"surely you must know, it was all for you"

I like toxic men what can I say she/her unlabeled 🌈

[ilovebluedilfss]

Love him both ways though-

[makoodles]

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

[ilovebluedilfss]

I NEED HOLY WATER. I LOVE IT

[askinkiskarma-deactivated202506]

i should absolutely never be left completely alone with my own thoughts for too long bc the spiral is spiralling in my brain and it's just not good to anyone if i think uninterrupted.

[majestictortoise]

“why does this character who has done terrible things deserve a happy ending, how can you be okay with that, why do they deserve anything nice”

well see it’s because the entire concept of what people “deserve” is a messy ethical quagmire that has really troubling implications no matter how you use it

but also it’s because i like fictional miserable little assholes and i do what i want

[sophiexb2-deactivated20240405]

Just take me. Please.

[ilovebluedilfss]

HE COULD DO WHATEVER HE WANTED TO ME.

[sophiexb2-deactivated20240405]

Just A Quick Dip

Recom Miles Quaritch x Reader

Summary: Your recent mission has left you bloody, bruised and separated from the Deja Blu team. Now stuck in the middle of Pandora’s vast forests with your Colonel by your side, you stumble across a stream and decide to wash off.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of blood, mild sexual content, mutual pining, semi public foreplay, tit + nipple play, biting, rough kissing, some thigh rubbing, minors do not interact!

“Corporal?”

A sharp tap to your face made you flinch, rough fingers gripping your jaw and a faded voice forcing its way into your ears. Your eyes felt heavy and your body numb, an agonising ache exploding within the base of your neck. Another tap hit you, this one with more force, the very action causing your eyes to flutter and a groan to escape.

“Corporal? Hey, wake up. We gotta move,” the voice called out to you again and you could’ve sworn that it sounded mean.

Your ears twitched and you winced as sudden light seeped behind your eyes, exposing your yellow gaze to your unfamiliar surroundings. There was a lush green canopy above you, blue sky bleeding through the leaves and grey smoke spiralling within the air. The stinging sensation of fire burned your nose and you swiped a hand against your face, a cold wet substance sticking to your palm.

A wave of blackness clouded your vision, spots dotting your line of sight as you could feel yourself wanting to fall back into slumber. The pain of your body was too much for you to handle and you were soon allowing your eyes to close again.

You earned yourself a nasty pinch to the hip for that decision.

“Oi! Don’t you dare pass out on me. Get up,” startled, you opened your eyes with lightning speed and sat up, almost bumping heads with your impatient Colonel.

Your hands flew to your abdomen as an intense pain coiled through you, grating against every bone in your body. Blood greeted you and a dark patch on your camouflaged uniform stuck to your skin. You rasped out an alarmed breath and darted your eyes around the forest, confusion nestling deep within your belly.

“W-where…what…what happened?” You managed to grit out, mouth opening in pain as a splintering throb pulsed within your head.

“We got our tails kicked,” Colonel Quaritch announced with a sigh, “caught us off guard and ambushed us on touch down.”

You winced, “and the others?”

“Hell if I know. Out of the clear hopefully,” he gave a shrug, readjusting the strap of his rifle around his shoulder.

It was only then that you were offered a better look at your Colonel’s face. Much like you, he wasn’t in the best of shape. There was a prominent bruise along his jawline and a cut through one of his eyebrows. The material of his cargos was torn at the thigh and crusted with dried blood. The wound was still fresh but not as fresh as yours.

“You’re bleeding,” you breathed out, wheezing slightly.

Quaritch allowed a ghost of a smirk to appear, “appreciate the concern Corporal, but I’m not as bashed up as you. Can you walk?”

You shook your head, “I-I don’t know.”

“Well, I need you to. We’ve gotta put as much distance between us and the crash sight as we can. I ain’t waiting around long enough to become Thanator chow,” he ordered, possessing zero signs of remorse or pity within his words.

You swallowed thickly as you watched him rise to his feet, the movement so effortless and skilful that it made you want to cry out in frustration. Even with his injured thigh, he was still capable of outdoing you. Gripping the damp grass by your sides, you twisted to the side and planted yourself on your knees. Water lined yours eyes and you were ready to collapse against the dirt, but the Colonel was right. You didn’t know how long you’d been knocked out for, and if you hung around any more, you’d soon be hunted down.

You clutched your bleeding abdomen as you pushed yourself up, vision blurry with tears. A painful gasp left you, and whether the Colonel heard or not, he chose to ignore it.

Glancing back into the distance where the forest seemed the most chaotic, Quaritch gave his order.

“Let’s move.”

Walking was the hardest part.

You were slowing the two of you down, your ragged breathing and occasional limp bringing forth a pulsing vein of disapproval on Quaritch’s brow. You shied away whenever he looked back at you, checking that you were still moving before continuing his prowl through the brush.

The Colonel and yourself weren’t the most acquainted members of the team.

As a human, you worked under a lieutenant and were apart of the guard duty team at Hell’s Gate. You never took part in missions and had never tasted an ounce of danger beyond the walls of the RDA base. That luxury was given to Colonel Quaritch and his squadron, hence their infamous reputation both in the past and present. You knew how to work your fingers around a gun, but had never had any reason to use one.

You had only fought once in your human life and it was during the Great Pandoran War. You had been killed in action, sadly losing your life when an arrow pierced your stomach and glued you to the nearest tree. A tragic and grotesque death, but also one that wasn’t considered honourable.

The Soul Drive program had been available to all members of the RDA military when it first came about. You had been accidentally signed up for the program when the lab coats had mistaken you for someone else. The names were very similar so you understood the mixup, but your overworked and exhausted self had agreed because you believed you were one of the ‘special’ ones. It’s laughable to think about now, and laugh is what you did when you first woke up.

General Ardmore had been disappointed when she learnt of the mistake, mumbling something about wanting a pilot rather than a simple guard. But your Recombinant body had cost the RDA millions and they weren’t about to put you to waste. So, you were forced to join Deja Blue and follow the orders of Colonel Quaritch.

He hadn’t been shy about his dislike towards you at first, voicing that you were the weakest link and that you’d have to train hard if you wanted to compete with the other Recoms. You had been too afraid to argue back, choosing to nod and recite a ‘yes sir’ as bravely as you could. The weeks of training had been hard on you, your inexperience starting to show but the Colonel was determined to mould you into something great.

Your first mission could only be described with a few words: absolute shambles.

The last thing you remembered was touching down and scouting the area before Jake Sully’s entourage attacked, forcing you and your teammates to split up. An explosion from an enemy scorpion had knocked you out, your head colliding with the ground and a piece of shrapnel slicing your abdomen.

You were lucky to be alive, and you were even more lucky to have been found by the Colonel.

Not that he enjoyed your company.

You huffed loudly as you stumbled over a very well hidden tree stump, grasping onto the nearest thing - which was an abnormally large tree root - and leaning against it. The wheezes that left your mouth alerted Quaritch, his ears pinned back as he arched a brow your way. You knew his expectations were high, but to make you walk through Pandora’s forests with an open wound was heartless.

“I need you to keep up with me, Corporal,” he quipped at you, narrowing his eyes.

You gave a solemn nod, “yes sir.”

Despite your words, you refused to move. You pressed your head back against the root and sighed, closing your eyes and clutching your palm to your bloody stomach. Quaritch watched your movements silently, observing the absurd amount of blood that had gathered within the last fifteen minutes. If you kept moving, you’d bleed out and die before dinner time.

He turned to the side, scanning the endless greenery with scrutiny. A twitch of his ear made his eyes squint and he listened to what sounded like running water, fading off into the distance and pooling into a larger body of water.

Your unstable condition prevented you from being fully aware of the Colonel’s approaching steps, your eyes widening and a surprised gasp escaping you when you felt hands on your arms.

You opened your eyes and came face to face with Quaritch’s torso, your gaze flickering up to look at his hardened expression.

“What are you—“

He gave you very little room to think as he slid a muscular arm around your waist and manoeuvred one of your arms around his shoulders. You held onto his side as he pulled you away from the root, giving you a tilt of his head.

“There’s water nearby. We’ll patch you up and take a break before setting off again,” he grunted, adverting his eyes and beginning to walk.

You remained tight lipped as he guided you through the forest, your face and neck flushing from the sudden close proximity. His body felt large against your own, full of muscle and skill compared to your lithe and slender exterior. The warmth that radiated from him made your head feel dizzy and for once, you prayed that you didn’t harbour a horrible stench.

Curiosity bested you and you glanced down at the hand splayed around your waist, his long fingers becoming tainted with your blood.

But he didn’t seem to care.

You kept telling yourself that he was simply helping you. That he was acting on his role as the leader and keeping you alive. That’s who Colonel Quaritch was. A protector who destroyed those that got in the way of his people.

Or so you hoped.

A sense of relief washed over you when you reached what looked to be a stream, vibrant water glistening under the sunlight and gentle forestry surrounding the area.

Quaritch dropped your arm with some care and stepped away from you, the quietness between you resulting in what you assumed was an order to clean yourself up.

You got to work at a slow pace, grasping the hem of your tank top and grimacing as you began rolling it upwards. A hiss left your mouth as the coarse fabric peeled away from your wound, leaving fibres stuck within the dried blood. You hiked the top up and carefully pulled it over your head, dragging your arms out last.

You were left in your sports bra and cargos, standing on the edge of the streams bank. You spied a glance towards your superior, mouth becoming dry when you noticed that he’d removed his tactical vest and was grasping the top of his bloodied cargos.

You quickly looked away when he stilled his movements, wincing as you knelt down and dipped your hands into the water. Washing the dirt and blood from your palms took very little scrubbing, your light blue skin tone now visible.

Examining the gash on your abdomen with a grimace, you cupped your hands and began gently bucketing water over the wound. The waters touch was enough to make you bite your tongue, nimble fingers moving in a circular motion to be rid of the dirt that had settled within the wound. You made sure not to apply too much water, not wanting the wound to weep anymore than it already had. Once you were happy with your cleaning skills, you sat up straight.

You didn’t have anything to patch the wound up with, your own tactical vest long gone.

You made a move towards your bloodied tank top and prepared to tear some of the material off when a hand laced around your wrist.

“Here,” Quaritch interrupted and shoved some gauze into your hands, “it’s cleaner than that.”

He nodded towards your bloodied item of clothing and you blinked, looking between his stare and your hands before speaking.

“Thank you.”

There was an uneasy falter to his gaze and he was soon moving away from you, returning to his own injuries with silent disregard.

You unraveled the gauze to your desired length, steadily rising to your feet and beginning to apply the bandage to your wound. It was difficult wrapping the gauze around your waist, the pain of twisting your body to the side to reach your back soon becoming too much to bear.

You chewed your bottom lip and looked back towards Quaritch, who seemed to be done with tending to his thigh and was now scanning his eyes around the area. You sighed.

