#ch: rem | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swordsandholly · 1 year ago

Text

Across the Way

Ch.3: The New Normal

Retired!Ghoap x Fem!Plus Size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

Sometimes Simon still feels like he’s in a dream. The world around him seems effervescent - so ready to slip through his fingers at a moments notice. He expects to pass through Johnny, as though the man was never there, that this house and home and world will crumble and he’ll wake to that grey, cracked ceiling above his bunk in the basic training barracks again.

But then Johnny grumbles something under his breath - because the man cannot shut up, even in deep REM - and turns over, hand resting on Simon’s chest. Even in his sleep the Scot knows how to ground him like nothing else. Like a sixth sense.

He can see discomfort in his husband’s furrowed brow. The hand on his chest twitches.

Ah. He’s going to wake up to a bad day.

Simon figures he won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, so he may as well prepare. Even he isn’t sure exactly how he knows what will be in store when Johnny opens his eyes but he knows. Every twinge and wince expertly memorized with the same precision that made him do so well in the SAS.

Speaking of, Simon checks his phone while he lines up Johnny’s pain medication. Today’s his call with Price. A monthly reoccurrence. Every third Thursday. The old man and his control issues could never let him or Johnny fully go - he insisted to keep in touch. Even if it is just a monthly call. Simon knows the real reason - that Price was worried about how two gung-ho soldiers would settle into civilian life but the man would never admit to such sentiment.

Johnny stirs, a low groan passing his lips as he tries to hoist himself up. Simon presses his hand to his husband’s back, stilling him with a gentle touch.

“Lay back. Let me ‘elp you up.” He murmurs, rearranging the pillows slowly before wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist to pull him into a sitting position.

Johnny presses his forehead into his palm, screwing his eyes shut. A small whimper escapes his throat - the sound breaks Simon’s heart every time.

“Rate it.”

Johnny sighs, thinking for a moment. Taking stock of it all. “…Three…?”

“Love.” Simon levels a look at Johnny. One he knows will get the man cut the bullshit.

“…five.”

“Thank you.” Simon nods, turning on his heel to get the proper medication. It’s a particularly bad day, if Johnny is willing to admit to anything above a two or three. For anyone else that’s a seven easy. Stubborn bastard. Simon opens the cabinet to grab the stronger stuff - their on hand back up.

Johnny tries to take it sparingly. He doesn’t want to grow too much of a tolerance - doesn't want to get addicted. Simon isn’t too worried about that, but Johnny insists.

“‘Ere.” Simon holds out two little pills and a cup of water. “Need ‘elp takin’ it?”

Johnny grimaces but nods. Simon’s gut churns with worry. It’s rare for the man to put aside his pride. To allow Simon to carefully tip his head back, cradling it with tender care as Johnny slowly sips at the glass.

“Thanks…” He seems almost bashful despite this being easily the least compromising position Simon has seen Johnny in.

“We’ll take it easy today. Get some take out...” Simon mumbles, reaching under the bed for the heated blanket. On the worst days Johnny’s circulation in his limbs seems to nearly freeze up. How that happens because of a brain injury the doctors have never been able to say.

“Simon?” Johnny murmurs.

“Hm?”

“Kiss me?”

Simon barks out a laugh. The way he still blushes when he asks after all these years is too cute for words. Johnny can say the most salacious shit with a perfectly straight face and then when he asks for such a simple touch he’s flustered like a schoolgirl.

Of course, Simon would never deny him. It’s impossible to say no to those big baby blues.

“I’m going to let Riley out into the yard. Want t’ take a bath when I get back?” Simon offers as he pulls back, running a thumb over Johnny’s lip and hoping the medication will have kicked in by then.

”Tryin’ tae get my clothes off, Mr. Riley?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t ‘ave to scheme t’do that.”

Johnny clicks his tongue. “I’m no’ tha’ easy.”

“Tell that to the maintenance closet in Hereford.”

“Yer no better.” Johnny grins. “Brazil?”

“Shut it.” He makes a playful cutting motion by his neck. Johnny just laughs at him. Simon wishes, like every time before, that he could have the sound carved into his very marrow.

He clicks his tongue and Riley follows dutifully. They got her an automatic feeder long ago so she’s already had her breakfast. Really it was a necessity - back when Johnny was in too much pain the majority of the time for Simon to step away too long. She’s been so patient with them. She runs around the yard excitedly while he throws the ball a few times to get her energy out. Some outside time will tie her over until he can take her for a proper walk.

The weather’s nice today. Johnny will be disappointed he missed out on so much sun.

Simon turns on his heel to go up and get the water started. They installed an extra large tub not long after moving in. Baths together were a small luxury back in the day - cramming both of themselves into shitty hotel tubs and the base housing showers. They never quite fit - usually Simon’s leg would end up hooked over the side of the bath. Or Johnny’s. Working the man open and loose after a long, hard mission-

He stops that thought I’m it’s tracks. That’s not the line of thinking for today.

Simon settles Johnny in first thing. He’s lighter than he used to be. That extra layer of muscle worn down and away over all that time in hospital and in physical therapy. That scared Simon, at first. The idea that Johnny had become another fragile thing for him to ruin. Something he could break.

It was a selfish thought.

The water is hotter than Simon would usually like as he climbs in, but it’s based on Johnny’s preference. Plus it relaxes his muscles - the stinging in his nerves from misfires in his brain. The tremble in his hands.

Simon takes it all in, gently dragging his knuckles over Johnny’s perfect cheekbone. The tender motion no longer feels foreign, which is strange in and of itself.

“Comfortable?” He asks.

Johnny hums and nods.

They stay quiet while they sit. Johnny always seems to glow in the morning light. Angelic. If Simon were better with words he’d write poems. He tried a few times, though he’d never admit that out loud.

The closest he got were his vows (still not good enough). Nothing can encapsulate what it is to love John MacTavish.

“I worry.” Johnny sighs, pulling Simon from his thoughts.

“Bout what?” Simon turns toward him, lowering his reading glasses.

“The baker. She’s all alone over there y’know?” Johnny sighs.

Simon hums. His big hearted boy. “Y’should be worried about yourself.”

Johnny scoffs. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, cause you’re ‘opped up on goofberries.”

“Oh shut the fuck up.” Johnny laughs.

“C’mere.” Simon turns him so that Johnny’s back is against his chest, grabbing one of the extra shampoo bottles to scrub down his hair.

“Thinkin’ about getting’ rid of the mo-hawk…” He murmurs.

“Don’t you dare.” Simon blurts before he realizes, face heating at the admission. Johnny just laughs at him again.

“It’s no’ very dignified. Doesnnae scream grown-man-in-his-thirties.”

“No. But it screams Johnny MacTavish. ‘ow else am I goin’ t’find you in a crowd?”

“Fair point.” Johnny tilts his head back to look up at his husband, grinning. “More hair fer ye tae grab, though. Proper handle.”

Simon huffs. “See, now that’s just playin’ dirty.”

“Simon Jr. likes it.”

“Please stop callin’ it that. It’s been bloody fuckin’ years.”

“Never.”

Simon rolls his eyes. By the end of their exchange the water has started to get cold. He gives himself a very bare minimum scrub down - the perks of having buzzed hair - before climbing out to grab them towels and fresh pajamas.

Before all of this he’d never considered the importance of comfortable clothes. Layer-able. Soft. Breathable. Easy to maneuver in on a bad day when Johnny can hardly walk - though it hasn’t been that bad for a long while. Strange how needs change and fluctuate.

“D’you want to go downstairs or stay up ‘ere?” He asks, patting Johnny dry while he sits on the side of the tub.

“Definitely down.” Johnny nods decisively, wincing at the motion.

“A’right.” Simon scoops the man up bridal style. Back in the day he would’ve thrown Johnny over his shoulder with ease. These days he has to move slower, keeping Johnny steady so as not to jostle his head and irritate his pain. It’s been good, he thinks, to practice gentile touches for the first time in his life.

It’s easy to settle Johnny onto their large, L-shaped couch. To set him up on a throne of blankets and pillows that envelope his frame entirely. They throw on some rom-com as low background noise. It’s not long before he falls asleep, the medication finally fully taking effect and sending him into one of those deep sleeps that will last until his next dose around lunch.

Simon glances over to Johnny’s peacefully sleeping face. Lips parted, quietly snoring.

Might as well get his call done now while the man’s well and truly passed out.

“The prodigal son returns.” Price announces loudly on the other end of the phone.

“Y’talked t’ me last month.” Simon scoffs.

“Ach, well, have t’ give you some shite here an’ there. Gotta tap down that ego.” He sighs. There’s an edge to his voice despite the attempt at a playful tone.

“Y’sound tired, Cap.” Simon settles into the couch, keeping his voice low.

“You’re no better.” The old man grouses. His voice has only gotten grittier over time, though he won’t admit it to be the cigars’ doing “How’s he doin’?”

There’s always a hint of guilt in his voice when he asks. Even four years later, he can’t let it go - can’t forgive the damage done to Johnny. The best of them. None of them could ever blame him for it. There isn’t any blame to be had.

“Alright.” Simon shrugs to no one. “Bad day today but he’s been better on the whole.”

“Good.” Price sighs. There’s a creaking noise - like he’s settling back into an office chair. “You solid?”

Simon huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Got a new bakery in town. That was enough to have the area properly twitterpated all week.”

“Any good?”

“Actually, yes. Johnny’s taken a shine to the owner.”

“That boy would take a shine to a black hole.”

“Ah, you’d like ‘er. Soft little thing - that’s your whole deal innit?”

Price splutters, Simon laughs. It’s the only thing that can get the Captain off kilter. Throw a live grenade at the man and he’s steady as a rock; mention anything about his love life and he’s no better than a flustered teenager.

There’s a pause.

“Kyle is up for Lieutenant.” Price says.

Simon freezes, swallowing roughly. It’s not that he’s not happy for Gaz - hell the boy deserves it more than anyone - but his thoughts go to Johnny. How he’ll react. He’s been doing so well, these past several months. The news could make him spiral… or he could take it perfectly fine.

It’s a fifty-fifty.

“Yeah, I was worried about how Soap would take it, too.” Price sighs. “Figured I should tell you first.”

“He’ll be fine…He’ll be fine.” The repetition is more to convince himself, really. Simon shakes his head. “Might wait to tell ‘im until ‘e feels better, though.”

“Probably for the best.”

Simon hums.

“How are you doing, Riley?”

“Fine.”

“Y’sure?” Price knows him too well, Simon thinks. Knows how much the military meant to him - how much he needed it.

“I’ve got Johnny.” Simon looks wistfully at his husband, still snoring on the couch in his mass of pillows and blankets. “What else could I ever need?”

Price laughs - loud and full bodied. “You’ve become a sap in your old age, eh?”

“Who’s callin’ who old, here? You’re practically a bloody fossil.”

“Oi, watch it.”

“S’good to talk t’you, Cap.” Simon sighs, sinking further into the couch.

“You too, kid.” Price sighs as well. “I’ve got to go but… do you want me to let you know when Kyle’s ceremony is?”

Simon clicks his tongue. “Yeah. As much as I hate the pomp and circumstance.”

“We all do.”

“Yeah.”

“Take care of each other.” Simon can practically see the way Price is most likely nodding along to the words.

“Always.” Simon nods. He rests his head on the back of the couch, tossing his phone off to the side and staring up at the ceiling.

If he thinks about it too hard - about the SAS and Price and Gaz… that whole life - his chest begins to ache. The military saved him, in many ways. The military gave him his greatest love despite all the fear and strangeness that came with that.

Simon looks over at Johnny’s sleeping form.

He’s worth it.

He’s always been worth it.

Between the three month long coma - the even longer physical therapy - Johnny’s been through hell, to say the least. Truly came back from the dead. What is it, in the grand scheme, for Simon to have to make a career change in order to grasp onto this second chance?

Who knows if he would have even been able to stay in the military if Johnny died. He’d break, surely. He broke the first time Johnny crashed. Fractured upon the second. Died with him on the third.

