ifonlyyuweremine

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Terms of Lease

Johnny (Soap) McTavish x F Reader

Synopsis— After your landlord raised the price on your flat, you’re left scrambling for a last minute roommate. Luckily or unluckily for you, a certain Scotsman with a shady work background seems to be the perfect candidate for a flat-mate.

Word count: 22.3k

Tags— Smut, strangers to friends to lovers, mild violence, slow burn, mild danger, Scottish men with red flags, cannon divergence?

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Modern 2-Bedroom Co-Living Apartment in Manchester City Centre, Price: £1,060/month per room (all bills included).

Description: "Fully furnished ensuite rooms in a contemporary two-bedroom apartment. Shared kitchen and living area. Flexible short stays. No deposit required."

Your fingers hovered over your laptop's keypad, switching between sleek photos of your kitchen in good lighting and the empty spare room across the hall. Everything had been perfectly curated: the listing had gone up, pictures had been taken, and your contact information had been provided.

All that was left was to wait for someone to bite the bait and take the room.

You glanced back over your shoulder to stare at the door to the spare room, a slight grimace settling onto your lips. You hadn’t intended to have a roommate; the whole point of moving to Manchester was to get away from a poor living situation. Not bounce from one to the other.

But alas, private education was not free. Your psychology degree wouldn’t pay for itself, and neither would your apartment. You’d managed to snag a part-time job at the pub down the street to ease some of the financial burden.

However, your landlord had been so kind as to raise the rent. Which brought you here, stuck endlessly re-scrolling your apartment listing, hoping someone would click. There was a sour kind of irony in having fought so hard for your own space, only to be forced into sharing it with a stranger.

You subconsciously gnawed at your bottom lip in worry; what if you didn’t find someone in time? Or worse, what if the person you ended up co-living with turned out to be a psychotic serial killer?

You shivered as your mind dug up endless Reddit threads about roommate horror stories.

Note to self: conduct thorough background checks.

You sighed, your head lulling back against one of the couch cushions. Well, at least if your hypothetical roommate did end up axe-murdering you in your sleep, there was free healthcare to make up for it on the odd chance that you survived.

A small noise chimed from your laptop, interrupting your train of thought. You looked at the screen. A small red dot was attached to the message icon of your contact listing. You clicked on the icon.

Message: “Hi, I’m interested in the available room. Any chance you could provide more details?”

You stared at the text briefly, your fingers hovering motionless over the keys. “Seems normal enough,” You muttered. You glanced at the name of the messenger, “-Okay…Johnny McTavish, let’s see if you’re going to axe murder me in my sleep.”

Message (You): “Of course, I’d be happy to send you more of the details…”

. . . . . ◟੭

In hindsight, was taking the first offer for the spare room an intelligent decision? No, probably not. However, you had worked yourself into an anxious spiral, fearing that this was your one and only shot.

So much for conducting thorough background checks.

Whatever information you did manage to get seemed normal enough, nothing that screamed “roommate from hell.”

You thought back on everything you knew about your soon-to-be housemate. His name was Johnny, he was in his mid-twenties, and he was in Manchester to “sort a few things out, " whatever that meant.

He also had a job; what he did exactly, you didn’t know. The term “security” seemed like a pretty general job description.

But, as a fellow person with trust issues, you couldn’t fault him for being slightly vague. As long as he could pay his half of the rent and co-exist with you like a normal person, you didn’t quite care to learn the nitty-gritty details.

Despite his elusiveness, everything else seemed to check out. So, you went ahead and arranged a date for him to tour the apartment before he officially moved in.

Speaking of, you glanced back at the wall clock. Watching the small hand point to the four mark, as if on cue, you heard someone knock on the door. Your eyebrows furrowed together. Punctual.

You stood up, making your way over to the door and wrapping your hand around the knob to pull it forward.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but whatever it was, was miles away from the person standing at your doorstep. He was tall and broad, with large shoulders and pale skin. His hair was brown. It was shaved down at the sides, making the middle portion slightly longer. It was almost like he had decided to shave it into a mohawk and gave up halfway through.

His face was angular, with a strong jaw and soft stubble. His eyes were a shade of pale blue, almost grey, framed by dark eyelashes. And he was dressed in a simple cotton T-shirt and jeans.

By the time your mind caught up with your eyes, he had started to speak. His hand held a small piece of paper the size of a Post-it note with an address scribbled down. “Excuse me—Lass, don’t suppose you’re the one who posted the room ad?”

His voice was thick and deep, shrouded by a heavy Scottish accent. You had to force your jaw shut before you started gaping like a fish.

He gave you a funny look the longer you stood there, his eyes darting from side to side. “Hope I’m not early.” He said, breaking the silence.

You shook your head, regaining the ability to put thoughts into words. “No,” you said, blinking hard. “You’re-uh, on time.”

His face broke into a smile. “Oh, great, then.” He shoved the small paper into the pocket of his jeans. His other hand extended forward. After you realized he was offering a handshake, you extended your own to meet his.

“I’m Johnny,” he said as his hand squeezed yours.

“[Name],” You replied. As you pulled away, your palm tingled. His hand was warm and rough, leaving a lingering spark on your fingertips.

He brushed past you with an easy, practiced gait. Confident. Like he’d walked into a hundred strange rooms before this one. “Nice place,” he said, glancing around. “You decorated it yourself?”

“Yeah. And I clean it myself too. So, shoes off by the door.”

He paused, then gave you a mock salute before toeing off his boots.

You walked back in, shutting the door behind you gently. You folded your arms. “So, Johnny. What brings you to Manchester?”

Of course, you had already asked him that beforehand. However, you figured you had a better chance of getting a narrower answer if you asked him in person.

He smiled, looking back over at you. “Bit of leave. Needed somewhere quiet to crash while I sort a few things.”

Internally, you slumped. The same vague, useless answer he’d given you before.

“You mentioned you work in… security?”

“Something like that.” He walked further into the apartment, making his way over to the kitchen. “Won’t be around much, no late nights. No parties.”

This guy wasn’t letting up.

No matter, you had plenty of time to investigate later. For now, as long as he paid the rent and stayed out of your way, everything would go smoothly. Plus, the whole point of the tour was for both of you to suss each other out and get an idea of who you’d be spending the next few months with.

Johnny wasn’t hard to look at, so you supposed there was a pro there. Maybe a suspiciously attractive Scotsman crashing in your flat wasn’t exactly what you needed, but it wouldn’t hurt.

“Well,” you said, “feel free to look around. Only thing that’s off limits is my room, second door on the right.” You pointed to one of the doors further down the hallway from the kitchen.

Johnny nodded as you spoke, “Yes, ma’am.”

“If you’d like, I can show you where your room is.” You offered, to which he accepted, following closely behind as you pushed the spare room door open.

It wasn’t much to look at, an empty bed-frame, a closet, a window, standard stuff. You glanced back at him, “Sorry, it’s a bit barren at the moment. Hopefully, you weren’t expecting a fully furnished bedroom.”

Johnny shook his head, walking past you to stand in the middle of the empty space. His hands set firmly on his hips as he looked around, “No apologies needed, Lass. Looks exactly like the photo, s’all that matters.

“Though,” he said, looking back at you. “I wouldn’t expect my decorating capabilities to match up to yours. Just to keep expectations low.”

A slight smile grazed your lips, “Noted.”

Johnny looked back at you, brushing off his hands like he had just gotten through with a day's work. “Should do just fine,” he said, “-I can move in as early as Wednesday, no rush though. I’ll give you a bit to think about it.”

You thought about it, chewing on the inside of your lip. That was early, however, Johnny seemed like a nice guy. Who knew when another opportunity for a housemate would arise? Maybe you were rushing into things, but rent was due by the end of the month. And with that subtle push you nodded.

“Wednesday it is.” You said.

. . . . . ◟੭

The smell lifted your head from the pillow before you were fully conscious enough to know you’d woken up.

You shifted, hands fisting the thick material of your comforter. It was dim, a warm light flooding through the crack in your door. You bitterly brought your hands up to rub the sleep from your sockets. Your nose wrinkling up with the dismay of being conscious again.

Your scalp ached dully; you reached back to scratch it when you realized you hadn’t taken your hair out from its ponytail the night before.

You grimaced, shifting until you were in an upright position. Apparently, you hadn’t bothered to change into pajamas the night before either, considering you were still clad in your work clothes—black jeans and a matching T-shirt with the pub’s logo placed in the top right corner of the shirt. With the addition of a black apron that reached your hips.

You smelled like a brewery.

An unfortunate side effect of working as a bartender. You let out a deep sigh, rubbing your hand over your neck to work out the tenseness of the muscles.

After a beat, you smelled it again, not beer this time, it was breakfasty, like eggs. As soon as you registered what the smell was, you heard the subtle crackling of oil in a pan with a soft sizzling noise. You paused, had you been sleep-cooking and tucked yourself back into bed somehow? Was that even possible?

Images of a singed black countertop with a large flame hovering over a melting pan flashed before your eyes.

You shot out of bed in a panic.

Throwing open your door, you stumbled your way down the hallway, one hand leaning against the wall to hold yourself up. You were half-expecting to see your kitchen engulfed in flames, but instead, as soon as your eyes adjusted to the influx of light, you saw…skin?

Standing with their back facing you was a man, back on full display with loose grey sweatpants hanging around his hips. Pale skin accompanied defined back muscles and oddly cut brown hair atop his head.

You stood statue still, unsure of what to do. Whoever the person was turned around, most likely alerted by the unseemly amount of noise you had just made running into the kitchen half awake.

Blue eyes met yours. “Mornin’, sorry bout’ the noise, didn’t mean to wake you or anything, Lass.”

Oh.

Right, your mind finally seemed to catch up with the situation. You now have a roommate.

A very shirtless roommate at that.

You swallowed thickly. Last night was Wednesday. You were put on a last-minute shift because your co-worker called in sick. Your boss had called you begging for you to cover it, and due to your lack of backbone, you relented.

You thought back to the message you had sent Johnny:

Message (You): Hey Johnny, so sorry but I have to cover a shift tonight. Feel free to get settled in without me, I left the extra key under the welcome mat. Just let yourself in.

Message: No problem, thanks for the heads-up.

Somehow, the notion that he’d moved into your apartment had completely slipped your mind. You were so swamped last night due to the lack of help that you weren’t entirely surprised that you managed to forget another person was in your own apartment.

“Rough shift?”

You blinked, zoning back into the present moment. “I-uh, yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Now that he was facing you, you had a full view of his shirtless body. If he didn’t look big before, he sure as hell did now. His chest was wide, his abdomen carved from straight stone. It was like looking at one of those raunchy men’s-fitness magazine covers.

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from his body and back to his face. “Sorry, I‘m just disoriented. Late night.” You said, swallowing thickly.

“No need for apologies, Lass. I get how it is.” Johnny shifted back to grab one of the spatulas sitting on the counter. Grabbing the pan on the stove and flipping the egg inside. “-You want one?” He said, gesturing to the egg.

You opened your mouth to refuse, but before you could, however, your stomach gave you away. A slight gurgling noise belched from your stomach, much to your embarrassment.

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you.” You muttered.

Johnny grinned at you, grabbing a plate from the overhead cupboard to place an egg there. Obviously, he had gotten acquainted with the layout of your kitchen while you were gone.

You gingerly took the plate with another small thanks, standing at the counter adjacent to him. Watching as he cracked the shell of another egg into the sizzling pan.

“You normally cook half-naked?” You mused, trying to fill the silence.

Johnny smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders as the egg cooked. “Sometimes, I can change if you’re uncomfortable.” He said, glancing back at you.

You shook your head, albeit a little too quickly. “Not a problem, just curious.”

Before you could grab a piece of cutlery, he beat you to it. Holding out a fork in your direction, you paused, extending your hand forward to take it. As you grabbed the metal, your fingers brushed against his. His hand was just as warm as you remembered.

Your fingers twitched, jerking back like the contact had burned your skin.

Johnny raised a brow at your skittishness. “You alright there?” He spoke casually.

“Just tired.” You lied, forcing yourself to look down at the plate as you cut your egg in half.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or the surprise. Or the sheer warmth of his palm brushing against yours. Either way, it lingered longer than it should have.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had a man in your flat, nor could you recall the last time someone had cooked you breakfast…or touched you, for that matter.

As startled as you were, it wasn’t an unwelcome interaction. Just…unexpected.

Living alone had made you hyperaware of how foreign touch seemed to be in your life. Maybe that’s why you felt like you were being electrocuted when your fingers brushed.

You took a bite of your egg; “This is good, thank you,” you spoke.

Johnny nodded, “Got to earn my keep somehow.” He said, loading the last of the eggs onto his plate.

He stood parallel to you, plate in hand, as he ate. It was silent for a moment, filled with the sounds of metal cutlery clanking against the ceramic plates.

Johnny was the first to break the silence, “I’ll be out this evening. Probably get back late, but I’ll try my best to keep quiet.”

You looked back at him, curiosity in your stare. “Does this have anything to do with your job in ‘security ?’” You mused.

He didn’t respond for a beat, “Something like that, yeah.”

You ate in silence for the remainder of the morning. You weren’t sure what he was really doing, and he clearly wasn’t about to tell you. But the eggs were good, and for now, that was enough.

. . . . . ◟੭

You had never considered living with someone to be ‘nice.’ It was convenient at the best of times, downright painful at the worst.

Sharing a space with someone meant opening yourself up to a variety of ways your privacy could be violated. You’d promised yourself that after you cut contact with your family, nobody from beyond that point would be able to violate you in the ways they did.

With time, your distrust of people slowly subsided; it ebbed and flowed most days. But when you concluded you needed to find a random roommate, your anxiety returned, almost like it’d never left.

However, the minute Johnny walked in, with his stupid Scottish accent, his odd habits, and elusive work life. Your previous fears seemed to slip away.

And now you could afford to pay your rent on top of university, which was always great.

Somehow, in the span of a few weeks, you and Johnny settled into a shared routine. Three days a week, you would get up for your morning classes to find a coffee already waiting on the kitchen counter.

Johnny was a freakishly early riser.

You would go to your class and come back with lunch, which Johnny was always present for. You’d either eat at the kitchen counter or, more recently, eat while walking around the small park near your complex.

By the time you finished, you usually had enough time to shower or work out before getting ready for your late shift at the pub.

Johnny was home for most of the day; he worked mostly nights. So, you tended to get back to the flat from working around the time he would leave. Each time he left, you had a silent understanding not to ask.

You never brought up his work, the answer was always the same. He would either shut you down immediately or find a way to deflect.

That didn’t stop you from wondering, though, because you did. You watched him like a hawk, gathering small pieces of information to hopefully create a clear image of what exactly he did when he went to work. Unfortunately, you never got far.

You caught small things, his hushed voice on the phone in the late hours of the night, a stack of papers hanging messily off of his dresser, dog tags dangling from his neck, which were almost always hidden in his shirt.

Obviously, he didn’t work your typical 9-5, you were sure of that. However, his odd hours, which left him absent well into the night and into morning, left you grasping at strings, trying to put the pieces together.

You had your theories, sure, but it was just that, a theory. You couldn’t very well spy on him during the night either.

But spending so much time during the day at the apartment apparently gave him countless opportunities to fix the place up.

Johnny proved to be an excellent handyman. Within the first few days, he fixed your leaky kitchen sink—then the creaky floorboard near your room, then the flickering kitchen light, and so on.

You also managed to convince him to teach you Scottish slang like “Eejit” (Idiot), “Blether” (Chatter-box), and your personal favorite: “Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally” (Meaning you’re looking ill).

No matter how often you heard him mutter under his breath in Scott, you couldn’t hold back your snickers. However, apparently saying “it just sounds funny” wasn’t a good enough response when he inquired about the roots of your amusement.

Alas, all things considered, things were going well. It wasn’t perfect harmony, but things were quiet, even domestic.

It was a Friday, and you were scheduled for the late shift at the pub, from 10pm to 2am closing. You mentally prepared yourself to be accosted by swarms of people who were there to get shit-faced while watching football (or soccer, whatever you call it).

Friday was your least favorite shift because it was the busiest, but your boss seemed to enjoy taking part in watching you suffer. So, begrudgingly, you got dressed and put your hair up. Swiping your house keys from off the kitchen table, you announced your departure to the empty room, a habit you’d picked up from living with someone else. Johnny knew your schedule anyway, but it was the polite thing to do.

Just as you feared, the minute you walked into the pub, you were hit with the stench of body odor and brewery. It was a madhouse, with people packed in booths and standing in clusters on the open floor between tables.

The bar was packed, too, with people lining the stools and any open space they could. The TVs turned up to the max on the sports channel.

“Oh, thank god you’re here.”

You turned as someone grabbed ahold of your hand; a middle-aged woman dressed in the same uniform stood in front of you. She had kind eyes with slight bags and medium-length thinning hair pulled back into a claw clip.

“Janet.” You breathed, “What’s going on in here? Did all of Manchester decide to show up?” You spoke, taking in the state of the bar.

She let out an exasperated breath, “Looks like it, doesn’t it? No, just another one of those sports cups.”

You nodded in bewilderment; you knew there was a reason you should’ve been keeping up with British sports games. Maybe then you would’ve had the hindsight to call in sick.

She sighed, “You better get behind that bar, love. Before Arthur quits for good this time.” Pointing at the bartender currently behind the bar, a scowl plastered to his reddish face.

You gently patted her shoulder in sympathy, “He always says that, but he never does.” You said cooley, trying to ease her worries. You pushed her away from the rearing crowds as you went over to relieve Arthur of his duties.

You somehow managed to hold down the fort (more or less) with help from Janet and some of the other staff for the next 4 hours. The crowds had slowly depleted and all that remained was the stragglers.

You looked down at the counter, more specifically at the damage. Some of the syrups would need to be refilled, the trash was practically overflowing, and you didn’t even have the heart to look at the drip tray. Whatever mystery liquid was brewing inside that silicone tray was likely radioactive by now.

An hour till closing, and the minutes couldn’t possibly pass any slower.

You turned around, grabbing the trash and tying the top in a knot. Maybe getting started with clean-up would help the shift pass by quicker.

To say you were tired was an understatement; it was a miracle you were still standing.

However, the trash refusing to come out of the bin didn’t help your case.

You gave it a few sharp tugs, your frustration growing with each failed attempt. You were about to give it another go before you heard one of the stools being pulled out behind your bar.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to compose yourself. You brushed your apron off, turning around with what you hoped was a welcoming smile.

“Don’t suppose you could fashion me a drink, aye, Bonnie?”

You did a double take; you knew that voice. “Johnny, " you breathed. Lo and behold, your Scotsman was sitting on a barstool right before you.

His lips stretched into an amused grin at your surprise. Looking you up and down at your disheveled attire, he raised an eyebrow. “Jeez, I would ask how the shift’s going, but I’m not sure I want to know, " he mused.

You groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “You have no idea.” You said, exasperated.

You leaned against the bar, shoulders slumped. “It was terrible; the sports cup was on tonight, so everyone and their mother came here to get pissed. I swear it was like a war zone in here; some guy almost puked on me while I was taking out the trash, and another one spilled his pint all over the counter.” You said, gesturing to the bar that you were currently leaning against.

“-Oh, and another one got all up in my face for giving him the wrong beer.” You recalled, making Johnny raise a brow.

“Did he now?” He said.

You nodded, rubbing your temples to soothe the ache that pounded at your head. “Yeah, he had to get dragged off by someone else.”

You let your forehead drop on the table with a soft thunk, not the most sanitary thing to do, but you were too tired to care.

Johnny let out a soft chuckle, patting the top of your head as to convey his sympathies. You looked up to meet his gaze, “What are you doing here? I thought you worked nights?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Got tonight off.” He said. You nodded, figuring it was a good enough answer in your book.

“Now—uh, bout’ that beer…” He said with an impish smile.

You rolled your eyes, pushing off the counter to stand back up. “Yeah, you’ll get your drink.” You said, grabbing a glass and moving over to the beer tap. You caught one of the handles, putting the glass underneath the tap.

However, Johnny raised his hands to stop you. “Hey, I ain’t even told you which one I wanted.” He said, eyebrows pinched together in offense.

You shot him a look, “You’ll get what I give you.”

He seemed to have received the message, graciously accepting the glass with a smile and a nod. After a sip, he conceded a little, “Thanks, Lass.”

You waved him off, “Don’t mention it, doll face.” You said sarcastically, “-After all, you’re still paying for it.” You spoke as you returned to the trash, grasping the knot and pulling it hard.

By the grace of God, the trash bag was lifted from the bin, and you hoisted it up and onto the floor so you could drag it to the back door. There was already another one sitting against the door that you’d left hours prior, making the job just a bit more annoying.

You pushed the back door open, cold air hitting your face. It was dark. The back alley near the trash bins was poorly lit and smelled of cigarettes and rotting food.

You stood in the doorway for a beat. Then you shut the door.

Now, you liked to think of yourself as a strong, independent woman. But even strong women had their limits. And tonight—cold, tired, and alone behind a bar—it was starting to feel like yours was being tested.

You chewed on your bottom lip. Usually, one of the other bartenders or staff took out the trash. But they’d all left after the rush passed, leaving you to fend for yourself during the closing shift.

“Johnny.” You said, popping back from around the corner. “How about a deal?”

He looked over at you, his pale eyes scanning your face with skepticism. One of his dark brows raised, “Aye, what’s the deal?”

“You don’t have to pay for your drink, but you have to help me take out the trash.” You said, silently praying he would.

“Deal.” He said almost immediately. Standing up from his seat, he walked around to meet you.

You led him down the hallway to the back door, the trash bags sitting idle against the door. You reached down to grab one of them, “I’ll take one, and you can grab the other.”

Before you lifted it, he swatted your hand away. “Bonnie, who do ya’ take me for?” He said, amused. Reaching over and grabbing your trash bag with one hand and grabbing the second bag with his other hand.

He lifted the bags easily, the glass bottles inside clanking together. You looked at him, forcing your eyes to tear away his biceps. Clearing your throat, you pushed the door open, “Show-off.” You said under your breath.

The small rush of cold air hit you again, sending goosebumps pebbling against your skin. But now that someone was with you, your unease faded away into static.

Johnny made quick work of the bags. With you holding the bin's lid open, he easily tossed them into its dark mouth. You sighed, brushing off your hands. “Great, thanks for the help.”

You looked back up to meet his gaze, to which he was already looking your way. You held his stare for a brief moment, unmoving.

He looked good like this (somehow), standing there in the dark. His hair had grown a bit longer, making it look like a real haircut instead of a half-assed mow-hawk. His eyes were a dark shade of blue, almost grey. Small flecks of warm light from the dim streetlamp glassed over his pupils.

Johnny blinked, clearing his throat into his hand. “Aye, happy to help.” He said, walking back to the door and holding it open for you to go through.

You ducked inside, happy to be out of the cold night air. He followed suit, letting the door swing shut behind him. The air had gained a thick tension, one you didn’t understand how or why it was there.

Like a thick fog that lingered between your bodies, it filled your ears with cotton and clung heavily to your tongue like syrup.

Your brows furrowed; you didn’t understand it. He was just looking your way; why did the gesture suddenly feel so much bigger than it actually was?

Johnny seemed to have picked up on your sudden discomfort, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You weren’t exactly sure how to answer, so you shook your head. Chalking it up to your lethargic brain, “Don’t suppose you want to help me with closing now, do you?” You said to him instead.

Your voice holds a sarcastic but underlying hopefulness.

He eyed you, “Depends. What do I get for it?” He said with a wry smile as you walked back into the heart of the bar.

“My everlasting thanks,” You breathed humorously. “…And I’ll buy your next round.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” He grinned.

You nodded, eyes catching his for just a moment too long.

It was just a favor. Just a drink. Just a shift.

. . . . . ◟੭

Manchester was a grim scene, thick and heavy rainclouds loomed over rooftops. Shrouding the surrounding area in a dark mask of grey and blue. Soft raindrops hit against your window, progressively growing in size.

You looked up from the sink, hands soaked in steaming hot water mixed with dish soap. Various plates and cutlery sitting in the murky water.

Your small window wasn’t much, but even you could watch the streets pool with shallow puddles.

Johnny sat on the couch a few feet away in the living room area, sprawled in his usual corner, his long legs propped on the coffee table, one arm slung across the backrest. He was watching the telly, though his eyes didn’t really seem to be following what was on. Something old was playing—grainy black-and-white, probably for background noise more than anything else.

You looked back out at the window, taking in the sounds of the rain. You didn’t think much of it, Manchester had storms all the time. You liked the sound of rain, even. It was comforting, in a weird, nostalgic way.

Then the first rumble hit.

It was like someone had beat on a drum from far away, the sound reverberating off your ears and causing you to perk up again.

Another rumble followed a few seconds later, closer this time. The small overhead light above the sink flickered.

You looked up, squinting at the flickering light.

Withdrawing your hands from the sink, you grabbed one of the dish towels and wiped the soap bubbles from your fingers.

You turned over your shoulder and walked into the living room. Glancing at the TV, you threw the dishtowel on the edge of the couch's headrest.

“I think we’re gonna have a storm tonight.” You said, leaning over the edge of the couch slightly.

Johnny looked at you, “Yeah?” He asked.

As if to illustrate your point, another low roar of thunder came over the living room. You glanced back at Johnny, his fingers curling white-knuckled around the armrest. He grimaced, flopping his head back against the couch cushions. “Fuckin’ hate storms,” He breathed.

You raised an eyebrow at his grip strength on the poor couch, shrugging your shoulders. “Shouldn’t be too bad, just a bit of thunder and lightning. They would have sent out a weather alert if it were anything to write home about.”

Johnny gave a long sigh in return; obviously, he wasn’t thrilled about the weather. You opened your mouth to say something else when the overhead lights flickered again, causing you and Johnny to snap your heads up.

After another moment of flickering, Johnny looked back at you, “I hope you have candles.”

You hesitated momentarily, unsure if the single scented candle you kept in your room would do the job if the power went out. “I have a candle.” You replied.

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “A single candle,” he deadpanned. “What a’bout flashlights?”

“That I have,” you said, happy to give him some good news. You quickly returned to the kitchen, digging through a drawer of miscellaneous objects. You fished out a small flashlight, proudly walking back over to Johnny to show him.

“See?” You said, pressing the small button at the bottom of the flashlight. Unfortunately, the light remained out.

You clicked it again…and again…and again, but it failed to illuminate despite your efforts.

You sheepishly looked back at Johnny, who was now pinching the bridge of his nose between his pointer and thumb. “It’s fine, Johny,” you said, waving off his concern. “What are the chances the power will go out anyway?”

Well, the power went out.

Around eight or nine, everything plunged into darkness after a particularly close strike of lighting. Neither you nor Johnny were scheduled to work, so when it did go out, you were halfway through brushing your teeth.

You blinked—still dark. You felt around for the sink, spitting out the last of your toothpaste.

“Johnny?” You called out, pushing the bathroom door open. You could navigate pretty well in the dark since you knew the layout like the back of your hand. But you still felt around the walls and put your arms out blindly as to not run into anything.

The flat remained silent. Your brows furrowing together at his lack of response, “Johnny!” You called out louder, waiting for him to respond.

You listened for his voice, but it stayed quiet like the last time. You frowned, suddenly on edge from the silence.

Your fingers slid along the walls, feeling the slight grittiness of the paint. You didn’t understand why he wasn’t responding. “Johnny, where are you?” you called out, your voice tinged with frustration.

“Johnny, this isn’t funny! Talk to me.” You bit out, growing more frantic with each failed response.

You silently cursed yourself for not getting more batteries for that flashlight. Your voice was loud; there was no chance that he couldn’t hear you. Maybe he was ignoring you? But that wasn’t like him; your mind started to conjure up worst-case scenarios. What if he was hurt? Or passed out? What if he had a seizure and died?

You knew it was silly to overthink, but you couldn’t help it. Your mind proved to be your worst enemy sometimes, and this was one of those times.

Your hand slid over the familiar ridges of a door frame, Johnny’s room! You felt around for the knob, hoping that maybe you’d find him there. You pushed the door open, holding your arms out in front of you like a blind man. Your legs are shaky and slow, trying your best not to accidentally step on something or stub a toe.

“Johnny?” You breathed, voice lower.

You took another step, your arm dripping down to feel for a desk or the bed. Instead, your hand brushed over something warm and sturdy, you felt it flinch. Yelping in surprise, you drew back like an open flame had scorched your hand.

“Fuck!” Came a loud masculine voice.

Ah, so that’s where he was.

You heard something hard hit against wood, cringing when you realized it was probably Johnny. A slight hiss of pain confirmed your speculation, “What’s wrong with you?” He bit out.

You couldn’t see anything, but his voice came lower to the ground, deepening your confusion. “What? What do you mean by ‘what's wrong with me’? I was calling for you because the lights went out, and you didn’t answer me. I got worried and came in here.” You seethed, your heart palpitating from the adrenaline.

“I’m well aware the lights are out, [Name].” He responded, “You can’t just come up out of nowhere and scare me like that.” He said, his voice aggravated.

Your frown deepened. “I called your name, Johnny. Multiple times.” You huffed. “-What are you even doing on the floor?”

There came a beat of silence, “I’m…Y’know, grounding myself.” He said awkwardly.

You paused, “Grounding yourself.” You repeated.

You knew what grounding oneself meant, safely speaking. However, you were unsure if he was literally grounding himself, considering he was sitting on the floor from what you could tell.

You heard him sigh, “Yes, it’s like something you learn in therapy. Something a’bout dealing with stressful situations.”

You didn’t respond for a moment, your mind processing his words. Slowly, you crouched down to meet him on the floor. “You didn’t tell me you were stressed.” You said, hoping you were at least talking in his direction.

“I told you; I don’t like storms.” He responded.

For some reason, you had a feeling it wasn’t just the storm. You pursed your lips together tightly, trying to conjure up something to say. Yet, you were coming up empty-handed, the downpour from outside filling the room's silence.

Even with your knowledge of the human brain and the cookie-cutter steps to comfort someone, you didn’t think he deserved a rehearsed ‘I’m sorry about that; why don’t we dive deeper into the root cause of this fear?’

You sighed, “I’m sorry for scaring you. I didn’t mean to; I was just worried about why you weren’t responding.”

“It’s fine, Bonnie. I shouldn’t have yelled either.”

Another beat of silence followed, and you gently sat down, back pressed against the wooden bed frame. “I don’t want to force you into saying anything you don’t want to…” You started, your voice unsure. “But, if you want to talk about anything, I’d be more than willing to listen.”

“What’s there to talk a’bout?” He said avoidantly.

You tilted your head toward his voice; it was clear as day that he was dancing around whatever was bothering him. However, he seemed to have felt your stare through the darkness.

“I just…get like this sometimes. With loud noises, I’m usually better a’bout keepin’ it under control. S’just with the power going out and all…” He trailed off.

You didn’t need him to finish his sentence to understand. The message he was trying to get across was clear. But he kept going before you could respond.

“Maybe it’s not the noise,” he said after another beat. “It’s the waiting for it. Not knowing when it’s gonna hit.”

You sat there in stillness, the rain and wind outside filling the gaps of silence like static. “Is there anything that helps with it?” You asked slowly.

Johnny considered it for a moment. “Sitting down helps,” he exhaled. “Breathing does, too, the slow kind.” You nodded along with his words.

You inadvertently took a deep breath, breathing in for four seconds and holding it for the same amount of time, then exhaling for another four seconds. You repeated the steps, and the sound of your breath soon matched that of his.

You stayed like that, breathing, letting the seconds pass.

Eventually, the thunder softened to a low murmur, rolling lazily across the sky like a tired lion. The sharp cracks were gone now, distant enough to feel unreal. You weren’t sure how much time had gone by. Ten minutes? An hour?

In that time, Johnny had shifted and was now shoulder to shoulder with you on the floor, backs pressed against the bed frame. You hadn’t said much. You figured he didn’t need the noise.

Eventually, he spoke, voice low. “Didn’t mean to make it your problem.”

You glanced at him; even though the room was shrouded in darkness, you could make out the shape of his face. “It’s not a problem.” He gave you a half-laugh through his nose, not quite convinced.

You bumped your knee against his gently. “I just don’t want you going through it alone. That’s all.”

There was a long pause. Then you felt it—his hand, brushing against yours. Barely touching. A test.

You didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

Instead, he let his fingers hook around yours. Not tightly. Not completely. Just enough.

Just enough to say thank you, without saying a word.

. . . . . ◟੭

The weeks flow on after the thunderstorm without much change. Everything seemed to go back to normal. However, there was a shift in trust. It wasn’t much; barely even noticeable. But you could sense it, sense how the edge was taken off when he spoke to you.

And you held fingers with someone else for the first time in a long time. A small amount of intimacy that held more weight than you wanted it to.

Whatever you felt, you pushed it down. Burying its ugly head like an ashamed child because, in some ways, you knew it was childish.

It was childish to expect so much change from so little and to hope for something more to come out of it.

Because after Johnny “sorted things out,” he would be on his merry way. And you’d be left alone again.

You tapped your mechanical pencil against your temple, staring down at your notebook spread across the kitchen table. Surrounding it was your laptop, open to your lecture notes from the previous day.

Highlighters and sticky notes littered the space around the table, creating a colorful display against the brown surface of the wood.

Your environment was surrounded by material, but your mind was everywhere but what you were supposed to be studying for. You groaned, stabbing the eraser of your pencil harder into your temple.

It wasn’t like you to space out so much, but it had been getting more difficult to focus lately.

You glanced down at your phone, the time flashing at you again, reading 2:34 AM.

After spending so many shifts closing at the pub, you’d acclimated to the nightlife. Maybe you could change your career to that of a vampire. You probably had about another hour till you’d be able to sleep. Which meant forcing yourself to keep studying.

If you weren’t going to sleep, you could at least be doing something productive.

The warm kitchen light spread across the table, illuminating the area in a soft glow. Your phone at half-volume shuffling your study playlist.

Click.

Your face snapped towards the sound of the lock at your front door being opened. The doorknob turned slowly as the door was pushed open.

In stepped Johnny, clad in his jeans and boots with a solid color t-shirt and a thick coat-jacket. His keys dangling from his outstretched hand, and his blue eyes staring at you in confusion.

“You’re still up? Thought you didn’t work tonight.” He said, closing the door behind him.

“I don’t,” you said. “Couldn’t sleep, figured I’d study instead.”

“Ah, gotcha.” He said, toeing off his boots and shuffling off his coat-jacket. He hung it loosely off the coat rack, reaching behind his neck to work out the taut muscles.

His brown hair was slightly messy, no longer a mow-hawk but now a slightly disheveled short style. His sides were still slightly shorter than the middle chunk of his hair, but it looked good. He looked good.

You glanced away, feeling silly for staring at him. Warmth creeping up into your cheeks like the mere image of him set you ablaze.

He came over to where you sat, hovering next to you. He took one look at your note page before walking back over to the kitchen, “I would offer to help, but I can’t understand anything on that page, Lass.” He said humorously.

You sighed, scratching the back of your head. “I guess we’ve got that in common, " you said hopelessly, staring back down at your notes, which were progressively looking more like hieroglyphics than English.

He laughed, pulling a glass from the cupboard and going to the fridge to fill a glass of water. The soft hum of the refrigerator blending in with your music.

Your song ended, transitioning into a softer, more nostalgic melody. It was one of those old-school love songs with an upbeat tone and chorus, even with its slow instrumentals. Johnny drifted back to the dining room where you sat, watching you rub your temples in exhaustion.

He glanced down at your phone on shuffle play. “This what you study to, Bonnie?” he asked, a grin on his face as the cheesy tune played.

You brushed him off, used to his teasing by now. “Helps me think, " you murmured back, too tired to engage. Looking back at your laptop, you winced at the blue light, squinting as best you could so as not to get a headache.

Johnny stayed silent for a beat, looking down at you.

Without warning, he reached out and shut your laptop. Making you blink in confusion, you glanced back at him. “Wha-“

“Dance with me.” He said, cutting you off.

You stared at his face, eyes scanning his features to detect any signs of teasing or a joke. But you couldn’t find a trace of humor in his face. You raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of his blatant command.

“What? Why?” You said, eyebrows furrowing together.

His face broke out into a boyish grin. Reaching out, he took your hands. “Because this is a good song, Bonnie, " he said smoothly.

The mechanical pencil you had been holding clattered down on the table. You hesitated for a moment, surprised by the contact. But you let him gently pull you up and out of your chair.

He pulled you over to where there was more open space, the song playing in the background.

Johnny guided your right hand until you looped it around his neck, holding your left as his free hand snaked around your torso. He was warm, like every time you had touched him, just like a furnace.

Your palm cupped the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the soft hair near his nape. Your other hand gently held in his, the pads of his fingers rough and calloused. He had the hands of someone who had grit, but the way he held you suggested everything but. His grasp on your hand and your side was light and gentle, like he was holding glass.

You sucked in a hollow breath as you started to sway, shuffling your feet to and fro with the rhythm of the song.

He was close. Like, really close.

Your eyes darted to meet his for a fraction of a second, scared to make eye contact for too long. Looking at him this close made you nervous and uneasy.

You felt stiff, the awkwardness of your movements stemming from your nerves. You breathed a half-laugh through your nose at your clumsiness. “Sorry, I don’t make a smooth dancing partner.” You said lightly.

Johnny’s lip curved up into a small smile, one of amusement and fondness. “S’okay, just relax. I got you.” He said, the raspiness of his voice sending shivers down your spine. His voice was so close to your ear, making it hard to focus on anything but his breath.

You swallowed thickly. Just relax, easy peasy.

You inhaled slowly, taking a deep breath to calm your growing nerves. You didn’t understand how you managed to get worked up so much in the span of a few seconds. But Johnny seemed to have that effect on you.

The music continued softly, letting you focus on something else besides the rising heat in your face. After a few moments, you loosened up enough to be slightly more confident in your swaying abilities.

His hand on your side gently squeezed your torso, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of your shirt.

You slowly managed to look up at him, “This isn’t so bad.” You breathed, “Especially for a first time.” You added on.

One of his dark eyebrows raised, pale blue eyes looking at you quizzically. “You’ve never danced with anyone like this?” He asked, surprised.

You shook your head, shrugging your shoulders lightly. “Guess I never got around to it.”

His smile returned, the boyish smirk that you knew oh so well. “Well, that’s a bloody shame. You’re doin’ just fine.” He said, lightly teasing.

You let out a soft breath, rolling your eyes. “I just-” You stopped yourself, unsure. But after another moment, you continued, “-I guess I just never let anyone get that far. Even the small stuff, y’know? I know it’s a bad habit being so…untrusting, but it’s just been easier to breeze by without letting anyone in. But-uh, it’s nice, dancing—I mean.”

You glanced back at his eyes, holding his stare. Watching the way his eyes softened at your little spiel.

“Yeah, it is nice, isn’t it?” He replied, his voice softer.

You held his gaze, forcing yourself not to tear your eyes away. It was strange; you felt pulled to him like an electric current. Yet simultaneously, you wanted nothing more than to run away and dig yourself into a hole.

You felt your body pulse. When did your heart start to race?

It was beating so loudly you could hear it ringing in your ears, sending warmth blossoming across your cheeks.

Your faces were so close you could see the wisps of his dark eyelashes. You could make out the gentle creases that lingered near his eyes or the soft crook of his nose. Your eyes trailed lower, dipping down to the outline of his lips.

You caught the way he swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing in place. Your gaze flickered up, back to his eyes.

Somewhere along the line, you stopped swaying. However, neither of you seemed to notice.

Both of you seemed to recognize the significance of the moment, the thick tension that had developed between your bodies. It seemed to spark randomly like an open cable wire, waiting for someone to touch it.

