#repressedidentity

Ebony strands drifted from her scalp, resting against her shoulders. Dark brown hues stared up at him as if waiting for something. Years had spanned between the two of them. The last he had seen of the demon was her disappearing from their apartment. She had thought he was sleeping, but Meg should have known better. James never slept, not soundly and not for long. Her foot steps that night were hushed against the dark wood, anyone else would have never even noticed the sound. Yet he had heard it practically echo through the whole apartment. It had never been anything new, the two of them disappearing into the night to deal with their own demons, some figuratively and others literally. Yet somehow that night had been different. He stayed with his back turned to her when she climbed from the sheets. He laid motionlessly, eyes fixed on the wall. The shut of the door behind her practically echoed through their home, but nobody would have ever realized it if they weren’t keen on everything happening around them. He knew she wasn’t coming back that night. It wasn’t due to a fight. It wasn’t do to arguments or them not getting along. In fact everything had been perfect. It was the sort of thing that relationships strive for. That perfect connection between two souls. The laughter that was real, that made your eyes light up with joy. The soft touches that neither of them believed they deserved. It was the first time the two of them accepted that they did in fact love each other. That’s why she left. He knew that. Meg couldn’t allow herself to enjoy the feelings, just as he couldn’t himself.

That was the night he wish he could have gone back to the night they had met; before the two of them had poisoned each other in so many different ways. Even their affection for one another was enough to sear one’s skin from acid. And somehow there they were again. Time had passed and she looked the same as she did before. The dark hair that always looked soft, those big brown eyes that could melt him in just a glance… James would have never guessed anything had changed from the night she had crept from their bed. Things couldn’t have been said the same from him, however. The long dark strands that he wore when they were together had long ago been cut off. The hard, killer look behind his eyes almost seemed faded away. Years had been kind to him by some surprise, or maybe he was just learning to accept what had happened to him finally.

“You look good.” The soft tones slipped through soft red lips. There was almost a tease with them, proven with the curl in the corner of her mouth. A sarcastic hint that couldn’t just be left alone. James knew what she meant, though. He looked normal. He looked like a clean cut guy that someone would see walking down the street without fearing he was going to rip their throat out. He’d gone from the feral pit bull that everyone avoided to the family pet in just a few years. It helped that he kept the arm hidden away under the leather jacket that hung over his shoulders. “You look good, too.” He answered after a moment, the sincerity in his words coming through easily. Despite how damaged the both of them were, it was easier for him to be sincere than her. Maybe it was the demon in her that kept her at arm’s length?

It was easy to talk to her still. It was as though nothing had changed in their time apart. Jokes came, laughter joined in, there was even some subtle flirting between the two. James could almost trick himself into believing that maybe no time had passed. They sat at the bar for longer than either of them intended. The crowd slipped in and out, last call was shouted and bar stools were soon being placed on the tables. A hard cough from the bartender was enough to tell the two they needed to leave. Both slipped outside quietly and stood awkwardly on the sidewalk, suddenly realizing that they didn’t know where to go from this. Meg glanced down the street, observing everything as always. James had his focus on her, though. Eyes drifting over every part of her that he could see, trying his hardest to lock her into his memory once more. The silence hung long between them before she turned to him finally. “It was nice seeing you again, Buckwheat. Next time you should let Sophia out, though.” The laugh that came from her this time wasn’t easy. It wasn’t how it had been. It was forced and he knew what it meant. There wasn’t going to be a next time and she’d make sure of it. This had been a rare chance they’d never have again. Words failed him, instead just a nervous laugh and a nod was given. More silence followed.

The demon took a step back, followed by another to indicate her intentions of leaving…but yet she was lingering instead. James watched these movements. He knew her too well. If she wanted to go, she would have vanished already and left him alone like before. He wasn’t ready to let her go again, though. It didn’t matter where he was at in his life now or where she was in hers. They had crossed paths again for a reason, even if it was for just one night. Before she could make her excuse to actually leave, the distance between the two was broken. His movements were quick to seize the opportunity. A leather clad hand slipped to the back of her neck and the soft intake of breath from surprise was suffocated by his lips. It was like nothing had happened between them once more. Heated lips met his with just as much eagerness behind them. There was no delicateness from it, mostly due to fear that she was going to disappear once again. He wanted to hold on to her for as long as he could. Her fingers racked through his hair, gripping tightly as their lips parted and he stepped further into her. Her back pinned against the cold stone of the bar with his hand still holding her neck. His other hand held firmly to her hip and his body pressed snug against her like they fit together perfectly.

A breath was finally required and his pulled his lips from hers, but just enough to breathe. Eyes opened slowly, glazed over with desire and lust. Hers stayed closed and he understood why. They were both vulnerable and that was weakness. If he saw hers then it’d be game over, just as the same would be for her. A heavy breath was released, tongue barely grazing over his lip as he studied her face up close looking for any kind of sign that there was a chance that this was more than what it was. “My apartment is just down the block.” He whispered, the words almost drowned from the cars speeding down the street. She stayed silent, eyes barely opening though they focused on his lips rather than meeting his. Her hands shifted away to trace his chest through his shirt, crossing over each and every scar that she had once kissed until her fingers rested at his belt. “Then what are we doing here still?”