“Erm, sir?” You called out.

Your heart thudded loudly within your ears when he met your stare, taking in the sight of your wounded torso and the pathetic work you’d made to your abdomen. You swallowed.

“Could I, erm, have some help? I can’t reach,” you gestured towards your back, feeling embarrassed and ashamed of your lack of expertise.

He observed you for a moment, his eyes roaming up and down your body before he neglected his rifle and stalked towards you. You abruptly turned your back, facing the stream and awaiting his hands to touch you. It felt like an eternity had passed since he stopped behind you, his body so close that it had your breath hitching.

You jolted when he took the gauze from your shaking hands, making neat work of wrapping the remaining bandage around your back. His touch was light against your curves, as if he was refraining from allowing his skin to touch yours. You clutched the front of your chest and focused on calming your erratic heartbeat, never once believing you’d be stuck in such a situation.

You couldn’t deny that the Colonel was attractive - despite his nonchalant and stoic attitude, Quaritch was a charismatic man when he wanted to be. So you knew that acting bashful around him would only fuel his ego and control over you, therefore you did your best to remain calm.

Your body snagged to the left, his hands curling around your waist and his feet moving to stand in front of you. You stared at the dog tags that hung from his neck as he finished securing the bandages, refusing to meet his eyes which you knew were simmering straight through you.

“All done,” his gruff voice penetrated the tensed silence, your hands so sweaty that you feared you would start trembling with nerves.

You waited for him to step away. To allow you space to breathe and return back to whatever he was doing before. But he didn’t move.

He didn’t move.

You’re not quite sure what possessed you to look up - perhaps it was the significant pull you felt soar through your body that was the cause - but with a tilt of your chin and a blink of your wide doe-like eyes, you knew you were doomed.

His lips met yours and you couldn’t help the gasp that ruptured within your throat.

He devoured it with little trouble, moving his lips against yours in a sensual and urgent manner. The shock that overwhelmed you soon melted away, your mouth responding to his in a tender entanglement. Your eyes fluttered shut and you uncurled your hands, moving them with so much hesitance that you feared he might rip away from you. He allowed your touch to ghost along his arms, fingers tracing over his biceps before you settled them against his shoulders.

A twist of silent agony spread across your face when he grabbed your waist and squeezed, disregarding your wound entirely and allowing red to bloom against the fresh gauze.

Quaritch pulled you closer, his tail slithering around one of your legs like a snake. You moved your arms and hooked them around his neck, forcing his head to tilt and his mouth to open. You were both a clash of tongues and fangs, your feeble attempts to take charge diminishing as fast as they came. A surge of pleasure rumbled within the pit of your stomach, the innocent whine you were holding back soon coming to life.

He smirked against you, taking your sounds of enjoyment as a sign for him to make his actions more risky. The brush of his thumb against your clothed nipple had you arching, the erect bud bursting with tingles.

You exhaled sharply when he tore his mouth from yours, giving you little room for adjustment as he began nipping and sucking along the slope of your neck. You moaned softly, his rough hands groping your covered tits with want.

“Oh fuck,” you voiced with no shame, the pain of your wound mixed with the feverish sensations of Quaritch’s hot mouth making you feel dizzy.

When the cool breeze collided against your chest, you knew he’d grasped the band of your sports bra and lifted it over your tits. The sparkling bioluminescent dots across your chest were mesmerising and Quaritch wasted no time in licking from behind your ear to the valley between your tits. Your hands reached up to grip his hair as he buried his face against your chest, fangs teasingly scraping along your nipples.

His tongue manoeuvred around one nipple whilst his hand toyed with the other, pinching and pulling until your blue bud was bruised. He tugged harder when he noticed you attempting to contain your noisy whimpers.

“Ah, ah,” he taunted, “don’t shy away from me now, let me hear all of you.”

“But Colonel—“

You shrieked loudly when he sunk his teeth against one of your tits, deep enough to bruise but not enough to bleed.

You met his feral stare with a look of surprise.

He released your tit from his mouth and licked over the fresh bite mark, quickly taking your nipple into his mouth with a squeeze of your waist. The apex of your thighs was beginning to burn and your dignity dissolved into nothing. You moaned and you moaned loudly when he kissed up towards your neck and slid a muscular thigh between your legs. He chuckled.

“Atta girl.”

You flexed your hips against his thigh, eagerly taking his face in your hands and meeting his mouth with yours once again.

You had never felt so good. Every touch he delivered was electrifying, igniting that never ending bubble that was present within your body whenever he was near. What you once believed was fear turned out to be desire, hot and humid want for a man who terrified you to know end. To have his unwanted attention was a gift from Eywa herself and you didn’t want him to stop.

You urged his tongue to plunge deeper, urged his hands to grasp harder, urged his thigh to rub further against you. You wanted all of him and you were certain that he wouldn’t stop you.

A crackle of static was what ended it all.

Quaritch pulled back from you and pressed his fingers to his throat com, Lyle’s voice coming through like a ghostly form of cock block.

You cursed under your breath and swiped your hair from your face, missing the amused look on your Colonel’s face as he spoke.

“Copy that. We’ll meet you back there. Nobody moves until I get there,” he ordered and allowed the device to go brittle with silence.

You tugged your sports bra back over your slick covered chest and rearranged your tousled hair, collecting your tank top from the floor and quickly slipping it over your head.

Quaritch flashed you a teasing smirk at the disappointed look in your eyes.

“Don’t look so down,” he sneered at you and pulled you close so his mouth was in line with your ear, “we’ll continue this later.”

And with that, you smiled.

[ilovebluedilfss]

I need him

[inklore]

no offense but angst leading to smut will always top everything else. argue with the wall because i ain’t hearing it ok, the yearning? the heartache that leads to hurried kisses or passionate slow ones? the face grab? the holding them as close as they can during? shut up!

[ilovebluedilfss]

REAL.

[stargirlrchive]

── KINKTOBER DAY SIX

car fucking w/ simon riley ─ fem!reader

cw: jealous and possessive simon :p, p in v

NSFT ✩ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST ✩ GENERAL MASTERLIST

“get in.”

you could feel the cold metal digging into your skin as simon caged you in between himself and the truck. yanking the door open as his eyes blazed with frustration.

your face scrunched up but you listened, climbing into the truck as simon followed suit. the door slammed behind him and you stared at him with confusion.

“for not wanting people to know about us, you really are one for dramatics, ghost.”

his gloved fingers twitched as you began to scoot yourself away from him, his voice twinged with hurt, “don’t call me that when we’re alone.”

the silence rang loud in the confined space of the car and he sighed, inching closer to you. you didn’t move, not that you could, but simon appreciated it all the same. his hand reaching out to tilt your face to him, “baby, come on.”

“no, simon. don’t ‘baby, come on’ me. are you gonna tell me what the hell that was about? you practically ripped that poor recruits hand off.”

your eyes met his but simon’s stomach churned as he noticed how frustrated you were. “he was touching you.”

“no he wasn’t.”

an annoyed growl left simon’s mouth as he shook his head, “yes he was. kept offering to get you drinks, kept standing too fucking close. he was undressing you with his eyes, i could see it.”

you didn’t know what to say, maybe the recruit had been a little clingy but you didn’t even notice. so why did it matter? “simon, i didn’t even notice-”

“i still didn’t like the fact that he was all over you.”

your eyes rolled as he cut you off, “why do you even care? it’s not like you want people to know you’re with me.”

the silence that filtered the car was suffocating, and it almost made you fear looking into his eyes. fearful that you’d get the confirmation you had been hoping to avoid. that he felt that you made him weak.

“that’s not-” he cut himself off to gently pull you onto his lap. “baby, that’s not fair. we had both agreed that it was best to keep this, us, just between the two. keeps us both safer.”

he was right, but it didn’t mean it didn’t sting. his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you even closer, “i’m sorry alright? i just don’t like anyone touching what’s mine.”

your eyes snapped up to meet his and your face colored at his words. he had a lazily smile behind the balclava as his finger dug into your hips, drawing small circles as you relaxed into him. “you like that, hm? you like when i remind you that you’re mine?”

you huffed softly but simon knew you, he could tell by the way your breathing picked up a bit and the way you began to squirm in his lap that you did enjoy it. he grunted quietly, “quit movin’, love.”

you bit down onto your bottom lip, staring up at him with hazy eyes as your hips began to move down on him with more purpose, undulating your hips onto his.

simon called out your name, gripping your hips as he pressed you down harder.

“what do you want, love?”

“you.”

with great difficulty simon removed his jeans, pushing your skirt up to bunch at your hips while he pushed your panties to the side. his thumb rolling against your clit as he positioned himself at your entrance.

it didn’t take much for the soft mewls of pleasure to leave your mouth. your hips bouncing effortlessly up and down his thick cock.

the windows had fogged up, and you were sure the truck was rocking from the sheer effort the two of you were putting into it. simon’s eyes closed tight with each desperate roll of your hip.

the space was crammed and tight but your warm cunt was milking him so perfectly. simon could feel the soft drag of your breast against his chest and it killed him to not be able to see you fully naked. desperate and needy.

your hand had laid flat against the window to aid in your movements. steading you with each upwards drag. “fuck, you enjoy this, hm?”

no words came out of your mouth as you bounced harder and faster, “you like getting me all worked up so i can stuff you full of my cock. so i can remind you who you belong to.”

you cried out quietly, nodding your head as your cunt tightened around him.

simon’s fingers wrapped around your wrist that was pressed against the window, tugging on it gently and it caused your body to fall flat against his, holding your hands to his chest, while the other held your hips in place. pistoning his hips in and out of you as he took over.

your head lulled forward to rest on his shoulder, your arms restricted against both of your chest as you cried out desperately. your body trembling above simon’s as your climax was fast approaching, “gonna-fuck, gonna come, si’.”

both of his hands moved to your back, caressing gently as his cock continued to plow into you. when your back tensed, simon pulled your hips flush against his.

grinding you down lazily as he grunted quietly, his head thrown back as he came, deep inside of you.

your legs trembled as you tightened around him, whining softly from every sensation coursing through you.

your thighs ached from the tight space, but simon’s lingering touches, gliding over you with practiced gentleness, began to ease it. his touch making you sleepy as your breathing evened out.

with a soft kiss to your temple he pulled out. dressing you back up before dressing himself. massaging as best he could your aching muscles as your body slumped against him. “m’sorry about earlier. just don’t like sharing.”

simon could feel your smile against his shoulder before you pulled back, staring up at his masked face. “it’s okay, neither do i.”

taglist: @trashfox @king-julian6201 @cyberfreaky @tojisun @lazystorycollector @cosmicanakin @yeoldedumbslut @httpsmama @punk-22 @youcraveet @moxiz @hisa-plush @alastairheir @ra-im @ifellinthebong @darlingvinny @aeplern @tallmanlover @screamingoverfiction @mixling-blog @pretty-npeach @babygirl-riley ; lmk if you would like to be tagged <3

[ilovebluedilfss]

I am beyond feral rn.