His therapist says it’s not good for him to romanticize and aggrandize that kind of trauma. She’s probably right but there are worse ways to frame it.

They’re both broken. They’re both healing.

His thoughts drift to you as all things seem to recently. Why do you always seem so sad? Your eyes a far more tired than your age would suggest - the eyes of a woman on her deathbed and ready to go. He’s seen that look too many times in his own reflection not to know it by heart.

He’ll check on you when he goes to the shop tomorrow. For Johnny’s sake.

~~~

“Simon! How are you?” You smile wide. Always smiling. It’s not bright, like Johnny’s, though. There’s a pull at the edges. It doesn’t always reach your eyes.

“Fine.” Simon says more gruffly than he means to.

You swallow nervously. He can tell he makes you uncomfortable. Squirrelly. You don’t shrink away, though. Brave little thing, he thinks. “Uh, Johnny stay home today?”

He nods solemnly. “Migraine started up yesterday.”

“Oh, I hate that.” You frown. So genuine. “I’ve got some extra white bread. Easy on the stomach. I could-“

“That’s kind, but not why I’m ‘ere.” He cuts you off. It’s rude, yeah, but he’s seen the way you can chatter and has a point to get to.

“O-oh?” You squeak.

He steps closer, setting a little sticky note on your counter with two numbers messily scrawled across it, each labeled as his and Johnny’s. Maybe he should’ve gotten Johnny to write it. At least his twos and sevens don’t look alike. “Johnny mentioned you were woozy, when you first met. Said you have a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. “And?”

It’s defensive. Your shoulders are more square than before, lips slightly pursed and arms crossing over yourself involuntarily. It looks wrong on you, if he’s honest.

“And you don’t seem t’ ‘ave anyone around to look after you.” Simon continues bluntly. “If you need anythin’ you give us a call.”

Your expression morphs into surprise, then bashfulness. He takes it in categorically just like everything else. “Th-that’s really sweet… you don’t have to-“

“It’s only right.” He cuts you off again.

It is. You’re a young woman all alone in a new country with some sort of illness. Something chronic based on Riley’s alert. Simon might be cold but he isn’t heartless - not anymore, at least. Johnny saw to that. Even if he doesn’t know what it is, even if you’re obviously smart and independent, there are too many variables for his or Johnny’s liking.

Simon doesn’t know how to interpret the look you give him. It’s grateful. Soft in the same way as when he gave you that little cut of beef. There’s something else on the edges - not quite desperation. Not quite fear. Something that furrows your brow minutely and has your eyes flicking wildly between his.

You’re afraid of an ulterior motive.

“Take care.” Simon nods once, turning on his heel to leave.

“W-wait-“ He feels a tug on the sleeve of his hoodie. When he turns your eyes are wide, shining. “I… uh…”

“Yes?”

You bite your lip, a consistent habit if the chapped skin is anything to go by. You pull your hand back quickly, pressing it to your chest. “S-sorry, never mind…”

Simon doesn’t press. He never does. Far be it for a man like him to try to force secrets out of someone. So, with another good-bye and a nod, he makes his way out of the shop and starts toward the car to go home. At least, he should.

Instead he stops a little way down the street. Far enough he can still see into your shop without you noticing him. He watches the way you pick up the paper carefully, cradling it in your soft fingers. The way you frown at it, taking a deep breath before pocketing it and disappearing into the back of the shop. He can’t place what compels him to watch you. What keeps pulling them both in.

When he pushes the door open, he expects a quiet house. Dark and silent as Johnny sleeps his pain away upstairs. Instead, he’s greeted with the sounds of pots and pans and Johnny’s voice echoing down the hall - singing along to Celine Dion (though he’d never admit to it if asked).

“Johnny?” Simon turns to corner.

“Och, welcome home!” The Scot shoots him a grin over his shoulder.

“You should be in bed.” Simon kicks off his boots and meanders to the kitchen.

“A man cannae cook fer his husband?”

“Johnny.”

Johnny turns, grinning wide. “I’m fine, Si. Really. Trust me.”

Simon sighs, stepping forward and resting his hands on Johnny’s waist. “I trust you. Y’know that. I just worry.”

“I ken, I ken.” Johnny chuckles, planting a series of kisses across Simon’s face.

Simon sighs, leaning against the kitchen counter while Johnny gets back to cooking. So domestic. Still so strange that this is their normal.

“Kyle is up for Lieutenant.” It comes out in a jumble - more uncertain than Simon is used to.

Johnny pauses, hand flexing around the spatula in his grip. It’s so brief you could almost miss it before going back to sautéing the vegetables in the pan. “Good. He deserves it.”

Simon hums, watching, waiting for a reaction. Eyeing his husband with all the scrutiny he can muster. “Price invited us to the ceremony.”

“Aye.” Johnny nods. “We should go.”

“Are… you alright with that?”

Johnny turns, a slight furrow in his perfect brow. “Why wouldnnae I be?”

Simon searches his face - tries to gather any evidence to the contrary. He finds none. Just a genuine look of confusion at what he said.

Good lad.

“We’ll go, then.”

“Hope there’s an open bar.” Johnny chuckles and turns back to dinner. Normal, casual, comfortable.

They’re both healing.

A/N: I’m not totally in love with how this chapter turned out but I’d rather get it out and get to the next than lose motivation bc I got stuck.

846 notes · View notes

hmhas-00 · 27 days ago

Text

Ch. 49

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- The end has come… 🌹 Thank you to all who stuck around and read my book all the way through from chapter 1! You’ve been so sweet. Thank you for all the kind words and motivation in the comments and in my DMs. I love you so much! I hope you guys loved this book as much I loved writing it for you. Till the next one! 🥹

Billie’s POV

“Nothing you don’t want me to remember…” She looks back out at the ocean.

I close my eyes, wincing at the thought of her knowing. The thought that this is the way I revealed my true feelings for her.

The thought that out of all the extravagant and thoughtful ways I could’ve shown her my true feelings, I chose to do it after puking everywhere, drunk as fuck, and butchering every other word.

I struggle to find the right words to say. “Rem… I’m sorry, I drank too much, and I don’t know why I— You must think I’m so—“ I grunt, visibly flustered.

“Billie, it’s okay, I’m not mad.” She says, setting the coffee mug down.

I sink into the soft, cushiony sofa, covering myself up more with the blanket. I know she’s tired of my antics. I know she’s tired of me hiding stuff from her. This is just another surprise from me to her. I hate myself.

She looks into my eyes intently, “I mean it.” A small smile curls the corners of her lips slightly. “It never happened.”

I rub my face, too frustrated to keep spewing bullshit. I need to drop the act and be real with her. I can’t keep hiding.

“No, Rem…” I sigh, “I can’t act like it didn’t happen, because it happened. I’m sorry it came out the way it did. That’s… not at all how I wanted you to find out…”

“Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” She tilts her head, trying to understand. She looks betrayed, like it’s some exclusive secret. The newest hot gossip around town.

“Well, Rem, because I didn’t want to ruin our relationship. I wanted things to stay the same, I didn’t want you to be weirded out… I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

She stops me from ranting further, “Billie, how could you think I’d see you differently?”

“I didn’t want to get hurt.” My eyes begin to water and I can feel a burn in the back of my throat. I swallow to keep my tears at bay.

“Billie, you know I love you, no matter what.” She furrows her brows, noticing my glossy eyes.

“I know, Rem. But, not in the way want you to love me…”

“How would you have known that?” She says, not even entertaining the fact that I just basically admitted to loving her.

“I figured.” I shrug. “I wish I could’ve told you sooner, and not right after puking everywhere.” My face twists in disappointment. I take my hair out if it’s bun and brush it away from my face, messing with a strand, curling it around my finger.

“How long?” She doesn’t take her eyes off me, making me more nervous than I should be. I hate feeling like this.

“A long time…” Is all I can say.

“Hey,” she picks up my face with her thumb and index finger. “Stop being like that. It’s okay, it’s just me.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” I roll my eyes, avoiding eye contact. “I just wish I went about it differently.” I’ve thought about that moment for years, and I minimized it to one stupid drunken kiss. I barely even remember what I said before it.

Her sincere eyes burn holes into the side of my face. “Why don’t you re-do it? Try again. Like it never happened!”

“I don’t want things to be… awkward between us.”

“They don’t need to be!” Her expression is velvety soft, her lips forming a slight smile again. “Seriously, pretend it’s the perfect timing and you’re ready to tell me. I can close my eyes if you want me to…” She shuts her eyes.

I breathe out a small laugh, “No, it’s okay you can open them.” I grip onto my blanket, taking a deep breath.

Remy sits patiently, waiting for me to open up, but a strong feeling in my heart tells me this isn’t right.

“Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” She tilts her head.

“Not here. It smells like coconut juice and vodka.” I shiver at the thought of more alcohol entering my body anytime soon. Ugh.

“Oookay… Where?”

“Come with me.” I jump up from my seat, the perfect idea surging through my brain, as I shove a few large blankets under my arm.

She follows me out the front door, into the bright, overcast beach front. We make our way down to the sand, where I start my search for the perfect seashore spot.

I finally set down the blankets, laying them out perfectly over the white sand, burying each corner so the wind doesn’t blow them away. I signal her to take a seat, where she watches me contemplate for a few seconds.

The cool morning air blows, and the perfect breeze gifts us just the right amount of ocean spray. Remy’s wavy hair floats around perfectly, framing her face in my favorite way. The sound of the strong ocean waves fill in for my lack of words, as I try to muster up the most flawless way to tell her how lost I get in the radiance of her eyes.

She looks out at the shoreline, following it as it foams and gets closer to us, then retreats back to the deep blue.

“Remy… There’s something I need to tell you.” I start my re-do.

“Tell me.” She gives me her undivided attention. Her eyes are pure and gentle, and before I freeze up, I take her warm hands in mine. She gently squeezes them, letting me know she’s here, and she’s not going anywhere.

I swallow hard, nervous but determined to give her back the moment I ruined last night.

“For years….” I clear my throat, “I wondered why I couldn’t just enjoy my time with you, without the constant fear of when it was going to be over. I’ve always hated endings, so at sleepovers, when we were younger, I’d always be the last to stay up, and get mad at you when you wanted to go to sleep early.”

She lets out a small laugh, knowing exactly what I’m talking about.

“And I think I did that, because I wanted to spend every second possible with you, before you had to go home. Even if I’d see you later that week again, anyway. I just didn’t want my time with you to… end.”

A strong breeze blows right through our bodies, giving us both chills.

“When we got older, I started to understand that feeling more. And I realized, that I only felt that way with you. No one else I’ve ever been with had a hold on me the way you do. There was never that urge to take advantage of every moment. It was always you. So, maybe I’m not afraid of endings. I think I’m just afraid of our ending.”

I pause for a moment because my eyes start to tear up, and she rubs the top of my hands with her thumbs. I look down at our hands, and continue.

“Remy, none of our fights were your fault. I acted like that because I’ve had such crazy feelings for you for the longest time, and it wasn’t fair to hold you to a standard you didn’t even know about.”

“Billie, it’s not your—“ she starts, but I stop her before she can even apologize. It isn’t her fault. She had no clue.

“No, Remy. Really, I expected you to know how I feel, without having the balls to communicate with you. It was wrong, and there’s no excuse, and I’m sorry.”

She nods, understanding now, and putting all the pieces together in her mind.

“The truth is, you’re all I think about. I spend way too much time figuring out a way to include you in every aspect of my life. I freak out inside every time we fight because I’m so scared to lose you, and every stupid thing I’ve done to keep you near me, only resulted in you pushing me away. This is so fucking lame, but all I want to do is take care of you, and you just think I want to control you. I get it… I do, I understand why. Hopefully now, you understand my reason why.”

She nods, letting me know she hears me.

“I love you, Remy. I’m in love with you.” A couple tears fall down my cheek but I catch them with my shoulder before they drop.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. And I’m sorry I don’t have a thousand flowers, or a fancy reservation somewhere, and I look like shit, and I threw up everywhere last night, and then kissed you after. God, that’s so embarrassing!” I cringe at myself.

She laughs a bit, shaking her head, then looks out at the waves again.

“I hope we can still be friends. But I understand if it’s too much.” I add.

After spilling my heart out, I sit quietly, bracing for impact again. This time, instead of analyzing her facial expressions or overthinking, I just let her speak. I’ve been rambling for too long.

“Billie, relax, I’m not weirded out… At all, I promise.”

“You promise?” I lift a brow, unsure how things would ever be the same again.

“Yeah, I pinky promise.” She nods.

