsalvageable. 

The vibranium cooled his burning skin as he ran it along his face, rubbing at his eyes till he saw spots, “Oh god I knew this would happen again. I told you it’d never go away Steve. My past will always come back.” 

A cautious hand rested at the top of his bare sweat coated shoulder, "If we could get through it once, we can get through it again. Just takes time and patience, Buck."

James gave him an unamused glare, he was tired of those words. It made it sound too simple. Easy to deal with like recovering from an injury. Go to physical therapy till it works enough and then relapse a few years later, repeat until you get so fed up with expenses and failed effort, leaving it be to brittle and rot away with the rest of your body. But this was more than an injury. This was a masterminded persona etched inside his brain, a whole other person forced to share the body he once fully claimed as his with. Even with the soldier dormant, James could feel him present constantly. Leering over his shoulder at every move he made, every dangerous thought that entered his mind. He didn't need the words to trigger an episode anymore, enough stress could pull it off now. He learned that trick the hard way, similar to what had happened now but with someone that wasn’t his own. Someone far more damaging not to himself but to another..The guilt of it all remained buried along with the image of the body and the horror of the truth coming to the surface sooner than he’d like.

He had managed to contain it for a few years since that incident but seeing the truth come out in such a manner threw him in the deep end, he didn’t have enough in him to contain the weapon lodged inside any longer. Fuck was this such an avoidable mess if he had been more careful and saw the signs that were painstakingly obvious at this point. The soldier in him wanted to snap her neck, get it all over with before it festered any longer but the human side still couldn’t wrap around the truth. The woman he wanted so badly to drop dead was the same woman he had laid beneath him with that little nickname he'd given her whispering between his lips. The woman that made the cold spot in him begin to warm, turning the bitter bite he held into a mere nip. At least towards her. He's never grown fond of a woman as much as Rose, even before the war. It made him feel betrayed and hollow in his chest. Was it a game? A sick joke for money? No, he doubted that thought. Was she working for someone, a competitor? He wanted that one to be wrong but it lingered among the rest. These questions circled his already throbbing head, his hands gripping at his temples in attempts to comfort it enough to not throw up.

Steve rubbed at his back soothingly but James shrugged it off, "I'm fine Steve. It's you who should get a look over. You can barely stand."

Steve rolled his shoulders, wincing at the crack his right one made as it popped back into the socket, "Please, I can do this all day."

A crackling gasp broke apart their conversation, eyes locking on the curled figure in the entrance of the hallway. Rose.

The way her bones gritted and cracked reminded Rose of her first week of training. The drill sergeant made an obstacle course from hell the night prior, pushing all trainees through it at least four times before combat training took place. Her fighting was one of the worst of the group, her stance unbalanced and muscle build was next to nothing compared to the grown men she was put against. She was only nineteen, her body still recovering from a relapse a year prior which caused her to struggle with muscle and weight gain. It didn't help that being the general's granddaughter put her in a spot that was less than comfortable, adding onto the stress she had stacked on top of her. The expectations were constricting, tightening around her the more she disappointed and failed. But she proved them all wrong. The day she broke the drill sergeant's eye socket, will be a day she'll never forget.

Rose smiled at the memory, the cracking sound still echoing in her ear as she hunched further into a ball, coughing up what felt like a lung. This severity of damage called for a heavy drink and a pack of smokes when she gets back to her apartment. Maybe even watch some soap operas if it gets any worse later on. The cringe worthy writing and acting steered her away from the pulsing aches while the drink took the sting away. Smoking was just for comfort.

She groaned as she lifted her body into a sitting position using the wall for support, tears springing along the rims of her lids from the pain shooting up the back of her head. Thank god he didn't break her neck or she'd be screaming bloody murder but that didn't make what she was feeling any better. Her skull felt like it was getting split apart while her throat grew more sore with every swallow. If she didn't get stared at before she certainly would now, no amount of makeup will be able to cover the darkness that wrapped around her upper chest. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

Warmth encased her, easing the chill that had run throughout her body. Steve. She'd known it was him by the way he held her and the signature scent of his cologne that wafted through her nose. A part of her filled with joy at his return while the other fought the monsters of anxiety and fear from the event that just took place, crumbling in his arms. 

Steve held her quivering body against him, soaking in the feeling of having her in his arms again. He only wished it wasn't under these circumstances, "It's ok, I got you darling." 