Before you could think about anything too thoroughly, though, your lips seemed to connect along the way.

You felt your breath hitch at the contact, his lips warm and smooth. But whatever initial surprise you had faded into the yearning to be even closer.

Your hand slid into his hair, grasping at the brown locks like he’d disappear. You felt him sigh against your lips, pushing deeper.

You let him in, eagerly parting your lips for him. The slow and soft noises of lips moving against each other rang in your ears along with the music. The hand that held your torso slid along your back, pulling you closer to him.

The kiss was sweet but deep. It held so much tension and built-up emotion, you didn’t know where to start, weeks of occupying the same space and subtle contact all to lead up to this.

You felt his stubble brush against your skin, the warmth of his body making you dizzy. He nipped softly at your bottom lip, pulling the skin between his teeth. You whimpered, preening for something, anything.

His other hand let yours go, traveling up your waist to slide under your shirt—

Bzzzr…Bzzzzr

The tell-tale jingle of a call vibrated against his pocket; you broke apart. Startled by the sudden interruption. Standing inches away, breathless and wide-eyed.

You stared at him, snapped back into reality. It felt cold again, and your breath caught in your throat like someone had knocked the wind out of you.

Neither of you moved for a minute, too shocked to do anything but stand there. Then, Johnny cleared his throat, awkwardly reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone. As he looked at the caller ID, he snapped his face back up at you, his eyes remorseful and guilty.

“Sorry, Bonnie. I’ve got to take this, work call.” He breathed; his voice strained.

He ducked out of the room, stepping out to take the call, leaving you a standing statue. The song slowly faded into the background as it came to its end.

You inhaled, looking around the room, bewildered. Your chest was tight. Your skin still tingled where he'd touched you.

What the hell had you just done?

. . . . . ◟੭

You weren’t sure what was worse, how easily Johnny had kissed you or how easily he seemed to forget it.

The night of the kiss still played fresh in your mind despite how much you willed it to go away. Whatever chances you had of protecting your friendship with him slipped through your fingers like dust the minute your lips touched.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to happen afterwards, a discussion? A confession? Maybe just a small acknowledgment that it was real and not a vivid dream?

Instead, nothing happened.

The world kept spinning even though yours felt like it was crashing down.

Confronting it wouldn’t have been a problem, but it was the lack thereof that perturbed you. It was like the kiss didn’t matter—like you didn’t matter. And that alone ate at you more than the silence.

The days that followed felt bizarre. You were living with someone else, but at the same time, you’d never felt more alone.

You still woke up to a hot cup of coffee, but there was nobody on the other side of the kitchen counter to greet you or make fun of your bedhead. When you brought home lunch, there wasn’t anybody to tear through the flimsy plastic to-go bags like a hungry bear.

Johnny still acknowledged you when you left for a shift or got back home, but he didn’t look at you. And when he did, it was brief.

Most times, you didn’t even see him; he was gone for long stretches of time that left you questioning if he’d come back. Sometimes, a day or two passed without you seeing him, leaving you alone.

Sometimes, you found yourself waking up to the sound of his footsteps in the late hours, listening to the way his steps creaked against the wooden floorboards. You would watch the front door to his room, silently observing the shadow that passed underneath the door. As if to remind yourself that he was still there, that you didn’t lose him, even if it felt like you did.

But it was the small moments in passing that hurt you the most; you had been carrying your laundry back to your room, walking into the narrow hallway to get to your door. Only for Johnny to be on the other side, just emerging from his own room.

His shoulders tensed as soon as he saw you. His lips pulling into a civil, yet tight, smile.

He nodded at you before twisting his body to the side to brush past you. Yet even with his back pressed against the wall, his chest still brushed against your shoulder as you moved.

The contact was light, obviously accidental, but it made your gut twist sourly. Like the ghost of that night, of his hands on your body could still be felt.

You had also caught him in the kitchen at the crack of dawn, which meant he was already brewing coffee. He had just set your mug on the counter like he always did when you’d marched in.

Already dressed in his work boots and coat you eyed him up and down. “Morning,” you said hesitantly, grabbing the cup, bringing it to your lips, and taking a sip. It was perfect. Like always.

Johnny glanced at you, pouring the scalding black liquid into his thermos. “Mornin',” He replied politely.

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed over your body, silently observing him go about his morning tasks. You needed to say something, to ease the awkwardness that lingered in the air like toxic gas.

You cleared your throat, “You-uh, you’ve been working a lot recently.” You commented, trying to bridge the gap between each other.

Once again, he gave you a sideways glance. “Keeping busy.”

You wanted to ask why, to scream and shout, cry out to him; why was he doing this to you? Why either of you were too scared to address what happened. But you didn’t.

You stayed quiet and watched him leave. Not wanting to be the one to bring up the elephant in the room.

Pride is a bitter thing.

And both of you had let it ruin your friendship or whatever you had going on with him.

You missed it, you missed him, so desperately it hurt.

And you hated yourself for it; you hated how easily you’d slipped down the path of caring for another. And having him retreat like he did was a brutal punch to the gut and a harsh reminder of why you struggled so deeply with letting people in.

You cursed yourself for getting involved with a man who was just supposed to be a roommate. But he wasn’t, not now at least.

You dug through your laundry hamper, fishing out your work uniform. It was around ten past noon, and you’d been placed on the midday shift. You had class the next morning and practically begged your boss not to put you on another late night.

You slipped your shirt past your shoulders, brushing out the slight creases from the fabric. While fixing your hair, you caught your reflection in the standing mirror by your closet. You had slight bags under your eyes and a slight worry line forming on your upper brow.

You frowned; you hadn’t been sleeping well. And the combined anxiety of your classes paired with the shit-show of your co-living situation had taken its toll.

Your hand unconsciously tried smoothing your face. Trying to wipe the frown lines from your skin. You sighed when it proved unsuccessful, glancing back over to your vanity your makeup bag caught your attention. You wore makeup, but it had been a while since you’d really dressed yourself up for a shift.

Checking the time, you realized you still had half an hour until you needed to be at the pub. You peeked back over at your bag, reaching over to unzip the opening.

Look good, feel good, you thought. Maybe switching up your appearance was just what you needed; it couldn’t hurt.

You finished with just enough time to spare. When you caught your reflection in the mirror this time, your lips didn’t settle into a disappointed frown. You stared at yourself for a beat, trying to muster up a realtor-worthy smile.

You looked pretty, even if you didn’t feel your best.

“Get it together.” You muttered, taking one last look at yourself before leaving your room.

You passed Johnny on your way out; he looked like he had just gotten back. Halfway through untying the laces on his boots. He glanced up as you passed, and for a moment, his lips parted like he was going to say something. But they shut just as fast as they’d opened.

You tried not to be disappointed, pursing your lips tightly as you closed the door behind you.

The pub wasn’t overwhelmed with customers, to your relief. Since it was the afternoon shift, most people were still working or doing something more productive than day drinking.

Your eyes caught wind of a familiar black head of hair tied up in a claw clip. “Janet,” you said, perking up.

She glanced over at you at her name being called, her thin lips pulling into a bright smile when she noticed you standing there. “[Name]! You didn’t tell me you were on; you usually only work nights.” She said, a tray of food in her hand.

You made your way over. “I’ve got an early class tomorrow.” You said, watching as she set the tray down.

“Ah, well, that’s nice Mike put you on the afternoon shift,” she said, referring to your employer. “-Good thing, too, you’ve been looking so tired this week.” She said, not in a mean way. More of a worried motherly way. Yet it still had the same effect as a normal insult would, making you deflate a little.

You breathed a half-laugh through your nostrils, “Thanks, Janet.” You said through your teeth.

She crossed her arms, looking you up and down. “You look good, though; did you do something different?” She asked curiously.

You shook your head, not wanting to tell her you had just covered up your tiredness with more foundation. “Just got more sleep, I suppose.” You lied.

After catching up with Janet, you slipped over to the bar counter, beginning your usual routine of making drinks and pouring craft beers for men in their late 50s sitting at the bar watching the television.

For the most part, you didn’t have much to do. So, you spent most of your time either helping Janet when she needed a second hand or slipping beers into the back kitchen for the line cooks in exchange for fries.

But during the last hour of your shift, things started to pick up a bit, by now most 9-5’s had ended. Which meant that everyone came flocking to the club for a pint, of course.

At least you were busy; there was no room to think about what awaited you when you got home.

You saw someone slip into one of the open bar seats, turning your body, and you faced them. “Hi, what can I get for you?”

The man sitting down was tall, at least, you think he was based on his sitting position rising above some of the others around him. Definitely not bad looking either, good facial structure and soft brown eyes.

His eyes scanned the counter, then back up to you. “What do you recommend?” He asked, his arms crossed and resting on the counter in front of him.

“Well, our craft beer is always a safe bet,” you said, turning over to your counter and browsing the collection of ales. “There are also some specialty beers, like our barrel-aged ale. But if that’s not to your fancy, I can always make you something else, like an old-fashioned.”

He sat there for a moment, mulling over his options. “Don’t suppose you could decide for me? You seem like a trustworthy source.” He said, the corners of his lips pulling into a soft smile.

You nodded, “Yeah, I can do that.” You turned to the beer tap, truth be told, you weren’t actually thinking about what this guy would like. Beer was just the easiest thing to make, which saved time. You could already feel other people starting to crowd around the counter.

You slid the pint over to him, “Alright, hope I made a good choice.” You said with a smile, a nice tip in the back of your mind. “Do you want to start a tab?” You asked.

He looked at you, “Yeah…think I’ll stick around.”

Once you opened a tab for the man, you returned to helping other people; however, the same guy seemed to bleed his way through every interaction. You started to make pleasant conversation as you made drinks, nothing inherently new.

Through the conversation, you learned that his name was Thomas, he was in Manchester for work, and he was originally from the States. You bonded with him over the shared experiences of moving to the U.K. and the differences and similarities between the States and Britain.

Overall, he was a nice guy. Maybe he was a little too confident in some respects, but he wasn’t a pain to be around.

“So, what time do you get off?” He asked after maybe thirty minutes of conversation. You raised an eyebrow, glancing back at him.

“Why do you need to know that?” You said back, a tad skeptical.

He smiled, looking up at you with a boyish grin. One that reminded you of Johnny. “Maybe I want to get to know you outside of a pub. Anything wrong with that?” He said, leaning forward on his arms.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, so why did it feel like there was? “No, nothing wrong with it.” You agreed, turning to the countertop to busy yourself with cleaning the surface.

“So then, do I get to know when you get off?” He said persistently, looking at you with a hopeful expression.

You glanced back at him, swallowing down the lump in your throat. He was an attractive guy, nice for the most part, and he wanted you. Something that you were lacking at the moment.

Your mind flashed back to Johnny. Your fingers twisted into the cloth of the rag you were using to clean the counter. You thought about the kiss, and then you thought about how he’d left you. A bitter taste bloomed in your mouth the longer you thought about it.

Fuck it, you thought.

You glanced back at the clock, “I get off in fifteen.” You said, turning your face back to meet him.

He smiled, a look of relief washing over his face. “Yeah?” He looked back down at his drink, finishing the last of the liquid. His cheeks were slightly rosy from the alcohol. “Guess that means you can close out my tab.”

You didn’t even make it out of the bar before he was on you. Maybe it was a little bit of both. You couldn’t really process anything.

He had gone with you to clock out; you were in the back hallway near the side door. Somehow, while walking, his hand slid over to your back to lead you out. Which spiraled into your back being pressed against the side wall, his body caging you in with his knee wedged between your legs.

Your hands were looped around his neck while his were on your body. Trailing his fingertips up and down your sides.

It started as slow kissing, but it progressively got more heated the longer you stayed. You could taste the beer on his tongue, the smell of his strong cologne, the sweat of his skin. It felt wrong.

You shut your eyes tight, trying to immerse yourself in the experience, trying to be normal about the fact that you were making out with a stranger you’d met only an hour before in the back hallway of a pub.

You sucked in a breath as his lips detached from yours, his face ducking down to your neck to suckle and kiss at the skin. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to pretend that his wispy hair was slightly darker. That his brown eyes were a shade of light blue. That instead of his hands that were holding you it was Johnny’s.

You could feel yourself choking up. This was a mistake. Kissing a random guy wasn’t getting your mind off of Johnny; in fact, it was amplifying your feelings.

He seemed to have noticed your change in demeanor because he suddenly pulled away. Leaving you panting against the wall, he looked down at you. His cheeks are equally red, and his lips kiss swollen.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked.

You couldn’t look at him; you didn’t want to because you knew Johnny wouldn’t be staring back at you.

You cleared your throat, trying to muster up anything to say. “I-I don’t know.”

Your words lingered in the air, a twisted type of shame washing over you. You felt ashamed that you agreed to this and guilty for potentially leading this guy on. Even if he was a stranger, he didn’t deserve a lie.

You looked back up at him, “I’m sorry.” You breathed, guilty. “-I just can’t.”

A look of confusion crossed his features before morphing into a small amount of understanding. Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say; instead, he nodded. Clearing his throat and backing off of you.

You managed to get in a soft goodbye coupled with another apology before he left you, standing with your back against the wall. You stared off into space, your hand subconsciously brushing against the area on your neck where he’d kissed you.

You felt like you were going insane, like Johnny had infiltrated every facet of your life without even trying. Just by a kiss you’d been doomed for who knows how long.

You looked back at the door, looking at the small glass square. It was dusk, the suns golden hue fading into a soft blue that cast a slight glow on window.

Maybe if you were lucky Johnny wouldn’t be home when you got back.

You got back to the flat around 7pm, pushing the door open and letting your bag slide off your shoulder and onto the floor. Toeing off your shoes and shrugging off your coat. As you hung up the garment you saw Johnny’s jacket was still hanging on one of the hooks.

So, he was home.

You heard someone walking out from the kitchen, turning your head, you faced Johnny. His keys dangling loosely from his hand. His head turned when he heard you, noticing you at the door. “Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.” He said in acknowledgment.

He turned away like he usually did, but halfway through he turned back. His eyebrows furrowed down his face like he was doing a double take, you stiffened as those blue eyes trailed up your form.

You couldn’t read his face, suddenly uncomfortable by the lack of emotion across his features.

“That a new perfume, Bonnie?” He said, his voice tight and curt.

You paused, caught off-guard by his words. Unsure of what to say for a moment before it clicked. Ah, the cologne. It was strong, no surprise it probably lingered on your clothes and your skin.

You swallowed, “Why, you like it?” You replied, playing it off.

He hummed; jaw clenched. “Not really.”

His face was hard, a silent judgment that left you wanting to hide. You felt exposed, like he knew your shame.

When you didn’t respond, he rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Have a good shift?” He said, his voice betrayed the mundane nature of his question.

You didn’t enjoy the pointed nature of his words, “Yeah, it was good.” You snipped.

His laugh—if you could even call it that—was sharp, a slight exhale through his nostrils. His eyes darting away from you, “Right, looks like it.”

Your lips twisted into a tight frown, instinctively, your hand slid up to your neck. Your fingers brushing over the tender blooming heat of it—the mark you’d let someone else leave. Almost as if you were shielding it from his eyes.

Shame flooded your chest again, molten and ugly.

Your eyebrows creased, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You snipped.

He looked back at you, as if he didn’t expect you to get cross with him. You saw the muscles in his jaw work slightly, tensing up, “Nothing.” He breathed, shrugging his broad shoulders. “None o’ my business.”

You crossed your arms, heat crawling up your face. “Could’ve fooled me.” You quipped.

His head snapped back at you, something you couldn’t pinpoint flickering behind his pale blue eyes. “You think I give a fuck who you let maul you in a back alley?” He said, his voice cold and cutting.

You flinched like he’d struck you.

Never had he ever spoken to you like that, not once. And it caused something to burn deep inside you like a lit match.

“What the fuck is your problem, Johnny?” You said, throwing your hands up. “You don’t get to do this with me, you don’t get to act all offended and like you care when you can’t care enough to even acknowledge that you kissed me.” You scolded.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

So, you barreled on, voice cracking despite yourself. "You push and you pull and you flirt and you kiss me like you fucking mean it, and then you act like I’m a goddamn stranger the second it gets real!"

You shoved your hands through your hair, breathing hard.

“[Name],” Came his voice, strained and tight. “I know you’re upset, and you have a right to be mad. But you don’t know everything, I’m-I’m not doing this because I want to, I have my reasons.”

You could’ve screamed at him, “Then tell me!” You snapped back.

You saw him hesitate, “I told you- “

“You didn’t tell me anything. You just show up and expect me to know what you want. To be totally good with all of this,” you said, gesturing to the air around you.

Everything seemed too much and not enough at the same time, like the man in front of you was a lie. You huffed, looking around the room in bewilderment, at his pair of boots that sat on the shoe rack, at his spare coat on the hanger, the small traces of his presence he left in your home.

“I-I don’t understand how I didn’t see it, how I didn’t see you for what you are. I barley even know you. You can tell me your favorite color, but you can’t tell me where you work or why you disappear on me for days at a time?” You fired, digging up anything you could throw at him.

You saw his jaw work again, his hands bawling into tight fists at his side. “Then what, you want me to reveal my whole life to you? Fight off every guy that even looks your way?” He said, voice cut with disbelief.

You shook your head, practically in tears. “No. I want you to stop acting like I’m yours when it suits you, then pretending like I don’t exist when it doesn’t!”

Johnny threw his hands up this time, “You’re not mine, [Name]! You never were.” He snapped, his breath heavy. After another beat, he spoke, his voice slightly calmer this time. “Happy?”

You stood there, staring at him. The white-hot anger fading into a soft dread that pooled in your stomach and burrowed in your throat. It was silent apart from the sounds of your own breathing.

You swallowed thickly, feeling a burn in your throat. “Yes.” You lied.

For a second, one miserable second, something in his expression crumbled. Something small and helpless and so achingly human.

But then it was gone just as fast as it appeared.

"Won’t matter anyway," he said, voice flat. "-Works nearly sorted." He brushed past you to sling the strap of his jacket over his shoulder like it was a coffin he was carrying.

"I’ll be outta your hair soon enough, Bonnie. You’ll get your peace back."

He didn't wait for a response.

Just turned and yanked the door open, the heavy slam echoing through the flat as he left you standing there, blinking hard against the burn in your eyes.

As the dust settled, the full weight of his words seemed to dawn on you. You hiccuped, biting down on your fist as fat tears slid down your cheeks.

As far as you were concerned, your Johnny was gone.

. . . . . ◟੭

You offhandedly glanced back at the clock that hovered over the pub entrance for the fifth time in a few minutes; it seemed to stare back at you with a grin. Taunting at you as if you were a bird trapped in a cage, and these days, it didn’t feel far off from reality.

You had another few minutes before your shift ended, yet your fingers itched to grab your coat and leave.

Casting your line of sight down back to the bar counter, you thrummed your nails against the wood. It was a grim scene, a dead bar that only housed a few people. The television was playing re-runs of an old game show, and the yellow lights cast the bar in an almost sickly glow.

Most of your time now consisted of this, staring at the countertop of an empty bar. After all, it was better than staying in your apartment. But now you were starting to feel like a hamster trapped in the same cage.

The days following your argument with Johnny seemed to bleed together, like you were watching the days play out instead of living them.

You spent long hours slaving away over your laptop, fingers perched over the keys while your eyes scanned columns of text. You spent even longer hours at the pub scrubbing the bar counter and pouring drinks to old timers.

Somehow, though, throwing yourself into your studies and job did little to keep your mind off Johnny. You had gotten what you wanted, or rather, what you thought you wanted—an answer.

But it wasn’t the answer you wanted.

Something small and ugly inside you wanted him to fight for your affection, to run after you even after you’d told him not to. But whatever feelings you had towards him weren’t worth dwelling on, not now.

What remained in the absence of your ‘friendship’ was a cordial silence, one that spoke a thousand words and none at the same time. A harmony that felt like an open wound that wouldn’t close.

You pushed yourself off the counter, reaching behind you to untie yourself from the small black apron that hung around your hips, slipping back into the back kitchen to grab your coat from the hanger near the door.

You shuffled into the garment, grabbing your bag and keys hanging off the nearest hook from where your coat rested. As you pushed past the door to make your way to the exit, you heard someone speak up.

“You on your way?” Came a soft feminine voice.

You looked up to see Janet, who had been put on the closing shift and, therefore, still had a way to go before she could escape, too.

You gave a half smile, stuffing your apron in your bag. “Yeah. Not really any customers to serve, so I thought I’d get out of here.”

She nodded, the soft wrinkles near her eyes creasing. She looked at you with a hint of pity, like she could see how your life was somehow crumbling. You didn’t look back at her, not wanting to watch the sadness cross over her face when she saw how the bags under your eyes had deepened.

You heard her softly hum, “Get some rest, sweetheart.”

You nodded in acknowledgment, responding with a hum of your own. You slipped past her to leave through the front door. As you pushed it open, the bell jingled above your head.

“-And stay safe, it’s late.” She called after you.

The walk back to your apartment was short. However, you still heeded Janet’s words, the cover of darkness seemed to bring out seedy creatures no matter how quickly you managed to get home.

You climbed the up stairwell, walking down the hallway lined by doors until you came to yours. You were on autopilot as you fished for your keys, your eyes dully staring into the abyss.

As you reached out to slide the key into the lock, the door creaked open under the pressure—already unlatched.

You paused.

For a split second you stood still, staring blankly at the door. Huh, that’s odd. You hesitantly peeked your head inside looking around your empty apartment.

It was dark, and silent.

The partially open door obstructed your view of the full kitchen, you swallowed. “Johnny?” You called out into the room, still halfway through the door.

There was no answer, you glanced at the coat hanger at the entrance. His coat wasn’t hanging up which meant he was out. But if he was out, then why was the door open?

You unconsciously chewed on your bottom lip, maybe you were just being paranoid. The most likely scenario was that he just forgot to lock it on his way out.

But the small chance that it was something else moved you to grab your phone, you sheathed it from your pocket. Typing out a message to him.

Message (You): Hey, do you know if you locked the door on your way out?

It was brief, in the case of it being nothing more than an accident you didn’t want to seem panicked.

You stepped inside, flicking the lights on.

You were still weary, but you’d managed to talk yourself out of suspecting the worst like you usually did.

You shrugged off your coat, shutting the door behind you. But as you turned something caught your eye.

The first thing you noticed was that the kitchen cabinets were open, the drawers too. Pulled out with its contents scattered on the countertop as if they’d been rummaged through.

You paused again, eyebrows furrowed half-way down your face. “What the fuck,” you muttered under your breath. Johnny may have been slightly disorganized at times, but you’d never seen him leave your apartment in disarray.

You looked around, pulse beginning to quicken. Maybe he had been in a rush, you thought. But even that didn’t sit right.

Without thinking, you walked down the hall. Turning all the lights on as you went, the doors were open. Thrown ajar to reveal a state of chaos.

You stared at the inside of your room, your closet wide open and clothes thrown about the room. Your dresser, drawers, bookshelf, all rummaged through. You doubled back, running into Johnnys room to find it in much the same state.

You never went into his room; it was an unspoken rule between you that unless you were given permission it was off limits.

However, right now you couldn’t stop yourself.

You felt your heartbeat before you realized it was racing; your blood seemed to run cold at the state of your home. Whatever was in your apartment was searching for something, yet all of your jewelry was still in your room. Your TV sat in it’s proper place in the living room and small amount of cash you kept in your dresser had been untouched.

Were these not items of value? What could anyone possibly be looking for in your apartment if not money or valuables?

Your hand found your phone again before you realized what you were doing. You should’ve been dialing the authorities, but your trembling fingers could only seem to find Johnnys caller ID.

You held your phone to your ear, listening to the ring of the call. With each chime you felt your hands shaking harder, as if you had a sudden cold.

Doubt gnawed at your mind, you knew there was a slim chance of him picking up the call. And even slimmer chance of him being able to fix the situation in any way.

There was another ring before you heard the familiar static rustling of the call being picked up, you felt your breath catch. “Johnny?” You choked out, your voice breathless and trembling.

“[Name],” came his voice, confusion written in his tone. “What’s wrong? You know not to call me when I’m out.”

You swallowed your fear, trying to force the words from your lips. “I know, its—somethings wrong. The door was unlocked when I got home and everything’s a mess. I think someone was here.”

You felt a pause, the static of the phone buzzing in your ear. Then came his voice, sharp and cutting, “Where are you?”

“I-I’m in the house.” You replied.

“Are you hiding somewhere? Do you think there’s anyone still in the house?” He said sharply, his voice borderline panicked.

You blinked, “No I’m-“

“Get in your room and lock the door, I’ll call for help. When you find a place to hide, stay there, I’m coming to get you. Now.”

You stayed frozen for a moment after the call ended, your phone still clutched tightly to your ear like it could somehow anchor you. The line had gone dead, but your heart pounded in your ears loud enough to drown out everything else. You took a shaky breath and backed into your bedroom, locking the door behind you with trembling fingers.

A few minutes passed. Maybe more. It was impossible to tell, time had slowed into something warped and syrupy. Every small sound in the apartment made your skin crawl. The creak of a pipe. The groan of the building. Your own breathing, too loud in the silence.

Then you heard it—footsteps.

Not heavy. Not rushed. Measured. Controlled. You froze again, heart in your throat. The front door creaked open wider, hinges groaning.

“[Name]?” came Johnny’s voice, “It’s me.”

You flung the bedroom door open before you could talk yourself out of it. “Johnny?”

He was already moving toward you, clad in his jacket and work boots. His brown hair slightly tussled and his eyes scanning your face. You caught the way his hand lifted for a moment to cup your cheek, but at the last moment, it hesitated. Trapped in the air.

There was a slight pause between you, one that said too much and not enough at the same time.

As if the look on his face was screaming, belting out the words ‘I still care.’

Instead, what came out was a breathy “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, swallowing thickly. “No. I-I didn’t touch anything-”

“Good.” He cut you off before you could finish, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the door.

You let out a strangled noise of surprise mixed with discomfort; Johnny’s grip was rough. Using the force of his strength to pull you like a rag doll. After your split-second of surprise wore off you tried resisting his grip, “Johnny-!” You huffed, trying to pull away.

You were already through the door, the cold night air nipping at your skin in the hallway. He didn’t look back at you. “We’re not staying here,” he breathed, “Come on.”

You had half a mind to slap him for his behavior, but you were so frazzled you could only let yourself be pulled along like a tugboat. “What about the police? They’ll need us to be at the apartment if we want to find out what’s going on.”

Johnny led you down the stairwell, his hand was cold and clammy. He stayed quiet as he dragged you out of the complex, making your skin tingle with nerves. You furrowed your brow, trying to dig your heels into the concrete to pull him to a stop.

“Johnny, you said you called for help.” You bit at him, your voice trembling. Forcing your body to lean backwards to stop him from moving any forward.

He looked back at you from over his shoulder, staring at your body resisting his pull. You saw something flash in his eyes, guilt? Fear? Hatred?

Johnny turned to face you, his hand leaving your wrist so both of his palms could clasp your shoulders. His fingers were trembling, “Do you trust me?”

You paused, “I-I don’t understand.”

You felt him squeeze your shoulders, his gaze pleading with you. “Do you trust me, Bonnie?”

Against your better judgement you nodded, “Yes.”

With your confirmation, he grabbed your wrist again. Pulling you forward towards the sound of a car engine. But this time, you didn’t pull away, stumbling after him, your mind catching up a beat behind your body.

Johnny pulled you into the passenger seat of a car, its headlights glaring in the night air. You sat down in the leather seat like it was made of stone, your body prickling with nervous tension. He situated himself in the driver’s seat, wasting no time pulling out and onto the road. His hands white knuckling the steering wheel.

You stared out at the road as he drove past the familiar landscape of your neighborhood. Your hands bawled into fists on your lap. You didn’t look at him; you couldn’t, not when he had hauled you into a car with no explanation of why nor where you were headed.

“Johnny,” you said, trying to keep your voice controlled. “-Where are we going?”

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw his hands shift on the wheel. The silence that followed made you want to scream. You wanted to get out of the car, to make him turn you around and drop you right back off at the apartment.

You sucked in a small breath, tears sliding down your cheeks and onto your shirt. You bit down on your cheek, “Johnny, answer me right now. Where are you taking me?” You bit out.

By now, you had turned your head to look at him, watching the way his jaw tightened at the sound of your sobs.

You stared at him, your gaze practically begging him to answer you. You were progressively getting more frustrated the longer the silence was prolonged.

“Say something!” you shouted, voice cracking. “You’ve been keeping secrets, dodging questions, making me feel like I’m crazy and now someone breaks into our apartment, and you’re dragging me god-knows-where, and I still don’t know what the hell is going on!”

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.

After a beat, he spoke. “We’re going to a safe house just outside Manchester, it's in Simister. We won’t be there for long; I just wanted to get you somewhere safer as a precaution.”

You blinked, “A precaution for what? We couldn’t have gotten a hotel or something?”

He blew out a small, apologetic, laugh from his nose, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes with a sorry expression. “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly.’” You said, your eyebrows furrowed.

Johnny sighed, one of his hands reaching behind his neck to rub at his nape. “If whoever broke into the apartment is who I think it is, getting a hotel room wouldn’t do us any good.”

You felt your eyes narrow. Somehow, the more he told you, the less you understood.

“Were you anticipating this?” You asked in disbelief. “-and who would want to break in?”

When he didn’t respond, you found yourself speaking instead, “This has something to do with your job, doesn’t it?”

The silence was louder than any answer that he could have given.

“You have to understand,” he started, his voice heavy with guilt. “I was obligated not to tell you; it was never because I wanted to keep secrets with you or that I didn’t trust you.”

His eyes caught yours in the mirror again, eyebrows pinched together, and his glances quick. “My job, its- its not something I ever wanted you to come into contact with. The less you knew about it, the safer you were.”

You stared at him, unsure how to process what he told you. “So, what? You’re like a part of the mafia or something?” You breathed, half joking.

“British SAS.” He corrected.

You paused, staring blankly in his direction as he looked out at the road.

He spoke again before you could comment: “I operate on a team connected with US and British special forces. A year ago, one of our ops got screwed over, and I had to be put on recovery watch before I could go back. So, instead of sending me back out, they put me here for the time being.”

Johnny kept his grip on the wheel, “-For the past couple of months, I’ve been tracking an arms dealer operating out of Manchester. They’ve got ties to half a dozen paramilitary groups.” He glanced at you, something dark and regretful in his expression. “If someone hit our flat, it’s because of me. Because I live there. Because I live with you.”

Silence fell again, heavy and suffocating. You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, the tears coming back, hot and fast.

You sniffled, raising your hand to cover your mouth, trying desperately to bite back the spill of a sob. It was so much to take in, knowing that you were in danger, that the man you thought you knew wasn’t who you thought he was.

You turned your head away from him, staring out at the landscape of houses and stores as you passed.

“So, all of this,” you said, defeated. Gesturing to everything around you, “-Was just collateral? Is that what I am to you, Johnny?”

“No.” He snapped, turning his head sharply to give you a brief look.

“You-” a pause. “-You’re the only real thing I’ve had in a long time, Lass.” He breathed.

A silence hung in the air after his statement. You didn’t know what to think; you could barely process what was going on with your own life, let alone his.

You pursed your lips together in a tight line, letting your head fall against the car window. “You should’ve told me,” You whispered.

“I couldn’t.” His voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t want anyone finding you.”

You went silent after that, screwing your eyes shut to will away the tears. The drive grew quieter the closer you got to your destination. Johnny’s hands hadn’t left ten and two; his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack. You didn’t speak; afraid your voice would break if you tried.

Eventually, the city lights fell away, swallowed by the dark stretch of country road. Then the car turned off the main path, tires crunching against gravel until you saw a fence, tall and topped with security wire, surrounding what looked like a repurposed farmhouse. A floodlight clicked on as the car pulled up, illuminating the porch and front door.

Johnny got out first. You didn’t move.

It wasn’t until he opened your door and leaned down, voice softer than before, that you even looked at him.

“Come on. You’re safe now.”

His words did little to ease your worry.

You stepped out slowly. The air was cold and sharp, biting through your clothes and waking up all the dread in your stomach. The gravel crunched beneath your shoes, leaving footprints in its wake.

When you reached the porch, Johnny opened the door, letting you inside first. The place was clean but bare—minimal furniture, reinforced windows, no personal touches. It looked like a temporary shelter for someone always expecting to run.

You hovered near the entrance; arms crossed tightly over your chest as he locked the door behind you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Johnny exhaled sharply, pulling off his jacket and tossing it across the back of a chair. “I know you’re angry.”

“I am.” You confirmed, your voice hollow. Vocal chords raw from crying.

You saw his jaw flex, his eyes sorrowfully looking down at you. A small worry line furrowed against his brow. “I’m sorry.” He signed, shoulders deflating.

Johnny raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with his pointer and thumb. “I never wanted this to touch you.” His voice cracked, “Everything I did, it was to keep you away from it. I thought I could… separate both lives. Protect you. But I let you down.”

You swallowed hard. “You lied to me.”

“I did,” he said, stepping closer. You almost backed away from him, but you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that, like a man lost. It was so human it made you sick.

You stared up at him, meeting his gaze. You parted your lips to speak, but no words came out, so he spoke instead.

“I cared about you more than I was supposed to. More than I should’ve.” His voice had dropped low now, steady despite the shake in it. “I know I was an asshole for kissing you and an even bigger one for pretending nothing happened. But I couldn’t let myself get attached. I thought if I pushed you away, you’d be safer.”

“Do I look safe to you now, Johnny?” you whispered.

He swallowed, a pained look crossing his features. “No,” he answered.

You huffed, holding yourself tighter. Your nails digging into your arm, tears burning in the back of your eyes for the third time that night. You frowned, brushing at your face angrily. “I can’t believe I let myself get here; I knew you were hiding something, and I still-“ You choked on the rest. “God, I hate you for making me care this much.”

You flinched when you felt something warm brush your cheek. You snapped your head back up to look at him. His hand was trembling, nervous, like you would scorch his skin if he touched you, yet it hovered an inch away from your face, almost cupping your cheek.

You watched his throat bob, eyes darting from your eyes down to your lips. “I never stopped caring,” He said. “Not for a second.”

The was air thick between you, and for a second neither of you moved. His eyes searched yours like he was still looking for permission. When you didn’t stop him, his hand slid to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the fresh tears.

Everything in you wanted to rip away; you were falling into the same trap he had put you in before. But you stopped yourself, your mind at war with itself.

“I’m so sorry, Bonnie.” He whispered. The sincerity of his tone beating you down, “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to cooperate. Just for a little while.”

You watched him hesitate for a moment, “-I thought I was going to lose you back at the apartment, I can’t do it again.”

You felt yourself crumbling, loosing the will to fight back.

You wanted to ground yourself in him, lost in what you knew you couldn’t have. Self-preservation be damned.

So, you surged forward first.

Your lips crashed into his with weeks of confusion, anger, and heartbreak behind them. You felt his breath hitch, taken aback by your sudden boldness. Like he was stunned you’d still want him. But you did. God help you, you did.

Just as quickly as his stiffness appeared it vanished, replaced by unbridled want.

He cradled one hand on your cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing against your hair. Johnny’s face tilted slightly so he could kiss you deeper, his lips warm and inviting. Despite everything, it felt safe. He felt safe.

You let your lips part, savoring the feeling of his tongue brushing against your upper lip. Your hands slid up his chest, one looping around his neck to pull him forward. It was tactile, the pads of your fingers brushing up against his nape. How his eyelashes tickled against your skin and his nose brushed against yours.

Johnny slid his other hand over your waist, drawing you in. Your body met his; it was warm and firm.

Each time you pulled away for a breath, he drew you back in, searching for your lips like a man starved.

Your fingers curled in his hair, grown out while still being short, fisting the brown locks between your fingers and tugging him closer. He groaned into your mouth, your hips brushing against his with each pull.

You didn’t realize you were moving backwards until your back hit flush against the front door, trapped between the wooden surface and his body. You broke apart for a moment to breathe, your foreheads pressed together.

Your chin tilted upwards, trying to find his lips again.

This time, Johnny pulled back slightly, hesitating to meet your lips. Your brow furrowed, confused to why he wasn’t reciprocating your advances. He met your gaze for a moment, conflicted.

“We shouldn’t,” he breathed. “-Not like this.”

He thumbed over the apple of your cheek as you shook your head. “Johnny, it’s fine.” You said, lips pulled into an impatient frown.

He opened his mouth to respond, before he could you silenced him with another kiss. Forcing him to meet your lips. He groaned into your mouth, your leg shifting in between his thighs to nudge into his crotch.

He was hard, achingly so.

You forced yourself to pull away, “You-“ you sucked in a breath. “-You put me in this situation. The least you could do is try to make up for it.”

He swallowed, pausing for a moment. “Is that what you want me to do, Bonnie? Make it up to you?”

You licked your lips unconsciously, fighting the heat crawling up your face. “Yes.”

You stood there for a beat, watching how his eyes dripped down your face and traveled lower only to flicker back to your line of sight. His hand slowly trailed down your cheek, the pads of his fingers brushing down the side of your neck to tilt your head back against the door.

You shuddered, the molten bloom of blush spreading up your face. You stood statue still as his face dipped into the junction of your neck, lips brushing against the burning skin.

He pressed a slow kiss to your neck, letting his lips linger against your flesh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing another one lower. “-I’m sorry,” another further down. “I’m sorry,” again, and again.

It was maddening, his breath fanning against the shell of your ear and his lips dragging down your neck. The warmth of his lips and tongue over your flesh felt like trails of molten lava.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep your breathing even. Your fingers digging into the back of his shirt and his hair.

He slid down your front, lips trailing down from your neck to your collarbone. Large hands mapping out your body as he went. Johnny dipped lower, littering soft kisses down your stomach, dropping his legs to kneel before you like he was worshiping the ground you stood on.

Your body buzzed with anticipation, pliant in his grasp. You almost couldn’t bear to look down, too scared and flustered to see what you had made of him. However, you didn’t need to look down.

Because you could feel it without even looking—his gaze on you.

His stare was blistering, he was sorry, and he wanted you to know it. To feel it. To watch you come undone.

Somewhere along the way, he had snaked his hands up your thighs. Wedging your legs apart until he knelt between them.

“Look at me.”

You tensed, your breath stilled. Blinking hard you forced yourself to tilt your head downwards, meeting his eyes.

Johnny’s lips were parted, cheeks and ears tinged slightly red. His hands squeezed the back of your thighs, “Atta’ girl.” He murmured, voice smooth and thick like syrup. He slid his hands away from your legs, dragging them over the front of your pelvis. Slowly taking his time in popping the button on your jeans and guiding the zipper down.

He slid your pants down, carefully helping you out by moving your legs. After discarding the garment, he directed his attention back to you.

You couldn’t help the slip of a moan as he thumbed a finger over your underwear, rubbing soft circles over your clothed clit. One of your hands grasping at the flat door, trying to curl your fingers on its surface.

His fingers slid down, pressing flat against you as he pressed another kiss to the fabric of your underwear.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, holding back a whine.

Johnny curled his fingers slightly upwards, pushing the fabric against your entrance. Your breath caught, insides churning with the contact. “You’re wet,” He breathed against you. “-That from me, Lass?”

He glanced up at you, a small, proud, grin stretching his lips.

Without waiting for a response, he hooked a finger under the elastic. Sliding it down your legs before attaching his lips to your cunt.

You gasped, caught off guard. one of your hands gripping his hair, coiling your fingers into the soft brown locks. “Johnny-!” You choked out, shuddering.

He hummed against you, flattening the front of his tongue against your core.

