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serumandsteel · 2 months ago

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The Shape of Silence | pt 3

series masterlist

pairing: tfatws bucky x (f) reader

summary: after Walker blows the op, the team is left scrambling to pick up the pieces. But the real damage hits later. when you finally realise that years of running from Bucky didn’t erase the feelings, only buried them deeper. now, forced into close quarters and out of excuses, you have to face him… and everything you tried to forget. that one night in Wakanda. the night that changed everything finally comes crashing back. And this time, it just might break you.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: emotional trauma, ANGSTYY, unresolved tension, swearing... light themes of SMUTT 18+

a/n: ahhhh last chapter for my mini series! thankyouu for reading... also first time writing smut so go easy on me :) taking requests for inspo for thunderbolts bucky... im feeling I want to continue to explore this little world I have made. also would love a nickname for this reader in this series...so inbox is open!

But Bucky didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just stared at you.

And you stared right back, bracing for whatever came next, the confrontation, the anger, the past you hadn’t outrun.

Because nothing about this was going to go the way you wanted it to.

Footsteps thundered in the distance. Sam emerged through the dust, breath ragged, gun lowered at his side.

But Bucky didn’t look away. Not when Sam stopped. Not when the cold wind bit through the warehouse’s broken walls. Not when reality finally caught up to both of you.

He looked older, lines carved deeper across his brow, stubble clinging to his jaw like rest hadn’t touched him in days. But his eyes were the same.

God, those eyes.

Still impossibly blue. Still heavy with the weight of too many lives. But now you could see the years behind them, the grief, the healing. The hurt.

And it hit you all over again.

They were the first thing you remembered clearly from the night it all changed. The night you stopped seeing him as Bucky Barnes and started seeing him as James. Just James. Not a mission. Not a ghost. Not Steve’s responsibility.

But a person.

Three years gone. Three years of silence, of hiding and now, here you were, standing in front of the one person you tried so hard to stay away from.

Not because you didn’t care.

But because you did. Too much.

“What the hell happened?”

Sam’s voice snapped both you and Bucky out of the thoughts that had locked you in place. His eyes swept the room, landing on Walker first, who was casually brushing dirt off his shoulders like he hadn’t nearly blown the entire operation.

“You’re late,” Walker muttered.

Sam stalked closer, voice sharp. “And you’re lucky you’re still upright.”

Walker scoffed. “I took initiative. There was a window. I made a call.”

“You made a mess,” Sam snapped. “You went in loud. No backup, no coordination. You compromised the mission and almost got the rest of us killed.”

“I handled it.”

You let out a dry laugh, wiping a smear of dried blood off your hand. “Handled it? You mean the part where you charged in without a plan and I had to clean it up?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed, like he’d only just remembered you existed. “Right. Her.”

He looked you up and down like you didn’t belong. Like you were just some stray who wandered into the wrong war zone.

“Still not sure who the hell you even are,” he said. “Some off-book tagalong Sam picked up? You were real quiet until you decided to play hero.”

You stepped forward, not aggressive. Just unflinching. “Just because you call yourself Captain America doesn’t mean you are him.”

Walker stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said, voice cool. Controlled. “Steve earned that title. You bought it. There’s a difference.”

Bucky flinched slightly at the name, but his eyes stayed locked on Walker.

Walker took a step toward you, jaw tight. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Good,” you said. “Because I’m not giving any. I’m just cleaning up the wreckage.”

Sam stepped in then, placing a hand on Walker’s chest. “Back off.”

But Walker didn’t. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “She thinks she’s better than the rest of us. Walks in like she knows everything. What—everyone’s just following her lead now? Because she’s good with a gun and knows how to give orders?”

His mouth curled. “Or is it something else?”

You didn’t say a word. But Bucky did.

He moved before he could stop himself.

“Shut your mouth.”

Walker turned toward him. “Or what?”

But the look in Bucky’s eyes wasn’t something Walker could hold. Wounded. Restrained. On the verge of something worse.

“Walk away,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. “Before you say something you can’t come back from.”

Walker’s mouth twisted into something smug. “Touchy.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t swing. Didn’t raise his voice. He just stared Walker down for one long, agonising beat. Then turned and walked away, fast and stiff, like he was barely holding himself together.

Sam watched him go, exhaling hard. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Goddamn.”

You didn’t follow. You didn’t trust yourself to.

Instead, you stood in the rubble of a blown mission and an even more fucked-up reunion, your pulse still hammering, hands still shaking.

Walker huffed, rolled his eyes. “I’ll find my own transport.”

“Do that,” Sam said, not even sparing him a glance.

The car rumbled steadily along the broken road. Trees blurred past. Faded signage. Empty intersections. You didn’t see any of it.

You weren’t in the car. Not really.

You were floating somewhere above it, your body moving through the motions while your mind spun off into nothing. Not out of fear. Not even shock. Just… self-preservation.

You’d seen Bucky’s face. The way he’d looked at you. The way he hadn’t looked away and it had carved something open inside you that you weren’t ready to name.

So you let the world blur. Let the silence settle around your shoulders like smoke. You stayed in that space until—

“Hey.” Sam’s voice cut through the fog like a sharp edge. You blinked. Looked over. His eyes flicked back at you in the rearview mirror, concerned but casual.

“You good?” he asked. Not pushy. Just present.

You nodded once. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He didn’t buy it, not really. But he let it slide. For now.

A few more miles passed in silence before he spoke again. Lighter this time.

“So… you gonna tell me where the hell you’ve been, or do I gotta guess?”

You smirked faintly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the blur outside the window. “Greece. Mexico. Indonesia for a hot minute. Then some nowhere town in Canada. Mostly off-grid. Nothing stable. Just... running. Always moving.”

“Running from who?” Sam asked, one brow lifting.

Your gaze shifted to meet his in the rearview mirror. “From myself, I guess. The past. The present. I don’t even know anymore.”

You hesitated, the truth dragging itself up from somewhere raw. “I just… I can’t seem to stop. Can’t settle.” The confession sat heavy in the air.

Sam let out a low whistle. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You keeping tabs on us all that time?” You shrugged. “Some. Enough.”

Sam nodded, casting a glance toward Bucky beside him, then back at you. “You know he was looking for you.” His head tilted subtly in Bucky’s direction.

That landed like a punch to the chest. You didn’t answer.

Sam exhaled quietly. “Just sayin’. He never stopped.”

More silence. Then:

“I thought it’d be easier,” you said, almost to yourself. “Staying away. Keeping the mess contained. But turns out ghosts follow you no matter how far you run.”

Sam chuckled softly. “Yeah, well. We’ve all got ghosts. Some louder than others.”

You offered a quiet smile. “Yours still nagging you?”

“Only when I try to get five minutes of peace,” he muttered. “And when Torres messes with my Spotify playlist.”

That earned a small laugh from you. Genuine.

From the passenger seat, Bucky stirred slightly - just a shift of his shoulders, a flicker of something like familiarity in his profile. Then, quietly, without turning around “Still listening to that god-awful Marvin Gaye remix?”

Your head snapped up. Bucky’s tone was dry. Flat. But there was a spark there, something wry and a little too familiar. Like it slipped out before he could stop it. Sam groaned. “Oh, come on. We’re not doing this again.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “You still hate that album?” Bucky finally looked over his shoulder at you, just for a second. “Wasn’t music. It was noise.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was funk. There's a difference.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, just slightly. It wasn’t a smile, not really. But it was close. The air didn’t feel quite so heavy after that. Still tense. Still charged. But no longer choking.

And for the first time since the dust had settled in that warehouse, you let yourself believe maybe, just maybe this wasn’t unsalvageable after all.

The car rolled to a stop outside a sleek, unassuming house nestled at the edge of a quiet, tree-lined road. It was a far cry from the last safe house Sam had tucked you away in - this actually seemed to have a functioning heating system. This place was modern, updated. It would suffice for the night.

Sam was the first to speak, his tone low as he hauled his gear from the trunk. “We’ve all got rooms. One night. Wheels up at six.”

You didn’t respond. Just nodded and shouldered your duffel, every bone in your body aching as you followed them up the steps.

Inside, the house felt too clean. Too still. The kind of quiet that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. Soft lighting. Hardwood floors. Real furniture. Like a home built for someone who didn’t wake up from nightmares or run away from their problems.

You moved through the space like a ghost. Detached. Weightless.

Sam mumbled something about grabbing a shower and disappeared down the hall. Bucky lingered. He always did.

He stood there in the low light, jaw tight, hands in his pockets. Close enough to feel the tension rolling off him, but still keeping his distance.

“We should talk,” he said, voice quiet.

You turned halfway. Exhaustion bled through your features. “Not tonight.”

“But—”

“Please, Bucky,” you cut him off, your voice flat. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched you walk away. Again.

You felt the weight of his stare on your back all the way down the hall.

You knew you owed him a conversation. Hell, you owed him a thousand of them. But not like this. Not with your heart still in your throat and your thoughts scrambled beyond recognition.

You needed to get your head straight. You needed a goddamn shower. And you needed that pounding behind your eyes to ease up before you said something you couldn’t take back.

Seeing him again today had cracked something open in you.

It wasn’t just shock. It was grief. Guilt. Longing. And something else, something heavier. The slow, dawning realisation that maybe you were the one who broke what could’ve been fixed.

You hadn’t just left. You’d disappeared. Cut the cord and never looked back, or at least tried to convince yourself you hadn’t.

And now here he was. Looking at you like you were still the same. Like maybe, if you reached back, he’d still be there.

But you weren’t sure you deserved that anymore.

You weren’t sure you could even handle the fallout of what he’d say once you finally let him speak.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, eyes closed. Your pulse still hadn’t calmed.

You fucked up.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure how to fix it.

Sleep never came easy anymore. But tonight, exhaustion didn’t just claim you, it dragged you under like a riptide, pulling you fast and deep into memory.

Back to Wakanda. Back to that night. The first and last night with him. The night before everything went to hell.

The night you let yourself forget. Forget the war looming at your doorstep. Forget what you’d both done. Forget the versions of yourselves that didn’t deserve this kind of softness.

You let it all fall away — and for once, you let yourself feel.

Years of tension, of glances and near-misses, of guilt and yearning, came crashing down to that single night. The one you never talk about. The one you can’t forget.

And he was there. Bucky.

Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a thin white shirt clinging to him from the heat of the day. His hair was loose around his shoulders, wild and soft. And his eyes — God, those eyes fixed on you like you were something he still didn’t quite believe was real.

You knew this night.

You’d relived it a hundred times in your mind. Only now, in the pull of sleep, you were living it again. You’d been dancing around this for weeks. Months. Years, really.

And now you were close. Too close. Inches. Breaths. The space between you vibrated with tension, years of it, unspoken and coiled like a spring. His hand hovered near your jaw, hesitant, reverent — like touching you might make you vanish.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You gave him a sad, crooked smile. “You already have. So have I.”

Then he touched you. Rough, warm, grounding. You leaned into his palm like your body had been waiting for this. Like you were starving and this was the first real thing you’d tasted in months.

You didn’t remember who kissed who first. Only that it felt like falling. Like drowning.

It was desperate and aching — mouths crashing together, breaths stolen between kisses. Like you both knew it wouldn’t last. Like you’d already made peace with the fallout.

But for now, in this sliver of stolen time, you let yourselves fall.

His hands cupped your face, fingers slipping into your hair. The kiss deepened, messy and gasping, his tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to consume you. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skating over the scars across his chest, and he shuddered at the contact.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasped, thumb brushing your lower lip. There was fear in his voice. Like this was hope, and hope was dangerous.

“I do,” you whispered, the words falling from your mouth like truth. “I fucking do.”

That was all it took.

He stripped you down like a man on the edge — quick, trembling hands pulling fabric from skin. You yanked him close by the belt loops of his pants, grounding yourself in the hard lines of his body. You needed more. Needed him like air.

The bed creaked as your back hit the mattress, and he followed, crawling over you like gravity had its own pull.

“Bucky,” you breathed, and something in him broke.

He kissed you harder, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, the cold press of vibranium anchoring you to the now. When he pushed inside, it was slow, deliberate. Thick and stretching, almost too much after the ache of waiting.

You gasped, body arching. He stilled instantly.

“You okay?” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, voice so tender it burned.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “Move. Please.”

He obeyed, hips rolling, pace steady, deep. Every thrust was weighted, like he was memorizing the shape of you from the inside. You held onto him, arms wrapped tight, legs locking around his waist like you could keep him there if you just held on hard enough.

Every movement felt like goodbye. Every kiss like a memory in the making. Like you were both pretending this didn’t have to end.

“God, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groaned into your neck. His metal fingers slipped between your legs, circling your clit with practiced, focused pressure.

Your hips jerked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he swore, voice tight with restraint. “Not until you come. Not until you fall apart for me.”

And you did. With a cry torn from your throat, you shattered, body clenching around him, mind blank with pleasure. You came hard, every nerve lit up, and he followed with a broken sound, hips stuttering as he spilled into you.

Then he held you. Just held you.

His breath was ragged against your neck. Your fingers threaded into his hair. His weight was solid over you, grounding, safe.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

And then, it slipped away.

The heat of his skin. The weight of his body. The sound of his breath.

Gone.

You woke with a jolt, breath catching, chest heaving like you’d just been yanked from underwater.

The sheets were damp with sweat. The room was still dark, pre-dawn light barely filtering through the safehouse blinds. Your heart was pounding.

Too far. You’d let it go too far.

That dream, no, that memory — it wasn’t supposed to last that long. You always woke up before that part. Before the way he touched you made it impossible to lie to yourself. Before the sound of his voice made your ribs ache. Before your body reminded you how much it still wanted him. Before you remembered what it felt like to love him.

Because that’s what it was. That’s what it always was. Love.

And it broke you open like it was new.

You sat up fast, pressing the heel of your hand to your chest like you could shove the feeling back down. Like you could contain it this time. Like it wouldn’t ruin everything.

But it was already too late. Three years of running. Three years of silence. And still, you’d dreamt of him.

You had to get out. Now.

You were up and moving before your thoughts could catch up, shoving gear into your bag, hands shaking. No time for a plan. No message for Sam. You couldn’t stay. Not after this. Not when the truth was so loud it hurt.

You didn’t even notice the door open.

“Where are you going?” The voice behind you froze you mid-step.

Bucky.

You turned slowly, like your limbs were moving through sand. He was in the doorway, jaw tight, eyes dark and tired. He’d clearly just woken up, but one look at your face and he was wide awake.

“I—” you started, but the words got stuck.

He took a step forward. “You were leaving.”