“And you swear things can go back to the way they were?” I fidget with the edge of the white, crochet blanket.

“Is that what you want?” She asks, her glimmering eyes looking into my soul.

I nod, “Well, yeah… I don’t want things to be different now.”

“Well…. I don’t know…” She says, without breaking eye contact.

“Oh.” I nod, “I understand. I’m sorry.”

I look away, my heart dropping intensely, aching as it hits every corner of my body on its way down. I feel like I’ve lost the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. Before going through all stages of grief, she stops me in my tracks, the way she always does, right before I jump off the edge.

“If things stayed the same… Then I couldn’t do this…”

I watch carefully as she crawls over to me, until we’re face to face. Without thought, she collides her lips onto mine. I could feel a Remy signature smile through our kiss, sending an electric shock through my entire body, giving me chills. The goosebumps on my arms remind me I have control of them, so I use them to hold her close.

She pulls away for a few short seconds, only to see the look in my eyes, then fills the space between us again, once she realizes that this is all I’ve wanted for years.

Losing our balance, she leans down onto the blanket below us. I plant my hand firmly underneath her, so she doesn’t hit the ground hard, and she pulls me on top of her. She runs her fingers through my matted hair and tugs softly at the roots.

For the first time ever, I feel like she needs me. Like she wants me. There is nothing I’ve wanted or needed more than her wanting and needing me.

She pulls away, seemingly content with herself.

I’m in complete and utter awe. I feel like I’m being punk’d.

“K. Where are the hidden cameras?” I look around jokingly, avoiding reality.

Remy laughs, “Stop it.”

“You kissed me!” I laugh, confused but the happier than ever.

“Well, yeah, it was my turn! You’ve already kissed me like two or three times.” She laughs, all-knowingly.

A shy, but real smile takes over my face. It’s hard for me to speak, but I do my best to mutter words good enough for her not to change her mind.

“I had no idea you—“

“…So, you love me, huh?” Remy interrupts, a smirk on her face and her cheeks glowing red.

I breathe out a laugh, looking down at my lap, “I’ve loved you for a while, Remy. I don’t know how you couldn’t tell.”

“Well, you’re very good at hiding stuff from me.” She lifts her brow, crossing her arms.

“Well, so are you!” I smack her arm.

“I know. That’s my fault for not telling you.” She uncrosses her arms.

As I sit before her, all I want to do is envelop her, devour her, and take in the moment all at once. I don’t know what to do with myself.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t more…”

She cuts me off, “More what? More perfect? This is so us, Bills.” She laughs a bit, looking around. “I love it. And I love you.”

I smile so big, my cheeks hurt. Nothing will ever beat this.

Out of nowhere, the white foamy shoreline reaches where we are, and without noticing, our bottoms are drenched in salt water.

We screech and squeal, gasping from the icy sensation.

We look at each other and Remy locks her eyes on mine, making that face she always does when she gets one of her wild ideas.

Before I know it, she’s pulling my arm and running us into the ocean. All I hear is her giggles as we sprint into the cold water together, jumping every time a wave splashes up at us.

I let go of everything in my mind.

Every worry, every fear, every tension goes away with one single dive. As our bodies cut under the biggest wave, we hold our breath, and before we swim up to the surface, I thank my lucky stars for this day, and every day that has allowed me to make it to this day.

A/N- I’m not crying, you are… 🥲

Let me know if you’re interested in seeing my girls Billie and Remy in a sequel… 👂🏻

85 notes · View notes

whumblr · 6 months ago

Text

Under the weather

Crossed out - Continued from ch.12 - Prologue

The morning buzzer tore him right out of his REM sleep.

Lucas squeezed his eyes back shut when the bright lights blinked on after several soft little pings of the fluorescent lamps. He didn’t even groan. Just lay still on his cot, letting the initial shock seep out of his body. Fuck, it felt like he had fallen asleep just twenty minutes ago. All he wanted was to fall back into that deep, deep sleep again.

With his eyes still closed, he swung his legs over the edge of the cot, the rest of his body sluggishly and reluctantly following. A familiar nausea of not getting enough sleep washed over him. He doubled over, head in his hands, cursing softly.

He knew what happened when he would ignore these early warning signs; powering through would usually leave him even worse off the next day, the nausea a soft prelude to actually falling ill. And out in the real world, he was absolutely useless like this so he had learned to just go back to bed for a few hours and catch up on work later.

Here, though, in hell, that was no option. He had to get up. Whether he wanted to or not.

He lingered on the bed for a few moments as if crawling back under the blanket was something to even consider. It absolutely wasn’t. The mere thought of Nero marching into his small cell was enough to get moving. He’d probably get thrown right over the railing if he asked for another hour of sleep. That would give a stronger shock of adrenaline than that buzzer though…

Rocking back and forth, as if gaining momentum to push off, he forced himself up.

A stronger wave of nausea hit him hard; worming up to his head, fogging his brain and making his head feel oh so light. It caught a hold of his legs and he teetered lightly. His body protested every stumbled step along the way, as if a magnet kept him tied to the bed, and it did not appreciate the cold water splashed in his face or the gross minty taste in his mouth.

To be fair, he was a little surprised his body had held on for so long. Given his injuries, that didn’t get time to heal and only increased with every passing day, the mental exhaustion and stress, the physical exhaustion—yeah, he’d expected to hit a limit earlier.

He got dressed, ignored the nausea’s tight grip around his stomach, and stepped ‘outside’, staring straight ahead and pretending like he did every day that these ordeals weren’t getting to him.

This too, will pass.

And of course, it did. Though it persisted through the entire day, eventually, his nausea retreated.

The next morning, predictably, he felt feverish.

Told you so, his body seemed to gloat.

Something hot and uncomfortable pressed against his forehead. There was no fever, yet. Just another warning to take his fucking rest today.

Yeah. Again, not an option.

He didn’t feel like getting flattened against the wall so he stood against it willingly, waiting for roll-call. When Nero got closer, he puffed himself up, forcing himself to look alive, blinked hard to expel the glaze over his eyes, and tensed his posture.

Nero passed him without giving him a second glance. Lucas deflated, both in relief and irritation.

But Nero did stop a few cells ahead, in front of a man who also seemed to be coming down with something but didn’t even have the strength to hide it. He stood slumped over, panting lightly, staring blankly at some point of nothing.

“How are you feeling, Santos?” Nero’s voice rumbled.

“Not too well, sir,” the man panted.

Nero studied him and was Lucas imagining it or did he actually looked concerned. Then he nodded and said: “You are excused for the day. Hoogland, can you take him to the infirmary after this?”

The other prisoner nodded.

Lucas clenched his jaw shut before anyone could see him gaping. But, what in the actual fuck, you could do that? That was allowed? Being sick?!

He watched, dumbfounded, as Santos and his cellmate shuffled along, coughing and sniffling, and he was rather jealous that the guy got to spent the day resting. But the moment had passed and he was going to have to suck it up today.

At breakfast he sat alone, because despite his best attempts to hide how he was feeling, everyone saw right through him and weren’t taking their chances of catching whatever was lurking in his system. Not to worry guys, this was merely a case of complete and utter exhaustion. Something that always lingered in the air here but probably wasn’t contagious. Still. He couldn’t blame them…

At a calm moment during laundry duty, he found a quiet place and snuggled up on the folded towels, crossed him arms, and allowed himself to close his eyes for a few moments. Bliss raced through him, his shoulders relaxed and he let out a content sigh.

“Lucas.” Trey’s gentle voice pulled him back.

“Hm.”

“Wake up, you can’t sleep here.”

“Nero’s not here anyway,” Lucas mumbled, lightly turning away.

“No.” Trey acknowledged. “But you’ll want to be careful. There are always people who are looking to get into Nero’s good books by ratting out fellow inmates.”

His eyes shot open. Found Trey’s wry smile and he glanced around to see if anyone had caught him breaking rules. Most inmates just focused on their own duties. A sigh. He squeezed his eyes closed for a second and when he opened them, found Trey’s outstretched hand in front of him. Reluctant yet grateful, he accepted it.

The next morning, he couldn’t pretend anymore. His fever had stormed up overnight and he felt like death. His head was pounding, every heartbeat banging against his skull, lighting up the pain all over his body, his bruises, his muscles.

He ran a hand over his face, scratching over his morning stubble and his skin was damp and uncomfortably hot.

Just getting out of bed left him panting and he caught himself leaning heavily on the toilet/sink combination thing. The basin felt eerily cold under his warm hands.

Boldened by what he’d seen yesterday, he allowed himself to show his weakness this time. He practically stumbled through the doorway and leant back against the wall for a moment to catch his breath. At the first sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, he pushed himself off, but didn’t stand up straight. Didn’t put on a show either. He slumped over, didn’t choke back his coughs, and took deep shuddering breaths that just didn’t give him enough air to calm his breathing.

The heavy footsteps stopped in front of him. Still panting lightly, Lucas glanced up at Nero. There was no concerned look on his face—he knew he had imagined it yesterday – but Nero didn’t straight up ignore him either.

“You don’t look well, Varga.”

“Running a fever, sir,” Lucas whispered. There was no need to feel his forehead – also really, just preferably don’t – he could practically feel the heat radiating from him.

“I see,” Nero said, already turning away. “That’s too bad.”

Continued here

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @andithewhumper @tippytappytyping @suspicious-whumping-egg @cherrychupachup @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @withdrawingramen @light-me-on-pyre @treasureguardingdragon @notactuallyluska @fortunately-cool-penguin @b0amagination

#whump #prison whump #exhausted whumpee #sick whumpee #sleep deprivation mayhaps?#crossed out #my writing #didn't write much these weeks but have a small little Lucas drabble :)

63 notes · View notes

into-the-feniverse · 1 year ago

Text

Finished reading Trigun/TriMax a couple days ago and have been feverishly trying to piece together a timeline, so here’s the result of that ✨

EDIT: as of 3/13/24 this has been UPDATED

For a more detailed timeline (with vol/ch marks): google sheet

Full res of the graphic (& other resources): bit.l/trigunresources

Notes & rest of the timeline under the cut!

Edits as of 3/13/24

The detailed spreadsheet is organized and color coded! If you'd like a more concise breakdown of events/see some of my reasoning behind certain time stamps feel free to skim through that

Changed where in the timeline the Maylene and Wolfwood events happened (originally where I had placed them would have made Maylene like 6 when she and Wolfwood reunited which is NOT correct)

moved where in the timeline Knives started collecting the GungHo Guns (at latest he started in 0090 (20 years before 0110) since it's noted that Monev has been training in a cellar for the past 20 years

Moved where Knives initially tracked down Conrad (felt like it needed to happen at least a decade before July)

Changed up some of the months (personally, I don't think the Ark launched in December, since that'd put Milly and Meryl's arrival to the colony in July, which wouldn't make sense. So I placed the ark launch in October which of course offset some of the other month stand ins)

Added an earth year for when Knives and Vash are born. The explanation is I think at minimum there was at least a 2 year period between them and Tesla (since Rem was around for that whole process). I do think it was more than that, but that’s the earliest possible year I think it could have happened. Personally I’m more in the camp of 5-10 years, but def not 50 like in tristamp

Old Notes:

If you see any typos or phrase inconsistencies: no you don’t 💕 (😭)

Blue text can be completely ignored, that’s just kinda my personal preference/wild guesstimating of when “exactly” those events happened

Blue lines can also be ignored, they’re also just rough guesstimates on where exactly in the timeline these could have happened

The distance of the lines from one another doesn’t really mean anything, I started trying to follow a system to notate when things happened really close together but it was//// not consistently done ngl

Fun fact: by the time Wolfwood leaves the orphanage Meryl is 18! And she was 14 at the time of July’s destruction

Additional fun fact: Brad is 17 when he and sensei meet up with Vash in the Factioned city (which I think is absolutely RIDICULOUS), and we know this because he was 4 the one/last time he had met Vash and it’s been 13 years since

It was noted by Karen, one of Meryl’s coworkers, that she and Milly had been on assignment with Vash for about 4 months. (Might be that they were out searching for him during that time as well, but I’m choosing to interpret it as they were actually with him for that amount of time)