Whatever you said fell on deaf ears, his hands clasped at your thighs to hold you up against the door. Preventing you from moving away. You bucked your hips into his mouth, unable to stop the small involuntary movements.

He groaned, circling his tongue over your clit while one of his hands returned to your soaked pussy. You could barley register that one his hands were moving before you felt the pad of his middle finger dip between your lips, gently prodding at your entrance.

You almost choked, throwing your head back against the door. “Fuck,” you cursed, voice slurring.

Johnny hummed against your cunt, slowly pushing a finger inside you. Curling it backwards until your back arched off the flat door.

He pulled back for a moment, panting. His lips slick and shiny with your juices, eyes slightly glazed over with a blush tinging his ears. “You’re so beautiful, Bonnie. You know that, right?” He groaned, staring up at you as his finger worked your cunt.

You could barley respond, fucked out on just his finger and tongue. “-You want another?” He asked, placing a soft kiss to your clit.

You could only manage a small nod, concentrating all of your strength into staying standing. Yet you couldn’t help the small buckle of your knees the second you felt a second finger dip inside you.

His digits worked you open, stretching your walls until he could easily pump his fingers in and out of you with ease.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, just like I knew you would.” He panted, his breath fanning your skin. He leaned back in, swirling his tongue over the bundle of nerves until you felt your toes curl.

Johnny was groaning as if he was deriving pleasure from eating you out. The front of his tongue flattening against your cunt, greedily slurping. He suckled against your clit, alternating between running his tongue up and down and side to side.

Whatever his tongue and mouth couldn’t reach, his fingers did. Long thick digits sliding in and out with ease, the pads of his fingers brushing against your soaking walls. The muscle of your core constricting around his fingers with each plunge.

You could only moan, trapped between the door and his mouth. His fingers curling inside your walls, leaving you gasping for air. Preening for the tension in your gut to spill over. A part of you wanted to be furious with him for screwing you over and then proceeding to giving you the best head of your life. Yet with the way his tongue worked on you, you couldn’t find it in you to care.

You were approaching your orgasm fast, much faster than you would’ve liked.

“Johnny—Johnny, I’m close. Slow down, please.” You simpered, begging for him to ease up so you could bask in the pleasure a little longer.

However, he had other plans. Doing quite the opposite as to double down, the pace of his fingers increasing in tandem with his mouth on your clit.

You felt the molten coil in your stomach tighten, threatening to snap at any moment. You couldn’t bare it, being stretched open by his fingers mixed with the sensation of his tongue mouthing over you clit. It was too much, too fast, too good.

Then it snapped. Thighs locking around his head as your orgasm spilled over, washing over you like waves against the sand bar. Your cunt fluttering around his fingers and your hands curling in his hair.

There was no moan, no cry, only a silent gasp for air. Your spine arched with your hips rhythmically pushing deeper into his mouth.

He didn’t let up, letting you ride it out until he felt you loosen around him. Leaving you a panting mess, legs reduced to jelly.

Your vision was blurry; you had closed your eyes so tightly you swore you were starting to see colors, patterns, and stars that crossed behind your eyelids.

As he pulled away, Johnny kissed the inside of your thigh.

You took a moment to recover, slowly managing to look back down at him. As the fog of your orgasm cleared, you were left speechless. You had just let Johnny put his mouth on you.

Worse, you didn’t regret it. Not even a little.

Maybe that was what scared you, you could never push him away completely. He somehow managed to always wriggle his way back into your heart, and in this case, your pants. You weren’t over the fact that he had been lying to you, nor how he had scooped you up only to drop you off at a safe house in the middle of nowhere.

However, your initial anger was starting to melt, gradually.

Your lips parted, trying to form the words. “I’m still mad,” is what came out. Your voice unsure, as if you were trying to convince yourself of your words.

Johnny nodded, the small scruff of his stubble brushing against the skin of your thigh. “I know you are.” He replied, blue eyes staring back up at you.

“But I’m willing to keep making up for it.” Johnny said, “-s’long as it takes.”

It was almost sickening how remorseful he looked; how genuine it all was. You wanted him to do something, anything that would even hint that this was all an act to obtain your forgiveness.

But it wasn’t. It was real.

You swallowed, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh for a second time.

You couldn’t go back know, the damage had already been done. The lies, the kiss, the break in, and now this. Whatever it was, it pushed you further. A recklessness that snaked its way past your rational, if you were going off the deep end, you were going to make it count.

A hand slid down into his hair, your fingers curling into the soft brown locks. Tightening your hold, you slowly pushed his head back, forcing him to look up at you.

“Then keep going,” you said. His eyes scanned your face as you paused. “-Keep making it up to me, Johnny.”

Johnny’s palms spread out over your flesh pulled taut, grasping at you, not rough, but desperate to anchor himself. Then his lips parted, breath heavy. “You still want me to touch you?” He asked, voice low and frayed.

You nodded, holding in a breath. “Yeah, I do.” You confirmed.

With your confirmation, he dropped his head, forehead brushing against your knee. His nose and lips tingled on your skin as he dragged his head up your leg, “You’re killing me, Bonnie.” He said as he drew in a long breath.

Then he began to move again, slowly, with intent. His mouth traced a line up your thigh, higher, lingering like he didn’t want to rush it. Like he wanted to earn every second of it.

“Having you close like this, when I thought I lost the right to touch you?” He murmured into your skin.

His lips found your hips again, then your stomach, and then higher still, warm hands sliding up your sides. When he reached the side of your neck you let your hands snake around his nape, grasping at his broad shoulders.

His chest pressed into yours, your legs pushing up to wrap snugly around his hips. Johnny made quick work of your new position, large hands holding you up by your thighs.

You twisted your face to meet his, noses brushing together as your lips connected. You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. You were pushing into him, desperate to create friction.

You offhandedly realized that he had stepped backwards off the door, holding you to him as he backtracked into the safe house. Lips still moving against yours.

After a few bumps on different pieces of furniture, he managed to find his way to another door, his back hitting against the wood as he blindly searched for the handle. It was a miracle he didn’t fall backwards as the door swung open on its hinges.

He stumbled in, barely breaking stride as his boots scuffed against the floor. The room was dark, just the faint outline of moonlight bleeding through the shuttered windows.

Johnny kicked the door shut behind him with a solid thud, the sound echoing in the quiet. Then you were falling, not hard, but a tad clumsily onto the mattress behind you. Sheets still cold, the room unfamiliar.

He hovered above you, chest rising and falling fast, like he’d just run a mile. His eyes searched yours again, pupils blown, lips parted. At the same time his hands wasted no time in pushing up your shirt, revealing the bare skin of your torso.

You aided in wiggling out of your top, your bra following shortly after.

Johnnys eyes dragged up and down your form, as if he were carving out the image of you underneath him into his mind. “Fuck me,” he breathed, in awe.

He slid his hands up your sides, cupping your breasts in his palms. The pad of his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples.

You inhaled, back arching off of the mattress as he pawed and pulled at your chest. Your fingers twisted into the crisp white sheets as Johnny’s head dipped down, his tongue swirling over the hardened bud.

You couldn’t hold back the soft whine that escaped you as he suckled and kissed at your nipples. Taking his time in alternating between your breasts, savoring your flesh like a starved animal.

“I’ve wanted to see you like this,” he said in between kissing your breasts. “-Was a fuckin’ miracle I could keep my hands off you to begin with.”

Your front teeth dug into your bottom lip, holding back a groan at his words. You thought back to your days around the apartment, the subtle touches, the glances your way, wondering if he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. If he too spent his nights with a hand down his pants while the other covered his mouth.

Your pulse quickened.

“I didn’t realize you wanted me so bad.” You said between heavy breaths, almost joking.

Johnny glanced back up at you, blowing air out from his nose in a half-laugh. “Always, baby, always.” He exhaled, pressing one last kiss to the underside of your breast before leaning back to tug off his shirt.

You watched him like a hawk, gaze unwavering as the cotton slid off of his body to reveal the pale skin underneath.

Obviously, you had seen him shirtless countless times. Curtesy of his morning cooking attire (sweatpants and no shirt). But something about this was different, it felt more raw, private.

Your gaze fell from his abdominal muscles down to the V-line peeking out from his jeans, a light happy trail of brown hair snaking down beneath the waistband.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away even if you wanted.

A small grin stretched his lips, “Looks like I’m not the only one.”

You shot him a look, a heat creeping back into your cheeks. “Just take your pants off,” you said impatiently.

He nodded, reaching down to unbutton his trousers. “You’re the boss.”

Johnny made quick work of his pants, sliding them off along with his boxers. Whatever you had expected him to look like down under was almost insulting compared to what he shaped out to be.

He was big, thicker than the average male. Hard, and heavy.

You quickly snapped your eyes back up, flustered from the color in your face. Swallowing the dryness in your throat as discreetly as humanly possible.

He stood at the edge of the bed, an almost imposing figure. With one hand he reached down to pump his cock a few times, the weight of it in his grip made you shift. “You see what you do to me, Bonnie?” He rasped.

His jaw was taunt as he stroked himself, exhaling though clenched teeth. His dark, thick eyebrows knitting together, pinching the skin of his brow.

When you didn’t respond he leaned down, his free hand sliding over your knee to part your legs until he stood in between your bared thighs. You were braced on your elbows, fingers twisting into the sheets.

“Hm?” He said expectantly. “-You want me, Bonnie?”

You jumped as his dick hit your bare pussy, slapping his cock against your clit a few times. Your legs tensed at the contact, blood running thick and hot.

“Yes,” you breathed, sounding much more winded than you would have liked. “-Yes, I want you.”

Johnny groaned, let the tip glide over your soaked cunt with ease. Coating himself in your arousal. His dick was heavy against your entrance, now that you could feel the full weight of it pressed against you.

He gave an experimental, shallow, push. The head of his cock plunging into your cunt with a lewd squelch.

Your head fell back for half a second, gasping for a breath of air like your lungs had been filled with water. “Johnny,” you panted, voice thin and shallow. A hand placed at the side of your head tightened in the sheets, his body caging you in.

“I know.” He hushed, the free hand cradling the back of your neck to push your head forward. Your forehead met his, noses bumping together like a fitted puzzle piece. Your breath tangling somewhere in between.

You inhaled, waiting, adjusting.

After another moment, he pushed his hips forward. Your body was able to accommodate all of him by some miracle. Walls stretched open in such a way that you felt full.

You grabbed the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin. “Oh god-” you exhaled, lips brushing against his as you spoke.

Johnny groaned, voice thick with want. His face dropping into the crook of your neck and collar, heavy breaths fanning onto your skin, burning like hot magma. “So fuckin’ tight, so perfect for me.” He murmured.

It was silent for a moment, save for the heavy panting between you. A brief pause that left you aching for more, desperate for him to do something. A carnal desire for the man inside of you that seared white hot in your blood stream.

You couldn’t bare it, not when he was withholding such pleasure from you.

“Johnny, move. Please, I need you to move.” You simpered, nails dragging down his back.

He grunted, shaping out a soft nod. Leaning back slightly to grab your spread thighs, rough palms squeezing the fleshly underside of your hamstring. Carefully, he maneuvered your legs back, brining your knees up to your ears. Murmuring a gentle ‘that’s it,’ and ‘almost there,’ as you assumed your position.

Johnny held your legs in place as he set your legs over his shoulders, draped over his back like curtains. He drew his cock out of you, leaving just the tip inside. After a moment he sheathed himself back inside, slowly.

You moaned, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes rolled back. He thrust deep into you, again, slowly, but forcefully. Just enough to leave your toes curling and your heels digging into his trapezius. A steady stream of grunts and moans leaving both of you.

He gradually began to speed up the longer he fucked into you, fingers taunt as they dug into your flesh.

Your ears rang with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the air thick and heavy around you. Your hands tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. “So good,” you slurred, drunk off of his cock. “-Feels so good.”

The more you spoke the more vigorous he was, forcing his hips deeper into you, harder, faster. Eager to please.

“Keep talking,” He moaned, vocal cords raw from grunting and moaning. “-I like it when you talk. Sounds so fuckin’ sweet when you’re taking my cock.” He grit out.

If you could blush anymore, you would’ve. You weren’t very experienced at dirty talk but you supposed theres a first time for everything.

You whimpered, trying to form the words through gasps and moans. “You make me feel so good, Johnny. I want you to keep fucking me,” you exhaled, your bottom lip trembling.

He moaned, a confirmation that you were doing at least one thing right. You wanted to please him just as much as he wanted to make you feel good. Desperate for any shred of praise.

You felt the head of his dick press up deep inside you, sending your spine curling like a whip and the soles of your feel arching. “Oh-” You gasped, voice shrouded in a lustful haze. “Do that again, fuck.” You pleaded.

Johnny’s lip curved up, “Yeah?” Angling his hips to thrust back inside at the same area he did before. “-You like when I fuck into you like this?” He exhaled.

Your head fell back into the mattress, small sparks flashing behind your eyelids. Johnny letting out a tortured “Fuck,” as he spurred on. Nails, mouth, teeth, skin, hair, you couldn’t tell where it all began nor where it ended. A blur of lust and so much more, affection, was it? Love?

You couldn’t tell, but it felt like a live wire between you. An exposed cable that sent currents through your veins and left you gasping for air.

“So good to me, Bonnie.” He breathed, “-Dreamt ‘bout you for months, fucking wishing I could have you.”

The mattress caved around your body, molding to the shape of your body. Johnny’s hands leaving a bruising grip on your thighs.

You tried your best to shake your head, forcing your eyes open. “You have me,” You moaned. “-You have me.” You repeated, a broken record. Trying your best not to go too deep into the meaning for your own words, caught up in the moment.

You felt like you’d been reduced to one giant raw, exposed nerve. Molded to the shape of his cock, your limbs dangling in his hold like a sack of flour. The pressure in your stomach climbing, a lull of heat creeping down from your pussy all the way to your toes.

Johnny let one of his hands slide down to your cunt, thumbing over your neglected clit. Without warning he circled over the swollen bud, sending you convulsing.

You gave a sharp cry, the stimulation borderline painful. You never imagined that anything could hurt so good, a taboo sort of pleasure.

Sweat coated your skin, your clit throbbing and your pussy pounding like a heartbeat. It was so good, too good.

It seemed as if Johnny was in the same boat, his rhythmic thrusts had devolved into sloppy, and sporadic. You wanted him to stay inside, you wanted to feel the pulse of his dick when you came.

“Johnny, I’m going to cum.” You gasped, your body pulling taunt.

He nodded, sweat shining on the skin of his temple. “I want you to, I can hold out.” His voice was wrecked, raw, jaw clenched tight.

You seemed to slip out of yourself as you came, like you were floating. A current of euphoria that washed over you, head lulled back while your body strained. The drive of his cock into you combined with the pressure on your clit sent you spiraling.

You couldn’t help the moans leaving you, ears ringing and vision blurred.

You briefly registered him pulling out, his grunts sinking into you before you felt a sharp spurt of liquid somewhere on your stomach.

What followed after was a moment of silence, a bliss that lingered in the air and seemed to cloud the room in a warm glow. You didn’t even realize your eyes had been closed before you felt them open as a hand brushed over your forehead.

You blinked as Johnny brushed the stray baby-hairs from your face, sticking to your skin from sweat.

He gently set your legs off his shoulders, carefully placing them down on the bed. Everything about you felt heavy and sluggish, like your limbs had tuned into cinder blocks. Even so, his touch still managed to tingle your skin.

There was a calmness to it all, a domesticity that felt just as good as it was temporary. You knew of course that sleeping with him wouldn’t magically fix everything, it was still crumbling around you. But he was the safest thing around a place that felt unfamiliar.

You knew he felt it too, the tension setting back in. Responsibility, reality.

“So, what happens now?” you said, cutting through the silence.

There was a pause before he shifted, leaning back. “Well, I was going to clean you up.” He said, voice almost blasé, but you knew there was more to it. “-But I guess we can’t really go back to what things were before, not with the break in and all.”

Getting up, he reached into the bedside table, a box of tissues inside. Taking a few he wiped you down, carefully, guiltily. Tossing them out into the small bin tucked into the corner of the room, picking up his briefs on the way to clothe himself a little.

After, Johnny adjusted his position beside you, the mattress shifting under his weight as he sat down on the side of the bed. His eyes lingered on your face, torso twisted to face you. His eyes trailed down your body, slow, not lustful this time, just taking inventory, like he needed to confirm for himself that you were whole.

“Are you going to answer me for real?” you said quietly.

He stilled. His gaze flicked back to yours, and there was something unreadable in his expression. Guilt, maybe. Or fear.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, the ache in your muscles sharp but not unwelcome. “I mean… with us. After this.” Your voice faltered for a second. “I kind of got the message that we’re supposed to stay here for a day or two until you know for sure who broke in. But I just don’t know where we go after that.”

Johnny dragged a hand over his face, scrubbing at the stubble on his jaw. “I’m not sure if I have the answers you want.” His accent was thicker now, softened in exhaustion. “I’ve got no right to ask for more from you, not after the shite I pulled.”

“But you want to,” you said. It wasn’t a question.

He gave a short laugh, humorless and brittle. “Christ, Bonnie. I never stopped wantin’ to.”

You sat with his words for a moment, deciphering the meaning a hundred different ways. Caught between what you wanted and what you knew what was probably best.

“I still don’t know where I sit with this.” you whispered, “-I can’t exactly just forget what happened, I don’t think I could if I tried. And I’m still mad about the lying.” You spoke.

After a beat, you continued, “-But I also know that you were doing what you thought was best. Even if your best was shitty. I guess I’m just mad because I lost you for a good while there without even knowing why. And now I don’t even know if I’m going to lose you again once this blows over.”

Johnny looked at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re not something I’ll be able to just move on from either, even if it all does ‘blow over.’” He said, frowning.

There was another beat of silence, this one gentler.

“But I meant what I said earlier. I’ll keep makin’ it up to you.” He reached over, his thumb brushing over the curve of your wrist as it laid on the bed. “Even if it takes the rest of my damn life.”

You turned your head toward him, eyes meeting his. “Don’t make promises like that.”

“I’m not.” His gaze didn’t waver. “It’s not a promise. It’s just the truth.”

You felt his fingers dip into the curve of your palm, running along the indented lines until his fingers tangled between yours. A soft squeeze that said, ‘I’m here.’ You squeezed back, a silent exchange that said so little yet so much.

Flickering your gaze back up to meet his eyes, you pulled on his hand, beckoning him closer. And for whatever reason, he let you. The mattress shifting under his weight once again as he crawled behind you; not hovering, not crowding, just close.

His arm slid beneath your neck, the other tucking around your waist. His touch was warm, not lustful, at least not anymore. It was something quieter. The kind of closeness that only made sense after everything had been said and done.

Johnny exhaled into your shoulder, breath fanning the damp skin there. “If it means anything,” he spoke, voice faint. “-What we had together…it was good. We’re good together.”

His voice was almost a plea, a last-ditch effort to show you he wanted it, he wanted you.

Your throat tightened.

You shifted back against him just a little more, letting your spine curve into his chest. His hand found yours again, fingers fitting into the spaces between yours with the same unconscious ease he had when brewing coffee in your kitchen. Like a habit he didn’t want to break.

“We are good, Johnny.” You agreed, turning slightly, just enough to glance back at him. You hesitated slightly before speaking again, “But I’m scared of waking up tomorrow and pretending this didn’t happen.”

His hand squeezed yours again, drawing you in.

“Then don’t,” he said. “Not this time, not again.”

You were quiet for a beat, then: “…One more chance. You get one more chance, Johnny. And when we figure things out, we do it together, no secrets.”

“No secrets.” He echoed. A promise.

You didn’t say anything after that, you didn’t need to. The room seemed to still too, a peaceful lull in its darkness.

His breathing evened out behind you, steady and slow. You could feel it where his chest pressed against your back, where his lips brushed your shoulder one last time before stilling.

Your eyes stayed open a little while longer, just to make sure he was still there.

And in the hush that followed, with his arms wrapped around you and your hands still laced together, the ache dulled, just a little.

Sleep found you like that. Quiet. Not fixed. But no longer alone.

. . . . . ◟੭

The morning settled, soft and muted against the walls, brushing over your skin in pale shades of silver and blue. Somewhere beyond the window, the world stirred.

You blinked awake slowly, the edges of your vision blurred with sleep, the air around you heavy with warmth. It took a moment to remember where you were and why you were there to begin with. Why your body felt weightless and sore all at once.

You unconsciously shifted, stopped by a weight draped over your stomach.

Johnny’s arm was still curled loosely around your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm behind you. You shifted again, just enough to turn onto your back, the mattress caving slightly with the movement.

He was asleep. No tension in his brow, no dreams pulling at the corners of his mouth. The way his hand rested over your hip made you ache with a tenderness you didn’t expect.

You studied him for a long moment. The way his dark lashes cast faint shadows over his cheeks. How his hair curled ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. You could almost trick yourself into thinking this was normal. That this was something you’d done before, would do again.

It was almost odd; you didn’t feel the panic you thought you would.

You had expected regret. Or at the very least, that gnawing ache of uncertainty that always crept in when things got too real. You’d braced yourself for it. For the guilt. The fear. The voice in your head that always whispered, this is a mistake.

But it didn’t come.

All you felt was calm. Maybe not certainty—not yet—but something close. A stillness you hadn’t known you’d needed.

You exhaled slowly, letting the breath deflate your chest. Johnny stirred slightly behind you but didn’t wake. His grip around you only tightened, fingers curling softly against your side on instinct.

You let your gaze linger on him a little longer.

There was still so much between you. Things to say, things to fix. But last night hadn’t been about pretending everything was okay. It had been about choosing to stay anyway.

Your fingers drifted toward his, brushing lightly over his knuckles. A warmth dancing across his skin like the embers of dying flame.

You turned slightly, just enough to face him again, your forehead nearly brushing his. His breath was slow and even. Yours followed suit.

Your eyes drifted shut.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

you let yourself rest.

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Hey wait don’t go!

First off, big thanks to all of you for waiting so long for another story. I know I totally disappeared for a minute, but unfortunately, life is just like that sometimes.

It would mean so much if you could like, repost, or comment under the story! I love hearing your thoughts and suggestions for later works!

Hopefully you enjoyed because I know I sure did, I know Soap doesn’t get as much love as the other characters but he makes for just as much of a good story.

Thanks for reading and I’ll see you in my next post!

Toodles! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

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[ifonlyyuweremine]

PLEASE MORE SOAP AND GAZ STUFF. I'M DYINGGGG. These are so well written and good! I was thoroughly disappointed to not see more stuff on your profile. You're a great writer!

Soap story coming in the future! 💕 I have a Gaz story too but that's been pushed out until the first one is finished.

Thank you so much for the kind words!

Until next time, toodles. ;)

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Call of Christmas

Aka the holiday season with 141

COD characters x F reader (One shots!) + smut

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Captain John Price smut

You hurriedly raced through chores, much like being put on a continuous autopilot. Throw the tabs of detergent into the laundry while making sure to separate the light and dark clothes. Put the leftover dishes from the sink inside the dishwasher, vacuum up the collecting fuzz that started to gather on the carpet, and so on.

However, the most important task was yet to be done. Pushed to the edge of your to-due list and collect dust.

Wrapping the presents.

Dear lord. Where would you even start, not only was gift wrapping the most tedious task on earth but most of the time it had a 98% chance of going wrong.

How could such a jolly and festive activity as simply wrapping a gift turn into the worst part of the holiday season? In your case, surprisingly easily.

It was a guessing game on your part, to figure out which wrapping paper to adorn a present in (different wrapping paper for different people of course). Cut the perfect measurements for said gift, and wrap it in some way that would look presentable.

Almost every time you would screw up the last two steps, the cutting and wrapping. You would either cut way too much paper or not enough to cover the gift. And when you finally did get an acceptable length the paper would fold every which way and the tape wouldn't hold it down.

Now, why not go with the simple fix of putting it inside of a gift bag? The short answer was that it was the lazy man's way out.

And this year you were determined to make it work. Your husband John always teased you about your passion for the holidays, but what could you say? You were a driven woman.

So you found yourself near the end of the day sitting inside the living room of your house. A diverse spread of gifts scattered around you beside poles of wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and rulers.

The soft thrum of Christmas music playing in the background for motivation. You were especially proud of the gifts you had gotten this year. One for each of your friends, close family, and John. Having a good gift for him was something to behold on its own. Gift shopping for the man was like pulling out teeth.

“Why would I want anything? I pretty much have everything I need…”

“I’m okay love, don't bother with me…”

“I don't want anything, maybe some socks or something…”

John's words echoed in your ear, but you weren't giving up that easily. This year, you landed on a nice silver watch with a leather band. The one he wore was…distressed to say the least.

So, this seemed like a great choice. You smiled down at the small box that held his new watch. John would love anything you got him, even if it was a scrap of metal he would give you his teddy bear smile and shower you with praise.

But this year you were particularly proud of your choice.

And with the newfound motivation you started on wrapping. You did your best to cut accurate ratios of paper to present, fold it as crisply as you could, and tape it down so it stuck. Somehow, by the grace of God, you found yourself getting into a sort of rhythm.

You looked at work after an hour in, in awe of the fact that it wasn't that bad. Actually, it was nearly perfect! These looked like real gifts, like the ones you'd see in those Christmas catalogs sitting under an 11-foot-tall tree.

You smiled, only one gift left to go. Lo and behold it was John’s gift. The small blue box that hid his watch, looked so menial. You sighed and stretched, easy peasy.

Or so you thought.

That little blue box might as well have been possessed by a Christmas-hating demon.

You huffed, silently cursing at yourself as you accidentally ripped the wrapping paper while you were trying to tape it down. This had been your fifth attempt at wrapping his gift, and every time something had gone wrong.

You stared down at it in disbelief, nearly in tears of frustration. There the box sat, laughing at your feeble attempts at wrapping it.

Just as you were about to go for attempt number six, you heard the chime of the front door opening. It was John.

Like a flash, you pushed the box under the couch until it was out of sight. It was a surprise after all. Just as you turned back around John appeared in all his glory. Slack jeans with his cotton t-shirt and his ruggedly handsome face. His eyebrows raised at the scene before him.

“Love, I think you're supposed to wrap the gifts, not get into a fight with them.” He said, bemused.

You felt your already hot cheeks redden, looking at the mess of wrapping paper around you. It did kind of look like a war scene with the addition of glitter and ribbon. Letting out an exasperated sigh you looked back up at him. “Would you believe me if I told you they started it?”

John's lips curved up into a soft smile that raised his mutton chops. And you couldn't help your heart from swooning at the way his mustache smiled with him. He chuckled and stepped into the room, crouching in front of you to slide a hand across your cheek. Pulling you in for a warm, chaste kiss. Your frustration slightly ebbed away, yet the lingering annoyance remained. John seemed to notice it and gave you a funny look as he pulled away.

“What's wrong?” He said knowing.

Curse him, he knew you too well. You knew giving him a bad lie wouldn't do much so you sighed. “It’s the gifts, I was doing so well wrapping everything but I got to yours and it didn't seem to want to cooperate with me. And well, you can see how it played out.” You breathed, nodding to the mess around you.

John raised an eyebrow, “why not just give it to me as is?” He asked, confused. To which you rolled your eyes as his practicality, typical.

“That’s not the point. Making presents look nice is a labor of love, it shows I care to make it look presentable.” You defended your point, making him shake his head and smile warmly. A fondness in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Baby, you know I know that you care about me. I don't need wrapping paper to prove that.” He said, his other hand guiding yours to his mouth to press his lips over your ring.

You pursed your lips in a tight line, trying not to let him melt your resolve into a sappy puddle. “Yeah, but it's still a nice gesture.” You grumbled, eyes darting away from his gaze.

You heard the familiar thrum of his laugh echo in your ears. You turned your eyes back to look at him as he pressed a kiss to your temple, “Thank you for trying love. You know I’d like anything you’d give me. But having you is all I need.” You couldn't help the smile that crept up on your cheeks.

For being such an intimidating person and having the reputation he did, he could really be a sap sometimes. Not that you'd have it any other way. His loving nature was a gift in itself.

You hummed and leaned in to kiss him again, his lips meeting yours in a soft embrace. Slowly you pulled him in, hands snaking around his neck to cup the back of his head. He tasted of tobacco and whiskey, not the bitter kind, but the warm fragrant kind. Almost like a spicy cocktail, one that burned at first sip but settled in your stomach.

It was almost second nature when you kissed him. Like your body craved the feeling of being fitted against his larger form. And when his tongue slid over your bottom lip, practically begging for entrance, you had no choice but to oblige.

The soft hum of Christmas jazz still lulled in the background, dulling your senses like sweet syrup. John’s tongue delved into your mouth, the slow rhythmic motion of his lips turning the thoughts in your head to static. His large hands slowly traveled down to your waist, his thumb pressing against the bone of your hip. Without warning his hands suddenly airlifted you up and onto the couch. You gave a small squeak of surprise, breaking the kiss.

“John wha-” You were cut off by another steaming kiss.

After a minute he pulled away, hot breath fanning against your lips. “You were working so hard, figured I'd give you a thank you.” His sly smile told you everything you needed to know. And if they didn’t, the way his hands slid down to grope on your ass did.

Your cheeks burned, and another type of heat bellowed in your stomach. Sending small sparks across your spine. “It's just wrapping a gift, and I didn't even finish yours.” You said sheepishly.

John rolled his eyes, his head dipping down to trail kisses over your neck. “What was it you said before? That it’s about the gesture or principle of it all?” He murmured, large hands kneading your behind. His words made your lips turn up into a smile. To be honest…you could use a break, and this opportunity was one you’d never turn down.

A small giggle escaped you, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “I guess I’ll take that ‘thank you’ then.”

Turning his head back up, he gave you a wolfish grin. The large hands that previously held your behind slid up to hook the hem of your top. With one fluid movement, he coaxed your arms above your head and slipped your blouse off. Then with just as much sneakiness, he undid the clasp of your bra. Tossing the offending garment somewhere else in the room.

Without a moment to lose, his mouth was on your breasts. You shuddered at his warm wet tongue and the way it danced around your nipple. The scruff of his facial hair tickles Your chest.

Your hands threaded into his hair, pulling and guiding him where you wanted. With every small tug or grasp he groaned, enthralled by the way you led him. From where you were sitting, John knelt at the edge of the couch between your spread legs. Hands gripping at your hips as he suckled at your peaks. “So beautiful baby-” He rasped, “-fucking love this gorgeous body.”

Your lips pushed into a tight line, exhaling through your nose. John’s hands migrated down to grab onto your pants, tugging them down slowly. You helped him slip them off until the only thing covering you was your cotton panties. An embarrassingly obvious wet patch now soaking through its fabric.

John’s thumb gently grazed over your clothed center. Earning a soft moan on your part, the pad of his finger sending a jolt of heat through you. His navy eyes flickered up to you as his thumb slowly circled your covered clit. “Tell me what you want sweetness.” He murmured.

You had trouble processing his words for a moment. “I want your fingers, John.” You breathed, looking down at the man on his knees for you.

The corner of his lip turned up, “Yes mam.” Slowly he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your glistening core. You saw his adams apple bob as he stared at you, like he wanted to devour you alive.

With his middle and ring finger, he dragged them through your lips. Coating the skin in a layer of slick, the lewd sound of it makes your ears turn red. “Look at this wet pussy, so needy.” John gruffed. With no warning, he gently pushed his middle inside you. Your walls constricted around him like a hungry snake.

Your lips fell open in an ‘oh shape, whimpering at the burning goodness of his finger. “Fuckfuckfuck-” You panted, the muscles in your legs flexing as you tensed.

With ease, he pushed his ring finger into you as well. Falling into a slow rhythm of pumping his fingers in and out of you coupled with his thumb brushing over your clit. Your brain felt foggy, like how a bathroom mirror fogs up when you take a hot shower. John watched you like a hawk, studying your every movement to see if you were enjoying it.

“John, need your cock now.” You panted breathlessly, impatient for your husband. He gave you an amused look, keeping his fingers at a steady pace.

“You sure?” He asked, bemused. “-I can wait sweetheart.” But you shook your head, desperate for the stretch of his dick.

You blinked and gave him a look, “I'm not asking.” You replied. Making him chuckle, his fingers sliding out of you and leaving an empty feeling in their wake. He stood up, tugging off his shirt and unzipping his trousers. All the while, you watched like it was your favorite TV show. Your eyes drank in his muscles, he was built for fighting, that was for sure.

His pants shrugged down as he pulled his briefs away with it. His large bulbous cock sprang free, the sight almost making you drool. John smiled at you as he wrapped a calloused hand around it, stroking. “Makin’ me feel special when you look at me like that.” He said, giving his dick a few more pumps of his hand.

He nodded at you, “Go ahead and lay back, I want to look at your face when I make you cum.” He said, the words ringing in your ears. You tried not the let the giddy smile show on your face as you nodded and fell back against the cushions. Hastily, he climbed up on the couch, caging you in with his body. Hands planted on either side of your head.

He gave you a knowing smile before using one hand to guide his cock against your slit. Slowly dragging it up and down, making your breath hitch. Fireworks already going off inside your brain.

He leaned back a tad, using his other free hand to stroke your thigh, patting it lightly. “Come on, raise these for me love, want them on my shoulders.” You did as you were told, hiking your legs up on his shoulders. His head was encased by the meat of your thighs and the tip of his cock pushed against your aching hole.

With John’s guidance, he slowly pushed into you. The entrance of his thick cock fills up every crevice in your walls, making you moan. He was right there with you, “bloody hell-” he grit out. His voice was strained and thick like syrup.

“Tell me-” He panted, “-Tell me I can move. Please.” He breathed, voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed, your body burned and ached, yet it felt so good at the same time. And you craved more of it. So much more.

You nodded, “Yes, please.” Per your request, John slowly started to move his hips. His hands are placed on either side of your head and your thighs are locked around his head. The further he pushed into you the more you felt like being folded in half.

Slowly, his cock dragged in and out of your walls only to plunge back in. You moaned and threw your head back into the cushions, a shivering running through you. Every time his thick tip pressed against the spongy bundle of nerves deep inside you, your walls tightened as if to hold him in.

“Fuck, that's it- so tight and wet, like this pussy was made for me.” John groaned, steadily increasing the speed and force of his thrusts. Every time he pushed himself back in you felt like seeing stars. The delicious pleasure of feeling his girthy dick drag against your walls and stuff you full was something you could never get used to. Every time it felt a new shade of amazing.

Soon, his thrusts had gone from slow and drawn out to fast-paced slaps of skin against skin. Your hands dragged against his back, leaving trails of red lines in their wake.

A familiar coil began to burn in your stomach, tightening by the minute. Your head was swimming as you let him mold you to the shape of his cock. “John- can’t hold it, I'm gonna cum soon.” You sputtered.

His response was to only increase the force of his thrusts. Snaking a hand down to your clit and rubbing his thumb in circles around the sensitive bud. You jolted, clamping down around him which in turn caused him to twitch and pulse. “S’okay love I know, I'm right there with you. Let me make you cum, cum on my cock.” He moaned.

The white-hot pleasure turned to burning magma as he played with your clit. Waves of euphoria crashing down on you like a violent tide. Your pussy spasmed and your body went taunt like a bow. John fucked you through it until his orgasm took hold of him. His cock twitched and his hips stuttered, flooding your walls with thick ropes of cum. After a few more forceful thrusts he let up, holding you still as you both came down from the high.

A few seconds later he slid out of you, carefully lowering your legs off his shoulders. “Merry Christmas love.” He breathed with a wolfish smile, a hint of humor in his voice. You hummed, blinking your eyes open just as he pressed a warm kiss to your temple.

A soft chuckle escaped you, still caught in the afterglow. Your hands gently carded through his slightly tousled hair, “Merry Christmas John.”

He smiled, raising his head to look around. Unsurprisingly the room was still a mess of wrapping paper and ribbon. “Guess it falls on me to clean this up eh?” He said knowingly.

You smiled back, “Yep.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Simon Ghost Riley Hurt-comfort

For most, Christmas time was a season of giving. It meant spending time with the ones you loved and putting the cheer back into the more depressing months of winter. It also meant engaging in bonding activities like ice skating or decorating the tree for Christmas, maybe even baking cookies.

For others, including Simon Riley, Christmas was a bitter reminder of what they lacked. It wasn't a cookie-cutter checklist for everyone, but the brunt of it was a lack of Christmas cheer, connection, or lack of loved ones to spend the holidays with. And for Simon, it was all three.

Out of every holiday, Christmas was a loathsome one. It felt as if everyone in the world was brimming with happiness while he was cast out into the dark. Like dangling a shiny new toy in a dog's face knowing that said toy would never be given to it.

So what did he do? What he does best. He closed himself off from the world. During the holiday season, Simon often felt more Ghost than he felt like Simon. After all, it was easier to disassociate and pretend he was Ghost again than to face the bitter memories that Simon went through.

But this year was different, why? Because this year he was spending Christmas with you.

It took a lot of convincing on your end, but he eventually settled for spending the week through Christmas at your flat. Which for him, was a big step. He had stayed over multiple times and vice versa, but considering he never spent Christmas with anyone was saying a lot.

It wasn't even until a year ago that Simon told you the whole story of why he disliked Christmas. By that time both of you had mutually understood that your relationship had shifted from casual dating to a more long-term and serious one.

So now you were determined to make this Christmas a good experience for him. Which turned out to be no easy task. But for your boyfriend, there wasn't anything you weren't willing to do.

It started with small festive activities like taking him to a park to see the Christmas lights. Or letting him pick out the shirt that he had been eyeing as an early gift. Your personal favorite had been getting him to help set up and decorate the small Christmas tree you kept in the living room.

Slowly but surely, he was beginning to assimilate with the Christmas spirit. You had even managed to get him to sit down and watch Home Alone!

Things were finally starting to look up…until now. Christmas Eve.

It was as if all the progress you had made vanished in an instant. Almost like he turned into a Ghost. He had barely said a word to you, didn't want to go out, wasn't eating, and was avoiding you. Simon was hauled up in your room and had been there for most of the day. The only time he had gone out was to smoke from your doorstep. Despite your comments about not liking his smoking or coming inside and eating he brushed it off with a grunt.

He had effectively barricaded himself in his mind. And you were sick of it, sick of the secrets, the going non-verbal with little to no explanation, and sick of the fact that he didn't trust you enough to tell you what was going on in his head.

Enough was enough, so you walked up to your bedroom door and knocked a few times. As expected there was no answer, so you pushed it open. Greeting you was Simon, sitting on the edge of your bed, looking down at his skull mask. You had only seen it a few times, not wanting to invade his privacy. Simon was a large proponent of keeping his work and personal life separate.

And why wouldn't he? His work was violent, it was the worst of what humanity had to offer. And you were none of those things. He mentioned to you once that his mask allowed him to be someone else, so that way when he did come back from deployments Simon wasn't the one with blood on his hands.

In other words, to your understanding, the mask was a mentality. A place holder that could do things that the Simon you knew couldn't.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, carefully making your way over. You climbed up on the bed behind him, till you were knelt facing his large back. Gently you slid your hands around his waist, pressing the side of your face to his spine in a soft hug. You swallowed, an underlying nervousness boiling deep inside you.

“Please talk to me, I can't know how to help if you don't tell me.” You whispered into him, a soft plead.

He didn't respond for a good minute, and a part of you feared that he was just going to brush you off like before. Eventually, he did respond, except it wasn't the response you wanted. “I think I should go back to my place in Manchester. Just for a few days.”

You frowned, this wasn't what you wanted. Not at all. You had been making such good progress too, you didn't understand how it could all reverse in a second. “Simon that's not fair, you at least need to tell me why. You've been silent all day and now you want to leave? You promised you'd stay until Christmas was over.”