Rose's body betrayed her, the tears that sat along the rim, now loosely dripping down her cheeks. So many emotions were coursing through her, it was too overwhelming. She'd let herself have this moment without judgment this time. Only this time she’d like to think but with the way her course had changed, she highly doubted it’d be the last time she’d run into hydra’s creation.

Her teary eyes finally had the courage to gaze up at James, the blue now returned and full of shame as he looked back at her. The confident woman who melted like putty in his hands over the course of a few weeks now looked at him as if he was a nightmare lurking in the shadows. She couldn't hide it from him no matter the front she put up. It was a skill he taught himself to acquire. A shield of confidence covered the terror cowering behind it. The kind of terror he liked seeing in his victims before their end. But this time it wasn't satisfying. It was shameful. James Barnes had lived up to his name once again but to the one person he wished never had to see it. Yet another problem the winter soldier has caused. Another person taken by his vibranium fingers.

At that moment, Rose began to realize the reason behind the connection she had felt between the two. That same adrenaline rush she had felt when she stabbed Ralph Nickleson and threatened Joseph Parkerson at the academy, was the same as when they played with their victims. A haunting demon they all had lingering in them, waiting for that moment of freedom to soak in the fear and blood that came with the damage they caused. How their victim squirmed and dripped with sweat, maybe even soil their pants with urine or other bodily fluids. Whichever it was, only added to the emotion beating through them. A sadistic high that was hard to come off of.

Rose had never become sober all those years ago. She found something harder than the morphine. A high that burned on the torment of others she felt were inferior to her that greatened with the glory that backed behind it. Maybe they were more alike than they had thought. Steve was blind to it all still, wanting to forget the pain Captain America caused in the back alleyway a couple hours prior and come home just as Steve Rogers, America's sweetheart. But James held that knowing look in his eyes since their beginning. The kind of look one gives when they see something that is so familiar it sticks out like a sore thumb but can't quite put their tongue on it right away either. 

James knew since then that she was as fucked up and corrupt as they were. She just didn't see it until now.

Part 10

[puckish-saint]

Hello my love! I'm really sorry this is a reader insert but I've been waiting to send you this for a while! I would like reaper and Hanzo (separate) with a (preferably fem) s/o and the s/o is insecure about her pale skin. It makes her not want to show any of her skin but unfortunately it's getting warm, so their boyfriend is confused as to why they're wearing long sleeve tops and jeans? And then they reassure them it's fine and lots of fluff?😘 sorry if this is confusing and thank you if you do!

Reaper

Before his botched resurrection he wasalways the first one out sleeveless and in shorts at the first hintof sunshine.

Now he’s glad he has you to bemiserable and bundled up together when everyone else enjoys thespring weather

As such for the longest time he doesn’teven care why you do it. If pressed he’d assume you were doing itout of consideration for him, but the truth is as long as he’s notalone wearing his winter clothes for as long as humanly survivable(and, in his case, beyond that), he’s fine

It takes the annual spring cleaning tostoke his curiosity. In true spring cleaning tradition you started bysorting through the old books and photo albums and have spent thepast hour reminiscing about the past, cleaning supplies forgotten byyour side.

“Puberty saved your ass.” you sayas you flip through the remarkable transformation that is apre-pubescent Gabriel hot on the way to win the World’s MostAwkward Kid award to the man so beautiful his mirror image fell inlove with him.

“I once got out of a speeding ticketbecause the cop thought I was hot.” he says conversationally andflips the page to show you the incident in question, recorded fromthe passenger seat of a car. He taps the photograph and it plays ashort video, showing a cop in an unfamiliar uniform flustered atGabriel’s shameless flirting.

“Italy?” you ask.

“Spain. With the ingrate. He filmed.”he says.

You move on, dusting off old memoriesinstead of the vases that really need it more. Once you’ve gonethrough his Life in Pictures, it’s his turn to tease you for everylife choice you ever made that got immortalised on film. Eventuallythough a theme starts to emerge.

“Alright, I have to ask. What’swith the long sleeves?”

He points at a picture taken just a fewyears before you met him on a carnival parade in Rio. You’re theonly one with sleeves reaching past your shoulders and the differenceis all the more stark with the scantily clad dancers in front. Youshrug, try to flip to the next page but once something got hisinterest there’s little to stop him.

“I know it’s not scars because I’veseen you naked.” he says, content to guess if you won’t tell himwhat’s really up. “And I don’t think it’s a modesty thingbecause long-sleeved or not because the outfit you wore on thatundercover op last month was a public challenge to indecency laws.”

