#conversation between a captain and his first officer.

[arttsuka]

This scene is always in my mind

They make me sick get them out of my head NOW!

[readwritealldayallnight]

in case you missed it, little add on to this idea where Simon decides you’re his wife

When the Captain first overhears tidbits about how his Lieutenant is supposedly giving the newest recruits an especially hard time, he chuckles to himself, thinking that it isn’t anything they can’t handle, not if they’re going to make it in this line of work anyway

But then he catches the end of a conversation between two medics, complaining about how they’ve never had to tend to so many injuries from the rookies in training before, and he thinks maybe Ghost was having an off day at the time, needed to let off some steam, no real harm done in the end

Which is strange though, when one of his sergeants comes whining about how ‘LT’s gone right soft, pure gallus! One bonnie lass was all it took and he’s now got manners, ya ken! Absolutely braw sight I tell ya, Cupid’s arrow stickin’ out of his arse-’

Price wasn’t even entirely sure Simon knew how to use his cell phone, surprised to find him suddenly glued to the device, answering only for a specific chime, but always answering instantly when it went off

It isn’t all that long however, until Price walks into his office one day and finds Ghost already sat at his desk and waiting for him, wanting to know more about marital leave, and benefits for spouses, and how soon could the Captain become ordained because there’s a ceremony he’d like him to officiate soon if he wouldn’t mind-

You’re especially confused when the guard who checks your ID at the gate each morning tells you ‘Congratulations by the way, Mrs Riley’ as he hands you a new pass that- sure enough- has Riley written as your last name

Series masterlist

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

“The Captain’s beloved…wait, what?!”

Capitano x Gender Neutral Reader one shot

Work count: 2.2k

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship

Rating: General Audiences

Trigger Warnings: none

Summary: The fatui discover that their Captain does, in fact, have a life outside of work and gossip between the ranks ensues. (Cue silly fatui shenanigans)

Ao3 Link

Capitano, the Fatui’s first lord and harbinger, contrary to popular belief, was respected and admired by his platoons rather than feared. There was a widespread misunderstanding both in and outside the organization that the Captain was a harsh and dangerous leader due to his mysterious nature. However, the people who worked under him knew better as they had grown to admire him the more they interacted with him.

He held himself with pride and treated his soldiers the same way he wanted to be treated: with respect and dignity. And in return, they learned the depths of this man’s strategic genius and strength. His strength was unmatched in combat and led his people well with good decision making and training. They could only hope to be as good as him in his various fields of expertise.

He was strict, and quick to discipline unruly fatuus, yes, but that did not stop others under his command from admiring him. And to emphasize this even more, it was clear that his fellow harbingers and even the Tsarista respected him, whether their goals and morals aligned with his or not. However, this made the people around him curious about aspects related to him outside of his work and title. He was a revered public figure and people were naturally curious about his personal life.

This is where you came in. You, his one and only beloved, the only person who held his whole heart in your hands. Not many people knew of this, but the Captain was a gentle man at his core, and you had somehow managed to uncover all of his being and see him fully as himself, without his title, without his strength. You knew this man inside and out, just as he had come to know you. It was a mutual love, one which even he did not know he was capable of feeling, and that made him all the more enamored with you.

This, however, people did not know. So you can imagine the surprise on their faces when you, an ordinary civilian, came to the Zapalyarny Palace and asked for directions to the Captain’s office. The clerk at the desk looked at you blankly, as if she were staring at an anomaly. This prompted you to try and explain yourself.

“..I’m here to drop off his lunch. So, if you don’t mind..?” You asked.

No response. The blank stare continued.

You already knew that you looked out of place in this grand palace with no Fatui uniform or mask on. But you were determined to make sure your beloved got his lunch, which you had specifically decided to make for him that day as a special treat for how hard he had been working while preparing for a business trip to Natlan.

“Excuse me..?” You said a little louder this time. That seemed to snap her back to reality.

“You cannot enter this place, only authorized personnel are allowed inside. If you’d like to meet our lord, please book your appointment accordingly.” She replied on autopilot, as if she’d rehearsed the same sentence multiple times.

“I’m sorry, I know you have your duties, but I’m here just to drop off his lunch. You can check with him yourself if you’d like..”

“He’s busy at the moment, please leave your package here and we will deliver it to him.” She replied. It seemed like you were being studied like a suspicious person who was attempting to sneak in.

Fair enough.. you thought. I was hoping I would get to spend a few minutes with him and see how he was holding up at work but that can wait till he’s home. And she’s not wrong, I did drop by without notice, so it makes sense for them to be suspicious.

Fatui soldiers passing by had also been glancing at the ongoing conversation at the front desk, eyeing the lunch box wrapped in patterned cloth in your hands with raised eyebrows. You decided to leave the food there, getting one last word in before leaving.

“If you could, please make sure it reaches him soon. It’s his favorite meal and I would prefer it didn’t go cold before he ate it.”

And then everyone watched as your ordinary self left, unaware of the number of eyes on you.

…

A pyroslinger skirmisher stationed near the entrance asked dumbfoundedly, “Did..did they just say that was the Captain’s favorite meal? Our lord harbinger?”

A cryogunner skirmisher who had also watched the whole thing go down as he clocked in asked another question right after, in the same state of confusion as the previous fatuus. “..Has anyone seen them around before? They don’t look like someone who would be seen standing next to Lord Capitano.”

And as the just as confused clerk left the scene towards his office with your goods in hand, excited chatter filled the halls.

Chaos would be the right word for it. You had left chaos in your wake with a simple visit to his workplace.

…

That night, as you and Capitano settled in to relax in your shared home after a long day of work, you asked him how his lunch was.

“It was delicious, my love.” He replied, gently caressing your face with his hands while looking down at you through his mask. “It felt like a treat to have your home cooked meal at work. You didn’t have to, but thank you. It made my day.”

You smiled and took his hands in yours as you nuzzled into his touch. “I’m glad you liked it. I was going to give it to you myself but I couldn’t enter the place.”

“You should visit more often. I’ll let the security personnel know to let you enter so you can come and go as you like.” He paused, clearing his throat. “..Seeing you in the middle of a long day would bring me relief.”

You felt slightly flushed at his straightforward choice of words. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you being so..open with me. But I like it, of course. I would like that as long as I’m not disturbing you at work.”

Capitano chuckled. It was like the angels decided to bless you today, really. “I will always make time for you, my love. Just as you do for me.”

You beamed. “Okay, okay, let’s get some sleep now, Mr. Loverman. We still have work tomorrow in case you’re forgetting.”

A kiss on the forehead and the rustling of sheets was all you heard before you were whisked away to dreamland.

…

Unbeknownst to you and Capitano, however, word about you spread like wildfire across the next few days between the excited fatui soldiers. Some from even the different departments under the other harbingers might’ve heard. The person who looked like a civilian, dropping lunch packed in pretty cloth for their Lord did not go unnoticed.

This was the only time someone unrelated to work had been seen asking for their Captain and questions about your relation to him were on the tip of everyone’s tongue during break times.

Two fatuus gossiped as they watched the Captain spar in training with his fellow soldiers, admiration evident in their eyes.

“Someone dropped off lunch for him? I thought he would be too busy having meals with high rankers from across Teyvat.”

And after a short pause the other replied, “Dude, hold on, does he even eat? I thought he was superhuman or something.”

“I know you’re dumb, but I didn’t know you were that dumb, my guy.”

“Hey! Just saying… anyway, are we even sure the people weren’t hallucinating when they saw the person drop lunch off for him?”

“I heard it was his favorite meal, freshly cooked, apparently. Who knows, man? Maybe it was a fan or something. Our lord does have a pretty big following, y’know.” The fatuus stated proudly.

Their lively chatter continued until they were called back into training.

…

A few days later, as soon as you found the time, you decided to visit Capitano at work with yet another home cooked meal. You wanted to make most of your time with him before he traveled to Natlan and having meals together would be a good way to wind down a little.

You entered the palace yet again, determined to meet him this time. It should be fine, right? He did say he would inform them..

And as you had hoped so, he did, in fact, inform them. As soon as the same clerk from before saw you, it seemed like her eyes were bulging out of her sockets. All you had to do was reach the desk and she confirmed your name and led you to the training grounds, where he was currently working. It seemed like some sort of training session was in the works, with all kinds of combat taking place between the soldiers in the distance.

Before you could ask her if you were even allowed to enter this place, she bowed and hurried back in the direction of the front desk. The strange behavior didn’t go unnoticed by you but now you had to find your way to Capitano across the opposite side of the field. Since you were here at last, why not just see things through?

The middle of the field was the most densely occupied with various people fighting in different groups, while what you recognised as skirmishers were practicing their aim at dummy targets on the right side. The soldiers were hard at work even in the harsh everlasting winter of Snezhnaya. The left side of the field, however, seemed less crowded compared to the rest as people seemed to be setting up their gear or resting. Your Captain, opposite to you across the field, was busy conversing with a group of soldiers who seemed to be listening to him attentively.

You decided your best option was to take the left side. It would be easier to walk through the calm atmosphere over there.

As you made your way through the crowd, people started to notice you. They were pretty intimidating with their weapons and muscled bodies at display so you decided to be extra careful to not bump into anyone and quickly made your way across, and as you got closer, Capitano’s voice became clear.

“The heat in Natlan will be unbearable. You will be stationed in the wild all day, so make sure you have the appropriate supplies to get you through the day. It is of the utmost importance that...what, what is it? Why are you all staring at me like that?”

The group’s attention shifted from him to you, as you stood behind him and tapped his shoulder.

“Capitano, do you have a moment..?” You asked as he turned around, his armor clinking from the movement.

“Oh, my love!” He exclaimed in a soft voice. “What brings you here? Hold on, let's get you back inside. You’ll catch a cold here.”

The group (and everyone nearby) watched in complete awe as his demeanor from before completely switched from authoritative to somewhat… joyfull? Was Lord Capitano being affectionate?

“I brought you lunch, but I can leave it in your office if you’re busy right now.” You said hurriedly, not wanting to keep him busy.

“No, that won’t do, my love.” He took the package from you and placed his hand on your back. “Eat with me inside.”

He then turned back to the group, who jolted straight up at his sudden change. “Finish the supply preparations once you’re done training. All of you are dismissed.”

“Y-yes, my lord!” They replied in unison and bowed. And yet again, they watched in awe as he guided you back inside the palace, ever so gently, one hand on your back and the other carrying a box wrapped up in a floral patterned cloth. A stark contrast to his all black and blue outfit.

…

As soon as both of you were out of sight, chaos erupted yet again, more loudly this time, with multiple voices talking over the other.

“”My love?” Did he just call them “my love?” Did I hear that right?!”

“What was that? What did we just witness?”

“That was so romantic, holy shit! Was that the same person we take orders from everyday? What the hell?!”

“DID THE LORD HARBINGER JUST… GET VISITED BY THEIR SPOUSE?”

“I thought that ring on his finger was for fashion…”

And that is how they found out that their beloved Captain, who seemed to have no soul outside of his work, was a married man with a loving spouse.

This proceeded to be the hottest gossip in the Fatui for the rest of the month, until they discover more about you from another future visit.

…

BONUS:

Sitting in the privacy of his office, you enjoyed your meal together.

“..You seem to work with very strange people, Capitano.” You said to him.

“Do I? How so?” He asked before you fed him a bite.

“Hm.. actually, nevermind. It would be even stranger if they weren’t strange, considering they work with you.” You chuckled.

You enjoyed your time together and went back home, leaving your beloved in confusion from your conversation, and the sight of you fondly feeding him for him to think about for the rest of the day.

[eufezco]

CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD SPOILERS 👇🏻

ARE YOU JEALOUS? 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

congressman!bucky barnes x fem!readwr

synopsis – bucky finds out that you're jealous about those comments that woman madd about him.

a/n – i hate her and her stupid fucking character better stay away from bucky. free palestine 🇵🇸

joaquin had taken a bad hit during a mission with sam, bad enough to need surgery and land him in the hospital for a few days. being in congress meant bucky had access to that kind of information, and as soon as he saw joaquin’s name in a report, he knew what that meant.

bucky walked into your office without a word, you barely had time to look up before he dropped a file onto your desk.

—good morning to you too, —you teased, raising your eyebrows and looking at the papers he just placed on your desk. then, you looked at him. —not even a kiss for your sweet girlfriend?

he looked ridiculously good in that black suit, broad shoulders filling it out perfectly, the fabric hugging his frame in a way that was almost unfair. his tie was just a little loose, and you had the sudden urge to tug on it and pull him closer. bucky sighed and stepped forward. his metal fingers brushed your cheek before he leaned down and gave a quick kiss to your lips.

you hummed and nodded. —thank you, —you grabbed the papers and opened the file. —you left earlier this morning, i wanted to have breakfast with you.

—yeah, sorry, this came up.

you glanced down at the folder, your eyes scanned the first few lines and then stopped. torres, joaquin – injured in action. bucky exhaled, finally moving. he sat on the edge of your desk, fingers drumming against the wood. —mission went sideways. he took a hit.

you stood up from your chair and went to sit next to him, close enough that your knee brushed against his. —how bad?

bucky sighed. —fractured ribs, concussion, some internal bleeding. they got to him in time, he’s stable but...

—and sam?

—got here this morning.

you closed the file, inhaling slowly to steady yourself. bucky was watching you, waiting for your reaction. you met his gaze and nodded. —then let’s go

before you stepped into the private room, you paused, standing in front of bucky. his gaze was fixed ahead, his jaw tight, he hadn’t said much since the moment you arrived at the hospital. he was trying to figure out what to say to sam.

—you're good, —you said quietly, —sam is our friend, he'd appreciate us being here. —your hand gently coming up to rest on his chest, fixing his tie, —you'd know what to say when you see him.

bucky nodded, his eyes met yours, but you could see the how his gaze softened as he let your words settle in. you stood up on your tiptoes and placed a quick, soft kiss right in the middle of his lips.

you weren’t wrong. as soon as the door opened, sam’s eyes landed on both of you. he looked exhausted, like the weight of the world had been pressing down on him, but the relief in his eyes when he saw you both was undeniable. he also looked at your fingers laced. last time you three were together, things were... complicated. bucky didn't know if he deserved a relationship and sam, being sam, wanted to be supportive but didn't want to rush things between you two. now, seeing you both standing there, so... together, sam felt relief that bucky had come to terms with his own feelings.

you hugged sam and then bucky hugged him. you asked about joaquin's state as you watched through the glass how the surgeons worked.

bucky and sam had the sweetest interaction, you let bucky talk as you stood next to him, holding onto his arm. as you predicted, bucky said exactly what sam needed to hear and by the end of their conversation you noticed how sam felt more confident. then, the phone in bucky's pocket buzzed breaking the moment. he checked the screen and sighed,

—i gotta go, —he said quietly. before he stepped away, he pulled sam into one last hug, holding him tightly. —take care of yourself, alright? —he murmured. once bucky pulled back, he turned to you, his fingers brushing your arm gently before he kissed you on the lips. —see you at home.

sam raised his eyebrows and looked at you when bucky left. —kissing in public, living together, that way he looks at you... you've got him wrapped around your finger.

you laughed and shook your head. you were going to say something but in that moment someone else entered the room.

—future congressman james buchanan barnes.

you frowned. who was talking about your boyfriend? leaning slightly, you peered around sam. standing on the other side of him was a small woman, sharp-eyed, impeccably dressed, exuding authority, but what did she have to say about your bucky?

her gaze was still fixed on the spot where he had just walked away, head tilted slightly like she was noticing something only she could see. wow, were you missing something?

—he's taller in real life. nice smile too, good amount of teeth. great posture.

—he's a 110, —sam added.

—and taken.

the woman finally turned to look at you, her expression unreadable, but there was amusement. she studied you for a second before offering a knowing little smile. —noted.

you got home before bucky did. you figured you’d cook something nice for dinner. you couldn’t share breakfast with him, but you’d make the most of dinner but even as you chopped vegetables and stirred the rice you were preparing, those words echoed in your head. great posture, nice smile.

you scoffed, gripping the knife just a little too tightly. yeah, no shit he has a nice smile. you’d spent enough time staring at it to know that. and his posture? sure, the man stood like he was built from granite, all strong shoulders and perfect stance—but why the hell was she the one noticing it? you wouldn’t have thought you’d be the type to get jealous. it wasn’t like you were insecure—you trusted him completely. but still… something about another woman noticing him, talking about him like that...

you took a deep breath, shaking it off. it was fine. you were fine. you had no reason to feel this way. bucky was yours. he came home to you, kissed you, held you when he thought no one was looking.

bucky called your name, shutting the door behind him. —i'm home.

—i'm in the kitchen! —you said trying to sound casual, even though you were still thinking about that damn conversation from earlier.

bucky approached you and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin rested on your shoulder, his beard tickled your skin as he murmured, —smells amazing.

you smiled, proud. —figured we didn’t get breakfast together, so i’d make up for it with dinner.

he hummed in appreciation, planting a kiss on your shoulder.

—how was your day? —you asked as he watched you cook. his presence stopped all the overthinking you'd been doing since you got home for a minute, his touch was reassuring enough to almost make you forgot completely about how the words of that woman made you feel. the way his exhausted body was molding into yours, like he needed you to keep him steady, it all made you feel just a little better.