I’m also working on a 98 timeline for comparison (but more like just sequence of events cause I don’t think I have the patience to sift through the lore quite as much… mainly making it just to clarify how the anime delineates from the manga)

I am//::: feeling v unhinged after this and feel like it could be improved/i need to do a more thorough read, but I’m calling it quits for now before I actually go insane (but hopefully some people will find it somewhat helpful!)

Also: if anybody has any notes to add or clarifications/corrections I would be more than happy to hear them 👂

#resources #posts that broke 100 #Trigun maximum #Trigun #trigun manga #TriMax #used my last and only braincell on this I swear #also guess I’m expanding on my blog organizing tags —>#timelines #btw this is updated!#trigun resources

336 notes · View notes

doffys-favourite-slut · 8 months ago

Text

Doflamingo x Defiant!Reader Smut Ch. 4

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5]

Welcome back, fellow Doflamingo enjoyers! Chapter 4 is here! This is just your average smut with Doffy; nothing too out of the ordinary. There's slight Stockholm Syndrome in this chapter, but not really compared to the upcoming chapters. Reader isn't pregnant yet, but as I mentioned in my post, they will be.

☣️WARNINGS: NONCON/RAPE, dubcon, NSFW, MDNI, smut, sexual assault, abuse, violence, aggression

Themes in this chapter: NONCON/RAPE, forced submission, forced creampie, breeding, degradation and humiliation, manipulation, false affection.

Notes: PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THERE IS NONCON/RAPE THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE FANFICTION. THIS FANFICTION IS VERY GRAPHIC AND MAY BE TRIGGERING, UPSETTING, OR DISTRESSING TO SOME READERS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!!

P.S. I'm sorry if I forgot to change any pronouns/names/etc. ;-; I'm still trying, aight. I do update these after I've reread them and gone through them a couple times, but there may still be some things I miss.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[Chapter 4]

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, your mind slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, the memories of the previous night still hazy, fragmented, lost in the fog of exhaustion. The weight of Doflamingo's arms around you served as a stark reminder of your new reality, a constant presence, a physical manifestation of his claim over you.

Your hand moved to your stomach, and you felt a difference, a subtle change that sent a jolt of panic through your system. It was bigger, rounder, a testament to the acts committed in the darkness of night, a reminder of the violation, the assault, the twisted pleasure that had been forced upon you.

Your heart raced, your breath quickening, as the realization of what had transpired sank in. The exhaustion that clung to your bones, the heaviness in your limbs, it all made sense now. Doflamingo had taken you, used you, claimed you, even in the depths of your unconsciousness.

Fear gripped your heart as you glanced over at Doflamingo, his face serene, peaceful even, in the throes of slumber. He looked almost human, almost gentle, a far cry from the monster that had violated you in the night.

But you knew better. You had seen the darkness in his eyes, the cruelty in his smile, the sadism that lurked beneath the surface. And now, with him lying vulnerable beside you, you saw an opportunity, a chance to gather information, to arm yourself with knowledge that might aid in your escape.

With trembling fingers, you reached out, gently lifting his eyelid, exposing the auburn depths of his eye. It darted around, a sign of the REM sleep that gripped him, but you could see it, the window to his soul, the reflection of his innermost feelings.

You studied it intently, searching for a glimmer of humanity, a shred of decency, but all you saw was the same cruelty, the same hunger, the same twisted desires that had driven him to claim you, to use you, to possess you.

But there was something else too, a flicker of something darker, more sinister, a hint of the true depths of his madness, the full extent of his depravity. It sent a shiver down your spine, a cold, icy dread that settled in the pit of your stomach.

You gently lowered his eyelid, your mind already racing, planning, scheming, determined to find a way out, to break free from the chains that bound you to this twisted, depraved existence.

As you lay there, trapped beneath Doflamingo's possessive embrace, you couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over you. The reality of your situation, the cruelty of your captor, the hopelessness of your predicament, it all threatened to overwhelm you, to crush you under the weight of its darkness.

For now, in this moment, you allowed yourself to savor the peace, to cling to the smallest shred of normalcy, of humanity, that you could find. You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to still the racing of your heart, the trembling of your limbs, the fear that gripped you like a vice.

In your mind, you escaped to a different place, a world where you were free, where you were safe, where you could live without the constant threat of Doflamingo's cruelty. You pictured yourself walking down a sunlit street, the wind in your hair, the warmth of the sun on your face, the laughter of children echoing in the distance.

It was a fleeting fantasy, a momentary escape from the horror of your reality, but it was something, a small piece of hope to cling to in the darkness. And so you let yourself drift, let yourself dream, let yourself imagine a world beyond the confines of Doflamingo's kingdom, a world where you could be free, where you could be you.

But even as you lost yourself in these dreams, you knew that reality would come crashing back down soon enough. Doflamingo would wake, and the nightmare would begin anew. But for now, in this moment, you allowed yourself to hope, to dream, to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out, a chance for a different life, a future beyond the shadows of Doflamingo's reign.

And with that hope burning in your heart, you closed your eyes and waited, ready to face whatever horrors the day might bring, ready to fight, to resist, to survive, no matter the cost.

You inched your face closer to Doflamingo's, your heart pounding in your chest, a mixture of fear and curiosity driving you forward. The proximity to him, the intimacy of the moment, it was both exhilarating and terrifying, a dance with danger that you couldn't resist.

His face was peaceful in sleep, a stark contrast to the cruelty and sadism he displayed when awake. It was almost as if he were a different person, someone capable of kindness, of empathy, of humanity. But you knew better, you knew that beneath this facade lay a monster, a twisted being who reveled in the suffering of others, who found pleasure in the pain he inflicted, who saw you as nothing more than a possession, a plaything to be used and discarded at his whim.

Yet, despite this knowledge, you couldn't help but be drawn to him, to study the contours of his face, the curve of his lips, the arch of his eyebrows. It was a fascination born of fear, a morbid curiosity that you couldn't ignore.

Slowly and cautiously, you moved even closer, your breath mingling with his, your heart pounding in your ears. You could smell him, the scent of his skin, the musky aroma of his body, and it was intoxicating, a heady mixture of masculinity and danger that both repulsed and attracted you.

In this moment, suspended between sleep and consciousness, you felt a strange connection to Doflamingo, a bond forged in the crucible of your shared experiences, a twisted sense of intimacy born of the pain and suffering he had inflicted upon you. It was a perverse and sickening realization, but it was undeniable, a truth that you couldn't escape.

The thought of kissing Doflamingo, of initiating any form of intimacy with him, filled you with a confusing mix of desire and revulsion. The rational part of your mind screamed at you to stop, to recoil in disgust at the idea of showing any affection towards your captor, your tormentor, the man who had violated you in the most heinous ways imaginable.

And yet, some dark, twisted part of you yearned for it, craved the forbidden touch, the illicit contact, the brief illusion of control in a situation where you had none. It was a sick, masochistic urge, born of the trauma and abuse you had endured, a desperate attempt to reclaim some semblance of agency in your own body, your own desires.

The hypocrisy of it all wasn't lost on you. Here you were, considering kissing Doflamingo without his consent, when he had already violated you in your sleep, had forced himself upon you, had used your body as his own personal plaything. It was a double standard, a twisted logic that only made sense in the warped context of your current reality.

But in a strange, perverse way, the idea of kissing him, of taking this small, secret action without his knowledge, without his permission, it felt like a form of rebellion, a tiny act of defiance against the man who held such complete control over you. It was a way to reclaim a shred of your own autonomy, to assert yourself in a situation where you had been stripped of all power.

So, with a deep breath and a racing heart, you leaned in closer, your lips mere inches from his. Your eyes fluttered closed as you pressed your mouth to his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through your body. It was a soft, chaste kiss, lasting only a moment, but in that brief instant, you felt a rush of emotions, a confusing blend of shame, guilt, and a twisted sense of empowerment.

You pulled away quickly, your heart pounding, your breath coming in short gasps. You felt dirty, tainted, defiled by the very act of kissing your captor, your abuser. And yet, there was a small, sickening part of you that relished in it, that found a perverse thrill in the secret, forbidden nature of the act.

You knew it was wrong, that it only served to further complicate your feelings, your emotions, your very sense of self. But in this twisted, broken world that Doflamingo had created, where your body and your will were not your own, even this small, misguided act of defiance felt like a victory, a tiny spark of resistance in the face of overwhelming oppression.

The contrast between Doflamingo's steady, relaxed breathing and your own rapid, shallow gasps was a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play, of the control he held over you, even in the depths of his unconscious state. It was a sobering realization, one that made the twisted desire to press your lips against his once more feel all the more wrong, all the more perverse.

And yet, the thought of violating him, of taking something from him without his consent, it was a potent temptation, a siren song that called to the darkest, most broken parts of your psyche. It was a way to reclaim some semblance of control, to assert your own agency in a situation where you had been stripped of all power.

As you stared at his peaceful, sleeping form, you couldn't help but be drawn to the idea of defiling him, of tainting him in the same way he had tainted you. It was a sick, twisted thought, one that made your stomach churn and your head spin, but it persisted, a nagging, insistent voice in the back of your mind.

You knew it was wrong, that it would only serve to further complicate your relationship with Doflamingo, to blur the lines between victim and perpetrator, between the oppressed and the oppressor. But in this twisted, broken world he had created, where your body and your will were not your own, it felt like the only form of resistance available to you.

With a heavy heart and a racing pulse, you leaned in once more, your lips hovering just above his. You paused for a moment, the weight of your decision pressing down on you, the consequences of your actions hanging in the balance. And then, with a deep breath, you pressed your mouth to his once again, this time with more force, more determination, more desperation.

The kiss was more intense this time, a violation of its own, a theft of his unknowing participation. It was a twisted, perverse act, one that you knew would haunt you, that would leave a stain on your soul that could never be washed clean. But in that moment, as you pulled away, your heart pounding, your breath ragged, you felt a small, sickening sense of satisfaction, a twisted triumph in the knowledge that you had taken something from him, that you had asserted your own agency, even if it was in the most debased, depraved way possible.

You knew it was a hollow victory, a temporary reprieve in the face of the constant oppression and abuse you faced at Doflamingo's hands. But in this twisted, broken world, it was all you had, a fleeting moment of control, a brief, shining beacon in the darkness of your captivity. And for now, that was enough.

As you lay your head back on the pillow, the arousal you felt from the forced intimacy with Doflamingo lingered, a disturbing reminder of just how twisted and broken this situation had made you. The thrill of the act, the adrenaline rushing through your veins, it had awakened something primal within you, something you hadn't even known existed.

You tried to push the feelings aside, to rationalize them as a product of the intense circumstances you found yourself in. After all, in a world where your body and will were not your own, where control had been stripped away and replaced with constant degradation and abuse, it was only natural to seek out any small scrap of power, any fragment of agency, no matter how sickening or depraved it may be.

As you waited for Doflamingo to wake, your mind raced with the implications of your actions. You had crossed a line, had violated your captor in a way that you knew would only lead to further complications, further pain, and further suffering. But you couldn't deny the twisted sense of satisfaction you felt, the perverse thrill of having asserted yourself, even if it was in the most debased, depraved way possible.