Simon turned a bit to look at you, shrugging your hands off of him. The warm look he always had when he looked at you now long gone. “I know what I said. But I told you that I don't spend the holidays with anyone, you knew that.”

Your hands bawled on your thighs, “But- just yesterday you were fine. I don't understand what changed.” You said eyebrows knitting together.

His eyes narrowed, “Then have you considered maybe I just don't want to be around you?” He said, his tone harsh and unforgiving. A knife to your heart. You stared at him in silence, shocked that he would say something like that so brazenly.

Your lips pursed into a thin line, trying to regain your composure. “If you don't want to be around me then tell me, don't ignore me for half the day like a child.” The hands that held his skull mask tightened, bunching up the fabric in his grip.

“Alright, I'm sorry. Happy now?” Simon couldn't have been less sincere even if he tried. Yet another stab to your chest.

You shook your head no, “Of course I'm not happy. You're not telling me anything, I’m trying to listen and understand you but you're just shutting me out. It's like you barely trust me at all.” You said sternly.

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. You watched how his face scrunched in irritation, the bags under his eyes sticking out like a sore thumb. “I do trust you, but…I’m just not ready.” He said irritably.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Not ready? Not ready for what?”

“For you, for this-” Simon snapped, gesturing to the air around him. “-fucking caring about somebody. Because every time I have it’s ended up like shite, I don't even know if I can. Or if I ever will.” He said, his voice brimming with a flurry of emotions. Ones you couldn't decipher, but you were still hung up on the meaning of his words. You knelt there, a cold wave washing over you that felt like ice.

He went on, “You shouldn't even want what I am [Name]. I know you think you do but you don't.”

You shook your head, a lump developing in your throat. “Yes, I do-” You tried weakly, your limbs starting to numb up and grow cold.

Simon stood up, turning his back to you. Walking over to the large overnight bag he had packed, kneeling, and started to take clothes that were scattered near it and shove them inside. You felt your stomach drop, clambering off the bed to stop him. Grabbing onto his suitcase and ripping it away to keep it behind your back.

“Simon tell me what’s going on.” You demanded, your voice suddenly raw.

Simon's eyes were wide, the brown pools of warmth replaced by a dark abyss. Looking up at you with surprise and anger. He stood up, towering over you with his massive frame. Almost like an intimidation tactic. He looked scary.

Slowly he outstretched an open palm, deadly silent. “I'm not going to ask you again, give me my things.”

You shook your head, taking a few steps back until you were pressed against your closet door. Blinking away tears into the back of your head, “No. Tell me what’s going on.” Your hands holding his suitcase with an iron grip behind your back.

His eyebrows furrowed, jaw working in frustration. The veins in his neck tensed for a moment. Almost without thinking his outstretched hand seized forward to grasp your arm, yanking you away from the wall with an alarming force. The suitcase dropped on the floor as he tore you away and you stumbled forward.

You made a noise, one akin to the sound a small animal would make before it was eaten. His grip on your arm was hard by any means, but the minute you made eye contact with him again he broke off. His hand released you like he had been burned by a hot iron, terror written across his face.

He looked more horrified than you did, looking between you and his hand like it was somebody else’s. The silence between you was so loud it rang in your ears.

You felt something wet trail down your cheeks. When did you start crying? You didn't know. You looked back at your boyfriend, he had looked so big before but now he only looked scared. You raised your hands as if you were approaching a wild animal. “Simon-” You breathed, “-It’s okay. I'm okay, you didn't hurt me.”

He didn't say anything, basically frozen in time. You walked up to him, praying he didn't walk back. Thankfully, he didn't. Gently, you cupped his face, forcing him to look down at you. “Please.” You pleaded, “-Tell me whats going on. That's all I ask, if you still want to go after, you can.” You breathed hoarsely.

You watched his face, how it was so full of uncertainty and fear. His bottom lip quivered lightly, “I’m so sorry.” He said, “-I didn't mean…I wasn't thinking.”

You gently rubbed a thumb over his cheek, trying to soothe him to the best of your ability. “I know you didn't mean to, you're not your dad Simon. I'm not worried about that, what I am worried about is you just getting up and leaving because you decided that I don't matter to you anymore.” You said, trying to remain firm to the best of your ability. Even when your voice was quivering and you felt like sobbing.

Simon shook his head, “What? Of course, you matter to me.” He breathed, shaky hands still at his side.

“Well, that's not what it looks like from my perspective. You just said you wanted to leave, you said you didn't think you could ever fully care about me.” You said, looking up at him.

His eyes scanned your face, “I know I'm sorry- I'm… fuck love, I'm scared. I'm scared of caring about you as much as I do, whenever I do it just…” He swallowed, “My mom, and Tommy…they're gone and I can't get them back, and if you leave I have nothing. Because you took everything,” He breathed.

“-You already have me, every part of me that I wanted you to see and every part of me that I don't. And that scares the shite out of me, and I try to keep pushing and pushing but you keep coming back to me.” You felt his hands on your face, large calloused palms warm against your cheeks. “Because that's just how you are, you're good. And I thought by creating more distance you'd see that.”

You opened your mouth but he cut you off, “-And this week you worked so hard, just for me. To give me a good experience,” Simon laughed bitterly. “And here I am, barely keeping my shite together.”

You frowned, “Simon.” You cut him off, your voice stern. He stopped, looking at you. “You don't tell me what I can and can't do, nobody does but me. So if you think you have any chance of convincing me to leave you're mad. I want this, I want you. No matter what baggage you come with.”

There was a moment of silence, filled with a thick tension that you could cut with a knife before he pulled you in. Pressing your face against his chest, cradling your head against him. Holding you tight as if you'd disappear if he let go. Your hands wrapped around his back, digging into the cotton of his shirt and inhaling his scent. One of cigarette smoke and pine. His face pressed into the top of your head.

It was intimate, emotions running high, and the force of his embrace. For a while, you stayed that way, grounded by the large arms that held you to his chest. “I’m so sorry, I should've told you from the beginning.” He whispered into the top of your head, his voice that of genuine remorse.

You knew that this wasn't the end all be all of his problems. Just because he addressed things did not mean everything was magically solved. But it was a big step in the right direction. You maneuvered your head up to look at him, chin pressed against his chest.

“I told you that I wanted to make this a good Christmas, for both of us.” You said, “-If you'll let me, I think we can still make the most of it.”

Simon stared at you, his lips settling in a relieved smile. “Yeah.” He breathed, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Kyle Gaz Garrick Fluff

Your room was a complete mess. Clothes were thrown about like a tornado had taken your closet and dispensed its content for everyone to see. But the state of your room was the last thing you could focus on. Because you had thirty minutes until your neighbor two doors down would pick you up for a date.

You felt your cheeks just redden at the thought. A date! Especially with your very hot and very out-of-your-league neighbor Kyle.

You groaned, tossing yet another shirt on your bed. Nothing seemed to fit as it should've, what was one even supposed to wear on a date? It was December so obviously crop tops and shorts were off-limits. You nervously chewed on your nails, cursing at yourself immediately after for forgetting they were painted.

As you slipped on something acceptable (a nice pair of jeans and a coat), you made a beeline for your bathroom. You looked in the mirror, taking a few minutes to look over your makeup for the umpteenth time. Then moving over to fix your hair, tweaking it here and there, and maybe smoothing out the few strays.

You didn't even understand how you got into this predicament, it was all a blur. Kyle had just gotten back from deployment, a normal occurrence, and being the good neighbor you were, you brought him food. (Who wants to cook after they just get home from a long trip anyway?) And being the gentleman he was, he invited you inside. However, due to your inability to act normally around hot men, you panicked and refused.

Swearing up and down that he was probably exhausted and didn't need you to disturb his peace and quiet. You cringed just imaging how red your face must've been.

Instead of taking the hint like a normal person, he doubled down.

“Oh, okay then, why don't you let me take you out sometime as a thank you?”

After that, you were too stunned to say anything so you just shut up and nodded your head. And now you're here, standing in front of the mirror fretting over your appearance like a teenage girl.

You had zero idea where he was taking you. Which, in theory, was cute. But you were so anxiety-ridden that you couldn't find the time to look into it. And just as you were clumsily slipping on your shoes you heard the dreaded knock on your front door. You whirled through your apartment, opening the door with a little (a lot) too much force.

Standing there like a male supermodel was Kyle. Clad in worn-out jeans that he somehow pulled off, a flannel, and a jacket. He smiled, his perfect teeth adding to his handsome charm. “Hey,” He said, looking at you up and down. “-You look great as always.”

You wanted to die, just looking at him was like staring at a beacon of light. But for the sake of your social skills, you forced yourself to respond. “Thanks-” You breathed, trying to smile as normally as you could. “-Uhm you look great too.”

Kyle smiled, the dimples in his cheeks growing more prominent. “Thanks, I appreciate it, love.” He said, looking behind you and then back to you. “-I’m ready when you are, but take your time. We’re not in a rush.” He said casually, hands in his jean pockets.

You nodded, “Oh right- let me just grab my purse.” You breathed, doing a 360 to run back to your kitchen counter and swipe your bag from off the surface. Quickly making a run back towards him, stepping outside “Ready!” You said, trying to work up as much confidence as you could. To which Kyle chuckled, reaching behind you to close the door.

After the initial stress of stepping out the door, Kyle led you out of the complex. To which the subtle awkwardness faded into a comfortable conversation. It was easier with him than with most, it had always been. You'd always had an underlying crush on him but you never actually thought it'd go anywhere. You were more comfortable just looking and making friendly small talk than actively perusing.

After a few minutes of conversation and walking about the town he stopped a few feet away from a large tent. Christmas lights strone about and small lines of people waiting to get inside. And it instantly clicked what he was taking you to do.

“Ice skating?” You asked.

Kyle gave you a boyish grin back, “Yep.” He said confidently, “-thought it matched the Christmas spirit.”

You laughed, to be honest, you hadn't stepped onto an ice rink in a while. You'd never been terrible at it but you weren't exactly a pro either. He gently nudged you with his shoulder, “Scared?” He asked you.

Shaking your head, you smiled back. “You wish Garrick. I think I can hold my own on an ice rink.” You bantered.

Kyle’s shoulders hiccuped as he chuckled, “Alright then. Let’s get in line.” He said leading you over to one of the lines of people. It wasn't a terribly long wait, maybe twenty or fifteen minutes before you made it to the front. And of course, he insisted on paying for your skates even though he had been the one to buy the tickets.

You continued to talk as the both of you laced up your skates. But when it came time to actually get on the ice you found yourself apprehensive. Kyle had already gotten on with ease and was now waiting for you at the small gate entrance.

“Need any help there?” He asked, amused. To which you shook your head, determined to prove to him that you could do it on your own.

“All good.” You breathed, holding onto the gate as you stepped on the ice. “-just uhm, getting my footing.” For some reason, under his gaze, you felt your whole body begin to malfunction. Like you were getting performance anxiety.

You sheepishly let go of the gate, standing statue still. And Kyle simply stood there, an amused smile played across his lips. Arms crossed in front of his broad chest. You swallowed, taking a shaky step forward. And because your life seemed to be one large cosmic joke, you felt your skate slide out and you fell forward.

You tried to put your arms out to catch yourself, shutting your eyes tight with a small squeak before you felt something take hold of you. You blinked as you realized that your face didn't collide with the hard surface of ice but with something else.

Kyle’s arms had caught you just in time, your face pressed up against his warm chest. Large arms encircling your waist, you heard him whistle. A red blush crosses your cheeks from embarrassment. “Careful there, thought you said you could hold your own?”

You were mortified, you had practically thrown yourself at him! (not intentionally of course, but still)

He helped you stand back straight as well as fix your coat. You swore you could almost feel steam coming out from your ears. “I’m sorry, that was an accident I swear.” You babbled. He didn't seem to mind, however, simply holding his hands up and giving you a soft look.

“Hey, it's okay love, I know. Happens to the best of us.” He reassured. Once again you tried to brush off the pet name so as not to implode. Kyle held his arm out to you, “-Why don't you hang on to me for the first couple of laps yeah? Just to be safe.”

You looked between him and his outstretched arm. “I-uh yeah. Sure, sounds good.” You said, taking hold of his arm for more support. He flashed you a smile before slowly skating forward. You tried your best to keep up, and with his support you did.

The two of you did loops around the skating rink, people-watching, talking, and laughing. The thing was, your arm still held his, even after the first couple of loops, he made no effort to detach from you. And neither did you, but that was neither here nor there. You actually learned a lot about him, about his family, his interests, and even a little about his work. Which in his words was “Nothing that you should ever have to hear about.”

You managed to open up to him as well, sharing more of your life with him. Eventually, your time at the rink ran out. But the conversations between you and Kyle still kept up. By the time you were walking back to your complex with him, his hand had managed to sneak its way into yours. Some part of you was still in disbelief that it was even happening, however.

You swallowed, glancing at him from the corner of your eye as he walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you. “Thanks, by the way. It was really nice of you to take me out like this. But you really didn't need to, it was just a meal. A thank you would've sufficed.” You commented.

Kyle glanced back at you, raising and eyebrow. “You think I asked you out just cause you cooked me dinner?” He said, making you stop.

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “…yes? What other reason would there be?” You asked, utterly lost.

At that, Kyle fully turned to face you. Staring at you for a few seconds, his face trying to deduce if you were joking or not. When he realized you weren't kidding, his face broke into a smile. “[Name], I've been trying to ask you out for weeks.”

You blinked, his words only confusing you more. “What? No, I would've picked up on it.” You said.

He chuckled and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes actually, multiple times,” Kyle said. Looking at you with an expectant gaze.

You tried to dive back into all of your memories with him, searching for a time that would've counted as him asking you out. But, you came out empty-handed. “Give me an example then.” You said, brow furrowed.

Kyle raised his eyebrows, “What about the other day when I invited you inside to eat dinner with me after you brought me food?”

“Well, that doesn't really count. That's just something people say to be polite. How was I supposed to know?” You challenged.

He continued, “…Or about that time I told you I had an extra ticket to a football game if you wanted to go?”

You felt your cheeks get a bit rosy. That one did sound a bit more like asking you out when you thought about it. “I- I was under the impression that you were just giving me a ticket. I didn't realize you meant together,” You flushed.

Kyle kept going. “And that time I caught you coming back from a bad date and I said I could show you a better one?”

Okay yeah, you were seeing it now. You bit down on your cheek, trying to stop yourself from melting into a puddle. “I thought you were just being nice.” You said lamely. You saw his mouth open to respond, but you held your hands in front of his face. “Okay, but yes, I get it! I realize now that there might have been some signs.”

You heard him chuckle, he gently lowered your hands. You sighed, feeling your cheeks burn red from embarrassment. How could you be so clueless!? “I'm sorry for not noticing that you were trying to ask me out.” You murmured, trying your best to avoid his eyes.

You then felt his warm hand slide over your jaw, cupping the side of your face to raise it. Your eyes met his, mirth swimming inside his dark brown irises. “It's okay love, you're worth the wait.”

You felt your face burn, realizing the significance of what was happening. His eyes darting between your lips, the way he held your face, the utter cheesiness of it all. And God you were eating it up like your own personal rom-com. But to your dismay, nothing was happening! Like you two were frozen in time. Kyle had been the one to ask you out, to make the first moves, so maybe it was only fair you did this small thing.

Throwing your timidness out the window, you leaned forward. Shutting your eyes and locking lips with him. It only took a moment for Kyle to press back against you, tilting his head and sliding his hand over your cheek to cup the back of your head. It was pure bliss.

You stayed like that for as long as you could, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his lips. Yet all good things end as you still need oxygen, so you did eventually have to pull away.

Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, face flushed. He looked a little better, but it was cute the way he looked post-kiss. Kyle’s lip turned into a boyish grin, “Does this mean I get another date?”

You couldn't help but laugh, “I guess so.”

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Jhonny Soap McTavish Smut

Curse your boss for putting you on the late-night Christmas shift. What kind of fucker does that? A greedy one, you supposed. It wasn't like you didn't have plans, not with family, no, but with friends.

But no. He just had to schedule you for Christmas night.

Bartending for a group of sad, lonely, old men wasn't what you had in mind when you thought of Christmas. And even though you tried to get out of it, (bribing every co-worker and staff member you could and asking them if they would cover your shift) you still ended up behind the counter.

You grimaced, dish rag in hand as you cleaned the sticky countertop. It was pretty dead, but not enough that you were free for time. A few regulars sitting at the bar, and others were scattered about the place. Some talking or watching the different channels projected on the TV. Overall, it was a quiet evening. Though some part of you felt a little bad for wanting everyone to leave, after all, some people here didn't have families or friends to go home to.

You heard the doorbell chime as somebody walked inside. You didn't bother looking up, more concerned about the patch of mystery substance that wasn't going away. You furrowed a brow, working your muscles to press into the surface and scrub.

Heavy boots creaked across the wood, getting closer with each moment. Yet you still hadn't made any progress on the counter. With a heavy sigh, you rolled your eyes and looked up. A frown that could scare off any customer played across your lips.

“Jesus, Bonnie, Christmas shift that bad aye? Y’look like you're about to kill me right where I stand.”

You halted. Standing before you was Johnny McTavish, or Soap, as his other friends christened him. (don't ask, you didn't know why either) He was a part of the semi-regular military group that came in a few times a month. There was a large base a few miles away, so it wasn't abnormal to get your fair share of soldiers now and again. However, what was abnormal was the fact that he was here alone.

Normally, Johnny came in with three other guys. Gaz, another more gruff man who they referred to as ‘Cap,’ and a big scary-looking bloke who always wore a balaclava.

You stared at him for a good few seconds.“I uh, sorry you caught me off guard there.” You breathed. “-And no, it’s not bad in here, just prefer not to be working on Christmas night.”

Johnny hummed, walking up the the counter and pulling out a stool right in front of you. His large arms settled against the wood, “Too bad. Bossman put you on the shift, did he?” He asked, apparently very amused by your grim attitude.

You rolled your eyes, throwing the rag under the counter. “Yeah, I even tried to bribe everyone to cover my shift but nobody would take it.”

He smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Well then maybe this was fate.” He joked, “-Anyway, since it is Christmas, would you mind pouring me a glass? Y’know, as a present?” He said, grinning at you.

You felt your heart stutter a little.

Oh yeah, the other thing about Johnny was that you may or may not have the biggest crush known to man on him. It wasn't even your fault, he charmed his stupid way into your heart. With his ridiculous mohawk, (which wasn't even really a mohawk) pretty blue eyes, and his huge biceps. Very annoying. Not even to mention his rough voice with that thick Scottish accent.

To say you had the hots for him was a giant understatement.

You breathed out a laugh, “Alright, coming up.” You turned around to grab the bottle of vodka, fixing together a Cape Codder. Then sliding the glass over to him. He gave you a funny look, concussion written across his face.

“This isn't my usual.” He pointed out, still taking the drink nonetheless.

You flashed him a smile, winking. “Merry Christmas doll face.” You said sarcastically. To which he simply took a sip. You eyed him as he did, “Where are the rest of the guys?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Johnny cleared his throat, setting the glass down and leaning forward. “Gaz and Price are back at base, everyone had drinks earlier and they wouldn't make it. Ghost’s not the biggest fan of Christmas so he didn't want to go out either.” He said casually.

You nodded, “If you had drinks earlier than why are you back here?” You asked.

Soap smiled, his jaw working in a way that made you swallow. “Never said I did, the others drank, but I held off until now. Thought I'd be better if I got shit-faced here where you could see it.”

You laughed, leaning against the back counter. Your arms crossed over your chest. “And you were just betting on me working tonight?”

Jhonny shrugged, taking another sip. “I had an inkling.”

You breathed out another small chuckle, walking back over to grab the towel you'd thrown before. “Y’know, I'm only giving you a free drink because it’s Christmas. Can't pull that trick on anybody else, so be grateful you got me.”

He nodded, licking his lips. His eyes followed you as you walked around. “Trust me Bonnie I am, not every day I get you all to myself.”

Your train of thought stuttered a bit, Jhonny was a flirt, yes. But for some reason, it felt different. His tone had changed, and the way his eyes were tracking your every move felt more real. You glanced back at him as you scrubbed the countertop. “Who says that all my attention is on you?” You quipped with a smile.

Jhonny grinned, shaking the ice in his glass. “You know what I mean.” He set in drink back down on the table. “But for the record, I don't see you givin’ any attention to the other blokes here.”

You shot him a look, trying to hold in your laugh. “Unfortunately, half of the people here are either probably married or well above the appropriate age bracket.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Too bad, here I was thinking I’m getting special treatment. Better think of a way to get on your good side, I suppose.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, intrigued at the sentiment. “Yeah? What did you have in mind?” You asked.

“Depends.” He said, staring at you with way more intensity than you were prepared for. “-What do ya’ want Bonnie?”

You stared back, at a loss for words. There were many things you wanted, or more specifically, things you wanted him to do to you. Your throat suddenly went dry, your train of thought ruined by a barrage of filthy images flashing in your mind. It wasn't until another minute went by that you remembered you were supposed to be responding to his question.

You cleared your throat, “I uh- a solid cash tip would be nice. Or maybe you could cover my shift.” You joked, trying to play the silence off.

“S’not what it looks like to me.” He stated, throwing his head back as he downed the last of his drink.

You halted again, caught off guard. Furrowing your brow in confusion, “Excuse me?” You asked.

He put the drink back down on the table, leaning forward on his arms. His signature impish smile on his stupidly pretty lips. “That's not what it looks like to me.” He repeated, enunciating each word. “Nobody looks at somebody like you just did to me, then makes a joke about covering a shift.”

You felt your heart speed up, so he had noticed your stare? You forced a frown, keeping a skeptical face. Placing a hand on your hip, “I wasn't looking at you like anything.”

“Oh yes, you most definitely were Bonnie.” Fuck that stupid nickname he always called you. It only weakened your resolve.

You rolled your eyes, “And how exactly was I looking at you?” You said, frowning at him.

Johnny’s smile twitched up a little, something akin to hunger flashing in his eyes. “Like you wanted to shag me.” He spoke casually. “-Can’t say I'm not guilty of’tha either though. The drinks here aren't the only reason I'm always stoppin’ by.”

If your face wasn't red before, it definitely was now. You looked around as if somebody was listening in on the conversation. You looked back at him, wide-eyed and flushed. “I-what? I wasn't-” You cut yourself off from stumbling over another word. “You…want to fuck me?” You said slowly, skepticism leaking through your tone.

Without a beat, he nodded. “Yes.”

You stood statue still, absolutely floored by his lack of filter. For a few moments, you didn't know what to say. What could you say? ‘Yeah, I do too now let's have sex right now.’ Yeah right.

…

Well maybe.

You looked around again, there was barely anyone in the bar. They probably wouldn't notice if you disappeared for twenty minutes, right?

You looked back at Johnny, “Meet me behind that door one minute after I go inside.” Without another word, you turned on your heel and marched your ass into the back room behind the drink display. The heavy door shutting with a thump behind you.

You blinked, holy shit. You had just told Johnny to meet you in the back room. What the hell were you doing?!

Just before you started panicking, the door swung open and Johnny marched straight in. “What the hell? I thought I told you a minute later.” You whisper shouted at him.

He chuckled, “Sorry, but I don't think waltzing in here a minute after you would make what we're about to do any less obvious. It was a nice thought, though.” He said, almost patronizingly.

Suddenly, his strides had backed you against one of the back walls that were lined with cardboard boxes. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, “You're such a-” You cut yourself off, sighing heavily. “For the record, I'm only doing this because I'm pissed off about working and I need something to fill the time.” a lie.

Johnny’s large hands slid against your waist, holding you there. “Sure, Bonnie, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Just as you opened your mouth to argue back his head dipped down to capture your lips. You let out a surprised noise but quickly adapted, your hands snaking around his head and pulling him closer. He groaned into you, pushing his hips against yours as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

The kiss was needy, desperate even. Like he wanted to consume you whole. Every moment seemed to heat the tension between you as he slowly ground himself into you, letting you feel the hardening tent between his legs.

He gently nipped at your lip, causing you to gasp. His large hands made quick work of your top by sliding it over your head. As soon as he saw you in your bra, he groaned, “Fuck, this is what I've been thinkin’ bout’ for the past few months.” Without another word, he reached behind you to unclasp your bra. Groping and pawing at your chest like a cat.

You tried your best to keep your sighs and moans down. “You've been thinking about me?” You breathed.

“Every day Bonnie.” He said, kissing a trail up your neck. Red hickeys blossoming in his wake that would undoubtedly remain for the next few hours. But you couldn't find it in you to care, at least not in this moment.

Without warning his kisses began to drop until he slid down between your legs. Kneeling before you like he was ready to worship the ground you stood on. You looked down at him, surprise in your gaze. However, he paid you no mind as he undid your pants. Pulling them down your legs until they pooled at your ankles.

You swallowed, “Johnny you don't have to-”

“I want to.” He cut you off. His breath fanning against the material of your panties, blue eyes staring up at you with haze. His hands gently pulled down the elastic of your underwear until you stood bared to him. “-Fuck, you gorgeous thing.” He breathed, in awe of you.

His mouth was on you at a moment's notice. His hot tongue licking circles around your clit. Your hands immediately went to grab at his hair. Curling around the short locks of brown hair, your other hand slapped over your mouth. Muffling the puffs of air and moans falling from your lips.

It was almost like he was enjoying it more than you were because the way he ate you out was akin to a starving man desperate for water. Johnny moaned into you as he sucked and licked at you, hands holding your hips, keeping you in place.

You panted, absolutely lost for words as he delved into you. You'd never had any man desperate to taste you, so this took the cake. And the way his stubble scratched into your skin made you dizzy. This man had ruined you for anybody else in a few short minutes with his tongue alone.

“Jeez, Johnny- you're gonna make me cum if you keep going like that.” You panted out through your moans.

He detached for a second, looking at you. His cheeks flushed red, his eyes glazed over, and his mouth slick with your juices. “Good,” He panted. “Means I'm doing my job right.”

Before you could say any more he went right back at it, flicking his tongue over your clit. Your hands squeezed his hair tighter, pushing him further. Johnny moaned, letting you guide his face for your pleasure. One of his hands slid away from your thigh to your pussy, pressing a finger into your hole.

You let another moan slip, not being able to hide it as his thick digit pushed into your walls. It was too much, the pressure of his finger curling inside you as his tongue worked against your clit.

“Holy shit- m’gonna cum. M’gonna cum.” You panted, voice going up an octave as your body tightened. A burning heat sending shocks through your spine.

Johnny groaned in response, working his finger faster inside you. You threw your head back with a silent cry, legs shaking as you came. Heat burning down your body and lighting fireworks inside your stomach.

After a few more seconds, he slid his finger out of you, leaning back on his knees. His breath was almost as heavy as yours. Your mind was still hazy but somehow you found it in you to look down at him, gently carding a hand through his hair. “Fuck, McTavish, you surprised me.”

He grinned back at you, practically pussy drunk. “Yeah? Does that mean I get another free drink?” He asked, amused.

You smiled, helping him to his feet. “I’ll do you one better.” You murmured, feeling the fog of your orgasm slowly fade a little.

He raised an eyebrow, his mouth opening in question as you switched your position. Now in front of him and sliding down to your knees, eye to eye with his bulge. Your hands palmed over him, making his head tilt back with a soft groan. “Fuck- [Name], eating you out like that already did a number on me.” He panted, “M’not gonna last long if you do anything to me.”

You smiled, gently unzipping his pants and pulling apart the fabric. Jeez, he was practically tearing a hole straight through his boxers. “I can live with that.” You said teasingly, sliding down his briefs to let his dick spring free.

Your eyes drank him in, pleasantly surprised to find out, yes, he was big. You gently took hold of him, his cock sticky and beading with milky precum. His head fell back against the wall. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?” He half laughed, half moaned.

You hummed in acknowledgment, licking a stripe up his cock. Then swirl your tongue over the reddish tip, lapping up the fluid like syrup. His dick twitched, making you smile. Slowly, you took the head of him into your mouth, inching your way down.

Johnny cursed, his hand reaching down to grab your hair. Holding you as you slid down his dick, your throat wrapped around him. “Bonnie, I told you I wasn't gonna last long.” He moaned, his breath heavy and hard.

You moaned in response, bobbing your head up and down his cock. Letting the tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes locked on his face scrunched up in pleasure as you sucked him off.

Soon, he was practically whimpering at nothing. His hands held your hair with a vice grip as you bobbed up and down on his dick. “Fuckfuckfuck- that's it, keep going. You're so gorgeous, just taking my cock like that.”

You moaned, feeling his cock twitch again in your mouth. With another curse, he came down your throat, painting your mouth a milky white.

Slowly, you detached from his softening dick. Swallowing the fluid, it was salty, kind of earthy too. Not bad though, thank goodness. Johnny stared at you, looking wrecked. You probably didn't fair that much better.

“Was that better than a free drink?” You chuckled, wobbly standing up.

Johnny laughed, nodding. “Way better than a free drink.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke up again.

“…so, you free after your shift?”

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Merry Christmas or Happy holidays!

Or if it is the day after Christmas then happy late Christmas. Anyway, just a collection of a few one-shots for the festive season :)

This isn't my usual content, it’s normally more long-form stories but I hope it was okay!

Not too much to say other than thank you for reading and all your support, I love each and every one of you.

And don't forget to like or repost, maybe even leave a comment if you so choose. Toodles!

( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Captain’s Girl [Part II]

John Price x Reader (Call of Duty)

Synopsis: Mixed tension combined with a failed mission leads to a heated kiss between you and the Captain. But what happens when kissing turns into something more? And will a new mission back in Urzikstan be the catalyst to bring you together or tear you and your captain apart?

Tags: Enemies to lovers, SMUT, guys I'm not joking I went crazy with the smut, military romance, secret feelings, pining, idiots in love, fighting, secret relationships, consequences, LONG.

Word count? Do you even need to ask?

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

The helicopter ride back was abysmal, a whole 3 hours spent in absolute silence. You'd spent the majority of the time staring at your fraying shoelace. The subtle rocking of the aircraft kept you awake while everyone else slept off the rough morning (and the hangover). It turns out that drinking the night before being dispatched wasn't the best idea. Shocking.

It didn't help that your mind was still hung up on the kiss between you and Price. Also shocking.

In the past 24 hours, you discovered that there was a widespread rumor that you and your captain had been sleeping together. Everyone on base had started calling you the Captain’s Girl. And that Price didn't apparently hate you and thought that planting one on you was the best way to prove that.

Why he kissed you was an entirely new can of worms you didn't have the stomach to open right now.

Now, did you kiss him back? Yes. Why? You didn't know the fuck why. There were several possible answers to this dilemma, answer one, it was the heat of the moment. Answer two, it just felt right to do so, it's rude to leave a guy hanging. Answer three, you were just too shit-faced to think critically about it. You were leaning toward the last one.

The worst part of the whole situation, (besides the fact that you may have given those rumors a tiny bit of validity) was that Price was a phenomenal kisser. You remembered it in excruciating detail. And unlucky for you it might have been one of the best kisses you'd ever had.

A small part of you wondered if he enjoyed it too, but given his face when you separated. All flushed and surprised, his eyes wide with horror and his breath heavy… yeah maybe it was best not to dwell on your kissing abilities.

It was a small blessing that Gaz had been the one to almost catch you in the act. He loved to tease but he wasn't an asshole, your and Price's secret was most likely in good hands. Heaven forbid it was Ghost or Soap because you would've had half a mind to jump out of the helicopter without a second thought. The thought was still tempting though.

You glanced up at Price, his head tilted back and his eyes shut. He wasn't faring much better than you were. He had heavy bags under his eyes and the line between his brows was far more defined than usual. Somehow he still looked good. In a very professional way, of course. Not in a ‘we made out last night, and thinking about it turns me on,’ kind of way.

Eventually, you would have to interact with him professionally again. When his foot healed it would be back to regularly scheduled training.

Best case scenario, they'd put you all on leave and you could have a week or two surrounding yourself with other men to clear your head. You'd never really been one for an extended vacation, but exceptions could be made. Plus, going back to base meant going back to a whole bunch of people who thought you were bangin’ the boss.

You grimaced, vacationing in hell might have been better. On second thought, you'd take the checkpoint base any day. Home base could go fuck itself, at least it was hot and sunny back in Urzikstan. You heard someone chuckle and looked up to see Ghost looking at you.

“Ya’ look like you swallowed a lemon.” He said enthused. You made a sound that crossed between a sigh and a grunt.

“Just preparing myself for landing,” You breathed as the helicopter wobbled. The aircraft began to descend in a linear motion, making your stomach sink a little.

“Home sweet home.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

One week and three days, you had been back at base for almost two weeks without speaking a single word to Price. Maybe if you kept this up you could spend your last 8 months with 141 in peace.

Your days now had been mostly consisting of training (supervised by Ghost instead of Price), mindless tasks, eating in the commons, watching movies in the break room, and naps. It was kind of perfect, this was probably the most relaxed you'd ever been while at base. And nobody bothered to tease you over Price since he was rarely around. When he did make an appearance he didn't speak a word to you, which was somewhat nice.

A part of you wished for some explanation for the night of the kiss, but maybe ignorance was bliss. Whatever the reason, it was all behind you. You could totally remain professional when he comes back from recovery. Totally.

Gaz tried to talk to you about that night once, to which you immediately shut him down. Though, you knew he saw through you, and Price too, it was probably easier reading Price than you at this point. It was odd for Price to seclude himself away, even odder that he wasn't on speaking terms with you conveniently after the night that you tracked him down and blew up at him for starting a rumor that he most definitely did not create. Ghost had caught onto the odd tension between you two almost as fast as Gaz did.

Jhonny well… he was still in his own world, the man was smart sure, but he was a bit of a dunce when it came to reading other people's emotions. On the bright side that made him the perfect buddy to be around because he wasn't analyzing every interaction you had. You were grateful for him in his own way.

You were walking down one of the hallways after a bit of a loose end. Having nothing to do after training was a pain sometimes, you had an hour or two until dinner, and the base gym was at its busiest. And you didn't feel like you were in the mood to wait twenty minutes in a sweaty gym for a turn on the leg press machine. So, you opted for wandering around like a lost spirit in search of something to do instead.

Just as you turned a corner you collided with what felt like another wall. Your eyes met a 4x4 truck with a skull mask. Ghost.

“Easy, aren't sharpshooters supposed to be vigilant? Or are you the only exception?” His voice reverberated off your eardrums like a low-pitch bass. You rolled your eyes but let out an amused breath of air. To give the big guy some credit his name fits him perfectly, you didn't know how someone who was built like a standard Lego brick could be so stealthy. He could fit into any dark corner and nobody would be the wiser.

“Just you Ghost, you seem to be the only entity that evades me.” That seemed to pull a junction of his lips up because the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled. He held a small file filled with a few articles of paper tucked away into its folds.

Ghost crossed his arms, “What ya’ doin’? Have you taken up wandering hallways as a hobby now?”

You grimaced, “Gym was all full, didn't want to bother.” You said plainly, earning a nod from the bigger man.

“So… suppose that means you're free for time?” There was a slight smugness to his tone as he held the file up to you. Your gaze dropped from him to the file, he didn't phrase it like an order but you knew it was. You sighed and took the file from his hand. “Fine. Who do I have to track down to give this to?”

He shifted on one foot, “Price. You know where his office is.” You tried not to let your mouth fall open, this bastard.

You shook your head and tried to thrust the papers back into his chest, “What? No, I'm not giving these to Price. Can't you find someone else?”

Ghost stepped back and shook his head, raising his hands up in surrender. “Nope, s’outta my hands now. It’s one file, just knock on his door and drop it on his desk, easy.” You shot him a spiteful glare, there was probably an evil grin under that stupid mask.

You squeezed the file in your hands tighter, feeling the paper wrinkle in your vice grip. “Bastard.” You grimaced, turning on your heel towards the direction of Price's office. You heard him chuckle over your shoulder, “Good soldier.” He called after you, the shit-eating grin practically spotlighted through his tone.

Trudging through the familiar hallways toward Price's office was like walking through a dead-end alleyway. The further you got, the more signs you saw telling you to turn back. Sure you saw him after the night of the kiss, but you weren't being forced to talk to him or even acknowledge he was there. This was different, you would be alone with him. Alone in his office. Even if it was for a split second that you were in his presence the knowledge still made your skin pebble with goosebumps.

Before you knew it, you were facing the dreaded door of his office. The sight of the familiar plaque of his name gives you an almost Deja Vu feeling. The last time you were here things didn't go over too well, not that things ever really went great when the two of you came in contact.

You drew in a breath, just get this over with and you could be done. Maybe go take a shower or something, just go anywhere that was a good distance away from here. Your fist met the hardwood of the door, giving it a hearty few knocks. After a beat, his muffled voice reached your ears, “Come in.”

Pushing open the door you were greeted with the sight of Price. Doing pushups in the corner of his office. Okay, I guess. You were a little dumbfounded, usually one uses an office for things like paperwork or meetings. Not a personal gym. “I thought the point of recovering was that you're supposed to be resting.” You deadpanned. The file in your hands long forgotten.

His head immediately snapped up at the sound of your voice, pools of blue staring right into you like you'd walked in naked. Price halted mid-pushup, “[Name].” He breathed, obviously caught a little off guard by your appearance.

“Unfortunately,” You said back, watching as he got up and brushed himself off. The cotton of his shirt stretched over the expanse of his biceps and chest. Your eyes shot back to his face, a little guilty. Price cleared his throat, “They won't let me train in the gym yet. So, I have to improvise.”

You blinked at him, “Base doctor must love you.” You said sarcastically, glancing down at his foot. “How's your foot?” You asked politely, filling the awkward silence.

Price looked down at his wrapped foot, shrugging. “It's better. Don't need the crutch anymore.” He said plainly. You responded with a nod and an ‘ah,’ creating an even longer awkward silence. The two of you stood there for another beat, just looking at each other. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to run to him or run away from him. Just then you remembered the whole reason why you were here.

“Oh- uh, I have this for you-“ You held out the manilla file for him to take, “Ghost told me to bring it up here.” Price's eyes darted from the folder and then back to you, he hesitantly walked closer and took the file. His fingers brushed yours and you swear an electric current shot through your spine. His fingers were warm and rough, transporting you back to when his hands were in your hair, holding your face, cupping the back of your neck.

You swallowed, it felt like your heartbeat was in your head. “Thank you.” He said, pulling back his hand and the papers with it.

It was like someone had knocked the wind out of you, you were frozen. “…Right, I'll go then.” You said, taking a step back from him as he put the file on top of his desk.

“[Name]. Hold on, please.” His voice stopped you in your tracks, making you rotate a little to face him completely. His voice didn't sound angry, but it was firm. “Everything alright?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek, watching as he faced you. Leaning against his desk with his arms crossed.

His adams apple bobbed up and down, lifting a hand to rub his mutton chops. “Yeah…I just wanted to clear up something with you.” His voice was careful, the pauses and hesitance filling you with dread. Shit. He wanted to talk about the kiss, which you most definitely did not want to talk about. A part of you was dying inside but you nodded, “Yeah, what's up?” You said through clenched teeth.

“About what happened the night before the team left Urzikstan, I just wanted to… apologize. It was unprofessional of me especially considering the circumstances.” You stood statue still, well this was a first. He was apologizing to you. Price continued, “It was a moment of weakness and emotions were running high and frankly I didn't know how else to show you I didn't hate you. I give you my word that it will never happen again.”

A moment of weakness? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? It was nice to hear an apology come from him but to be honest, you weren't sure if you were happy about the fact he was sorry. Maybe that meant he didn't enjoy it, but it certainly didn't seem like it when his tongue was down your throat. Well, if you were already on the subject mind as well ask.