—long, —he admitted, kissing your shoulder again. —meetings, calls and a whole lot of people telling me what i should be doing.

you hummed in response, —sounds frustrating.

bucky noticed the stiffness in your body almost immediately. you let him hug you, you acted like nothing happened, you even seemed to be glad for his touch yet your body told a different story. but he didn’t let go. instead, his metal hand slid lower, fingers splaying over your stomach while his flesh hand found your hip. —what’s going on in that head of yours? —he murmured against your skin.

—nothing, i was just thinking... it was nice seeing sam, wasn't it? we should invite him over sometime, hang out with him in another circumstances.

bucky wasn't convinced, there was something else, but he agreed with you. —yeah, it was good to see him. it’s been too long since we’ve had a proper catch-up, just the three of us.

you hummed. you couldn’t shake the feeling. you tried to push it down, but you knew you needed to ask. you couldn't hold it in any longer. —did you know that woman? —you asked, trying to keep your tone casual. —the one that came in when you left?

bucky paused for a moment before responding. —yeah, she's head of security of thaddeus ross.

you raised your eyebrows, bucky was looking at you, his chin still resting on your shoulder, yet you were focused on the rice. —she seemed a little too interested in you.

he frowned. —how so?

—oh, she mentioned your nice smile and great posture.

bucky was quiet for a moment, then you felt his chest shake against your back. he was laughing. —you're jealous, —he realized.

you pulled away from his hold and turning to face him, arms crossed, almost offended, not because he wasn't right but because he had figured it out so easily. —no, i'm not.

he smirked as he watched you with knowing eyes. those deep blue eyes. had that woman noticed them too? had she seen how they darkened under the dim lights of the office? or how they became even more shadowed after a restless night? you clenched your jaw.

—yes, you are. you’re jealous over a comment about my posture.

you scoffed. —that’s not— you huffed, shaking your head. that smirk remained on his lips, waiting to see how you tried to explain yourself. —it’s not just that! it’s the way she was looking at you, like she was mentally taking notes. and i know what you're gonna say, she was just doing her job, but she was not just doing her job when she called you well-built with a nice smile like you were some—some political snack.

bucky raised his eyebrows and then couldn't help a laugh escaping his lips at that, shaking his head in disbelief. ugh, he did have the nicest smile. —political snack?

—shut up, —you muttered, your cheeks warming.

he reached for you again, this time catching your waist and pulling you right up against him, his laughter dying down into something softer. —you’re so sexy when you’re jealous, you know that?

you narrowed your eyes at him. —not jealous.

—oh yeah, totally jealous, —he teased, grinning as he leaned closer, lips barely brushing against yours. —and so possessive.

before you could complain again, he pressed his lips against yours. your lips moved in perfect sync, this was exactly what you needed.

his mouth tasted like fruit, sweet and familiar. that damn tropical gum he always chewed. would that woman know that? would she know that he liked it because it reminded him of the time he spent learning himself again, reclaiming parts of his life he thought were lost? that he once moved heaven and earth just to find gum that tasted like plum? would she know that when he chewed peppermint gum, his lips turned pinker than usual because he was so used to the soft, sweet taste of fruit-flavored ones?

you sighed into the kiss, relieved to think that you were the only one who knew these things about him. your hands sliding up to grip his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

bucky chuckled against your lips, the vibration sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. he pulled back just enough to murmur, —you’re telling me this death grip on my shirt isn't possessive and jealous?

you refused to let go, using it to pull him into a kiss again. —it’s not.

his metal hand curled around your waist, sliding down until it cupped your ass. bucky pulled back again and you whined, annoyed. he murmured, —so if that woman from earlier showed up right now, you wouldn’t throw something at her? —his smirk was downright smug now, he was enjoying this way too much.

you rolled your eyes. —i wouldn’t throw something at her. i’d throw something near her. just to remind her what’s off-limits.

the smirk never left his lips. he slowly let go of his grip on your body, his metal hand dragging over your skin just enough to make you shiver. then, he took a step back. and another. his eyes never left yours, the challenge clear in them. —and if i walked into another room right now, —he tilted his head, —you wouldn’t follow me to make sure no one else was looking at your man?

you groaned. before he could take another step, your hand shot out, grabbing his tie and yanking him back toward you. he stumbled, his body colliding with yours. his hands instinctively landed on your waist to steady himself. —i wouldn't even let my man walk out of here.

your lips met in another heated kiss, his breath mixing with yours as your fingers tangled deeper into his hair. you felt him shiver slightly under your touch, his grip on your hips tightening as he pressed himself closer. his hair was getting longer. you could feel it, the way your fingers sank into the thick strands, how easily you could grab and tug at it. and god, you loved it like this.

he's taller in real life...

bucky’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he effortlessly lifted you, guiding your legs to wrap around his body. his hands shamelessly moved to your ass as yours went to the back of his head to deepen the kiss. he placed you on the edge of the table, the cold surface pressing against your thighs as he stood between your legs, his hands resting on your hips.

you started to lean back, pulling at his tie and guiding him down with you. his body followed, towering over you. his hands were on either side of your body, holding himself up just enough to keep from fully pinning you to the table.

—you really like this, don’t you? —he murmured against your lips.

you smirked, your fingers kept on tightening his tie, —like what?

his metal fingers squeezed the bare skin of your thighs, a low growl escaped his lips. —being a little brat, —he muttered, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down to the curve of your neck.

you shivered, your head tilting to give him better access. —maybe.

—you’re lucky i like it, —he dragged your pajama pants and your underwear down your legs with ease.

—lucky? —your hands slipped down to the knot of his tie, loosening it and sliding the fabric through your fingers. then, you skillfully unbuttoned his white shirt with urgency. you couldn’t help but moan a quiet fuck under your breath as you pulled his shirt open, your fingers grazing over the defined lines of his torso. perfectly sculpted muscles tensed beneath your touch. your gaze traced the scars along his shoulder where the metal met his skin as you pushed the shirt down his arms.

—very lucky.

... nice smile too, good amount of teeth...

bucky unzipped his pants as you squeezed his body with your thighs. he pushed himself inside of you without warning, you let out a loud moan and held onto his biceps as you felt how he bottomed you.

he smiled, watching your reaction. he then hid his face in your neck. —you really think i don’t know who i belong to? —his voice was lower now, rougher. his hot breath against your skin spiked goosebumps on your body. —you think anyone else could ever touch me the way you do?

... great posture.

you held onto his strong and broad shoulders while your head was thrown back, eyes closed shut, lips parted letting out the most sinful sounds. his flesh-and-blood hand moved to the back of your head so you wouldn't hurt yourself. his back was a bit arched, just enough for his hips to hit that sweet spot inside you every time he trusted into you.

you connected your lips with his as you swallowed his moans. your hands, without any shame, traveled down his muscled and tensed back until they reached his ass. you squeezed it, enjoying yourself and helping him to push into you.

—say it, —bucky said in between moans.

travelling up his tensed back, your fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head, tugging just enough to make him groan, you encircled your legs around his body and locked your ankles over the swell of his ass. you felt that burn sensation in the pit of your stomach. —you’re mine.

he exhaled sharply, pressing a slow, claiming kiss to your throat. his hands traced up your thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go. you felt his metal fingers closing a bit tighter, —and you’re mine.

you came digging your nails into his back, your legs around his body squeezing him and bucky let more of his weight settle against you once his orgasm hit him. his pace became faster and harder when he was close, his metal hand on your hips tightened, pressing you firmly against the surface of the table, and you knew that by morning, you'd see the imprint of his fingers on your skin. and you could't complain because you loved it.

even though you knew he’d hate. he never liked seeing the marks he left on you. he’d frown when he saw the faint bruises his grip had left on your hips, running his fingers over them with something like regret in his eyes. he’d mutter something about being too rough, about how he should be more careful. but the truth was that you craved it.

but as much as bucky hated to mark you, he loved when you marked him. it was a reminder that everything was real—that you were real. that it wasn’t some dream he’d wake up from, alone and lost. that he wasn’t the ghost of a man wandering through a life that didn’t belong to him anymore. and when he saw those scratches in his back in the mirror tomorrow, when he felt that sting as his shirt brushed against them, he’d know—he wasn’t just existing. he was living.

you pushed the strands of hair that were falling over his face and some that were sticking to his forehead as you both tried to catch your breaths.

—would you think i'm crazy if i say i don't want her anywhere near you?

bucky huffed a laugh, pulling out of you and letting you sat up on your elbows. —i’d think that you’re, in fact, jealous.

you rolled your eyes. —whatever. but if i heard her talking about your posture again, i swear i'll...

before you could finish the sentence, bucky pressed his lips to yours, cutting you off. his kiss was soft, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, a reassurance that you didn’t need to say more. —maybe there's a touch of craziness, yeah.

[bookshelf-dust]

relief

evan buckley x fem!reader

gif by @suledins

PSA IF YOU’RE A MINOR: GET THE FUCK OFF MY PORCH BEFORE I WHOOP YOUR ASS. THIS FIC IS STRICTLY 18+. I RESPECT YOUR BOUNDARIES, YOU RESPECT MINE.

word count: 6,568

warnings: nsfw 18+ only; swearing, inexperienced!reader, mentions of therapy/insecurities regarding inexperience, conversations about sex, heavy petting, fingering

synopsis: buck is a walking golden retriever. when he asks you out for the first time and begins to learn more about his arson-investigating coworker, it’s easy to say he puts that eagerness to use.

a/n: this is the very first smut fic i have EVER written (aside from some old old dirty nsfw headcanons). that being said, please bear with me, because this stuff is hard!! shoutout to all the wonderful writers who do this all the time because phew! 🤧 i am pretty happy with how this turned out, and i’m proud of myself for writing for a new character and trying something totally different from my norm! i had no plan of direction for this fic when i started it, but i hope the end result will resonate with some of you, and if it doesn’t, i still hope it gives you some good feelings and a little escape from this fuck ass world <33

————

Evan Buckley is a hellishly gorgeous man. Oftentimes, you have to remind yourself that he’s real—that he’s not some sort of mirage, a result of your constant sleep deprived state. He’s the kind of breathtaking that you find to be unfair.

You started working for the 118 as their house arson investigator three months ago. Captain Nash soothed every nerve you had going in, showing you to your quaint little office, introducing you to everyone else in the house. You’d definitely needed the comfort of that transition, but hadn’t expected your colleagues to be so welcoming. 

You were transferred as part of a greater Los Angeles initiative to create stronger communication and collaboration between the first responders and specialized investigators, as so much of their jobs go hand-in-hand. Although you’re pretty sure it’s only because the department heads get sick of answering follow-up questions about causes of fires—if people had insurance, if it was an accident or an attack, etc. 

So they split up you and the rest of your original team into varying firehouses so that there would always be an arson investigator on hand. And if there’s any foul play, then the police can be contacted quicker, as the investigator becomes a direct source to target those issues. You’d complain about all these silly loopholes if it weren’t for the fact that you’d gotten a pretty raise for your trouble. 

In truth, working with the 118 is the most useful you’ve felt in a long time. You know you’re good at your job, and you’d tell anyone who asked that you’ve done the work and you know that to be true. This opportunity has allowed you so much more field work than you could’ve imagined, which excites you. And there is the benefit of the eye-candy your coworker provides. 

Which is why, each time Buck approaches you, you have to blink a few times, press your nails into your palm, do something to ground yourself so that you might be able to carry on a conversation with him. Tonight though, he’s managed to sneak up on you, giving you no time to seem more like a sociable human being. 

“Hey, uh, you ever figure out the cause of that house fire from the other night?”

Buck is propped up against the door to your office, the air immediately responding to his presence, making everything feel lighter. 

You look up from your desk, huff out a breath to try and blow the hair away from your eyes. 

“Oh, hey, Buck. The house that the newlywed couple had just bought?”

Knowing him is enough to tell you that this particular fire would be the one to stick in his memory come week's end, the others being much too mundane for conversation.

Buck nods, a mischievous smirk appearing on his face. 

“Yeah, actually,” you say, encouraged to continue. “Turns out the couple started it without even realizing. They didn’t remember everything at first, but after going over there and questioning them some more, they finally pieced it together.”

Buck steps a little further into your office. You watch as he bends at the waist, hands coming to rest on one of the squishy chairs across from you. 

“How do you start a fire in your own house, and not notice?” he asks, that playful lilt to his voice reaching your ears. 

Your cheeks burn, a flush running through your body and turning you hot, head to toe. You tap your pen against your wrist. This isn’t usually the kind of information you’re excited to share with your coworkers—not that they wouldn’t be entertained by it. It’s that they’ll all be too entertained by it. 

“Well,” you cough, “turns out they were having a rather aggressive intimate moment and one thing led to another…” You trail off, hoping you won’t have to say it out loud. It was bad enough being in the room when they described their evening in detail, talking directly to one another like you really weren’t there.

Buck cocks his head at you, like a cat that’s just spotted a bug. “I don’t follow,” he says. His mouth quirks up the slightest bit at the corners. 

You inhale, mustering up enough courage to blurt it out before this becomes any more awkward than it has to be. 

“They were having sex in the kitchen and her ass bumped up against the stove top, turning on the burner. She’d grabbed onto a dish towel, for support or whatever, and when they moved it upstairs, she tossed the towel behind her and…”

“Neither of them noticed the fire because they were too caught up in the heat of the moment,” Buck finishes for you. 

You nod, sucking your teeth just slightly. “Yep. What’s worse is after spending an hour digging around and talking to them, the wife went ‘You know, now that you say all this, I do remember my bum feeling hotter than usual before we made it to the bed.’” You roll your eyes.

Buck drags his hands down his cheeks, straightening. There’s a smile on his face when he says, “Well, I guess they say love makes you do crazy things.”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” you say, laughing a little tensely. You chance a bit of eye contact with him, realizing he’d already been staring at you for who knows how long. “Was there anything else you needed? Or just curious about the local arsonists?”

Buck chuckles, turning his face away from you momentarily. 

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to go out for drinks tonight.” 

You glance at the clock on the upper right hand corner of your computer monitor. It reads 5:43. “Is it a special occasion or something? I feel like no one’s really done that since Chimney had a kid.”

Buck says your name. A knot forms in your throat. “I didn’t mean with everybody. I meant just the two of us.”

You blink. “Why?” You blurt out, the one syllable making you stutter.

His brows knit together. “Uh, so we can get to know each other better? I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious that I like you.”

You’re pretty sure steam might be coming out of your ears. “Um, well, I don’t like to assume. I mean, you’re a pretty flirty guy, you know?”

He says your name again as he plants his hands on your desk. Your pen falls out of your grasp. You’re mesmerized as you watch him pick it up and place it in the cup over to your left.

“This is Buck 3.0, remember? I don’t just flirt with anyone. Besides, flirting usually comes to me, what with being a sight for sore eyes and whatnot.”

You snort: this cute little laugh that comes straight from the back of your throat that Buck has grown to love. 

Buck decides not to rile you up anymore. “So, drinks or no? I definitely won’t cry myself to sleep tonight if you say no.”

You facepalm. “Yeah, alright. Filling my bloodstream with alcohol might be exactly what I need right now.”

————

Two cosmos in, and you’re feeling a lot better. You’re grateful for having kept a pair of jeans and a relatively-okay-for-going-out top in your locker, allowing you to look somewhat presentable enough to be so near Buck for an entire evening.

So far it’s been pleasant, the both of you making small talk, you showing him pictures of your cat and him listening intently to all the antics said cat gets up to during the night. 

You’re chewing on a bacon covered cheese fry when Buck speaks. “What did you mean earlier, when you said you didn’t like to assume? Like, not assuming a guy would be into you?”

You nod, pausing with your hand in front of your mouth while you swallow. “That’s exactly what I meant. This isn’t something that happens often.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me,” Buck says, taking another swig from his beer. If he’s not careful, he’s going to spill it down his shirtfront. 

Your chest thumps with self-deprecation, the voices from the sides of your head—the ones that create that pressure behind your eyes—telling you this might be a great moment to talk shit about yourself. To air out all your faults to this man you probably don’t even deserve to be sitting across from. God knows he won’t be interested when he really gets to know you. 

You inhale.

You’ve been in therapy long enough to know the power of positive thinking. You know that everyone is on a different, unique timeline—that things happen for everyone at different points in their lives. 

But being inexperienced in all aspects of the romantic world is something you’ve carried shame for practically your entire adult life. Only you promised yourself that you wouldn’t let it consume you anymore. It’s your life, and you have the ability to change the way you think. That doesn’t mean your body doesn’t still react, though, doesn’t still flush with anger at how your life has gone thus far, like your veins don’t thrum as you think of all the vile comments you could say about yourself, the ways you could punish yourself for being the odd one out. 

That’s why being approached by Buck in such a blunt, upfront way was such a shock to your system. That just doesn’t, or rather, it hasn’t ever happened to you. 

And with Buck being who he is, it felt like even more of a fever dream. You almost wanted to spin around and tell them to cut the cameras, the lenses zooming in on your face—mockumentary style. 

“I’m not though,” you say. “Guys don’t usually come up to me and ask me out on a date, or ask me anything really.”

Buck is staring at you intently, and you almost wonder if you went too far by calling this a date. 

“Are you for real?”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t say it like that, but yeah. I guess there’s just something about me that’s not super alluring to most men? That’s why I was so surprised by you.”

He waves his hands around gently. “I didn’t mean it like a bad thing, I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around that.”

You eat a few more cheese fries. “Why?”

He stutters for a few moments. “Because you’re just so…so perfect?” You snort, an air of sarcasm to it.  “Like, for one, you’re super hot. You’ve got this whole shy but totally badass vibe about you, and you’re passionate and great at what you do. I guess I just can’t fathom there not being a line of guys wanting to jump your bones if you’ll let them.”