Silence.

You didn’t deny it.

He let out a short, bitter breath and nodded. “Of course you were.”

“Don’t,” you said softly. “Don’t do that. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.” His voice cracked on the edges. “Because I’ve been trying to for three fucking years.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “That night… I’ve tried so hard to forget it. I thought if I stayed away long enough, if I buried it deep enough, I’d stop feeling this way.”

“And did it work?” he asked, voice quieter now. Broken.

You met his eyes. “No. It didn’t.”

He took another step, like he was afraid you might bolt. “I looked for you. I thought maybe you were dead. Or that I’d imagined it all. I thought… maybe it hadn’t meant as much to you.”

“It meant too much,” you whispered. “That’s why I ran.”

“Then stop running.” His voice dropped, soft but certain. “I’m not asking for all of it. Not right now. I just want a chance. A real one. We can start over, slow, careful. However you need.”

Your lip trembled. You shook your head once, then twice, then stopped. He stepped closer. Close enough to touch. “I still want you,” he said. “Even after everything. Especially after everything.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to be with you and not fall apart.” His hand hovered at your side, not touching, but close enough to feel. “Then fall apart. I’ll be here when you do.”

You closed the distance.

Not with a kiss. Not with words. Just a lean. A small tilt of your body into his, like a truce. Like surrender.

His arms came around you, tentative at first, then tighter. He held you like you might slip away again, but this time, he wasn’t letting go.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But you didn’t move. And you didn’t run.

That would have to be enough, for now.

a/n: requests are open!! hope y'all enjoyed the absolute depression of a fic I wrote xx

Tag list: @inf4ntdeath @starfly-nicole @awkwardgiraffe726 @mcira @greatenthusiasttidalwave

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #thunderbolts #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes smut

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revelboo · 5 months ago

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I have been loving all your writing, binging every night I ain't got work. Still enjoying the chapters of TFA Op, such a lad. Love the blog so much I gotta come out of my hiding to yell about how much joy this blog brings, hell even sometimes sneak in a read AT work I just can't wait. Also had to yell cause I got a new addiction cause of you, look at this LMAO Now Blue has a special spot in my heart by Scorponok

Ignore the quality my phone is a nice potato and I live in the dark. TIME TO GET 2 MORE :D 21 bucks ain't bad

Bluestreak! The little guys are addictive and I’m glad you enjoy my nonsense!

Ah… the doom music kicked in as soon as I tried to swap out one of Meg’s hands… I absolutely remember why the only RED figure I had was G1 Soundwave now..

Alcohol Eyes Pt 9

Rumble x Reader, Frenzy x Reader

• Hearing a drawer rattle behind you as Frenzy grumbles in his own language, you drink your coffee. Even not understanding his language, you’re almost positive he’s still complaining about the tiny sip of your coffee he’d tried. And immediately spit back out, carrying on like you’d poisoned him until Rumble had punched him in the arm. They’re too cute and all yours. After the shower, you’d put on a warm silk robe in the hopes of getting them to behave long enough to let you eat some breakfast. “So are you guys space invaders or do you come in peace?”

• “Depends,” Frenzy mutters, smiling wickedly when you look his way over the top of your cup of nasty, dirt water. “Your name Peace?” Pleased when you snort and start coughing and laughing, waving a little hand. Can’t really believe they’re doing this. Taking you home with them. You’re placing your trust in them and that’s sobering, because he’s never actually been responsible for anyone else. Or at all. Choosing impulse, mischief, and fun every time. He’s not even sure he can take care of someone else. But Rumble, he’s the responsible one. Well, slightly more responsible anyway.

• Watching you hide a smile behind your cup, there’s a whisper of concern twisting through the warmth inside Rumble. Because he’s not sure how Soundwave is going to react to this. The boss is always fussing over Starscream’s little human and all of the other cassettes are almost positive Soundwave’s a bit too attached. But his cassettes taking a human for a mate? Asking the boss to come fetch the three of them so they can get your stuff to the Nemesis? That’s going to be awkward, isn’t it. “Maybe we should ask Thundercracker for a lift home?” He asks Frenzy, smiling thinly at you when you glance at him. That Seeker isn’t as big a jerk as the others. And they haven’t pissed him off recently.

• What’s that look? Glancing between the brothers as they share a look and Frenzy slowly nods. “No one has a clue where you are or what you’ve been doing, huh?” And when they both frown, you know you’re right. “Your alien boss going to be okay with me, babe?” Because they both look very uncomfortable. “Cause I’m not into the scalpels and needles kind of experimentation.” Want that very clear, because you enjoy this between you three, but know absolutely nothing about them really.

• “No one’s touching you but us,” Frenzy growls, tensing at your words. But, as small as you are, they’re not a lot bigger. Much smaller than the rest of the Decepticons. They’ve just always had Soundwave to back them up if they got into too much trouble, but can they depend on him to protect you, too? Looking over at Rumble, he watches his brother’s jaw clench. Seeing his own determination in Rumble’s expression. You’re theirs. And Primus help anyone that messes with you. Hooking his arm around you, he tucks you against his side and rests his head on top of yours when you lean into him.

#transformers x reader #rumble x reader #frenzy x reader #idw frenzy #idw rumble

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soobinieswife · 25 days ago

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──★ ˙ ̟🐇 Clause four: never fall in love with your rival

pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader

synopsis:

Yn and Soobin were both the brightest minds of their major— International Relations. And also, the worst enemies someone has ever seen. Everybody in school knows it: their professors, their friends, that random guy at the library printer. It is always the same: who scored higher, who landed the better TA position, who got more involved in campus life, they never missed a chance to one-up another. The only thing they hate more than losing was each other.

But one day, things started to shift when their lives began to orbit around each other. Their best friends started dating, their friend groups began to blur, even a Club Penguin’s situationship was going on. And the worst: Soobin is suddenly spending time at Yn’s house because he’s tutoring her little brother.

genre: academic rivals, enemies to lovers, social media au (smau), college au, fluff, nerd!soobin x nerd!reader status: ongoing warnings/content: a lot of IR terms but they will be explained under the cut, both hate each other, very mean to each other at the begining, yunjin and yeonjun are dating, reader has mommy issues, alcohol consumption, cursing, tension, angst, kinda crack but idk if i'm funny enough. author's note: hiii. i've been thinking on this FOR MONTHS and i'm actually very happy with what i'm doing, i'm really excited. this is the first au i make so please be patient

profiles: the feminist agenda ✦ neorealist committee

chapter 0: lara's op-ed

yunjin's betrayal

soobin’s summit

humanitarian response

an alliance promoted by the most unexpected ambassador

#txt #soobin #txt x reader #soobin x reader #soobin fluff #tomorrow x together #soobin au #soobin fic #txt smau #txt au #txt fic #soobin smau #txt imagines #soobin imagines #choi soobin #txt yeonjun #txt beomgyu #txt taehyun #txt huening kai

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laurfilijames · 10 months ago

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Breathe

Part 8

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 6.2k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Cockwarming. Unprotected intercourse. Nightmare involving death by asphyxiation. Panic attack. Oral sex (female receiving).

Summary: You and Will finally discuss how to navigate your relationship, and after establishing a comfortable rhythm again, something causes a disruption to test you once more.

A/N: I am over the moon and completely floored at the response to this series and am so thankful to each and every one of you who continues to read it and be excited for it! A big thank you to all my readers as well as @spaghettificationandpretzels for cheering me through this last chapter 💗

photo by @avatarskingdom and edited by me.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

---

Will opened his eyes with a smile, feeling relaxed and content, the tension in his neck and shoulders that had been constant since before he left on the op finally gone.

You were still sleeping soundly, tucked up beside him where the curves of your back meshed into his front like you were made to fit him, his arm comfortably draped over your waist.

The sheets barely covered both of your bodies, and the feel of the fan blowing against his bare skin had Will feeling like he never wanted to move, but it seemed someone else thought differently.

The loud bang of cabinet doors and the clink of dishes in the sink pulled another smile across Will’s lips, hearing Benny’s not-so-subtle announcement that he was home, and Will carefully lifted his arm off of you to check the time on his watch, seeing it was well into the morning already and that having a visit with his brother was more than overdue.

You only stirred slightly when Will lifted himself off the bed, adjusting a little as your body subconsciously searched for his, and as he pulled on his boxers he allowed himself to admire you, never able to get over how stunning you were even in your sleep, how divine you looked naked in his bed.

He closed the door quietly behind him, but with all the racket Benny was creating he wasn’t sure why he even bothered, and made his way to the kitchen, shaking his head.

Benny looked at him with a big grin on his face as he entered the room, setting the pan back in the drawer that he had just taken out.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he said through a laugh.

Will couldn’t help but laugh too, his grin stretching so wide it hurt his cheeks as he stepped toward his brother.

“You’re not fucking sorry.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Benny admitted, wrapping his arms around Will’s back.

Will returned his embrace, both of them hitting each other firmly on the shoulder a couple of times.

“It’s good to see you, bro,” Will said, realizing he had missed his little brother more than he thought.

“Yeah, you too.”

Will studied Benny as they pulled away from each other, assessing his brother to make sure he wasn't missing if anything was wrong with him, meanwhile fully aware of the fact that he was the one who needed an eye kept on him.

Obviously sensing Will’s feelings, Benny lifted his chin and asked in a serious tone, “How’re you doing, man?”

“I'm good…yeah. I'm good.”

“Yeah?”

Will nodded in confirmation. “Yeah.”

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” Benny grinned, his question pertaining to you, having seen your car parked in the driveway.

Will shrugged and looked away, unable to help the smile appearing on his face.

“She showed up,” he breathed, the relief he still felt over it showing.

Benny raised his hands to prompt Will for more. “And she's still here so…”

Will nodded again, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“So what does this mean?”

“I don't know.” Will puffed the air out of his lungs, that bit of alleviation he had just felt tainted by doubt, the realization that you still hadn’t discussed anything making him worry.

Benny covered his face with his hands, groaning loudly.

“Oh my god, you two!” He let his hands fall, looking at Will exasperatedly. “You really just got right down to business, huh?”

Will huffed out a laugh, unable to defend himself. “Yeah.”

“Well stop fucking talking to me, go and figure this shit out!” Benny shouted, shoving Will on the shoulder to turn him around and point him back in the direction of his room.

“I know! Okay!” Will chuckled as he started to move. “Will you be around today?”

“I’m gonna give you two some space and go to the gym, but I’ll be home later.”

“Okay. How did your fight go?” he asked, realizing he hadn’t yet.

Benny smirked, his head held proudly. “Beat him with a 10-8.”

“Atta boy,” Will winked, clapping his shoulder.

“See you later, bro. Glad you’re home.”

“Thanks, Ben. See ya.”

Will walked the rest of the way to his room, carefully opening the door to find you still asleep, and his heart swelled.

He took his boxers off and slipped into bed, gathering you in his arms like you had been before, your sleepy moans making him smile.

His nose nuzzled into your neck, the warm scent of your skin the best thing to ever exist, and he pressed a kiss to the spot between your neck and shoulder, moving his mouth all across and back again, not able to resist.

A lazy hum sounded from you, your body moving against his as you began to wake, your bum rubbing against his groin in a way that made him moan and grind on you.

You rolled over to face him, a soft smile dressing your perfect lips, your eyes hazy with both sleep and adoration as you greeted him.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Will breathed, the weight of almost never experiencing this again hitting him hard.

You traced the line that flanked his mouth with your finger, ghosting it over his upper lip and then down to his bottom one, the fullness of them mesmerizing. Leaning toward him, you kissed him, softly and slowly, like you couldn’t kiss him enough to make up for the time that was lost.

A flood of emotions surged through you, feeling tears sting your eyes, your throat restricting and forcing you to pull away.

You could see the concern in his eyes, and you did your best to meet them but couldn’t, your blurred gaze falling to his chest instead.

“You hurt me.”

A breath shuddered out of him as he reached up and smoothed the side of your head, desperately again and again, his forehead leaning against yours as he fought off tears of his own.

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

He continued to hold your face, his fingers clawing your hair as you both focused on breathing, his nose nudging yours as he shook his head slightly.

“I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice full of remorse.

“Just be here,” you muttered, taking his hand and holding it in yours, squeezing it. “I can’t go through that again, Will. You need to let me be here for you.”

He nodded, his words small when he spoke. “I know.”

You inhaled deeply, continuing to try to muster your courage to keep speaking.

“I get why…Benny told me about the nightmare – I just wish you felt you could’ve trusted me to understand. I know that I’ll never be able to fathom the things you’ve been through but I can try, Will.”

“I was so stupid,” he muttered. “Of course I trust you. I wasn’t thinking…I didn't want to hurt you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was scared…”

The shake in his voice and the look in his eyes broke your heart, seeing him so dejected and full of shame, making your tears come out faster.

“It’s okay,” you cried, angling your face toward his more, your lips brushing.

“That nightmare was so real. I couldn't handle the thought of actually hurting you and I'm still convinced I could. You know what I did to that guy in Publix…” he explained, thinking of all the other heinous things he’d done to other human beings.

“That's not going to happen, Will. I don't believe you could ever hurt me.”

“But I did hurt you–” he choked, his eyes so full of pain.

“Will…It's okay. We're okay. I forgive you.”

You kept repeating it, hoping he would believe it, your lips moving to kiss each other tenderly.

Will separated his mouth from yours after a minute, but remained close, his eyes searching over your features as his hand broke the connection with yours, moving it up to cup your cheek and smooth his thumb over it.

“I love you,” he confessed, a surety finally held in his words.

“I love you too, Will,” you returned, a sob following, and he kissed the streaks of tears from your cheeks, eventually moving to your lips.

It wasn’t long before he was covering you with his body, kissing you breathlessly while settling between your legs, his rigid cock nudging your core.

He pushed inside you, stretching you out until you were full of him, his mouth moving off of yours to allow you to take a gasping breath, his nose nuzzling your cheek as the rest of him remained still.

“You’re my everything,” he whispered, resting his forehead on yours as you breathed together, relishing in him being inside you unmoving.

He flexed his cock, and you moaned quietly at the sensation, responding by squeezing your walls around him, your mouths beginning to tease each other again.

“I thought I’d lost you, Will.”

He shook his head, his brows knitted together. “I'm here, sweetheart.”

Will shifted to wrap his arms underneath your body, fully laying on you and holding you as close to him as he could, his cock moving within you as he adjusted making you gasp.

He stilled again, his eyes flickering up from your chest to your lips and then to your own loving gaze, breathing out before crashing his lips against yours.