Because like us tonight, I offer you this gem @repressedidentity. These two need to work on their communication. ALSO HAVE A SONG BECAUSE I AM TRASH. LISTEN AS YOU SUFFER? (X)

He’s the last person she expected to see tonight. Him and his stupid robotic arm and even stupider smirk. She’s not angry; the memories playing in her head are too busy fucking her up and making her slip up. Arms grab her in the kitchen, and Meg huffs. He has her pinned between the counter and his chest. There’s a whisper of lips against the crown of her head. Her hand tightens on the newest note she found lodged into her coffee cup.                                ‘the way you hog the blankets when you sleep.’ She knows it’s stupid to hold onto the damn thing, but like the others, it will go in the small box with the rest. Turning in his arms, the woman tilts her chin back, quirking a brow at his apparent need for affection. She needs it, too. He didn’t need to know that. Standing on her toes, she presses her lips to his. She wasn’t expecting him to lift her off her feet, but she isn’t complaining. The hum of his arm around her waist sends a very different kind of tingle through borrowed skin.  They won’t say it. They never will, but right now they had each other, and that was enough. She shakes her head to clear the memory away. They didn’t need this right now. Still, the ache of not having him plagues her. It would be okay, she can slip out before he sees her. Nursing her sixth drink of the night, she thinks about moving; tucking away in a corner to keep from speaking to him again- hurting him again. The next memory slams into her harder than any of Alastair’s knives ever could. He left early that evening, after their screaming match. They never could see eye to eye when they both felt justified in something. If he put that fucking arm in the toilet again, she would deck him. He’s got a sick sense of humor. Rolling her eyes, she makes her way to their living room. This note was slid in place of her bookmark. ‘the way your eyes light up when I come in. you think I don’t notice that you check me                                         for any bruises you didn’t leave.’ She hums sofly, a small smile tugging at her lips. Leaning over to turn on the light. The presence of another little note on the lampshade makes her pause. Gentle fingers dislodge the paper.  ‘the way you kiss me goodbye is nice, but the way you kiss me hello? it’s like you                 never thought i’d come back through the door. I’ll always come back, Meg.’ That one hit a little closer to home than she’d like to admit. Tucking the newest addition away with her collection of others, she leans her head back, eyes closing for only a moment. When she opens them again, she notices yet another little piece of paper sticking precariously from the air vent. How the hell had he even managed to put that one there? Standing on the couch, she stretched to snag the thing, falling back into a seated position with a third note in her fingers.    ‘the look you get when you think i’m not paying attention. like i make all this worth it.’ He’s not wrong. Deciding to give up on the idea of waiting up for him, Meg makes her way to their bedroom. Stripping off the shirt she’d been wearing, she slides open the closet door to take one of his. Crawling into bed, she curls around his pillow, sleep claiming her before she has the chance to miss him. How could she know they’d never be the same after this? She needs another drink. She needs to kill something. She needs both. She didn’t notice him staring at her or approaching. She’s lost to her own mind until a hand- his hand clamps onto her shoulder. Stiffening in her seat, Meg slowly turns brown eyes up to him. If she were anyone else, she’d drop to her knees and tell him the truth. She’d tell him how badly she wanted to change what she was, who she was for even the slightest possibility that they could start again. Meg would force herself into his arms until he had no choice but to hold onto her. She’s not anyone else. He’s the last person she expected to see tonight.

       Out of all the things that didn’t make sense, the idea of Steph being in charge of battle plans was at the very top. She remember vaguely the details of the map from school. The first time the general placed battle plans and token in front of her, she stared up in shock. Now she felt like they were home, when she saw them -- it meant away from the lines. That was where she wanted to stay for now. The HYDRA base nearly ended her, the feeling of almost losing Bucky for good. Her dearest friend, finding him there... it made her stomach sour every time she thought of it. 

        Burning the midnight oil wasn’t exactly and oddity anymore. Sleep was something that came to the lucky few in this camp. She had always been immune. The idea that someone would attack -- the feeling that someone would try and take her family away from her. The small team they were building was full of people she came to value. In the outer crescent of western France their haven for now, she was glad for her solitude. She missed home a great deal, the serenity of Brooklyn tucked away in the back of her mind. Fingers itching to drawn the skyline and rolling clouds that covered them at night. Her eyes shut, knowing that she had come for a reason. That reason was even more justified knowing Bucky was safe. However it was as she summoned him, the flaps of the tent entry way waving as a brief draft entered. 

@repressedidentity THIS IS YOUR FUCKING FAULT. 

Shit.

That was the only world able to pierce the fog that settled over her mind. She’d thought it’d been a mistake to follow after him, but her emotions were getting the better of her. The Headmisstress’ scolding rung in her ears, berating about attachments and weakness. Yet, she was stronger with him. The handlers knew that, but hell if they didn’t know everything about them, and some days, she didn’t know if he knew. Shit. Shit.

DONT YOU DO AR E BRING BECCA INTO THIS YOU LIL FUCKING SHITS