You laugh. It makes Buck smile. 

“I appreciate that you think those things about me. For a long time, I thought that was pretty impossible. Guess when you go twenty four years without anyone actively pursuing you, you start to wonder.”

The table falls silent, and you finish your drink, thanking the waiter when he takes your empty glass, returning with a full cup of water for you.

“So, let me get this clear,” Buck says. Normally those words would freak you the fuck out, but you’re feeling a lot less tense now, less scared of talking about your situation. It’s not what you want, but it’s how it is. “No guy has ever asked you out. So you’ve never had a boyfriend? Never had a first kiss? Never had…sex? Or anything adjacent to it?”

“That’s right,” you say. “And the orgasms I’ve given myself don’t count towards the adjacent. So yeah, you’re right. It’s embarrassing, trust me, I know.”

Buck is still reeling from you saying the word orgasm out loud to him right now, not to mention the images flashing through his mind because of it. He pulls himself together. 

“It’s not embarrassing. Are you embarrassed by it?”

You clear your throat. “I’m certainly not happy about it. Honestly, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what it is that I’m missing that makes me so behind everyone else. And I’ve spent a lot of time being angry at myself. But it’s not like I can force those things to happen for me, you know?”

Buck gives you this look, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. A small grin makes an appearance on your face. 

“Well, I mean, you could,” Buck says. “But I can see why you haven’t. In my experience, just hooking up with someone to get off, or just say you’ve done something, kinda makes you feel like shit.”

You wrap your hands around your cool glass, running your fingers up and down through the condensation. 

“Unfortunately, I’m also a hopeless romantic. So I’ve thought about just hooking up with someone so that I’m not a virgin anymore, but that’s not what I want. I want a proper relationship and someone that cares about me and wants to be with me. Seems that’s a lot to ask for though.”

Buck reaches across the table and sets his hand on your wrist. “Hey, no, it’s not a lot to ask for. And it’s not bad to be a hopeless romantic! Honestly, I think there are more people like that than we know, but they do whatever to fit in. I am sorry that you’ve felt like this is something to be ashamed of. I can’t imagine how that feels. But I also think it means any relationship you’d have would be more successful because you’ve got your shit together already.”

That makes you laugh, just a little, and Buck is immediately thrilled, fully taking your hand in his. You don’t even have it in you to argue with him. For once, you just listen and try to see yourself through his eyes. 

“Well, I do appreciate you saying all of that, Buck. It’s only that I’ve been patient for so long, and I’m starting to think being wanted isn’t in the cards for me.”

Your gaze has dropped to the glossy table in front of you. You can see the reflections from the overhead televisions, from other patrons walking by, waiters carrying trays of drinks. Buck squeezes your hand in a way that makes you lock eyes with him. 

“So…what is it you think this is then?”

You blink. You have absolutely no response in your brain that would be the appropriate answer for this question.

“You asked me out for drinks.”

His grip on your hand moves up to your wrist, and a shiver runs down your spine when you feel his thumb press into your pulse. This is the most contact you’ve ever had with a man. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of his skin on yours, the feeling of his calloused palms, shockingly cool and free of sweat, much to the contrary of your own. Your heart begins to race when it finally catches up. Maybe it’s better that this is coming on so unexpectedly.

“And…” Buck says. 

You cough even though absolutely nothing is tickling your throat. “You said you wanted to get to know me better.”

If it’s possible, Buck’s smile gets bigger. “Because?”

“You said you liked me?”

“Atta girl!” He teases. A shock of heat shoots straight from your throat down to your low belly. You pray he can’t see it on your face. Luckily, he continues talking. “So, now that we’re clear on me having a thing for you, what would you like to do with that information?”

You take a quick sip of water, mouth suddenly dry. “Well, my immediate thought is that I should run away and hide because in my head, a potential relationship, or whatever, sounds great but right now? Right here with you touching my hand and looking at me? It sounds kind of terrifying.”

Buck starts with the reading again, sliding his thumb further up until it’s nestled in the center of your forearm. It makes you shiver and his eyes flash. 

“Sounds like we’ve gotta get you out of that head of yours and into the present.”

————

With therapy, you’ve gotten exponentially better at learning how to breathe, how to focus on what’s happening right now, so that you don’t spiral out of control just thinking about what might be happening in a few hours, days, weeks. Being more present is something you’ve learned. That is, in your daily life. But when you’re not used to interacting with men, these feelings are so strange, uncomfortable and scary. 

Your imagination can only take you so far, and you’re accustomed to those limitations. Not knowing what a kiss feels like, not knowing the feeling of anyone else’s touch but your own, not being able to properly picture what might happen to your mind and body when in physical contact with someone you want.

It’s both exciting—sitting here, in Buck’s Jeep, as he drives you home, imagining that those feelings might finally be attainable—and nerve wracking, because how does any of this really work?

Reading about relationships, hearing about your best friend’s escapades, watching a love scene on tv—it’s all different than really experiencing it. Truthfully, it feels like there’s a part of your brain focused on dissociating so that your heart doesn’t fall out of your ass or so that you don’t go into hiding before anything can happen.

By the time Buck pulls into your driveway, you’re feeling like hiding might be your safest bet.

He stops the car, turns off the engine. “Let me walk you to your door?”

You nod, unbuckling your seatbelt with shaky hands. 

Buck follows you up the short sidewalk and up to your little front porch. You both pause under your outside lights, listening to the sound of crickets screeching from the shrubs. He puts his hands in his pockets and starts to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

“So, uh, you were kinda quiet on the way here…did I freak you out earlier? Because if I didn’t, I didn’t mean—”

“No!” you blurt. “You didn’t freak me out, you made me hopeful, actually, I think I’m just afraid of all that romantic stuff because I’ve never done it before…”

He smiles. “Well, yeah, of course it’s a little nerve wracking, but wouldn’t it make you happy to experience those things? Like say, a hug, for starters?”

“Are you trying to hug me right now?” You deadpan, though excitement is thrumming through your veins, blocking out any hesitance. 

“Well, actually, I was hoping to kiss you, but warm up to it first, you know?” Buck says, a teasing lilt to his voice, a naughty smirk playing on his lips. You wish there was another word for it, but there’s not. 

You freeze. Your face has got to be on fire. You bring your hands to your cheeks, covering yourself from his view. 

Buck chuckles. Loosely, he circles your wrists. “Hey, don’t hide. What’s wrong?”

You’ve glued your hands to your face. “You’re making me sweat, Buckley.”

If at all possible, this makes him smile bigger, laugh harder, insanely pleased with himself. You hear the rustling of his coat as he leans down, leveling his lips with the shell of your ear. “Is that such a bad thing?” he whispers. 

You pull away quickly, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Not fair!” you joke. “But, I would like a hug…”

At your consent, he’s on you immediately. If you thought he was big just looking at him, having his body pressed to yours, in the most beautiful bear hug embrace you’ve ever experienced, he seems impossibly huge. It makes it feel like you’re the only person in the world. He’s so warm, so solid. His arms are around your back. He’d helped guide yours around his neck, but you’re so dazed that you hadn’t noticed. 

God, he’s so tall. You can feel the soft of his tummy, and you’re afraid that if you stay like this for too long you won’t ever be able to get through another day without craving the contact. His hair is surprisingly smooth where you feel it against your cheek. His form practically swallows you whole. Not to mention how nice he smells. You’ve never been able to understand those lines in your romance novels, talking about spice and man and ginger whatever. But now you do. He smells like vanilla shampoo and woody body wash. 

“This is so nice,” you mumble into the side of his neck, way before you can talk yourself out of it. You can feel Buck’s laugh against your chest. It feels amazing. It’s like an out of body experience. 

He pulls back just enough so that he can look at you, but he doesn’t remove his arms, only shifts so that his hands are gently grasping your waist. You’ve never felt this way before—like all your nerves are being sent into overdrive. You’re alive with the smallest of touches. 

“I genuinely can’t fathom how any man has ever looked at you and not wanted to make you theirs on the spot. I could scoop you up and keep you all to myself right now.”

This time you manage to maintain eye contact with him. You grin, biting the inside of your lip. “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m feeling really brave right now so if you were serious about that kissing stuff, this might be the time to act.”

Buck tosses his head back, gleeful laughter filling the small space of your front porch. Even so, his hands move up to the sides of your neck, fingers warm against your skin. “You’re sure?” he asks, his thumb caressing your pulse. He feels a kick of cockiness knowing he’s done that to you. 

“I’m sure,” you say. Nod your head one firm time.

“Maybe your cheek first? As a warm up?”

You nod again. You’ve officially steeled yourself. Buck bends to meet you, tilting your head back just slightly so that he can reach you from a better angle. His hand cups the back of your neck as he presses his lips to your cheek. He’s so sure of himself, so passionate about this small thing, that it feels sensual. It puts you in a trance. His lips remain on your cheek for just a minute, the beginnings of stubble scratching at your skin. You have the urge to giggle like a frenzied teen.

“How was that?”

You bite your lip, hating the way you’re buzzing with adrenaline, filling with excitement at all these new sensations. But more so, you feel so special. So seen. You feel fuller than you ever have before at being treated so gently, being cherished and looked at like you’re this precious being. “I really, really liked it,” you tell him.

“Well, I’m glad.” He winks. “I did too.” He relishes in your little giggle. “How about a real one before we call it a night?”

You’re nodding again. “Yes. I would like that very much. I just want you to know that I might be really bad at it and I’m probably gonna embarrass myself and it’s probably going to be the worst, most awful kiss you’ve ever had and—”

Buck’s lips are on yours, successfully shutting you up. You squeak. 

In truth, it does feel pretty awkward for the first few seconds, buck Buck takes it in stride. Doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, just takes what you’re giving him and guides you in a better direction. He tips your head back again, slotting his lips over yours and pressing himself to you. Your brain goes completely quiet. You can’t think or feel anything that isn’t Buck. This feeling spreads throughout your body, easing the ache in your chest, making you feel light on your toes.

Relief.

You admittedly have no idea what you’re doing but try your best to follow his lead, trying to kiss him back with as much passion as you’re feeling inside, tentatively threading your fingers through his hair, setting a hand on his chest. At one point, his tongue runs over your bottom lip and you shiver. Buck’s hand flies to the small of your back, keeping you grounded. You let it happen, curious as to how it might feel. You don’t have words. He licks into your mouth, and you giggle. It makes him smile and he separates from you long enough to enquire what’s got you laughing. 

“I just realized what people mean when a couple looks like they’re eating each other's faces. It’s really nice, actually. Not as gross as people make it out to be.”

Buck snorts. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, already scrambling to get his mouth back on yours. He doesn’t feel like teasing, letting you pull him down, letting you try and lead this one. You’re so gentle—trying to figure out the right way, the way that works for the both of you, to kiss him. He likes that you treat him so carefully.

When you finally end the kiss, you break the silence created by an intense few minutes of eye contact. “Was I bad? You can tell me, I know I was a little clumsy at the least.”

“Nah, not bad,” Buck says. “You’re a quick learner. I enjoyed it. Ten out of ten, would do it again.”

“Me too. Practice makes perfect, right?”

————

For the past few weeks, things with Buck have been going well. Since that first night out, he’s prioritized getting to know you better, spending time with you that doesn’t revolve around a nasty fire and the plethora of causes it may or may not have had. Time that doesn’t allow for any of your coworkers to pick and tease. 

Buck is starting to feel like one of your best friends. That was cemented the night he watched you play Resident Evil 7: Biohazard, enraptured by how quickly you were solving the puzzles and taking down those grimy basement monsters that, frankly, scared the shit out of him. You only told him that you’d played at least four times at the end of the evening. But hey, all your romance novels have told you that the best relationships are based on solid friendships. 

You’ve had the opportunity to kiss him more, some of it sweet and exploratory, you being courageous enough to ask Buck how he likes to be kissed, if he likes it when you tug his hair, if there’s anything you can change or do differently. He’ll only answer those questions if you do first, telling him what’s working and what you want more of. As useful as all of this communication is, it was tremendously embarrassing to share your intimate thoughts with him at first. 

Some of the kissing has gotten a bit heavier. The first time you sat in his lap ran through your mind constantly for days after, appearing in your dreams, day and night. You couldn’t get over the way he felt beneath you—solid, warm, so real. How he sounded when he kissed you, how his hands felt on your hips and the curve of your ass. How it had felt when he’d encouraged you to grind against him for the first time. You hadn’t meant to moan, but it was like relief had shot through you. Like your imagination was finally getting to take a break because now you were actually doing the things you imagined. You felt so alive, so powerful, feeling him get hard between your legs, hearing the strain in his voice as he encouraged you to keep moving until you finished. 

Tonight is the first night of your long weekend. Neither of you have shifts for the next few days, and you took it upon yourself to ask if he’d like to stay over, maybe get takeout and watch a movie or something. It hadn’t been meant as a request with the hope that it would turn into something more. Frankly, you’ve been feeling more shy since that moment you shared a few weeks ago. 

You hadn’t expected to watch a movie in your bed instead of on the couch, hadn’t expected to pause it halfway through because Buck’s stare was practically burning a hole through the side of your head and you had to figure out what was up. 

“You’re staring, Buck. Is something wrong?”

He’d laughed. It was unlike a laugh you’d heard from him before. It felt sensual. It felt laced with want. 

“Nah, nothing’s wrong. I just can’t get you out of my head.”

Your eyebrows had bunched together. “But…I’m right here. Shouldn’t that help?” That laugh again. 

“That’s not what I mean, sweetheart. I mean that I can’t stop thinking about fucking you with my fingers.”

And that’s how you’d ended up on your back, head pressed to your pillows, with Buck hovering over you. He’s kissing you, dragging his tongue over the sides of your neck and kissing a trail back right back up. His hand is resting on your collarbone, fingers tilting you up to him.

“How’s this feel?” he asks, voice muffled against your shoulder. 

“G-good,” you manage. “Really good.”

He pulls back, sitting back on his knees and setting his hands on your thighs. “Yeah? You’ve been squirming an awful lot.”

The heat radiating off of you, the way you cover your mouth with the back of your hand is enough of a response. Buck doesn’t say anything more, the both of you sitting in silence for a few minutes. He knows you want to say something. But he won’t force it out of you. He’ll wait until you use your words. 

“Buck?” Your voice is a whisper. He hums. You clear your throat, and he bites his lip to hide the pride racing through him at knowing he’s got you all flustered. “What you said before, about touching me? I want you to do it.”

“Yeah?” His smile is so gorgeous, so cocky, and if you weren’t so dazed with lust you might reach out and smack him. 

“Yeah,” you say. You give him your best, pleading eyes. That’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him that way, and Buck knows that he’s gonna give in any time you do from here on out. He leans back down, kissing you again. You take one of his hands and bring it between your legs, encouraging him to cup you. “You’ve been kissin’ me like that for so long…already feel pretty wound up.”

He nudges your nose with his, a smirk playing on his lips. He sets his palm down against you, over your shorts. The heel digs into your clit and he starts rubbing you, slow, but firm enough that you gasp. Your hips buck.

“Honestly,” he says, “I’d thought about teasing you, but I feel like you deserve this, after all that patient waiting you’ve done. Is that what you want?”

His middle finger presses over your hole. You’re so warm. He can feel how damp you’ve gotten, that you’ve started to soak through your panties. 

“Please,” you breathe. “Want you to touch me, so bad, Buck.” You brace your hands on his shoulders, feeling like all this pent up sexual energy is just begging to come out. You feel feral. 

“Okay, baby, okay. Let me get your shorts off, alright?” He taps your hip and you lift up, letting him slide them down your legs.

“Oh, um,” he pauses, a concerned look on his face. “I just wanted to tell you, I-I haven’t shaved or anything. I mean, I trimmed like a week ago, but, if that bothers you, I-” 

“Hey, no big deal,” Buck says. “Doesn’t matter to me. Not ever gonna stop me from making my girl feel good.”

My girl. 

That alone felt like an orgasm.

He pulls your panties down, and you feel heat rising to your face when he marvels at how they stick to you. But the second Buck lays eyes on your perfect little pussy, he’s the one feeling dazed. 

“How no one has ever touched you like this…” He licks a stripe up your inner thigh. “How no one has ever told you how much they fucking want you, never fallen on their knees for you…” He spreads your legs farther, shamelessly trying to memorize every detail of you. “Is beyond me.” 

Buck sets his middle and ring finger on the hood of your clit, starting to rub you in slow, agonizing circles. 

“Because I feel like I could devour you right now.” 

Your feet slide up the bedsheets, legs bending at the knee and allowing Buck to get more comfortable as he settles between them. Buck sets his chin on top of your knee. He’s watching his own hand and how it moves over you. His left hand is pushing up your t-shirt just a little so that he’s massaging the fat of your hip. For a moment he pictures holding onto said hips while he fucks you for the first time, imagines what sounds you might make, and he has to keep himself from letting out a moan.

Buck slides his fingers down to circle your hole, reveling in how soft your skin is, how warm and messy and perfect. He gathers some of your arousal on the tips of his fingers, dragging it up through your lips and over your clit. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallow hard, looking up at him. “Feels good. When you do t-that—jesus—the up and down? It’s so nice, but the circles, that’s what will get me to—” 

“That’s what’ll get you to come all over my fingers?” 

You moan. It’s high pitched and whiny, a sound you didn’t know you could make. You force the words out of your throat. “Yes.”