You tried moving your hips, needing to feel him move inside you, only to have him press himself down harder on you to stop you.

“Shh, not yet, baby. Just let me feel you.”

He stole your air as he kissed you again, hard and claiming, his body heavy and secure on yours, nothing moving on each other but your lips as his tongue filled your mouth.

You felt his cock pulse against your walls, making you even more desperate for him, your fervor increasing wildly as you clenched around him in a tight grip.

He growled against your lips, still trying to hold off, but the feel of your hands beginning to run up and down his back, clawing and tearing at his flesh had him fighting off the urge to take you hard and fast.

As slowly as he could, Will dragged himself out of you, all but his leaking tip, and plunged back in as deep as possible, feeling your soaked hole encase him and your walls flutter around him, swallowing your whines as you writhed beneath him.

He repeated the movement, all the way out and back in again, his mouth leaving yours to travel down your neck, sucking and kissing your sensitive skin as the sound of your intoxicating moans filled the air.

His thrusts were slow but forceful, moving the bed with each blow, the build-up to this bringing you close to your climax quickly.

“I love you,” he uttered against your skin, his lips smearing across your chest as he continued to drive into you hard and purposefully.

“I-I love you too!” you wailed, on the verge of more tears as your body tipped on the edge of bliss, the claim of his love spurring your pleasure even more.

Hearing you return it seemed to encourage him too, his movements growing more powerful, his grunts like music to your ears, and feeling you were close to coming apart, he kissed you again, commanding and needy as you both sought your end.

He held you in the tightest grip as your body tensed and spasmed, bucking into you deeply as he filled you with his hot seed, continuing to move his hips until his cum was leaking out of you.

Your hands ran through his hair, both of you breathless when you halted your kissing, Will’s eyes full of emotion as he looked at you.

“I mean it, sweetheart,” he stressed. “I love you so damn much. I’m so sorry I did that to you.”

He turned his face and kissed the palm of your hand as you cupped his cheek, feeling the softness of his beard against it as you nodded in agreement.

“I know, Will. I know. I love you too.”

He smiled despite tears appearing in his eyes, leaning down to kiss you again, his breath shaking into you.

You stayed as you were for as long as you could, taking each other in as if all the ways you had memorized each other wasn’t enough to satisfy the time you were apart.

Will laid on your chest, his face turned to the side to give you a view of the way his golden eyelashes touched his cheeks, how the hair around his mouth was bleached lighter than the rest, feeling his heart beating against your stomach.

His long fingers ran patterns up and down your waist, following the curve of your hip, the veins that ran through his skin like rivers prominent on his forearms even through his tattoos.

“Where do we go from here?” you wondered out loud, playing with his hair idly, questioning whether it would be better or not to drop right back in where you were before, if it was even possible.

Will sighed, and you watched his eyebrows rise on his forehead. He didn't speak right away, the way he was carefully configuring his answer clear on his features, and after a minute, he sighed again and turned his head, pressing a kiss on your stomach.

“I don't know,” he said, honestly. “I think it might be wise not to rush things…” He paused, shaking his head slightly as he blew air out of his mouth again. “But we said that before and didn't manage that very well.”

He turned his head to look at you and chuckled while you smiled, nodding in agreement.

“I understand if you're hesitant or don't trust me,” he continued, his tone changing to be more serious. “And I can't blame you for that. I know how badly I messed up.”

He propped himself up and shifted, moving up to collect you in his arms and lay beside you on the pillows, switching positions so you rested your head on his chest instead, your lips grazing over the warm skin on his thick pecs.

The truth was that there was no way you could hesitate on loving him, your heart set on belonging to him no matter what you faced, and despite what had happened, you knew you would trust Will with keeping it safe and not breaking it again.

You tilted your head to meet his gaze, your finger reaching up to trace the line beside his mouth, knowing that even if you agreed to take things slow, there was no such thing when it came to your love.

Summarizing it all in the best way you knew how, you smiled and brought your face close to his, your lips brushing his when you spoke.

“All-in. I’m all-in, Will.”

He smiled and you saw his eyes glistening before he rubbed his nose against yours, his hand coming up to hold your face to keep you close to him.

“All-in, sweetheart.”

“Will! WILL!”

His name cut through the dense air in your piercing voice, making a shiver run down his spine, the sweat on the back of his neck feeling like drips of ice.

He looked right and left, everything black, and all he could do was listen, being as still as possible to try to figure out which direction your screams were coming from despite wanting to run as fast as he could to get to you, but all he could hear now was his cold blood pounding in his ears.

“Will!”

Again, only further away this time, and he whipped around only to continue facing complete darkness, his panic rising with each second that passed.

He started sprinting, hearing you begging for your life, your cries and struggle becoming clearer and closer as he moved.

His body hit a wall, his hands frantically searching it for something other than the smooth, hard surface, unable to find its end in his sightless hunt. Reaching a door, he turned the handle only to find it locked, immediately starting to slam his body against it to try to force it open.

Your screams increased, just on the other side, your desperation growing in knowing he was right there, but the door wouldn’t budge.

Will kicked and rammed his shoulder into it over and over, his breathing ragged and laboured as he tried to work through his panic, and finally, it gave in.

He stumbled through, his eyes frantically searching for where you should be, only to find the space where he had so vividly heard your screams completely empty.

“Will! Please!” you wailed, the sound distant again and making his stomach lurch that he couldn’t get to you.

Room after room appeared, all of them empty even though he swore he could hear you in each one, and he began yelling back for you, trying to keep you talking so he was able to follow your pained voice.

“No! No, please!” he heard you beg, your voice full of terror and quieter than it had been before, and then it was silent.

Will continued to search every room, and after opening the doors of about twenty more, he finally found you laying in the center of the room.

You were facing the other way, unmoving, your form limp on the cold, concrete floor.

His heart was in his throat, and he could barely capture a breath, stepping toward you hesitantly in fear of what he was about to discover.

His knees struck the ground and he reached for you, pulling on your shoulder to turn you over, the cold of your skin telling him exactly what he already knew.

A sob escaped his mouth before his cries filled the air, tears blurring the sight of your lifeless face, the colour of your lips darkened by death.

He pawed at you, trying to shake you awake, his mouth instinctively covering yours to try to give you his air even though he knew it was pointless.

Something cold fell against his hand and he stopped his efforts to revive you, bile rising in his throat when his eyes focused enough to see what it was.

Two silver tags were dangling from your neck, the chain wrapped so tightly around your throat that it was embedded in your flesh, your skin marked with bruises and cuts from it cutting off your air flow, the information listed in the embossed writing all things Will knew by heart.

MILLER

WILLIAM J.

196-37-5436

O POS

NONE

Will screamed himself awake, flying up in bed gasping for air, his cheeks wet with tears and his heart furiously pounding in his chest so hard he clapped his hand over it in fear it would stop or jump out.

His panic continued, realizing you weren’t in bed with him, his body shaking as he tore the twisted sheets off his legs and stood.

With the nightmare so fresh in his head, every door he passed had him feeling sick, but he pressed on, moving toward the kitchen in the dark as quickly as he could.

His feet nearly slipped on the hardwood floor from his sweat, his breathing not slowing, and a relieved gasp shuddered out of him when he stepped into the kitchen and saw you standing at the counter pouring yourself a glass of water.

The small light above the stove illuminated your half-clothed body, his t-shirt covering just enough to keep you modest, and you turned around the moment you heard him come in.

“Hey, I–,” you started, your face falling in seeing the state he was in. “Will, what happened?”

You basically threw your glass in the sink and stepped toward him, holding either side of his face where you searched his wild eyes, his breathing short and gulping in his distress.

“Will, listen to me, breathe…” you stressed, trying your best to keep calm, forcing your own breaths slowly out of your mouth to get him to follow suit.

He nodded in your hands, his eyes closing as he worked to focus, the skin around them crinkling in his efforts that almost seemed to cause him pain.

You counted slowly, your voice calm and even, feeling your heart break the longer it went on and he had only settled slightly.

“Will, look at me, I’m here,” you reminded him, exhaling again as his eyes flashed open and locked with yours, his head shaking back and forth as he swallowed hard and his broken voice echoed in the kitchen.

“It happened again–”

You gathered him in your arms, thankful when he did the same, his grip on you so tight you wondered if your ribs would crack but didn’t care, soothingly running your fingers up and down his wet back as he gripped at you like he needed to prove you were there.

“It’s okay. It’s not real.”

You repeated it over and over until he eventually relaxed against you, his mouth smearing across your neck before peppering kisses onto it, his hands still groping and pawing at your form.

He sighed out deeply as he peeled away from you, his hands running up your waist where they pulled your shirt up with them, his eyes switching to have a desperation in them that differed from before.

Will clasped your face and angled it toward him, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss, able to feel the tremble in his fingers from his lingering panic.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he breathed.

You returned his kiss. Once, then twice.

“Are you okay?”

He leaned his forehead on yours, sighing out slowly again.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m okay. You’re okay…” he said, reassuring himself.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, drawing in a long inhale as he did.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered when he parted the seal of your lips briefly, taking another breath before crashing against them again.

You moaned into his mouth, your legs feeling weak to his advances, feeling his cock hardening against you through his boxers.

His tongue explored your mouth, his fervor increasing quickly thanks to the adrenaline coursing through him, his hands slipping under your shirt to stroke your naked sex.

“Will…” you breathed, inhaling sharply as he slid his fingers between your folds and fingered you.

He kissed down your neck and then up to your ear, his breath making your shiver, and as he hooked his fingers inside you to massage your g-spot, he grabbed your earlobe with his teeth and tugged on it, a low growl making you melt.

“Turn around, sweetheart,” he growled, not giving you the chance to comply as he guided you to face the counter before you could even move.

You planted your hands on the ledge, gripping it tightly while spreading your legs apart and hinging slightly at your hips, granting him access to where you both needed him to be.

You heard him tear down his boxers, and you gasped when you felt his cock land between your legs, nudging at your center where he dragged it back and forth, his lips landing on your neck while his hands grabbed at the hem of your shirt to lift it over your ass.

“I need you, baby,” he groaned, kissing your neck until you were squirming.

You tilted your head to expose more of you, sighing out as you relished in the feel of his lips on the space between your shoulder and nape.

“I'm right here, Will,” you assured, permitting him to do what he wanted with you while reminding him that whatever happened in his tortured mind was false.

His hand splayed out over your stomach, holding you against him as he pushed inside you, and you let your head fall back onto his shoulder as he began sliding in and out of you, his pace determined and steady.

You reached your arm up behind you, your fingers finding his hair, raking through it while he continued to kiss and suck on your neck as he fucked you, his hand that was on your belly falling to your clit where he rubbed it purposefully.

“Fuck, Will…” you moaned, your breathing growing ragged with each second that passed with him rutting into you.

His hand that wasn’t between your legs explored you everywhere else, pulling at your nipples through the worn cotton of his t-shirt, the soft plush of your breasts being squeezed in his large palm, grabbing at you desperately and thoroughly.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he growled beside your ear, his thrusts increasing. “I need to feel you cream on my cock.”

His demand and the sensation of his mouth continuing to attack your neck sent you over the edge, his dick slamming against your g-spot and his fingers toying your swollen clit making you do exactly as you were told, feeling your release soak his fat cock.

Will didn’t falter, keeping his tempo with his hand planted firmly on your cunt, the only change being his breathing turning ragged and his grunting sounding louder in your ear.

“Again,” he ordered, “I want to keep feeling you.”

The tone of his voice made you gasp, your arousal pushed beyond any limits, knowing he couldn’t get enough of feeling you fluttering and squeezing and creaming around him keeping that heat billowing at the base of your spine.

You rocked to his movements, meeting him in his thrusts, equally as eager to feel him fill you up and throb inside you at the same time you lost all control again.

You tore at his forearms, clawing him frantically as you leaned back against him, relying on him to keep you upright instead of bracing yourself on the counter.

“That’s it,” he purred in your ear. “I’m right there, too. I need you to come with me.”

“Fuck!” you wailed, your pleasure spiking as his one hand squeezed your breast, plucking and pinching your hard nipple between his fingers.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” he groaned. “I love you so much.”

Will held you tighter, keeping you as close to him as possible as he slammed into you, his lips landing on your neck where he could feel your pulse hammering against them.

You were completely alive, breathing and writhing with life in his arms, your blood flowing in every part he touched, his hands awakening every fiber in you.

There was no questioning the falsity of his dream now, your euphoria solidifying your vitality, your body full of life as it shuddered with vigor because of him, the devastation of being the reason you wouldn’t breathe again leaving him with each second he was encased in you.

His hips stuttered as he emptied himself deep inside you, coating your walls that pulsed around him, his eyes falling closed as he began to slow his movements and relished in feeling your hand reaching up to card through his hair.

You hummed softly, the sound vibrating on his lips that he kept pressed on your neck, breathing you in as he listened to your heart thrumming strong and steadily, your body relaxing against his as you both came down to a place of calm.

When he slipped out of you, you spun around, looking up at him sweetly with the most warmth and care in your eyes.

“I love you too, Will,” you whispered, your hands laying flat on his bare chest where you smoothed them upward, holding his scruffy face in your hands. “More than anything.”

He huffed a small laugh, one corner of his mouth lifting as he gave a coy smile, making you love him even more than you thought possible.

“Are you ready to go back to bed?” you asked, wondering if his terror from his nightmare had dissipated or if the thought of closing his eyes again filled him with dread.

He hummed, looking down at the floor before back at you. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” he admitted.

“That’s okay. I’m happy to stay awake with you.” You leaned in and kissed his lips softly, pulling away only slightly, dropping your voice to a murmur. “Whatever you need from me, Will, I’m here.”

Your words held so much more than just one meaning, making the ache and residual panic in his heart settle even more, and he found he couldn’t stop staring at the vibrance of your eyes, the spirit in them helping bring him a sense of ease.

“I just need you,” he spoke, his voice quiet but rough with a mix of lust and strain from his anxiety.

Will didn’t exactly want to return to his bed, preferring to stay in the kitchen or go lay with you on the couch, but knew you had already risked enough by having sex where you did, aware that Benny could’ve walked in at any point.

Accepting it was the only option, Will sighed and held your hand, taking you with him to his room, happy with the fact that no matter where he was, being with you was where he felt safe and at home.

You went to crawl back into bed when you got inside and shut the door, but Will stopped you, tugging your hand that was still entwined with his, pulling you into him.

You smiled against his lips, your foreheads touching, and Will breathed, closing his eyes as he let his hands roam your body.

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he whispered, his hands grabbing the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head.