[roses-for-readers]

Silent Treatment ~ Mansk x Selective Mute Sully Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Warning: Kidnapping (obviously), Lyle being a little weird, violence, forced babysitting (you'll find out)

Synopsis: After being captured with Spider, you tag along with the Recombinant squad.

The only reason that I got caught was because I refused to leave Spider behind. He was too young to be taken from us so I immediately jumped down after him as the rest of my family escaped without us. I heard my mother call out for me, but she was held back by my father so she wouldn't get caught as well. I silently thanked Eywa that the rest of my family was safe as the soldiers started dragging the two of us along.

At the moment, me and Spider were being held in a plain room. There was only a table with a chair to decorate the room. Spider was sitting underneath the table, which lead me to stand between the door and him. It felt like an hour before someone finally came to the room.

Once the door opened, I saw the monster that my parents had called Quaritch. I glared at him, letting out a raspy hiss as he walked into the room. The demon merely smirked at me, turning his attention towards Spider. He tried getting down near the table to try and talk to my adoptive brother. Immediately, I lashed out at the man, trying to protect Spider in anyway I could.

Quaritch's hand grabbed my throat as soon as I touched him the first time. He easily lifted me up, shoving me against the wall. He laughed darkly at the look of pain that crossed my face. Speaking with false concern, the demon looked into my eyes, "What's the matter? Not as strong as you thought, huh? Come on, speak up when I talk to you little girl."

Spider rushed to get out from under the table. When he got over to us, he grabbed at Quaritch's arm trying to pull him off me. "She doesn't talk. Let go of her. She didn't do anything!"

As soon as the statement left Spider's lips, Quaritch scoffed but let go of me, dropping me to the ground. I took some deep breaths while rubbing my neck in pain. Spider grabbed my arm, looking concerned from the interaction that he just witnessed.

The demon looked down at us, taking notice of everything that he could. A few moments went by before he smiled towards us. He crouched down to be on the same level as us. Taking a moment to look at both of us, he finally spoke, "I have an offer for the both of you. I know that neither of you would ever betray Jake Sully. I'm not going to ask you to. But I think that the both of you will want to be with me and my team as we continue our work. You don't want to stay here with the scientists alone. Who knows what they would do." He stopped talking for a moment to turn towards me. A dark look spread across his face as he continued, "Especially to you sweetheart. You might not be able to talk, but they will find a use for you. And I don't think that you want that. Offers on the table, but if I walk out the door, the deal's off."

I looked at Spider once the demon was done talking. He seemed conflicted at what was just offered to us. I knew that Quaritch was right. I didn't want to know what the sky people would do to Spider, let alone what might happen to me. I didn't know what half of the machines they had could do, and I didn't want to find out. I gently grabbed Spider's arm to get his attention. Once he looked at me, I gave a small nod of my head.

Spider looked at Quaritch again before he gave a defeated sigh. He stared at the ground as he let out a mumbled,  "Alright. We'll go with you and your team. But don't hurt her like that again. You got it?"

The demon chuckled at the request given to him, but nodded nonetheless. He stood up before motioning for us to do the same. The moment that we were off the ground, Quaritch started to walk out of the door. I softly pushed Spider to follow, keeping a hold of him at all times. We were lead through a series of halls before he finally lead us to a set of double doors.

He pushed the doors open, gesturing for us to enter the room first. When we walked through the door, I noticed that most everyone from the earlier fight were standing around different parts of the room. They all turned to look at us before setting their attention to their leader.

Speaking loud enough for all his soldiers to hear, Quaritch started to explain, "I'm sure you all remember our guests from earlier. We decided to drop by to let you all know that they will be joining us for the foreseeable future. Make sure they feel welcomed to the group. Especially be nice to the little girl. She can't seem to be able to say anything. The poor thing."

A few of the men chuckled at their leaders statement, lightly hitting at each other as the began whispering. I saw one of the women roll her eyes at the antics of her fellow soldiers. The bald man came towards me, looking me over as he tried to speak with fake sympathy. "Aw. Did you never get the chance to learn to talk? That's so sad, but at least you still have your looks."

I gave the man a death glare, though he just laughed. My tail flicked in annoyance as I began to say, "Salew slu sno muntxa!"

A confused look crossed his when I spoke to him. The skxawng's face didn't change as he looked to Quaritch as he asked, "Did she have a stroke or something? What the hell was that?"

"It the native language of the Na'vi people. Figured you would at least know that Lyle." I looked to see that the man who spoke was the man who had been in charge of the 'machine gun' as dad had called it. He seemed disinterested in the whole ordeal that was going on.

'Lyle' had scoffed as he turned to face the man. "Alright, if you're so smart, what did she say? Since you know so much about the Navi." The man simply shrugged his shoulders.

Quaritch looked over at me before saying, "Thought you couldn't talk. Or was that just for convenience?"

Spider was quick to step in as the demon glared at me. "I said she didn't talk, not that she couldn't. (Y/n) is selectively mute. She only talks if she wants to."

The bald one scoffed from the answer that came from Spider. He crossed his arms while puffing his chest out slightly as he spoke again, "Alright then kid, what was it she choose to say that was so important?"

I had a small smirk on my face as Spider began to explain, "The rough translation of that phrase is 'Go become self mated'."

Everyone was quiet until the woman from earlier started to laugh with the biggest grin on her face. She pointed towards Lyle as she exclaimed, "She told you to go fuck yourself! You just got told off by someone who doesn't talk!"

After she had said that, practically everyone in the room started to laugh along with her. Even the Colonel chuckled along, amused slightly at the realization of my words. Me and Spider joined in with the commotion, though I had placed my hand over my mouth to contain some of the noise. I took some deep breaths to regain my composure when Quaritch raised his hand to get everyone's attention.

"Alright, enough of that. It has been decided that we will be heading out in the morning. Get some food if you need it, and get to the meeting point on time. If you are not there and ready on the dot, you will be left here to-do whatever tasks the General has planned. Zdinarsk, Mansk, Lyle; stay back so we can talk. Everyone else is dismissed."

People started to leave the room soon after Quaritch's speech ended. The only people that remained were the ones he had called for specifically. The woman and the machine gunner walked over so they could hear whatever their CO had to say. The woman gave me a smile when she got closer, clearly still amused from the conversation that happened a few minutes ago. I look over to the other man, giving him a once over before meeting his eyes. When our eyes met, he gave a small nod towards me before turning his attention back to Quaritch.

Quaritch turned his attention to his soldiers as he began to talk. "Each of you know how important it is for us to succeed with this mission. So you all are going to be helping me keep an eye on our little guests here. I got a mask that you will be using Spider. And I have something very special for you, (Y/n)." Before I could truly process his words, a metal collar was placed on my neck with a sharp click. I clawed at it trying to get it off. Though I only seemed to be digging it deeper into my skin. The Colonel chuckled as he watched me struggle. "Struggling will make it worse. That there is something that will help us keep you in line. You try to go too far, your new necklace will send a couple hundred volts of electricity through your whole body."

I glared at the man, still pulling against it slightly. Slowly, he pulled out a little gadget from one of his pockets. He held it up for me to get a look at it. After he was sure that I had at least glanced at it, the Colonel held it out for the quiet man to take. He looked surprised at his commanding officer, but took the device from him with no complaints.

As he looked over the device, the Colonel began talking again, mostly to the man. "Mansk, you'll be in charge of our little Na'vi friend here. You'll need to set up a code for that device. It can be used to remove the collar if it ever needed. Such as a situation where our little friend has a little 'accident' and gets seriously hurt. If that happens, you remove it so we can use any information it picks up from her wearing it." He turned towards me with a sick grin as continued talking, "And don't think about trying to guess the code either. If you put in the wrong code, enough electricity will be running through your body to make you wish you were dead. Clear?"

I continue to glare at him, but I nod nonetheless. Spider places a hand on my arm, a concerned look etched into his features. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I softly pat him three times; a way that I would tell my family I was alright if something had happened. He didn't look entirely convinced, but he calmed down a little.

The woman moved to stand in front of us, holding her hand out. She smirked when I met her gaze. "Name's Zdinarsk but I go my Z-Dog." I reach out, giving a small handshake. She continues to smile when she speaks again, "You did a good job putting Lyle in his place. You even got Mansk to laugh a little."

Lyle looked over at Mansk when Z-Dog finished her statement. He glared at his fellow soldier. "Asshole."

"You deserved it." Me and Z-Dog laughed at his unbothered tone. We had received Lyle's glare, though he looked like a toddler who just thrown a tantrum. I covered my mouth again as I made that realization, trying to contain my smile.

Before it could continue, Quaritch scoffed, "That's enough. All of you, get some rest. I want to see you all bright and early tomorrow. Mansk, you take your new friend to your bunk. Might as well get comfy with each other. Not going to be spending much time apart."

I glared at him as he motioned for Spider to follow him. Though I was hesitant, I let Spider leave with him. I had saw the way Quaritch had looked at him when we were captured. Though he seems indifferent, Quaritch has a soft spot for his 'would be' son. Spider was one of the few, if not only, things the Colonel had to be reminded of his humanity.

I was broken out of my thoughts when Lyle stepped in front of me, his smirk from earlier back. He reached out to touch a strand of my hair as he started asking more questions. "So, why don't you talk? Did something happen or can you just not comprehend how to properly speak?"

I slapped his hand away as I hissed at him. He laughed at the reaction he got out of me. Lyle tried to do it again, but Z-Dog pushed him back slightly before he could. "Come on Lyle. That's enough. Stop pissing her off before we let her maul you."

Putting his hands up, Lyle backs away slightly though he doesn't leave just yet. He decides to keep asking questions, though this time they are somewhat normal. "How old are you anyway? Can you even understand what any of us are saying right now?"

I roll my eyes at the second question he asked. If I didn't understand them, how would I have known how to react to them all earlier. Deciding to at least prove him a little wrong with his assumption, I muster up the courage to give a small but firm answer. "I'm 20 years old."

He grins wider at the soft sound of my voice. "Alright, that's enough questions. Leave the girl alone." Masnk had stepped between the two of us, apparently tired of the whole ordeal. He turned towards me with a somewhat soft expression on his face. Looking down at me, he spoke again, "Come on. Let's get going."

I give a small wave to Z-Dog before following Mansk through the corridors to wherever he was going. Not much was said between the two of us, but it's not like I would really have all that much to say. I never had a problem talking, it just seemed like not many people seemed to care to listen when I was younger. So I mostly remained quiet as I was growing up. My parents and siblings always gave me there full attention when I did decide to speak, but not many in the clan seemed to care the same as they did. My grandmother used to tell me that Eywa had given me this gift for a reason and I should be proud of it. Once she had told me that my words would one day help guide the People to a better future. Though I was skeptical of some of my grandmother's wor, it was not my place to question Eywa's will.