“Did you hate it?” You asked, Price looked at you for a moment. His face was puzzled like it was the last thing he had expected to come out of your mouth. “What?” He asked, his voice thick behind his British accent.

You stood your ground, “The kiss-” you clarified. “Did. you. hate. it?” His eyes searched yours for an ounce of reasoning, “I- it was unprofessional and I shouldn't have initiated anything as your Captain-”

“That wasn't my question.” You cut him off, your eyebrows furrowed together as your gaze bore into him. “I asked if you hated kissing me.”

Price shifted, leaning back a little against his desk. It was silent for a while, the sound of the wall clock and your beating heart was the only noise you could hear. “No… I didn't hate it.” He said after another beat.

A small part of you soared, you could sleep at night knowing your kissing abilities weren't the cause of his skittishness. The next question slipped past your lips before you had the mind to stop yourself. “Do you regret it?”

Again his lips pulled into a frown and his eyes darted away, “[Name], I don't know why these questions are necessary.” But you weren't going to let him deflect you that easy, right now all thoughts of professionalism and integrity were out the window. You deserved an explanation, even if the logical side of your mind was telling you to leave. You stepped closer to him, so he couldn't ignore your presence.

“It's necessary because you kissed me out of nowhere and I deserve an explanation.” You said defiantly, “So do you or do you not regret it?”

He gave you an exasperated look before swallowing his pride. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his pointer and thumb, he spoke, “I regret kissing you at that moment, and how I went about it. But I don't regret kissing you, no.”

Price’s cheeks turned a slightly rosy color that reached his ears. He looked like a guilty dog. You didn't know what surprised you more, the fact that he apologized or that he didn't regret kissing you. But his admission sparked a heat that crawled into your bones, burying into your stomach and coloring your cheeks similarly to his.

“Then just kiss me again.”

What came out of your mouth seemed to surprise you just as much as it did Price. He looked at you like you had grown a second head, “I'm sorry?” You felt your limbs lose feeling, fuck it, if you were going in mind as well go all in.

“I said what I said, if you regret how you went about kissing me last time…make it up now.” The silence that stretched over the two of you lasted for far longer than you were comfortable with. Price shook his head, seemingly coming back to reality. “[Name], I'm not kissing you.” He said pushing off the desk to stand at his full height.

You frowned, well shit. “Why not?” You said, trying not to let the surprise and annoyance bleed through your tone.

He looked at you incredulously, “Because we're in my fucking office and you're my subordinate.” Price said, gesturing around his office to further his argument. Jeez, you really hated this guy. He could at least throw you a bone after pulling a kiss on you out of nowhere.

“So? You kissed me out in the open at the checkpoint base- and I was your subordinate then too.” You knew that he knew you had a good point there, “If you don't want to kiss me or something you could've just said so.” You glared.

Price groaned and shook his head, rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck. “No- I- fuck, of course I want to kiss you. But it's not appropriate, there are fraternization rules. Especially when it comes to me as your Captain.”

Aha! So he did want to kiss you, that at least was one more mystery solved. You craned your neck up to meet his eyes, your hands seizing his face. Cupping his scruffy cheeks between your palms. “Rules only apply if you get caught. And you owe me a better apology.” You told him sternly.

Price’s eyes were wide and his body tensed for a moment. Only to relax a moment later, the heat of his face could burn your skin. Your hands tingled as the pads of your fingers slid against the coarse scuff of his beard. His face hid something behind the mask of surprise, something that glinted in the pools of navy and grey. Everything about him looked so odd, so real.

Back at the checkpoint base, you didn't have time to look over his features or memorize them. You weren't able to watch the flicker in his eyes, something akin to a stalking wolf.

“One kiss.” Price breathed.

“One kiss.” You repeated back to him, trying not to let your voice quake.

That was all it took before his lips were slotted against yours, swallowing your breath and your mind with it. The kiss back at Urzikstan was rushed, desperate, quick. This. This was different. It was like a switch in your brain was flipped off, the mind-numbing static and the gentle rhythm of his lips replaced where your rational thought was supposed to be.

Large hands seized your waist, digging into your flesh. Slowly, the gentle probes of his mouth morphed into heavy kisses and heated groans. His mouth tasted the same as it did before, like smoke and whiskey. You doubted you'd ever forget the taste of him.

Your hands slid around his neck, and your dull nails dragged down his nape. Earning a throaty moan on his part, with each lick, groan, and movement of his lips, you only seemed to get sucked in further. Your senses were drowning in him, yet you only ached to go deeper. To let the water fill your lungs and cloud your brain.

Lips, tongue, teeth, you didn't know where it ended nor where it started. Hell, you didn't know what you were even doing. You didn't even realize you had moved until your behind hit the solid edge of his desk, making you retract for a sharp breath.

Price panted against your lips, still slick and kiss swollen. Neither of you did anything, standing still in the aftermath. The kiss said more than either of you could have ever put into words. Hands squeezed your hips, “On the desk.”

You blinked, only somewhat coherent, “What?” Price lightly pushed you further, the back of your body being pressed against the hardwood. “You heard me, sit on the desk.” His voice was rough and thick with his accent. It wasn't more of a request but a demand, and unlucky for you it made your knees weak.

Carefully you lifted yourself onto the flat surface, his body wedged between your open legs. The rough pads of his fingers grasping at your hips, and before you knew it you were kissing him again. It was addictive, he was addictive. This felt more like your fist kiss with him, the kisses became rougher, more rushed, and more desperate. Like trying to fill an endless void with his lips.

“I thought you said one kiss,” You managed to gasp out between open-mouthed kisses. You felt the pull of a smile on the corner of his lips before separating from you only to attach to your neck. Suckling at the skin and leaving trails of blooming redness in his wake.

“You said you wanted a better apology right?” Price said, his voice vibrating against your collar. The texture of his beard against your skin sending full-body shivers down your spine.

You nodded, your hands reaching to his back to fist the material of his shirt. “Yeah.” Your voice was breathy, it sounded almost foreign to you. Like you hadn't even spoken it. Hands dipped under your shirt, running up the soft skin of your ribs, mapping out your body. Price looked at you, something in his eyes was desperate, like a wild animal looking at their next meal.

“Then let me make it up to you. Please.” Fuck.

When had a man ever said that to you? And not any man but John fucking Price. A pulse drummed in your stomach that reached your core, here you were, sitting on your captain's desk with him in between your legs. Asking you to let him make it up to you. Really…who were you to refuse when he asked so nicely? You swallowed and nodded, “Okay.”

With your confirmation, Price lifted your shirt above your head, hastily tossing it somewhere on the floor. His hands making quick work of your bra with it, the offending garment joining your shirt on the floor. He stood there momentarily, taking in the new expanse of revealed skin. Price’s calloused hands glided over your abdomen, cupping your breasts and brushing a thumb over the hardened nipple.

You hissed, your spine curving at his touch. Price’s hands were hard and warm, a stark contrast to the plush mound of your chest. “Fuck, you're a vision you know that? So fucking pretty.” He breathed, his comments adding fuel to the fire between your legs. You couldn't remember the last time a man had called you anything near a ‘vision,’ but damn it felt good. It felt good to be wanted.

Your thighs squeezed together, blocked by his frame standing between them. Every movement he made caused your hips to brush, sending shocks up your spine. And shit could you feel him, he was a large man but the size of the tent brushing against your clothed core was downright ridiculous. No wonder his ego was so big, you absentmindedly thought.

A finger hooked one of the loops of your standard-issue pants. Price was looking at you, “Can I…?” He motioned down asking permission to discard the rest. To which you nodded, trying to hold back your eagerness. “Yeah go ahead.”

Price helped you out from your pants, letting them drop to the floor with a dull thud. He groaned as he caught eye of your underwear—a very embarrassing and very obvious wet spot coating the fabric. Fuck-you didn't realize that was there. You'd been so caught up in his hands you'd barely felt it. He shot you a knowing look, the corner of his lip twitched up.

“All this cause of me?” He asked smugly, circling a digit over the sodden fabric. You twitched, the contact making you bite down on your lip to keep from making a startled noise.

You glared at him, “Don’t fucking tease me.” You said, the embarrassment in your tone disguised as venom. He grinned, prick’ you thought. Price guided a finger over your clothed slit, leaning into the crook of your neck. “Never baby, just want to make things right with you.” He murmured into your skin.

Price tugged the fabric to the side, letting your slick lubricate his fingers. You shuddered, your hands holding onto him for dear life. “Fuck-” You choked out, your hips leaning into his hand. It felt infuriatingly good, the way his digit glided up and down your labia at a leisurely slow pace making you fein for more. He groaned as he watched you moan from the way he brushed his thumb over your clit.

“Atta girl, so good f’me.”

Oh.

You liked that. You'd never really paid attention to the gratification of someone praising you outside of an academic or professional level but at that moment you could tell that did something for you. And Price seemed to notice too.

He gently prodded at your entrance, earning a whine from your lips. “One finger or two?” He muttered, you could barely think let alone answer his question. What you did know was that you need more, “Two.” You said breathlessly.

A light chuckle reverberated off of him, “Greedy girl.” Price didn't wait and plunged two fingers into you slowly. You threw your head back as his thick digits stretched open the gummy walls of your core. “Fuck, look at you. So wet for me, so fucking sexy like this you know that?” You could only manage another choked whine as he mimicked the ‘come here’ motion with his fingers.

It was euphoric, the way he filled out your walls with his fingers alone. Slowly pressing the pads of his middle and ring up against the spongy spot inside you. You dug your nails into his shoulder, a silent scream fell from your lips. Price’s other hand holding the small of your back to support you. “Stay still,” He whispered into the shell of your ear, making you shudder.

You didn't listen, how could you? You could barely focus on what he was saying as it was, let alone when he was knuckle deep inside you.

When Price noticed you weren't listening he retracted his fingers, leaving you hollow. You whined, already craving the stretch of his fingers again. He rested his palm against your cunt, his digits barely tracing over your entrance. “Come on, I know you can listen, stay still for me yeah?” His voice vibrated against your neck and his beard brushed over the exposed skin. Making your body prickle with goosebumps.

“You're an asshole you know that?” You panted, going rigidly still. He smiled against you, his fingers plunging back into your wet heat. “And you're all bark and no bite, fuckin’ vixen. Always looking at me when you know you shouldn't, driving me insane all the time. Stubborn girl.”

You threw your head back, trying hard not to let your hips twitch or jerk. Your mouth fell open to let out a lustful moan that would've made anyone in the near vicinity blush.

Price continued, “You like driving me mad? Never fucking listening to me, arguing with me, riling me up.” He muttered, sliding his fingers in and out at a brutal pace. Making your cunt flutter, producing the most obscene sounds you ever heard from yourself. “Then you come in here all sexy asking me to kiss you. It's like you wanted this, wanted my fingers.”

You felt the burning fire in your core tighten and roar, “Price- slow down. M’gonna cum if you keep going.” You babbled, your nails leaving crescents on his bicep. Everything was happening so fast you couldn't keep track of what was going on.

Price’s fingers were rough, thick, they filled out the lining of your walls with ease. A thick fog started to cloud your mind, making the world almost blur. In. Out. In. Out. It was maddening, he wasn’t slowing and you were only growing more feverish.

He shook his head, his other hand leaving your hip to grab your chin. Forcing you to look into his eyes, an animalistic hunger written over his face. “No, you're going to cum on my fingers. Look at me while you do it, look at me while you soak my hand.” Price’s thumb circled over your clit, making you clench and pulse. A full-body shudder racking through you.

You came suddenly, unexpectedly. It was hard and fast, but in a way, it was like you were floating. Your muscles went rigid, your back curving, and your startled moan bounced off the walls of the office. It came in waves, crashing over you like the tide as he finger-fucked you through the orgasm. All the while staring directly into those familiar pools of blue and navy. Your pussy spasmed around his fingers.

After a minute you fell limp, like you'd just run miles, you panted. Hair falling in your face and wetness coating both his fingers and your inner thighs, the juices pooling onto the dark wood of the table. Price held your waist with one hand, letting you slump against his chest. It was peaceful bliss for a moment.

You caught your breath enough to sit up, meeting his gaze. His hand that held your waist moved to brush a few stray hairs falling over your eyes. The corners of Price’s lips pulled into a smile, and your heart stuttered, only a little though. “Have I made it up to you yet?” He murmured, the thickness of his voice could have melted your ears. Smooth like syrup but rugged enough to be devastatingly masculine.

“Apology accepted.” You breathed, trying not to sound too winded. It was too late to form any semblance of decency so the next best option was pretending he didn't single-handily give you the most toe-curling orgasm of your life. Easier said than done.

Price detached from you, walking over to one of his office drawers and pulling out a box of tissues. “Normally I'd have something better to clean you up with but these will do for now.” He said casually, pulling a few from the box and coaxing your legs back open to wipe down the mess. Somehow, you felt a blush spread across your cheeks.

This was so...domestic, sweet even, it wasn't like him. Then again, fingering you on his desk wasn't like him either but here you were. You both had crossed a line and there wasn't any going back, you swallowed. “Thanks, but uhm…what do we do now?” Frankly, it was a dumb question but you couldn't help asking.

He gave you a look, “What do you mean?” You squirmed under his gaze, trying not to look down at his warm hand brushing up against your inner thigh.

“Well, we can't exactly pretend like this didn't happen.” You clarified, watching as the wheels in his head turned. Price shrugged, “We can leave it at this if that's what you want. I think both of us are just on edge, y’know, the heat of the moment.”

Somehow his words didn't match his face, there was more that seemed to bellow beneath his tone. But rather than bringing it up, you thought about his words. This wasn't ever something you anticipated to happen but to your surprise, you didn't hate it. “What if we just kept it going?”

Price looked at you, his eyes widened a tad, the surprise written across his face doing more for your nerves than you were comfortable with. “Like- in the sense that you and I both have a lot of built-up tension and unresolved issues. But if this works to keep the peace why not give it a try? Discreetly of course.”

It was a beat before he responded, “Alright, but like you said, discreet. If anyone catches on this is done.”

You soared, why? You didn't know, it just felt like the best news you'd gotten in forever. But looking too deeply into that feeling was uncharted territory. Better off leaving it in the corner of your brain with all the other repressed emotions.

“Works for me.” You agreed, Price got up again to grab your poor clothes that had been flung across the room. Handing them back gingerly, he was nice enough to turn around as you reclothed yourself. There was a slight charge to the air, almost like static. It pricked at your skin, making you jumpy and nearly insecure. It was like you had reverted to a teenage girl.

He caught your gaze, and the unspoken tension and lingering awkwardness faded just a little. He gave you a nod, “I'll see you tomorrow for drills.”

You smiled just slightly, “See you.” Walking to the door and turning the handle, you forced yourself not to look back at him.

After shutting the door you breathed a sigh, brushing out your clothes and smoothing your hair of the lingering frizz. Getting cozy with your captain was not on your yearly bingo card, but hey, beggars couldn't be choosers. You absentmindedly thought about the implications of technically giving that stupid rumor some validity. But you were only human, a girl has to do what she has to do to get laid.

Discreetly, of course, you were great about being discreet. Yeah, easy peasy. All you had to do was make sure nobody found out.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

At first, you didn't really know what to expect when you first made the arrangement with Price about “solving the unresolved problems between the two of you.” But after a few weeks of working out frustrations ‘on’ each other, you could say with full confidence that this arrangement exceeded your expectations.

Not only had the genuine fights between you been on an extended hiatus, but it started to be replaced with playful banter. And when you weren't bantering or training or hanging out with the group, you were fucking. And boy was it something.

For one, Price was experienced, to say the least, he knew what to do and when to do it. He had mapped out your body and played it like a fiddle. And with your extent of mediocre lovers, it was like a breath of fresh air. And his body was nothing to sneeze at either, he had muscle allll the way down. Battle scars be dammed, everything just seemed to make him more appealing.

The only troubling part of the arrangement was keeping up the ruse and getting creative when it came to the actual action portion of it. But turns out that unconventional areas to have sex weren't as bad as they seemed. Office? Hell yeah. In the medical wing private rooms? Why not. In the showers and bathrooms? You only live once.

Unintentionally getting laid was also fixing your mood. Who knew an orgasm was a great way to fix an attitude problem? Well, at least most of your attitude problems.

You were outside running the trail that weaved its way around the base, at least once or twice a week Price would make you and the team run until you thought you would pass out. Something about endurance training. Running wasn't the worst thing but the harsh trail and uneven ground that zigzagged and dipped made you want to tear your hair out.

Your breath came out in small puffs, the cold air around you doing little to soothe the hot ache of your muscles. Your baby hairs stuck to your forehead and by the looks of it, you still had a few more miles left.

Jhonny ran beside you, his heavy breaths synchronous with yours. Up ahead was Gaz and Price and a few inches behind you was Ghost acting as caboose. You watched them run in front of you like you were studying a Peloton ad. Seriously, how the hell had they barely broken a sweat yet?? It was downright annoying how athletic they were.

“I swear, neither of them are human. Price just got cleared to run a week ago and he looks like he's having the time of his life.” You said between pants, next to you Soap laughed.

“Can’t say I disagree with ya’ there Bonnie, think he just does it for show at this point.” He said, his voice equally hoarse. From behind you, Ghost chimed in, “Maybe if you two stopped talking you'd actually catch up to them by now.”

You shot Ghost a glance over your shoulder, “People in glass houses.” You quipped, considering he was the caboose it was a little ironic. Not by much but still.

Soap grinned, “She’s right ain't she L.T.? Say, how's the arse of the train treating you? Got a nice view?”

Your laugh hurt, the air felt so thin but the pit of your stomach warmed. Talking while running (especially laughing) wasn't the smartest, but it was a distraction. Ghost swatted at the back of Soap’s head, cutting his laugh short.

From up ahead Price turned his head to look at you and Soap. “Two miles left, I’d suggest you save your stamina. If you fall behind on time you run extra.” He deadpanned. His voice barely sounded tired, the nerve.

You grimaced, “I think I’d prefer one of your medieval torture methods than running any longer.” Despite what you thought was an amusing comment Price didn't look enthused.

“That was a nice way of telling you and Jhonny to shut up, am I clear?” He said sternly, you held in your groan. Hookup buddy or not, Price was still annoying. “Clear.” You and Soap said in unison.

The rest of the path was spent in lingering silence. And by the time you reached base, you felt like you had one foot in the grave. You hunched over, your hands on your knees as you took in as many breaths as you could without it hurting. Had the air always been this thin?

Price was a few feet ahead, hands on his hips as he cooled off. His hair was slightly messy and his body glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He reached for his shirt and pulled it up to wipe his face, exposing the hard muscle and his happy trail. Dear lord. You watched him like a hawk, zeroing in on his abs as they expanded and decompressed with each breath.

He glanced your way, you were incredibly obvious so it was no surprise how his eyebrow twitched up and his lips pulled into a wry smile. “I did tell you to save your energy.” He commented quite smugly, referencing your current state.

You snapped out of the trance his abs had put you in, leaning back up and darting your eyes away. “I’m fine, just catching my breath. And for the record that felt way longer than normal, at this point, you just like to watch the team suffer.”

Price chuckled, crossing his arms. “Well someone’s bitter. But look, you did it and you came out fine. It's a win-win.”

You glared at him, unimpressed. “Sure, you work me like a dog until I inevitably die of overexertion and I get a paycheck in the mail that I'll never be able to spend because I'm dead. Win-win.” You said sarcastically. Price's lips tugged up, his mutton chops creating an almost teddy bear-like effect.

The corners of his eyes slightly crinkled, “Maybe you should've taken up drama instead of Military. Might fit you better.”

Your lips pursed into a line, Price was quick witted, but way too full of himself. It was a good thing you were there to keep his ego in line, you liked to think of yourself almost as the balancing act of the team. After all, there could only be so many cooks in the kitchen before things got rocky. “Good thing they don’t pay you for jokes.” You said, finally gaining back your breath.

Just as Price opened his mouth to give what was most likely a poor rebuttal a large hand patted your shoulder.

“[Name], pub tonight yeah?” It was Gaz. His beaming face almost made you squint. You took a minute to process his words, you were rarely one to inhabit the pubs on the outskirts of the base. But a brief memory of him and Jhonny asking you to go from earlier that morning cleared up your memory fog.

You cleared your throat and nodded, “Yeah- wouldn't miss it.” You said through your teeth. Gaz looked forward to Price, “You tagging along Price?”

You looked back at Price too, curious. He stood there a moment before sighing, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I will. Someone's got to keep the lot of ya’ in check.” Your spirit plummeted, the last time you were drunk in front of Price you started cursing at him like a drunken sailor. And you started kissing him in broad…daylight? Nightlight? Whatever. The point was, that you had zero self-control when you drank.

Heck, you barely had any self-control when it came to Price. You were on him any chance you got, and mixing two of your greatest temptations just sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Gaz smiled, ruffling your sweaty hair. “Great! We’ll leave after dinner, Price you're designated driver.” You forced yourself to smile back, giving a weak excuse for an ‘excited’ laugh.

“Great.” You said through your teeth, giving an enthusiastic thumbs up. Price gave him a nod as he walked off towards Soap and Ghost.

“Can’t wait.” You breathed to yourself.

Game plan: Don't drink and avoid Price at all costs. Simple enough. After all, it was just a pub, how bad could it be?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Spoiler Alert: Bad. It could be bad.

In the first thirty minutes of being at the shabby pub, you'd broken your first rule by getting roped into a drinking game with Jhonny. Not the smartest of decisions by far that you made. But it did take off the edge, now the orange lighting and the peeling paint on the walls seemed quaint instead of creepy.

The warmth in your stomach buzzed with a low frequency that made you giddy. And you hadn't paid for any of your drinks courtesy of Jhonny. Things may have been turning out for the better if you stayed on your A game. But unsurprisingly you failed to do so.

You sat on one of the barstools, a classic marg in hand with the salted rim and fancy lime slice on the glass. Ghost was sitting next to you while you both watched Jhonny trying to sweet-talk some poor girl from across the bar. Price sat a few chairs down next to Gaz, wrapped up in a conversation with the old bartender. Slowly, you felt yourself getting cozy.

And you were drunk enough that you merely hummed along with the maroon 5 reruns that played in the background.

“I got fifteen on the girl slappin’ him by the end of the night.” Ghost said as you watched the scene unfold.

You couldn't help but let an unabashed giggle slip from your lips. “Honestly I can't tell if she wants to take him home or take him to the local station for harassment charges.” Ghost grunted in agreement.

The girl gingerly took another sip of her drink as Soap talked to (at) her. Earning another hearty laugh from both You and Ghost. After another minute of people-watching Ghost patted the bar table, fishing a pack from inside of his cargo pocket. “Alright, I’m taking five’ I'll be outside.” He said as he got up.

You frowned but nodded, your gossip buddy was gone which was annoying. But instead of dwelling on it, you took another sip of your marg. The tequila burned your throat in a sickly sweet way, it wasn't the best drink you'd ever had but it did the job. Mid-drink you felt someone else walk up behind you, without warning someone slid into the empty stool next to you.

“This seat taken?” You didn't recognize the voice, it was masculine but it didn't sound like any of the guys. You looked to your side, it was a guy. He looked to be taller, with pale skin, sandy brown hair, and dark eyes. He wasn't about to be on a magazine cover but he definitely wasn't hard to look at.

You didn't quite know what to say, “uh…yeah, I suppose by you.” It was a lame response but he did kinda already sit himself down.

He smiled, white teeth, a little crooked but nobody's perfect. He had a good jaw, not clean-shaven but it made him look a bit more approachable. “That’s good to hear,” he was holding a drink, a gin-and-coke by the looks of it. “I saw you and your friend playing that drinking game earlier, pretty impressive, didn't think you'd be able to keep up.”

You gave a bit of an awkward laugh, unsure of what to make of the situation. But friendly conversation wasn't off the table, and the mystery man seemed nice enough. “Yeah, I guess I did, thanks. You uh- you done anything like that before?”

Mystery man shook his head, “No I can't hold my ale. I prefer to let the professionals handle that.” You laughed, finding the comment a little ridiculous.

“I’d hardly call myself a professional.” You replied, taking another sip of your drink. His eyes dipped down to your lips, watching as you raised the glass to your mouth and swallowed. But, they quickly averted back to your eyes.

“I don't know, I would hardly classify you as intermediate. I would buy you a drink but I'm not sure that much to drink in one night is healthy.” He said smoothly, leaning one elbow against the counter.

Buy you a drink? Okay, maybe a bit too friendly. But maybe he was just being nice, people buy strangers drinks all the time. You nodded, “Oh that's nice of you. Yeah, I'd say after this I’ll call it quits.” You said, raising your marg.

He hummed and nodded, licking his lips. “Hopefully you're not too drunk, right?” Something about his tone you didn't like, it was like he was teasing you.

You averted your eyes, “Uh hopefully not. Just buzzed for now, I’ll probably feel the brunt of it later.” You laughed awkwardly.

“Did you drive here yourself?” Okay, what was with all the questions? You weren't sure if that was a courteous thing to ask or just downright nosy.

You shook your head, “No someone drove me.” You said simply, keeping it short and sweet. Maybe then he'd get the vibes you were putting off. He hummed, his eyes drilling into you like one of those toy lasers.

“Are you going home with anyone?” He asked, you almost choked on your drink. What was with this guy? How did you go from drinking the game two seconds ago to this??

He cut you off before you had the chance to say anything, “Because if not, I’d be willing to drive you back. Free of charge, of course.”

Free of charge my ass.

The actual charge probably consisted of a blow job in the back seat of his Toyota Corolla. Or white van, you were still figuring out the vibes on this guy.

You were stunned to speak, absolutely dumbfounded by the lack of social cues. It was like walking into the shallow end of a pool only to step into eight feet of water. To make it worse he reached forward, brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face. “Come on, don't leave me hanging. What do you say?”

Pound!’

Something hard hit the counter, making both your drinks wobble. You swiveled your head towards the noise, and low and behold your second greatest desire now stood between you and the mystery guy. Price.

His fist on the counter cut the conversation short as well as all the noise around him. Creating an oh-so-silent bar. The mystery man retracted his hand like he'd been scorched by an open flame. Looking up at Price with a bewildered expression, “What the fuck man?” He asked with a furrowed brow.

Price looked down at him, his expression unmoving. “Apologies, but I think it's time you go bother another person. Particularly one that isn't a part of my team.”

Whatever thoughts of arguing that the mystery man had immediately died as Price crossed his arms, puffing himself out like a bird when ruffling its feathers. You looked at both of them incredulously, sure you were glad Price came to the rescue but you could've handled it yourself. You didn't need him to come barreling through like a charging rhino to handle something you didn't even ask him to do.

You looked around to see everyone's heads turned in your direction, looking between Price and the other guy. Suddenly the alcohol in your stomach turned sour, and you felt your cheeks grow hot from the unwanted attention.

“Jeez, look I wasn't looking for any trouble. I didn't know she had a man, my bad.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. Price didn't budge, guarding you like a stone wall. “Then off you go.” He said sternly.

The mystery guy nodded, sliding out from the barstool and walking past you and back to the table where he came from. The pub started to go back to normal, people picking up where they left off. Price turned back to you, his posture deflating a little. He looked down at you, and from the way you were looking back at him, he immediately knew something was amiss. “What?” He asked.

Your eyebrows slid lower on your face, your lips pursing into a tight frown. “What do you mean ‘what?’ What the fuck was that?” You whisper shouted at him, your cheeks still burning with embarrassment.

Price looked at you like you were crazy, a frown on his lips. “The bloke was touching you, you think I'm just going to stand by and let him paw at you?” He asked defensively.

Oh please. He barely even touched your face. It wasn’t great, but, it didn’t warrant Price making a whole spectacle. Especially not in front of the team, let alone a group of spectators. You looked back at Gaz, who was staring directly at you, then at Jhonny, who went back to talking to the girl.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” You signed, not wanting to be in earshot of Gaz who was most definitely eavesdropping. Friend or not, he couldn't know any more than he already did, the bastard was perceptive enough as it was.

Price glanced at Gaz and then back to you, his jaw working with tension. “Fine.” He huffed, you were a bit taken aback by the irritability in his tone. Why was he so mad now? He was the one who caused the scene. Nonetheless, you slipped out of the bar and followed Price as he stormed off.

You weaved through tables and people, trying your best to squeeze by without knocking into anything. Price walked into an emptier hallway that led to the restrooms. It was one of those creepy hallways with no overhead lights and weird pictures strung across the walls. You eyed the peeling wallpaper, it was like you'd stepped into a time capsule. Warm light poured from the main area of the bar, casting an orange hue against you and Price that was cut off by shadows.

He turned back to you, the furrow in his brow knitting the skin in between. He looked sexy. The thought popped into your mind before you had the sense to block it out. While very true you had to stand your ground. A hot man and some liquor in your system would not sway your resolve. (Maybe it could sway it a little.) focus!

“What was that? You charging up to that guy and slamming your fist on the counter.” You asked folding your arms over your chest.

Price leaned against the opposite wall, facing you. “I didn't charge up to him, I simply made it clear that he crossed a line.” He said defiantly. You raised a brow, unsure of what to make of the blanket statement.

“What line?” You asked, to which Price scoffed.

“He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, and don't think I didn't hear the way he was interrogating you. Come off it [Name], I know you're not stupid, you could see clear as I could what that fucker wanted.” He spat.

You exhaled, either the liquor was catching up to you or it was starting to get hot. “Well yeah, but he barely did anything, and that hardly warranted you taking matters into your own hands.” You defended, “-I could have just told him to fuck off or something. I didn't need you charging in like a bull and letting the entire bar know.”

You watched Price’s hand bawl into a fist, flexing the strain in his neck as he glared down at you. “What else was I supposed to do? Politely ask him to leave? When he's got his dirty hands on you like that-” He groaned, wiping his face with one hand.

“I'm not defenseless, I don't need you to rescue me.” You retorted, your hands holding your arms tighter to your chest.

Price rolled his eyes, “I know that. Don’t get smart with me.” He said pointing a finger your way, his mouth curling into a small snarl. “You don't get it, watching him practically undressing you with his eyes. It was fucking aggravating to watch- the way he looked at you.”

You were a bit surprised that he caught on to that, but you didn't feel like he was undressing you with his eyes per se. More like just intently staring, you pushed his accusatory finger down. “You're exaggerating, and you don't even know what he was thinking.” You tried to reason.

Price looked at you with a glare that would’ve made anyone else back down. But you didn't, as Jhonny once commented, you had the rather: “Fucking idiotic tendency to never be scared of Price.” What could you say? You liked a challenge.

He took a step forward, making you take one back. Your back hit the wall of the hallway. Like a caged animal, you were trapped. “I know exactly what he's thinking.” Price snarled, he grabbed your face. The rough pads of his fingers pressed into your hollow cheeks, his hand was so big it dwarfed your lower jaw.

“-Because I fucking think of the exact same things when I look at you.” His voice was harsh and low, sending ripples through your spine like shock waves. Price’s hand forced your face up so it was locked dead onto his, making you look into his eyes shadowed by the darkness. Flecks of light caught on his face, against his beard and jaw. If anyone were to walk into the hallway, it may have looked like Price was about to devour you like a starving carnivore.

You shuddered, he was so close it was driving your senses crazy. You could smell him, taste the venom in his voice, and God did it turn you on. You wanted more, you wanted to push his buttons. It felt good to drive him to the point of fury, to watch him slowly lose his composure. Years of hard discipline and mental strength all crumbling within minutes, and you wanted to watch.

“I don’t care if every man on the planet looks at me that way. I'm not yours, you don't get to put a claim on me. And you sure as hell don't get to make a scene in front of the entire bar and the team.” You spat back. Like an open flame, the wildfire between you and Price only seemed to burn brighter, faster, harder.

“-And what happened to being discrete huh? Last time I checked, scaring off any guy who looks in my direction isn't discrete.” You pried.

Price scowled down at you, his breathing starting to grow more labored. His hand clenched your face more forcefully, not enough to hurt but enough that you couldn't move. “You're right. You don't belong to me, but I am still your Captain, and you answer to me. Not to Gaz, or Jhonny, or Ghost. Not to some stupid prick who just wants a quick fuck. Me.”

Price was slowly getting angrier, to be honest, you rarely saw him this pissed. But deep down, it kind of did something to you. Knowing that you were the cause of his anger.

It was an ache that settled deep within your bones, making your blood coarse red hot. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was something more. Either way, you didn't care, you just needed to feel the satisfaction of breaking his ressolve. Stripping him of every facet that made him a man and revealing the primitive monster that lied underneath.

Your eyes narrowed into slits, “Fuck you Price.”

There was a beat of silence that stretched for far too long. It was so quiet you could almost feel the way your heart hammered in your chest. You made hard eye contact with him, watching the way his eyes widened and how his irises scanned over the expanse of your face.

“Fuck me?” He spoke, his voice hard and breathy. His hand forced your face up, straining the muscles in your neck. The back of your head was pressed into the hard wall with firm pressure. And to your surprise, the corner of his lip turned up into an amused smile. “Fuck me huh?” He repeated, and as suddenly as it appeared, his smile dropped.

“Fuck you.” He spat, surging forward into a clash of tongue, teeth, and lips. You quickly grabbed at his head, twisting your fingers through his hair. Your arms wrapped around him like a constricting snake.

The kiss was so rough you didn't even know if it could be classified as a kiss really. His body practically slammed into you, pinning you to the wall like a fly caught in a spider's web. One of his hands still clutched your face while the other was pressed flat into the wall beside your head. You heard one of the pictures that was hung on the wall next to you clatter to the ground. Everything seemed to fade into the background, all that mattered was the man who was currently pinning you to the wall.

Price was kissing you like a man starved. You forgot where you were, what you were doing, and why you felt so angry in the first place.

You distantly felt his hands move down to roughly cup your ass and then the back of your thighs. Price hoisted you up, trapping you between the wall and himself. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, grinding your hips against his. You groaned as you felt his tented pants against your clothed core, he was hard as a rock.

Your hands raked down the expanse of his back, fisting the soft cotton of his shirt between your fingers. Price took a few steps back, holding you to his chest still. His back hit the other wall with a thud, making the other pictures rattle. He kept maneuvering around like a blind man until his back hit the door to one of the bathrooms. It gave way to his weight, swinging backward.

“Price what-” Your words were cut off by another open-mouthed kiss. You returned it just as eagerly, maybe asking what he was doing could wait another minute. Price’s back hit the door again, one of his hands scrambling for the lock. He carried you across the empty bathroom, bouncing off the walls and counters as you went.

He managed to open the door to the last stall tucked away in the corner. Slamming against the stall you kissed him like an animal, clawing at his back and rolling your hips into his.

After another minute you pulled away for a breath, panting like you'd just swam up for air. His breath fanned your lips, thick with his taste and your mixed spit. The dingy bathroom was poorly lit, casting everything inside it in a dark light. You swallowed, “What are we doing in here?” You panted.

Price’s hands squeezed your ass, “Making sure nobody else can see what I'm about to do to you.” His voice was heavy and thick, like molasses sugar. The richness of it clouded your senses, making you loopy. Without warning he pulled you off him, setting you down on your feet with a hand tangled in your hair.

“On the ground.” He spoke, more of a command than anything.

You blinked, either it was the round of drinks or just his effect on you but the words barely processed. “What?” You breathed, your eyebrows knitting together.

Price gave your head a sharp yank, a surprised gasp slipping past your lips. His thick digits curled around your hair tighter, pulling your scalp taunt. “I said on the ground, I know you can listen to me.” He said, his voice was rough now, scratching against your eardrums like sandpaper. You knew you were in far too deep to back out now. (Not that you wanted to). So, you obeyed, much like an animal self domesticating itself to survive.

Your knees pressed into the cool, hard tile. Price still held your hair, craning your neck up to look him in the eyes. You saw it, the small restraint he always held, like a second face he wore around everyone else- it was gone. There was pure, unabashed want in his eyes. You felt your lungs deflate, the breath leaving your body. Hands that held his thighs dug into his jeans, an unspoken message that screamed ‘go.’

The adams apple in his throat bobbed, and Price’s other hand migrated to his belt. Gradually he unclasped the silver belt buckle, “You’re a smart girl [Name]. I know you didn't just say all of that before cause’ you wanted to prove a point to me.” He spoke, sliding the leather band open and pushing the top button of his pants through the slit. “-I know you're not that fucking stupid. So tell me…why did you? Just to get under my skin? To rile me up?”

Your throat ran dry, eyes glued to his fingers as they slid down the zipper. Preening to watch the way his boxers spilled out of the narrow opening. Price yanked your head back again with a sharp yelp on your part.

“Look at me. Not my cock, you'll have plenty of time to look at it later.” He breathed, pools of navy boring in your eyes. His pupils dilated, the soft red that colored his cheeks and ears doing little to soothe the roaring flame that burned between your legs.

You were at a loss for words, to be honest, you weren't completely sure why either. A sense of curiosity? It was hard to put into speech, “I…I wanted to see what you'd do.” You answered, making his eyebrow twitch up.

“Thats all? Not because you have a fascination with me? With fucking with my goddamn head. You don't like driving me insane?” He spat, palming a hand over himself. Your eyes flicked down, watching the fabric of his briefs stretch over the bulge.

You swallowed, looking at him tentatively. “I wanted to see the real you. Not the front, not the put-together Captain. You.”

A silence hung in the air, one that casted a thick layer of tension between you. Price’s lips turned upwards, a darkly amused chuckle echoing through the empty bathroom. “You already had me, baby.” He reached his hand into his briefs, pulling out his thick cock. He groaned, rubbing his hand up and down his appendage, “Fucking temptress that's what you are. You want me to not hold back, is that it? To fuck you stupid?”

You couldn't take your eyes off him even if you'd wanted to. No matter how many times you saw his dick it never got old, all you could do was marvel at it. He was big, and more importantly, he was thick. You watched his hand stroke the peachy skin, watching the heaviness of its girth and the reddened mushroom tip that beaded with milky pre-cum.

Price laughed, eyeing the way you looked at him like a starving animal. “This what you wanted? What all the fuss was about?” You couldn't help but nod, wetting your lips just at the sight. “-Tell me you want it. That you want me to fuck your throat raw.” He spoke, Price held himself just out of reach. Like a cat with a feathery toy, you were completely entranced.

You nodded, “Price fuck my throat.” The words sounded so odd coming from your mouth, so raw and crude it almost surprised you.

Price gave your head a small tug, a satisfactory grin on his face. He looked down at you, nodding his head to you as if to say ‘Go ahead.’ You could barely contain yourself as your hands slid around his cock, feeling the burn of hot skin beneath your palms. He was so thick your one hand almost couldn't wrap around his girth, two hands would have to do the job.

The weight of his length felt good, oh yeah, and not to mention that he was harder than a metal pole. Hastily you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue over the bulbous tip.

Price’s head fell back against the stall door, his hips twitched forward. A hearty groan fell from his parted lips. The hand in your hair gave you an encouraging squeeze. You hummed, letting the vibrations from your voice reverberate off his dick. He tasted like skin, musky and salty, leaving an earthy kind of aftertaste that clung to your tongue like syrup.

You separated with a lewd ‘pop, watching the muscles in Price’s neck strain. Dipping your head you licked a stripe up his cock, coating the length in a thin layer of spit. One hand stroked him up and down while the other dug into his thigh, leaving small crescents into the fabric of his pants. Beads of pre-cum spilled out from the small slit of his tip, you let your thumb swipe over the head generously lubing up his base.

Price’s hands tightened in your hair, “Fuck- that's it. Just like that pretty girl.” He panted, earning a pleased hum from your lips.