His face dove to your neck, kissing a trail over your collarbone and down to your chest, his hands grabbing at your warm, supple flesh, every touch another reminder that you were very much alive.

He moved lower, sinking to his knees as he went, his mouth sucking and smearing wet kisses over your stomach and now your thighs.

Your hands wove through his hair, your breathy moans sounding above him as you anticipated the next part of you he would touch, giving him more evidence that he needed to forget the things his mind had tried to trick him into believing.

As Will met your cunt with his lips, slowly and tantalizingly licking through your folds, he vowed to spend every moment awake loving you, your body his refuge and temple to worship, your heart beating with a furious love just the same as his.

It was fairly quiet considering it was Sunday, and for that, Will was thankful.

You had already navigated the grocery store together, something he had come to appreciate more than you would ever understand, and were now making a quick stop at the hardware store.

Running errands with you put him at ease, the seemingly simple and mundane task typically a feat for him to tackle, but he knew he could face anything as long as he was with you.

“Oh, we should pop in the bakery after,” you suggested, looking out the window somewhat excitedly as Will parked in front of the hardware store beside it.

“You can run in now if you want.”

You turned your head to look at him questioningly, your eyes searching him to verify the confidence in his recommendation, clearly worried and always fully aware that he didn’t like going into stores solo.

“It’s okay, I can just go in with you and we can go together after,” you tried, only to make Will shake his head as he reached his hand over the console and took yours.

“I’m fine, I’m only grabbing light bulbs and some oil for the lawn mower, I promise I won’t hurt anyone.”

You smiled only when his own grin stretched out on his face, a look of understanding and surety appearing on your features.

“Okay, sounds good.”

You went to reach for the door handle, only to be stopped by him tugging the hand he wouldn’t let go of toward him, turning back to face him where he leaned over the center that separated the two seats.

“Not without a kiss,” he purred, looking at your lips through his long eyelashes that gleamed in the sunlight.

You smiled and met your lips with his, lingering a moment before you could get too carried away.

“See you soon, sweetheart.”

Will was thankful for his pleasant enough experience, quickly finding what he needed and reaching the cash register to check out without any interactions with anyone other than the older gentleman who owned the store and rang him through, walking out of the door that chimed as he left while tucking his wallet back in the back pocket of his jeans.

He looked up as he took a couple steps, only to stop dead in his tracks, seeing you standing outside the bakery having what looked like a too-friendly of a conversation with a man he had never seen before.

He did his best to assess the situation, trying to read the body language of both you and him, and the longer he took in the scene, the angrier he grew.

You seemed somewhat nervous or uncomfortable, touching your hair a little more than normal, taking a subtle step back as the man leaned in closer.

Your polite giggle filled the air, and the man beamed whenever you did, his eyes unashamedly flickering all over your body and constantly on your chest, making the rage inside Will bubble to the surface.

“I’d still really like to take you out for that dinner,” he heard the man say, and before Will could hesitate any longer, he was closing the distance between you.

The man smirked and tilted his head slightly, eyeing Will up and down when he approached and immediately landed his hand on the small of your back, glancing lower to watch you place your hand on Will’s stomach that rose and fell with deep breaths.

“Sorry…uh, I’m Cam,” he introduced, shooting Will a confused look as he extended his hand.

Will didn’t accept it, instead continuing to stare him down, his voice tense when he spoke.

“Did you get what you needed, sweetheart?” he asked you, still holding eye contact with the stranger he was imagining landing a right hook to his square jaw.

“Yeah, I did, I’m ready to go,” you said sweetly, a nervous shake noticeable in your voice.

Will could feel the tension coursing through you, your muscles rigid as you walked to the truck with his hand still on your back, looking at the ground until you reached the passenger door that he opened for you.

He closed it once you hopped in, glancing over at the man who was staring in your direction, Will remaining fixed in place until this ‘Cam’ finally surrendered and turned to walk away.

Will sighed as he walked around the front of the truck, getting in and closing the door, but not slamming it like he wanted to.

“Will I–” you began, stammering to explain.

“It’s fine,” he cut off, his tone sharp. “I broke up with you.”

He was more mad at himself than anything else, still unable to believe how stupid he was for having let you go, a flood of emotions running through his veins.

He breathed out slowly, nodding and closing his eyes when he felt the soft comfort of your hand cover his.

“How could I have expected it not to happen? Look at you, you're the most gorgeous woman in the world and I let you go.”

“Nothing happened,” you stated, the surety in your voice making Will turn to look at you. “I was out with Nicole and Grace and he came over to our table. He asked for my number and if I was interested in going for dinner with him. I wasn’t even thinking, I was numb…” you paused, the remembrance of your hurt plastered on your face. “I said yes but never followed through. I was in line at the bakery and he was there behind me and said hello.”

Will nodded, relieved at your words, but still found it difficult to come up with his own.

He swallowed hard and looked straight ahead out the windshield at the people passing by on the sidewalk, remembering all too well how it felt to know his ex was cheating on him every time he deployed, yet never once did he feel as possessive and threatened as he did now.

“You have nothing to worry about, Will,” you assured, squeezing his hand three times, giving a soft smile when he finally looked over at you. “I love you. I only want you, and that was the same even when you weren’t with me.”

Will leaned over and kissed you, hard and claiming, his hand holding the side of your face in a grip that told you just as much as his kiss did.

There was a mix of things in his wild, cerulean eyes when he pulled away from you, making your heart hammer even faster in your chest.

“I don’t think I’ll ever deserve you, sweetheart,” he began. “But I will spend every second trying to.”

---

Part 9

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#will miller #triple frontier #will miller x female reader #charlie hunnam #will miller x reader #will miller smut #will 'ironhead' miller #william miller #william 'ironhead' miller #charlie hunnam characters #triple frontier fic

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lost-my-hed · 11 days ago

Text

Chapter One

John Price is not only a captain of an elite task force, but an omega. In fact, every member of the 141 is an omega. They formed a pack with one another after years of being in the tight knit group, however, they are missing a vital part. An alpha. While Price and the rest of the task force disagree that they don’t need an Alpha, others (Laswell) disagrees. The pack is flighty, irritable, and irrational and it is becoming increasingly obvious that they are struggling. Above all, these internal issues have begun to bleed out into their work. Lucky for them, Laswell has found them an alpha whether they accept them or not.

This was inspired by one of @archive-doll’s posts and i just had to write something about it!

Introductions

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

Captain Price had just gotten off the phone with Kate Laswell; the 141 was getting an alpha. Three months ago, she warned him that this was becoming a bigger and bigger possibility, that he should get his men quote-unquote "familiar with the idea." John tried to ignore the problem away, but he knew better than that. He also knew that the others didn't want an alpha. Shit, he didn't want an alpha, but truthfully he knows that they aren't doing well. Every day, they struggle against the bond that ties them together, and even John knows this is one thing he can't fix.

In the beginning, their relationship was amazing. John acted as the pack omega not only because of his captain status but because he was the most suited for the responsibility. He would offer emotional support to his men when and where he could, catering to each of their personal needs. For Kyle, he was always so sleepy after missions. The adrenaline rush he got in the field always left him exhausted by the end of everything. Because of this, the man refuses to take off his clothes in favor of getting some shut-eye. Price had taken to undressing the man and getting him ready for bed or at least a refreshing snooze. He always began the same—unlacing his boots, tugging off the left, then the right, undoing his belt, and untucking his shirt. He would continue the ritual until his lover was in nothing but his boxers, finishing it with a small kiss on his forehead. An unspoken "I love you."

Moments like these would continue over the following days, weeks, and months. It was beautiful to love and be loved in a way that felt not only rewarding but easy. That is until the hairline fracture within their bond began to widen, like the jaws of a lion around its prey. Every minute the four spent without an alpha, without the missing piece, their relationship grew weaker.

Price tried to be what his boys needed; he tried to play both roles—a guiding hand or a stern command. It wasn't that the Captain couldn't handle being a dominating figure, not at all. In the field, he couldn't care less about designation. He would bark orders at any alpha and expect them to fall in line. Because he had to because his boys' survival depended on it. Back on base, away from the commotion and terrors of war and secret ops, it felt wrong. Every time, he pulled one of his mates to the side and whispered in their ear, "Meet me in my office in five. Don't be late." He felt the weight of the facade he'd created slip over him��molding like a second skin. He would sit in the worn leather chair, legs spread, waiting for the omega to knock on the door. John would grant them permission to enter the room, voice deep and toasty from the lit cigar in his hand. And before he knew it, they would be kneeling in front of him, cheek pressed against the meat of his thigh, head bowed, showing off their pretty mating gland. They would patiently wait for John to place his hand on top of the sensitive skin and squeeze gently, finally allowing their bodies to sag against his sturdy figure.

Throughout, John did his best to portray himself as a firm and strong leader. Still, his insides twisted with a feeling of sorrow and an overwhelming guilt he could barely comprehend. Realistically, he knew his men were smart enough to tell when his head wasn't straight; they also knew better than to try and pry it out of him. This made their strained relationship even more frayed. His men were torn between wanting to help and knowing it would just cause a fight…watching a piece of you hurt themselves for you is a different kind of torture.

Simon started to retreat to his room; the walls that had been broken down slowly but surely began to rebuild themselves. Johnny worked with the rookies, drilling them so hard that they forgot why they tried to befriend him. Kyle tackled the many stacks of paperwork that had been set aside with no hope of being completed. And for John, well, he shoved his feelings down until he could only feel a dull ache.

This is all to say that they were far from okay way before their new alpha arrived.

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

It was right before their first rut when they were sent to the designation center. They had just turned twelve. Their mother warned them the day before they left, whispering in their ear before she turned out the light, "Answer the questions like I would," was all she had said. At the time, Y/N didn't know what that meant, and they were too scared to take the time to understand it.

Your first task upon arrival (besides being divided into two groups based on designation) is to complete a questionnaire to determine your place within your new home. Are you more animal than man? Were your instincts at the forefront of your mind? Would you snarl if someone tried to steal french fry off your plate, willing to defend your meal? Would you bite if someone told you to—unhinge your jaw and snap it closed if someone got too close? If yes, you were taught through a more tactile approach; hand-to-hand combat and mixed martial arts training were standard procedures. While an alpha's natural power and discipline are desirable, their skills must be honed. Most importantly, kept on a tight leash. A weapon is no good if it doesn't listen.

If, however, your score reflected more man than animal, you would be given more traditional teachings. Their education would be based on leadership and how a good alpha can provide for their pack. These students receive an abundance of information—how to make your omega purr, what it means when a pack mate doesn't spend time in the pack nest, how to make your omega cum, how to healthily manage a multi-alpha pack—the list goes on and on. At the end of the day, though, they too were more than just a person, a military pawn. These "specimens" were now ready to act as emotional support alphas or omegas.

It was a few years later that Y/N realized what their mom had meant that night. They wish they would've been smart enough to heed her warning. They quickly gave up, dreaming of getting a chance to switch roles and start anew; that was no longer a possibility. It never had been. Eventually, their life became nothing more than routine—expected and mundane. By 0700, Y/N had completed a full workout, stopped at the shooting range, and was freshly showered. Like clockwork, they achieved their daily goals and tasks without hesitation or preamble. It's familiar, second nature, and what they've called home for the past decade. Though they contained the urge to form a pack, they still had fleeting images of their mates piled into a nest or warm skin pressed against their back while they made breakfast. It was harder to ignore the warm fuzzy feeling that would swell in their belly that would occur afterward. How right it felt to provide.

"Mute," a voice calls out, stopping their train of thought, "Captain wants to see you in his office. ASAP." Y/N turns their heads, locking eyes with one of their peers—Elliot "Idiot" Park. He smelled like a charcoal grill and gun oil. Harsh and direct, full-bodied. One of the first lessons you learn at the Center is not to scent your fellow peers or, especially, those with a higher rank. It was tacky and rude; Y/N can remember their instructor, "You're like a pup. No manners. Sniffing the air around me like mutt." They vowed to never scent someone publicly again, however, they quickly learned that some people were like diffusers, their scents floating off of them in small waves. Like Idiot, for example. Trying not to smell him was pointless

"He say why?" They ask.

"Not a word," Idiot has this look on his face, one that is full of knowing and humor. A look that almost seems to whisper, "Good luck."

"He in one of his moods?" They ask, lazily folding their arms over their chest, head slightly cocked to the side in question, "Overheard he was P.O'd after dealing with some of the newest recruits. Someone thought he was going to blow an artery."

The young man says with an amused smirk, "Didn't get the chance to see him. A greenie walked out sobbing before I could get to the door. Wasn't long after that, that he was yelling at me to find you."

"Fuck me."

"Would love to, buddy, but I gotta run. Was supposed to meet Alex twenty minutes ago at the range." With that, Idiot clapped Y/N on the shoulder as he headed back in the direction he came from.

That, at the very least, made them crack a smile before shaking their head, "Raincheck?" And though Y/N beings walking the opposite way, they can hear him blow a kiss in their direction.

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

They were seated in one of the two leather chairs in front of their Captain's desk. He was on the phone with someone talking extremely animatedly—eyes rolling, sighing, cursing, hands flailing about. Y/N barely knocked twice before the man bellowed, "Enter!"

Their hands were clasped together, resting in their lap as they watched their superior colorfully express himself. Finally, the Captain removed the square piece of metal and glass away from his ear to address Y/N.

"What we are about to discuss is not to be repeated, nor should it leave this room. You see, this is a…delicate matter, one that requires a certain amount of discretion and care," the Captain sighs.

"Kate Laswell is a contact of The Center's; she's facilitated pack introductions and task force contracts with former pupils. She reached out asking for somewhat of a favor." The man starts, his fingers tapping against the edge of his large wooden desk. "You see, Task Force 141 is going through a bit of a rough patch—they're uncoordinated, irritable, flighty. She was able to ignore it for a while, passing it off as a way the men "express their power and dominance" to those above her. No one actually bought that bullshit. Still, the team is too big of an asset to cut them loose, especially for something so fatuous. Behavioral issues are the least of the military's worries. When it comes to their prize winning dogs, if they can fight, well, the rest doesn't really matter."

Y/N understood all of this. While it wasn't explicitly taught, the Center had to maintain a good reputation; however, all the students knew that your performance in the field was what mattered. What happens outside of missions, besides paperwork, is fair game and easily dismissible. What they don't understand is why they are being told this.

"I understand, but respectfully, sir, I still don't understand why I'm here." They say, choosing their words carefully. While no one liked getting called into their Captain's office, this felt different—the tension was thick and enveloping, like an unwanted embrace.