“You wanna take a finger now?” Buck kisses your knee. You’re pretty sure he’s sucked a hickey into the skin above it while you’ve been otherwise distracted. 

“Please, please, Buck, I need to know how it feels—fuck!”

Buck’s fingers are bigger than yours. Much bigger. The sight of him hovering above you, his eyes almost black, burning with desire for you, really does you in. He starts slow: a few soft thrusts of his finger rubbing your walls, exploring the inside of you. 

Then he curls his finger upwards. Your eyes roll back in your head and at the same time your body gives away how fucking turned on you are, how desperate you are for him—and it’s loud. 

You’re so wet that your pussy squelches. Something about that sound flips a switch in Buck, and you’re crying out as he adds a second finger, curling them both, clearly enjoying the filthy sounds you’re making. 

Buck pushes your knee down and away, settling completely beside you, propped up so he can see your face properly while he’s fingering you within an inch of your life. The way he’s looking at you tells you that he’s going to make you come soon. He’s making it a mission. He wants your orgasm as much as you do. He needs it.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. ‘M so glad you let me help out this time. I bet you’ve spent so many nights spread out on this bed, fucking yourself, doing all the work alone.”

Buck’s fingers are making you brainless. You feel blissful, so serene, so calm, so fucking good. He keeps curling his fingers, scissoring them every once in a while. You want to tell him that you can’t usually come just from this, that you need external stimulation. You grab onto his bicep. 

“Yeah, yeah, Buck—I have. You’re takin’ such good care of me.” He slows down his ministrations, letting you take a breather. Letting you gather your thoughts before he pushes you over the edge. You cup his cheek, pull him down for a kiss. He’s practically got hearts in his eyes. 

“Need you to play with my clit, B-Buckley. W-won’t come without it. I wanna come.”

You look down, suddenly entranced by the way Buck’s fingers are moving inside you. He follows your gaze, chuckling to himself. “You like to watch, pretty girl? Guess next time I’ll have to get you a mirror.”

Buck pulls his fingers out of your pussy and you whine. You shiver. You feel so empty. But all is forgotten when he puts the very same fingers that were just inside of you into his mouth. He maintains eye contact with you while he sucks them clean. You moan, despite the fact that he’s not touching you. It’s just so fucking sexy.

His hand returns to your drenched skin, fingers pressing firmly against your clit. 

“Where’s that spot, huh?” he asks. “Show me where it feels the best.” You guide him, a little to your left, that spot on the hood of your clit, not directly on it where the stimulation will be too much, but the spot that has you arching your back, quite possibly more revved up than you ever have been before. 

Buck is quick to begin soothing those precise little circles again, a look of determination on his face. For a moment, neither of you say anything. There’s only the sound of your breathing, the wet, filthy sound of him rubbing at your clit.

That telltale heat spreads its way through your low belly, through the tops of your thighs, through your pelvis, up your spine. It’s right there, you think. 

“Fuck, I’m—” The words are barely out of your mouth by the time your orgasm washes over you, making the room go fuzzy, shrouding you in pure, thoughtless bliss. He fucks you through it, rubbing you until you’re twitching, successfully overstimulated. 

You lay there, covered in a sheen of sweat, attempting to restore your breathing to a normal rhythm when he comes back with a damp cloth. You’d been able to tell him where they were, tell him you could clean yourself up, but he insisted. He wipes you off, gets you clean underwear and a fresh t-shirt. 

You sit on the edge of your bed, taking in your surroundings, taking in your own feelings about what you’ve just done. You feel so nice. So special. Confident in yourself and your body. 

You feel happy. Having this little piece of you cared for so well doesn’t make you whole. You didn’t need the experience to feel complete, or like it made you normal. But you do feel powerful. This was just the icing on top of the cake. Something of a treat. You wish you could think of another way to put it, but you feel like a badass woman. 

Buck’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He bumps your shoulder. 

“I was gonna ask if you enjoyed yourself, but…I mean, I did kind of see that you did.”

You laugh, taking his hand in both of yours. “I did, Buck. I’m glad I got to do that with you. It was perfect for me.”

He shoots you a wink. “Good. And I did wanna preface that I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to do all the other stuff.” He watches the way your eyes crinkle up as you smile. 

“I look forward to doing all that other stuff with you. But for now…wanna have a sleepover?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[nerdygirlramblings]

really want to write more about Oz, but the omegaverse worms keep entering my brain

cw: attempted accents

previous

Price clocked your reactions this afternoon. He isn't stupid. He knows that being a woman, and an omega in particular, puts a target on your back. The prejudice against both your primary and secondary genders means you need to be so much better than your peers, and you are. You are outstanding in your field. Extraordinary. He's not surprised some other task force hasn't snatched you up before now.

Thankfully, he got you to agree to dinner with the team, so he has help in convincing you to join them as a teammate. And once you're on the team, they can work on convincing you to join the pack.

Two hours after you left his office, and with your parents' words ringing in your ears, you're in the mess, waiting alone at a table in the back. You're usually in the mess alone but try not to linger long. An unclaimed omega alone around so many alphas is practically asking for trouble. Just as you start worrying about Captain Price and the others, he walks in flanked by the largest man you've ever seen in your entire life, his face hidden by a mask with a painted skull on it. Price is big, but the man next to him is taller and almost twice as wide.

Price is looking around the room, but the masked man leans towards Price and points in your direction. When he sees you, Price breaks into a grin and starts heading your way. As he and the large man in the mask approach, you're able to see two smaller - in comparison - men behind them, moving with a purpose that lets you know this is the full 141. Besides Price and the mountain, there's a stocky white man with a mohawk and a beautiful, lithe black man.

When they all stand in front of you, you can smell Price's autumnal scent along with another alpha whose scent is layered in something sharp, like ginger, onion, and garlic. It's a smell you associate with Mum's cooking, but you know many find it off-putting. There's a scent of saplings or fresh snapped greenery mixed with the mellow smell of a warm day: a spring scent coated in beta. The last is another beta, but this scent is crisp and brine, the ocean made flesh. You wonder whose scent is whose.

Price steps forward, offering you his wrist, his scent, again. As you take it and bring it closer to your face, he smiles and says, "Glad ya came." You dip your head in a slight nod and drop his hand, and he takes the seat across from you. He introduces the rest of the pack task force in turn, each man politely offering their wrist before sitting down. You recognize the informal scenting ritual common when joining new groups. You did the same with your squad when you first came to base.

Leftenant Simon "Ghost" Riley is the other alpha. He is sat next to Price. Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish smells like the ocean, and Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is spring. With your permission, the sergeants are sat on either side of you.

"I wan'ed ya ta be able to put faces to the 141 before ya made yer decision," Price tells you. "This way if ya wan'ed ta see what are trainin' looks like or ask about anything, ya'd know who ta ask." Then he surprises you when he suggests you go with the sergeants, the betas, to grab trays for everyone.

"Gaz and Soap know wha' we like," he says, pointing between him and Ghost. "They can get ours while we hold the fort." He must read the confusion on your face, but he only smiles in response. This was not the behavior of an alpha trying to prove his worth to an omega. This was a Captain letting you converse with members of the task force equal to you in rank without superior officers around.

As you make your way to the food, you see Soap eyeing you. You look back a few times, clearly puzzled and a little off balance, until Gaz finally elbows him and says, "Either spit it out, mate, or stop gawkin'."

Soap grins almost manically. "Aye seen ye running th'other morn. Yoor form neyver waivered. Was a sight," he sighs. You remember someone complementing your form after a run about a week back.

"Oh, tha' was you? You were quick!"

"Nae as quick as yoo, lass. I saw yoo pass the barracks foor times. An' aye could tell yoo'd been runnin' a fair bit befoor aye saw ye. Aye cannae run tha' consistently." He doesn't miss the way you blush as his compliment.

You stand in line behind Soap with Gaz at your back. They aren't alphas, but it's hard to miss how their presence calms you, and that's without them projecting their scents for you. Simply knowing you aren't here alone, that people are here who have your back, is enough.

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

[scarletttries]

You've only been on a couple of (very successful) dates with a certain Lieutenant when you overhear Captain Price talking to him about 'Mrs.Riley'

You didn't mean to listen in but the moment you hear Ghost mention how excited he is to take his wife out properly when this deployment ends, your stomach drops. It's devastating to think that the nights you two have spent curled up together, no masks or baggage coming between you, baring your souls and bodies to each other and taking the guided tour through every scar - that those nights haven't meant nearly as much to Ghost as they have to you. And even worse, that maybe he's got someone else waiting for him at home with whom he's spent those nights before.

The two of you haven't spoken about what'll happen when the base closes down in a few months' time, but you still find yourself daydreaming about returning to Simon's little London flat together, trying to make something of your relationship out in the real world. Now it feels like that fantasy was just a pipe dream, and one you were taking away from some poor other girl waiting for her soldier to return from the war.

It's only a couple of hours later your soldier comes to find you, a usual visit to your little desk that he's been finding excuses for long before he had the nerve to ask you out for a drink off-base. He can see something's wrong from the way you barely glance up at him, instead staring around the hastily constructed office to find somewhere for a private conversation.

"Follow me." You try to keep your tone level as the hurt threatens to burst out of your chest, the now worried Lieutenant hastily following you into a small supply closet and ripping off his mask so he can get a better look at your pained expression. You know if you try to hold it in it'll only get worse so you take a deep breath and just let the words spill out before any tears can, "I don't think you should come and see me like this anymore. I overheard you talking to the Captain this morning. About Mrs. Riley. I don't want to be with someone who has a wife back home, Ghost."

Every word is like a blade to his heart, none more so that the way you used his nickname when usually you're the one person that calls him Simon. Who says his real name like it's a good thing, something to be treated kindly, not a weapon made to carry out orders. He's suddenly terrified. But not because your accusation is true, but because he's so worried the real story will only drive you away just as quickly.

"I'm not married, love." He needs you to know that's true above all else, that he would never betray you or anyone that way. "When Captain was talking about my wife...he meant you. Because that's what I've been calling you. Since just about the first time you spoke to me. Definitely after the second time, I was already a goner. You're the Mrs. Riley I want to take out when I leave this place." If he's lying, it's very convincing, a crease forming over his brow with genuine fear of how you might respond to his overzealous confession.

"Really?" You really want to believe him, the morning spent thinking you had lost your possible future together only reinforcing how much you wanted this from him.

"I swear. You can ask any of the task force fellas. Or anyone who's transferred here in the last few months..."

"You've been telling the new recruits I'm your wife?" You laugh in surprise, the bashful expression flooding his face with colour almost worth the day's anguish.

"Well I didn't want them to get their hopes up when they met you. Because I don't want anyone else to be yours." He can see the resolve softening in your features as you take in his words, the mental image of your Ghost pointing you out to his team members and planning your life together mending every crack in your fragile heart. He takes a step closer to you and lets his hands find your waist, watching you scan the every feature of his decorated face and never once recoiling. "I can promise you love, there's no else for me. And there never has been. Only you. As long as you'll still have me?" He barely has time to finish the question before your lips land on his, teeth clashing slightly as you both smiled into kiss, Simon lifting you effortlessly until your legs find his waist and he can hold you even closer.

"Of course I'll keep you, you have no idea how upset I was when I thought you had a wife!" You laugh out, the relief on your face only flooding his chest with affectionate warmth.

"I do have a wife." He replies with renewed intensity, taking your acceptance of his truth as further encouragement to keep the label. With one arm looped under your hips to keep you in place, the other begins playing with the fastening of your trousers, his lips trailing along your neck. "And I think we should start practicing for the honeymoon."

If you enjoyed this check out my other Ghost post and let me know if you want more! 👻

Like my writing, or want to request something special? Why not buy me a coffee ❤️

[criminalamnesia]

HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!

thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.

he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.

he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.

but he couldn’t take everything lying down.

did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?

he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.

he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.

he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.

but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.

but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.

simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.

and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?

you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.

the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.

and all the signs pointed to you.

and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.

price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.

johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.

then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.

simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.

maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.

but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.

all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.

and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.

so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.

and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.

even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.

he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.

but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.

the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.

it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.

the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.

“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.

“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”

simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.

“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”

“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”

price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.

“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”

“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.

price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”

the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.

he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.

“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.

price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”

simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.

“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”

they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.

pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.

although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.

but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.

an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.

you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.

damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.

you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.

he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.

‘you should have killed me.’

maybe he should have.

thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—

im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!

as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)

[ilium-ilia]

you're an angel // i'm a dog

kyle "gaz" garrick x fem!reader | omegaverse | alpha!gaz, omega!reader | masterlist

Chapter Five: fever

tw: minor smut

The office is quiet today. 

Every particle in the air vibrates at a frequency that sends a buzz barreling through the base of your skull. White bone jittering into enamel, teeth aching with each tick of the clock nailed into the wall above your head. Your co-worker types away on her phone, and the sound of her nails tapping against the screen only makes your jaw tighten. 

Something is off. An atom out of place. Molecules rearranged until the base source is unrecognizable. Wood turned to stone. Food turned to rot. 

It isn’t until John MacTavish enters your office that you realize what’s wrong. 

He’s a kind man. Everyone calls him Soap, and it’s a name you’ve picked up on too as a way to differentiate between the two John’s within the same team, though no one’s been brave enough to tell you how the nickname came around. Bright eyes glistening with an uncanny blue, his fingers tap against a thin stack of papers with your name written all over it. Something to file away and process. He greets you before holding it out for you to take, letting the silage of John Price wash over you, and though you take it with a smile, something stirs within your chest. 

“Fresh off the printing press,” Soap teases. 

“Hmm. Still warm,” you play. Pausing, you look at the heading as you allow yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. “Is Kyle doing alright?” 

Soap’s lips press together in a tight smile at your question. “What do you mean?” 

Momentarily forgetting about your work, you put the new report to the side as your shoulders tense with a shrug. “Well, it’s just that he’s usually the one to bring me Captain Price’s reports, and I realize I haven’t really seen him at all the last few days.” You attempt to shrug off your tension and brush it aside with a taut laugh. “Guess I’m just worried about him is all.” 

He nods along with your words as you speak, attentive to every syllable. Soap leans back on his heels, hands shooting up towards his chest. Though he’s been back from deployment for a week or so now, his brain must still be in combat mode with fingers attempting to reach for straps that aren’t there. 

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout him, he’s fine,” Soap assures you. “Just caught a wee bug. Price sent him home for a little while until it’s run its course.” 

There’s something hollow about his words—something you can sniff out but can’t pin. “Oh. That’s unfortunate.” 

“Aye. He’s tough though,” he humors. 

There’s a lull in the conversation. A doldrum that leaves your ears ringing. For a long moment, neither of you make a move to speak, but you’re not ignorant to the way Soap’s eyes scour you. Surveying every nook and cranny, pupils dilating at the clean crook of your neck. 

“Though, he’s been alone for a couple of days. I’ve hardly had the time to drop by and check on him,” Soap adds flippantly. “Been meaning to, but thing’s ‘ve been so busy lately since we got back, especially with him being down for the time being and—”

“I can check on him.” 

A grin. Bright teeth closed by thin lips—Soap leans forward. “Aye, really? That’d be real sweet of you.” 

“Yeah, sure. Just give me his address. I’ll drop off some stuff for him. Do you know what he’s sick with? What his symptoms are?”

There’s a glint in Soap’s eyes. Something that shines so bright it momentarily blinds you, rendering your gaze useless to his smirk. “Ah, just a bad fever is all, pet.” 

The moment the clock strikes five, you’re rushing off base and to the pharmacy. These walls and shelves are familiar to you—this is not your first time helping someone sick. When you were a kid, your mother always told you that you should be a nurse. Always ready and eager to help others; more so than the average omega. You’re not sure why the urge overwhelms you as much as it does, this desire to aid others. Bandaging the bent wing of a bird. Cooing to kittens as you feed them with bottles hardly larger than the size of their own bodies.

Maybe you just like being useful. 

You scrape off several cold medicines from the shelves before approaching the counter with your arms full. Cough medicine with a sleep aid, acetaminophen, pseudoephedrine—the pharmacy tech looks at you with raised brows. There’s enough here to cure a small battalion. Certainly enough to raise suspicions within the system. You set aside the pseudoephedrine with a breathy chuckle before snatching the other items and booking it to the grocery store. 

Canned soup. Something with high salt. Electrolytes. Then, something of substance. Plain crackers, bread—you think of things that used to comfort you when you were sick as a child and add those to your trolly. A side of hard candies. Animal crackers. 

You think of your mother. Her arm around your side, your face buried against her with a cold rag on your forehead, small body hidden beneath swathes of blankets that could have suffocated you. You swear, each time she planted a kiss on your face everything felt lighter, as if your sickness was siphoned out of you with her touch alone. Though you might not be able to offer Kyle that, you’ll do the best you can with a replacement. 

Kyle’s home comes into view just before the sun kisses the horizon. His off base housing is more accommodating than you ever would have expected—a quaint townhouse standing tall with faded bricks and obscured windows. Not a single morsel of light bleeds through the panes, and if it wasn’t for Soap’s word, you’d be convinced that he isn’t even home at all. 

It takes several minutes for him to answer the door at your beckoning. Knuckles tapping against solid wood, free hand clutching the bags of groceries—he’s shirtless when he undoes the lock. Padded muscles glow dimly in the porch light as he peeks through the open crack soaked in sweat. He’s panting as if he’s just run a marathon, chest heaving with each inhale, eyes widening as they lock onto you. 

“Oh no. No, no, no,” he murmurs. 