Before I knew it, Mansk had stopped to open a door. He held it open as he gestured for me to enter. I slowly entered into what appeared to be his room. It was very clean, the only thing out of place was a shirt that was laying the bottom bed of his bunk. I walked over to a shelf that he had right beside his desk. Looking over all the books he had, I slowly ran my fingers along the spines of each of them.

"So, um, (Y/n)." When he said my name, I turned back to look at him. He seemed nervous about being in the same space with me alone. His eyes began roaming around the room as he started to ramble. "Yeah, so I know it's small but it should work. I normally take the bottom bunk so you can have the top one if you want. Since we leave in the morning, if you need to there's a shower over in that room. You can clean up if you want to. I know it's been a long day."

I stare over at the door he had pointed out. I debated with myself on if I should clean, ultimately deciding to just get some rest. I walk over to the beds. As I place my hands on the edge, he calls out to try and stop me. I push myself up onto the top, settling down to sit with my legs crossed. I peer down at him to see his wide eyed gaze looking up at me. Tilting my head to the side, I give him a confused stare back.

He let's out a small sigh as he mumbled, "That's one way to get up I guess." Moving over to another door, I leaned down to rest on my stomach to get a better look in it. It appeared to be full of his uniforms from where I was sitting. I was proven correct when he pulled out a pair of pants. Mansk turned back towards me to see me still looking at him. His face started to become a soft purple as he looked away in embarrassment. Going over to the bed, he grabbed the shirt to start heading towards the door. As he opened it, he stopped before he went through it completely.

He looked back towards me, seeming to be in debate with himself. I gave him a confused look as he sighed and came back towards me. Lifting his shirt up to me, Mansk refuse to meet my gaze. "You might want to... cover up a little. We normally keep our barracks colder than what you're probably used to. You can borrow this for now."

My eyes widen in surprise at his kind behavior. I gently take the shirt from his hands to bring it closer to my body. I rub my fingers again the fabric, surprised by how soft it feels. Focusing my attention back to Mansk, I give him a soft smile. "Thank you."

"Yeah, um... yeah," Mansk turned around again, still refusing to meet my gaze after giving me the shirt. He walked back over to the door again . He spoke in a soft voice, but I was still able to hear him. "I'm going to take a shower real quick. Just stay in here please."

Once he had closed the door, I laid on my side looking at his shirt. I was debating on if I should wear it or not. I made up my mind when I shivered slightly as the air came down from the ceiling. Sitting up slightly, I pulled the shirt over my head. Pulling it down so it would bunch, I was engulfed in his scent. It mostly smelled of sweat and some kind of water. Probably from what he used to clean himself. His shirt was big enough on me that it went down to my upper thigh.

I laid back down resting my head on the pillow. I could hear the water running in the other room. Huffing softly, I turned to face the wall as I tried to get some sleep. I closed my eyes while trying to even out my breathing. Though, it seemed pointless because I could only think about my family. I didn't know where they were or if they were even safe right now. I tried to hold in my cries, but a few tears managed to slip past.

I laid there crying quietly when I heard the door open again. Even though I wasn't face Mansk, I wiped my face so the tears weren't there anymore. Letting out a sigh that was shakier than I liked, I heard Mansk lay down underneath me. The room was so quiet, I had assumed that he had fallen asleep already.

Just as I was about to try and fall asleep again, his voice broke the silence, "Are you alright? I know it's been a long day for you and your family."

At first, I almost pretended that I didn't hear him. Act like I was asleep and that he didn't know. But deep down, I felt touched by his concern even though I was thrown into his care. Taking a deep breath, I could only give a soft, "I wanna go home."

I heard him sigh from the bottom bunk. I curled into a ball, closing my eyes again to try and fall asleep. Before I was able to drift off to sleep, I heard Mansk say, "It'll be okay (Y/n). Just try not to think about it too hard." I smiled a little at his words. Who knows, maybe he has a bit of a point.

~Thinking of making this a series. Thoughts? Anyways, feel free to request if you want anything specific. Will write ALMOST anything.

[ilovebluedilfss]

mansk is just so 😇

[akoyaxs]

Masterlist ━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

『Aonung』

˚༄ Dangerous Games (NSFW)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

˚༄ Tunutu (NSFW)

『Neteyam』

➴ Dangerous Games (NSFW)

Part 3

━━━━༺❀༻━━━━

I'm really new to tumblr, my masterlist will grow as I write more. Hopefully you can find something you like, and always feel free to request if there's something in particular that you'd like &lt;3

[moongreenlight]

141 gossiping about Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley for roughly 3,000 words idk titles are hard

Price was the first to notice. Priding himself on being incredibly observant, especially when it came to his boys.

He noticed that whenever they had a break from trainings or meetings, he’d somehow always find the two of you in a room together. Never close enough to give him reason to say anything. You scribbling notes on a patient report at one table, Ghost at another, his chair angled just enough so that he could watch you from the corner of his eye.

Noticed the way Ghost’s hand rested on the small of your back for a heartbeat when you entered a doorway before him. Just a brush of his massive hand on you, quick enough to be mistaken for an accidental touch.

Noticed how Ghost’s eyes seemed to always flick to you from across the mess hall. Not often, but enough for Price to casually turn his head and see that same nurse Ghost seemed to have a preference for.

At first, Price thought he could help by being a wingman of sorts. When Ghost took damage on a mission, Price would escort him to medbay and watch as he dismissed nurse after nurse until you were finally available to treat him. Price lingered as long as he could before you inevitably waved him away, cheekily reminding him you always took good care of his team and that you’d have ‘Lieutenant Riley’ back in no time. The only thing he could catch was the way Ghost’s shoulders relaxed by a hair’s breadth when you drew the curtain shut behind you.

He tried again during a meeting with his boys. Suggesting they bring a medic on a mission with them. Said something about how it would be better to have the option of a patch-up readily available. Keep his team fighting fit in real time instead of having to wait until they came back to base. Price saw the way Ghost tensed slightly in his seat, the muscles in his jaw twitching under his balaclava.

The notion was quickly vetoed. Ghost grumbling something about not wanting to babysit any more than he already does. How it’s ultimately more paperwork he doesn’t want to have to deal with.

He tried once more, going to Ghost’s office one evening. Almost turning tail once he realized how ridiculous it was to be this insistent on figuring out if his Lieutenant had some boyish crush on the sweet nurse he always seemed to be lingering around. But ultimately decided that it was good practice to know more about his team personally. Better bonding meant better interaction on the field, right?

He asked Ghost to redo some paperwork. Add a ‘next of kin’ to his file in the event that something happened and they needed to alert someone. Ghost looked a little suspicious, shrugging off the request.

“Left it off for a reason, Captain.”

He said gruffly, waving a hand. Barely looking up from his desk.

Price pursed his lips, shifting his weight slightly.

“You sure, Simon? Haven’t got anyone that’d be interested to know what happened to you?”

Ghost rubbed the bridge of his nose, like the conversation was more trouble than it was worth, before shrugging once more. Finally looking up from his desk and leaning back slightly in his chair.

“You planning on shipping me off somewhere and not picking me back up?”

A small chuckle from Price. A shake of his head.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Cheers, then. Leave it off.”

This quelled Price’s curiosity for a while, unable to dream up any other reason to try and force Ghost to indulge him. It no doubt hurt his ego a bit, thinking about how his Lieutenant and one of his closest friends was so dead set on keeping his personal life so closely guarded. He’d push the feelings aside, chalk it up to being jaded by his work. Over-involved in the lives of Soap and Gaz. It was probably good for Simon to have something sacred.

Soap wasn’t as easily deterred once he caught on. Not as immediately perceptive as the others, but he knew Ghost well enough to know his tells.

It was after a long mission. Months long. Grueling, shitty, exhausting work. They got back in the early evening, mercifully spared from a debrief until the following day. Soap somehow ended up dragging Ghost to a dive bar a few blocks from base. Trying to sound persuasive when he mentioned that it was a Friday night and they deserved a few drinks and some female attention after all this time going without.

And they did get attention. Two good looking military men sitting at the bar were bound to. Soap knew that Ghost wasn’t one to play the field, but this was a bit frigid even for him. Ignoring girls who came up and tried to strike conversation. Rolling his eyes, or huffing a sigh like it was a chore to even dismiss them, drumming his fingers on the wall of his glass like he’s bored. It was baffling.

What was even more baffling was the way that Ghost’s knee bounced slightly against the stool. An infinitesimally small movement, but the way it caught Johnny’s eye made it seem like Ghost was all but jumping up and down. He looked almost anxious. Itching to get up and leave.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

Ghost’s head jerked toward Johnny, cold eyes narrowing in a way that would have been terrifying years ago- before he’d gotten used to it.

“Come again?”

“Got somewhere to be, have you?”

He sounds almost indignant. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Ghost is stand-offish by nature, but this is a caliber he hasn’t yet encountered. Almost enough to be offensive. To make him question the quality of his company.

“Maybe I do. What’s it to you?”

Ghost grumbled, killing the contents of his glass with a final mouthful. Setting it back on the counter and moving to drum his fingers on the bar.

“Been out of the country for months and you expect me to believe you’ve got plans tonight?”

This earned a sigh, low enough to pass as a growl.

“You keeping my social calendar now, then?”

He stood, digging through his wallet for a moment before slapping some cash down on the table next to his empty glass. Not giving Johnny an opportunity to lodge any further complaints against him. Before he nodded his goodnight and slipped out of the bar. Mumbling something about needing to get back to his flat and check on some things.

Soap couldn’t get his mind around it. Ghost was elusive, sure, but again; something seemed off. He was calm, cool, and collected. Wouldn’t be caught dead manifesting his impatience physically. The fidgeting and twitching in his seat. The first place Soap’s mind went was maybe Ghost was dying? That’d be the only reasonable explanation for his behavior. But even then, it seemed a bit extreme.

The next day after the debrief, which was nearly as brutal as the deployment itself, Soap was still so in his head about Ghost’s behavior he almost didn’t notice the pretty nurse who seemed to be waiting for someone at the end of the hall. In fact, he was so stuck in his own mind, he only caught a fleeting glimpse of Ghost’s back rounding the corner with the nurse at his side. Hushed conversation disappearing with them. A softer, much more pleasant voice than Simon’s.

He debated whether or not to follow them, maybe answer the questions that’d been plaguing his mind. Ultimately, he decided in favor of it. Padding down the hall behind the duo who seemed to be headed back to Simon’s office. They weren’t walking closely enough to touch, but Soap immediately picked up on the tension between them. Like the distance was serving some sort of purpose.

Soap lingered in the hallway for a few minutes after the two disappeared into Ghost’s office, trying to sort the pieces of the puzzle he’d barely began collecting. He ultimately decided to go the route he was most comfortable with. Not one for sneaking about, he simply strode up to the office door and swung it open.