"Task Force 141 is a pack." His Captain says, lacing his fingers together, "They are all omegas." Y/N's eyes widened. While it wasn't unheard of for omegas to mate and form packs of their own, it was common for them to eventually find an alpha. It was even rarer in the military due to the high-stress environments. Naturally, an all omega pack can seem unbalanced; their instincts begin to try and fill in the gaps where an alpha would go, only exacerbating their issues and highlighting their weakest points.

"Laswell has been attempting to get John Price, the Captain of the 141, to at least hire a temp, but he refused. She didn't press the matter nor felt the need to until they started slacking in the field. Making stupid mistakes, getting injured on simple recon missions, the list goes on. She doesn't have a choice but to force an alpha upon them. As a long-time supporter of the Center, she asked if any of our combat alphas would be a good fit."

This was unheard of. Combat alphas don't get to have packs. We are weapons of war and have been programmed to shoot first and ask questions later. If they had ever known how to be nurturing, it was a long time ago.

"We looked at our top performing students and found that not only are you one of them, but you had the highest scores on the pack-care portion of the questionnaire while still maintaining a combat alpha final result."

"What are you saying?" Y/N asks after a beat of silence.

"This is your chance to lead a pack of your own, sergeant. But understand that when I say this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I mean it. You say no, you'll never be asked again. And if you say yes, you won't ever return to this base. Ever. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Captain."

"I expect to have an answer by 1300 tomorrow." The man states.

"Understood Captain."

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

Seven Months Later

"It's nice to finally be able to put a face to the name." A gentle woman with dirty blonde hair and kind eyes smiles while extending a hand out to Y/N. They have to strain to hear over the loud whop-whop-whop of the helicopter's blades slicing through the air. Their drab-colored boots hit the tarmac as they hop out of the aircraft and clasp her hand in theirs, "Kate Laswell."

"Mute." They reply with a simple smile and a firm grip.

"I know you just arrived, but things don't tend to move slowly around here. I'll show you the barracks first. You can drop off your things, and then we will head to the Captain's office. You won't be meeting the whole pack at once, just Price for now." This is one of the places that the military can't override—pack introductions. Each pack will designate a single member to be the first point of contact with meeting with a potential alpha or omega. This responsibility was not one required of the head of the pack, but it often fell to them out of respect. Afterward, if the meeting went accordingly, the other pack members would gradually begin to interact with the omega or alpha in pairs or as a pack.

The other members would not start to interact individually until they felt certain that each member felt comfortable with their prospective partner. During this entire phase, the alpha or omega in question would begin to sink into their instincts and allow their training to come to the forefront. Alpha's, for example, would start to court their future pack mates—leaving them gifts, offering scented clothing items, bringing snacks, etc. After the pack felt as though the alpha had proven their ability to provide, they would be welcomed into the pack permanently. This process was lengthy at best and typically lasted four to seven weeks but could take as long as eleven weeks. Legally, there was nothing the military could do to make the time pass quicker.

Y/N nodded their head in understanding and followed Laswell quietly to their new living arrangement. She stopped at the end of a hallway with five doors total and pointed to the second one from the end, "This one belongs to you." She says, while swinging open the door and stepping back to allow them to enter, "I'll be back to collect you at 1700 hours." With that, she began to retrace her steps out of the building.

With one glance at their watch, Y/N was able to see that they had exactly thirteen minutes before Laswell would be back to grab them for the introduction. That was enough to unpack and brush their teeth if they were strategic about it. Being selected to be an alpha for a highly trained, top-secret, special ops task force had its perks. The dorm was larger than all the other dorms they had been privy to. They certainly didn't have private bathrooms, and though most civilians would simply see a toilet and a small sink with a mirror, Y/N saw luxury. It doesn't take long for their duffle bag and backpack to lie empty on the ground, tucked under their bed. They're staring at a foamy-mouthed reflection of themselves when they hear a knock on their door. They spit in the sink and dry off their damp chin with a towel, "Coming," they holler.

As promised, Kate is standing at the door, ready to lead Y/N to their final destination. They know that it shouldn't feel like the beginning to an end, but it does. There's an undeniable twinge of dread that soaks their psyche; maybe this was a foolish plan scrapped together by desperate officials attempting to save their own asses.

"Times up." She smiles with a knowing gleam in her eyes. If it was a positive or negative knowing, Y/N couldn't tell. Though, they should have guessed Kate Laswell wouldn't be easy to read. She leads him to the end of the hallway, where they make a left—the office being the first on the right. The dark wood door looked unassuming on the outside—no proof of Captain Price, the man (and omega) that wanted nothing to do with Y/N.

"I can go in and help introduce you, but after that, I have to leave. If you need me, though, I will be in the hallway." Laswell explained before raising her hand to knock on the door announcing our arrival. After a beat of silence, a deep, low voice commands, "Come in." The door swung inward, revealing a cozy office— an old hand-me-down couch was pushed against the left-hand wall, his desk was placed in the Center of the room, and a large leather chair held his figure. Various certificates and awards littered the walls and shelves within his office. When you are in the military for as long as John, well, you start to accumulate them. The walls were various shades of beige and brown, though they were richer than the ones in their uniforms.

The door shut with an audible click, "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

"I'm sure you've been made aware—you will have your own quarters as well as a private bathroom. No one will enter your space without direct and explicit permission. That respect will also be expected of you. I would hope that the Center informed you about the importance of an omega's privacy…" Price trails off, his hands lazily laced together, resting on the desk.

"Yes, Sir," Y/N replies almost instantly. While some extremists may still view John Price as only an Omega, at the end of the day, he was a decorated Captain in one of the most deadly task forces created. They would never question his authority, especially on home soil.

"Good." He says, his voice clipped and stern, "I want to be very clear, I made a promise to my men, and I intend to keep that promise. Myself and the rest of the pack will only do what is absolutely necessary. The Center requires mandatory reporting and biweekly check-ins for the first six months of a new pack relationship…a trial period." Y/N nods without speaking. This was not the time to butt in and let the angry man know that this was something they had already been briefed on. It was a thin line that they toed—being a natural authoritative figure gave them special privileges and power; here, in front of the Captain, where ranks outweigh designation, it no longer mattered.

"We will not participate in scent marking, kneeling, or knotting, not that you will be allowed to get that cose, but I need to cover all my bases," he begins again, taking their silence for acceptance. "Above everything, we are soldiers, and our duties will always come before you. We may have an obligation to fulfill in twenty-six weeks, but no one can make us fake nice."

Y/N clears their throat before offering a hopefully kind smile, "With all due respect, Sir, I don't need you to 'fake nice.' I have been sent here to complete a job, one that I was specifically sought out for. I have been made aware of your…hesitations, Captain Price. I know you don't want me here, but I have no intention of leaving. I am a skilled alpha, one who doesn't like failing. I'm sure you can relate to that, Sir."

While Y/N has no issue with Price's current authoritative role, nor do they care about his attitude problem. They won't, however, allow him to get in the way. At the end of the day, Y/N was raised as a combat alpha, and the Center doesn't tolerate quitters.

Price's gaze is like a sharp blade; it cuts through bullshit and stings. Y/N knows he's waiting for them to yield; glance at the wall behind him or the floor. But they stare straight back, meeting his deep blue eyes. If it wasn't clear before, it is crystal clear now—Jonathan Price has power, and he knows how to wield it. The bearded man is the first to break eye contact; he looks down at the watch on his wrist before starting back at Y/N.

"Someone will stop by your room tomorrow at 0400 hours. See to it that you are ready." John pauses, allowing a quiet to settle over the room, "Dismissed."

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed xx

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writesailingdreams · 1 year ago

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was going through my tagging system, which is kind of a mess when it comes to responding to chapters or episodes and found that I am much more recently consistent about responding to the Egghead episodes than the chapters

#just thought it was interesting #wsd weird brain #wsd watches one piece #wsd reads op #egghead arc #egghead island arc #one piece chapter response #one piece chapter responses #op chapter response #chapter response #tried to think of every option so i can find it easier later if i remember to categorize it more neatly

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teriri-sayes · 5 months ago

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Reactions to The Worst's Chapter 394

Brief summary: Cale talks to GoD. Cale receives his rewards for completing the subquest. Cale feels ominous at what Clopeh had done.

==========

I couldn't help but laugh at and feel sorry for GoD at the same time. 😂😂😂

Cale: Are you busy? GoD: Very busy. Cale: How's the GoC these days? GoD: …What did you do? Cale: Haven't you heard from CJS? GoD: They don't tell me anything anymore. Shameless bastards. Don't they even know that they're living so freely because of me? Cale: Okay, I'll send those two to Earth 3 while we're in the game. Also, I'll briefly explained what happened, so listen carefully. GoD: Oh yes! I'm looking forward to it! Cale: Ha. It's not something that will have a big impact on your side of the god realm. But I thought it would be good for you to know. It's nothing much, but just know. Cale: *tells the chaos he did* Alberu and Rosalyn: (Nothing much?) *looks in disbelief* Cale: …And that's what happened. GoD's mirror: *vibrates intensely* GoD: T-T-This crazy bastard! Y-You are really the best! Hahahahaha! I was a genius for choosing you! Hahahahaha! Cale: Are you crazy? *contemplates on breaking the mirror* GoD: Ahem. Cale: Anyway, since I've set up the board, the gods should fight each other according to that. GoD: Ah. Even without that, there's currently a standoff without any progress. There are gods who are increasingly siding with GoC. Because of that, GoB is going crazy and running wild. Also, there is also talk of her stepping down from the position of representative because GoB is not doing her job properly. In addition, since the title of ancient god is not very useful, there's talk of creating a system by appointing new leader-level gods other than the ancient gods throughout the god realm. Btw, I'm one of them- Cale: Stop. The affairs of the god realm are none of my business. I only care about the hunters and the absolute gods. The rest is up to you, the god and demon realms. GoD: You really think so? Cale: What? GoD: Heh. Cale: *feels annoyed and turns off the screen* GoD: Sorry, I won't tease you! Tell me more!

GoD seems to know that every time Cale denies involvement with the gods, he continues to set up flags in becoming involved with them. 😂😂😂

That lore drop about ancient gods though. I thought "ancient god" was just some adjective to call the old gods, but it was actually a title and had some significance. The appointment of new leader-level gods was also a surprise, and the fact that our GoD was included as a candidate... 🤣🤣🤣

After a few months, CJS and Sui were mentioned again. Cale planned to leave the Earth 3 matters to them while he plays the game. And King Zed was mentioned too!

Apparently, when a person was nearing their death, their name would appear on GoD's Death List six months before their death. Included were also details related to their death, such as the time and location of death.

However, Zed's place of death kept changing, so GoD couldn't tell much to Cale. There was also restrictions around it, so GoD said he would have to prepare for it before he could tell Cale the info.

Moving on, Cale got to talk to the System AI upon completing the subquest. He achieved his quest so splendidly that the system rated it as SSS+. He got a potion that he needed to pour on Count Lupe's forehead to restore Lupe's memories.

The System AI was so happy that Cale hit the Transparent Bloods, the Demon Realm, and the God of Chaos all at the same time. So the extra reward Cale got for achieving SSS+ in his quest was just too OP!

Red Hand (Rank: God) -When using the skill, you can make a "judgement" through a "trial with the System" and activate "Red Hand" when you are "permitted". -If you understand that the absolute god of the New World already exists, it will be easier to receive "permission" in the "judgement".

Red Hand was the game's response to game errors, and if you recall, it once tried to kill Cale when he first entered the game. But now, Cale had it as a skill? Since the "absolute god" of New World was the System AI, and it was that very System AI who gave the Red Hand skill to Cale, it meant that Cale could freely get "permission" in using the skill. Cale is becoming god-like even inside the game! 😂😂😂

As Cale smiled, another quest window popped into view. And he froze. [Recovery Rate 99.31% (Time remaining: 23:19)] [Nativity Progress 159%] [Reward Tier Undetermined] “Huh?” Why is the nativity progress over 100%? How is that possible? “Damn.” Clopeh Sekka, what the hell did you do? Cale's heart raced. It was the moment he realized something was coming that he couldn't handle.

It's here! Cale's reaction to Clopeh Sekka's actions! 🤣🤣🤣 Yeah, what the heck did Clopeh do that the birth/nativity progress surpassed 100%? 😂😂😂

Ending Remarks So much happened today. Next chapter would be our poor Cale learning what Clopeh had done (and learning about Sheritt's "betrayal"). 😂 We would probably hear about what happened to Count Lupe too once he wakes up. So Eden's birth should be next week?

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

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avocadorablepirate · 6 months ago

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Beneath The Surface - 1

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: When memories, buried deep within your sea of emotions, resurface, you’re left to question what lies beneath the surface. Did he truly mean to leave you behind, or was there something more to his silence than you ever understood?

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death, mild gore, OP spoilers, this story follows the Dressrosa arc

prologue | masterlist | next

So I haven’t properly proofread this chapter…been a bit sick this past week, but I was determined to post this part today. It’s not terrible though 🤔…I think.

You had locked yourself up in your room, claiming to be unwell. The truth was simpler: your mind had been plagued by memories you thought you had buried. Memories of him. The boy who once soothed your pain had become the man responsible for it.

He left me behind.

That thought replayed in your head, each repetition sinking deeper into your chest. Just the image of his face brought a sickening churn of emotions — hurt, betrayal, anger, and a flicker of something you refused to name.

The soft knock on your door was what finally drew your attention away from your thoughts. On the other side of the door stood Viola, a small but gentle smile on her face when she found you sprawled on your bed.

“I heard you were feeling sick, everything okay?” she asked, as she made her way further into your bedroom.

“Yeah, nothing a good day’s rest won’t cure,” you responded, and her lips immediately contorted into a frown.

“Then you’re not going to be too happy about this.” Her voice softened, tinged with regret. “Doflamingo needs you.”

You sighed, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Of course he needs me. You didn’t know why you ever thought you’d be able to get a day to yourself, it had rarely occurred before.

“Of course he does,” you muttered under your breath, setting aside the book you had been pretending to read.

Viola gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. If it were up to me, I'd let you rest."

You forced a smile, appreciating her kindness. "It's okay. Thanks, Viola."

She nodded, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leaving the room. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for whatever Doflamingo had in store.

The walk to his room felt long and unpleasant as always. The entire palace always made you uncomfortable, its grandeur a stark contrast to the simpler, slightly happier times of your childhood. It was also a reminder of the life you once lived alongside your parents, and without him to console you over those memories, it only brought more pain.

But it hadn’t always been like this. You remember when you first moved in, though a palace, it had a comforting and almost cozy feel to it. However, Doflamingo had made drastic changes, his reason being that the Donquixote family should live in a place that befitted them.