Without warning you took his cock back into your mouth, sinking down the furthest you could without gagging. The gummy walls of your throat tightened around the foreign object, accompanied by a wet gulping noise. You inhaled through your nostrils, trying your best to take him further.

Price cursed loudly, the sound of his voice bouncing across the tile walls. His cock twitched in your mouth. You moved your head down then forward, repeating the motion until you found a steady rhythm of bobbing down on his dick. What your mouth couldn't reach your hand made up for, squeezing and stroking faster and faster. He was so wound up you could practically feel the tension under his skin.

You pulled off of him, your mouth agape as you panted. Spit and other fluid gleamed against your lips like a gloss. Price looked down at you, confusion written across his face with a tad of concern.

“Are you okay?” He said through heavy breaths, to which you nodded. However, you shot him a stern look.

“You're holding back.” You panted, staring at him with a knowing glare. Price looked at you, unsure of how to respond to your accusatory tone. “-I said-Fuck. My. Throat.”

His face hardened, and the same animalistic gleam came back. “Fine. You want me to let go? I can let go.”

That was all it took before his hand wrapped around your hair like a rope. Pushing you down his cock inch by fucking inch. He moaned through his teeth, “Fuck- you know what to do if it gets to be too much.” He said breathlessly. It was true, you did know you always had an out, but this was way more fun.

Your jaw went slack to accommodate him, the stretch of him down your throat sending full-body shivers down your spine. Then he started to move. Your hands found his thighs, digging your nails into his pants.

Price made good on his promise, fucking your throat like it was his life’s goal. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat making you almost gag, hot tears stung your eyes. It was rough and desperate, he used your throat like he hated your guts. And you couldn't help but love every second of it, you managed to crack him. The hard shell he kept, and the walls he built up, were slowly crumbling down.

Then, as quickly as he pushed you down he pulled you off of him. You sucked in a desperate breath, making a small noise of confusion. You stared at Price with a quizzical look, one that bordered on ‘wtf??’

Price looked wrecked, his hair tussled and cheeks tinged red. Small beads of sweat trickled down his temples, but he smiled. “I'm sorry baby, did you want me to keep going?” He exhaled, an almost pitying aspect to his tone. The hand in your hair slid down to cup your chin, a rough thumb swiping over your puffy bottom lip.

“Why’d you stop?” You frowned up at him, and try as you might the disappointment in your voice was clear as day.

Price cupped your jaw, forcing your head back further. “Because as much as I love your mouth, I would much rather cum in that beautiful cunt of yours.”

You tried not to choke, refusing to give him the satisfaction that his words sent whole body shivers through you. But, it did sound heavenly, so you nodded and let him help you to your feet again. From there he guided you up against the stall, your palms flat on the cool door.

Price’s chest went flush with your back, his face tucked into where your shoulder met your neck. His hot breath fanned against you and the hairs of his scruff tickled your skin. Thick hands found your hips, sliding to your crotch to unzip your pants. You tried not to let your breath hitch as he palmed a hand over your clothed cunt.

“Jesus- this wet for me already? Haven't even touched you yet, but here you are, soaking your panties like a slag.” Price murmured into your nape, and even though you couldn't see it, you could feel his smirk.

You bit down on your cheek, “Big talk from someone who could barely keep it together while getting a simple blowy.” Your pants slid down and a sharp blow was delivered to your behind. You yelped, caught off guard by the harsh slap.

“Careful.” He murmured, his voice reverberating off the shell of your ear. Your eyes stung with tears as the burning sting of his mark cooled into a low ache. “-We don't have a whole day for you to think of a good comeback before someone comes knocking on that door. So I’d try to cooperate unless you want me to leave you high and dry. Which I'm perfectly fine with doing.”

Liar. He was bluffing, but Price was just as stubborn as you were and would most definitely make you wait an unseemly amount of time just to cum. So, for once in your life, you listened.

Trying to bite back your moans, you stood statue-still as Price tugged the offending garment to the side. Two fingers slid along your folds before plunging inside with a wet squelch. “Fuck, you're tight. You sure you can take me?” He breathed, and you threw your head back into his chest. He fingered you slowly, mapping out every crevice and dip with the pads of his fingers.

It wasn't enough. You needed more, “Price if you don't fuck me right now, I swear to god, I will do it myself.” Okay, so maybe that sounded a little bit more desperate than intimidating, but it got the message across.

You felt his breathy chuckle against your ear, and suddenly, his fingers slipped out of you. “Yes ma'am,” he said. However, the empty void left by his fingers was soon replaced by the burning contact of his cock against your swollen folds. Price groaned as he slid himself back and forth, gathering up your slick to use as lube.

A shudder ran down your spine, your palms pressing against the door harder. You pushed your hips back against him, earning another pleased hum from your Captain. You could barely breathe, there was a burning tension that ate away at your core. Like a rope stretched too tight, all you could do was wait for it to snap apart.

His tip slowly slipped inside your hole, the burning stretch of his girth sending the hairs at the back of your neck up. Inch by inch he seethed himself into you, “Price-holy fuck.” You moaned, even with how wet you were, no amount of lube would ever fully prepare you for the sheer mass of him.

Price drew you in, letting your walls stretch and mold to his dick. His hands grabbed at your hip and lower stomach, holding you in place. His beard brushed against your collar as he placed a few nipping kisses on your neck. “I know baby, I know, taking me so fuckin’ well. Shit, this pussy was made for me.” He murmured into your sweaty skin.

Without warning, his hips drew back only to snap forward again. You couldn't help the unseemly moan that fell from your lips, he pounded into your cunt like it was his last day alive. The sloppy sounds of skin echoed through the room.

“Oh my god- Price.” You choked out, the side of your face pressed against the door. “-feels so good.” You panted between wet slaps as his hips drove into your behind. You could barely think over the sound of your moans, each second that his dick plunged back into your sopping pussy felt like sparks being lit inside of you.

He moaned, his voice resounding across the shell of your ear. A hand snaked its way up your stomach and cupped your neck like a choker necklace. His skin burned, thick fingers curling around your scruff. It didn't hurt but it was firm, making you pliant to his body. “That's it. Take my cock, let me fuck you like the slut you are.” He grid out, “-this pussy knows what she wants, and it's me. Nobody else can fuck you like I do. Nobody else can give you what you need, what you deserve.”

Your cunt fluttered around him, causing his hips to stutter before driving back into you with so much force your hips hit the door.

Knock knock knock’

You're body went rigid, and all the air in your lungs seemed to escape your ribs. Fuck! You had totally forgotten that you were in a public bathroom for Christ's sake. Price had locked the door, but that didn't mean people wouldn't try and come in.

Knock knock knock!’

It was louder this time, more impatient. You tried to look back at Price, but his hand on your neck held your head still. He wasn't stopping.

“Not so fast girly, I’d like to finish what I started.” He chuckled, angling his hips as he slammed back into your cunt. The head of his cock nuzzled against the spongy muscle of your g-spot. You were so caught off guard you didn't have time to cover the absolutely shameless moan that slipped from your lips.

Price groaned, and his cock twitched. “Fuuckk that's it, let them hear you. Let everyone know how good I'm making you feel, how good I'm fucking this pussy.” You could barely process his words, everything was starting to build up to the point you were almost seeing stars. “-Come on baby, cum for me. Cum on my cock.” He panted through firm thrusts.

A sharp cry rang through the empty walls, you saw white. Body pulsing as the waves of euphoria washed over your body like the tide. Each thrust sending new shocks down your spine, prolonging every second of your orgasm. Price’s hips stuttered, a loud curse ringing from his lips as he came inside you.

What followed was an extended silence that was filled with heavy pants. You could barely stand, Price’s chest flush with your back, his head leaning against your shoulder.

“Think they got the message?” Price mused, his voice thick with exhaustion. You couldn't help the laugh that rose from your chest, listening in for another knock. When none came you sighed, “Guess so.” You breathed.

After another minute of rest Price pulled off of you, leaving a trail of cum seeping down your thigh. Not to mention your sweaty back and all-around messy appearance. Price simply grinned at you when you shot him a nasty glare, using some toilet paper to clean up the fluids. “Whoops.” He shrugged.

It was a good thing you were on the pill, you might've slapped him if otherwise. He chuckled and pressed a ‘sorry’ kiss to your temple, “Come on soldier, you look like you've been through a war.” He quipped. You didn't even try to laugh at that one.

“Funny.” You said sarcastically, but once he opened the door after redressing you, you froze. The reflection in front of you looked well…like you had just been fucked in a bathroom stall. Small bites and hickeys littered your neck, poking up to where it was obvious to see. You hit his shoulder, “You dumbass, I look like I've been attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes! What the hell is the team going to think Mr. Designated Driver?”

Price looked at your reflection too, scratching the back of his neck. “We’ll find you a coat.” He settled on.

There was a small beat of silence, you looked back at him. “A coat, and I get to skip running drills for next week. Then you're forgiven.”

He looked back at you, “Deal.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You really shouldn’t have been doing this. It was stupid, completely idiotic. (maybe not as stupid as hooking up with your captain in a pub bathroom.) But alas, John Price could charm you into anything.

The cold night air of autumn nipped at your nose, making your face feel numb. Somehow you still felt the breeze blow through your bones while bundled up in a large coat and scarf. Hands in your pockets, you tried your best to walk inconspicuously through the small town streets next to the base.

It was late, past lights out. Just minutes before you were getting ready for bed. However, when Price called you up out of the blue asking for you to meet him for a night walk, curiosity got the best of you. To say it was odd would be an understatement, but you knew better than to pass up the opportunity. The nightlife in the little town was pretty nice, with Halloween now in full swing and all.

Small pumpkins and candles littered the ground while stores and bars were strung with purple and green lights. For a second you almost forgot you were supposed to be meeting Price. You checked your phone, reading over his message again.

[Captain]: The place is by the park, on 82th Ave. It’s an outdoor pop-up, festive. You can't miss it.

You looked over at one of the street signs, 79th Ave, it said. At least you were getting closer, directions weren't really your strong suit so all you could really do was hope for the best.

If anyone saw you out of base, especially with Price you’d 100% raise a few eyebrows not to mention you'd be in deep trouble. So you dipped your head as low as it could go to conceal your identity. Was this behavior one of a paranoid schizophrenic? It was possible. But after the phesasco at the bar, you were okay with being weary.

You heard a soft crowd of voices coming from a distance away. Walking towards it you saw a playground lit up with small lights, two children with what looked like their parents chasing them across the woodchips. More adults walking around the greener outskirts of the ground, laughing and holding dogs on leashes.

It stirred something good inside you, like a warm feeling that you didn't often get. You stopped walking, just watching the scene play out like a domestic storybook.

“Took you long enough.”

You jumped, whipping around to see the deep voice behind you. Standing there was Price, dressed in a thick coat with worn-out jeans. He held two plastic cups in his hands, steam rising off the mystery substance inside.

“You scared me,” You deadpanned. Your eyes went from the drinks in his hands back to his face. “-What’s with the cups?”

Price rolled his eyes, nodding behind him to the pop-up stand. “It’s cold, so I got you something to warm up.” He handed you one, which you accepted. Raising it to your nose, you sniffed the steam. It was warm, thick with spices, and sweet. You looked back at Price with a quizzical look, to which he smiled. “It’s cider.”

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. “Not the spiked kind I hope.” Holding the cup a bit away from you like it was radioactive. Price's eyes crinkled, chuckling as he shook his head.

“No, not spiked. We've got drills in the morning, I wouldn't do that to you.” With his confirmation, you took a sip, pulling your scarf down so you could drink. The hot liquid burned your tongue, but the flavor was worth it as it slid down into your stomach. Your eyes flickered up from the rim of the cup, looking at Price.

His eyes were on you, looking at you with a rare kind of softness. But after the split second of eye contact, he was the first to look away. You wiped your lips of the remaining sweetness, “Price what are we doing here?” You asked.

He cocked an eyebrow, “I thought I told you we were going on a night walk.” He said nonchalantly, earning a half-grunt on your part.

“I know that, but why am I here? I doubt that you're incapable of walking alone.” You pointed out, but Price just shrugged.

“Good company.” He said serrupticously, a wry smile stretched onto his lips. “-Are you really that averse to spending time with me? I'd hope after all this time spent together I wouldn't need a reason to want to be around you.” Price started walking, and out of instinct, you followed behind him until you were shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

“You're a bad lair.” You said, taking another sip of your cider. You watched the calm nightlife and a thought bubbled into your mind. Maybe to an onlooker you and Price probably looked like a couple just going on a stroll. It wasn't rocket science to see that there was a fraction of tension between you. Your cheeks pinked at the thought, but you pushed it away as soon as it came.

Price was also looking at the surrounding people, an odd look on his face. Something akin to yearning or want. He must've felt your stare because he spoke up. “Inquiring minds?”

You averted your eyes, “Sorry.” To which he shook his head, taking a sip of his drink.

“Don't bother, it’s fine.” He said cooly, his eyes fixed on a family standing a few feet away. You looked back at them then back to Price. A dawning washing over you in an instant. Your eyes furrowed in question.

“You uh… have a family?” Jesus that sounded choppy, you cringed at yourself. He looked at you a little surprised but shook his head.

“I mean sure. Everyone does, at least at one point. But if you're asking if I do currently then no.” You nodded, feeling a little bad for asking. It wasn't too uncommon in your field, but it still put a grim mood in the air. You tried thinking of ways you could rectify it.

“So…no crazy ex-wife or estranged children that I need to be worried about?” You said humorously, when Price smiled, a part of you sighed in relief.

He shook his head again, glancing at you. “No ex-wife or estranged children, no.” You smiled and nodded, but that raised another question.

“How come?” you asked simply.

He shot you a pointed look, “You're asking me that like I'm ancient. I'm not that much older than you are,” He breathed. “-But if you have to know I guess I just never had the time. It's a bit testy trying to form long-term connections with people when you're in this line of work.”

You nodded in understanding, he was right. The long deployments, chances of not coming back, weird hours, it all would put a strain on a relationship. It didn't stop some, however, sometimes after not seeing the good in humanity for so long you lose the ability to connect with anyone. Especially ‘normal’ people.

Your mind flashed to an old ex-boyfriend who used to talk at length about how cool it was that you got to “kill people for a living.” You didn't see it that way. Desensitized or not, it was still a human life you were taking, it took a toll, even if you were getting paid for it.

“I get that. It's hard to commit to someone you don't get to see most of the time.” You shrugged, a part of you wanted to ask about every relationship he'd ever had. More importantly how you fared against them. And for some odd reason, you felt uncomfortable knowing that he had been with other women. Maybe it was just basic biology or primitive instinct.

Price nodded, “If I could I would've.” He glanced back at the family, watching as the dad swept up his toddler into a hug. It was bittersweet, the way Price looked at the display, dangerously pulling at your heartstrings.

You gave him a weary smile, “There’s still time. Like you said, you're not ancient. Why not just retire and settle down with someone?”

Price looked back at you for a split second, not saying anything. He looked back out at the dark trees, the leaves rustling in the cold wind, and the lights that wrapped around the park. “Maybe at one point that was an option, but not now. I'm not cut out for it, my life is here. I'm no good at civilian shit, so I best stick to what I know.”

You didn't know what to say to that, it was a tough pill to swallow. It was silent for a few seconds. But, You nudged your shoulder with his, “Well then, I guess you're stuck with me.” Offering a somewhat awkward smile to go along with it.

Price looked down at you as he walked, his blue eyes were dark like the ocean. You didn't want to look away, you wanted to swim in his thoughts, drown yourself in his pools of navy grey. Eyes that housed so much hostility and venom towards you now bore into your own with a warmth that struck you like a match. His lips turned up, “Guess there are worse places to be.”

Your smile came back, and the mood between you ebbed into a lighter, happier atmosphere. Taking a last swig of your cider you shook your head, “You guess? Need I remind you who asked me to be here?”

Price chuckled, doing the same and tossing his empty cup into a nearby garbage. “Alright, you win. I am grateful you came, like I said, all in good company.”

The conversation faded into a comfortable silence, and you and Price walked around the park. You watched as more and more people slowly started to dwindle, leaving it emptier than when you got there. After doing a sort of loop you both agreed to start walking back to base, and so you did. Shoulder to shoulder you walked with him through the small streets and shops.

Once you started coming up on the familiar large building a strong gust of air hit you. Your eyes shut tightly and your nose scrunched. When you did open your eyes back up Price was looking at you, you stared back at him. “What?”

Price snickered, “Wind got you pretty good. There's a leaf in your hair.” He pointed out, to which you blindly started to try and fish out said leaf. He shook his head at your feeble efforts, stopping your hands.

“I’ll get it. You're just messing it up.” He breathed, carefully his large hands combed through your head. Plucking out a pine leaf and a small fuzz, “There.” He said proudly.

He flicked the unwanted objects off to the side, but one of his hands never left your hair. He was almost holding your face in his palm, you blinked up at him. Wondering why he wasn't letting you go, “Is there something else?” You asked.

Price looked at you, licking his lips before pursing them in a line. Slowly he shook his head, “No.” It was silent for another beat, the soft puffs of your breath visible in the cold. You watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed.

“Tell me you don't want me to kiss you.” He breathed.

Without a second thought, you shook your head no, “Price kiss me.” It was almost alarming to you how naturally it came out. You barely even processed your own words.

And as his lips met yours in a chaste, soft kiss, you let yourself melt into him. You let him in.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You had five months until your time with 141 came to an end. In that time you had managed to befriend the whole team, make enemies with your captain, kiss said Captain, go on to have a very explicit no-strings-attached relationship with him, and now…this.

What was ‘this?’ Well, you didn't really quite know yourself. But after that night when he kissed you outside of base without any intention of hooking up with you, your clear-cut relationship with him became a jumbled mess of suppressed emotion. No longer were intimate gestures limited to sexual encounters, in fact, they were frequently more domestic.

Was this all of Price’s doing? No. It was both, both of you were an intimacy-starved mess. But you couldn't help it, his private quarters were so nice and his king-sized bed seemed to fit both of you nicely on the nights you couldn't sleep. And what of it that you helped him with paperwork into the wee hours of the night? He hated being stuck up in his office alone, it was a kind gesture. Now you didn't even have to make your morning tea and coffee because whenever you made your way into the small break room a fresh cup was always sitting on the counter for you in Price’s signature mug.

And on your weekends off? Oh, you bet your sorry (but not really,) ass he was stuck to your hip like glue.

Without knowing it, you and your captain had almost formed a routine together. One that slowly started filling the lonely silence of your day with his body, his voice, his presence.

You knew every scar on his body, you'd mapped them out like constellations. You learned something new about him every day too, it was exciting yet familiar all at once. Unbenoiced to you, 141 and by extension Price, had become home.

All of this had somehow been accumulating without your knowledge until now. To which this realization that you were a little too fond of your captain hit you like a truck. Bringing you to your current position, hunched over a small table that was tucked away in the corner of the break room. It was wayyy past lights out, but laying in your bed left with your thoughts and anxiety sounded nightmarish. A steaming cup of tea sat on the table a few inches away, (in Price’s signature mug of course.)

Just as you were about to finally take a sip, someone walked in. You sat straight up, your heart running a million miles an hour. On top of that, you almost knocked your tea over. Who the hell was coming in at almost one in the morning???

It was Gaz.

You placed a hand over your racing heart, letting out the breath you didn't know you were holding. “Jesus- you scared the shit out of me Garrick.” You said wearily.

Gaz stood at the door in his beat-up grey sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants. He looked a little rough, well, as rough as someone with his looks could be. He scratched the back of his head, “Sorry, didn't think anyone would be up this late.” Dark eyebags colored his smooth brown skin, making him look like he was two steps from passing out.

Your eyebrows furrowed in a slight amount of worry, “rough night?” He nodded, walking into the room, and making a beeline for the refrigerator.

“Pretty much, figured it was better to be awake than sleeping if sleep wasn't doing me any good.” He yawned, grabbing one of those refrigerated protein bars from the fridge. You nodded a silent understanding. Nightmares were commonplace, nobody talked about them, but everyone had a shared understanding of what went on in and after you woke up. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish where the dream ended and reality began.

He looked back at you as he tore the wrapper off, “What about you? You look like shit…so I want to say you're in the same boat?” Gaz took a large bite of his bar.

You groaned, your head falling back down on the wood table. “Gee, thanks. But not really, just sorting out some other business.” You said bitterly.

Gaz hummed in understanding, but when you looked back up he was pulling the opposite end chair out. He sat himself across from you, folding his arms as he ate. “Okay, what's up then?” He said plainly.

You blinked at him, “What? No, I'm not just going to tell you. It's private.” You said shaking your head and putting your hands up as if to block his question. Gaz looked at you unimpressed, raising a single eyebrow.

“Uh-huh, does it have something to do with Price?” He said, staring at you with the intensity of a laser.

You almost choked on your spit, looking at him like he'd just killed your family cat in front of you. Your mouth agape, “Absolutely not. Why would you think it’d be about Price?” You said quickly.

Gaz simply looked at you, raising both his eyebrows at you. A silent communication of ‘Are you serious?’ was said by his stare. After another moment of the staring contest, you gave up, dropping your head back down with a groan. “I'm so fucked.” You said defeated.

He perked up, “Spill.” Was all he said.

You covered your mouth, almost as if to stop yourself from saying anything. This was so breaking every agreement you and Price had talked about. But frankly, you were going insane keeping it to yourself. And maybe Gaz was the best person to tell, as much as you loved Ghost and Soap, they were useless at keeping secrets.

You glanced back up to Gaz, his brown eyes intently staring at you. Your resolve started to crumble, “I think I’m in love with him.” Whispered, the haunting words magnifying the gravity of the situation you found yourself in.

Gaz’s eyes shot wider like he’d just been injected with 1,000g of caffeine. His mouth fell open, and the half-eaten bar in his hands dropped onto the table. You both sat there staring at each other with similar mortified expressions. He shut his mouth, “I-Well that wasn't really what I expected to hear.” He said agast.

You buried your face into your hands, groaning. “Fuck I know- I don't even know where that came from. But we've been like…messing around with each other for a few months, and I thought it was just that.” You sighed, rubbing your face with your palms. “But now everything is like complicated, I just let my feelings take the reins and got ahead of myself. Now I don't know what to do and nobody knows because obviously, I couldn't tell anyone. After all, either of us could get in trouble.”

Gaz sat silent as you rambled on, “-I’m still not sure exactly what I'm feeling. I've never felt this way about anyone else, I've had boyfriends, but not a weird hookup situation. So, I'm not sure how one really goes about this.” You looked down at the table, taking a breath. “So, does that answer your question?” You breathed.

He stared at you, dumbfounded. “So that rumor you got so mad over was true?” He said lamely, to which you groaned and threw your hands up in the air.

“No!” You whisper shouted, “-I mean no but yes. The rumor came first, that night I stormed off Price kissed me. And after that things just kinda… got carried away.” You said sheepishly, feeling a bit guilty.

Gaz let out a deep sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Jesus [Name], I knew something was going on between you but I didn't think it went that deep.” He ran a hand over his chin, scratching his jaw. “-So…you and Price have been secretly fucking, but just recently you realized that this uh, arrangement, has gone to shit because you now have feelings for him. Am I following?”

You pursed your lips into a tight line, “Pretty much.”

He nodded and hummed in concentration, “Okay, but what changed? What made you realize you had feelings? Because to the rest of the team, it still looks like you’re at each other's throats.” Gaz said, crossing his arms.

You thought about it for a moment, trying to pull maybe a specific event from your memory. “I guess it just kinda built up…I mean he just changed. Sure we still fight but it’s more like banter now. He kisses me, and he holds me, he's funny and sweet…it's almost like I get to see an entirely new version of him that I just didn't see before.”

Gaz blinked at you, seemingly surprised. “Actually?” He said, stunned. To which you nodded aggressively.

“Yes- he's totally done a 180. But in a good way, he's still the same asshole but he's loving and caring too. And I feel like I'm pulling my teeth out just staying in a situation where he makes me feel like I mean so much, but then I have to go and pretend I hate him.” (you still sometimes did.)

Gaz listened to you speak, holding his chin while he thought about your words. After you were done, all he could do was sigh, “Well…shit. Half of me wants to pat you on the back while the other half wants to slap you across the face for being stupid.”

You scrunched your nose, holding your hands up in surrender. “Please don't, I have enough problems as it is. I don't need to add a black eye into the mix.”

Gaz breathed an amused laugh, though, it sounded more weary than you would've liked. Even if it was the worst idea in the world to tell him, you felt better now that it was off your chest. You looked down at the table, “So, what do I do now?”

He opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was silence. He was just as lost as you were.

You looked at him hopelessly, “Come on man, give me something.”

Gaz looked down at the table, pursing his lips in a tight line. Obviously, he had an idea, but he just wasn't saying anything. “What if you tried to make it work with him?” He proposed.

Your eyes widened a fraction, your mouth hanging open in what only could be described as ‘gobsmacked.’ “You're kidding right?” You asked, your tone nearly laughable.

He shook his head, crumbling up the wrapper of his protein bar and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. His shoulders rose with a sigh, “No I'm not. I mean… why not just try? It sounds to me like you've got a fighting chance to make things work.” He said encouragingly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, your eyes squeezing shut. “Two minutes ago you said you wanted to slap me, and now you're telling me that I should go for it?” You said incredulous.

Gaz held his hands up in surrender, “Yes, but that was before I knew everything. I just thought you were fucking the Captain at first, which is still completely idiotic. But it sounds to me like both of you are emotionally invested in each other.” He said putting his hands back down, “-And you're only here for a couple more months right? Just keep it on the down-low then you can do whatever you want. I'm like ninety percent sure that Price likes you too.”

You groaned, your head falling on the table with a clunk. “Only ninety percent?” Peeking up to look at him, his face morphing into one of scrunched wash cloth.

“Maybe like eighty-five. But those are still good odds in my book.” He said guiltily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You're not helping.” You sighed, resuming your dramatic pity party. Gaz rolled his eyes at your antics, placing a comforting hand on your head and giving it an encouraging pat. “Hey, I'm not saying you have to do some big confession. All I'm doing is suggesting that communicating with him may bring some good. Like Soap said that one time, Price acts differently around you, I think you've got some good chances.”

You finally looked up at him again, his face a pitying smile. “Think about it.” He said finally, leaving you with more on your mind than you originally started with.

“Okay, I'll think about it.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Four months to go and nothing had happened. Well, not necessarily, the team had continued to train, your sneaking around with Price was still going, and the world kept spinning. Turns out that realizing one's feelings for another doesn't cause the sun to explode. Fascinating stuff.

However, there was still no confession of feelings of any kind. The two of you danced around your ‘relationship’ like it was a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode. Maybe it was for the greater good, some things were just better off unsaid.

In the meantime, your focus had shifted in light of new events that were fast approaching. You still cringed thinking of your first real mission back in Urzik, and while nothing horrible happened, it still left you with a sour taste on your tongue. There were small things 141 had been doing but now a new mission was right around the corner. There was still little to no word about rouge commander Shepard nor an explanation of the abandoned facility you had raided months back.

You still didn't even know if the two were connected, probably not. But it was still possible, maybe best not to think too hard about it. After all, you weren't the brains behind the operations, you were just the pon they sent to die in their place.

The air around 141 had become tense again, much like before Urzik. Everyone was on edge, especially Price. You were happy to take the edge off most of the time, but there were some things that sex just couldn't fix. And this fell into that category.

You were sitting on an office chair in one of the conference rooms around base. The rest of the team stood close to the large wooden table or sat in the other scattered chairs. The tension in the room was thick, nobody said a word. All focus was on Price, who stood a few feet apart from the group, flipping through a manilla folder. His eyebrows furrowed in tension and his lips pulled into a subtle frown.

He set the folder down, “We’re going back to Urzik.”

You could almost feel the shift in the mood from bad to worse. But before you could voice your complaints Soap beat you to it. “We’re going back to that shite hole? After what happened last time I would have assumed someone figured out that we should stay out of the terrorists and the Russians assholes.”

Price sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. “We don't know if they were terrorists back at the compound. And Urzik hasn't been under Russian occupation since 2019.” He said, earning a half laugh from both Soap and Ghost.

“Come on Cap, you don't even believe that crap they're pushing.” Soap chuckled, his arms crossed over his chest. Leaning against the wall behind you.

While it was true that Urzikstan had been liberated from Russian rule, some of the men under General Markov’s command had disappeared after his death. Leaving some loose ends for the CIA and SAS to clean up. There had been some word of Markov’s men teaming up with local militant groups who despised Urzik’s central government. But it wasn't confirmed, nor viable.

Price shook his head, “It doesn't matter if I believe it or not. The point is that we have a job to do and we’re not going to let past affairs get the better of our judgment.” He ran his hand over the scruff of his beard, “-Laswell wouldn't be sending us in again if she didn't have a good reason to. They have reasonable intel that just outside of Riyzabbi there's an abandoned bazaar where all of the goods from the compound were relocated.”

Ghost chimed in, “So they're sending us on the same wild goose chase they did before? Who's to say they don't pull the same shite as last time?”

You nodded along with his words, he had a point. Price grunted, waving him off. “Like I said before, they have better intel. I'm asking you to trust me, if I see anything I don't like we’re out. Whatever is in there, we have the means to put it to an end.”

Everyone fell silent, taking in the information. It was a while before anyone spoke again, Soap sighed. “If I have to eat that awful food back at checkpoint base I’m quitting on the spot.”

For a second the mood shifted, and you laughed, but the reality of the situation was hovering over you like a looming storm cloud.

For a brief moment, you locked eyes with Price, and his stare told you everything you needed to know. He was just as frustrated, if not more so. His gaze shifted again, staring down at the table with an intensity you couldn't fathom. “Everyone’s dismissed. We leave at 0500 in 72 hours.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

As Price said, 72 hours later, you were back in the air, flying to Urzikstan. An ache gnawed at the back of your head, making the already dreary ride more depressing. You were too uncomfortable to sleep and too tired to stay awake. Creating an odd out-of-body experience that you had the “pleasure” of basking in for the whole 5-hour flight.

After you had landed at the checkpoint base you took a moment to reacquaint yourself with the landscape. Not much had changed aside from a few new tents and other minor additions to the camp. You felt a sense of Deja Vu looking at the old dining hall tent and medical area. Memories from your and Price’s first kiss flooded your mind, under different circumstances, it might have been somewhat pleasant recounting the moment. But now, it only made you feel profoundly sad. It was nostalgic-back when everything was simpler between the two of you.

Whatever was bubbling up inside you, you shoved it down as far as it could go. Hating someone was a lot more straightforward than loving them.

You made your way to the ‘barracks,’ setting what little things you had onto the small cot. Everyone else was just as miserable as you were, obviously, this wasn't their first choice for sleeping quarters. A part of you wished it wasn't daytime, it would be easier to sleep away the anxiety and headache.

You had until dark to do as you pleased, when nightfall came, you were going to be loaded up into the trucks again. From there, you'd go to Riyzabbi, and once it was clear to do so, to the bazaar.

Just like the last time you were here, you felt a deep sense of dread. One that you couldn't pinpoint, nor could you explain away with ‘just nerves’. There was too much that you didn't know, and too little payoff. The only advantage 141 had was the element of surprise, and even that wasn't confirmed. A small part of you felt anger towards Laswell, she probably knew that there was something off about this mission, and yet she was sending you and the team directly into the pit of lions.

To quell the sense of impending doom, you started to wander around the checkpoint base. Not sure where you were going or what your end goal was, you continued walking. That was until you heard someone's voice bleeding out from one of the tent walls. Their tone was accusatory, malicious even, it was laced with so much venom you could feel your skin recoil. It didn't sound familiar, but the voice who came after it did.

“You know just as well as I do it's a suicide mission. I’m not sending my team out there to die. All for some fucking game of territory monopoly and protecting Shepard.”

Price.

The other voice spoke up again, seemingly more agitated than the first time if that was possible. “Shepard is gone, and he sure as hell isn't going to be here in Urzik. And It's not a suicide mission. The CIA hired your team to do a job, not back out when things get real. Your opinion on how the government deals with involvement concerning foreign enemy affairs has no merit, Captain. If it were up to me, your team wouldn't even be here, but Kate Laswell keeps you on a tight leash doesn't she?”

You heard a loud bang, akin to a hard fist being slammed onto flat wood. “Watch your mouth. You and your muppets can both go crawl back under the CIA’s boot. As for Laswell, you know just as well as I do she would be more than happy to bring you and rouge commander Shepard's previous associations to the attention of your government.”

There was silence for a beat. Suddenly you could feel your heart beating, pounding in your chest. Your fingers felt numb, and even time seemed to slow. You could say with 100% certainty that you were not supposed to be listening, you weren't even sure if you wanted to keep listening. You heard footsteps coming from the inside, in your peripheral vision, you caught the slight rustle of the tent door. Without thought you jumped out of sight, pressing yourself to the side of the tent just as a man stormed out.

You watched the back of his head as he muttered something, you held your breath. After a good minute, you exhaled, silently creeping out from where you stood. Something in you was telling you to leave, to pretend you had never heard what you did. But there was a magnetic pull that drew you back into Price.

Carefully, you peeked your head through the tent door. A few feet away was Price, his back was turned with his hand over his face, the other on his hip. Before you could speak he turned around to see you, his eyes growing twice the size. Time seemed to freeze for a second time, you watched his eyes go from surprise to anger, and then to exhaustion. By the look on your face, he most likely already knew what you were hiding.

“How much did you hear?” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his cheek.

You walked into the tent, standing awkwardly in front of the door. “Just the last part.” You confessed, swallowing what little bravery you had left.

Price didn't respond, his hand moving over his eyes to rub and smooth over his temples. His cheeks pulled in as he bit the inside of his mouth. “Right… well, I'm sorry you had to hear that.” He breathed, his voice more weary. A stark contrast to the raw anger you heard from him a few moments prior.

You shook your head, “Don't be sorry. At first, I was mad at you and Laswell for going through with this. But… I guess after that, I know you didn't want to either.” You tried your best to form a semblance of hope, giving him a drained smile. “Like you said, this mission is fucking suicide. But if anyone can lead the team and somehow come out alive, it's you.”

There was a flash of something in Price’s eyes, it was the same thing that you saw back on your walk with him months prior. You glanced down at his hands, watching the way they flexed. Like he was aching to hold, to touch something. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, “I’m sorry.” He breathed, “-I’m sorry that I'm putting you and the guys in this situation.”

Price’s hand came back up, dragging it across the side of his face. His eyes shut tight, eyebrows knit together. “It's just…the longer I stay here, doing this, the more it's clear to me none of it was for a greater good. And I don't want that for you.” He sighed, “-I…I want you to know there is a way out [Name]. You don't have to continue to do this.”

This made you draw back, Price had never sounded like this before. He sounded like he was already admitting defeat, and like he was giving you a chance to escape what you chose to do. Your eyebrows furrowed, marching straight up to him with your lips twisted in a frown. You reached up to pull his hand away from his face, your other hand reaching up to cup his cheek with your hand. Your palm pressed against his jaw, feeling the rough bristle of his beard under the pads of your fingers. Forcing him to look at you.

“Don’t do that.” You said sternly, making his eyes snap back. Looking at you with a mixture of surprise and confusion. “-Don’t act like everything is already set in stone, we don't know what's going to happen. It could go bad but it could also be fine. And you're also acting like I didn't choose to be here, I'm willing to do this job Price. Just because I don't like what shady shit someone is doing behind the scenes doesn't mean I'm going to back out.”

Price stared at you, and you stared back. Willing him to understand that you had hope for him, you had hope for the team. Maybe it was stupid to try and be strong, but if you didn't try, you'd be giving up too.

You couldn't leave, not now. Not when you had a reason to stay. As much as you hated the idea of someone sending you into a death trap, the only thing you hated even more would be leaving Price to go into said death trap. You couldn't pry yourself away from him even if you tried. Your hand squeezed his, I love you, the gesture said.

Price squeezed your hand back, “[Name], I-” I love you, his eyes said. You shook your head, staring back at him with the same intensity.

“I know.” You breathed back. You couldn't stand it, you wanted to hear the words from his mouth. You wanted it with everything in you, but this was probably the worst time you could think of to confess. So, you settled for a mutual understanding. A silent promise, that when you came back maybe things could be different.

There was another beat before he leaned in, and like an idiot, you let it happen. Your hand tightened slightly against his cheek, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed you. His lips were warm, and you sighed into his mouth as you got a taste of him. His mouth that tasted like smoke and whiskey, and you yearned for more. His body was charged with an electricity that sent shivers down your spine. Every brush, touch, and groan had you on edge.

Before you knew it, he was pushing you up against the table that sat in the middle of the room. Your hand slid down from his face to fist into his shirt as you were slowly backed against the wood. You should've pushed him off, it was too risky to be doing this now. It was mid-day for fucks sake, not only that but anyone could walk into the tent.

Yet something about the tension, exposed and raw like an open cable wire, held you back from protesting. Hell, if this was the last time you were going to see him outside of the field, mind as well go out with a bang (literally).

Price must've come to the same conclusion by the way he sat you down on the table, standing in between your parted thighs. His breath was heavy and his lips slick, taking you in with his eyes. “Fuckin’ Christ love, you're a vision. I don't say it enough, but you're gorgeous.” He murmured, breathless.

You felt your cheeks go hot, the warmth seeping up into your ears. Taking compliments was never your strong suit. Price pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead, his hands moving from your waist to the belt and zipper of your pants. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, “Baby lay back for me.”

Well with that voice, you couldn't bear to not comply. You hesitantly lowered your back onto the flat wood of the table. Propping yourself on your elbows, watching as Price slowly pulled your pants down to reveal your undergarments. His eyes flickered to you then back to your covered pussy, an insatiable hunger in those pools of navy blue. He lowered to his knees, hooking your thighs under his biceps. Price pressed a few soft nips and kisses to the burning skin of your inner thighs, earning a few soft gasps on your part.

Your nails scraped against the wood, biting down on your lip to keep your voice down. With one hand, Price hooked his finger against the fabric of your panties, parting it to the side to show your soaked cunt. A small groan left him at the sight of you, he glanced back at you. “You’re gonna be quiet now right?”

Without a thought behind it, you nodded. Desperate to have his mouth on you, he leaned in, flattening his tongue to lick a long stripe up your folds. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering for a moment. When he started to swirl his tongue over your clit, you almost broke. “Price-” You gasped out, your voice a whisper.

He hummed against your cunt, suctioning his mouth against your clit. “No Price here, we’re far past that love. Use my name baby, use my name and I'll listen.” He murmured, the vibrations of his voice making your mind dizzy. One of your hands threaded into his short hair, guiding his face against your pussy.

“Fuck- John, feels good. Feels so good.” You whispered, your voice almost a mewl. His dull nails dug into the meat of your thigh, groaning softly as he lapped at your weeping cunt. Your eyes squeezed shut, all of your concentration honing in on trying not to moan out loud.

His tongue switched between fast flicks of your clit and drawn-out open-mouthed kisses to your mound. When you got more desperate you guided him to where you wanted, and John was happy to oblige.

Your back was now flat on the table, thighs locked around Price’s head like a boa constrictor. Your voice was now silent moans and labored breaths, and with every passing moment, it was harder to stay quiet. Your nails tugged at his hair, gripping onto him like a lifeline. John suddenly pushed his tongue into your hole without warning, pushing the tip of the muscle in and out with vigor. You nearly screamed, slapping a hand over your mouth to bite on your knuckle.

Price was devouring you like a man starving.

Your back arched off the wood of the table, methodically moving your hips in tandem with his tongues movements. The slurry of noises coming from John’s mouth and your cunt was obscene. Wet smacks of his lips mixed with small groans and deep gasps.