You were sat at one of the chairs in front of Simon’s desk, him standing with his arms folded over his chest next to you. Not compromising enough for Johnny’s taste, but he still put on a wide grin and nodded to you.

“Forget how to knock?”

Ghost’s voice was calm enough, but his eyes were shooting daggers straight through Johnny. You looked stiff as a board, chewing the inside of your lip through the tight smile you were giving him.

“Sorry, L.T. Needed to know if you’re still on for trainings this afternoon.”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to Ghost, communicating something that he couldn’t quite decipher wordlessly before you began studying your nails in your lap.

Ghost cleared his throat, rolling his tongue in his cheek. Growling something obscene under his breath. The agitation rolling off of him in waves.

“No. Got another assignment.”

And with that, Soap was all but thrown from the office. Querying about this ‘new assignment’ the whole way. Simon crowding him to the door until he finally snapped it shut on his nose.

He heard later that day Ghost was seen in medbay with a toolkit swearing at an X-Ray machine that had been giving you trouble for a month. After that, Soap was on the two of you like a fly on shit. Never missing an opportunity to bring you up to Ghost or vise versa. Mock-innocently saying something to Ghost in passing at dinner about you. Asking if he fancied you. When he said no, Johnny shrugged and nodded. Saying he was glad because he had plans to ask you out the next time he was injured.

That comment landed Soap in the bay sooner than expected. Escorting him to a different nurse’s exam area and standing guard the entire time his black eye was being iced. Berating him for not being able to block a few punches when they had sparred after dinner.

And Gaz, sweet boy that he is, was always more emotionally in-tune. Observant about the little things. Able to pick up on queues Soap and Price may have missed over the years. He was keen as he was quiet, keeping all his little discoveries to himself. Over the years, he’d created a small arsenal of moments he wasn’t sure were significant enough to bring up. Things he could have talked himself into imagining if he thought about them hard enough. Not wanting to jump to conclusions about anything.

But he noticed the incredibly subtle tan line on Ghost’s left hand. Noticed the way he tapped his foot impatiently when the debrief after a long deployment ran long. Noticed the way you always seemed to be around the yard when they touched down after a mission. The way your shoulders dropped when you saw all four of them had returned home. Like you had just been relieved the duty of holding up the sky.

He didn’t immediately connect the dots. Initially thinking that you’d just taken a special liking to the task force. They were some of your most frequent visitors, after all. Price had all but claimed you as their own. Specially requesting that you were the only one to patch their wounds, claiming the other nurses couldn’t hold a flame to your skill.

He didn’t mind. Came to enjoy the little chats the two of you had when the curtains around the cot were drawn. The little kikis you had where you chatted about anything and everything. Complaining about your jobs, irritating patients, botched missions, the morsels of gossip from around base.

One day, after a particularly nasty skirmish on a mission, all four of the men had gnarly wounds. You looked a bit more tired than usual. A bit more on-edge. Your answers were a bit more flat than they usually were. So the first part of the assessment was left mostly silent spare for a few soft “thank you’s” on his part.

It was only when you were bandaging a wound on his thigh did he notice the shape of a ring on your left hand under your glove. A thin band that wrapped neatly around your finger.

“Didn’t know you were married, doc.”

It was a passing comment, more just to spare him the agony of trying to hide his soft groans of pain in the thick silence.

You hummed your acknowledgment, focused more on working sutures through his skin neatly than anything else.

“Lucky bloke. Hope he’s good to you.”

It wasn’t flirty or predatory, like so many of the soldiers could be. A genuine thought. He’d always thought you were sweet. Easy to chat with, always offering him a smile and a chirped greeting when the two of you passed in the hall. Thought you deserved someone to share in your kindness.

You smiled, brow still furrowed slightly in your focus while tying off the stitches.

“He does alright.”

You chuckled softly, straightening on your stool and rolling back just slightly so you could meet his eye.

“All these years and you never mentioned. I’m hurt.”

He words came with a practiced ease, slipping back into your usual playful chatter without missing a beat. Flashing a coy grin as he carefully flexed and relaxed his leg. Getting a feel for the newly patched wound.

You rolled the gloves off your hands and tossed them into the bin. Standing from your stool to scribble a few notes on his chart.

“Not something that ever came up.”

“Now it has. He have a name? How long you been together?”

You chuckled once more, looking over your shoulder at him with an arched brow. A little skeptical of his curiosity.

“A good while.”

He noticed the way you evaded his former question, like you’d done it before. It only fueled his curiosity.

“You worried I’ll know him? Or are you embarrassed? Not much of a looker?”

This earned an amused snort from you, turning away from the chart you’d been working on.

“Nothing wrong with wanting to keep my personal life personal, is there?”

You winked at him, pushing open the curtain that divided the small exam area from the rest of the bay.

He made a small sound of protest, making no move to stand from the cot just yet.

“Alright, forget it. Didn’t even want to know anyway.”

He sounded like a child being denied a sweet. Even playing up the act with a small pout on his mouth.

You tutted softly, conjuring up the best mock-sympathetic look you could before motioning for him to stand.

“We’ll talk later. Captain’ll have my hide if I keep you away a moment longer than is necessary.”

Another sound of protest, followed by a throaty groan as he finally pushed up off the bed. Unsure if he was being dramatic or if the aftermath of the mission had truly gotten to him that bad. Always a flare for the dramatics, him.

He muttered his thanks, cupping your shoulder in his hand as he trudged out. Making you promise to have a proper chat with him later.

He lingered in the bay, allowing himself a few moments peace before getting back to work. Just as he finally turned to leave, he saw Ghost moving stiffly- like he was trying to downplay a limp- toward your little exam area. Though for some reason, the scene looked a bit strange to him. He couldn’t help but peek in.

He caught the way you watched him lumber over with big, worried eyes. The way your nails dug into your palms until he was finally within arms reach. The way you quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying the two of you any attention before your hands flew to his neck, fingers slipping expertly under the hem of his mask and yanking it up over his nose. Not rough or angry, but with the kind of urgency that suggested you may die if you didn’t see a sliver of his skin. Make absolutely certain he was truly there with you.

The most jarring part- Ghost actually allowing you to touch the mask. Allowing your little hands to breach his personal space. Hands that would have easily been dwarfed by his own, swallowed up and twisted or shoved away like he had seen happen so many times in sparring matches with prospect soldiers. But Ghost just let it happen.

It was a flurry of movement, so fast that Gaz was certain he could have blinked and missed it. Frozen watching the two of you from just behind another exam area. Feeling like he was intruding without even meaning to.

And then he saw the way Ghost’s big arms snaked around your waist, drawing you flush to his front. You leaning up onto your toes to bring your face closer to the Lieutenant’s. A fervid kiss. You flinging your arms around his neck. The way your shoulders shook. A small, choked sob that Gaz was all but certain he imagined. Drowned out for everyone else by the sounds of the bay.

He was almost shocked that the world continued to move after that. Shocked that something that seemed so monumental could happen tucked away into your barely private exam area. Shocked that your reunion hadn’t halted time and space for everyone else like it had for the two of you.

He felt dirty. Like he should go up and apologize for lingering and seeing what he saw. But he stayed rooted to the spot, finding it impossible to move.

Truly the most damning part was when he caught the quickest glimpse of your badge just before the curtain was tugged shut. The badge you kept carefully pinned to your uniform face-down for a reason he couldn’t fathom until now. Twisted free for just a moment and finally connecting the snippets of information he’d collected over the years.

(Y/N Riley)

[ilovebluedilfss]

I am about to combust.

[stormlight-spren]

Slamming Doors

Simon 'Ghost' Riley / fem!Reader

Content:  civilian girlfriend, Simon is home from deployment, arguments + apologies, some sexual tension

Word Count:  1.3k

"Not now," Simon said dismissively, voice distant as he shuffled through several thick folders full of reports and papers that had chunky restricted or confidential stamps all over them. 

Boring. And definitely not how you thought you were going to spend your second weekend after his deployment together.

The thing is, it always takes Simon a while to get used to being around you again. 

Months spent apart, getting shot at and doing God-knows-what to God-knows-who left their mark, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to leave the Ghost persona at the door and embrace himself again. 

You understood, truly. 

There was no room for the soft-spoken, kind man on the battlefield. Simon, who liked to go out for a pint on the weekends and watched homebuilding YouTube channels to fall asleep to most nights, had to become someone else in order to kill on demand and wipe out entire districts with the push of a button. 

Sometimes you feared that, one day, there would only be an empty shell left, with violence and death filling the vacant spots where your boyfriend used to be.

"Yes, now," you pouted a bit, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against his desk with your hip. "I'm starving."

"Go get something then," he snapped, turning another page over, dark eyes not even looking at you as he read on and on. "I'm busy."

It hurt more than it should have, that cold voice. Unbidden, your throat constricted, and you could feel the tell-tale signs of tears working their way into your eyes.

"Right," you said, and even to your own ears the word rang hollow. You pushed yourself away from the bent-over figure, and something in your tone must have caught his attention because Simon finally looked up, mouth twisting as if to say something.

Whatever it had been, he faltered, dark eyes scanning your face, but you brushed past him, fists balled.

"Love-" he started, voice tired but you really really didn't want to talk to him anymore. Especially since every second longer in that office felt like one too many, like being stuck in an elevator with a stranger. 

"Whatever, forget it."

You slammed the door behind you on your way out, blinking against the tears and scrubbing over your face angrily. What a silly thing to cry about! If that... idiot wanted to hole up and drown himself in more work during his time off, fine. He could have his stupid papers for dinner for all you cared!

You thundered down the stairs of the cozy townhouse you were renting together, tying your hair up in a ponytail and raiding the fridge in a huff. As you busied yourself in the kitchen, you tried to shake off the anger and hurt you felt over Simon's behavior, but it was hard. You loved him, wanted to spend quality time with him at any given opportunity.

Going out for dinner had been yet another attempt to break him out of his shell, but just like the proposed cinema afternoon on Tuesday and the daytrip to the coast yesterday, he'd been uninterested. Dismissive. Cold. 

You had to be extra careful as you angrily cut your tomatoes, fingers dangerously close to getting chopped off with how vigorously you were handling the knife. 

Throwing them into the pan, you turned around to let the onions meet the same fate as strong, tattooed arms wound their way around your middle, giving you a terrible fright.

"Sorry," Simon murmured into your shoulder as he hunched behind you, taking in the different ingredients on the counter. "Didn't want to startle you."

He paused, but when you didn't answer him and didn't lean into his embrace, Simon sighed and nuzzled his face into the side of your neck, pulling you back until his body was flush with yours. You were still gripping the knife tightly, angry at yourself for being such a crybaby, and at him for not being this sweet all the time.

"What are you making, doll?" Simon murmured, lips bushing over the soft and sensitive skin on the back of your neck, goosebumps prickling your arms instantly.