Your heart raced as you felt Doflamingo stir, his breathing becoming more labored, his body shifting beneath you. You tensed, preparing for the inevitable confrontation, the punishment that would surely follow once he discovered what you had done. But even as fear gripped you, there was a part of you that was almost eager for it, a sick, twisted desire to face the consequences of your actions, to prove to yourself that you could endure whatever he had in store.

As Doflamingo's eyes snapped open, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation. But as the moments passed and he showed no signs of noticing your transgression, a wave of relief washed over you, easing the tension that had built up in your body.

It was a strange sensation, this mixture of relief and confusion. Part of you wondered how he could have missed such a blatant act of defiance, while another part rejoiced in the fact that he had been oblivious to it. You couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment, a twisted pride in having gotten away with something so heinous and forbidden.

Doflamingo sat up, stretching his arms above his head, completely unaware of the violation you had subjected him to. As he turned his attention to you, you couldn't help but feel a pang of fear, wondering what dark desires might be lurking behind those calculating eyes. But at the same time, you felt a flicker of hope, a small, secret knowledge that you had asserted your own agency, even if it was in the most debased and depraved of ways.

As he leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin, you steeled yourself for whatever twisted games he had in store. The moment Doflamingo forcefully spread your legs, you couldn't help but release a groan, a mixture of pain and pleasure that you tried desperately to hide. The way his fingers probed your most intimate places, it was a violation, a degradation that cut to the core of your very being.

"Why are you so wet? Did you think about me while I was asleep? Did you touch yourself, imagining it was my hands on your body?" Doflamingo growled, his fingers still buried deep inside you. "Answer me, slut."

The questions hung heavy in the air, accusatory and mocking, a challenge to your very sanity. You couldn't deny the truth, couldn't hide the fact that your body had betrayed you, had responded to the very man who had violated you so brutally.

"N-no," you whispered, your voice trembling with fear and arousal. "I didn't…"

Doflamingo's eyes narrowed, his grip on your thighs tightening painfully. "Don't lie to me, you fucking whore," he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "I can smell your arousal, feel it on my fingers. You're getting off on this, aren't you? On being used, degraded, violated?"

He punctuated his words with a thrust of his fingers, a harsh, punishing motion that sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain coursing through your body. You couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated need.

"Fuck," Doflamingo groaned, his eyes darkening with lust. "You're even more pathetic than I thought. Getting wet from a little forced fingering, like a bitch in heat."

He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your essence. His tongue darted out, lapping at the slick evidence of your arousal, his eyes never leaving yours. "Delicious," he purred, a cruel, mocking smile playing on his lips.

"I think it's time I gave you what you really want, don't you?" he asked, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Time I fucked that tight little cunt of yours, claimed you as mine in every way possible."*

With those words, he positioned himself between your legs, his hard, throbbing member pressing against your entrance. You knew what was coming, knew that he would take you, use you, violate you in the most brutal of ways. And yet, some sick, twisted part of you craved it, yearned for it, even as your rational mind recoiled in horror.

As Doflamingo's hips surged forward, driving his cock deep inside you, you couldn't hold back the scream that tore from your throat, a sound of pain and pleasure, of violation and twisted ecstasy. And as he began to move, to pound into you with a force that threatened to break you, you surrendered yourself to the darkness, to the depravity, to the sick, twisted world that Doflamingo had created, where pain and pleasure were one and the same, and all that mattered was the brutal, primal dance of dominance and submission.

As Doflamingo's conclusions washed over you, a wave of relief swept through your body. He had misinterpreted the reason for your arousal, attributing it to his own twisted desires rather than the dark, depraved acts you had committed in your own twisted attempt at rebellion. It was a small victory, a momentary reprieve from the consequences of your actions, but that relief was short-lived.

In a desperate attempt to escape, you tried to wiggle away from underneath him, but his grip remained firm, his weight pinning you down. Your efforts only seemed to spur him on, a cruel, mocking grin spreading across his face as he watched you squirm beneath him. "NO!!" you screamed.

"Stop struggling," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You know you want this, you're so wet for me. Just give in and let me take what I want."

Doflamingo's massive cock slammed into you over and over again, you could feel yourself breaking, shattering into a million pieces. The pain was overwhelming, a searing, white-hot agony that consumed your every nerve ending. You screamed and thrashed beneath him, your body writhing in a futile attempt to escape the brutal onslaught.

"Look at you, crying like a little bitch," Doflamingo sneered, his hips never ceasing their relentless thrusting. "You act so tough, but deep down, you're just a weak, pathetic slut who loves being used."

His words cut deep, each syllable a knife twisting in your heart. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him how wrong he was, but all that came out was a choked sob, a pitiful, broken sound that only seemed to fuel his cruelty.

"I bet you've been dreaming of this, haven't you?" he continued, his voice dripping with mockery. "Fantasizing about me fucking you, claiming you, owning you completely. Admit it, you love being my slave, my personal fucktoy."

He reached up, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were wild, crazed with lust and sadistic glee. In that moment, you saw the true depths of his depravity, the utter lack of humanity that lurked within him.

"Say it," he demanded, his grip tightening painfully. "Tell me how much you love being my whore, how much you need my cock."

You shook your head frantically, "NO!" Tears streaming down your face, your body shaking with the force of your sobs. But Doflamingo was relentless, his thrusts growing harder, faster, more brutal with each passing second.

"Say it!" he roared, his face contorting with rage. "Or I'll beat you until you can't walk, until the only thing you remember is the feeling of my cock destroying your worthless cunt!"

In that moment, broken and defeated, you knew there was only one way to survive. With a final, shuddering sob, you met his gaze, your eyes empty, defeated.

"I love being your whore, Doflamingo," you whispered, the words tasting like ash on your tongue. "I need your cock, please fuck me and use me." Tears poured down your face as you spoke

As the words left your lips, Doflamingo's eyes lit up with a twisted sense of satisfaction. He praised your "admission" as if it were a confession of your deepest, most hidden desires. In his eyes, you were no longer a victim, but a willing participant in your own degradation.

"That's right, you're just a filthy little slut who needs my cock to feel alive," he growled, his thrusts becoming even more forceful and brutal. "You were made for this, to be used and abused by someone like me. I'm glad you finally accept your place."

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "You're mine now, completely and utterly. I'll fuck you whenever I want, however I want, and you'll thank me for it."

As he spoke, his hands roamed your body, groping and squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples hard enough to make you cry out in pain. Each touch was a reminder of your new reality, a world where your body was no longer your own, but a plaything for Doflamingo to use as he pleased.

Despite the pain and humiliation, you couldn't deny the dark, twisted arousal that began to build within you. Your body, traitorous and broken, responded to his touch, to the brutal, relentless pounding of his cock. It was a sick, perverse reaction, a betrayal of everything you once held dear, but it was undeniable, your orgasm drawing nearer. Doflamingo's fingers danced on your abdomen as they undid the strings around your cervix. You could only sigh in relief knowing the onslaught of his wrath was almost over. "Doflamingo…" you choked out, your voice hoarse from all your crying and screaming. "Please… don't… I don't want this…"

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, your protests only serving to fuel his twisted desires.

"Oh, you want me to stop?" Doflamingo sneered, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee. "Too fucking bad, because I'm going to keep fucking you. You don't have a choice. I can feel how good it feels for you; you're practically gushing for me."

As he spoke, his thrusts grew more forceful, more brutal, his cock plunging deeper and deeper into your most intimate depths. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that threatened to shatter your very being.

"I love using you," Doflamingo groaned, his voice thick with lust. "You're perfect, a goddess designed solely for my pleasure."

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you gasping and shaking. Despite your desperate attempts to suppress it, your body betrayed you, squirting all over Doflamingo as your walls pulsed and clenched around his throbbing cock. The sensation was intense, a raw, primal ecstasy that consumed every fiber of your being.

"Fuck, that's it," Doflamingo growled, his hips slamming into you with a final, brutal thrust. "Cum for me, show me how much you love being my personal fucktoy."

You could feel Doflamingo's own climax approaching. His cock swelled even larger, stretching you to the limit as he pushed deep, his glans nestling against your cervix. With a roar of triumph, he began to ejaculate, his hot, thick seed pouring into your uterus, filling you with his essence once more. His testicles, heavy and swollen with his potent seed, churned and contracted, pumping wave after wave of his semen into your body.

As the final drops of his essence spilled into you, you could feel the connection between your bodies, the intimate, primal bond that had been forged through your shared ecstasy. Exhausted and spent, you lay beneath him, your body a broken, violated shell.

As Doflamingo's massive cock slid out of you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed, you could feel the gentle tug of his strings working their magic once again. The cervix he had so skillfully manipulated was now sealed back shut, a physical barrier to prevent any of his precious seed from escaping your body.

Doflamingo collapsed next to you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. You lay there, defeated, your body aching and sore from the brutal assault he had subjected you to.

"You did well," he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. "I knew you would make an excellent host for my offspring. Your body is perfect, a temple designed solely for my pleasure and reproduction."

His hand reached out, caressing your stomach almost tenderly, as if he could already feel the life growing within you. The gesture was a stark contrast to the brutal, violent act that had preceded it, a reminder of the complex and twisted nature of your captor.

"I can't wait to see you pregnant with my child," Doflamingo rasped, his voice heavy with exhaustion from the brutal coupling you two had endured. "You're going to look so good carrying my offspring."

#donquixote doflamingo #one piece #doffy #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x reader smut #donquixote family #fem reader #one piece smut #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #doflamingo

71 notes · View notes

altocat · 3 months ago

Note

FS Ch. 2 is really just Sephiroth being God's eepies soldier huh

He went from sleeping all the time as a teen to NEVER sleeping as an adult. Nibelheim could have been prevented of Sephiroth had just stopped to get a few decent hours of REM fhwfjscjaxkakdalxsmsncwjdakdqkka

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #sephcanons #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #First soldier #ff7ec #ever crisis #ff7 ever crisis #miniroth #young sephiroth #Ffvii first soldier #ffvii ever crisis #Ever crisis

23 notes · View notes

beefromanoff · 5 months ago

Text

Tempting Fate Ch. 5

summary: first night of Friday fun...and it's definitely FUN.

author's note: HI SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG LIFE HAS BEEN INSANE (the fanfic writers curse is real lol) BUT I WILL UPLOAD QUICKLY TO MAKE UP FOR IT STAY TUNED ILY THANKS FOR READING

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

Saturday morning came after a sleep that was only moderately restful. After giving up on REM as the sun started to peek through her floor to ceiling windows, Evie rolled out of the nest of covers to brew a pot of coffee. As it bubbled to life, she opened her phone and dialed. Jade picked up on the second ring.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite center of a Super Soldier sandwich.”

Evie rolled her eyes but chuckled, putting Jade on speaker as she pulled the quarter-full pot of coffee out mid-brew, too impatient to wait for it to finish. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Oh, spill! I’m dying to hear everything.”

Evie recapped her week, flopping down on the couch in a particularly cozy sunbeam. To Jade’s credit, she was just as interested in the tedious work details as she was in the salacious ones she hoped to hear. “And then Tony came up to the lab tonight, but it was just to kick me out and drag me to the bar for drinks.”