Kyle stumbles away from the door, not even closing it all the way before he vanishes into his den. Blinking, you follow after him, groceries long forgotten by his work boots as your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness that consumes you. 

“Kyle, is everything alright? I brought you—” 

It hits you. A tidal wave of redolence crashes down around your body, weakening your knees to the point they nearly give way beneath you. It’s thick with musk and desire, and it envelopes you with saccharine whispers just as you make sense of the sight before you. Kyle, sitting on his haunches, spine curved forward, fingers curling against the hardwood floor as if he’s ready to rip the building apart from the ground up. 

The realization knocks the air from your lungs—this sweet beta isn’t a beta at all, and he’s in rut. 

“Please leave.” He’s begging through gritted teeth, tongue hardly kept in check behind his incisors, eyes refusing to look up at you. “You don’t wanna be here for this, pet.” 

Your heart can hardly stand the sight of him—Kyle Garrick, always so kind and sweet with his playful banter. Now, he looks scared. Terrified that something will spring forth—something he can’t stop. Ignoring his warning, you step forward, hands already reaching for him. 

“I was on suppressants,” he heaves. Though he’s shirtless, he still has trousers on; a pair of joggers that can hardly hold anything back. Even with his torso curled forward, you can still see the want growing below his navel; how it pulses and screams for something—someone. “Been on them for a long time, love. But you… your scent… It drives me mad. Cuts through me like a knife.” 

Another step, you’re lowering yourself so you’re closer to his level—a skittish creature attempting to snuggle up to a predator for warmth. “When was the last time you were in rut?” 

“Too fucking long,” he snaps. “Please go. I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do. I’ll be fine on my own.” 

“Oh, Kyle.” You’re on your knees now, hands resting on your thighs for only a split moment before you decide to reach for him. His metacarpals flex beneath your palm, as his nails dig into the wood—you swear you see scratch marks left in their wake. “You’re always working so hard to take care of everyone. I see it. How you fuss over the others. How you’re always wanting to be there for everything. Let me help you.” 

He finally garners the bravery to look you in the eyes now, even though he’s certain it’ll destroy him. “You dunno what you’re asking for, pet. You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Kyle, I want to do this,” you assure. 

Your hands wander up over his arm. Crossing his wrist, his elbow, along his shoulder and the side of his neck, all the way until you’re cupping his cheek. When you add your other hand, it’s all over. He falls apart like wet tissue paper caught in a storm. He leans forward, honey-gaze darkening as his hands yank on your shirt, dragging your bodies together. 

Needy canines graze against your bottom lip as he kisses you, taut fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt to the point you swear you hear it tear. Everything swirls so quickly you can’t comprehend it. His hands over your body, tongue in your mouth, brine on your lips—then it’s your back colliding with the ground, his knees slotting between your thighs, a whirlwind of desire culminating between your bodies. 

His mouth trails lower, kissing over the valley between your breasts, tracing a line to your stomach and hips. “You’re too good to me, pet. You… are you sure?” 

His tongue questions but his actions have already made up their mind. Fingers curling into your hips, torso sliding along yours—his nose nudges at your fly before his head completely slots between your legs, face pushed up against your sex. You gasp as he breathes in, mind spiraling as his scent overwhelms you into submission. 

“I’m yours for tonight, Kyle,” you assure.  But he’s already lost in you. Mouth against the inside of your thigh, nipping at you through the fabric, he growls when you wiggle, skin too sensitive. “All mine,” he says, and it sounds dangerously close to a promise.

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[inseobts]

TRAITOR pt.1

law x traitor!reader

⤳ PART 2

words count: 2.5k

tags: series, enemies to lover(?), traitor reader

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You know, you’re not as scary as you pretend to be.”

You lean against the railing of the Polar Tang, the ocean stretching endlessly in front of you. The salty breeze plays with your hair as you glance sideways at Trafalgar Law, whose arms are crossed, golden eyes watching you with something unreadable.

“And you talk too much” he mutters.

You grin “That’s a terrible thing to say to someone who just saved your life.”

Law exhales sharply through his nose, looking away. The recent battle had left him exhausted, and if it weren’t for you stepping in at the last second, things could’ve ended badly for him. You, of course, had taken full advantage of the situation, teasing him ever since.

“I didn’t need saving” he finally says, tone dry.

“Uh-huh.” You tilt your head “That’s why you looked like you were seconds away from getting skewered?”

He glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it. If anything, there’s curiosity, like he’s still trying to figure you out. You’re a relatively new member of the Heart Pirates, joining just a few months ago. Skilled in combat, intelligent, and surprisingly resourceful, you had quickly earned the respect of the crew. Even Law, who rarely lets people close, had grown used to your presence.

And maybe, just maybe, something more than that.

It starts small.

Casual conversations late at night when neither of you can sleep. Accidental touches, like his hand brushing against yours when passing a scalpel in the infirmary, his shoulder knocking into yours when standing side by side on the deck. You tease him constantly, and though he pretends to be annoyed, you catch the way the corner of his lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smile.

Then, one evening, everything shifts.

“You’re staring” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Law, sitting across from you in his dimly lit office, doesn’t deny it. His gaze is steady, analytical, like he’s trying to see through you. It sends a strange thrill through your chest.

“You’re… different” he finally says.

You blink, caught off guard “Different how?”

“I don’t know yet.” His fingers tap against the wooden desk “But I intend to find out.”

There’s a weight to his words, a quiet intensity that makes your stomach twist. For a second, you almost feel guilty. Almost.

Because if he intends to figure you out, he’s already too late.

Then the first time he kisses you, it’s unexpected.

It happens after a fight, another skirmish with the Marines, another victory for the Heart Pirates. You’re both catching your breath in an alleyway, hidden from sight, when you turn to make some sarcastic remark, only for Law to suddenly grab your wrist and pull you against him.

His lips crash against yours, heated and desperate, like he’s been holding back for too long. And maybe he has.

You don’t hesitate. You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him impossibly close. The world fades, the sounds of battle disappearing until there’s nothing but him, his warmth, his touch, the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

When he finally pulls away, you’re both breathless.

“That was… unexpected” you murmur.

Law smirks, thumb brushing against your lips “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

You laugh softly, leaning into him “Yeah, well. You’re full of surprises, Captain.”

What you don’t say is that he’s making this too easy.

Time passes, and the relationship deepens. Law isn’t the type to be openly affectionate, but you learn to read between the lines. The way he always makes sure you’re patched up first after battles, the way his fingers linger a little longer when he touches you. The way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking.

You spend nights tangled together, whispered conversations in the dark. Sometimes, he tells you about his past, about Flevance, about Corazon, about the scars he carries that no one else can see. And you listen, pretending you’re not keeping secrets of your own.

Because this was never supposed to happen.

You were supposed to get close, gain his trust, gather information for them.

But now, with the way he looks at you, with trust, with something dangerously close to love, you start to wonder if you’ve let him get too close.

And if, when the time comes, you’ll be able to do what you were sent here to do.

You don’t realize how deep you’ve fallen until it’s too late.

It’s in the little things, how your heart beats just a little faster when Law smirks at you, how you find yourself looking for him in a room even when there’s no reason to. How you never pull away when his touch lingers longer than necessary.

You tell yourself it’s part of the act. That getting close to him is necessary, that earning his trust is just a step toward your real goal.

But then there are nights like this.

“You should sleep.”

Law’s voice is quiet, but firm. He’s leaning against the doorframe of the Polar Tang’s infirmary, arms crossed, watching you with a look that’s somewhere between amused and concerned.

You roll your eyes but don’t stop what you’re doing, patching up one of the crew’s minor wounds ���I’ll sleep when I’m done.”

“You said that three hours ago.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow “And you’re one to talk? When was the last time you slept, Captain?”

Law sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose “That’s not the point.”

You smile, shaking your head as you finish tying off the bandage. When you straighten up, Law is still watching you. His expression has softened... just a little.

“What?” you ask.

“You take care of them.” His voice is quieter now, more thoughtful. “Like you’ve been here forever.”

Your breath catches.

Because that’s not true. You haven’t been here forever. You’re not one of them.

You force a grin, nudging his arm playfully “Well, someone has to. You’re a terrible doctor when it comes to yourself. So I help if it means you can rest”

Law scoffs, but there’s no real irritation behind it. Then, to your surprise, he reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against your wrist before curling around it. It’s a simple touch, but it makes your stomach flip.

“You’re overworking yourself,” he murmurs.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the dim lighting, or the way his fingers feel warm against your skin—but you don’t pull away.

“Maybe,” you admit “But you worry too much.”

Law doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb traces a slow circle against the inside of your wrist, sending a shiver up your spine.

“I can’t help it” he finally says.

The words are soft, almost like he didn’t mean to say them out loud.

And that’s when you realize, he’s not just saying it as your captain.

He’s saying it as himself. As Law.

As the man who, against all odds, has started to care for you.

It only gets worse from there.

You’re not sure when it happens, when you stop thinking of this as a mission and start thinking of it as home.

The Heart Pirates are chaotic, loud, and ridiculous. But they’re also kind. Loyal. They treat you like family. Like you belong.

And Law—

Law lets you see pieces of him that no one else does. The quiet moments, the rare, unguarded smiles. The way he lets his walls down, just enough, when it’s only the two of you.

And you know, deep down, that this is dangerous. That you shouldn’t be letting yourself feel this much.

But then there are nights when you’re lying next to him, tangled in warm sheets, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm. When he lets out a soft sigh and pulls you closer, half-asleep, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

And in those moments, it’s easy to forget.

To pretend this is real.

That you’re not a liar.

That you’re not here for all the wrong reasons.

But the truth is always waiting.

And one day, when he looks at you with nothing but trust in his eyes, you’ll have to tell him.

Or worse—he’ll find out on his own.

And when that day comes…

You don’t know if you’ll be able to handle the way he’ll look at you then.

Life on the Polar Tang has a rhythm. A steady, comforting chaos that you’ve come to know well.

Days are spent navigating treacherous waters, dodging Marines, and patching up injuries after yet another reckless skirmish. Nights, though, are when things slow down. When the crew unwinds, when laughter echoes through the submarine’s halls, when Law finally lets himself breathe.

It’s on one of these nights that you find yourself in the middle of a full-blown disaster.

“Bepo, put that down—”

A crash. A shout. Penguin howling with laughter as Shachi dives for cover.

The common area of the Polar Tang is in complete chaos. Empty plates and bowls are scattered across the table, remnants of what was supposed to be a peaceful dinner. Bepo is standing in the middle of it all, guilty and frozen, holding what used to be a perfectly intact chair. Now, it’s nothing but splintered wood and regret.

“I barely touched it!” Bepo insists, ears flattened against his head.

“You threw it,” Ikkaku deadpans.

“It was an accident!”

Shachi, still hiding behind the couch, snickers “I told you he doesn’t know his own strength.”

“You made him arm wrestle the table...” you point out, exasperated.

“Okay, but in my defense—”

“Room.”

The entire room freezes.

Law is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. A slow, heavy silence settles over the crew. Bepo still has the broken chair in his hands. Shachi is half-hidden, looking like he’s about to bolt.

And then there’s you, sitting cross-legged on the couch, watching the disaster unfold with barely concealed amusement.

Law’s gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the mess, the guilty faces, the sheer absurdity of whatever just happened. He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do I even want to know?” he mutters.

“No,” you answer immediately “Definitely not.”

Law looks at you, unimpressed.

Penguin clears his throat “Uh, so, funny story—”

“No stories,” Law interrupts, already done with everyone’s nonsense. “Bepo, clean this up. The rest of you—figure out how to replace that chair. And if I hear one more crash tonight, I’m throwing all of you overboard.”

A collective groan echoes through the room, but no one dares argue.

As the crew reluctantly begins cleaning up, you watch Law turn to leave, only for him to hesitate, then glance at you. His brow furrows slightly, as if debating something. Then, after a moment, he jerks his head toward the door.

“Come with me.”

You blink “Uh, am I in trouble?”

His lips twitch, just barely “Not yet.”

You follow him to his quarters, where the air is quieter, calmer. Law shuts the door behind you, then leans against the desk, arms crossed.

“You looked entertained back there,” he remarks.

You smirk “Oh, I was. That was the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

Law shakes his head, exhaling through his nose “They’re impossible.”

“They’re yours.”

His gaze flickers to you, something unreadable in his expression. You don’t think much of your words, you meant them as a joke, nothing more.

But for a split second, something shifts.

You see it in the way his fingers tighten slightly against his arm. In the way his golden eyes linger on you, searching.

And for the first time, you wonder... does he think of you as his, too?

The thought is dangerous.

You push it aside, grinning instead “So, what do you need me for, Captain? Because if it’s paperwork, I—”

Law rolls his eyes before you can even finish “Shut up.”

And then, quicker than you expect, he reaches out, fingers curling around your wrist, tugging you forward. It’s not forceful, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch, to send a rush of warmth through you.

His hands are always cold, but his touch is steady. Solid.

“Stay here” he murmurs.

You don’t answer right away. Because you know that if you stay now, it’ll only get harder to leave later.

But when he looks at you like that... like he’s choosing you, again and again.

You can’t bring yourself to say no.

You don’t pull away.

Law’s fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, his touch firm but not forceful. You’re close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, the quiet hum of the submarine around you.

He doesn’t say anything else—just watches you, waiting.

You swallow “You’re being weird.”

His brow twitches “You’re the one staring at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re debating something.”

Your heart skips a beat.

Because, of course, you are.

You’ve been debating it for weeks now, maybe even months. How much of this is real? How much of this is an act? And most terrifying of all... are you the one being played?

Because the way Law looks at you sometimes, with quiet intensity, with something dangerously close to trust, it makes you feel like a terrible person.

And yet, here you are, standing in his quarters, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, not moving away.

“I was just thinking,” you say finally, keeping your voice light “That you’re kind of clingy.”

Law scoffs and immediately drops your wrist “Forget it. Get out.”

You laugh, catching his hand before he can fully pull away. His eyes snap to yours, slightly surprised, but he doesn’t stop you when you lace your fingers together.

“I’m joking,” you murmur, voice softer now “I don’t mind.”

Law exhales slowly, like he’s trying to decide whether or not you’re messing with him again.

“…You’re exhausting,” he mutters.

“You like it.”

“I tolerate it.”

You smirk “Same thing.”

His lips twitch, just barely, before he tugs on your hand, pulling you toward the bed. You go without resistance, letting him sit on the edge while you stand between his knees, still holding his hand.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then, quietly, he says, “You don’t have to keep proving yourself, you know.”

The words hit you harder than they should.

You blink “What?”

“You act like you have something to prove,” he says, tilting his head slightly “Like you need to earn your place here. But you already have.”

Your stomach twists.

Because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that this entire thing is a lie, that you shouldn’t have a place here, that—

“Hey.” His voice is softer now. His free hand reaches up, fingertips barely brushing your hip “Did I say something wrong?”

You force a laugh, shaking your head “No, no. Just surprised you’re saying something nice for once.”

Law rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance there.

“I say nice things,” he mutters.

You smirk “Name three.”

He pauses.

Then, after a moment, he says, “You’re competent.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“You’re reliable.”

“Still sounds like a job review.”

He sighs, giving you a dry look “You’re annoying, but I don’t hate it.”

Your smirk widens “Aww, Captain. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He huffs, but his hand tightens slightly around yours, thumb brushing against your knuckles.

You don’t know what you’re doing anymore.

You don’t know if this is still part of the plan, or if you’re just falling into something you can’t escape from.

But for now, in this quiet space, with his fingers laced with yours and his golden eyes watching you like you matter...

You let yourself pretend.

Just a little longer.

[nightcrews]

NSFW

Captain Price has been off lately.

Not when it comes to mission work, no, because Price lives, eats, breathes, and sleeps his work. He studies it and shapes it every which way, because under no circumstances would he be losing any of his subordinates to an oversight on his part.

He’s off when he’s home, back on base. Withdrawn, exhausted, snappy. He isolates himself in his office, barking at anyone who dared interrupt him. It isn’t unusual for the boys to give him shit, and he always told them off but with a half-smile while doing it. Lately though, the smile isn’t there, and he doesn’t do much else with them. Doesn’t go to the pubs, doesn’t hang in the rec room, doesn’t even make up excuses to have the 141 meet in his office.

The boys are rightfully concerned, wandering around aimlessly like kids whose father was angry. Soap pokes his head into Price’s office at one point, and nearly gets it taken off. Ghost leaves after a briefing, slamming the door behind him. Gaz attempts to bring him a cigar, only to come back out of the office looking like he’d seen the pits of hell.

You know it’s the weight of the rank resting heavy on his shoulders. The weight of lives, of responsibilities none of you knew, of bureaucratic nonsense that ate him up inside. Price was a natural born leader, a good one, one that men would follow to their deaths for because it was him asking and not just the casualty of being a soldier. He was born to lead, but he was not born for the politics that came with it.

As your attempted peace offering, you’d brought a bottle of whiskey to his office, the kind you knew he liked, risking the wrath of several meetings and no sleep. He’d given it to you at first, all bark and bite and snarling teeth. But you’d come around his desk to lean against it next to him, sliding a glass of whisky into his hand.

“Relax, Captain.”

He’d sighed, grumbled a little, and then took a sip, which lead to two, and then another glass. After that, he poured you one, and you quickly fell into the depths of the bottle. Conversation turned from the job to personal. Very, very personal, past the line of Commander and Subordinate.