"Bolognese," you grumbled, then shrugged him off as you reached for the fridge door again, pulling out some meat. You didn't get far however, because just as you turned, Simon was there in your personal space. 

He roughly grabbed the plastic tub out of your hands and threw it somewhere on the kitchen table, caging you in with his arms until your faces were only centimeters apart and dark eyes swallowed up every inch of your face.

"Are you angry with me?" Simon asked, voice low and kind of sweet and dangerous all in one. 

"No," you frowned, looking away, but a strong, long-fingered hand curled around your chin instantly and turned your head back towards him.

"But you are very quiet now," he said gently, then his calloused thumb brushed over your cheek first before trailing over to your mouth, tickling the soft skin of your lips as he stared at you. "Usually you chirp so prettily for me all day long."

"Annoy you, you mean," you frowned, but didn't pull away from his hold. 

Simon frowned as well, eyes darting between yours.

"How can I be annoyed with you, when being here is all I ever think about while we're apart?"

"You have a funny way of showing that," you snapped. "You barely looked at me all week, let alone spent time with me!"

"I'm looking now, aren't I?" His voice was thick, and his thumb dragged over your lower lip again, burning gaze following the movement. Then his eyes snapped back up to yours and he pulled you close by your chin, licking his lips.

"'M sorry, love, alright? It was just some last paperwork I didn't get to, I didn't mean to- y'know. Be rude to you."

The air between you seemed to crackle in the dim overhead light of the kitchen counter, Simon looming in front of you and looking chagrined. 

"That was very rude," you pouted, and his mouth twitched up in a half-smile. 

"I know, but so was slamming the door."

That earned him the first giggle out of you, and you felt the tension leave your shoulders as he leaned down and kissed you softly, still holding the smooth skin of your cheeks and jaw. Simon withdrew way too quickly for your liking, breathing deeply as his other hand wound itself into your neck and hair. 

You stared up into the pale face of the man you adored, so open and vulnerable all of a sudden. His thumb trailed over your mouth again as though absentminded, and you stared back as you sucked it in-between your lips for a moment.

His breathing faltered and pupils dilated as your teeth gently nipped into the skin there, tasting, before releasing him again.

"Do you accept my apology?" Simon growled, leaning down towards your ear as he finally allowed his hands to wander, letting them rest on your back and generous butt, squeezing hard and making you gasp. "Because I can't concentrate properly when you're mad at me."

"Hm," you hummed in mock-consideration, arms wrapping around his thick neck and shoulders as you stood on tiptoes and arched your body into his. "I feel like you have to compensate me for the fact that I have to play housewife tonight."

"Oh, is that so?" He murmured, grabbing your behind in both hands before easily lifting you on the kitchen counter, legs wrapping around his middle as your hands played with his short curls. You could feel the hardness hidden beneath the grey sweatpants that were riding low on his hips. "And how can I thank you properly then, my dear wife?"

Chin grabbing makes my brain go brr.

I hope you enjoyed this small chunk of what I imagine being with Simon would be like! If you want to read more COD content, spicy and wholesome, you can find my masterlist here!

Hope everybody is having a great weekend! 🫶🏻 - A ✨

🌙 Requests, prompts and asks are always welcome!

[tojisun]

simon (ghost) riley x fem reader

!! smut - minors dni; slight dumbification and daddy kink

simon realizes that he’s finally hit that threshold that renders you incoherent – too blissed out to respond beyond half-formed moans and stuttered gasps; too dizzy from pleasure that your eyes stopped seeing.

shit, you’re always so cute like this.

his hips don’t pause but he does slow down the tempo, choosing to rut deeply and slowly instead as he savours the way your body is getting jostled on the bed as if it stood no chance against his. and it truly doesn’t, a fact that makes him tremble.

you’re so soft and malleable under him, all doe-eyed and soft edges, kiss-swollen lips mouthing his name – “si! daddy, so good!”

simon humps his cock into your pussy, grunting at the feeling of your walls spasming around his size, swallowing him in so greedily. he closes his eyes with a hiss, going blind at the tight squeeze of your heat.

christ, love. how do you expect him to hold back when you feel so delicious around him?

“y’r takin’ me so fuckin’ well again, baby,” he murmurs, pressing his lips on your damp cheek, grinning when all he gets is a breathy moan in reply.

“i’m fuckin’ you good?” simon asks, thrusting in again, meshing together his hips onto your pelvis. the wetness of your cunt makes a wanton sound at the press, and you let out a squeal at another deep slide, your pretty eyes screwing shut at the overwhelming pleasure.

“fuck,” he gasps out. “yeah i am, aren’t i? look at you tremblin’.”

quiet and elated chuckles slip from his lips, and simon croons when all you can do again is cry out his name.

he’ll never tire of hearing you gasp out for him.

he nuzzles his nose along your cheek, the action so soft like he isn’t making a mess out of your cunt, and ghosts a kiss on the bridge of your nose.

“my sweet girl,” he breathes out. “my perfect girl – all mine. is that right, baby?”

“yes,” you finally manage to grit out, your voice all hoarse and broken. “all yours, si.”

simon shivers at your words; at how wrecked you sound, his heart swelling at the knowledge that he’s made you like this. that only he can pull you apart until you are bare and trembling for him.

“s’right, baby, y’r all mine.” he pulls up just enough to catch your little smile, your bleary eyes finally zoned back in as you gaze up at him in bashfulness. simon presses a quick kiss on your lips.

“and i’m all y’rs, sweetheart. jus’ yours.”

[cyberfreaky]

MY PRETTY BOY ♡

— synopsis: while cuddling with your best friend, you soon notice the bulge in his loincloth. you decide to help him out the only way you know how.

— warnings: 18+ content (MDNI). handjob. sub!jake + afab!reader. pet names. subtle mommy kink (jake calls reader ‘mama’ a few times). praise kink. cum eating.

you’re cuddling with your best friend as per usual. jake’s arm is coiled around your shoulder, and your head is resting upon his firm chest. the only sounds were your shared breaths, just you and jake enjoying much needed time together. his bed was always the cosiest. and his hut had become your sanctuary, too.

jake was hyper aware of your touch. the way your body moulded with his own made him gulp nervously — especially the feeling of your soft tits pressed up against his side. he felt everything. it was secretly getting to the na’vi man, and his hips would squirm unconsciously every now and then. you wouldn’t take much notice to this movement, considering your eyes were closed as you rested soundly. his ragged breaths weren’t that unusual.

after a few minutes, you wanted to adjust the position of your leg. you hummed quietly to yourself, bending your knee and overlapping it across jake’s tummy. your calf dangerously close to his crotch. jake’s breath hitches as your frail arm drapes across his chest, your entire body latched onto his side as you obliviously enjoyed your little cuddle session. his mind was running at 10 m/ph. he felt so dirty for the way he was thinking, but he couldn’t control the blood that was rushing to his dick. every touch from you was like heaven, and the bulge beneath his loincloth was growing exponentially.

the poor baby has no idea what to do. how does he tell his best friend that she makes him rock hard? that he fantasies about fucking her every night before he goes to bed? that he fists his cock whenever he gets way too worked up, turning into a whimpering mess at the thought of thrusting inside her tight pussy? jake was at a loss. and on top of that, he was embarrassed beyond belief. it wouldn’t be too long before you came face to face with the fact your best friend was a little perv. at least, that’s how jake assumed you’d see him.

your eyes didn’t open, but a subtle shift in your leg brushed across jake’s hard-on. this alone made a soft moan leave his lips, one that didn’t go unnoticed by you. “jake?” you whispered, soon glancing up at your best friend and watching as his face grew a deep mauve. he refused to look at you, going as far as turning his head to the side as if he were holding back tears. you lifted your calf, now seeing the true effect you had on him. the straining of his cock looked almost painful, and there was already a damp blotching in the fabric.

the humiliation on jake’s face was apparent, and you sympathised with him. he was a sensitive man, you’d known this since the day he latched himself onto you. the last thing you felt for jake was disgust - if anything, you wanted to help him out. that’s what friends were for, right?

“hey, look at me.” you’d coo softly, bringing your hand up to jake’s face and gently forcing his head to face you. it took him a few moments to look down at you, and his pretty eyes were filled with tears. he didn’t want to lose your friendship, you were the most important person in his life. “you want me to help you out?”

jake was shocked…you wanted what? you were actually offering to help him, rather than pushing him away? the man sat there silently for a moment, the surprised expression on his face contorting into intrigue as the seconds passed. he’d craved nothing more than for you to want him. not just platonically, but sexually. and here you were, laid besides him with a mischievous smile. there was no way in hell that he was going to pass up on this opportunity.

“…yeah. p-please.”

you smiled at jake’s timidness, the two of you remaining in your cuddled position. his body was so stiff, and it wouldn’t take long before he was relaxing in your embrace.

your head remained on his puffing chest, eyes focused on the bulge protruding from jake’s loincloth. you gently untied the simple knot on his side, pushing aside the covering for easier access. “eywa.” you gasped to yourself as jake’s cock was exposed to you. he let out a breathless whine, his throbbing dick springing out and hitting his abdomen. you were taken back by the size and girth, it was certainly a delicious sight.

“how pretty.” you drawled, brushing your thumb across his bulbous tip. pre-cum glazed across the head, dripping down the side of his veiny length. jake’s speech was stuttered and staggered, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

you spat into your palm, soon coiling your slender fingers around jake’s fat cock. with the saliva and oozing release from his slit, it provided you enough lubrication to pump him comfortably. you were so casual as you cuddled jake, jerking him off with deliberate, slow movements. you already felt him pulsing on your grip, his hips desperately bucking in the air for faster friction. you didn’t stop him from doing so, and let your best friend thrust himself witn your hand.

“oh, shit.” jake groaned loudly, his back arching off the bed as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. your delicate hand was like heaven to jake, and he could only imagine how good it’d feel to fuck you for real. “god, faster. f-faster!”

you kept that agonising pace, not once giving into jake’s pleas. you wanted to hear him beg a little more, and a little smirk crept onto your lips. “say please.” you taunted jake, fisting his cock even slower just to make him whine dramatically. he was so fucking desperate, and the way he glanced down at you with flattened ears nearly made you let up. “be a good boy and use your manners.”

“please, mama.” jake’s tone was so bashful and urgent, that suggestive name made you want to giggle. this grown man was puddy in your hands - you’d singlehandedly made toruk makto buckle. and now he was calling you mama? how precious. you couldn’t say no to such a pretty, little thing.