“Classic Evie, landing a job where the smoking hot boss forces you to leave work and go have fun with his equally hot coworkers. You poor thing. As a matter or fact, let me call up my Grandma and see if she can add you to her prayer list!” Jade laughed at her own joke.”But seriously, consulting on a mission? Already? That’s insane, Eves. I’m so proud of you.”

Thanks, J. It’s been…surreal. In the best way. You have to come visit soon, wait until you see this place. It makes my college place look like it should have been condemned.”

“Babes, I say this with love, but that place absolutely should have been condemned. Consider this my official RSVP, I’ll make it down in a couple weekends once you’re more settled in. Gotta give you time to scope out the nightlife, prepare to show your favorite Boston girl a Manhattan good time.”

“Will do,” Evie giggled. “I’ll make sure to get higher thread count sheets for the guest bedroom.”

“My sugar momma,” Jade cooed, despite them both knowing she came from more money than she ever acknowledged. “Now, enough about linens and saving the world. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes? Tell me everything. What are they like? Does Steve really have America’s ass?”

Evie laughed before pausing, thinking about how to describe them. “Steve is...exactly what you’d expect. Polite, charming, genuinely nice. He’s an All-American guy. And Bucky, he’s got this…brooding, mysterious vibe going on, but he’s surprisingly funny. When he speaks, that is. They’re both...let’s just say they both surpass the version of them I had in my head from all my Grandma’s stories.”

“As if this wasn’t already made-for-tv enough,” Jade said through a full mouth of whatever breakfast she was scarfing down. “I forgot they knew your Grandma. Are you going to bring it up?”

“I thought about it, but not yet.” Evie paused. “I don’t want them thinking I’m a kid, you know? Something tells me that calling attention to the fact that they were childhood besties with my grandmother won’t bode well for that.”

Jade’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because you’re into one of them, aren’t you?”

Evie laughed, rubbing her forehead even though Jade couldn’t see her. “No, I mean, I wouldn’t say anything is out of the question, but I just met them this week and I haven’t hardly spoken to either of them.”

“Oh. My. God.” A fork clanged onto the plate on Jade’s end. “You’re into both of them! Evie! You slut!”

“I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to. I felt it in my soul when I saw that picture. Even with your drunk eyes, I know when you have your mind set on someone. Or two someones.”

Evie was quiet for a minute, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “Hypothetically…what if I was?”

“Hypothetically, what’s stopping you? Go for it, or I’ll hop on the highway right now and offer myself up instead!”

Evie stood, pacing around the living room and thinking out loud. “I mean, really, would it be so bad? I don’t work for the Avengers, I work for Stark Industries. There’s no rule against consultants and team members fraternizing. I’m a grown, adult woman. Age differences are antiquated anyways. Why choose if I can have both?”

Jade was momentarily speechless before bursting into laughter. “Damn, girl! I didn’t see that coming, but so I’m here for it. You’ve always been bold, but this is next level. I’ve been saying for years that you needed to make up for all the getting laid you didn’t do in college, and getting railed by two legendary Super Soldiers would probably do the trick.”

“Jade!” Evie blushed despite being more than accustomed to her crass personality by now.

“I said it, you’re definitely thinking it. All I’m asking for is a comprehensive report with no detail spared.” She paused. “Maybe a tape, if you can be discreet about it.”

“You are a heathen,” She grinned, shaking her head.

“You love me.”

“I do. I miss you, J.”

“I miss you, Eves. I’ll be there before you know it. Come up with something juicy for us to talk about.”

Monday Morning | Avengers’ Tower

Evie didn’t require much to get her out of bed when there was a state of the art lab at her disposal, but that didn’t stop her from stopping at the coffee shop that had become her staple on the way into work. The caffeine flowing through her veins was working overtime as she stepped into the lobby of Avengers Tower, scrolling through the latest Stark tech reports on her tablet. She had almost managed to push Friday night from her mind—almost.

The elevator doors slid open just as she reached them, and suddenly, forgetting wasn’t an option.

Steve and Bucky stepped out, dressed for a morning run, the cool air of the lobby doing little to keep the back of her neck from heating. Steve looked bright-eyed and effortlessly composed, the kind of thing Evie would usually hate to see from someone headed out for a run on a Monday morning. But on him? Anything but obnoxiously productive. Bucky, on the other hand, had a rougher edge to him—dark hair pushed back haphazardly, jaw set, tension in his shoulders like he wasn’t fully at ease.

And yet, despite whatever internal war he was fighting, his blue eyes locked onto her the second she appeared across the elevator threshold.

Interesting.

Evie smiled as she slowed to a stop, tilting her head in faux consideration. “Early morning training or just running from your problems?”

Steve chuckled, easygoing as ever. “Keeping up the routine.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but there was something in the way his gaze flickered over her that made heat curl in her stomach. “Some of us just like to stay sharp,” he said, voice even, almost dismissive.

Ah. So that’s how we’re playing it.

She raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “Would you like me to applaud?”

Steve gave a small laugh, ever the diplomat. “Applause is welcome but not necessary. You’re here early too, big day ahead?”

Evie tapped a manicured nail against her coffee cup, flicking her eyes from him to Bucky. “Oh, you know. Just trying to stay sharp.”

Bucky just looked at her, expression unreadable, but his metal fingers flexed briefly at his side—just enough for her to notice.

Evie let the silence stretch for a second longer than necessary before flashing a knowing smile. “But hey, don’t let me keep you from training. I’m sure I’ll see you around the Tower, but if not, Friday’s just a few days away.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly, but there was a flicker of something else behind his amusement. Something… contemplative. “You’re serious about that?”

“Oh, dead serious.” She took another sip of her coffee, looking between the two of them. “I expect you both to have some solid ideas for our inaugural Friday Night of Fun.”

Steve gave a small nod, like he was already making a mental list. “We’ll come up with something good.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, shifting his weight like he wanted to be anywhere else—but instead of leaving, he glanced at her again. “You sure you’re not just using us for a free ride?” The words were clipped, a little gruff, but…was this version of humor?

Evie’s smile widened just a fraction. There it is.

She lifted her cup in a little mock toast. “I’ll take all the free rides you two are willing to give.”

And with that, she stepped past them and into the elevator, letting the doors close behind her before she let herself breathe. As much as she’d wanted to see the look on their faces with her double entendre, it was probably better to let it hang in the air. Well, no one ever accused me of subtlety.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

Wednesday Afternoon | Avengers’ Tower

The week had more idle time than Evie would have liked. The mission with Orpheus, which was supposed to take place today, had been pushed back a week. New intel had revealed that the vibranium used to make weapons, otherwise known as the entire reason for the mission, wouldn’t be shipped in until the following week. Although Evie loved being proactive, it’s impossible to intercept a shipment a week early. She spent the week double and triple checking her algorithms and then writing a new one to counter it, trying to find any weak spots or flaws in her program.

There weren’t any.

She oscillated between other engineers, offering help but trying to still grant them the autonomy of their own projects despite knowing she could knock all of them out by the end of the week. Finally, Wednesday afternoon rolled around. The follow up briefing was more of a formality than anything, meant to keep the team up to date on the details of the mission and the new developments. Not much had changed on Evie’s end, but she was still thrilled to be included, both for the prestige of working with the Avengers and for the present company.

Although her heart pounded when Maria had given Evie the floor to speak, it was significantly easier than her first briefing. Maybe it was something about the way she’d seen Sam singing with a bachelorette party and Wanda taking lemon drop shots with Natasha that made them seem more…human. Plus, after her extensive reviews and re-reviews, she couldn’t be more confident in the tech she was presenting. The briefing had gone flawlessly—her plan to bypass Orpheus’ security had been airtight, and Tony had given her a rare, approving nod. Nat had smirked, muttered something about not bad, rookie, and Bucky had—well, Bucky hadn’t scowled, which was basically a standing ovation.

She was dismissed by Maria, closing her laptop and leaving to a chorus of “Thanks Evie,” from the team, which she acknowledged with a mock salute before slipping out the door. Now, as she made her way down the halls of the Tower, she barely suppressed a grin. It had been a hell of a few weeks, but moments like this reminded her exactly why she was here.

Calling the elevator, Evie heard footsteps echoing down the hallway, and turned—only to find Steve jogging towards her.

Slowing to a stop, he folded his arms across his chest, that easy, golden-boy charm written all over his face. “You did good in there,” he said, nodding. “That was great, both the tech you presented and the way you held your own. Usually the newer consultants are too nervous to get through the information and we have to have Tony catch us up afterwards. I’m impressed.”

Evie smirked, adjusting the strap of her tablet bag. “What, you thought I was just here for my looks?”

Steve chuckled. “Didn’t say that.” His voice was warm, teasing, but there was something else in his gaze—thoughtful, like he was taking her in, piece by piece.

She raised an eyebrow, smiling. “So…did you have a question about the polymorphic encryption?”

Steve grinned, shaking his head. “I was actually going to tell you we have an idea for Friday.”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Oh? Let’s hear it.”

Before Steve could answer, another presence turned around the corner and joined them—Bucky.

He came up alongside Steve, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket, jaw set like he’d been debating whether or not to approach at all. His eyes flicked to Evie, then to Steve, and then back to Evie, something unreadable behind them.

Evie’s amusement doubled. Oh, this just keeps getting better.

Steve, ever the picture of composure, didn’t miss a beat. “I was just telling Evie we’ve got an idea for Friday.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, gaze unreadable. “Yeah?”

Steve nodded. “I was thinking we do something fun but low-key—an escape room, maybe? Something where we actually have to work together without any real stakes.”

“Interesting.” Evie tapped a finger against her chin. “Brainpower over brawn. I like it.”

Bucky made a noncommittal noise, finally looking directly at her. “I had something different in mind.”

She tilted her head, smirking. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

Bucky’s lips pressed together for half a second, like he regretted speaking at all. But then he exhaled, clearly committing. “Shooting range. Something real.”

Evie blinked, caught between intrigue and oh, that’s hot.

Steve turned to his friend, eyebrows raised. “Shooting range?”

Bucky shrugged, shifting his weight. “If we’re gonna do something together, might as well be something useful.” His gaze flicked to Evie again, sharper now. “Unless you’re more of a puzzle girl.”

Evie felt the corners of her mouth twitch. “Oh, Barnes,” she said smoothly, “I had heard you didn’t cooperate with others, but here I was thinking Steve and I could be the exception.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed—just for a second—before he gave her a look that sent heat curling up her spine. “Careful what you wish for.”

Steve cleared his throat, watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and something harder to place. “Well,” he said lightly, “we can let her decide.”

Evie crossed her arms, making a show of considering both options. “Hmm. Getting locked in a room full of riddles with you two or seeing which one of you is actually a better shot?” She grinned. “Tough choice.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. Bucky just studied her, quiet and unreadable.

Evie took a step backward, stepping into the elevator as she shot them a knowing look. “Guess you two will just have to wait and see.”

The doors slid shut, leaving them standing there.

And if she happened to hear Steve mutter this is gonna be interesting and Bucky let out a low breath after she left?

Well. That was just an added bonus.

Friday Morning | Avengers Gym

Evie stepped onto the training mats, stretching out her arms as the familiar sounds of controlled violence filled the air—gloves smacking against punching bags, the rhythmic clash of fists meeting targets, the occasional grunt of exertion. The Avengers gym was in full swing, but she wasn’t here to train.

She had business to attend to.

Her eyes locked onto Steve and Bucky, both deep into their respective routines across the sprawling room.

Steve was on the far side of the gym, effortlessly delivering precise punches to a heavy bag. He looked infuriatingly composed, like he wasn’t absolutely pummeling the thing.

Bucky, meanwhile, was taking out some kind of frustration on a sparring dummy. His metal arm whirred slightly with each devastating hit, jaw tight, posture coiled. Whatever was on his mind, it wasn’t light.

Well. That wasn’t concerning at all.