Which is how you found yourself in his lap, shirt pushed up so he could mouth at your tits, his tongue and teeth rolling a nipple between them. He sucks a bruise into your breast, your hips rolling against the hard line of him through his pants.

Your hands fumble with his duty belt, letting it fall away as you unbutton his pants, yanking the fly open to get your hands on him. He’s thick and flushed and throbs in your hand when you finally wrap it around him, watching his head fall back and lips part on a sigh.

His own hands leave your waist, pushing you up just enough to get your tac pants down over your ass, throwing you over a shoulder to get one leg out. And then he’s guiding you back down, right onto his cock, praising how well you take him as every inch of him fills you, stretches you open around his girth.

Your nails bite into his shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt as he slowly rocks his hips up into you, and when you’re finally able to think around more than just his cock, you meet his thrusts with frenzied ones of your own.

It turns into something frantic, both of you rutting into each other with desperate little movements. You use his shoulders as leverage to roll your hips, leaning back slightly to keep him deep. In turn, Price squeezes your ass in his big hands, dragging you forward with every upstroke he gives you.

And the noises. He has his head tipped forward, eyes watching his cock sink into you, with his lips parted to groan out his pleasure, to mumble little lines of praise. How good you are for him, how tight you are, how great your pussy feels. All the while the slick sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy fills his office.

His arms pull you flush against him when he comes up inside you, holding you tight, muffling his grunts into your tits. His hips grind hard into you, makng the zipper of his tac pants bite into the soft flesh of your ass.

You think that’s that when he pulls out, and you rise to your feet, reaching down to shove your leg back into your pants, but Price’s hands wrap around your wrists.

His eyebrows are furrowed and he has a frown on his face, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Putting my pants back on?” You say like it’s obvious.

“No the fuck you’re not.” He says it low in his throat, raspy like it gets in the field.

He lays you out on his desk, hands squeezing your tits a few times before he gets down on his knees and buries his face in your pussy. His fingers slide into you, making a mess of the mix of your slick and his come. He’s not even shy that he can probably taste himself on you, that his chin is probably coated with himself. He just takes his time there, stroking along inside you and sucking on your clit like he had all the time in the world.

He makes you come on his face, adding to the mess in his beard, thighs squeezing his head while your fingers tangle in his hair.

After that, Captain Price has a noticeable pep in his step, mood drastically improving. No one knows what you did, but they thank you for it.

So, the next time it starts going sour, when he gives everyone glowering looks and snappy responses, the guys implore you to do whatever you did last time. Just to see if it would work again.

You go happily.

No one had to ask you twice.

Masterlist

[milkk--t]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐩𝐭. 𝟏)

pairing: john price x gn!reader synopsis: you're the 141's new administrative assistant. you end up falling for captain john price too fast and too hard, only to realise you're wasting your time and energy on someone who won't reciprocate. the kicker? he only started to realise his feelings for you when you moved on. [wc: 2.2k] note: this post by @hahaifolded had me in a chokehold and i couldn't resist creating an entirely new blog just so i can post my word vomit about it. halfway through writing i noticed i got too self-indulgent by how my insecurities bled into this fic (oops sorry). i wrote this with poc!reader in mind, but it's so subtle that i just kept the tags ambiguous. part 2 with price's pov will follow but i'm such a slow writer lol. tags: angst; hurt/no comfort; people-pleaser!reader; one-sided pining

masterlist | next part

the past few months made it clear that 141's operations became increasingly dangerous and wrapped in more red tape than ever. at one point, captain john price found a literal tower of backlogged paperwork sat on his desk, waiting to be processed after another gruelling mission.

paperwork—such a menial yet tedious task, he thought.

in attempt to ease the burden off his shoulders, laswell assigned you as the task force's designated administrative assistant.

it was nerve-racking at first. though you had a couple years of military administration experience under your belt, being part of a special operations force was new territory. the first few days consisted mostly of polite and frankly awkward exchanges between you and the team (*cough* ghost), but the ice eventually melted.

it started off small: greetings with warm smiles, professional conversations shifting to casual topics, as well as playful jokes. the 141 were an interesting bunch—it wasn't too difficult to grow a connection with them after a couple of weeks.

before you realised it, you found yourself thinking about a certain captain more times in a day than you thought about what to eat for dinner. you noticed the way he looked out for his boys with genuine care, the way he easily commanded an entire room with his sexy deep voice, how he remained level-headed even in the most stressful situations.

not to mention how respectful and friendly he was with you, and how he made you feel like you were part of the team.

there was just something about the way he carried himself that made you want to drop everything to please him. call it a desperate thirst for validation and acceptance, but you'd go above and beyond for the man.

you couldn't help it. sometimes you were just loyal to a fault without realising it.

while your main responsibility was to handle paperwork, you went out of your way to do some additional tasks that weren't necessarily written in your contract.

"morning, captain," you greeted him one day as you entered his office with a large paper cup in one hand and a manila folder in the other. "i thought you'd appreciate a fresh brew."

on your way to work, you had stopped by your local coffee shop to pick up some drinks for the boys. you recalled their preferred orders from past conversations and neatly wrote down their names on each respective cup before handing them out at base. the other three had already received their drinks (and thanked you), which only left the captain's.

you set down his cup on the desk in front of him, a cute little heart drawn next to his name. price looked up from his screen and gave you a smile, the one that slightly squished his cheeks and showed his crow's feet. "cheers, love."

that small gesture was enough to make your pulse quicken. you couldn't remember when his simple gratitude suddenly meant the world to you. with a friendly expression on your face, you presented the folder containing some documents. "and here is the report you asked for yesterday."

you didn't tell him you worked overtime to finish it.

"ah, efficient as always," price noted with a nod of approval. "you can just put it over there. thanks again."

your infatuated mind was so caught up in his praise that you missed the way he immediately turned back to his laptop without much interest as you set the folder down on the desk.

still, you were quite cheerful that day, and coffee shop errands became a regular occurrence afterwards.

of course, in order not to make your crush on price too obvious, you would sometimes get the other boys their caffeinated drinks as well.

the clacking rhythm of the keyboard filled your office space as you diligently worked. your fingers danced nimbly over the plastic keys as strings of words formed on the screen in front of you.

it was the sound of your name laced in a familiar scottish brogue that pulled you out of your focus.

there soap stood in your open doorway, one hand on his hip while the other held the doorframe. "sorry, you got a minute? i need your help with something," he said.

"of course," you nodded in reply and gestured for him to take a seat. "what's wrong?"

soap's lips curled into a sheepish smile as he dropped into the chair across from your desk. "i know this is becoming a bit of a habit, but i've been a wee behind on my paperwork again and i'm also drowning in requisition forms..."

you held back an amused grin at his words, eyeing him knowingly as he continued, "...so i was wondering if you could help—"

a knock was heard, interrupting soap's request. your gaze shifted towards the doorway once more, but this time you were met with the sight of price, stood there with his knuckles still poised against the open door.

"captain," you greeted him, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. "what can i do for you?"

soap didn't miss the way your face lit up at the sight of price, and how you unintentionally ignored the scot halfway through his request.

price stepped inside, his presence immediately commanding the small office space. "is this a bad time?" he asked, glancing at the sergeant who turned his head around to look at the captain too. "soap, are you asking them to do clean up after you again? they've already got enough on their plate."

"aye, but i was hoping they wouldn't mind me squeezing in this one favour..."

"and i don't, i promise," you assured them both, shaking your head. hearing price acknowledge your workload sent warmth spreading through your chest. he noticed. he actually noticed.

you stood up and walked around your desk to take a few steps towards him to take the attention off poor soap. "how can i help you, sir?"

"need you to look over these deployment schedules," price revealed as he turned his gaze back to you. god, those gorgeous blue eyes. then you noticed the dark circles that shadowed them, evidence of another sleepless night spent planning operations.

your pulse quickened; he trusted you with these things. not to mention how the chance to be helpful to price and stay in his good graces made your stomach flutter. "of course, captain. right away."

you reached for the manila folder that he handed over, your fingers brushing momentarily. the brief contact sent electricity up your arm, though you didn't notice that price seemed entirely unaffected.

soap's eyebrows shot up as he watched the exchange. this, and your immediate abandonment of his paperwork crisis. putting two and two together, soap got out of his seat and backed away with exaggerated surrender.

"well then," he chuckled. "i should probably get back to work myself."

you gave him an apologetic look, but he merely sent you a silent, teasing wink in return before he left the room. he knew about your little secret.

some more weeks passed. after a mission brief, the team was all gathered in the break room. you were passing by with another stack of mission reports in your hands, your fingers tracing the familiar scrawls of price's annotations on yellow post-it notes. you'd memorised every loop and dot by now, and how his signature grew messier after long work days.

without realising it, you had halted by the doorway to watch the boys. soap noticed your presence and warmly invited you to join him and ghost, who were standing near the table while price and gaz made tea by the kitchen counter.

"hard at work, i see," soap remarked with his usual playful grin. you glanced down at the papers in your hands.

"i guess so," you replied with a smile. earlier that day, you had organised price's files by priority, restocked his cigar humidor, and ensured his favourite tea was available in the break room. your small gestures went unnoticed, dissolved into the routine chaos of military life.

as if on queue, you spotted price taking the box of said teabags from the cupboard, unaware that you were the one who put it there. his sleeves were rolled up, revealing hairy forearms marked with old scars and newer bruises. those strong, muscular arms... you couldn't help but let your mind wander a little.

when price laughed at something gaz said, the sound carried to the other side of the room where you stood, making your heart stutter a little.

"you know," ghost gravelly voice made you jump, "staring won't make him notice faster."

warmth flooded your face. "i wasn't—"

"'course not," he deadpanned, masked face tilted slightly. "just saying, you sure put in a lot of effort for someone who doesn't really see you."

the lieutenant's words struck you like a physical blow. each millisecond that passed carving deeper into wounds you had been ignoring. your grip around the papers tightened, knuckles whitening as reality smacked you across the face. you didn't register the way soap nudged ghost in warning.

you had been running yourself ragged, staying late to help with price's backlog of work, memorising his food and drink preferences, ensuring his paperwork was pristine before it reached his desk, tidying up after him before clocking out that day. all those small acts of devotion with the hope to catch his attention.

yet nothing had changed. price wasn't any more pleasant to you than he was with the boys. your little gestures, at least the ones he noticed, received gratitude... but they were never reciprocated. it felt even more embarrassing when you realised that he didn't owe you any more than that.

only then did it dawn upon you that while you had looked at price with heart-eyes this entire time, he never really spared you a second glance.

even ghost knows... how pathetic am i? you thought to yourself, the notion twisting like a knife. then you shot soap a glare in silent accusation. he must've told ghost about your crush on price—how else would he have known of the things you did for the captain? unless you were just that obvious...

"fuck," you whispered, the curse slipping out before you could stop it. ghost's observation had ripped away the comfortable delusion you made yourself believe.

"ghost didnae mean it like that," soap tried to soften the blow. but it was too late.

you shook your head, forcing a smile on your face. it looked more strained than anything. "no, he has a point, i... must've looked really stupid, huh?"

"don't say that... you could always try talking to him," the scot offered as he gave you a firm, sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"yeah, maybe."

you didn't get much work done that day, which was unusual since you were always on top of your game. price did not seem to notice that either.

perhaps you were just overthinking things. maybe you needed to change strategies and be more direct. be resilient and never give up halfway, right?

despite ghost's wake-up call, you felt a stubborn ember of hope flicker within you.

or maybe you were doing too much after all—it wouldn't be the first time. growing up, you've realised that sometimes you were loyal to a fault with no regard for your own well-being and individuality.

someone badmouthed your best friend? you were ready to defend them to hell and back, even if it ruined your own reputation. your crush had an issue with a particular someone? that person instantly became your enemy without question, even if it meant burning bridges with those around you.

that behaviour had toned down quite considerably over time, but sometimes you still felt like that kid in middle school who just wanted to be seen and heard.

hell, that used to be the only way you were seen and heard, even if it was just for brief moments.

so you decided to confront price and get it over with. you had rehearsed your confession in your mind a hundred times over by the time that you were making your way towards price's office.

when you arrived, you noticed that the door was ajar. stepping closer, you heard soap's voice from the other side. that was when you realised they were talking about you.

"they're really somethin', that one," the scot sang your praises, perhaps trying to make it up to you after the break room incident. "always on top of things, keeps us all in line. the team's better with them around."

a small smile crept onto your face, finding solace in the fact that your friend genuinely seemed to appreciate your presence in the team.

but price's reply completely shattered your soul.

"they're just admin, mactavish," his gruff voice reached your ears, "good at their job, sure. but let's not get carried away."

the words hit you harder than you thought. just admin. that was all you were to him. the ember of hope died, leaving only bitter ash.

you silently backed away as your eyes began to sting. your chest felt hollow and your limbs heavy. all those late nights at the office, all those gestures, all that effort. they meant nothing to him.

fuck this, you thought. you wanted to laugh, or cry, you didn't know.

it always ended like this; no matter how much devotion you showed, they would never do the same for you. not once were you anyone's first choice. you were convenient and useful until you were no longer needed.

you had stupidly been content playing the devoted shadow, hoping your silent service would somehow translate into something more.

but it was time to stop. no more pining for a man who saw you as nothing more than a glorified secretary.

without a sound, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of your infatuation with price.

[a-b-riddle]

Not me imagining medic reader who acts weird around Ghost.

At first everyone thinks that you’re just weirded out. 6’4 wall of a man in a skull mask. His eyes covered in black makeup and eyes such a deep brown they’re almost black. Anyone in their right mind would be on edge.

But then as time progresses it doesn’t stop. You don’t ease up no matter how many times you’ve been around Ghost. Eventually the 141 begins to suspect something much more sinister.

Theories of knowing something about Ghost you shouldn’t. Are you working for Makarov and worried? Your eyes never leave him anytime he enters a room. Your voice wavering anytime he asks you a question. You’re not like that with the others. You’re hiding something. And they know it.

Johnny is the one you’ve gotten closest to in the 141. The one who wants to believe you’re not a traitor. You’re Birdie for Christ’s sake. Their bird, as they call you. You couldn’t be betraying them. He’s able to convince the guys to let him get you drunk. See if you slip up.

It’s a quiet night on base. Johnny had manage to get flavored vodka imported. Enticing you to come have a drink in his barracks.

And boy, do you.

You get too tipsy to notice how off Johnny seems. How his voice is softer, more alluring. You also down notice the phone face down on the table, serving as a live walkie-talkie between him and the others listening in Price’s office.

Johnny and you bullshit around. Talking about F1 racing, the need for more help in the medbay and even what your plans are when you get back home.

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He needs to know.

“What’s your deal with the Simon?” He finally asks. His question grants you pause, almost instantly sobering you up. Johnny sees it in your eyes. His heart breaking because he begins to believe he was wrong.

“Hen,” his hand grabs yours, when you don’t say anything. “I know something is going on.” You try and pull away but he doesn’t let go.

“Have-” you begin, trying to figure out how to tell him. Johnny is your friend. He wouldn’t care. But you fail to come up with the words. “Fuck.”

“Please.” He begs. “You know you can tell me.” You wait. Contemplating if you should tell him. But then it could mean losing any respect you had earned with them.

“You can’t judge me.” You made him promise, tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I won’t.” He promises, offering a squeeze of reassurance. He knew that the moment you confessed to whatever it was you were hiding, the team would be in there. He knew what would happen to you. And although there were no romantic feelings he held toward you, he still cared.

You took a deep breath.

“It’s the mask.” You confessed. “It’s hot.” Now it was Johnny’s turn to pause.

The mask?

“What?” He asked in disbelief, pulling his hand off of yours. “What do you mean it’s hot?” “You’re worried that he’s sweating underneath it.”

“I want to fuck him.” It felt like a weight lifted the moment your confession of lust escaped your lips.

Johnny sat there, knowing his Captain, fellow Sergeant and, most importantly, his Lieutenant were listening on the other end of the phone.

“Simon.” he clarified. “Ye want to fuck Simon.”

“I mean if he keeps the mask on.” You shrug, looking at his bewildered expression. “It’s a kink, Johnny. Some people like feet or being led around on a dog leash.” You down the rest of the sweetened liquor, cringing as the last sip makes your stomach flip. “Men in masks do it for me. It’s a thing now. Lots of women like it.”

He doesn’t say anything. The room filled with uncomfortable silence until he breaks out in laughter.

“If you say anything, I will murder you and we both know I can make it look like an accident.” You threaten.

“Feckin’ hell.” He sighs, wiping tears from his eyes. “This isn’t how I expected the conversation to go.”

“Well,” you say standing, needing a moment to get your bearings. “It’s also over. I’m calling it a night.”

“I’ll walk ye back to yer room.” He says standing.

“No need.” You wave off. “I’m good.”

He knows you’re right. But now guilt eats away at him for even thinking you were a traitor. So he lets you go, listening to the sound of your footsteps fading as you walk down the empty corridor.

Several minutes later the others join him in his barracks. None of them saying something until, Johnny looks at Simon.

“Looks like the little Bird has a thing for you, Lt.”

Simon rolls his eyes.

Thankful that his mask is hiding his shit eating grin.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Her Turn Now - 1

Character: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Twin sisters. Opposite worlds. The eldest is a tough, no-nonsense soldier. The youngest is a quiet, hardworking corporate girl. They rarely meet—until the younger sister collapses from stress, hiding months of workplace bullying.

Furious and protective, the soldier twin trades places with her. Heels off, boots on. Now, the office has no idea what's coming.