It felt like you were floating, your senses muddied beneath the feeling of his mouth. Your body was burning, a coil in your stomach just begging to snap. You bucked your hips into his face, begging him to quell the fires raging in your body. Price seemed to catch on, he held one of your thighs tight while the other slid between your legs. His mouth hovering over your pussy, he slipped a digit into your aching cunt.

You silently cried out, your core tightly gripping his finger as he curled it inside you. Then, he slowly worked in a second, mimicking the ‘come here’ motion with his fingers buried deep in your pussy. “Atta’ girl, little longer for me.” John breathed against you, his breath fanning against your cunt.

Suddenly he was on you again, swirling his tongue over your swollen bud while curling his digits in you. You could have died happy then and there, everything felt so good you couldn't think. Your nails dug into the table, marking it with long stripes.

Between his fingers and his tongue, you were a goner. Your vision went white, trying your hardest not to scream out to the heavens. “John- shit I can’t I'm gonna cum.” You whined through heavy pants, tears pooling in the corner of your iris from the stimulation.

“Come on then, cum for me. Let go love, cum on my mouth.” He murmured against your sopping pussy, flicking his tongue over your clit and speeding the movement of his fingers.

That was all it took before you came, hard. Your back arched and your head fell back, biting down on your hand so hard that it hurt. Your thighs shook as the wave of your orgasm crashed over you, white-hot and mind-blowing. And John fucked you through it, never letting up on his page until you fell limp like a bag of flour. After those precious few moments, he gently slid his fingers from your cunt. Pressing a soft kiss to your thigh before setting it down slowly.

You were gone. Your brain turned to mush, a daze of post-orgasm exhaustion and giddiness. Slowly you blinked your eyes back open, letting John slowly guide you back to a sitting position. He held the small of your back while his other hand held your face.

“You alright?” John murmured, his mouth shiny with your slick. You couldn't help but laugh, your forehead hitting his lightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm alright.” You breathed. The after-glow hit you hard, but there was still the looming anxiety of the mission. You knew the moment wouldn't last forever, you just hoped you could bask in it a little longer.

John sensed the shift, knowing it was his turn to be brave, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. His eyes soft, “Hey, like you said, we’re gonna be okay. Nothing is set in stone yet.” He whispered, making you nod.

“Right. We’re going to come out of this.” You said, more for yourself. He nodded, the both of you knew deep down it was wishful thinking. But maybe having something to hope for, something to come back to, would push you to fight even harder to keep it.

And in the end, you were willing to do anything to keep this.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Everything around you was dark, with an air pungent with dust and grime. The walls only grew bigger and shadowed as you passed, ducking behind doors and boxes to remain out of sight. Just like last time everyone was paired in either a group of two or three, you were with Ghost. You had to give him credit where credit was due, as large and burly as he was, he was silent as he moved.

The bazaar was large, with huge openings in the ceilings covered by hanging fabric. Open doors that connected rooms and massive lamps draped from the walls. It might've even been nice had it not been for its years of inactivity, and under the cover of night, it was simply eerie. Wires covered the walls and ceiling, some even hanging down low enough to snag someone if you weren't careful.

You weren't quite sure what exactly you were looking for, after all, you didn't know what this aforementioned ‘bio-chemical lab’ looked like. And if it was easily portable, it wouldn't exactly look like your standard chemistry lab.

“[Name].”

Ghost spoke into your headpiece, standing several feet away. You snapped out of your train of thought, looking back at him.

“Let’s get a move on, the others are on the top floor. I'm guessing it’s near the bottom, or even underground, be on high alert. There's bound to be people this time around.” He said, earning a nod from your end.

With that, you made your way further into the bazaar. Gun at the ready, you weaved through rooms and piles of storage and other junk. When you got to a large room on the north side of the building, tucked away between rubble and containers your body tensed. There wasn't anything unordinary about it, it looked exactly like every other room, but something felt off. A few steps into the space and you had your explanation for the uneasiness you felt.

With an odd thunk’ of your boot on the ground, you looked back at Ghost. He looked back at you, the same expression on his face, it was hollow.

You came off it, brushing your foot over the area again to remove the grime and dust. It was a different color and texture than the ground. “Well I’ll be damned, you were right.” You breathed, “-Think this opens up from the outside?” Ghost kneeled on the ground next to whatever you found. Pushing his hand over it and sending small clouds of dust into the air.

“Doesn't matter if it does.” He said, fishing out a knife from his bullet vest. Finding a dibet with his finger in the ground he wedged the blade in between the surface, pulling up until the ground lifted.

With a grunt, he wrapped his fingers around the edge of the trap door. Pulling until the structure revealed a human-sized rectangular hole in the ground. A latter peeking out from inside the ground pressed into the side of the dirt. You stared down at it, knowing this was it. Clicking your headpiece, you spoke, “Cap, we got something. Northside, ground floor, it’s a trap door in the last room.”

After a moment you got a response, “Copy. See what you can find, we’re coming. If you see anything don't think, just shoot. I want you and Ghost alive.” Price’s voice rang loud and clear in your ear.

With a nod, you looked back down at the hole, even with night vision, it was hard to make out the bottom. Ghost was the first to go down, with you following suit the minute he gave the all-clear to come down. Inside was dark and smelled like mildew, a tunnel leading further into the unknown. The same wires that hung down from up on the surface were strung about the dirt walls. It wasn't spacious in the tunnel, but it didn't make you feel claustrophobic.

Ghost raised his gun, nodding to you to follow as you made your way deeper. It wasn't long until you reached a door, it wasn't impenetrable by any means, but it was going to be a pain to get through. But the thing that caught your attention most was the faint light that peeked from the cracks of the hinges. Ghost looked at you, “Get back, and I’ll break the door, you follow in straight after and shoot at anything you see.”

As said, with a firm kick, Ghost kicked the door down. The metal swung open with a crackle, and with your gun at the ready, you quickly followed him inside. The first thing you heard was voices, panicked and deep. Your eyes met a man in the corner of the room, quickly scrambling up to his feet and reaching the rifle that lay in front of him. Just like you were told, you didn't think, you acted on instinct.

Your gun went off, and his body was forced back by the blow. Blood spattered the wall behind him, his head rolling limp on his shoulders. You heard another shot fired, looking over to Ghost who was in firing position, and then to the direction of his rifle. Another body, this one standing, keeled over onto the floor, pooling red onto the ground. A deafening silence followed after, you waited for more voices but they never came.

“Just two?” You said, looking between the two. “-and they don't look local.” You muttered, focusing on the pale skin and European features. You looked back to Ghost who was standing a few feet away. “-Think they might be Russian like Soap said?”

Ghost shrugged, “It's possible.” He gruffed, looking around the room. It was emptier than you expected, with a table, lamps, flasks, and a few weapons. Another voice rang out from somewhere in the cavern before you could look any further. Coming from another hallway that you had missed when you first saw the room.

You quickly ran against the wall near the hallway entrance, pressing yourself into the hard surface so you wouldn't be seen. Ghost followed suit, and not a second later another man ran out, rifle in hand. And just like before you fired, watching the body hit the ground like a sac of potatoes.

This one looked like he could be from Urzik. You looked back at Ghost, who pushed off the wall, ducking into the hallway. It wasn't long before you entered a much bigger cavern, full of boxes and equipment. Open containers of guns with ammunition, tables covered with cylinder-shaped lab equipment. You could hardly classify this as a lab, more like a glorified basement with makeshift tools. Large computers also lined what little space they could occupy. Florescent overhead lights cast the room in a putrid dimish glow.

Before you had time to react a bullet brushed past your arm. Sending a burning shock through your system. You ducked, trying to avoid what you couldn't see.

“They're shooting!” You yelled out to Ghost, finding refuge in a large container that you hid behind.

You looked around, desperate to see where the firing was coming from. Your eyes caught three at first glance, one person across the room, hiding behind another container. Another fired from a doorway, and the last one hid behind a table. All three aiming for either your box of Ghost. Your hands held your gun with an iron grip, turning your knuckles white.

You peeked out from behind the container, aiming for the second guy in the doorway. Your first shot missed, but your second shot straight through his forehead. Ghost, from wherever he was, took out the third guy from behind the table. Leaving the one behind the other container, peaking back out you felt another bullet fly past you. You scrambled back, your heartbeat hammering in your chest.

You called out to Ghost, “I can't get him! You're gonna have to take the last one!” After another shot to your hiding place, chipping the wood of the contained, Ghost called back.

“Copy! I've got him!” He yelled, a final shot echoing through the cavern before everything fell into an eerie silence. You tentatively rounded the corner of the container, looking back at the first guy's hiding spot. When all you saw was his body flat on the ground, you breathed a sigh of relief.

You heard Ghost call to you again, “[Name], you hurt?” You stood up, looking over in the direction of his voice. He was behind one of the walls of the hallway, pressed against the dirt wall.

“No, I'm all good. You?” You said back, scanning him for any sign of injury. He shook his head, letting his gun fall to his side.

“I'm clear.” He said, walking out from the hallway. You looked back at the three bodies adorning the floor, which made six in total so far. These three also looked like they were locals, you walked over to one. Moving your foot to hover over their hand, you kicked the gun away, staring at the blackened tattoo on his palm. Before, Soap had mentioned that rebel groups in Urzik shared a tattoo on their palms. Much like a gang tattoo, it united them under a common collective.

You looked back at Ghost, “What do Urzik terrorists have to do with us? If this really is a problem with uprisings against their government, why would the SAS and the CIA get involved?”

Your mind flashed to the conversation between Price and the commander back at the checkpoint base. He had said that if it had been up to him, 141 would never have been involved. Laswell had been the one to push for the team's involvement, even with its potholes. Then came Shepard, whose disappearance had led to your involvement with the team in the beginning. The only link to this you had to Shepard was his name being mentioned back at base.

Jesus, your head hurt just trying to think about it.

Ghost walked over to you, “My advice wouldn't be to think too hard about it [Name]. We’re doing a job, thinking about shite like this leads into a bigger rabbit hole than you think.”

You nodded, a frown settling onto your lips. Nothing about this sat right with you, but that was the cost you paid for being here in the first place.

“The important thing is, we located the lab. Now we just make sure there's nobody else so someone else can pick up the mess over here.” He said, making you nod along with him. Price and the other guys would probably be down any minute, that would make clearing everything out a hell of a lot easier.

You looked back at the man on the ground, staring into the fleshy eyes that held no light. You were reminded of the compound, staring into the eyes of the man who had shot Price’s foot. You didn't feel sorry, more hollow.

Ghost turned his back, looking over to the entranceway hall. And the split second for him to turn around was all it took for something to go wrong all over again. With no warning, you felt something burn your side, sharp and hot like lava. A hand yanked you back, snaked around your neck, and held you back to something firm. You could barely choke out a gasp, the thorn in your side sending shocks of pain through your body you didn't even know was possible.

Something cold pressed against your temple, you could barely process what was happening before you heard a click. Ghost whipped around at the noise, immediately holding up his rifle to whatever was behind you.

For a brief moment, time stopped. You were all too familiar with what was happening, you were being held at gunpoint. Nobody moved, Ghost's voice suddenly echoing through the silent room. “Shepard. Let her go.” He said.

You blinked, Shepard? Fuck, you didn't see that coming. You thought maybe he had a small part in the involvement, but you didn't expect him to actually be here. You tried to look at him, but his arm around your throat only tightened, making you squirm. The thing in your side, most likely a knife, only seemed to hurt more the longer it was left sticking out of you.

“Drop your gun, and I will.” His voice was cold, it sounded like sandpaper. His breath made your nostrils recoil in disgust.

Ghost shook his head, his eyes darting between yours and the man holding you. “You and I both know that's not happening.” The barrel of the gun pressed into your skin harder, making you wince. Your hands clawing at his arm to pry him off your neck.

“If you don't drop that gun, I will kill this one. And that's a promise.” He said, your body felt numb, and the lack of oxygen only seemed to make you all the weaker. You heard voices from beyond the hallway, your mind screaming for John. You needed him, you needed him to come and fix the mess you had gotten yourself into. Being a hostage was by far your least favorite activity.

Ghost swallowed, still pointing his gun at Shepard. “Shepherd, it's in your best interest that you let her go. You're not getting out of this, you know that. You shoot her and it’s just another kill added to your list of crimes, let’s not lengthen that sentence.”

Shepard snarled, “I'll be damned if I'm sent to prison, we can do this all-day lieutenant. You pull that trigger, and I fire. If you put the gun down, maybe we can negotiate something.”

You tried gasping for air, your airways closing up. Nails clawing at his shirt, like a caged animal trying to get out of its enclosure. From your squinted eyes you could make out the form of Price, Gaz, and Soap entering the room, guns at the ready. The pain in your side fired back up again as the blade twisted, making you yelp.

“Shepherd put the fucking gun down!” You absentmindedly recognized John's voice, your vision growing fuzzier by the second.

You tried your best to fight, thinking of anything you could to stay conscious. You thought of your friends, family, and John. Between the knife in your side, the gun against your head, and his arms around your throat it was a miracle you could even think. You blinked again, gasping for more air. You saw Ghost and Price, Soap a few feet away, Gaz must've been somewhere in the room as well.

“Get back or she's dead!” Shepard barked, his voice ringing in your ear. You saw blotches of black in your vision, your body slowly losing its feeling.

As you blacked out, you heard a gunshot fire.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A white light flooded your vision, making your face scrunch up in discomfort. It was harsh and almost painful, you tried shutting your eyes as tight as they could go, but it was burned into your retinas.

Your limbs felt sluggish, you couldn't lift your arms. It seemed like you could only move your face, after another minute of trying to shut out the light, you gave up. Blinking your eyes open, you saw said white light hanging down from an even whiter ceiling.

“Holy shit, you're awake.” A female voice said, making you halt. You knew that voice, your eyes darted to the sound. Turing your head from its apparent, laying position to follow your gaze. Your eyes met an older woman, she had bangs and blondish hair.

“Laswell?” You croaked, your voice was shot. It sounded like a frog, making you internally cringe.

Kate Laswell stood at the foot of your bed, her hands grabbed at your arm. “Don’t talk [Name], the nurse said you shouldn't be using your voice for the next couple of days.” She scolded. You grunted, your throat felt as dry as the Sahara.

The pain slowly started to come back, a deep-seated ache that made you wince. “What happened?” You breathed. Your mind was fuzzy, the last thing you remembered was being in the bazaar and being held at gunpoint by Shepherd.

Laswell pursed her lips in a line, obviously not too thrilled about the events that transpired. “Well, John told me after you passed out they managed to disarm Shepard. But by that point, you were already gone, so they got you out. After that, you were transported to the checkpoint base and now you're in the hospital.”

You were following up until the hospital part, last time you checked, the checkpoint base didn't have a full-fledged hospital. “Hospital where?” You croaked, looking at Laswell for an answer.

“D.C,” She said plainly, almost like it was obvious. “It was the easiest place I would be able to keep an eye on you until you woke up.”

You barely had the energy to be surprised, “Oh.” Was what you settled on. “Where is the rest of the team?” You asked.

She sighed, “John is here. Garrick and Ghost are still in Urzik for another day, they have other matters they need to sort out first. Soap also came here with you, though he's not in the hospital.”

You nodded along, a small part of you relaxed when you heard John's name. He was here, which meant he was most likely safe. Your eyes closed, “oh, good then.” You sighed, your voice a whisper. Any louder and it would sound like your vocal cords were being torn to ribbons.

Laswell looked down at you, a sadness in her eyes. Almost guilt, “[Name].” She said, grabbing your attention again, “-I’m pulling you off the team early.”

You froze, your eyes doubling in size. Maybe you misheard her, 141 was your family, she couldn't just pull you off. You still had a few more months with them! “What? Why?” You asked throatily.

She looked at you incredulously, “Because you almost died. Honestly, it was my fault in the beginning, I shouldn't have put you in the situation.” Your eyes narrowed, you tried to sit up but she placed a firm hand on your chest to keep you from doing so.

“Laswell, I’m fine. I don't need to be taken off 141, everyone in the world has probably had a near-death experience.” You protested, “-I want to keep being on the team, I know at first I was only doing this as a favor but I'm not anymore.”

Laswell looked at you, a bit stunned. Her eyes stared into yours, deciphering if you were really telling the truth. “Are you sure? I was only going to do it because I believed that is what’s in your best interest. But are you positive this is what you want? Even after what happened?”

You stared back at her, determined as ever. “I'm positive.”

There was a beat of silence before Laswell sighed, rubbing her face. “Okay,” she breathed. “But you're still not allowed to participate in anything until you're fully healed.” Your demeanor relaxed again, almost sinking into the mattress. It was a win, a small one, but a win nonetheless.

You looked back at her, “You said Price was here right?” You asked, trying your best to hide the eagerness in your tone.

She nodded, “Yes, he's outside. He's been coming with me to check on you.”

You could've run out of bed at that exact moment, from the first minute you'd woken up he was occupying half of your thoughts. “Could I talk to him…?” You asked, trying to disguise your desperation.

Laswell gave you a pointed look, obviously, she knew more than what she was letting on. “You have ten minutes, then I'm pulling him out so you can get more rest.”

You thanked her profusely, waiting in anticipation for John to walk through the door. You shimmied up into a sitting position, trying not to irritate the stitches in your side. After a minute, your captain walked through the door. His hair was a bit tousled, and his beard had been trimmed, but there were large bags under his blue eyes. Clad in an army-green cotton shirt with jeans. He was a sight for sore eyes that was for sure.

After a minute of staring he bolted across the room, enveloping you in a tight embrace. His hand holding the back of your head to his chest and his other arm wrapped around your back. You weakly tried to hug him back, inhaling his scent.

“You have no idea how worried I was.” He breathed, pulling away to get a good look at your face. His hands cupped your jaw like a precious jewel. You smiled, laughing to the best of your ability.

“Well, I'm alive. That's saying something.” You breathed, taking him in. You’d barely spent any time away from him, yet you missed him, you needed his presence like you needed air. “Nobody can kill me that easy, not even Shepard.”

He looked at you, unimpressed by your attitude, “I wouldn't boast your level of confidence for someone in a hospital bed.” He deadpanned. You simply waved him off, but a question popped into your mind before you could say anything.

“Hey, what was Shepherd doing there anyway? I know you mentioned him earlier but I still don't understand why he was involved.” You asked, making him sigh.

John rubbed his neck, leaning back a little from his position. “If I'm being honest? I don't know either, I had a feeling he would be there but I wasn't positive. My best guess would be that he probably got involved with Markov's goons after he went rogue. After they must've teamed with underground gangs to keep tabs on what the CIA was up to.” He looked back at you, “A few people from the inside still had communication with him, that was most likely how we got the tip-off that he was in Urzik.”

You hummed, mostly glad you could put Urzik behind you. It was over and that was all that mattered, “So what happens now?” You asked.

Price raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“What happens now that you caught him?” You clarified. Staring at him curious.

John shrugged, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Well Shepherd is dead, he died during the altercation back in Riyzabbi. As for the team, we go back to normal. A few people who had relations with Shepherd are being tried in international court for unauthorized communication with enemies. But that's it, as far as I know.”

You hummed, letting your eyes flutter shut. Basking in the feel of his thumb against your skin, “Mm, and us…?” You asked, feeling a bit brave.

You felt him halt, “Well, you obviously know we can't exactly be public about this.” You opened your eyes back up to him, “-But, I don't think I can really deny what I feel for you.”

Your lips curled into a warm smile, one that seemed to say ‘I love you.’ John traced the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, ‘I love you’ the gesture said.

“I love you.” You said, unable to hold yourself back from uttering the words any longer.

John smiled, “I love you too.”

Pulling you in for a chaste kiss, you smiled against his lips. Your nose brushed his, his eyelashes tickling your skin.

You were going to be just fine.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Hey, don't go!

Okay first things first, I want to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reposted, or send me kind messages on my last post. I never thought I would reach 1,000 likes but you guys work miracles! It literally means the world to me.

Second, so sorry for the long wait. I know it was awhile but I’m balancing my classes, social life, and my writing so it gets hectic sometimes. But I appreciate you for having patience in me, I want to ask if you would be so kind as to like, repost, or leave a comment! It really helps, more than you know.

Lastly, you definitely haven’t seen the last of me yet. There is more content coming! It might take a bit but I am working hard to please you ;) and with that I hope you enjoyed Captains Girl Part II, I love you all! Toodles ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ 💕

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Taglist

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.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Part I of… Captains Girl: ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Thank you

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Captain’s Girl. [Part I]

John Price x Reader (Call of Duty)

Synopsis: After Laswell pitches you a favor to join 141, you're left with no choice but to accept. The only problem arises when you and the Captain start to butt heads, but if the two of you hate each other as much as you say, then why is the rest of the team calling you his girl?

Tags: Enemies to lovers, tension, military romance, forbidden love, smut, fighting, secret feelings, slow burn.

Word count? You know the drill, it’s long.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

‘Captain John Price.’ You skimmed the document again, his name catching your eye for the third or fourth time. The black ink seemed to bleed together against the crisp paper of your enrollment documents into Special Forces Task Force 141. It was a promotion, and an honor at that, special forces to begin with were selective.

But 141 was almost unheard of, a combination of British special forces and American special forces. They were one of the best, and you were about to become a part of it. You read the documents again.

‘All personnel will be working under John Price and answering to Kate Laswell, respectively-’ Your eyes trailed further along the mess of columned words, making sense of the legality aspects of transferring to a new team. You hadn't expected to be transferred over, not until Kate had contacted you with an offer. You could tell she was put under pressure by the way her voice strained against the receiver…

“Look, I need you here. Ever since Shepard went rogue, we've been a bit tight over here. John has stepped in as commanding officer; technically, we already have a sharpshooter on 141. But we could use a hand, just until we sort out our bearings. Then, if you'd like, I can transfer you back to your current team…”

You'd raised an eyebrow, “Laswell, you're acting like I'm the only one who can fill these shoes. Why don't you hire a private contractor from KorTac? I'm sure they have more experience anyway.” You heard her blow out air from her nose, amused. “[Name], I don't think I have to tell you how much these guys hate private contractors. We need someone who can work as a collective team, you know… integrate themselves for the time being.”

You pursed your lips together, weighing out the pros and cons. However, Laswell was one of the best people you had ever met, a long-time friend since the baby days of your recruitment. She was a woman of her word, and she had your back. And if she said this team needed someone, she was being serious. You sighed, leaning back, “Okay, send me the details, Laswell. I'll think about it.”

…You read the contract one last time; it was simple enough. You would be transferred to 141 at the end of the month; it was a year-long contract. Which, in a way, made you a private contractor, too. The rest of 141 was under the impression that you were there to stay, everyone except the Captain and, of course, Laswell, not that she was on 141. If they decided they didn't need you before the contract ended, you could pick to stay for the remainder of the year or transfer back to your original task force.

A sigh left your mouth; you picked up your pen and flipped to the last page. Etching your signature into the blank line. You had till the end of the month; as of that moment, you were officially a member of 141.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Well, you had to give Laswell credit where credit was due. It had been a few weeks since your arrival and you fit in quite smoothly into 141; you believe she called it “integrating.” To nobody's surprise, the team was almost entirely men, aside from Ferrah, who was stationed elsewhere. It hadn't been long since your arrival until you were bound to run into someone; Jhonny was the first…

It was later in the day and you were wandering about; transferring to a new location was something you never got used to, so you tried to get a head start on mapping out the place. Everything was similar to your last base, but you still felt a bit alien. A small room tucked off to the side caught your eye, and you followed in that direction. It was a small break room, a kitchen, and a fridge tucked away in the side; there were a few cupboards and a single run-down couch.

You mosied over to the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking inside drawers. You found the usual silverware, mugs, napkins, junk, and tea bags. You stopped; tea actually sounded pretty good. Sitting on the counter was one of those electric tea kettles; you reached for it.

Waiting until the water was boiling, you grabbed the first mug you saw in the cupboard. As you dipped one of the tea bags into the scalding liquid, the door handle jostled across the room. You heard him before you saw him; his voice was deep, a bit raspy, with a thick Scottish accent. Walking through the door came a man dressed in sweatpants and a military-issued shirt. His head was shaved aside from a cropped mohawk of brown hair. His face was pulled into a subtle frown with his eyebrows furrowed. A phone pressed against his head by his shoulder.

You locked eyes with him, the pale spheres of his eyes boring into yours. You could tell he was studying you, maybe trying to deduce if he had seen you before or if you were a stranger. Suddenly, you heard muffled talking coming from the receiver of his phone. You looked down at your tea, not wanting to be considered rude for staring.

The man's voice came again, but it was almost unreadable. It was like a different language, probably Scottish, and then it stopped. When you looked back up, he was standing a few feet away from you, reaching into one of the cupboards.

“Sisters.”

You blinked; it took you a moment to understand he was talking to you. “I-What?” You asked, caught off guard by his comment. He looked back at you, holding up his phone. “S’who I was talking to.” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you nodded slowly; it was an odd way of making conversation. “Oh, okay…You uh- don't look too happy about it, family troubles?” You asked, his lips cracked into a soft smile, and he shook his head. “Nah, she's just a bit dafty. She's auld, so she feels the need to boss me around from time to time.”

You nodded along, trying to use context clues to understand some of his choice words. You watched him fill his mug with some water you had just boiled. “Ah, I see. I'm not sure I can relate; I'm the oldest sibling, so maybe I do all the bossing around.” He nodded, one of his thick eyebrows rasing, “How many siblings?”

You smiled, “Just two, a brother and sister.” The man hummed, looking down at his tea. “Gotcha…” A silence enveloped the room, and after another agonizing moment, he spoke up again. “You a new hire around here? Can't say I would forget a face like yours, lass.” You nodded, glad that the silence had been put to rest, a smile growing on your face at his comment. “Yeah, new transfer to 141.” Suddenly, his eyes grew more comprehensive, “You're the newbie?” He said, astonished.

You chuckled softly, “I wouldn't say newbie; I'm just a transfer from another unit.” His face cracked into a grin, “No kidding, apologies, didn't mean to come off as rude.” He held his hand out to you, “Johnny McTavish, team calls me Soap.”

Your eyebrows raised, “You're a part of 141?” His smile didn't fade as he nodded, “Aye, sharpshooter and sniper.” You felt a grin creeping up on your face; this Soap guy was friendly. Way friendlier than you thought the people on 141 would be. “I’m [Name]. I'm also a sharpshooter, but I also work with mechanics and firearms. Soap is…uh pretty interesting call sign, any meaning behind it?” You saw something in his eye; maybe it was pride, or perhaps something more sinister, “Well, when you clean out a room as fast as I do, people notice. You ain't got a callsign, Bonnie?”

You shook your head, “No, I guess my name has always just done the job.” Soap pat you on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you one.” You and Soap just talked for the next few minutes; it was nice. The conversation ebbed and flowed without problem; he nodded to the door after your tea was nearly empty. “Aye, Bonnie, why don’t I take you to meet the rest of the team? Give you a head start on the meet and greet.”

You smiled, “Yeah, why not?”

…The more time you spent with the team, the easier it got; it helped that they made good conversation. Jhonny was…well, Johnny, good sense of humor but never knew when to quit. Ghost was quieter; he didn't trust you immediately, but you'd managed to pull a few chuckles from him and the occasional polite conversation.

Kyle Garrick, or ‘Gaz,’ was an all-around good guy, funny, polite, and incredibly talented. You could never get over the time that you had gotten drunk off your ass, and Ghost told you a story of when Gaz fell out from a helicopter and was shooting at people while he was swinging from the airborne vehicle.

And then there was Price. Captain John Price, you'd met Price a day after Soap introduced you to the rest of the boys. To say the atmosphere was tense between you would be an understatement. From the minute he laid his eyes on you, they went stiff. His whole demeanor around you reminded you of a rock; it was like he didn't even want you on the team. His voice went curt, and whenever you spoke, his eyes bore holes into your head like he wanted to shoot lasers into your brain by just staring.

You'd talk about it to the rest of the team, but they shrugged it off. “Maybe he ain't used to you yet; it takes a while for the lad to trust anyone. He usually puts on the tough guy act for new recruits.” Ghost had said; Jhonny snorted at that. “Tough guy act? Dinnae, nothing bout that; when I first joined, the man made me want to pull out my hair. Think that's more than a tough guy act L.T.”

Usually, this wouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. But for some odd reason, he got under your skin like nobody else could. And believe, you were no stranger to difficult co-workers and bosses. Even worse, your first interaction with him was incredibly awkward, and you couldn't have left a good impression even if you had tried. It was almost etched into your mind like a stone tablet…

It was your last day to set up, get used to the team and your surroundings before you started working. The three days you had to relax were mostly spent either in the base gym, or eating in the cafeteria. What could you say, you were a creature of habit.

Until this point, you had met almost the entire team besides the captain. Technically, you weren’t required to meet him until you started working, but you'd already met everyone else. So, you figured it wouldn't hurt to get acquainted. You pried the information about Price’s whereabouts from Gaz: “I haven't seen him up and about today; usually, he's around. It probably means he's hauled up in his piss-poor office. The guy hates it there but usually locks himself up there when he's in a bad mood or has paperwork.”

Despite his warning, you went ahead and searched for Price’s office. That was mistake number one. After a minute or two of searching, you came across a door with the engraving “Price” carved into the wood in neat lettering. You reached for the door and tried to turn the handle, but nothing. It was locked; you frowned and tried again. But to nobody's surprise, the door remained shut.

So, you resorted to the next best thing. You knocked a few times but were met with radio silence. Maybe he wasn't in there, you chewed on your lip, thinking. There was a small window in the door, but it was covered by blinds. You squinted, pressing your hands to the wood and moving your face inches from the glass; you tried to peer inside despite the closed blinds. That was mistake number two.

“Can I help you?”

You jumped. The voice came from behind you. It was deep with a smooth British accent; you whirled around to face the person. Your eyes met what was possibly, in your opinion, sex on two legs. The man was tall and built like a tank, judging from how his biceps and chest filled out his cotton shirt. His face was stern, with short-cropped brown hair and a muttonchop beard. His eyes a deep shade of blue, you swallowed.

Damn.

You didn't believe you had a type, but this guy probably would've checked off all the boxes if you did. You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment; when he raised his eyebrow, you snapped out of your trance-like state. “I’m-uh looking for Captain Price. I thought I'd check his office, but I don't think he's there.” You cringed; your voice was rushed, a pitch higher, too.

The man crossed his arms; god, he could probably pop your head like a balloon with those things alone. “Well, you found him.” He said plainly. You stared at him briefly; of course, he was the captain. Why else would he be here? You wanted to punch yourself in the gut. “Oh,” you breathed, “great then. I wanted to introduce myself; I'm the new transfer.” You tried to muster up a confident smile, which most likely had the opposite effect, given he was looking at you like you'd grown a second head.

“[Name], I know. I read your file.” He deadpanned. His voice caught you a little off guard; he wasn't irritated per se, but he didn't seem happy about this introduction. You cleared your throat, “Great then, I'm sure Laswell told you I was coming?” You were grasping at strings here, trying to prolong the conversation.

“Yes. I'm well aware you are here. Laswell has a way of inserting help into my team.” You paused; well, that wasn't meant to be a compliment. Your smile faltered, and you looked around the room like this was some prank. “She said you guys needed someone…?”

Price nodded, his demeanor unsettlingly calm, “That’s her opinion. Now, I respect Laswell; she knows what she's doing. That doesn't mean I always agree with her; 141 was just fine, this is just a precaution on her part.”

You felt your eye twitch a little; you transferred from your other unit, the unit you were extremely close to, mind you… for this? You joined out of the kindness of your heart, only for this jackass to say you were ‘just a precaution.’ “Well, I hope you won't hold a grudge.” You said a bit curtly. Price pursed his lips together in a tight line.

“Wouldn't dream of it; a year is an awful long time to hold a grudge.” He said, the malice and ego coming off his tongue so strong you could almost taste it. What was this guy's problem with you? You did the nice thing and took time out of your day to introduce yourself to him. And he was treating you like you'd personally wronged him. “Good, then I won't either.” You breathed, frustrated. Price looked down at you, his eyes devoid of any emotion. “Well, that's good to hear; now, are you going to let me into my own office or keep standing there like a human blockade?”

This guy.

Your palms squeezed into fists, shooting him a nasty glare. You forgot you were standing right in front of the door, the embarrassment making the tips of your ears heat up. You pushed yourself to walk away, “It was nice meeting you, Captain.” You spit, venom in your tone, walking away like a wounded animal.

Suddenly, you somehow forgot about how hot he was; at that moment, you wanted to smash his gorgeous face into a wall. You liked your new Captain a lot more when he didn't speak. But the reality set in: John Price hated you for some unknown reason, and you were starting to hate him back.

…You had calmed down since that first encounter. Maybe it was a one-off thing; after all, you did go when Gaz warned you that he may already be in a bad mood. Maybe you had jumped the gun? and Price didn't hate you.

News flash: He hated you, and it was not a one-off encounter.

You were now a month into your new job, and if it weren't for Price, you would've actually been enjoying your time with 141. Everyone else was great; they were warming up to the idea of having you as a teammate. The training was hard on you, but you expected that, you were improving day to day. But no matter how well you did, you always had Price’s voice in your ear telling you that you could've done better. The man was running circles around you.

Slowly, you started to lose patience with him; when he laid out the bait, you bit. It was getting easier to react instead of keeping calm and passive-aggressively telling him you were grateful for the friendly criticism.

Even the team started to watch every interaction you had with the Captain keenly. They would tease you ruthlessly, saying his name while your back was turned just to laugh at the way your whole body seemed to go as stiff as a board.

“I swear the two of ya seem to bicker like an auld married couple. It's like watching my parents fight.” Soap had said to you once after an agitated conversation you'd had with Price moments before.

Was it your fault for causing some of the arguments between you two? Possibly. But he instigated just as much as you did; it was like a competition of who could get under the other's skin the most. And you couldn't even avoid him; Gaz wasn't kidding when he said he was out and about when Price wasn't in his office. He was like your shadow.

You were in the cafeteria? Oh, so was Price. You were in the gym? That's funny; Price was just about to do his workout. Training? He was practically glued to you and nitpicking everything you did. You were trying to go for a fucking walk around base past lights out? Price couldn't sleep, and as your captain, it was his obligation to make sure you didn't do anything stupid.

Intrusively, you wondered if he had implanted a tracker into you while you were sleeping. That had to be it; there was no way you just happened to experience so many ‘coincidences’ back to back. 

Eleven more months, you had eleven more months stuck with him. Maybe in that time, you could come up with a detailed plan on how you would murder, hide, and successfully get away with killing your Captain.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It was one of those off days where you didn’t have much to do. Like the calm before the storm, 141 had an incoming operation; plans were laid out, and everyone knew what to do. All that was left was playing the waiting game before you loaded into the helicopter and landed in a checkpoint base in Urzikstan.

With nothing to do, you figured it wouldn't hurt to hide away in the break room with some tea and scroll on your phone. You rarely had time to yourself, so you might as well make the best of it. You peeked into the break room and smiled when you found it was empty. You made a beeline to the small kitchen counter; you'd managed to snag some different types of tea for yourself over the few weeks you had been at base. It was the floral and sweet kind that nobody touched, despite Ghost's comment that: “It's not real tea.” You found it incredibly enjoyable.

As you turned on the electric kettle, the doorknob jostled. You looked up, and your eyes met Price. Well, shit. He made eye contact with you. Obviously, the feeling between you two was mutual based on how his lips dropped into a frown when he saw you. You stared at each other for a beat before you turned your head away.

You weren't doing this today; you were too tired to bicker with your captain over something useless. You stared at the counter, waiting for him to leave or speak. But he did neither. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed a mug. The silence between you was so loud that the room might've been quieter if you were arguing.

He was close, not enough that you were touching, but enough that his presence almost tickled your skin.

You just continued to watch the counter and your mug. Glancing at the kettle, you almost grimaced; it was barely bubbling. When did boiling water take so long? The tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. But, Price was the first to crack.

“Interesting mug,” he commented, his voice as it always was when he spoke to you. Dry. You debated not responding, but the silence was killing you just as much. “It's my favorite.” You said back, matching his tone. However, your eyes were soft as you looked at the mug before you. It was ceramic, with hand-painted fish drawn onto it. Cod, salmon, tuna, and swordfish, too, their colors vibrant compared to the barren beige of the rest of the cup.

He made a low hum sound, almost like he didn't believe you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you finally turned to look at him. You stopped briefly; his eyes had heavier bags than the last time you'd seen him. He didn't look as stern or unshakeable as usual; rather, he looked more weary, human. You forgot you were going to say something to him, “What?” You said, suspicious.

His eyes broke away from yours, looking down at his hands as they tore away the top of an instant coffee packet. Price emptied its contents into his plain white mug and cleared his throat. “Nothing, s’just that's my mug.” He said; his voice wasn't mad or accusatory. Instead, it was just like he was stating a fact.

You frowned, your eyebrows sinking further down your face. What was he talking about? You'd been using this mug for weeks; in fact, this was the first mug you'd used here, back when you first met Jhonny and the rest of the team. “That's not true; all the mugs in the cupboard are communal.” You pointed out, looking at him like you'd caught him in a bad lie.

He looked back at you, an almost smugness to his gaze. “Look at the bottom of the cup.” He said plainly. Your frown deepened, but you grabbed the mug and turned it over in your hands out of curiosity.

JP. It was painted in small lettering in the middle of the circular bottom. Your face dropped. Oh. JP, standing for John Price. It was his mug. Your face reddened as you realized you had been drinking out of his cup for the past month. Why hadn’t he said anything about it to you before now? He obviously knew, considering he'd seen you drink from it before.

You opened your mouth, trying to come up with a good defense. “But- Jhonny told me all the mugs in the break room were for everyone. Including this one.” You said, pointing at the mug in your hands.

Price raised one eyebrow, “And you believed him?” He said. The gears in your head started to turn; the guy had a point. Why had you trusted him of all people? You pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers, “fucking christ Soap.” You muttered, primarily to yourself.

The steaming whistle of the kettle broke your train of thought, and your head snapped in its direction. You looked from the boiling kettle to the mug in your hand, a sigh exiting your chest. You held out the mug to him, “Here. It's yours, I'll get another one.”

Price looked surprised for a beat before his face went neutral again. He shook his head, pushing the mug back towards you. “No need; I've already got this one.” He grunted, nodding to the plain white mug sitting on his side of the counter. Before you could protest, he grabbed the kettle, pouring the hot water into his mug. Your nose scrunched as the aroma of instant coffee hit you.

He raised an eyebrow at your visceral reaction, “Not a fan of coffee now, are we?”

You cleared your throat, looking away from the blackening devil concoction. “I like coffee-” You clarified, “-just not that instant crap; it tastes like sewer water.” The curve of his lip twitched into a half-amused smile. Bringing the mug to his lips and taking a hearty sip, “noted.” Price hummed. You reached out to grab the kettle, but he handed it over to you before you could.

You raised your eyebrow; this was the closest thing you'd ever had to a friendly conversation with your Captain. You skeptically took it, breathing a ‘thanks’ to him. A comfortable silence fell on the both of you; Price could drink his coffee while you waited for your tea to brew.

Your eyes seemed to pull towards his direction as you waited, observing the curve of his lips, his nose that was just a bit crooked, and the coarse hair of his beard that thinned into stubble the further down his neck it went. You watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed his drink and how his large hand seemed to make the mug seem small. He somehow pulled off looking like he hadn't slept in weeks, which ticked you off somewhat.

He shot you a sideways glance, “You're staring.” Price said flatly; you looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I was…zoning out. And for the record, I was looking at the-uh wall behind you.” You cringed at yourself; the long pauses and uhs weren't adding to your credibility.