Evie, fully aware she was about to make their day very interesting, strolled up with an easy smirk, holding her tablet in the crook of her arm and a coffee in the other. “Alright, boys. After careful deliberation, I’ve made my ruling on tonight’s game plan.”

Steve turned first, wiping his hands on a towel draped over his shoulder. “Oh yeah?”

Bucky took an extra second before acknowledging her, exhaling through his nose as he finally stepped back from his sparring dummy. “Let’s hear it.”

Evie let the silence stretch just a fraction longer than necessary, relishing their anticipation before flashing a wicked grin.

“We’re going to a vintage arcade.”

Bucky blinked..

Steve… processed. “Like… with pinball and Pac-Man?”

“Oh, exactly like that,” Evie confirmed, crossing her arms. “Figured you two would feel right at home, given your…considerable life experience.”

Steve’s lips pressed together in what was almost a smile. “You really never get tired of the old-man jokes, do you?”

“It’s not a joke if it’s a fact.” she cooed, tilting her head.

Bucky finally scoffed, running a hand through his slightly damp hair. “An arcade.” His tone was as flat as a dead monitor.

Evie smirked. “Not just an arcade. A competition.” She let the word settle, watching their reactions. “You two pride yourselves on your combat skills, your strategies, your precision—but can you handle classic gaming warfare? We’re talking air hockey, racing sims, Street Fighter.” She raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking between them. “Unless you’re scared?”

Steve exhaled a quiet laugh, arms crossed, looking genuinely entertained. “I think we can handle it.”

Bucky, still looking deeply unamused, muttered, “This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely ridiculous,” Evie agreed easily. “That’s the point.” She shrugged. “But hey, if you’d rather sit this one out…”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to hers, sharp, challenging.

Yeah. That did it.

She watched as his jaw tightened slightly before he huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’ll go.”

Evie’s grin widened. “That’s the spirit, Barnes.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, logistics. You two can pick me up at my place tonight.”

Steve raised a brow. “You sure?”

“Well, considering you both already know where I live…” She let the implication linger, taking a sip of her coffee. “Might as well capitalize on those free rides.”

Bucky, who had been very pointedly not reacting, made a small noise in the back of his throat.

Steve nodded. “Alright. We’ll see you tonight.”

Evie gave them both a little mock salute before turning on her heel.

____________

Miraculously, the rest of the day flew by.

Evie barely registered the passage of time between the morning briefing and the end of the workday. She had spent the afternoon buried in the latest iteraation of the Iron Man suit, tuning out everything else as she dismantled, rebuilt, and improved the schematics Tony had thought were perfect. (They weren’t.)

By the time she actually glanced at the clock, it was already pushing six, and her hair (and overall appearance) was still an absolute disaster.

Well. That wasn’t ideal.

____________

“…so let me get this straight,” Jade’s voice crackled over speakerphone, amused and way too invested. “You’re spending your Friday night at an arcade—”

Evie shoved her foot into a boot, hopping slightly as she yanked the zipper up. “Vintage arcade.”

“Excuse me—” Jade continued, her tone dripping with mock reverence, “a vintage arcade… with two of the most absurdly attractive men on the planet, and you don’t think anything will happen tonight?”

Smirking, Evie reached for her other boot. “Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Jade scoffed. “Oh, babe. We sped past ‘ahead of ourselves’ when you invited them to pick you up at your apartment.”

Evie paused for half a second—damn, Jade had a point—before shaking it off and yanking her second boot into place. “Look, it’s casual. They’re picking me up in the lobby, not in my bedroom.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t be dropping you off there later..”

“Who am I to control fate if that’s where the night is destined to go,” Evie teased.

“Damn. You’re really not processing this fully, are you?”

“There’s nothing to process. We can joke, but the three of us made this plans in a group setting to keep ourselves from being boring workaholics. It’s platonic. It’s…fun. That’s all.”

Jade hummed like she didn’t believe her for a second. “Alright, fine, let’s pretend you’re totally right. What’s the actual plan here? You just gonna flirt your way through the night and hope the choice is made for you, or are we taking bets on which super soldier loses his mind first?”

Evie grabbed her phone off the vanity, laughing. “Please. If anyone is losing their mind, it’s me. I’m trying to play it cool, but I had a Steve Rogers poster hanging in my bedroom until I was thirteen. Plus, I got fined for drawing hearts around their faces in my sixth grade textbook during the Howling Commandos unit.”

“Finally, some honesty!” Jade cheered. “You’re into them, Evie. Both of them. Admit it.”

Evie hesitated.

Because, yeah. She was.

Steve, with his easy charm and steady, grounding presence. Bucky, with his quiet intensity and sharp, dry humor.

They were polar opposites, and yet… not. And she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about what it meant to be caught between them.

But she wasn’t going to overthink it.

At least… not yet.

Before she could respond, a sharp bzzzzt interrupted her thoughts.

Her doorman’s voice came through the intercom. “Miss Evie, you have… two gentlemen waiting for you in the lobby.”

Jade screamed.

Evie winced, holding the phone away from her ear. “Jade!”

“Oh my GOD!” Jade cackled. “It’s happening. It’s literally happening.”

Evie bit back a grin, smoothing her top as she crossed the room. “Yeah, yeah, contain yourself.”

“Nope, sorry, absolutely losing it,” Jade said, her voice breathless with glee. “Babe, you are about to step into the greatest rom-com of all time. Or a very hot disaster. Either way, I’m living for it.”

Evie rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the thrill running through her. “I’ll call you later.”

“You better!”

Evie laughed, hitting the end button before she could get dragged into more chaotic speculation. Taking one last glance in the mirror, she exhaled. She’d settled on jeans over her favorite pair of boots, a white tank top that was just a smidge too low cut, and a vintage jacket from one of her most frequented stores back in Boston. Casual, but still flattering. She swiped on the kind of gloss that made her lips tingle and strode towards the door.

Showtime.

In the hall, she pressed the elevator button with the kind of confidence that only barely covered the very real excitement buzzing beneath her skin.

Because downstairs, two super soldiers were waiting.

And tonight?

Tonight was going to be fun.

Evie wasn’t nervous.

She refused to be nervous.

That would imply that tonight was something more than a casual outing between teammates, and she wasn’t the one making it complicated.

…Right?

Shaking off the thought, she stepped into the elevator, sliding her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. She had gone for casual—but calculated casual. A little effort, but not too much. Her hair was loose, falling in waves over her shoulders, and those trusty boots gave her an extra inch of confidence. It was nice to give her hair a break from the ponytails she favored so heavily in the lab.

The elevator doors slid open—and instantly, she spotted them.

Steve and Bucky were waiting. They had been mid-conversation, standing near the glass entry doors—but the second she stepped out, they both stopped. Looked at her.

At the exact same time.

Evie slowed slightly, tilting her head as she took them in. Steve, predictably, looked like the picture of All-American charm—wearing a fitted blue sweater, dark jeans, that effortlessly boyish look that should have felt unfair but instead just made him more Steve.

Bucky, standing just a little more stiffly beside him, was dressed in his usual dark layers—black henley, leather jacket, hands in his pockets like he was already bracing himself for this night.

And the way they were both looking at her now?

Unfair.

Evie let the silence stretch for half a second before breaking it herself. “Well,” she drawled, grinning as she strode forward, “at least one of you dressed for fun.”

Steve smirked, relaxed. “I take it you’re not referring to me?”

Evie hooked an arm through each of theirs, boldly stepping between them like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Barnes, you do own something that isn’t black, right?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, but didn’t move away. “It’s grey.”

Evie shot him a knowing look. “Oh, wow. Revolutionary.”

Steve chuckled, but Bucky just shook his head as they started walking toward the doors. They stepped outside, and parked at the curb was Steve’s Jeep. He let go of her arm first, stepping forward to open the passenger door. “After you.”

Evie grinned, shook her head, and bypassed him entirely.

She opened the back door instead, sliding into the middle seat before leaning forward between their seats with a smirk.

“Sorry, boys,” she said breezily, tapping her fingers against Steve’s headrest. “Sitting in the back makes me feel important. Like I have my own personal security team.”

Steve let out a laugh as he crossed to the driver’s side. “You’re impossible.”

Bucky, already climbing into the front seat, rolled his eyes. “You’re something, alright.”

Evie just grinned wider, leaning back and spreading her arms across the back seats. The Jeep rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the evening as they pulled away from her building. Steve glanced at her in the rearview mirror, an easy smile playing at his lips. “So, how was your week, Evie?”

Bucky didn’t react outright, but Evie caught the slight twitch of his fingers where they rested on his knee. He was listening.

She grinned, brushing her hand through her hair. “Oh, you know. Same old. Rewrote one of Stark’s suit protocols because it was, frankly, a mess. Bypassed an AI lockout one of the other engineers swore was unbreakable. Tested the mission tech about a trillion ways to make sure it’s solid, and for the record, it is.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Well, that’s good to hear.”

“I’m not sure how you thanked your previous technology consultants,” she drawled. “But my shoe size is 8, I like red roses, and Italian food is my favorite. Just a few ideas.”

Bucky’s voice, dry as ever, finally cut in. “Let’s get through the mission before we start the pandering.”

Evie tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “That’s fine. I can be patient. Plus, when this mission is over, it’ll give me some time to work on a few more fun projects.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Great. We’ll probably find out when we get back that you’ve unlocked nuclear codes just to see if you could.”

Evie grinned. “Please. Like I haven’t already gone down that road.”

Steve shot her a look in the mirror, half amused, half genuinely wary. “I feel like we should be more concerned.”

She shrugged. “Nah. Just trust that I’ve made sure that if Orpheus or anyone else tries to screw with us, I know exactly where the weak spots are.”

That got a reaction.

Bucky’s gaze flicked toward her, something more calculating beneath his usual skepticism. Steve’s grip on the wheel tightened just a fraction.

“Wow. Look at you two. So serious.” She exhaled dramatically, sinking back against the seat. “But no more work talk, that violates a cardinal rule of Friday night outings.”

Steve chuckled. “Oh, there’s rules now?”

“Only where necessary to ensure we’re successful. We’re here to have fun and not be workaholics, right? We made it, oh…” She checked the clock on the dashboard. “Less than ten minutes. We can try for a new record next week.”

Bucky, arms crossed now, just muttered, “Lovely.”

Evie grinned, ignoring him. “Fine. Let’s talk about you two instead. How do you feel about being historically accurate tonight?”

Steve glanced at her again, confused. “Historically accurate?”

She gestured at the windshield. “I mean, it is a vintage arcade. You two should feel right at home.”

Bucky’s head tipped back against the seat. “Oh my God.”

Steve sighed, shaking his head as if resigned to his fate. “Here we go.”

Evie leaned forward again, grinning. “Did they even have arcades when you were young? Or was it all, like, hoop-and-stick? Were you two pioneers of the pinball era?”

Steve exhaled a laugh, playing along. “I hate to break it to you, but I wasn’t that old when I went under.”

Bucky, however, just looked out the window and deadpanned, “We actually missed the invention of electricity by a few years. My first arm was wooden.”

Evie snorted. “I knew it.”

Steve shook his head, grinning now. “You know, you could try going one day without an old-man joke.”

Evie gasped, hand over her heart. “I could. But joking about either of your biceps or perfect hair just doesn’t hit the same.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand down his face, but she caught the way his mouth twitched—like he was fighting a smile.

Good.

Evie settled back into her seat, satisfied. “So,” she said, tapping her fingers against Steve’s headrest again, “I hope you boys are ready to be absolutely humbled tonight.”

Steve grinned. “Confident, huh?”

Evie winked. “It’s the only way to be. I want to win big. I’m speaking it into existence.”

Bucky, still looking out the window, muttered, “We’ll see.”

Oh. That sounded like a challenge. Evie’s smirk widened as they pulled into the parking lot.

This night just kept getting better and better.

The Jeep rolled to a stopt, neon lights from the arcade spilling onto the pavement like something out of an 80s movie. Evie practically bounced as she hopped out, taking in the flashing signs, the hum of old speakers, the chaotic mix of electronic bleeps and victory jingles filtering through the glass doors. Then, without missing a beat, she turned back to Steve and Bucky and grinned.

“Wow,” she said, placing a hand over her heart. “This must be deeply emotional for you two.”