You had tried to get him to let you live outside the palace, the discomfort it brought had been too much at first. But Doflamingo insisted that the entire Donquixote family stay within the palace walls. And that’s why you had tried to make your own room as comfortable as possible. However, that had done little to help. With how often Doflamingo made you run around doing errands for him, or insisted that he watch over you, there was barely any time to relax.

As you gave a soft knock against the heavy wooden doors to let Doflamingo know you had arrived, you pushed it open to find him standing by the window, his back turned to you as you entered.

“You summoned me, Doffy?" you called out, as you slowly made your way towards him, the atmosphere of the room always making you feel uneasy. It was as if the room itself embodied his very being - intimidating and frightening.

He turned on hearing your voice, a smile plastered on his face. "Ah, my little Rose there you are. Feeling better, I hope?"

You nodded, knowing the question was nothing more than a pleasantry. "What do you need?"

His smile widened, and an eerie chill ran down your spine. "I have a special task for you. I need you to retrieve someone for me."

You frowned, confused by his unforeseen happiness. You had heard there was an incident at Punk Hazard, and although you didn’t know the details, you knew Doflamingo had been beyond enraged. It was another reason why you had chosen to stay in your room, to avoid his temper. So, his uncharacteristic cheerfulness almost baffled you.

“Who?” you questioned, although you had an inkling of who it might be.

“Caesar,” he said simply, his tone light but his eyes watching your reaction closely. “I’m sure you’ve heard, there’s been some...issues. I want you to bring him back from Greenbit."

A wave of confusion hit you once again. “Why me?”

It wasn’t like him to send you on retrieval missions. While you had been privy to fights and conflicts, you had never been a fan of them, and Doflamingo knew this. It was why you mainly ran around doing tasks within the palace. He had called it “protection,” but you had always suspected he thought you too soft-hearted for the darker work.

It had happened before, when you were younger and out on a mission. He had nearly lost you then, and he wouldn’t have it happen again.

“I’ve decided you need to be involved in these matters as well. You can’t be the only one who doesn’t get involved, it’s not fair to you. ” A cold knot of dread formed in your stomach when you saw Doflamingo's eyes glint dangerously. You had thought that you would be able to stay away from such tasks given your temperament, but that had clearly changed.

“But why now?” you asked, and you could feel your heart rate pick up when Doflamingo gave you an almost sinister smile.

“We’re short on people. The pirates who attacked Punk Hazard killed Vergo and Monet, so we need as much backup as we can get. Plus, the others think you need to start doing your bit,” he said, almost nonchalantly, as if the death of his comrades didn’t bother him at all. But you brushed it off, subconsciously convincing yourself it was his way of dealing with grief. “And I think this would be the perfect opportunity to test you Rosie.”

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the task ahead. You had always known that the latest additions to the Donquixote family - all but Viola - did not like the almost favouritism that Doflamingo showed - always tasking you with the simpler jobs. This was your chance to prove your worth, and finally get them off your case. Besides, what harm would come from a simple retrieval mission?

"Alright, Doffy. I’ll bring Caesar back."

He smiled, a satisfied gleam in his eyes, almost akin to a predator satisfied with its prey. "Good. And remember, I expect nothing less than success."

As you stepped out into the hall, your resolve wavered slightly, the enormity of the task ahead settling in.

So caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that someone had walked by you into the room. The shutting of the door is what finally drew you out of your brooding and you briefly glanced back, the voices within the room, a stark reminder of the life you had chosen.

You shook off the unease and focused on the task at hand. Whatever doubts you had, you pushed them aside. There was no room for weakness. You had a mission to complete, and you would do it with all the strength you could muster. For the town you now called home and the people you called family.

As you walked away, the voices in the room grew distant, and you missed out on listening in on a conversation that would have likely saved you from your impending misfortune.

“Doffy why are you sending her to retrieve Caesar?”

Despite his recent setback, another sinister smile spread across Doflamingo’s face. “It’s about time I test her abilities. And who better than Law to be the test subject?”

—————

Part 1 done! I feel like I may have included some unnecessary bits here and there, but oh well. I hope you liked it. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist.

taglist: @riftmage27

#law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #law x you #trafalgar law fanfiction #law x y/n #law fanfic #trafalgar law x y/n

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shinwonderful · 4 months ago

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Freedom of Choice

prologue to Heavy is the Heart (That Wears the Crown) [masterlist coming soon]

part of you hoped you'd be able to avoid this aspect of royalty, but it was inevitable. they would never allow the sole heir to the kingdom of evermoor to remain unmarried. all you can hope for is that one of the suitors you meet will be the true love you've always dreamt of.

⁺✦ seventeen x reader (cyoa style!) ⁺✦ word count: 3.3k ⁺✦ genre: historical, kind of a mix of everything lol ⁺✦ warnings: shitty parents, forced marriage, mention of being pressured into intimacy, i promise i'm not a royalist i just think historical stories of nobility are v romantic

જ⁀➴┊ [🐈] happy valentine's day!! this series has been in the works since november, and i'm so excited to finally post the prologue! this series has come to be very close to my heart, and i'm really excited to share it with you guys!

special thanks to @lovewithoutresin my beautiful bestie for editing and writing the dialogue for the reader's Handmaiden! I love that this series has a piece of you in it too MWAH!!

the prologue and a certain upcoming chapter are dedicated to the lovely @ylangelegy for inspiring me to pick up writing (on tumblr) again after nearly a decade (christ alive i'm old. 💀). if they hadn't been so supportive and expressed interest in this story, i'd likely not have written it. happy valentine's day ilysbbbb

dividers by saradika!

each chapter of this series will have a (relatively lol) period-accurate theme and costume.

this chapter's theme is Fauré: Après un Rêve (ca. 1870).

"A song about devotion and passion. The dreamer yearns for the return of her dreams, in which she met her love: ‘In sleep made sweet by a vision of you’."

the costume for this chapter is this gorgeous afternoon dress (ca. 1835) from the met museum archives.

“All we ask is that you keep an open mind.”

The rattle of the carriage wheels against the meticulously hand-paved road beneath your fancifully cushioned seat was, perhaps, the only thing keeping you grounded at the moment. You could do little but curse them internally, knowing putting up a fight was… tragically futile.

“How do you mean, Mother?”

You already knew the answer to this question, but it bought you a bit of time to school your reaction, to use your decades of lessons in decorum to keep your actual thoughts and feelings from clawing themselves out of your mouth.

After all, for God’s sake, how could they expect you to choose a husband on this supposed ‘diplomatic tour’?

You’d, of course, rolled your eyes when your Handmaiden had told you of their plans (though a much more tumultuous emotion stirred behind your sardonic response). Your parents hadn’t even afforded you the courtesy of a conversation before making arrangements for the tour. Instead, the news was broken only after your Handmaiden heard the rumors in whispers that echoed through the long, hollow halls of your castle. (Pro Tip: Having a best friend on your staff never stops being helpful.) You knew what this was, and it wasn’t simply diplomatic. At least, not in the usual sense.

You knew what this was– everyone did. You were of the age where courtiers began to whisper about your lack of husband, gossiping about why the Crown Heir of Evermoor had yet to even begin the courting process. Why so many requests for meetings had gone politely rejected.

The truth was much less salacious than popular theory– as is usually the case. Quite simply, you’ve just yet to meet an eligible bachelor that doesn’t make you physically recoil at the prospect of being wed to them. Between the Dukes whose eyes on your female staff were… less than respectful and Counts who couldn’t make it longer than thirty seconds without saying something to stroke their own egos, you’d rather shovel the stables by hand than meet with any prospects for the time being.

There had been a close call once, just a few months back, where you’d met with a neighboring King who was charming enough at first. That is, of course, until the bastard had tried to pressure you into necking with him after dinner one night. You sent him packing on the spot. And your parents, the Queen and King, were irate. Apparently, not offending the royal family was more important than your honor.

Which, tragically, prompted them to force your hand into embarking on what would be your ‘grand tour’ throughout the nearby kingdoms. Officially, it was a tour to introduce you as the Crown Royal to your (pre-established and potential alike) ally’s own Royal Families. To establish a line of communication and get to know each other sooner rather than later. But none were gullible enough to miss the writing on the wall. You were unmarried, and most of the kingdoms you’d be visiting had unmarried royal sons of their own to offer. After all, for a royal as high-ranking as yourself, it’s most appropriate for you to marry other ‘high-value’ royalty. Those who would be Counts in their own right someday, some even Kings. Any children born would rule over both domains, doubling your families’ power and influence in the realm. (And that was all anything was ever about. Cue eye roll.)

Perhaps you’d have fought harder if you thought there was the slimmest chance of getting your way, but… why kid yourself? This was an inevitable. Since you were young, you’d known your fate would be that of most born of noble blood. To be used as a bargaining chip, a pawn in someone else’s game– one neither of you had elected to play.

Sure, there had been a time many years ago where you’d find yourself in despair over this. Growing up, your favorite stories were the ones told of love triumphing over all. You’d go to your balcony in the dead of night, wishing to any power that could hear you to be one of the lucky ones. For you to have the chance at a marriage of love. A husband you chose not because of the family crest he bore, but for the tender affection he showed you. The way he lit up your world, coloring your bluest nights into the tender pinks of the sunrise. Someone who was well and truly yours, divorced from the way nobility are traded like commodities, but how love brings two souls into one, merging until you can’t remember where you end and he begins. A love like poetry. A love worth writing about.

But those days were long behind you. Even the most hopeless of all romantics can’t resist the effects of erosion, the cynical waves of the ocean clawing at the coast until even something so eternal as the Earth itself gives way, becoming part of the ocean it once fought to resist so vehemently. Holding onto that optimism… at some point begins to hurt you more than it helps you. And so you, once as steady as the Earth in your quest for love, you surrendered to cynicism just as steadily, until you, too, found it hard to believe that love in the pure sense even existed at all.

Of course, those were the times when your Equerry would ask you to accompany him on a trip to the local market. After all, none could read you quite like him. It came with the territory– his job, of course, to be your shadow. To care for you, and to watch over you. And he took his role very seriously. To him, this meant to help you through not just your meetings with the steward, but also to watch for signs that your spirits need lifting (despite this not technically being in his duties). And seeing how your mouth twitched into a frown any time someone mentioned the concept of love the past few months? He didn’t have to be a scholar to read you.

So he pulled you into the castle’s preferred bakery, calling for Mister and Missus Kim and producing a beaming smile when the pair came out from the back to say hello. The couple’s eyes shined every time they looked at one another, and the three of them talked about the castle’s weekly order as you watched from near the door, mindlessly eyeing the pastries on display in the cabinet, trying to ignore the way your chest fluttered just being around something so beautiful. She held a toddler on her hip, and the moment it crossed your mind that she was looking tired from holding the boy, her husband instinctively grabbed him, placing him to lay upon his own chest instead. It was as if they had their own language, something silent but incredibly tangible that tied them together. And it was a sight to behold.

Your heart felt much less heavy on the ride home, your eyebrows quirked in thoughtful wishing instead of the bitter resignation they tended towards. Your Equerry said nothing, his hands smoothing against the hat he’d placed on his lap as he smiled softly. He didn’t need your words to know he’d done well, even if he would love to hear them. But alas, the you of the present day was much too timid to speak what was on your mind. The thoughts were much too soft for someone who was to someday rule over this nation. But maybe, you thought, maybe you were what was too soft. Maybe fate had played a cruel joke in making you the only one who could govern your beloved country once your parents no longer could. Maybe it was all a fool’s errand.

Because you couldn’t help but feel that… perhaps you’ll never be lucky enough to possess a love of your own, but you’re more sure than you’ve ever been that love is one of the finest things humanity has to offer– so real, so tangible that it shone through the dark clouds hanging over your head. And you’d do anything it took to feel its embrace, even for the smallest moment in time.

It was hard to contend with the idea people had in their head about you at times. To them, you were the Crown Heir of Evermoor. Sole Heir at that. Flowers bloomed bright the day you were born, and (according to folklore) it’s impossible for a flower to wilt if it’s been blessed by your presence.

You care deeply for your nation, making certain your Equerry schedules an allotment every few weeks for you to visit the capital’s town square, relishing in the bustle of the city and the chatter of those hard at work, or those working to forget their hard day at work. But when they notice you, they’re quick to forget what they were doing. Instead, they either gawk openly, or rush to have their moment with you. Something they’ll remember for a lifetime; ‘the time the Crown Royal complimented my pelerine’ or ‘the time I made the Crown Royal smile by presenting them with a rose’.

But at home? You’re just… you.

You’re sprawled out over your plush bed, dressed down to your chemise and pantaloons as your Handmaiden helped you sneak a second dessert to share, shutting the door to your quarters quietly as she, too, leapt to join you in your bed with a mischievous smile (though there was an unspoken tension in the air that neither of you cared to address just yet). Your hair hit your shoulders in what were once carefully-manicured curls that had loosened throughout the day. If it were anyone else, you’d be shamed for the lewdness of this moment, but this was another perk to having your best friend as your Handmaiden. With her, this was perfectly appropriate. Even if it wasn’t technically in the spirit of the rules.

The upcoming months hung over you like a death sentence. Tonight would be one of your last as a single person, one of the last you’d not be betrothed– or worse, married. At the end of the week, you’d be leaving on your tour. Leaving the only home you’d ever known to stay at palace after palace belonging to strangers who intended to sell you on their sons. And if there’s one thing you knew; the only thing more formidable than your citizens competing for your attention is dozens of nobles doing the same. At least your people had some sense of dignity.

Today was one of the last nights you’d be free to kid yourself into believing that, by some miracle, you’d get the fairytale ending you’ve always dreamed of. Because once you left the borders of Evermoor, there would be no returning without the burden of a ring on your finger, its center stone heavy with insurmountable expectations and a destiny you’d never get to seek.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud clink of a fork on your Handmaid's plate– a clearly theatrical gesture.

“So?” She sat her plate aside without looking away from you. When you gave her no indication that you knew what she was about to broach, she continued, her voice casual and innocent. “How long were you planning on moping about for? I just mean to ensure we stay on schedule.”

Eyes still trained on the plate of Ratafia Cake in front of you, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at one corner of your mouth. You gave her a thoughtful hum. “I was thinking… maybe a couple more decades? Don’t want to overdo it, of course.” You looked to her with a facetious grin.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t buying it. “That sounds about right. I wouldn’t want to waste any more precious time I can’t get back either.” She kept the dry tone, but there was evident concern on her features. Perhaps a bit of frustration as well.