“You’re thinking of what you did tothat outfit afterwards.” you say but if you hoped you coulddistract him you’re disappointed.

On one hand he starts listing all thereasons why you might choose to carry your winter wardrobe into July,ranging from the reasonable to the crazy.

“You promised a dying family memberto never wear a tshirt in your life.”

“I’m so pale people seeing me infull sunlight might go blind.” you say at last, caving under thepressure of Gabriel’s sheer pigheadedness.

“It’s not that-” he protestsimmediately but concedes at your glance. “Okay, you’re a littlepale. So what? If people don’t like it they don’t have to look.”

“They might not be able to if theystare at me directly without protective glasses.”

You argue, but there’s no heat behindyour words. Gabriel has started kissing your shoulder, slipping hishands underneath your shirt while he trails a path up to your neck.You tilt your head and close your eyes, smile when he hums pleased.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says. “Weara damn t-shirt.”

“What a speech, Reyes.” You laugh,push at him when his hands start wandering where they definitelyshouldn’t if you want to get any cleaning done today.

“You still love me.”

There’s no arguing that.

Especially not when he lets you haveone of his old t-shirts, proclaiming in big bold letters “I savedthe world and I didn’t even get a statue.”

Hanzo

He’s observant but reserved. If askedhe could recall every outfit you wore for the last month, but heisn’t in the habit of offering his opinion where it’s notrequested. (Not anymore, Genji would say, and promptly recall storiesof Hanzo during their childhood having something to say abouteverything and not shy in doing so)

He notices your tendency for longsleeves and trousers even in the scorching heat of Gibraltar’ssummer and suggests once going downtown to buy a more appropriatewardrobe. When you decline he lets the matter rest, even if he stillwonders in the privacy of his own thoughts

A trip to the beach forces the issueinto daylight when you regard the Official Swimwear, issued byOverwatch back in the day and leftover after its fall, like ananxious person might look at the draft for a public speech thatincludes the instructions to [break into song here].

Hanzo, who’s arguing with Genji thelevel of appropriateness a speedo offers, throws you a questioningglance, his non-verbal offer to go somewhere private and talk thisout while simultaneously pleading with you not to take him up on itif it involves talking about feelings.

You shake your head and give him athumbs up, moral support for an argument that is quickly devolvinginto each brother taking potshots at the other.

Luckily Jesse has extended an openinvitation for the use of his serapes in the face of almost certainsunburn. It allows you to cover up at least partially and on the waydown to the beach everyone’s so excited - or involved in argumentsabout the pros and cons of tight swimwear in the case of Hanzo andGenji - that nobody looks too close at you.

On the beach itself it’s easy enoughto pull your legs underneath you and pretend they’re not severalshades brighter than the sun-bleached sand. You watch the otherssplit up into smaller groups and barely notice Hanzo coming up besideyou.

“I confess I may have hoped for theopportunity to touch you inappropriately,” he says quietly at yourear wearing an uncharacteristic smile. “It is made harder by yourchoice of attire.”

You chuckle and pull him against you,relishing you get to do this and he won’t push you away like heused to.

“The beach put you in the mood forsome inappropriate touching?”

“With you I’m always in the moodfor inappropriate touching.”

Neither of you notices Hana walkingpast with an incredulous expression on her face, nor her askingAleksandra in not-so-hushed tones if this is how old people flirt.You’re too busy with each other, exchanging chaste kisses and lesschaste promises, until he asks laden with innuendo: “Would you liketo come swim with me?”

There’s nothing you’d like more ifit weren’t for the unfortunate issue of your skin making a markedeffort to double as a reflector.

“Hanzo, I ... “

Once again he proves he notices morethan he speaks about. Brushing his hands over the slim strip of skinyou didn’t manage to hide underneath the serape he says: “I’msure the others won’t be too jealous of your beauty.”

He offers nothing more than this, anacknowledgement that he knows or guesses what worries you and that,in his eyes at least, there is no cause for it.

“Alright.” you say and let yourselfbe pulled up, Jesse’s serape fluttering forgotten to the ground.You can’t help the pang of self-consciousness but Hanzo gives youno time to dwell on it. He takes your hand, and leads you to thewater, giving you ample view of his own assets.

“You look good in a speedo.” yousay and Hanzo grunts in satisfaction.

“Of course I do. Genji will not seeit,” He turns around when you’re hip deep in water to make goodon his promise of inappropriate touching. “But it is not hisopinion I value most.”

It’s a sentiment you can only return.