She doesn’t play nice. She doesn’t play fair. And while she's serving justice in a pencil skirt, the ruthless CEO starts to take notice…

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , -

The wind changes.

Hot and dry, it kicks sand over the bodies cooling in the sun. Your rifle hangs loose in your grip now, barrel lowered, fingers flexing to shake off the stiffness. The shot was perfect. You always make it perfect. But perfection doesn’t quiet the unease crawling up your spine.

You stand, brushing the dirt from your pants as Ortiz approaches, helmet tucked under his arm and grinning like a fool.

“You ever miss?” he teases, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Only when I want to,” you reply, dry as the desert air.

He laughs and offers a knuckle bump. “Clean job, Captain. You’ll get the brass off our backs for at least two weeks.”

Behind him, Casey whoops and twirls her rifle like a baton. “Permission to call this op a goddamn masterpiece?”

“You’d call it that even if we lost a leg,” Dom snorts, limping slightly with his pack slung uneven on his back. “You get weird after adrenaline.”

“Shut up, Dom,” Casey says, tossing him a canteen. “We pulled it off. No casualties. No surprises. That deserves at least one drink.”

“Ten,” Ortiz corrects. “We’re going home, remember? Full leave. We’ll be stateside by midnight.”

Cheers go up again. Someone claps you on the back, but your mind’s already drifting.

Home.

It’s a word that never feels quite real to you. You’ve lived longer in war zones than anywhere with walls and blankets that weren’t standard issue. But your sister’s there. She is your constant. Her soft voice over the phone. Her awkward texts. The way she tries not to make you feel guilty for never showing up.

You’re thinking of her when you board the transport. When the team settles in with helmets off and boots kicked up, comparing bruises like trophies.

Ortiz nudges your shoulder as the engines roar. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“No, seriously,” he says. “When’s the last time you actually rested during leave?”

You raise a brow. “What are you, my mother?”

“Nope. Just the guy who has to carry your grumpy ass through every op.”

There’s laughter, the kind that only comes after a mission survived. The kind that releases tension built over days of silence and killing. It’s always loud after the quiet. Always messy after the clean shot.

As the transport lifts, Dom leans forward. “So what’s the first thing everyone’s doing when we land?”

“Pizza,” Casey answers immediately.

“Beer,” Ortiz adds.

“Shower,” someone mumbles from the back.

You smirk faintly. “Sleep.”

“No boyfriend waiting, Captain?” Casey teases.

You just stare at her. That shuts her up.

The hum of the engine fills the space between conversations. Outside, the sky turns golden with sunset. The kind of view that makes people homesick.

Your phone vibrates.

You frown, glancing at the screen. Unknown number.

You step away from the others, pressing it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss McCain? The emergency contact for Levi McCain?” The voice on the other end stumbles. Young. Nervous. “I’m calling from Central Hospital. Your sister was just admitted.”

Your stomach tightens.

“What happened?”

“She—she overdosed. We think it was intentional. She’s stable… for now. But… we don’t know how long she was alone.”

Everything stops.

The engine hum. The voices. The light.

You stare ahead, unblinking, as the nurse keeps talking—but you’re no longer listening.

Ortiz appears beside you, reading your face like a battlefield map. “Captain?”

You shove the phone into your vest and push past him.

“I need a vehicle. I need to get to her.”

“Wait, what happened?”

“She’s in the hospital.” Your voice is low. Firm. “She almost—” You bite it back. “I need to move.”

“You’re supposed to report to the Colonel,” Dom says, confused.

“Screw the Colonel.”

You’re already walking.

Ortiz curses and signals the rest. “Gear up. We’re going with her.”

And without question, they follow.

Because no one’s ever seen you panic. Not once. Not in fire, not in blood. But now your steps are too fast, your hands are shaking, and your silence is loud enough to make them all afraid.

You’ve never asked for help.

But this time, they don’t wait for you to ask.

🏥🏥🏥🏥

“Levi McCain? Is she here?” you demand, breath sharp and uneven, as you rush to the front desk of the ER.

The nurse behind the counter startles, eyes darting from you to the uniformed soldiers flooding in behind. “Uh… yes. She’s in—uh—room six. But please—”

You don’t wait. Your boots hit the linoleum with a jarring rhythm, your team trailing behind in shocked silence.

You reach the room and freeze in the doorway.

There she is.

Your twin.

Levi.

Lying on the hospital bed like a broken version of herself. Her skin, once vibrant and flushed with the soft glow of moisturizers and tinted creams, looks gray under the fluorescent lights. Her cheeks are hollowed, clavicles sharper. She used to wear soft pastels, delicate accessories. Now, even the hospital gown dwarfs her frame.

She looks like a stranger wearing your sister’s face.

A nurse adjusts her IV line, and that’s when Levi stirs. Her eyes flutter open, disoriented at first—then she sees you.

She blinks, frowns faintly, and turns her face away.

“Who told her to come here?” she mutters, voice rough.

“That’s the first thing you say?” you breathe out, the ache rising in your throat. You cross the room in two strides and kneel beside her bed. “That’s what you say to someone worried to death?”

You pull her into a hug, your arms wrapping around her fragile frame.

It feels like hugging a memory.

God, when did she get this thin?

You hadn’t seen her in eight months. The last video call, she had looked tired, but you figured it was just work. Stress. The corporate world was brutal. But Levi always looked put together. She was the polished one. The softer one. The one who smiled at strangers and didn’t scare boys off just by standing too straight.

Now, her spine juts through the back of the gown. You can feel every rib.

You pull back, your hands trembling as you study her face—sunken, pale, eyes rimmed with dark circles. She refuses to look at you. Shame? Guilt? You can’t tell.

“Levi,” you say gently, tilting her chin so you can meet her eyes. “Look at me.”

Her lashes flutter, and she finally meets your gaze. There's something broken behind them.

“What happened?” your voice is low, steady. “Did someone hurt you? A stalker? An ex?”

You hate how your mind is racing with threats. Levi was always the one guys fawned over. Back in school, your locker was left untouched. Hers? Overflowing with chocolates, roses, handwritten notes. The golden twin. The soft one. The one they thought they could handle.

She shakes her head.

“No,” she murmurs and pushes your arms away, slowly lying back against the pillows. Her movement is tired, almost defiant.

You stare at her. Frustration rising like bile.

“Levi.” You step back but your voice sharpens. “You’re in a hospital bed. Don’t act like you’re fine.”

She doesn’t answer.

“I’ll call Mom and Dad.”

“No!” she snaps, grabbing your wrist with weak fingers. Her eyes widen.

You freeze.

“Why?” you ask, heart pounding. “Why are you being so secretive?”

“If Dad finds out…” she swallows hard, tears welling but not falling, “he’ll kill everyone.”

Your breath catches.

“Everyone?” you repeat. The word hits heavy. “So it’s not just one person who did this to you? What kind of hell did you get dragged into, Levi?”

She gives a bitter, humorless scoff. “Problem? You think this is just one problem? I’m drowning in it. All of it. You have no idea how deep it goes.”

You crouch beside her again, your voice softening. “Then tell me. Stop talking in riddles. I can help you.”

She looks at you. Silent. Torn.

“I’m not asking anymore.” Your jaw clenches. “If you don’t tell me, I will tell Dad.”

She flinches, lips parting like she’s been struck.

“No—don’t. Please.”

You hold your ground.

“Then talk to me.”

Levi’s fingers trembled as she held onto the edge of the blanket. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke, “It started with the manager.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

She looked at you then, her eyes glassy, and the words came out in a shaky rush. “There was a budget report. A mistake. I thought I was helping when I pointed it out. I did it privately, not to humiliate him, I swear. But... after that? Everything changed.”

You stayed quiet, listening, though your fists clenched at your sides.

“No one would sit with me at lunch. People stopped answering my emails. My desk got moved… shoved into the corner like I didn’t belong. I started getting dumped with work. Not just mine—everyone’s. Even intern jobs. Like printing flyers. Making coffee. Picking up supplies.”

She laughed bitterly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I thought I could bear with it. Keep my head down. I didn’t want to cause trouble, I thought… maybe it would pass. But it didn’t.”

Your heart sank as you watched your twin’s composure fall apart piece by piece.

“I was the popular one, remember?” she whispered. “People used to like me. I didn’t know how to be invisible. And then the silence, the fake smiles, the isolation… It was too much. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I just… wanted to feel normal again.”

You noticed her hand twitch over the thin hospital blanket.

“I started taking antidepressants. Just one at first. Then two. Then I didn’t count anymore. I didn’t even realize how many I took today until I was on the floor.”

Her voice broke, and so did something inside you.

“Fuck, Levi…” you gasped, your voice sharp with disbelief and fury. “I’m gonna kill them.”

“No! Don’t,” she cried out, grabbing your wrist with all the strength she could muster.

“Why do you care about them when they nearly killed you?” Your voice rose despite yourself. “Do you even realize what could’ve happened today?”

She looked away, biting her lip, eyes stinging with tears. “Because it was my dream job.”

You stepped back, stunned. “Your dream?”

“You don’t understand…” she said softly, the words barely forming. “You’ve always belonged in the military, just like Dad. You fit in, you have command, respect. I don’t. I never liked the field, the isolation, the rules. I liked people. I liked the city, the rhythm, the energy. I wanted to work in a glass building, wear heels, drink overpriced coffee, and be someone.”

Her voice cracked again, and you saw the girl who used to twirl in front of her closet, planning outfits the night before school, asking for your opinion even though she knew you’d just grunt and shrug.

You exhaled through your nose, jaw clenched. She wasn’t weak. She had just been broken by the very world she thought would lift her up.

Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and a doctor stepped in—a woman in a navy scrub top and tired eyes.

“The patient needs to rest,” she said kindly but firmly.

You nodded, even though you didn’t want to let go of your sister again.

“Get some sleep, okay?” you said quietly to Levi.

She didn’t answer, but you saw her grip the edge of the blanket again—like a child afraid to be alone.

You gave her one last glance before stepping out.

The hallway outside the room was quieter now. Your team stood at a respectful distance. You waited for the doctor to finish checking Levi’s IV and then approached her.

“Doctor,” you said, voice lower now, steady. “Can I ask what exactly happened to my twin?”

The doctor nodded. “She’s under extreme psychological stress. High cortisol levels. Insomnia, malnourishment, emotional collapse. Her body is running on fumes. She’s lucky she didn’t go into cardiac arrest.”

You felt your stomach twist.

“She needs time. Not just physically—but mentally. If she keeps going at this rate, we’ll be seeing her again. And next time, it might be too late.”

“I agree,” you said with a firm nod. “She needs to rest. Whatever it takes.”

The doctor gave a soft sigh. “We’ll run a few more tests. If everything looks stable, she might be discharged tomorrow. But she’s not out of the woods.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

You left the hallway and walked outside the hospital’s automatic doors. The night air hit you like a slap—cool, heavy with city noise and distant sirens.

You sighed.

It felt like the adrenaline from the mission earlier had evaporated. The celebration, the cheer of your team, the taste of victory—it all felt meaningless now. Because the person you’d spent your life protecting had been suffering right under your nose.

****

“Boss.”

The familiar voice made you flinch. You spun around instinctively, your hand twitching toward your holster.

“What the—?” you breathed. “Ortiz?”

He stood just a few feet away, hands raised in mock surrender, the rest of your team fanned out behind him in the shadows of the hospital parking lot.

“What are you guys doing here?” you asked, heart still pounding from the scare—and everything else.

Casey tilted her head with a dry smirk. “You seriously didn’t notice we’ve been tailing you since you left the ER?”

You blinked. “No.”

Honestly, how could you have noticed? Your mind was still spinning with the image of Levi’s pale face, the IV in her arm, and the way she clutched your wrist, begging you not to retaliate.

Your voice dropped, distant. “Wait… does that mean no one reported back to the Captain?”

“Well…” Ortiz rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “We sacrificed Dom instead. He’s probably getting chewed out by the Colonel right now.”

Despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped your throat. It was brief, but it grounded you for a moment. You looked at them—your team, your family in the field. And for the first time since Levi’s overdose, something settled inside you.

Casey stepped forward, voice softer. “We’re sorry about what happened to your sister.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thanks. I mean it.”

Their presence helped. A little. Enough to make you stand straighter.

Your eyes darkened. “I’m gonna deal with those bastards who bullied her.”

Your tone dropped so low it vibrated with rage, and the shift in energy was immediate. The entire team stiffened. You were known to be ruthless on mission—but this was personal. The kind of personal that made trained killers hesitate.

Ortiz raised an eyebrow. “You never told us you had a twin.”

“I did,” you said without looking at him. “I said I had a sister.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t exactly say she looked like your mirror image.” Casey added, crossing her arms. “That was kind of a shock.”

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the concrete. “Levi and I... we used to be inseparable growing up. But we chose different paths. She stayed in the city. Corporate dreams, bright lights. I took Dad’s rifle and joined the army.”

You looked up, jaw set. “We don’t see each other as much now. I thought she was happy…”

Casey’s face softened. “You didn’t know.”

You shook your head. “I should have. She’s my twin.”

There was a pause. Then Ortiz asked the question everyone was thinking.

“So… you going to take revenge for your sister?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, a slow smirk crept across your face. That dangerous, unhinged one that usually preceded a wild, nearly illegal plan.

“Of course,” you said. “Now we’re speaking the same language.”

Casey narrowed her eyes. “How?”

You cracked your knuckles and leaned against the hood of a parked SUV. “I’ve got a crazy idea. And I think you guys are going to think I’ve finally lost it.”

Twenty minutes later, anyone walking through the hospital parking lot would be confused—and maybe a little alarmed—at the sight of a group of soldiers in full tactical gear huddled in a tight circle, whispering like they were planning a heist.

Casey leaned back first. “That’s insane.”

“But you're not saying no,” you said with a grin.

She shook her head, exhaling sharply. “I’m not.”

Ortiz tapped the butt of his sidearm. “It could work. It’s risky as hell—but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you. Just depends on your timing.”

You looked at each of them in turn. These were the people who’d bled beside you, shielded you, and followed your orders into gunfire and chaos. Now, they were standing by you in a war that wasn’t waged with bullets—but with dignity.

You smiled, something feral in your eyes. “If I have you all backing me up, I can do anything.”

Casey extended her fist. “Then give them hell, boss.”

🏢🏢🏢🏢

Another day. But nothing about today felt normal.

You stood at the base of the high-rise tower, the glass windows reflecting the clouds above like the building was trying to scrape the sky itself. It was a far cry from the concrete and steel of the military barracks you were used to—no gun oil in the air, no shouted commands, no weight of a vest strapped across your chest.

And definitely no uniform.

Instead, you wore a fitted blazer over a soft cream blouse, a knee-length skirt hugging your frame, and black heels that clicked sharply with every step you took. Your hair was tied up neatly, your makeup done just like Levi would wear it—light, approachable, perfect.

Your spine straightened. You weren’t you today. You were Levi McCain.

You stepped through the revolving glass door, nodding slightly at the security guard stationed by the gate. Your heels echoed through the marble-tiled lobby as you approached the access gates. Flashing the ID badge that bore your sister’s name and face, you passed through without a word.

The elevator ride felt like a countdown.

By the time the doors slid open onto Levi’s floor, you were fully in character. Warm smile. Relaxed posture. You even adjusted your voice to match hers—softer, friendlier, a little hesitant.

Heads turned.

People paused mid-conversation, frozen like they'd seen a ghost. A junior associate dropped her pen. A guy by the water cooler stared like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Levi McCain,” came a voice from the far end of the room.

You turned.

The manager. Mid-forties. Too much confidence for too little talent. She strutted forward, arms folded, a condescending smile tugging at her lips.

“You're back from your sick leave,” she said, loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

You kept Levi’s warm tone, smile intact. “Yes. Feeling much better, thank you for asking.”

You bowed your head slightly and walked past her, graceful and calm. But inside, your fists were clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms.

You scanned the office with sharp eyes. Levi’s desk had been pushed aside, away from the windows, tucked behind a pillar near the printer—out of sight, out of mind. Her nameplate was gone. Her chair was missing a wheel.

The woman next to that desk shifted uncomfortably when you met her eyes. She looked away immediately.

You placed your bag down slowly and took your seat—Levi’s seat.

So this is how they did it. No punches. No bruises. No screaming.

Just slow, silent cruelty. Isolation. Overwork. Smiles that meant nothing and eyes that cut deep.

You glanced down at the corner of the desk. A tiny scratch in the wood. You imagined your sister sitting here, day after day, alone, drowning in work that wasn’t hers, pretending it didn’t break her.

It broke her anyway.

But they hadn’t counted on this.

They didn’t know that Levi McCain had a twin with military training, a temper, and a very different definition of what justice looked like.

You crossed one leg over the other and cracked your knuckles discreetly under the desk.

They didn’t use their fists here. But that was fine. You’d show them how.

*****

The car hummed steadily along the highway.

Ortiz had one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly to the rhythm of a rock song playing low from the speakers. Casey sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror.

In the back seat, Levi stirred—eyes fluttering open. Her head leaned against the window, a small crease on her brow as she blinked, confused.

She straightened up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice was groggy, soft. “Where... where am I?”

Casey twisted around in her seat, meeting her eyes. Even after a full mission, bloodshed, and chaos, the sight of Levi still sent a chill down her spine. Same face. Same eyes. But the expression—fragile, hesitant—was nothing like her twin.

“You’re safe,” Casey said gently. “We’re taking you home.”

Levi’s eyes widened, panic rising fast. “Where is she? Where’s my sister?”