Your smile faltered, the truth in her words hitting a little too close to the truth for comfort. You resorted to pushing your cake around on the small saucer, the prospect of eating suddenly much less alluring as the truth settled in your stomach like a stone. Your voice came out barely over a whisper; “What else can I do? It's not as if I have any say in the matter. I've pushed this off as long as I can. My parents…” You take an exasperated breath, “They aren’t going to budge this time.”

The pretense was dropped then, and she shifted to get comfortable, tone more serious. “I know. It's not fair the way this is happening. I hope you know I am really sorry about that.”

“I just… don't think that the way you're thinking about this is really helpful to you.” She looked off, thought for a moment, then turned back to pick the situation apart. “We can't change the situation. So the way I see it, you have a few options here.”

You placed the cake to the side then, shifting to lean against the bedpost. Part of you felt the urge to dig in your heels, to protest, but unfortunately one of your best friend’s qualities happens to be that she’s almost always right about these things. So instead, you bite your tongue, nodding for her to continue.

“Option One; you go on the tour. You grin and bear it with the suitors. And really, you’ll only be with each of them for a short time. So if they’re that terrible, you’ll be out soon enough. Don’t worry about months or years from now– just focus on getting through this part. One step at a time.” She picked up her cake again, taking a shamelessly large bite and swallowing it quickly.

“I hate that you’re being made to choose this. But think of it this way: you do get a choice if you go. You can at least focus on trying to influence things to make your life easiest. And maybe you will end up liking someone, at least enough to try. I mean, the odds are one of them won’t be completely insufferable. And if they all are, I promise to let you mope until the end of time, okay?”

That has you laughing again, turning to look at her fully. “Careful; I may actually take you up on that. I really think I’ve yet to fully realize my true potential in the field of being annoying. And as my Handmaiden, you have special privileges as my guinea pig for just that.” You give her an easy smile, leaning on one side while you pick up your cake once more.

But as you take another bite, you ponder her words carefully. As suspected, she was right once again. Most noblewomen are not as lucky as you’ve been. You made it this far without being betrothed, and even then your parents are still allowing you the choice of who to marry instead of forcing someone upon you. So while the situation is certainly unideal… she’s right to say that you still have some freedom of choice. And while small, it’s best to count your blessings whenever they come, lest it drive you mad.

“You’re right.” You pause, trying to find a way to say what you mean without sounding naive. Or worse, corny. “What I want may be out of question, but I suppose any choice is better than none.” You furrow your brow for a moment, lost in thought. “Perhaps… some of these suitors also mourn this choice. Love may be off the table, but… perhaps we can be friends–” You pause once more, laughing softly. “–who just so happen to be married.”

You’re not sure why it took you so long to reach this conclusion. After all, noble as they may be, these suitors are human just as you are. Each of them have their own thoughts, goals, desires, dreams. And perhaps, like yours, theirs is also stifled by this imposed choice. Perhaps.

“Exactly,” she replied, face brightening a bit at your change in tone. “And… well, who knows?” She shrugged, not going any further into the thought. “At any rate, it won’t necessarily hurt to have a partner in crime.”

“My, my– are you suggesting that I replace you now?” You tease her.

“Right. So what's Option Two, then?”

“Option Two; we let the kingdom burn, run away in the night and live on the lam. That one has a few kinks to work out.” She played it as straight as she could, but it was obvious from her face that she was trying to be funny.

Your laughter comes out in a snort, her words catching you by surprise. “You know what? I'm half tempted to take you up on that. But I don't think Mr. Stick-in-the-mud Equerry would go for it. Tragic.”

“Oh, forget him,” she said lightly. “We can do it on our own.” She finished the last bite of her dessert.

You try to ignore the way you immediately feel guilty imagining the expression on your Equerry's face if he knew the details of this conversation. Even tonight, you had to practically beg him to take the night off so you could have this time with your Handmaiden. He's been practically glued to your side since the news of your fate reached him, ever protective of you. He means well, but… a girl needs to breathe sometimes. You can only imagine what he'd do, how he'd feel if you fled. You scrunch up your face apologetically at your Handmaiden, still smiling. “Sorry. Maybe next time.”

She laughs, shaking her head at you softly. “Seriously, though. Just try, okay? There must be some part of this that could work out for good.”

As you, too, finish the last bit of your cake, you nod solemnly in return. “Alright. I'll… try. But only because you asked me to.” You answer with an air of drama. “We should both hope this goes well. After all, he’ll soon be your problem just as much as he’ll be mine. It's your neck on the block too,” You joke.

“Don't I know it,” she replied, and collected the dish back from you. “And God help us both.”

“We just don’t want you to be so… dismissive. Alright, dear? Give them a chance. They just might surprise you. You’ve been so picky, and we won’t tolerate a repeat of last time.”

The words of your Father hit your ears like an arrow, and you’re rearing back to spit a harsh retort when you feel your Equerry place a steadying hand on your shoulder, just out of view of your parents across from you both. Looking at him, he gives you a sympathetic smile that does little to alleviate your anger, but it succeeds in holding you back if only because you hate fighting with your parents in front of him. (It stresses him out having to play the middle-man when he wants to have your back with no question.)

So you take a deep breath, letting your Father’s words linger in the air of the carriage, which suddenly felt hopelessly stuffy.

It wasn’t fifteen minutes later that the carriage slowed to a stop, signaling the end of your journey to meet the first of your suitors. Your heartbeat quickened, and as your attendant opened the door to the carriage, the sun pricked at your eyes.

While you waited as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you noticed an unfamiliar hand reaching into your carriage, offering for you to grab to assist you out. “May I help you, Your Highness?”

And though it felt like diving into frigid waters in the black of night, you took the stranger’s hand.

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mrs-barnes-rogers-writes · 2 months ago

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Angel - Part 8

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Enhanced Omega Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Theme: A/B/O / True Mates

Summary: It's different when you're enhanced. Everything is different, every smell, every sound, touch, feelings. The way it's different doesn't make sense unless you are enhanced. Throw in what comes with Alpha and Omega instincts, and the intensity of your presentation is even more than any other. When you find yourself in need of help you can call on the alpha you trust the most, Natasha Romanoff. You just don't expect to find your alphas at the same time. Are you really enough for them? And can you really be the Luna to the Avengers?

"To be loved, to be loved by your mate is everything." - Wanda Maximoff

Reader is enhanced, has wings and has powers connected to electricity.

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Where's the reader? Includes the previous sneak peek.

Chapter Warning: Brief mention of previous attack.

You’re sitting on a roof somewhere in Queens when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You knew damn well you’d turned it off.

When you pull it out you see a coded message appear. The fact someone has managed to turn on your secure device and send you a message makes you feel uneasy. You glance around but don’t see anyone.

It takes a moment to establish what the message says but you realise the message is from Stark. He seems to be giving you a location.

You know Natasha’s slipped everyone’s numbers into your phone so you take the chance and send him a message.

You - Is this a mission or a safe house?

Tony - Well hello to you too Luna.

You - Please don’t call me that.

Tony - Why? It’s what you are.

You - I didn’t realise you all knew.

Tony - Well we do. Honestly there was a lot of whispering going on I was concerned there was a plan to overthrow the government but it was actually all because of you.

You - I don’t really know what to say to that.

Tony doesn’t initially reply.

You - So which is it Stark? A safe house or a mission because its a mission I need more than a location.

Tony - I’m not about to send our Luna onto a mission when she’s still recovering. It’s a safe house. One of my own personal ones. It’s fancy, has everything you need, cupboards filled, every streaming service you can imagine. Highly secure too. The others don’t even know about it.

You - You don’t have to do this Tony. I’m grateful but you really don’t have to. I don't want to make things awkward for you.

Tony - As much as you don’t want to admit it kid, you’re the Luna, I’m meant to be the pack Beta, although that’s not working out so well for me right now but that’s another story. I have a responsibility to make sure you’re okay. So please do what Mom and Dad ask and go to the safe house. It has a pool. It’s in the Hamptons.

A pool and the Hamptons did sound nice. Wait did he just call himself Dad?

You - Mom and Dad?

He replies with a photo of him and Pepper pulling sad faces.

You rolled your eyes.

You - Fine but don’t use that incredible woman and her sad face against me again.

You stood and put on your flight glasses and slipped your backpack back on your front. You pulled up your hood and pushed your wings out of your back. You weren’t sure where the new set of workout gear had come from but the set of leggings and matching zip up jacket that had appeared in the guest room drawer, fit you like a glove. Just as you were about to take flight you saw the Spider swinging around in the distance. Spiderling? Spiderboy? Whatever.

You pull out your phone and text Tony again.

You - You might want to check on the spider kid. Bruce told me you’d grounded him from his little street ops but I see him swinging right now.

Tony sends you another photo but this time it’s him looking exasperated.

You pocket your phone and take to the sky.

When Natasha gets home she finds a note with the watch she’d given you beside it.

You shouldn’t have done that without telling me. Thank you for taking care of me. I’ll be in touch.

She had no idea how you knew what her and the others had just done. You’ve said you’ll be in touch so you’ve not cut her off completely at least. Were you just pissed they’d not told you? A knock at the apartment door is followed by Clint and Wanda entering, both holding up similar notes.

Half an hour later Steve has summoned them all to the briefing room. It’s clear from the moment they step off the elevator that he’s pissed. The fact all of them refuse to say where they’ve been or what they’ve been doing makes it worse, as did him spotting Clint’s split knuckles. Steve’s ranting and Bucky’s sure he’s about to give an Alpha command to get them to give answers and not just the riddles they are giving now. He risks it and steps in.

“It’s about her, isn’t it?” Bucky asks.

They hide it well but he’s also an ex-assassin and the former Winter Solider sees the tells that confirm he’s right.

“She told me that it was complicated. That it was someone she used to trust.”

Natasha tilts her head slightly in interest.

“You spoke to her?”

“I did, she was having a tea out on the lawn with Pepper.”

The others turned to look at Tony.

“What? Oh if you’re asking me if he spoke to her, he did. Stepped in when super annoying number one got snippy with them too.” Tony replied.

“You did what?” Clint asked.

“Oh erm, Steve was…” Bucky went to reply before Clint cut him off.

“No not you! Him! You got snippy with them? With Y/N and Pepper?”

Steve took a breath and put his hands on his hips.

“I wanted to know where you were. I knew something was going on.”

It takes everyone by surprise when Clint starts moving to the door.

“You know what Rogers, fuck you. I ain’t telling you shit. I’ve been on your side through this whole thing. I'm away from my family, out of retirement to help cover the work whilst the dust settles. Putting everything I have on the line again, and you can stand there and make demands all you want but knowing you’ve been shitty to my pack sisters, one who also happens to be the Luna, when she’s dealing with enough right now, means I’m done. Come on.” He says to the others. “What we did today was to keep our girl safe. All whilst you were making a shitty first impression. Go fuck yourself.”

Clint leaves the room, with Wanda, Natasha, Vision and Bruce following.

Steve growls and takes a step to go after them. Bucky steps in front of him.

“Don’t.”

Steve huffs and throws himself down into one of the briefing room chairs. Realisation washing over him that he really had fucked up.

A few days later…..

Your mind wandered as you laid out on the lounger. As much as Stark had become a pain in your ass, he had good taste in safe houses. The Hamptons was a step up from hiding in a ditch in Scotland, plus every single one of your favourite foods were in the kitchen, and the cashmere blanket Pepper had apparently picked out especially for you, was definitely a special touch.

But your mind wandered to the last week. What a fucking week.

Get attacked my another agent ✔️

Have other agent threaten to throw you in The Raft ✔️

Run off and be extracted by your pack sister and brothers ✔️

Meet your true mates ✔️

Leave the compound without telling anyone ✔️

Receive a coded message from Stark directing you to his fancy pants safe house ✔️

You decided to distract yourself and the sound of the birds tweeting accompanied you as you read your latest smutty book. One of Laura’s recommendations. As the afternoon sun shone down on you your eyelids felt heavy and you could feel the pull of sleep.

You jumped as it was pulled away from you as your phone rang. Frowning you'd set it so only Tony, Pepper and Storm could call you. To everyone else it was on dark mode. Only one person would have the balls to override it.

“This better be good Romanoff.” You snarked, voice still croaky as you recovered.

“We have a situation.”

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

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maochira · 2 months ago

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Good news. [Chapter 6]

previous chapter

synopsis: An unexpected call from Doflamingo and a new plan that sounds too good to be true.

tags: gn!child!reader & Corazon & Law, angst

Awoken by a familiar voice you haven’t heard in months, you quickly sit up to see Law and Corazon staring at a transponder snail.

“Is that you… Corazon?” Doflamingo’s voice echoes from the small creature. “It’s been half a year since you three jumped ship… Are Law and (Y/N) there with you?”

Corazon replies by tapping his finger, as his brother is still unaware that he isn’t actually mute.

With your mind still tired and the exhaustion from the previous days of travel, you don’t really understand much of Doflamingo’s rambling. You only pick up something about a Devil Fruit, since Law and Corazon are shocked by the new information.

“I need my most trusted man to eat it, given the nature of its properties. And that man is you, Corazon.” Doflamingo goes on, not bothering to wait for any responses. “Then you can heal Law’s disease.”

And that’s what really gets your attention. Law can be healed? By Corazon?

“Forget about the doctors, we can cure your disease!” Corazon cheers excitedly once the call ends. He lifts Law up into the air, startling the young boy in the process. “You’re the perfect person for the Op-Op Fruit! You have all the medical knowledge for it!”

“But… Doflamingo said you should eat it…” Law mumbles while somehow escaping out of Corazon’s grip and falling back onto the ground in the process.

“Law… cured?” You ask, as if afraid this is nothing more than a dream.

“Huh, you’re awake? You heard all that?” Corazon’s eyes widen slightly, then walks towards where you’re sitting and kneels down to be at least a bit closer to your height. The tall man ruffles your hair, holding himself back from picking you up like he just did with Law. “Yes, we finally have a way to cure Law! All we need to do is get the Op-Op Fruit.”

“But Doflamingo said you should eat it!” Law repeats, this time a little louder.

Corazon shakes his head. “That’s because my brother doesn’t know I already ate a Devil Fruit. If I ate a second one, I’d die. Besides, you have way more medical knowledge than I do.”

Still not convinced by the whole thing, Law opens his mouth to protest again, but then Corazon speaks up once more.

“None of us will be able to return to the family. By now my brother must know that I’ve betrayed him. But just as I promised, I will provide a safe life somewhere else for you two, okay?”