“that’s it. you’re so good fr’mama.” you praised jake, gliding your wet hand faster and jerking him with a delicious speed. you’d alternate your hand from twisting around his length, to pumping him relentlessly. each motion had jake’s thighs clenching, biting hellishly on his bottom lip till blood was nearly drawn.

your words of praise awakened something within jake, and he wanted nothing more than to receive your validation. each time you gave him a little compliment, all while jerking him off, only heightened how horny he was. the na’vi man was reduced to nothing but whimpers and grunts of pleasure. his climax was building rapidly within him, but he didn’t want to cum yet. he wanted to hold on longer just to impress you.

jake’s cock was so pretty. the way it pulsed and twitched in your hand made you want to lap up every drop of arousal that leaked from his tip. the azure skin glistened with his own pre-cum, mixed with your spit. the white, sporadic freckles down the length was almost picture perfect. you wanted more than to just jerk him off. you wanted him inside you, jn every way possible. to feel his girth stretching you out till you were cumming all over his happy trail. eywa, he was beautiful. and the same exact thoughts were swirling through his own mind.

“look at you. such a pretty boy.” you’d say quietly, pressing a few gentle kisses across his bare shoulder. you paid extra attention to the base of jake’s cock and showing his heavy balls some love. you’d fondle them in your hand for a moment, squeezing them gently and rubbing the fullness. this new sensation earned a string of loud moans from jake, and brought him closer to release. you wanted nothing more than to suck on them while getting him off, but you had to be patient. both of you had to be patient.

“christ, m-m’so close.” jake panted through whimpers, gripping the white sheets below him as his hips frantically slammed against your hand. with your tight grip and sweet voice, it was a miracle he hadn’t already came. “mama, please..mmhm!”

as much as you wanted to deny jake’s orgasm, his screwed up expressions and watering eyes were making you soft. your fingers glided up towards the tip, pumping and twisting the reddened tip to coax out his release. you leaned closer to his ear, whispering sensually as you gently bit the lobe. “c’mon, baby. cum for me.”

that was all jake needed to hear. with a few final pumps of his hard cock, he’d easily reached that sweet release. “yes, y..yes…fuck!”

jake cum spurted out of the tip and lathered his abdomen and your hand. it practically sprayed out, leaving your fingertips sticky with his warm release. your best friend’s eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling as his chest heaved up and down. you’d given him that ecstasy he’d been craving ever since he met you, and it was so addicting. he laid there silently for a moment, trying to compose himself as a single tear drop rolled down his face. the weight of his orgasm was immense, and he’d never felt such relief in his entire life.

“holy shit.” jake muttered to himself, unsure of what else to possibly say.

you looked down at your sticky hand, and back towards a breathless jake. you didn’t even think twice before bringing your fingers to his mouth, inserting them past his lips and making jake swallow his own cum. not surprisingly, he lapped up every drop as he tiredly glanced down at you. jake sucked on your wet digits hungrily, grunting and moaning while his tongue swirled around the tips. the role of submission he was falling into made his cock hard once again, though his had absolutely no shame this time around.

you truly had him wrapped around your pinky finger.

— all rights reserved © cyberfreaky (2023) do not repost, translate or copy my work without given permission.

[ilovebluedilfss]

giggling

[lialacleaf]

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 1

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not... Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Simon's POV

A fear tactic. That's what Johnny called it. The infamous Ghost. The Reaper of The Night. The man, myth, and legend that was coming to act as a vengeful reaper and mercilessly take the lives of those who got in his way.

His reputation preceded him. A reputation he never intended to have. The point was never to be something for others to fear. A Ghost couldn't be seen. A Ghost couldn't be touched. Most importantly, a Ghost couldn't be hurt. Simon was safe if he was dead.

Until he wasn't.

You were just some stupid rooky who joined the army so they'd pay for your college tuition. You had the same sob story most people did. No money, no marital prospects, and not enough education to obtain a job that would sustain you in a struggling economy. No one was coming to save you, so you made a decision to save yourself.

"Mom and Dad were barely making things work financially, I couldn't be a burden anymore," you explained once as you sat next to Soap in the helicopter, your head barely reaching the shoulders of the men and women you were seated around.

It made Ghost's stomach drop, no, Simon's stomach. You were fragile and had no business having that battle rifle in your small, soft hands. People like you were supposed to have options. At least Simon believed so.

How was he supposed to give you orders as if he didn't know you had a higher chance of not making it back? He just wanted to leave you on base, wrapped up in bubble wrap for good measure. When he looked into your eyes there was still a softness there, a feminine light that hadn't been beaten out of you just yet. The idea of seeing it vanish terrified him. It made his chest ache.

You didn't need to know that however, and as far as anyone knew, Lieutenant Ghost despised you. He told you to secure the landing zone for when they got back or left you behind to keep watch on every mission possible. You were convinced the large, masked man saw you as a disgrace to the 141 and was embarrassed to have such a small fry on his team. At least that was the gossip you picked up here and there. He didn't want you to see any action, that much was clear.

"You're up late."

Simon glanced in your direction as he stirred the honey in his tea, his grip on the chipped mug, the porcelain stained on the inside from many years of holding hot coffee, tightening ever so slightly. You were seated in one of the kitchen chairs, legs folded in on yourself as you sipped at your own steaming mug.

He didn't respond and went about dumping his tea bag in the wastebasket. He needed to not look at you in your soft leggings that hugged your figure with that baggy 141 sweatshirt that despite being a size small was still too big for you. You'd be swallowed whole in his clothes, and that was a sight that a very primal part of his brain wanted to see.

There was something about you being so delicate that made him want to press his lips against the curve of your jaw and tell Price to go to hell for not assigning you more office work instead of sending you out with his men.

He had to keep his mind in his upstairs brain, however, lest he risk your life and others in the field. He wouldn't be responsible for you getting hurt.

"I'm sorry," you said all of a sudden.

"What for?" he didn't look up from his mug as he took a sip.

"For being...being a liability that you have to plan for."

He let out a tired sigh. "What happened to going to college?" he disregarded your apology.

"What?"

"Heard you tell Soap you joined the army so you could get into college, that clearly never happened."

You coughed awkwardly. "I got a little lost along the way." You didn't know what to study. Didn't know where to apply. Didn't know what you really wanted out of it other than a career that would make you money. "The 141 offered me a good salary, no need to waste tax dollars on a degree I wouldn't even know what to do with."

You shouldn't have to worry about that sort of thing. You should have someone taking care of all of that so you could read books, go on walks, and grow a garden. You didn't seem like the type who worked because they wanted to, you did it because you had to.

The part of Simon that had watched his mother go to work grueling hours at the local diner just to support his father's addictions hated that. The part of him that had watched her slowly lose her feminine glow and replace it with withered steel to accommodate the survival of herself and her boys stung. He wasn't supposed to feel this hurt. He was supposed to be a Ghost. But the overwhelming urge to care for you was making that difficult.

He set his tea down on the counter and let out a huff as he approached you. Your hair was wet, and you had clearly just come from the shower. He suspected you showered later to avoid the others, specifically the men.

And boy did that thought have him grinding his teeth. If you were his woman, you'd be using his own private quarters to clean up. No prying eyes, not even his own.

"What would you have done if none of that was of any concern?" he asked, and you let out a soft little laugh.

"You'd have me anywhere but here, huh?" you said with a raised brow.

Simon tilted his masked face downward to pin you with a stare that made you swallow thickly, brown eyes boring into your own.

He'd have you dolled up in his cabin back home doing whatever the hell you pleased, painting pretty pictures, baking sweet bread, he bet you would like riding horses too.

"I'd have you safe, y/n."

He didn't say another word to you as he turned around, picked up his mug, and left you to watch him go with wide eyes.

~

He didn't want to take you on the mission, but Price said they needed someone small enough to sneak in through the warehouse's ventilation system and gather intel.

Price told him not to worry, and that you were a clever girl. That didn't ease his mind in the slightest. He had the scope of his sniper trained on the building, watching for any alarming movement.

"Confirmed intel on the location of the arms dealer and their client, ready to regroup, L.T.?" you whispered into your radio.

"Affirmative, meet us at evac," he replied, motioning for Soap to follow him. The other soldiers under his command had been circling the warehouse from a distance, looking for any sign of trouble. He had just about allowed his shoulders to relax when the alarms started.

Ghost whipped his head around as a slew of curses left Soap's lips. "What'd the little lass do now?" he muttered, but Ghost didn't hear him, having already taken off towards the warehouse.

He was already planning how he was going to chew you out for not being careful enough when he saw trucks approaching in the distance. It wasn't you that set the alarms off, it was some rag-tag terrorist group on their way to rob the warehouse. And you were going to be right in the middle of it.

"L/N! What's your status?" he demanded over the radio. His men were already being pulled into the firefight. It wasn't until he was nearing the warehouse that he finally had eyes on you, your small form crouched behind a stack of crates.

"L/N, Move!" he shouted, providing you with enough cover to make a run for the evac. He watched as you took off, running as fast as your small legs could carry you. He was so distracted with you that the sting of the bullet in his shoulder came as a shock.

Seconds later he was knocked to the ground, by a kick to the back of his leg, and a strained grunt left his chest. His head snapped up as his attacker stood above him, prepared to finish him off with a bullet between his eyes.

But then he stopped, and Ghost's eyes narrowed at the sound of running feet slamming against the ground. He felt his heart sink watching you throw yourself at his attacker, knife in hand.

No. It wasn’t going to work. He was bigger than you, and you didn't have a clue what you were doing. You were going to die for him. Because of him. He'd never hated himself more.

He had to watch the man rip the knife from your hand and drive it into your knee, his anger boiling over as his attacker pushed you away as if you were as threatening as a sunflower stalk.

You fell to the ground in a sobbing heap, and that sound alone had Simon reaching for the man's sidearm despite the pain in his shoulder. There was a bullet in his throat before he even noticed that the Lieutenant was no longer lying flat on his back.

"L.T.? Where are you? Evac is here?" Soap's voice chimed over the radio, but Ghost ignored him as he hefted your small form into his arms.

"Shh shh, hold on f' me now. Done so good so far. Gotta finish the mission," he murmured as he squeezed you against his chest. "M' not leavin' you here," he promised, trudging towards the evac site.

"L.T.?" Soap tried once again, but Ghost didn't answer. It was too much to think, too much to hit the button on his radio as he tried to hold you in a manner that wouldn't make you cry out in pain.

"Almost there, love."

AN: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! Next chapter will be in Reader's POV!

[cj-k]

swap au pipiipip Tsireya and Aonung Omaticaya Loak and Neteyam Metkayina

[ilovebluedilfss]

I can't describe how much I love this

[stormlight-spren]

2:25 AM

Simon 'Ghost' Riley / Reader

Summary:  Simon returns home a little earlier than expected, and all he wants is a good night's sleep and the warm body of a person he loves.

Content:  coming-home-from-deployment, curvy! civilian girlfriend, domestic fluff, shared shower, jetlag, unprotected sex, lazy middle-of-the-night sex, fingering, hickeys, missionary, cum eating, oral

Word Count:  2.3k

Notes: Did I type this in one go (frenzied, horny and slightly tipsy), but still need to get up at 5:20 AM for work tomorrow? Yes. Was this stuck in my brain and demanded to be let out? Double yes. NOT FOR MINORS.