“She’s handling your problem,” Casey replied, voice calm but firm. “Everything will be alright.”

Levi shot forward in her seat, fingers gripping the headrest in front of her. “No. No, no, no—you don’t understand! Anyone stuck in a room with her... they won’t survive!”

Ortiz laughed under his breath, eyes still on the road. “Well, that’s the point.”

He and Casey exchanged a knowing smirk as Levi shrank back in her seat, looking horrified.

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

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Amazon.com

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[levitoni]

Take my soul, leave my body.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x female reader. 

Warning: smut, NSFW 18+, minors dni.

Content: depictions of grief and guilt, solo masturbation, edging, choking, Levi cumming his brains out .

Author’s notes: Hi! This is my first one-shot ever. I hope I gave Levi’s character justice, as I absolutely adore him and he lives in my mind rent free. Keep in mind English is not my native language, so watch out for mistakes. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

Levi’s left alone in his office, but thoughts of you distract him from his paperwork.

The mess hall buzzes alive in the general uproar of the evening. The smell of wood wafts through the air, dishes being served left and right to greedy soldiers, who converse loudly and eat even more so. The sound of plates clanking together accompany the movement of dozens of people who walk past pushing each other, talking and grinning with the approach of the evening.

Flashes of green and brown pass by Lance Corporal Levi, seated on the veteran’s benches. Not bothered to entertain, the man remains firmly rooted to his spot, seemingly set in stone. A permanent scowl rests on his shapely lips, disturbing his otherwise polished appearance. A porcelain cup, fair like his complexion, rests between his elongated fingers, onyx bangs brushing against his eyelashes, uniform impeccably clean. Despite his still demeanour, nobody seems inclined to approach him tonight.

Not that he particularly cares for it, anyways. In fact, he’s glad he’s alone. Remnants of the day keep sneaking into his mind, confusing themselves with thoughts of his duties, the next expeditions, the upcoming training sessions. He’s annoyed, but most of all tired. His fingers tighten around the rim of the cup as soldiers bustle about next to him, shouting at a considerably high volume.

For him, it is one of those heavy nights: he feels a headache coming on this early into the dusk. He knows the tea won’t help; he’s too preoccupied by his own thoughts, granted to him in the form of discomfort, laced with a feeling whose definition he can’t quite place a finger upon. Typically it seethes deep in his being, reminding him of his past, prompting memories to arise deep in the nightfall; he thinks back to his youth, his companions in the Underground, his mother, alongside a recent addition: you. The emotion always renders him utterly useless, until the burning in his eyes subsides almost completely by the dawn of the following day and it stops washing over him in waves.

That’s why he doesn’t notice when you enter the hall.You’re with your comrades, your smile a bight contrast against the dark atmosphere, delighted at the prospect of finally relaxing in front of a plate of warm food. He doesn’t notice when you deliberately pick the table next to his, and when you sit on the furthest spot on the bench besides his, he feigns indifference until he lifts his gaze. 

Before he can react, you greet him over the sounds of the hall.

-Good evening, Captain- you say, velvety tone wrapping around him.

A couple of beats pass between the two of you. Then, there is a single indication of his acknowledgment: a mechanical nod, along with a look towards your direction.

His stormy irises glint under the dim lights of the room, like gray crystals shining in the moonlight. You don’t miss the gravity of the stare he shoots your way. You don’t think much of it: it seems a regular gesture, befitting of his intense character. 

But you don’t detect the slight tremble of his fingertips, nor the way his gaze runs over you, taking in how you look, your expressions, your every move. He observes the outline of your face and neck even after you turn your head away from him, his slated eyes raking over your jacket. In his imagination, he would like to lean over, so close you would almost be touching, gently grab your wrist and feel the weight of your skin beneath his fingertips.He would be close enough to perceive the heat of your breath, and maybe he’d ask you questions and listen to you intently, without ever missing a word spewing from your lips. Maybe he’d even take you away, if you would let him. 

But Levi is a rational man. He lives his life in the silent promise that one day, his heart's deepest desires will be fulfilled, and yet when anguish catches up to him, irrefutably and achingly, he’s terrified. He wholeheartedly wishes it would be the opposite, but every time he attempts to escape, it doubles down on him, suffocating him entirely. 

So he looks away when your head tilts towards him. He doesn’t want to deal with the idea of you tonight. He’s aware he’s scarred, and all he wants to do this evening is to bask in his loneliness. So he convinces himself it would be wrong of him to trouble you. 

He suddenly feels the urge to leave. The sound of laughter spreads trough the hall, the wood creaking as he lifts from his seat, swiftly and silently. A strange sensation simmers in his gut and engulfs him completely, and the next time you look towards his direction, he’s gone.

****************************************************************************************************************************

Levi walks away. The freezing corridor walls exude quietness, the only discernible sound his boots tapping against the cement floor, creating a rhythmic noise. He opens the door to his office, and he’s greeted by a familiar sight: bundles of paper on his elegant mahogany desk. The moonlight beams though the windows, ensuring a subdued and soft ambience, and the door closes behind him with a soft click. His shoulders drop as he walks over to his chair, exhaling softly through his nose. The rug mutes his boots, providing a muffled sound, disrupted by the squeaking of the chair as soon as he sits down. 

The moon is ever-present, with a warm milky glow in the sky. Levi believes the sight of it could become a song in the eyes of anyone willing to raise their head upward. He’s reminded of his childhood, the moon his exclusive and solitary companion during those restless nights, in the city whose inhabitants sleep, while sorrow doesn’t.

He pinches the area between his brows. The dull headache doesn’t seem to pass, and he opts to distract himself by opening the stack of paperwork and grabbing a report, in order to not sit up late and think about reasons why he shouldn’t try with you. He always feels as though when he moves and speaks it’s his shadow, but he’s convinced when you look at him, it’s him really.

Because of this, Levi sometimes cannot stand himself. He’s certain he despises himself when during the never-ending dusk hours his mind, branded with your image, reels in contemplation of you, like right now.

The pen wavers in his hand as a persistent impulse creeps at the forefront of his mind. 

He hates how much of an effect you have on him. He thinks of you these past few days, and the images his mind comes up with are proof of his longing: flashes of your pale, damp neck during training sessions, when you think he’s not looking. Your eyes, seductive and always welcoming. Rosy, pillowy lips in an almost perfect shape, never set in a straight line, inviting. He would be dishonest if he stated he’d never thought of them wrapping around his own, drawing out his breath, kissing him all over. 

He lifts his hand, rubbing his temples even harder now. Levi’s sure it’s sinful, but he’s been dreaming of giving you highs. Of pleasuring you until you’re stupid, making you thoughtless against his sheets, quivering with satisfaction. 

His mind fogs like the cold unfurling on a glass panel.

He would know how to treat you properly. At least, that’s what he always tells himself when twilight approaches. As the numbing coolness of nightfall imprints itself perpetually on the windowsills, rendering him scornful and estranged, he’s aware atonement is inconceivable.During these moments he’s reminded of everything and nothing at all simultaneously: your presence contained in fleeting fractions of time. Often, when he thinks of you, his heartbeat expands beneath his collar as darkness consumes him.

He’s aware he’s not allowed to have you, of course. Even more certain he’s not entitled to you; he thinks he would hate it if you so much as looked at him spitefully. And yet, he’s imagined your figure in impossible positions, his graceful fingers touching you, reaching spots bound to have you breathless, even better - gasping for air. The palms of his hands caressing the span of your entire frame, rousing goosebumps in their wake. His toned, lithe back spanning in between your thighs, his delicate tongue languidly tracing circles in places only he should see.

He knows you should be bent, but not ruined. Twisted, but not deformed. He has already seen the fire in your eyes, only he longs to feel it inflicted on him. He wouldn’t shun you for it, but most of all, he wouldn’t avoid it. He doesn’t believe he will ever steer clear of it when it burns through him, searing him alive.

He shifts in his seat. He feels hardness prodding at the fabric of his pants. The room is scorching hot, and he leans back in his chair in an attempt to calm himself, closing his eyes. 

His ebony hair appears tousled and soft, inky strands scraping against his bare neck. Heat becomes visible on his cheeks, vividly pink. He’s always loathed how effortlessly his skin reacts; in the Underground, kids would mock him and call him names for being so pale. But right now, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all when the only thing on his mind is you. The air is stuffy, and everything on his body seems too tight, too confining.

He starts taking off his jacket, folding it on his desk, but the movement causes his pen to fall to the ground.

-Fuck- he curses, his voice cutting through the stuffy air, sounding foreign even to him. 

But he doesn’t bother lifting it, guilt eating him alive. Would it be so wrong to relieve himself just one time? Levi doesn’t think he will ever be able to answer such a question. His cock throbs in his pants. Levi curses again. As his body betrays him, he recalls how he’s used all his willpower these past few weeks, and one thing he’s certain of: there’s not a single strand left. 

So he values his options: slaving away on the paperwork until morning, or surrendering to his filthy desires. Before he can even follow his reasonings, he shifts in seat again, not realising his mistake.His train of thoughts is immediately interrupted when his bare hand brushes against his dick. He nearly moans from the contact, shivers running down the length of his back.

All rationality is gone out of the window in an instant when he grabs himself through the fabric of his uniform, and the sinful noise he spews will remain forever embedded in his brain. 

He wonders if you hate him now.

In his mind, he begs for your forgiveness. But the need for you grows too strong. Especially when he rids himself of his shirt and cravat, and especially when he unbuttons his pants and doesn’t even bother to take them off all the way. He stops where the ODM gear marks are engraved on the planes of his muscular thighs, and pants wildly as he frees his dick from all kinds of restrictions.

He doesn’t have time to rationalize any of it, and he doesn’t think he wants to.He reels forward as he presses his thumb to his bright red tip, groaning when he rolls it in slow, tormenting circles. He wraps his palm around the sensitive area, huffing through his mouth as he starts moving up and down in sensual motions.

He thinks of having his way with you. He throws his head back as he fantasizes of bending you over, taking you right there in his office against the lacquered mahogany. He dreams of wrapping your hair around his hand and tugging it, forcing you to arch your back and allowing him to pound into you even harder. He moans particularly loudly when he focuses on the vein on the underside of his dick, imagining it’s you between his legs, running your precious tongue all over him, drooling over his round balls and rhythmically taking him deeper into your throat. 

He feels his high approaching too fast. He’s gasping as he bunches up the fabric of his pants in his right hand. To give himself a reprieve, he spits into it, and squeezes his manhood as his saliva mixes with his precum. His abs stretch over miles of skin, and pearly beads of liquid fall languidly on the short, dark hairs of his pelvis.He looks gorgeous like this, deprived and wanton.

And so he whimpers when he thumbs his slit in an upwards motion, and falls apart slowly; he is so needy, but nothing is enough anymore. He wants to cum so bad- the stimulation is insufficient, and he grows desperate by the second.

He lifts his hand up and brushes against his nipples. He thinks of your cunt swaddling him in its wonderful heat, while you ride him on the exact chair he’s sitting on. His hand speeds up, and the only sounds heard in the room are his wheezing and the heavy squelching caused by his movements.A known sensation envelops him totally, and he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop, not anymore.

He’s certain you’ve bewitched him. As he pictures your pussy on his tongue, he experiments by closing his hand around his throat, cutting off his oxygen supply completely. The reaction is immediate: one of his knees comes up and he knocks something off his desk. He doesn’t bother looking. You have him right where he wants to be: weak with desire. He stifles a groan. 

He understands that if you asked him for anything, he would give it away. He would do it, for you, and you only.He’s hanging right there, and for a split second he thinks he might slip and ruin everything. But Levi is not a person prone to making errors. 

Right before his unravelling, he forcefully grasps the base of his dick and pushes down. His muscles tense up entirely, tears prickling his eyes. He heaves.

The sensation fizzles out around his tip, smouldering and taking over him. He cries out, his hips rising up. He knows that If it were you doing this, he would be begging. 

He holds out for another moment, lifting his hand from his throat and grabbing the handles of the chair.Then, he furiously brings his hand down and touches himself.

A single tear escapes his eyes, and he nearly wails.

He chokes as his raging high washes over him, igniting him from the inside out. His muscles tremble though his entire peak as sweat dribbles down his forehead, his face scrunched up in an agonisingly beautiful expression. 

Levi has never come this hard. Deep inside, he wishes you were here to witness it.

When he finally opens his eyes, they’re glazed over. Exhaustion seeps into his bones, milky white liquid sticking his fingers together. Cotton seems to have lodged itself into his ears, and while he would prefer to clean himself immediately, he’s too tired to. 

He runs his hand over his manhood once more, his hand limp, and he almost hisses from the overstimulation. Papers are strewn all over the floor, a picture of his mind, and he gulps as he sits up further on the chair. He hears voices down the corridor, and he lifts his gaze towards his window.

One thing he’s positive of: he knows he can’t be saved. Nobody knows how will end will unfold. None of your gods can redeem him; so, as moonlight whispers pale hues into the dreamy night, he hopes you absolve him.

[lostintransist]

Secrets Are For Grown Ups | Part 3

CW: Paperwork. I hate paperwork.

Shout out to the fabulous @xbirdiex. It's better than reading my words for the first time because she is so good at articulting to me how everything makes her feel.

Part 1 here.

John pulled off his glasses before rubbing his eyes so hard the kaleidoscope of colors blurred his vision for seconds after he blinked to clear them. He needed to retire. The years of being trapped at a desk and only let out for training had sapped him of the will to continue. He had given the greater good all that he could, but if one more file got sent to him as half digital half paper copy he would start launching things out the window or possibly set his office ablaze.

He had stayed longer than he should have again but the frozen dish of lasagna and beer at his flat did not entice him home. The trill of his ringing phone pulled him from his languorous thoughts. Number hadn’t been saved in his phone. Odd. The same tickle in his brain that saved him on countless missions twitched now. Answering it in silence he waited.

“Is this Captain Price?”

“Not a captain anymore, but this is Price. May I ask who is calling?”

The woman on the other end blew out a breath.

“I worked with you several years back on a visa from the US. I’m not sure if you remember me,” her tone indicated a question as she searched for more words.

John could only remember one such woman in his time as a captain. You popped into his mind in technicolor.

“I do remember. I haven’t heard from you since you left for your family emergency. Has something come up?”

He swore he could feel you vacillating on the other end of the line. You had been so painfully expressive in your communications the year you had worked for him. For you to call out of the blue after so many years, something had to be wrong.

“Yes. You could say that.” You blow out a slow breath before continuing. “This is a…a bit of a long story. Do you have a moment?”

Settling back into his office chair with a creak John gets more comfortable.

“For you, I can take all day.”

Leave had been approved fairly quickly. John had an overabundance of it that brass and the HR and accounting teams hounded him about taking. They all claimed it made their jobs harder if he let it build up so high. He could take off six months without putting a dent in his overall amount of leave. Also if he weren’t there to bitch about the paperwork brass would more likely pass it off to someone else.

Last-minute flights were a pain in the ass to schedule as well as to pay for but like everything else in his life money tended to pile up because he rarely had time to spend it. John packed the same way he would for a long mission, though this time he packed his good underwear. You had offered to let him stay with you after he provided the contact information for one Nyla MacTavish.

His phone rang as he zipped up his large suitcase. Glancing at the name John wished he had a cigar to add a hint of nicotine-laced clarity to his thoughts. Flicking open his phone with a thumb John lifted it to his ear.

“Been expecting your call.”

“That’s never a good way to start a conversation, John.”

“I agree. Now tell me what happened?”

“Did you know?” The quiet, pained question could bore through bone. Simon, one of his muppets, his strongest men, sounded on the point of tears.

“Not until a few hours ago,” pinching the phone between his ear and his shoulder John settled his wheeled luggage on the floor.

“Good,” Simon repeated it to himself as if confirming his belief in John stood strong. “I had to dose Johnny with part of an edible he didn’t know we had in the house. He wanted to break down her door for answers.”

The idea of Simon handing Johnny an innocuous candy or baked good to dose him into a stupor that wouldn’t lead to criminal charges caught John as funny.

“I think your husband is going to have something to say about that in the morning.”

Simon snorted, “Knowing him he is going to have a lot more than a single thing to say.”

“Mmm, you might be right.” John paused to lock his flat door behind him. “Give me twenty-four hours Simon. I am headed to the airport right now and out to you.”

“Did she invite you or are you coming to keep us in line?” Simon’s voice edged into Ghost territory.

“For your information, I was invited,” John replied, mock offended.

“You would have come anyway.”

John could hear the rolling of his eyes even across the line.

“Yes, but this way I get to meet your boys and don’t have to pay for a hotel.”

Simon sucked in a breath.

“Boys? We thought she had a boy and a girl.”

“Nope, she clearly referred to them as the boys or her boys.”

A wet cough cleared the phone line.

“Okay. Let us know when we can meet with her and discuss this all.” Simon sounded defeated, unmoored.

“Are you wanting her back?” John asked carefully as he stepped onto the street to wait for his cab.

“Not…not like before. Johnny and I are happy as we are, but if the boys are either of ours we both want to be involved. We deserve that much.”

John didn’t know if the word deserved had any place in this sticky of a situation but he let it slide. That would be for you to explain.

“I will see you in a day or so, Simon. Keep your husband on a short leash until I get there. We both know explosions from Johnny weren’t only from bombs.”

A light chuckle from Simon is the only warning before the call ends. John sighs through his nose as he tucks his phone away.

What a hell of a story this would turn out to be.

Part 4

Secrets Masterlist | Masterlist

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