Silence. Law and you both knew you’d never return to the Donquixote Family, but never felt real. Now that the end of this journey seems close enough to grab, the realization sets in.

Breaking the silence, Corazon gestures for Law to come closer so he can pull both him and you into an embrace.

“There’s another reason my brother wants me to eat the fruit…” Corazon begins to explain, his grip tightening slightly. “He knows I can’t refuse him, that’s why he wants me to use the Op-Op Fruit’s powers to give him eternal life. And… that’d mean I’d have to sacrifice myself for him.”

Sacrifice.

The word causes you to tense up while an emptiness that had so long been gone returns in your eyes.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” Corazon asks as soon as he notices something is wrong with you. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ll get the Op-Op Fruit. I won’t die, Law won’t die. We’ll all be okay, I promise.”

#💟 maochira writes #one piece #one piece x reader #donquixote rosinante x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #corazon x reader

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darlingyougotthis · 11 days ago

Text

Gravity

Jake “Hangman” Seresin Fanfic

Chapter Two: The Storm Beneath

The morning sun burned through the hangar’s glass, striping the concrete with long shadows. Inside, the Top Gun squad filed into the briefing room, most still shaking off sleep with half-finished coffees and lazy banter.

Jake strolled in last, sunglasses perched low on his nose, the familiar cocky tilt in his step. He looked as he always did—golden, loose, in control.

But he didn’t feel like it.

Because she was already there.

Nova sat in the second row, legs crossed, flight suit zipped to her collarbone. Her Strike Six patch—dark, understated, deadly—rested over her heart. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The guys weren’t even trying to hide it anymore—the sideways glances, the hushed murmurs.

Jake didn’t look at her.

Not right away.

He took a seat across the aisle, a few rows back, and told himself he wasn’t keeping her in his peripheral vision. That his attention wasn’t already bending toward her like gravity.

But it was. She looked composed. Polished. Effortless. She didn’t scan the room. Didn’t try to place herself. She already knew where she stood.

Like nothing from last night lingered—not the dart game, not the way she’d shut down that “ghost squad” comment with a single line, not the way she’d looked at him when she said goodnight.

That look still echoed somewhere in his chest.

Phoenix dropped into the seat beside her, nudging her lightly. “Morning, Ghost Girl.”

Nova huffed a quiet laugh. “You still calling me that?”

“I don’t see you denying it.”

Rooster leaned toward Coyote behind them. “Think she’s as lethal as her badge looks?”

Coyote muttered, “Think she could kill you with her flight helmet.”

Jake didn’t speak, but he was listening. He tapped his boot lightly against the floor, jaw tight.

Then the room shifted—straightened—as Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson entered with his usual no-nonsense scowl. Behind him came Maverick, flight suit half-zipped and eyes scanning the room like he already knew everything they didn’t.

“All right,” the commander called out, pulling up the screen behind him. “Hope you’re all feeling sharp this morning, because we’re diving straight into classified scenario prep.”

A chorus of “Yes, sir.” can be heard from around the room as Cyclone explains the perimeters of their training.

“What you’re about to see hasn’t been flown before. It’s a prototype extraction op, low-visibility, multi-vector. You’ll be running it in sim, then in air. We’re assigning pairs. These rotations will stick for now.”

He tapped a button. Names appeared on the screen. Jake’s stomach tightened when he read his.

Seresin – Brooke.

He blinked. Brooke. Nova.

One beat of silence passed before he let out a low breath. Phoenix smirked beside Nova. “Lucky boy,” she muttered.

“Pairing decisions weren’t random,” Cyclone went on. “Brooke’s experience with Strike Six makes her a critical asset in scenario building. She has logged over 1,200 hours in black zone operations, has confirmed three air-to-air kills during classified missions, and holds the record for the lowest successful terrain-hugging exfiltration on file. She’ll be leading some of the tactical phases.”

Heads turned toward Nova, someone—Rooster, probably—let out a low whistle. She didn’t react. But, Jake did. He couldn’t help it—the way his brow ticked up, the way his focus narrowed on her profile. Tactical lead? That wasn’t casual. That was trust.

Maverick launched into mission parameters, the room adjusting around the sharp angles of strategy and simulated risk. But Jake was only half-listening.

He was watching Nova.

She sat straight, eyes forward, fingers loosely laced on the desk. When Maverick threw out a question—“What’s the fastest vertical split response in a blind canyon at high-altitude entry?”—Nova didn’t pause.

“Two-point-six,” she said. “Three, if you’re flying with deadweight.”

A low whistle came from Coyote.

Mav gave a short nod. “Correct.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. He was impressed. Too impressed. Maybe that was the problem.

This wasn’t some pretty blonde with a mysterious past and a good aim at the dartboard. This was someone who didn’t just deserve to be here—she could fly circles around half the room. Maybe including him.

“Gear up. Wheels up in 30.” Maverick dismissed them as the briefing wrapped up, chairs scraped and conversations sparked. Rooster clapped Coyote lightly on the shoulder as they passed, muttering something like “Damn, she really is a ghost.”

Coyote rolled his eyes. “Told you.”

Jake stood slower than the rest. He told himself he wasn’t waiting for her to look at him.

He told himself wrong.

She rose gracefully, gathering nothing—she hadn’t even brought a pen. She didn’t need to. That brain of hers probably held more classified knowledge than half the intel office.

And then, just as she passed him, she glanced sideways. Their eyes met. No smile. No word. Just that look. Like she saw right through him.

Then she was gone, boots tapping steadily out of the room like she wasn’t leaving a trail of tension in her wake. Jake let out a slow breath, dragged a hand through his hair, and muttered under it— “Shit.”

The locker room was quiet, filled with the rustle of gear bags and the low creak of hinges as Phoenix pulled her locker open. Nova leaned against the bench, zipping up the top half of her flight suit, blond waves falling down over one shoulder. She looked calm. Almost serene.

She was still new here. But it didn’t feel like it.

Not to Phoenix.

“You really don’t rattle, do you?” Phoenix asked, tossing Nova a water bottle from the top shelf. “Not last night. Not this morning. Not even when Cyclone dropped your kill count like a mic.”

Nova caught the bottle one-handed and smirked. “Why waste energy?”

Phoenix rolled her eyes, grinning. “I swear, Strike Six must teach emotional detachment with flight mechanics.”

Nova chuckled, soft and low. “It’s more like… perspective.”

Before Phoenix could reply, the door opened behind them.

Tiffany stepped inside.

Her heels clicked against the tile, and even out of uniform she looked like she’d walked off a magazine cover—sleek hair, perfect blouse, clipboard clutched in one manicured hand.

“Didn’t realize this was an open meeting,” Phoenix muttered under her breath.

Nova said nothing, just tightened the strap on her gear bag and focused on tucking in the edge of her sleeve.

Tiffany smiled. Wide. Pleasant. Deadly. Eyes landing on Nova.

“Just thought I’d drop by and check on the pilot side of things. Big flight coming up. Heard you’ve been paired with Jake.”

Nova glanced over, expression unreadable. “That’s what the board said.”

“Interesting choice,” Tiffany said, head tilting slightly. “They usually don’t shuffle partners unless there’s… potential.”

Phoenix turned fully now, one brow arched. “I’m sorry, are you implying something?”

Tiffany didn’t even blink. “Of course not. I’m just surprised how quickly things move around here.”

Nova finally looked at her then—calm, open. No edge, no bite.

“I’m just here to do my job.”

Tiffany’s smile tightened. “Naturally. Though it’s a little jarring, I guess… how someone can show up one day and have everyone talking.”

Nova didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

She just swung her bag over one shoulder, smooth and practiced, then offered Tiffany a gentle nod. “Nice to meet you, by the way. Officially. Professionally.”

Tiffany blinked. “Right. Yes. You too.”

She extended her hand.

Nova took it without hesitation—firm, respectful, brief.

Tiffany’s grip lingered half a second longer than necessary. “I hope your time here is… productive.”

Nova’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So do I.”

With that, Tiffany turned on her heel and walked out—head high, hips swaying, and a tension in her jaw that didn’t match her parting grace.

The door clicked softly shut. Phoenix let out a breath.

“I don’t know what Jake sees in her,” she muttered.

Nova, still facing her locker, didn’t look up. “That’s not really my business.”

Phoenix scoffed. “She doesn’t like you.”

This time Nova did look at her and shrugged.

“Yeah,” she said simply. “I noticed.”

She grabbed her gloves from the bench and tucked them under her arm, not a trace of bitterness in her voice. Just fact. As if it meant nothing at all.

Phoenix studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re kind of a badass, you know that?”

Nova gave a faint smile. “You’re late to that conclusion.”

Laughing, Phoenix followed her out of the locker room, boots hitting the tile in sync. Together, they headed for the sims—two women, side by side, walking into fire without ever needing armor.

The tarmac shimmered under the late afternoon sun, the heat rippling off steel wings and freshly laid jet fuel. Jake “Hangman” Seresin adjusted his gloves out of habit, attention flicking toward the runway.

Then he heard her.

Boots on pavement. Confident, steady, unhurried.

Nova.

Helmet under one arm, Strike Six patch gleaming over her heart, eyes hidden behind aviators that somehow made her even harder to read. She walked past him like he wasn’t even there—but her words landed with precision.

“Try to keep up, Hangman,” she said casually.

Jake’s grin came slow, easy, and way too honest.

“If you’re setting the pace,” he replied, eyes following her, “I won’t complain.”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. But he noticed the subtle rise of her shoulders, the slight pause in her step—just enough to let him know she’d heard it. Then she was climbing into her jet, silent and composed.

Jake shook his head, laughing under his breath. This wasn’t going to be a routine flight. Engines ignited moments later, rumbling under the weight of two high-performance birds preparing to punch through the sky.

Jake launched first, Nova tight behind him. Separate jets. Shared objective. Shared frequency.

“Hangman, airborne.”

“Nova, on your six.”

Her voice crackled into his headset—low, precise, unreadable.

Jake checked his radar, watching her icon slide effortlessly into formation behind him.

“Targets ahead,” he said. “You want high or low?”

“Split left. I’ve got upper sightlines.”

He didn’t hesitate. Jake banked hard into the turn, Nova slipping above him like they were two pieces of the same machine. Her movement was clean. Automatic. Every minor shift predicted the air before it changed.

Strike Six. Ghost team, sure—but her instincts were all too real.

“Ping at nine o’clock,” she called out. “Cut wide. You’ll ride through clean.”

Jake adjusted without hesitation. She wasn’t giving suggestions—she was anticipating and she was right again.

“Sharp eyes,” he murmured.

“Comes with the ghosts,” she replied. He could almost hear the shrug.

Jake exhaled a tight laugh. “Remind me to get one of those Strike Six manuals.”

“There isn’t one,” she said simply. “You either get it… or you don’t.”

They flew tighter. Cleaner. Every shift in position felt choreographed, but it wasn’t. It was trust. Immediate. Natural.

Nova called another move. “Thrust down two percent. You’re drifting.”

Jake followed without thinking. A beat later, she added, “Clean correction. Didn’t think you’d actually listen.”

“Only when it counts.”

“You mean when I’m right?” she teased—just enough to twist the knife.

Jake smirked. “You’re not wrong.”

There was a pause in the comms—brief. But not empty.

Then Nova spoke again, voice softer now. “You don’t fly like the rumors.”

Jake arched a brow. “That a compliment?”

“Take it however helps you sleep.”

They dropped low into canyon terrain—tight ridges, red rock shadows, and simulated fire zones. Jake cut between walls like he’d done a hundred times before. Nova was right with him. No errors. No corrections. Just harmony.

Then came the final run. Target acquisition.

“Visual on the mark,” Nova said. “You ready?”

“Always.”

“Then let’s finish this.”

He aligned, locked in, and struck clean.

Nova confirmed it a second later. “Target hit. Smooth shot.”

Jake pulled up into open sky, adrenaline still humming.

“Hell of a run,” he said. “You always this easy to fly with?”

“Only when they can keep up.”

Her tone was still even. But something in it curled beneath his skin like a spark.

Minutes later, both jets touched down—Jake first, Nova gliding in behind.

He powered down his jet, lifted his helmet, and slid out onto the ladder. The heat hit again. So did the buzz still crawling down his spine.

She joined him near the tarmac, helmet still tucked against her hip, eyes calm.

“Nice flying,” she said, meeting his gaze.

And then, with just the faintest smile:

“Jake.”

It hit harder than it should have.

Not Hangman.

Just Jake.

Before he could reply, she turned and walked away—like she hadn’t just unbalanced his entire axis with two syllables and a smile.

Jake didn’t follow. He just stood there, watching her go and thinking, she’s dangerous.

The debrief room buzzed low with chatter, but Jake barely registered it. His gaze was locked on the footage playing across the screen—silent, stunning, undeniable.

Nova’s jet carved through the sky like she owned it. Every move was instinct. Every pivot, every shift, every call—it was all just ahead of where it needed to be. Not rushed. Not guessed. She wasn’t reacting. She was reading the sky.

“Look at that,” Rooster muttered beside him, chin propped in his hand. “She’s already banking before the radar even picks up the threat.”

Jake didn’t respond. His jaw ticked once, eyes locked on the way Nova’s jet sliced low through the canyon like she knew exactly where the danger would be.

“Damn,” Rooster said. “That’s not flying. That’s something else.”

“She flies like she’s dancing,” he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could catch them.

Rooster tilted his head. “That’s either poetic or horny, and I honestly can’t tell which.”

Jake’s mouth twitched. “She’s precise. I’ve never seen anyone fly like that.”

Nova’s voice crackled over the recorded comms. “Cut thrust two percent. You’re drifting.”

Jake watched his own response—fluid, immediate. He hadn’t questioned her in the moment. Just followed. Trusted.

He hadn’t done that with anyone else. Not like that.

“She doesn’t hesitate,” Jake murmured. “She just knows.”

Rooster leaned back in his chair. “It’s hot.”

Jake didn’t respond at first. Then - quietly, almost as if he wasn’t aware he said it. “Yeah…”

Rooster glanced at him, brow raised. Jake didn’t look away from the screen.

Rooster added, more softly this time, “Careful, man. That kind of attention’s hard to hide.”

Jake’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

“It’s just flying,” he said.

But he said it too fast. Too flat. And his jaw clenched a beat too long. Rooster didn’t call him out on it. He just looked back at the screen. At the woman carving through simulated death zones like she was painting in the air.

“Sure it is,” Rooster murmured.

Jake didn’t reply. He didn’t have to because somewhere between her voice in his headset and the way she said his name after they landed, he knew damn well— It wasn’t just flying.

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