The key scraping against the door had her turning around in alarm, spatula clutched in her right hand as the other fumbled for something sharper, pointier.

Simon wasn't supposed to be home for another two weeks, and all she had on her was a fluffy towel and sheet mask - not exactly the proper attire to face a burglar. But Ghost, the Lieutenant not her boyfriend, had taught her how to defend herself. How to make an opponent bleed enough for them to back off or die as the consequence of assaulting her. 

Call me, if you ever have to kill someone, he'd said and stroked her cheek. I'll take care of the mess.

She'd laughed then, and teased him about being too far away to fix anything but now that the adrenaline was pumping through her veins, she started receiting his work number by heart over and over again.

Then the logical part of her brain kicked in, and wondered why on Earth a burglar or serial killer would bother with picking a lock in the first place. Wouldn't they just come smashing through the window-

The door swung open silently, a large gloved hand groped for the light switch in the entrance way and then suddenly he was there, bathed in the soft light of the lamp they'd bought together when they first moved into their shared flat.

Simon still wore a dark mask that covered his mouth and nose, and she stared, flabbergasted, as he methodically removed his gloves and black beanie, dumping his heavy backpack next to the umbrella stand.

"Si?" She whispered, and he flinched, chocolate brown eyes swivelling up to hers as he made an aborted motion, like he was reaching for a holster that wasn't there.

"Focken hell, luv," he slurred, words distorted from lack of sleep. The dark purple rings under his eyes spoke of the long journey he'd taken, and she'd lost track of where in the world he was fighting against evil at this point. "Ye look like a damn axe murderer with that."

He gestured vaguely towards her face, and with a laugh that turned into a sob halfway, she dropped everything she'd been holding, ripped off the overpriced skincare and flung herself into his arms. Simon swayed a bit, and he still smelled of desert dust and faraway places but she didn't care. Nothing else mattered in that moment but him, the feel of his strong arms around her as he lifted her up like she weighed nothing, and pressed his warm cheek against hers.

She quickly pulled his face mask down, and Simon sighed as she kissed him, smiling as she peppered kisses all over his face.

"You didn't tell me you'd be back so early!" She complained, pulling him back into a bone-crushing hug. "I haven't been shopping for all your favourite treats yet!"

"'S fine," he mumbled, then buried his face into her shoulder, sagging a little as he put her back down. "Jus' wanted to be home with you."

Tears threatened to constrict her throat, and she swallowed against it, massaging the back of his head and short curly hair the way he liked.

"Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed, hm?" Her voice was only a whisper, but Simon nodded and let her guide him down the short corridor and into the darkness of the bathroom. They left the door open, allowing the light to pour in that way and she helped him strip out of the black joggers and long sleeve he'd been wearing, crouching down to untie his shoelaces. 

Under normal circumstances, the heated look he was giving her from above would have been enough for her to stay on her knees for him, but she knew that Simon was running on fumes. As flattering as the bulge in his tight briefs was, it was more of a reaction to be reunited after so long, than actual desire.

She pulled the soft cotton down his muscular thighs, grinning at the relieved hiss he let out when he was completely bare. Pushing him into the shower was easy, and when she stripped off her towel, it was only so she could join him and wash his skin thoroughly. 

Simon's hands wandered over her hips and breasts, and he pulled her in for a deep kiss but let her do whatever she pleased after that. She massaged his shoulders and back with soapy hands, ran her hands down his solid but thick abdomen, and even gripped his half-hard cock for a moment. 

He groaned and leaned his head against her shoulder, but then she moved her hands up and over into his hair and neck and Simon practically purred.

Blissed out and half asleep, he barely registered her removing the shower head from its mount and running it all over him, washing the suds down the drain and warming his chilled skin.

"Gonna put on your bathrobe for me, babe?" She asked softly, and Simon grunted as she turned off the water. They fumbled out of the shower and struggled a bit until he was wrapped up in black fluffy cotton. Storm trooper, she'd called him many times before whenever he wore this particular monstrosity. 

He let her lead him into their shared bedroom, thankfully tidy and clean, and belly-flopped onto the soft mattress. Simon was out within moments, breathing in the scent of fresh linen and her, mind at ease for the first time in forever.

With a smile, she quickly fetched a glass of water for them both, brushed her teeth and then marvelled at the sight of her boyfriend sprawled out on the bed.

Simon was early by almost two weeks, and her heart made a double-flip as she thought of the fact that it was the weekend now and she'd have two uninterrupted days with him before she had to go back to work. 

Her eyes wandered over the exposed calves and feet, the long fingers that clutched into her comforter, the translucent brows and lashes.

She changed into her pyjama bottoms and top, snuggling up next to the mountain of black robes and pale skin. Simon's deep breathing never changed as she wrapped one arm and leg around him, burying her face into his damp neck as she fell asleep, completely forgetting about her plan to stay awake all night to prepare for her night shifts.

The next time she awoke, it was still dark outside. Disoriented, she tried to place the warmth on top of her, the mouth that sucked into her skin with enough pressure to leave light pink bruises and made her pussy wet from the suction alone. Broad hands and long fingers were gripping her waist, and Simon's thigh was gently pressed between her legs, rubbing up and down.

She moaned and groped for him in the darkness as he sucked at her skin harder, moving on to her collarbones and breasts, then nipples as he went. He was still wearing the bathrobe, but it was sliding off his shoulders, revealing scarred skin and rippling muscles to her greedy fingers as she roamed over him.

"Si?" She panted and he hummed, fingers pulling her top down until both of her boobs were framed by the fabric, exposed to his hungry mouth. 

"I could eat you alive," he mumbled against her skin, then his calloused fingertips ran lower, exposing her stomach as he kneaded the soft skin there and slipped beyond, into her loose shorts.

The breath was knocked out of her as sure fingers rubbed over her embarrassingly slick folds, pushed deeper, and then withdrew only to circle her clit lazily. 

"You- you should rest," she stammered but pushed her chest against his mouth and clenched around nothing when he dipped two of his fingers into her and pulled out in the same motion.

"Can't sleep right now," he growled, then plunged his fingers back in, stretching her needy core a bit more. "D'you want me to stop, sweetheart?"

She'd rather die.

"N-no."

"Good," he growled, then captured her mouth in a sloppy kiss that involved a lot of tongues and hitched breaths as his fingers worked away at her. A third soon joined the others, and she whimpered, throwing her head back as he diligently prepared her for his cock. Her hips jerked whenever the ball of his hand brushed against her clit, and her fingers drew painful welts against Simon's shoulders and back, finally disrobing him fully and pulling him on top of her.

"Please Si," she whined, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer until her wet core was pressed against the hardness between his thighs. "Waited so long for you to come home."

He groaned and steadied himself with one arm next to her head, gripping his heavy cock with one hand and brushing the weeping head over her clit and opening several times. The darkness made it hard to see him, but the feel and taste of his skin were enough that night. 

She knew that Simon's eyes were a dark pool of molten chocolate right now, that his forehead would be creased in concentration. 

At the first breach, she clutched the soft sheets underneath her, pushing her hips into him, impatient. They both hissed, her from the slight discomfort of his girth and him from her tightness, but then she hooked her ankles behind his lower back and pulled him in.

Simon came to rest inside of her with a groan, sleep-warm skin pressed against her cheek as he started to move slowly, savouring it.

There was no rush, only the underlying currents of sleep and weariness that were soaked deep into both their bones as they moved against each other. Skin against skin, the slight sheen of sweat on his back, the trembling of her core and thighs whenever he hit a little too deeply from this angle.

Simon caged her face with his arms, hands in her hair as they kissed.

"I love you," he murmured, over and over again as her eyes rolled back into her head, mouth open as he buried himself inside her. "Missed you so much."

"Missed you, too," she panted, clutching onto him, chest constricting as his hips rutted harshly and strong hands lifted her hips and ass onto him.

Neither of them reached between their bodies to stimulate her clit any more, because they both knew that it would be the end of it. As soon as Simon felt her contract around him, he usually followed and they both weren't ready, needed more from this. Craved that prolonged connection.

His orgasm wasn't a grand spectacle of growls and lovebites like it sometimes was. Instead, Simon huffed into her neck as his movements stuttered, and she felt his lashes flutter against her sweaty skin.

There was a sticky warmth that filled her, overflowed as he kept moving a little while longer.

She'd been happy like that, content not to come in all honesty, because the fact that her lover was back in her arms was more climactic than anything her body could produce.

But Simon had always been a greedy man, eager to please and obsessed with making her soul sing out to him through pleasure. 

He withdrew, and they both hissed. Then a warm, wet mouth left a trail down her body, latching onto her thighs. Teeth and tongue worked into her soft skin, sucking harshly and then massaging the sore spot with thick fingers before moving higher and lapping at her slit that was slowly oozing his own release.

"Oh my fucking god," she moaned, clutching at his soft hair as her hips jerked into his face and suddenly he was on her, gripping her hips roughly and eating her pussy out like it was his last meal.

His tongue lapped at her clit, then her sensitive, still stretched-out entrance. Simon slid one finger into her, curled it just right and pumped it in and out rapidly, tongue fluttering.

He rumbled something between her thighs, but if it had been praise or a command, she didn't know and didn't care. Back arching, she clutched her sensitive breasts and pinched her nipples as he sucked and sucked. Stars exploded behind her closed eyelids, and if their neighbours didn't know that Simon had returned by now, they probably knew now.

Unable to hold in the high-pitched whine, she shuddered against his slick face over and over again, trying to get away from the immediate overstimulation as her orgasm crashed through her and eager for more.

Simon continued to suckle and lap at her clit for a while, the sounds obscene and so damn satisfying that she was glad for the darkness that obscured her crimson blush.

"Missed the sounds you make," he growled softly, voice faraway and sleepy as he slotted his entire weight and body against hers, crushing her into the mattress. "Missed your sweet taste."

"Simon!" She complained, embarrassed as she hid into his neck and he dragged his soft cock between their messy bodies for a few seconds, obviously just enjoying the moment.

"Sleep now, love," he sighed, flopping onto his side and pulling her head onto the thick pillow of his bicep, naked body intertwined with hers. "I'll keep watch over you."

I have no words. Just wanted soft, jetlagged and horny Ghost. That's all.

You can find my other COD works here! 🤍

[cinetrix-deactivated20231007]

Oh... oh my.

Girls, I know this isn't Avatar related, but we might use a bit of a distraction once in a while, right? And who wouldn't want to be distracted by a beautiful, strong, traumatized man coming home to his girl after a war mission? I swear if anyone can write a domestic, hot-as-hell story with soldiers, it's my bestie Imperihoe!!

The progress of my emotions throughout this story:

Give it a read, you won't be sorry. Ghost is a babygirl. In a uniform. And a mask.

[ilovebluedilfss]

i have never played cod but GODDAMN do I eat up these fics