Steve sighed, already shaking his head. “Here we go again.”

Bucky, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. “You really think we were hanging out in arcades before the war?”

Evie tilted her head. “Weren’t you?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “You do realize pinball didn’t even exist until the 1940s, right?”

“Between saving Steve from picking fights, there wasn’t much time for games.” Bucky grumbled. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Evie gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. You mean to tell me neither of you ever experienced the pure joy of stuffing a dollar into a rigged claw machine? Or—” she turned to Bucky, delighting in the way his gaze narrowed in anticipation of whatever was coming next—“gunning down zombies in a terribly pixelated first-person shooter?”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “Jesus Christ.”

Steve just gave her an entertained look. “You’re having fun already, aren’t you?”

Evie beamed. “Absolutely.” With that, she grabbed Steve’s sleeve and dragged him toward the entrance. “Come on, Cap,” she said, leading the way. “I’ve got so much to teach you.”

The second they stepped inside, Evie sighed happily. “Ahhh. The sound of capitalism.”

Steve, taking it all in with an almost nostalgic smile, shook his head. “So this is what we fought for, huh?”

Bucky, deadpan, replied, “Feels like a mistake.”

Evie grinned, ignoring them. Instead, she took one quick scan of the place before spotting exactly where she wanted to start. “Oh,” she breathed, eyes lighting up. “Steve. Steve.”

Steve blinked, immediately wary. “…Yes?”

Evie grabbed his wrist, already pulling him toward the air hockey tables. “Let’s go,” she said. “It’s time.”

Bucky, leaning casually against the machine next to them, watched with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion as Evie and Steve squared up.

“I hope you’re ready to have your ass handed to you, Rogers,” Evie said, rolling her shoulders.

Steve just smiled, rolling a puck between his fingers. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “That’s what they all say.”

Bucky, watching this unfold like it was a sporting event, muttered, “This is gonna be stupid.”

Evie pointed at him without looking away from Steve. “You’re next.” Bucky exhaled sharply but didn’t argue.

Steve just laughed, dropping the puck onto the table. “Alright. Let’s see what you got.”

Evie started strong. She was fast, aggressive, and absolutely not above playing dirty. Steve, ever the strategist, took his time reading her moves, adapting as he went. The result? Chaos.

By mid-game, Steve had flipped the script, catching up point by point, and Evie was swearing under her breath, jacket discarded on a barstool, hair slightly wild, and smirking like a woman on the edge.

Steve scored a goal, tying the game, and grinned at her as he stood up and rolled his shoulders. “I’m closing in on you.”

Evie, grinning back, leaned over the table. “I know.”

Then, before Steve could react, she launched a sneak attack—a perfectly timed shot while he was still catching his breath.

The puck slammed into his goal.

Victory.

Evie threw her arms up. “And that’s how it’s done!”

Steve, blinking, let out a startled laugh. “That was cheap.”

Bucky, who had actually chuckled, said, “You let your guard down, Rogers. Rookie move.”

Evie beamed, stepping away from the table. “Alright, Barnes. You’re up.”

Bucky raised a brow as he took a sip of his beer. “Pass.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. What’s the matter? Scared you won’t be as tough of a competitor as Steve?”

Bucky’s jaw tensed.

Hook, line, and sinker.

He let out a slow breath, pushed off the table, and tilted his head at her. “Fine.”

Evie grinned. “Good choice.”

Bucky, unsurprisingly, didn’t pick air hockey.

No.

He walked straight to the shooting games.

Evie, bemused, followed. “Oh wow. This is the most predictable thing you could’ve done.”

Bucky grabbed one of the plastic guns, barely reacting. “You wanted me to play.”

Evie smirked, crossing her arms. “That’s true. I did.”

They watched as Bucky nonchalantly selected the hardest difficulty. Evie, still watching him like he was a line of code she couldn’t wait to crack, raised a brow. “You don’t even want to warm up first?”

Bucky gave her a look. “I think I’ll manage.”

And then? He absolutely annihilated the game. Every single shot perfect. No misses. No wasted movements. By the time he finished the level—top score flashing on the screen—Steve was smirking and Evie was dumbstruck.

Bucky casually put the gun back and turned to her. “Happy now?”

Evie, definitely enjoying herself too much, shrugged. “Yeah, actually.”

And then she turned back to Steve—like she hadn’t just mentally saved the image of Bucky effortlessly wrecking a shooting game forever—and smiled.

“Alright, Cap. Back to you.”

Evie lost track of time after that. Laughing with Steve. Playing through different games. Brushing arms with him here and there, caught up in the moment. But then—in between games, as the screen went dark for a second—

She saw the reflection.

Bucky.

Watching her.

The second the screen lit up again, it was gone.

But she felt it.

Low in her stomach.

And suddenly, the night didn’t feel so simple anymore.

Hours later, Evie, still buzzing from the last game, spun on her heel, hands on her hips as she surveyed the arcade. She was winning tonight, in more ways than one. Steve? He was all in on the fun, easygoing and competitive but never taking anything too seriously. Bucky? He was pretending this whole thing bored him—but she knew better now.

Now she was going to push just a little more.

Evie spotted the dartboard on the far side of the room and smirked.

She turned back to the guys, tilting her head. “Alright, boys. Final game. Winner gets to pick next week’s activity, and I promise not to veto it. Unless it’s horrible. Then I reserve the right.”

Steve, ever the good sport, grinned. “Darts?”

Evie flashed him a look. “It’s a classic. The ultimate old-man sport. It’s been around since the Dark Ages, probably. I figured you two would thrive.”

Bucky, who had been in the process of taking a sip from beer, rolled his eyes.

Steve just sighed, smiling despite himself. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

Evie beamed. “Not a chance.”

She strolled over to the dartboard, plucking a set of red darts from the shelf.

“Alright,” she said, offering them out to the two men. “Let’s see what you fossils can do.”

Steve went first.

He lined up his shot, perfectly focused, and— a near bullseye.

Evie sighed dramatically. “Ugh. Predictable.”

Bucky smirked slightly, shaking his head.

Then it was his turn.

He barely even hesitated, throwing the dart with effortless precision.

Another near- bullseye, hitting the board on the opposite side of the center.

Evie crossed her arms, pouting. “Oh, come on.”

Steve chuckled, nudging her shoulder. “Told you we’d be fine.”

Bucky, still looking at his dart the board, grumbled, “You wanted participation. If you didn’t want to lose, you shouldn’t have challenged us.” He turned to face her. “Time for you to back up all the shit-talking.”

Evie’s eyebrows shot up. Oh. Oh, really?

“Well,” she said, tapping her chin, “I would throw, but it’s obviously not fair. I don’t have an Olympic-level arm or a vibranium-enhanced one.”

Steve laughed. “Excuses already?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Wow. That’s gotta be against one of the rules.”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Okay, Barnes. If you’re so confident you can win, then helping me level the playing field shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yeah? And how do we do that?”

Evie grinned, stepping into the spot in front of the board. “Teach me.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

Bucky stared at her, immediately suspicious. “No.”

Evie ignored him, turning to Steve. “C’mon, Cap. You’re the world’s best teacher, right? Give me the proper form.”

Steve conceded with a smile. “Alright.”

He stepped behind her, lifting her arm slightly, adjusting the way she held the dart.

“Grip it a little lighter,” he said, his voice even and instructive. “Relax your wrist.”

Evie felt the warmth of his hand against hers, his touch gentle, careful. She was fully aware of how close he was. Then—a second later—

Bucky sighed. “Jesus Christ.”

Evie barely had time to register it before he moved behind her. One hand on her hip, the other adjusting her stance. “Widen your legs here,” his boot nudged the inside of her shoe and she obeyed. His hands rotated her hips ever so slightly, opening her up to the board.

Oh.

Oh, this was a mistake.

His fingers pressed lightly against her side, his voice gruff but quiet. “You’re stiff. Drop your shoulder.”

Evie swallowed.

The two of them had her completely caged in now.

Steve’s touch warm and steady on her hand as his fingers remained around her wrist.

Bucky’s presence solid and grounding behind her as his hands lingered on her hips.

Evie took a breath, focused on the board. She threw. The dart sank right into the bullseye.

She blinked, a little breathless, taking a moment to steady herself before grinning and stepping back from them.

“Well. Looks like I’m the winner.”

Steve exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Bucky, watching her closely now, muttered, “Unbelievable.”

Evie just smiled, grabbing her jacket.

“I think the rules say the loser has to pay the tab,” she said, grinning. “I’ll let you two decide that part amongst yourselves.”

Bucky snorted. “You’re unbearable.”

Evie winked. “And yet, here you are.”

Steve sighed, but he was smiling. “Alright. Let’s get you home.”

______

The drive back was easy, relaxed, and filled with the kind of effortless camaraderie that had been building between them. Steve drove, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other wrapped around the edge of the seat as he glanced between the road and Evie. Bucky sat in his usual way—legs spread, arm resting against the door, occasionally glancing toward the backseat where Evie sat leaning between them, chin propped on her hand.

The teasing had been nonstop.

"You know," Steve started, grinning as he shifted lanes, "I still think you got lucky with that shot."

Evie let out a mock gasp, clutching her chest. "Oh? You don’t think it’s because of my incredible instructors?"

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

Bucky let out a short huff of amusement, muttering, "Since when?"

Evie grinned at him through the mirror before refocusing on Steve. "Come on," she nudged, leaning forward just a little more, brushing against his shoulder. "You have to admit, that was better than a night sitting at the Tower with Sam. Your couch is comfortable, but not that comfortable."

Steve let out a long-suffering sigh, as if admitting defeat physically pained him. "Alright, you win. It was fun."

Evie beamed, victorious.

Steve glanced sideways at Bucky. “Don’t you agree, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged, staring straight ahead, deadpan. "Had a blast."

Evie snickered, nudging Bucky’s seat with her knee. "Oh, don’t let the excitement overwhelm you, Barnes."

Steve smirked. "Yeah, careful, Buck. You might actually sound like you enjoyed yourself."

Bucky’s mouth twitched, but he stayed resolutely blank. "If I say I had fun, you two are just gonna bring it up every five minutes for the next month."

Evie nodded sagely. "Smart man. It would probably be closer to two."

They reached the entrance to her building, laughter still lingering between them, the buzz of the evening refusing to fade even as they stepped inside. The lobby was quiet at this late hour, the sound of their footsteps muffled against the polished floors. The air smelled faintly of clean linen and expensive cologne, something Evie had loved ever since she first toured the building.

They walked toward the elevator, still loose, still light.

"And to think," Evie mused, swinging her keys around her finger, "we could all be screaming at each other in an escape room right about now."

Steve huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Okay, fine, your idea was better."

"That was almost the worst decision of our lives," Bucky muttered.

"Speak for yourselves," Evie shot back. "I love escape rooms. I just love winning more."

"Yeah, well, we have plenty of Friday’s to plan. I’m sure we’ll get there eventually.," Steve shook his head..

Bucky snorted. "Don’t count on it.."

They stopped in front of the elevator, the night’s energy still playful, still fun when Evie paused. She turned back to them, her smile just a little too sweet. It was subtle—barely a shift, but they both caught it.

Steve and Bucky straightened slightly, instincts kicking in.

Evie stepped inside the elevator, not breaking eye contact, her expression unreadable but decidedly smug. Steve's eyebrows lifted, Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

"I should probably confess something," she said smoothly.

The doors started to close.

Steve's fingers twitched at his side, as if readying for a curveball.

Bucky's jaw tensed. "What?"

Evie let the silence hang—just for a second, just enough to watch the intrigue sharpen in their eyes. Then she flashed them a grin.

"I’ve been playing darts with my dad since I was ten."

Silence.

The sound of the elevator humming softly around them. Steve blinked. Bucky's brows snapped together. Evie’s grin widened.

"I could hit a bullseye blindfolded."

The elevator doors began to slide shut. Steve's mouth parted slightly, a slow realization dawning. Bucky’s entire expression shifted—eyes narrowing, lips pressing into a thin line.

Evie beamed.

"Goodnight, boys."

The doors shut with a finality that left them standing there, staring at the closed elevator, silent.

For several beats, neither of them spoke.

Bucky finally exhaled.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Steve dragged a slow hand down his face.

"…We’re so screwed."

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #avengers #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky fluff #Steve rogers #Steve rogers x oc #stucky x oc #stucky smut #stucky fanfiction

22 notes · View notes