Price gave you a funny look, turning to look at the refrigerator behind him, which was most definitely not a wall. He turned back to you, “The wall you said?”

Well, shit, thanks, captain obvious. You frowned, giving up, “It doesn't matter-” you huffed, “Point is, I was zoned out.”

That answer seemed to satisfy him or at least force him to drop the subject; Price shrugged and took another sip from his mug. “Let's hope you don't make a habit out of it. Wouldn't want to add that to the other list of…qualities you have.” Here we go again. You raised an eyebrow, the edge in his tone all too familiar. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “Which are?”

Price cleared his throat, gesturing his mug to you and your tea. “Theavory, for one.” Well, he got you there. You blew out air from your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you'd let him pull from you.

“Funny.” You said sarcastically.

A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah, well, just trying to lighten the mood between us.”

There was a pause.

The way he said ‘between us’ didn't sit right with you; what he said had undertones of bitterness, almost similar to the layers of an onion. Now, was it possible that you were reading too much into this? Yes. Was it also a tone-deaf thing to say, considering he was the primary reason you two didn't like each other in the first place? Also yes.

Don't bite the bait; don't bite the bait, “The mood you created?” You bit the bait.

He glanced at you, one of his eyebrows arching. For a second, it was silent, like he was mulling over whether it was worth it to engage. Price sighed, setting his drink down. “Look… [Name], if this is about that time when we first met, I was in a bad mood. I wasn't trying to be harsh; I'd just had a shit day. Nothing personal on you.” He craned his neck to the side, sliding a hand over his nape.

You crossed your arms. “You could've apologized,” you pointed out. Price paused, staring at you quizzically, “Why would I need to apologize?”

You almost gaped at him; his ego seemed to know no bounds. If it wasn't so irritating, it might have been comical, “You called my job a ‘precaution,’ and me, a ‘human blockade-’” You deadpanned, “-I don't like when someone downplays my whole career.” Price just stared at you blankly, his face morphing into more confusion.

“But you are a precaution.” He said, “That's the whole reason why Laswell put you here.” It was like he was explaining something to a child.

You huffed, “Captain. With all due respect, I'm a part of this team whether we like it or not. I don't want to be treated like an outsider- everyone else here seems to treat me like I belong here so why don't you? What's not to trust?” You questioned, your eyebrows pinched together and your lips pressed into a not-so-subtle frown.

“You don't belong here, though,” Price said frostily. “You're here for a year [Name], no more, no less. You belong to a different task force, so excuse me if I treat you as such.”

You stood there, stunned for a moment. A familiar feeling of resentment bubbling up inside you like the electric tea kettle. Your hands squeezed the ceramic of your mug, “Just because I'm not here to stay doesn't mean I'm any less committed to my job. I work my ass off every day to show you that I belong here. I just don’t understand why you’re too stubborn to even see that.” You huffed.

Price pursed his lips into a tight line, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer. “I don't have time to micro-manage everything you do. That's not stubborn; it's having other responsibilities besides making you feel included.”

Well, if he hadn't made you feel like a toddler before, he definitely was now. “Well, that's funny because you seem to do a perfectly good job at micromanaging everything I do despite your ‘lack of free time.’ And- I’m not asking you to make me feel included; I’m not an infant. I’m asking you to treat me with the same respect you treat everyone else with.” You hissed.

It didn’t surprise you how quickly the polite interaction with him turned into another bitter argument. When it came to Price, emotions ran high. Higher than you would like to admit.

“Maybe if you stopped acting like a child, I would respect you more.” He bit back, and you groaned, throwing your hands up in the air.

“I’m not though- I’m clearly telling you the problem between us. But since you have this…this grudge against me you won’t even listen to me.” You huffed.

Price shot you a look that said, ' I'm winning this argument, and there is nothing you can say to stop that.’ 

Internally, you wondered if getting dishonorably discharged was worth throwing hot tea into your captain's stupid face. Instead, you decided to look away, setting your mug on the counter with a sharp ‘clank.’ “Fine then, don't listen to me. That works, too.” You breathed through your teeth.

Price downed the rest of his coffee, throwing his head back and then setting his mug upside down in the small sink. He turned his whole body to you, crossing his arms. His blue eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows pinched together in scrutiny. “You want me to listen? Go ahead. Say what you want; I'm all ears.”

Your voice died in your throat. As much as you wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you didn't put up much of a fight against him, especially not with his ‘I'm the Captain, and you are one word away from cleaning toilets’ voice.

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, and the silence between you hung dangerously quiet for another moment. “Nothing, Captain.” You said through your teeth.

Price nodded, his eyes drilling holes into you, “That's what I thought. Now, it better stay that way for the duration of the next week or so help me; I will take away every privilege you have.” With that, he promptly turned on his heel and stormed out. Leaving you, a seething statue.

You looked down at his mug, still held tightly in your hand. You glared at the painted fish, “Fuck you.” You whispered to the watercolor salmon. Your frown deepened, substantially disappointed that whispering ‘fuck you’ to your Captain's mug didn't carry the same satisfaction you'd feel if you said it straight to his face.

Arguing with him was like arguing with a brick wall. Scratch that. Arguing with Price was worse than arguing a brick wall, a brick wall wouldn't intimidate you and then storm off.

You didn't feel like finishing your tea anymore. You grit your teeth together, dumping the liquid into the sink and watching as it slides down the drain. You had a few days before the mission, and you were going to make sure that you didn't fuck anything up. Lest you suffer the wrath of Price and your own self-doubt.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Shit!”

Your head snapped toward the voice, even with the night vision gear you had everything was difficult to identify. It was safe to say you weren't a fan.

It had been 72 hours since you landed in Urzikstan, and 4 hours since you left the checkpoint base. If you had to guess, it was most likely around 0300 standard military time. Which meant you and the rest of 141 only had another two hours before you had to evacuate and hop on the trucks back to the checkpoint.

Your orders were simple enough, break into the compound and locate the underground terror group that was allegedly creating a bio-warfare laboratory. While it wasn't concreated information British and American SAS couldn't risk not sending a team to see if the tip was accurate. Being the genuine pigs of the situation didn't sit right with you but you weren't employed for your opinion on what the government chose to do and not do.

Still, being sent on a wild goose chase or worse into a trap made you more on edge. Everyone had paired up in case this was a setup and because the universe could never let you win you were grouped with Price. Which brought you back to the present moment.

“Price whats going on? talk to me.” You said in response to his curse. Trying to keep your voice as low as you could while still being audible. You weren't an expert but typically someone hissing ‘shit!’ wasn't a good sign.

In the split second before he could respond you heard the click. Along with the sound of Price’s footsteps trying to get out of the way, then came the sharp boom of a gun being fired. Only after the sound had left the barrel of the gun did you see it. The building wasn't finished, half of the construction was halted, leaving rooms unfinished, walk-offs, and random piles of rubble. Hidden behind a cement pillar a floor above, looking down at you was a person. More importantly a person behind a giant ass gun.

Shit!

You immediately threw yourself out of the way, ducking yourself behind a large amount of rubble. Your eyes scanned for Price in the darkness, frantically making sense of the objects around you. Another fire. Followed by another one. You didn't have time to look for Price. You turned your body, shielded by the debris, and pointed your gun up. It didn't take long before you locked onto the figure, you drew your breath in and pulled the trigger. The firing stopped.

You peered up over the rubble just in time to see the limp body flop over the drop-off and slam into the concrete. You were met with a deafening silence, “Price you copy?”

After a moment you heard someone move, “Yeah-” Your shoulders dropped, a breath you didn't realize you were holding escaped. You never thought hearing that deep British voice would ever make you this relieved. “Yeah, I copy.” He breathed. You stood, carefully making your way over to the corpse of your attacker. Looking down at the body, their face hidden by a cloth and glazed-over eyes looking up at the ceiling.

You grimaced, it was like looking at a dead fish. You looked up, nobody else was above. The only thing remaining was the unaccompanied sniper.

“This guy was alone.” You said, eyebrows furrowing. “And his aim was shit.” You deadpanned. Your head turned, expecting to meet Price. But were only greeted by an empty space, “Price?” You asked looking around.

“Over here.” He gruffed, you turned around. Price was standing next to a wall, his palm flat against its surface. It was like he was leaning against it, your eyes narrowed. His left leg was slightly raised off the ground, something wasn't right.

You jogged over to him, “What's the matter?” you asked, because of the night vision goggles coupled with the amount of gear he was wearing you couldn't see his face well. However, you didn't miss the way his jaw flexed. Before he could respond you pinpointed the issue. The leg that was raised had a small bullet-sized hole in his boot.

“Shit.” You breathed.

This really wasn't what you needed. You and Price had to be out of the compound in the next hour and a half, being shot in the foot was a major problem. At least it wasn't an organ, you thought. “Can you still walk?” You asked.

Price put his foot on the ground, putting his weight on it. You cringed as he let out a quiet hiss, “Yeah just fuckin’ hurts like hell.” He took a step, he was limping but he could walk. Which was a small win for both of you. Just as you opened your mouth someone spoke in your ear piece.

“[Name], Price, you copy? We heard shots.” The voice was grave, deep, with a thick British accent. Ghost.

Price answered, “We’re fine. Bastard with a sniper nicked my foot. Did any of you find the lab yet?” He said through clenched teeth, despite your dislike of your captain you felt a little guilty. If you'd seen the shooter before Price would probably be fine.

“We just found it, nobody’s here. S’a fuckin’ ghost town… no pun intended.” Ghost’s staticky voice rang in your ear, if you were in a better situation you might have laughed. Your eyebrows furrowed and you frowned.

“That makes no sense.” You chimed in, “If this guy was here there should be more people. It doesn't make sense for only one person to be set up here.” You looked at Price. His head was already turned to look at you. It was a beat before anyone spoke again.

“Price.” A raspy Scottish accent this time. Soap. “The labs empty, no inventory at all. Everything is sterile.” You felt your throat run dry, the silence on the radio spoke louder than anything you or anyone else could say. Either they evacuated before the team had gotten there or the whole building was a ruse.

You looked back at the corpse lying a few feet away from you and Price. “They knew we were coming.” You breathed. The weight of your words seemed to carry for miles, but the implications might have been worse. You looked at Price, the same thoughts you had probably already running through his head. “We need to fucking leave, right now.”

Price gave a small nod, “Everyone get out. Gaz, call for emergency evac now. Leave the same way we came do not under any circumstances go further into this building.” Price demanded. Which was followed by a series of ‘copies.’ You started for the way you entered, just as you reached the empty doorframe you heard a grunt behind you. You looked back, fuck. You forgot Price was hurt, fuck, fuck, fuck. He could walk but there was no way he could run with his foot.

You doubled back, and as you ran to him Price raised his hands. Almost in protest, “I can keep up, I'm not immobile.” He exhaled, and you shot him an unimpressed look. The situation was bad enough, you weren't going to deal with this. You couldn't waste time and walking on a bad foot would only worsen it for Price in the long run.

You grabbed his arm and slung it over your shoulder, one arm grabbed the back of his vest, holding his side up so his injured foot didn't hit the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable but it worked.

Price opened his mouth but you spoke before he could get a word in. “You can't keep up and you know it. Whatever problems we have don't matter right now, we've got to get out of here. God knows what the people who were here before us did to this place. But we don't have time to think about that-” Your eyes met his, the red hue of the night vision goggles making his navy eyes seem black. “-I’d much rather keep you alive but I would gladly die with you than have it be my fault that you die. So shut the fuck up and move.”

That seemed to do the trick because Price did in fact, shut the fuck up. You quickly exited with Price. It wasn't as fast as you would've liked to leave but it was the best you could do with a six-foot tank of a man leaning against you.

A few minutes later you and Price successfully made it out. The rest of the team was already waiting a ways away from the building, you let out a relieved sigh. Just being out of the compound seemed to lift a weight off your chest and calm your racing heart. Price seemed to feel the same way judging by his taunt muscles relaxing slightly.

You made your way over to the team, Ghost was the first to notice you. He did a slight double-take as he saw Price, “Thought you said the bloke nicked you?” He commented, you gently released Price letting him lean against the outside wall of an abandoned house.

Price grunted, “Yeah well he nicked me good.” He said back, Ghost nodded. Soap and Gaz peered at the bloody hole in his boot, “That’s gonna be a pain to heal I’ll tell you that.” Soap commented, and Gaz nodded along. “No kidding.”

Price’s frown deepened, and he let out a breath. “Gaz how long till evac trucks pick us up?” Gaz looked out at the open area then looked back, “I’d say twenty minutes give or take.” That answer seemed to give Price a little peace.

A few minutes had gone by, and Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were all talking with you while Price leaned against the wall silently. You glanced at your Captain, gingerly making your way over you leaned against the wall a few inches away from him. You didn't know what to say if you should say anything for that matter. Making conversation with Price wasn't your strong suit, but you felt bad.

“So…you okay?” You asked dumbly, Price gave you a look that made you want to go right back to the others. He was silent for a beat before speaking. “I got shot in the foot [Name], you tell me.” He deadpanned.

You swallowed, nodding. Asshole. No matter, you decided to take it in stride, “Right.” You breathed, “I just… wanted to check.” On second thought maybe you really should leave, it was like you were communicating with an alien. And after your last argument with Price, you walked on eggshells whenever you were around him.

The stretch of silence between the two of you lasted longer than you would've liked. But after a moment Price cleared his throat and nodded, “Thank you.” He said.

You did a bit of a double-take, thank you? Price never thanked you. It was like he was allergic to congratulating or acknowledging you in any form that wasn't to reprimand you. You must've looked as confused as you felt by the way he glanced at you and then went on. “For helping me out of there, you were prepared for the worst back there and you still had my back. I appreciate that-”

“-you uh, you did good.” He clarified.

Your mouth was probably hanging open at this point, ‘you did good.’ The words hung in the air around you, filling your ears with cotton. Price your captain, Price your mortal enemy had praised you. He gave you a sideways glance, “Don't look so shocked [Name], you're still on thin ice.”

Ah, there it was, your shoulders slumped. It was better than nothing though, “Right, uhm thank you.” You said a bit awkwardly, Price gave you a small nod in return. It wasn't much, but it was acknowledgment.

After some time passed by you and the rest of 141 loaded into the trucks, starting the long drive to the checkpoint base. You tried to lean your head back and get just a little bit of rest, but after thirty minutes of failing to do so, you gave up. There was just too much in your head, too many unanswered questions. You thought about the man you'd killed, why was he there? What was the use of evacuating a building if you just left a single sniper with terrible aim lying in wait for someone to come looking around?

Did that mean they didn't know 141 specifically was coming? The question that worried you the most was the fact that if they did plan for you to raid the lab, who on the inside was feeding these people your team's operations? You shuddered. It was bad enough that commanding officer Shepard went rogue a few months prior. The SAS really didn't need another mole. Especially considering the amount of enemies the American and British military had made.

Your shoulders slumped, it didn’t really matter, what mattered was that everyone made it out. You didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if the previous occupants had left explosives inside the building. It was better to just be thankful that nothing happened.

Your first operation with 141 had been a bust, but considering the circumstances you thought it went as well as it could’ve. Not counting Price’s foot.

Subconsciously your eyes drifted over to Price, his boot had been taken off and his foot was wrapped in white garb. Just until someone could look at it properly, everyone had taken their night visions and helmets off to get some shut-eye. Your gaze drifted up until they met his face, navy eyes met yours. You froze, you hadn't realized Price was awake. The two of you didn't break eye contact for a minute, almost like a challenge of who would be the first to look away.

“You make a habit of staring at people or is it just me?” He deadpanned. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, he could never let you catch a break, could he?

“I wasn't staring, and you were looking at me too.” You defended, it didn't matter if you were staring, he wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing you confess that. One of his thick eyebrows raised, “I glanced at you. There's a difference, you just happened to look up at the same time.” He said back, calm as ever.

You half rolled your eyes, he could word it however he wanted to, but in the end, it was pretty much the same thing. “Okay, keep telling yourself that.” You hummed, matching his nonchalance. Your gaze dropped back down to his bandaged foot, “How’s the foot?” You asked, hoping he wouldn't catch you changing the subject.

Price grunted, his head lulling back onto the seat. You shot a glance at his adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down before averting your eyes. “Feels like I got shot in the foot, so…not great. It's better than an organ so I won't complain that much.” He breathed.

You nodded, “You ever been shot before?” you asked, what could you say? You were curious. He nodded, clearing his throat he cast his head down to look at his chest. One of his hands pulled up his bullet vest and shirt revealing the beginnings of his abdomen, right above his hip bone there was a small scar. “Two years ago, caught me while I was down. Took forever to heal, fuckin’ hurt like hell too.”

You zeroed in on the exposed skin, it was all muscle, no surprises there. The man was built like a 4x6 brick, his skin was shiny with sweat, and from what you could see his bullet scar wasn't the only one that littered his skin. Just below the dipped fabric of his shirt was the start of a happy trail. You swallowed.

What the fuck was wrong with you? A few days ago you were plotting how you could murder him and now you're ogling a sliver of his stomach like a horny teen girl.

You absolutely did not find a single part of your boss attractive. Forget your first interaction with him when you were practically gaping over him like a fish. That didn't count. This was Price you were talking about. Sure, he was conventionally attractive with just the right amount of ruggish charm to make him mysterious. And yeah, he was built like a tank, so what? And you couldn't forget about his stupid fucking British accent, who the hell was into British accents anyways? (You were. Embarrassingly so.)

Price looked up at you, the silence making you raise an eyebrow. “See something you like aye?” He said, amusement dripping from his voice. Your eyes immediately snapped back to his face, embarrassment churning away at your insides.

“You wish,” You said back. So maybe you found some parts of your Captain hot, that didn't matter. In the end, it was still Price. And the flames of hatred don't die out just because one's enemy is a little (a lot) attractive.

Price breathed out what sounded like a laugh, he dropped the shirt. “Keep telling yourself that [Name].” Your fists squeezed together as he threw your words back at you.

You glared at him, “You're so full of it you know that?” You breathed, which only seemed to pique his interest further. You were glad the rest of the team was either sleeping or so used to your fighting that at this point they tuned you out. Jumping off a cliff seemed nice in comparison to the ruthless teasing that Soap and Ghost would enact if they found out you'd been caught ogling Price.

“Didn't realize this would strike a nerve, any particular reason why?” He said, you grimaced. You could almost taste the smugness from his tongue like syrup, “It didn't.” You said through your teeth, “Then again, egotistical men are a pain to be around. Especially ones that think everyone around them wants them.” You grumbled.

Your words seemed to have the opposite effect, Price straightened. A small tug at his lip made you want to slap that smirk right off. “I never said you wanted me, but liars always do have a way of telling on themselves don't they?” He grinned.

Something flashed in his eyes, you didn't have time to see what it was. But right now, all your willpower was devoted to not picking up your gun and giving him a matching hole in his right foot. “I think I'd rather shoot myself than be anything but professional with you.” You said frostily.

Price hummed, the smirk never leaving his face and he leaned back. “Glad the feeling is mutual.” He spoke calmly.

Your eye twitched, he was pulling that card now. Reverse physiology or whatever it was, the ‘I don't have to want you but you have to want me.’ Well too bad you didn't care, you couldn't care less. If Price didn't want you that was great-better even.

“Yeah,” You huffed, “Super glad.” You turned your head away so you didn't have to look in his direction. Maybe you should've left him in that building, it was a tempting thought. The rest of the drive back to the checkpoint was spent in silence.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The base felt dreary, everyone was still in a funk from the previous night. Everything felt just a bit more surreal, nobody was talking about what happened either. Not that there really was anything to discuss.

The checkpoint base wasn't as nice as your previous base. It wasn't even a full building, there were a few small ones but those were mostly used to store weapons. Everything else was industrial-sized tents, making privacy a luxury. It didn't even have a proper barracks, just a large tent with several stretcher-like beds placed in rows. To be completely honest the entire thing was a pile of shit. But it was a roof over your head so there was that.

You sat at a bench in the ‘commons,’ a poor excuse for food sitting in front of you. Gaz sat next to you while Ghost and Jhonny sat across from you. They all had similar grimaces plastered on their faces as they ate their protein paste.

“If I have to eat this shite for another day I'm going to go into that food storage room and light the thing up. They got us eating like dogs.” Ghost said after draining the last of his rations. You half-heartedly agreed, humming a sound of approval that was accompanied by Gaz’s small chuckle.

Soap grinned, “Don't get yer panties in a twist just yet L.T, heard they're serving dessert paste too. Courtesy of Price’s injury.”

You shivered, it sounded just as bad if not worse. Then a thought popped up, you looked around the common space. “Hey, you guys seen Price? Isn't he eating?” You hadn't seen him for almost the entire day, which was a blessing for you but it did strike you as odd when normally you couldn't get rid of him.

Gaz shrugged, “He was in the medical tent last time I saw him. The guy was getting his foot looked at, he’ll probably show up soon.”

Ghost turned his head to face you, while it was a little hard to tell with his balaclava, one of his eyebrows raised. “Awful concerned about Price aren't you? Thought you hated the man.” Your lips curled into an exasperated frown.

“I'm not. And I do hate him. I was just curious.” You brushed him off, trying to avoid his stony gaze. Soap and Gaz exchanged looks that made your eyebrows furrow.

Gaz looked at you, “What about the other day when you helped him out of the building?” Soap was next to chime in, “Or that you use his mug all the time and he lets you?”

You shot Gaz a glare, “First, he's still my Captain I'm not going to leave him in a building where I think he's going to die.” Then you directed a similar glare at Soap, “Second, I didn't know it was his mug because you tricked me into thinking the mugs were communal.” You said through your teeth.

Ghost smirked, “Sounds like you care.”

Your hands gripped the table with unnecessary force. “I do not.” You defended, the looks exchanged between them made you want to crawl into a hole. Suddenly you weren't as inclined to finish your meal. You stood, grabbing your tray of half-eaten food and trash. “I'm not hungry anymore.” You said dryly.

Soap laughed, faking a disappointed frown. “Come on lass we were just getting started with ya. Where's the fun in leaving before the real jokes start?” You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the bench and walking towards the trash.

“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” you replied as you dumped the remanence of your ‘lunch’ in the trash. Just as you were exiting the tent Soap's voice called out to you.

“Oh, if you see the old fart, tell him his dessert paste is waiting for him!” That earned an amused tug at the corner of your lips, shaking your head in exasperation as you pushed past the floppy tent entrance.

You didn't even make it a foot outside before your momentum was halted by a larger mass. Your face met something hard, but also somehow soft at the same time. You stumbled back, gaining back your balance from the force of running into something. Or more specifically, someone. You looked up in dismay to see what kind of idiot ran into you.

It was Price, because of fucking course it was.

But it was Price with the addition of a single crutch and a newly wrapped foot. Your eyes slowly crept up to his face, the mortifying reality that you slammed right into his chest setting in. What’s worse was that the previous conversation with the guys was still very fresh in your mind.

‘Sounds like you do care,’ Ghost’s words echoed in your mind, haunting you like a…well a ghost. Ironic.

“Do you mind?” Price's words snapped you out of your trance. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was silent for a moment before your vocal cords decided to actually comply and let you speak.

“You ran into me.” You said lamely, the tips of your ears felt hot. Like lava was slowly being poured onto your head. Price’s eyebrows furrowed, his navy eyes studying you. Even on one crutch, he seemed to tower over you in a way that made you antsy.

“Why are you red?” He asked, the question caught you off guard. Making you falter for a second time, “I-What?”

Price’s eyes narrowed a bit, a finger pointed directly at you. “Your face. It's red,” It wasn't a jab, more like he was observing a simple fact. Suddenly you became hyper-aware of the heat spreading across your face. You touched your cheek, and the pads of your fingers burned at the touch.

Oh my god.

Your face was hot, it was flushed. You were blushing. Blushing. In front of Price.

You swallowed, feeling a bob in your throat. It was like you were in one of those dreams where you showed up to school naked. “I'm allergic-” You blurted out.

A beat of silence ensued, and Price raised a single brow. “Allergic?” He said, to which you responded with a hard nod. Think, think- what was a believable lie? “Yes… to the dessert paste.”

Price didn't look skeptical now, he just looked downright confused. “What the hell is dessert paste?” He questioned, while a good question, you didn't want to stand around to explain it to him while your face looked like the cover of a period ad. You shook your head, steering around him like a robot.

“Ask soap.” You said as you made your escape, “I'm going to the med tent so I don't go into anaphylactic shock.”

That was a lie, you were going to the bathroom to rethink your career and splash cold water on your face. Leaving Price a standing statue, a perplexed look on his face.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A pack of 8 beers was slammed down onto the small table in front of where you were sitting. The bottles lightly clanked together, you looked up. “What’s this?” You asked, Soap stood in front of you with a confident grin.

“This is how we’re going to make it through our last 10 hours in this shit hole.” He proclaimed, his hands on his hips.

It was late, everyone but Price was in the sleeping tent. True to Soap’s words, in 10 hours you and the rest of 141 were finally going to load up into the heli and return to the original base. Thank goodness too, you didn't think you could stomach another meal here. Ghost looked over from his cott, “The hell did you get that from?”

Soap waved him off, smoothing over his poor example of a mohawk. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” He fished into his pant pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, grabbing one of the bottles he flicked the cap off with a soft pop’ “Since it is our last night, why not celebrate?” He went on.

You eyed the pack suspiciously, if it came from here it was probably shit beer. But it was still something, you shrugged. You reached for one, “I'll take what I can get.” You sighed.

Grabbing a bottle you snatched Soap’s knife to knock off the cap. Throwing your head back as you took a generous swig, it burned down your throat. The pungent flavor making your nose scrunch and your mouth curl. Soap did the same, smacking his lips as he swallowed. “Well…It could be worse.” He muttered.

Ghost and Gaz followed suit, walking over to your space and grabbing two bottles. After some time had passed the four of you had settled into a sort of circle, you were two beers in and things were already getting fuzzy. You didn't normally drink, mostly because you were a lightweight. But when you did drink, you got drunk. You were tipping your head back with laughter at every story, the warmth in your stomach making the tent somehow feel cozy.

Soap reached for his third bottle but Gaz swatted his hand away, “Leave some for Price Jhonny.” He scolded, Soap simply rolled his eyes and groaned. “The old man won't care, he only drinks at those shitty pubs. He's a stickler bout not drinkin’ on base, something about ‘not mixing business with pleasure’” He mocked, doing in your opinion, a decent Price impression. You chucked.

“I don't think Price takes ‘pleasure’ in anything, he's such a stick up the ass he wouldn't know fun if it hit him in the face.” You breathed, and while not the most articulate thing to say, your tongue and thoughts were loose enough that you didn't care.

Ghost’s mouth curled into a knowing smirk, “For someone who hates Price, you sure do love to talk about him any chance someone brings him up.” He said smugly, earning snickers from both Soap and Gaz.

“Oh fuck off will you?” You grumbled to Ghost, this whole teasing you about Price thing was getting old fast. “I say one thing and you guys act like I have some schoolgirl crush on him.”

Soap grinned, “You said it lass, not us.” He coughed abruptly when you smacked him in the stomach, making him lean forward to catch his breath. You glanced at Ghost who’s hands were now raised in surrender.

“Come off it [Name], we’re just teasing, you're not doing yourself any favors by acting with him the way you do.” He commented, which only confused you. All you did was argue with him, where was there room for speculation? The look on your face must've told them everything they needed to know.

“What do I do that gives off that impression even remotely?” You said defensively, they all exchanged looks.

Soap spoke up, “It's not just you bonnie, Price acts differently around you too. It just gives off a certain impression. Some people just take it the wrong way.” There was an underlying uncomfortableness to his words that you didn't miss. And who were ‘some people??’

Ghost smacked him upside the head, earning a startled grunt. “Fuckin’ twat, Soap doesn't know what he's saying.” Ghost said facing you. “He's already tipsy, don't take what he's saying to heart.” Soap was holding his head, shooting a glare at the lieutenant.

You shook your head, not ready to let it go. “No, who's some people? And what did you mean when you said ‘taking it the wrong way?’” Your eyes narrowed in on all three of them, waiting for someone to speak first. Gaz looked away, immediately giving him away as the weakest link. “Gaz what's he talking about?” You asked firmly.

He tensed up, glancing at Ghost and then back to you. “It's really nothing, it's just a silly rumor.” Ghost shot him a firm look, “Kyle-” He warned.

A rumor? What the hell was there to talk about? The last time you'd heard of a rumor going around about yourself was in high school, it wasn't a pleasant experience, to say the least. Your lips pursed into a tight line, something about how secretive they were being set you off. “What rumor?” You said, after a minute of silence, you slowly got more frustrated. “If it's about me I deserve to know.”

Ghost didn't speak, neither did Gaz, but Soap did. He blew out a sigh, glancing back at Ghost who was maintaining strict eye contact with you. “There is a bit of a widespread rumor back at base that you've been shaggin’ the boss. People started calling you Captain’s Girl.”

The pit of your stomach dropped.

You felt dizzy, looking between the three of them. Waiting for one of them to break, to smile and say ‘got you!’ but it never came. “You're joking right?” You said, laughing nervously, the longer the silence the more nauseous you became.

Ghost shook his head, his eyes hard but his demeanor a bit solemn. “We didn't want you to know for obvious reasons. Thought it would make things worse between the two of ya’ and it was just too far.” You swallowed, this was a joke. This was a joke and they were just teasing. When nobody spoke after the reality set in.

Of course, this would happen to you, you worked your ass off just to be respected in a field dominated by men. You were asked to be a part of 141. But all people saw was a slut who worked her way up the ladder by playing Miss ‘Hard to Get.’

“We tried to stop it as best we could trust us, it's just a little hard to keep quiet when word spreads fast,” Gaz interjected, his eyebrows scrunched in…guilt? Second-hand embarrassment? Sadness? You couldn't tell.

You sat there in silence, processing everything. “But- but I'm not. I'm not sleeping with him.” You sputtered.

Soap placed a hand on your shoulder, “We know you ain't. You don't need to listen to those people anyways, it's just barrack talk, people needing a story to make their lives more interesting.” A well of emotions started to flood your senses, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the gravity of the situation hitting you.

Captain’s girl.

What. The. Fuck.

This was Price’s fault. It had to have been, Soap said he was acting weird. Maybe this was all his elaborate plan to destroy your career and kick you off 141 for fraternization. It had to have been him, right? You weren't thinking as clearly as you would have liked considering you were borderline drunk, but that didn't matter. You shot up from where you were sitting, making Soap jump.

Stumbling you started to make a beeline for the entrance, Gaz also got up and followed you, much to your chagrin. “[Name]? Where are you going??” He called after you.

“To find Price!” (And kill him.) You shouted back angrily, storming outside before Gaz had the chance to stop you. Obviously, you didn't think this through enough because it was pitch dark outside. And Price was nowhere in sight, fuck.

Whatever, you could search this place for hours if you had to. He was bound to pop up somewhere, like how the tide is drawn to the moon you and Price always had a way of being pulled into each other. You stormed through the dark, almost tripping on your own feet once or twice in the process.

You'd been there long enough that you could tell what area was what. Even in the pitch-black cloak of the dark, you could feel your heartbeat in your head. It was like your body was pulsing with the rhythm of your anger. Just as you were about to start shouting his name a light caught your eye. You swiveled your neck so fast it burned the muscles in your nape. Low and behold it was Price walking out of the medical tent with his single crutch.

He stopped when he noticed you, his face a mix of confusion. “What are you doing? I thought I told you guys not to go outside after lights out?”

You felt every emotion rush back to you at the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, the fucking absurdity of the whole situation. Your hands clenched into fists, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I thought you sucked before but I underestimated how much of a jackass you could be!”

Price stood there like a deer caught in headlights, so baffled he couldn't even speak. “Excuse me?”

You marched straight up to him, “You heard me. Apparently making my life a living hell wasn't enough for you was it? You sadistic fuck. Do you get off on torturing me? Is that it?” You spat. The heat in your face rising with each word.

He didn't say anything, his navy eyes looking at you like you belonged in an insane asylum. After a minute of silence, he breathed, “[Name]. Realistically I should be laying into you right now and giving you every single punishment there is for the rest of your stay here for cursing me out after lights out with no provocation on my end. But, I'm going to give you one chance to explain why you're acting like a screaming banshee before I send your ass straight to the bins.”

His words only ticked you off further, well two could play dumb. “You know exactly why I'm angry! No provocation is such bullshit. You- You just think I'm so stupid don't you?!” You were stumbling, your mouth felt heavy. It was like your mind was moving faster than your body could keep up with.

“Are you drunk?” He asked incredulously. You shook your head, “No! I mean yes I had a few drinks but I'm not drunk. Stop deflecting-” You rambled on.

His eyes turned to narrow slits, “I don't even know what I'm deflecting- you can't just start making a scene and expect me to know why you're angry. I'm not a mind reader.” He groaned.

“The name! The rumor- whatever you call it. You spread a rumor about me to the entire base that I'm sleeping with you! People are calling me your girl! The guys told me, everyone thinks I'm some slut because of you!” Everything in your body was burning, it felt good to finally yell at him but the words hit you hard.

You were labeled as the slut. No matter what you did there was always going to be a man overshadowing you just because of a preemptive notion that you were weaker. Something you'd spent your life fighting was now your reality.

Price’s eyes went wide, he almost resembled a wooden board. For a moment his eyes softened, like he was taking pity on you. “That's what this is about.” He breathed, “Look, I’m just as upset about that rumor and the name as you are. I don't know who started it but I can give you my word it wasn't me. You can ask any one of the guys and they will tell you the same thing.”

You started to speak but he raised a hand to stop you, “-I know it's not fair. But the damage has already been done, the thing about rumors is that they pass. And nobody thinks you're a slut. You're just as capable as anyone else on this team.” He said calmly.

It was silent for a moment. You didn't really know what to do or what to believe. All you had to go on was his word, which wouldn't normally hold much weight but something about him seemed so genuine. “I- how do I know you're not lying to my face? You hate me. And I’m just supposed to believe a random person made this rumor up when you've been trying to kick me off the team from the start.”

Price halted for a moment, his face reflecting a series of conflicting emotions. “I don't hate you, and I am not trying to kick you off.”

“Well, it sure as hell doesn't seem that way, even Soap said you act differently around me. I don't understand why you fucking hate me so much when almost all I ever do is try and suck up to you!” You shouted, your voice slightly slurring with how fast the words escaped your lips.

A vein bulged in Price’s temple, his jaw working with his growing temperament. “I don't know how often we have to go through this same conversation before you get it through your thick head. I don't hate you, I'm hard on you. There's a difference.”

“Well, that's not what it looks like to me. Especially not to the mystery person who just conjured a rumor that we’re sleeping together out of thin air.” You seethed, until now you'd been standing a few feet away from him. But somehow, amid the argument, you found yourself now uncomfortably close.

Price scowled down at you, “What do you want me to say to you?! That I'm sorry I also got caught up in some dumb rumor. That I'm sorry you got your feelings hurt because I was a little harsh.”

Your mind was telling you to communicate your feelings like a normal person. The alcohol and your heart told you your fist connecting with his face was the better option. And right now, your heart (plus the alcohol) was winning.

“I want you to fucking show me you don't hate me! You can say all you want that I'm just being dramatic but there's obviously a reason why I think you hate me.” You fired back.

The two of you stood there for a moment, his eyes drilling into yours. A scowl on Price’s lips and his eyebrows pinched together, there was something about the heat of the moment that made you more on edge. You were hyperaware of everything around you, most importantly you were hyperaware of your proximity to him. The night air was cold but you were on fire.

“You want me to show you? Fine.” He grit out, and before you had time to react he was on you.

His hand was on your neck, thick and warm. Pulling you close so that his lips captured yours in what you could only describe as ‘a hungry kiss.’ The coarse hair of his beard tickled your skin and before you even knew what you were doing, you started kissing him back.

Fuck. He tasted like smoke and whiskey, a woody smell clung to him like sap. Greedily your hands pulled at him, your fingers bunching the cotton of his shirt like he'd disappear. You'd kissed men before but never in your life had anyone kissed you like this. The kiss was hot, desperate, almost angry. His tongue slid along yours, you felt the drag of his teeth nip at your bottom lip and his throaty groan when you only pulled him closer.

You couldn't remember why he was kissing you, or why you started kissing him back. You didn't know why you were so angry, nor did you pay mind to the chance that anyone could walk outside and see the two of you.

You heard his crutch absentmindedly fall to the ground, clattering against the hard dirt. Price's other hand snaked to the back of your head, curling his thick digits into the locks of your hair. His nose brushed against yours, he felt so warm. Asshole or not this man knew how to kiss.

“[Name]!”

Gaz’s voice broke you out of the trance you seemed to have been under. Immediately you and Price tore apart, your heart jackhammered in your ribcage. You looked at Price, he looked at you.

His blue eyes were blown wide, his lips parted and shiny with the reminisce of your spit. A reddish tinge colored his ears and cheeks. He looked horrified.

You didn't fair much better. You probably looked like a gaping fish. You'd just kissed Price. Price had kissed you. You two had been kissing. Holy shit.

Footsteps snapped your attention away from him, Gaz ran to meet you. His breath heavy like he’d been running around for a good amount of time. “[Name] Price didn’t start the rumor- you left before I could tell you. I-” He stopped, his eyes darting between both you and Price. You probably looked as guilty as you felt. “I…uhm I guess you two worked it out?”

There was an awkward silence before anyone spoke, Price cleared his throat, quickly wiping his lips. “She’s aware… You two go back to the tent, it’s late. We leave early tomorrow so get a good sleep.”

You were still in shock, could you even move your limbs? Another silence hovered over the three of you like a looming dust cloud. Gaz awkwardly shuffled to you, patting your shoulder as if to say ‘party's over, let’s go.’ He nodded at Price, “Right, see you in the morning Cap.”

Before you knew it, your legs were moving as Gaz led you back to the tent. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, “You alright?” He said hesitantly. You didn't know what to say to him, you didn't even know what you were feeling. And you doubted saying, ‘Honestly I don't know because two seconds ago Price's tongue was down my throat and I can't tell if I'm turned on or horrified,’ was appropriate.

So, you settled for a simple: “I’m fine.” Gaz gave you a skeptical look, but he chose not to comment on it. Once you got back to the tent Soap and Ghost had already started to get into their respective cots. Soap gave you a funny look over his shoulder, “What happened to you? You look shell-shocked.” He laughed.

You didn't even have the energy to respond, giving him a disgruntled grimace in return. You fell into your cot, burying your face into the thick sleeping bag. Your cheeks burned, and the taste of Price still lingered on your lips.

Apart of you wished that you were blackout drunk, then maybe it would be easier knowing whatever happened would disappear by the morning. But his groans, his hands in your hair, his lips, they were carved into your brain. And they weren't leaving.

You had to grapple with the reality that Price had kissed you. And you had kissed him back.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Hey, wait! Don't go!

Well… hello there. It's me again! To those of you who aren't familiar, you can call me Baebae. And to those who are welcome back! I've written fanfiction a bit before (check out my other stuff on my home page) but nothing like this. So that makes this special, and I'm happy you can join me while I embark on this new journey.

There is no spice in this chapter but it is coming in the next part. There are only two parts to this so you won’t have to wait that long. Trust me I am trying my best to crank out the next one so I’ll try my best to be quick!!

I would be so, so, so, soooo grateful if you would like, follow, or repost. Don't feel any pressure but I love hearing any feedback you can provide as I am relatively new to this and it spurs me on to know people enjoy what I put out. If you so choose you can message me or comment if you'd like me to @ you in the next part so you're notified. <3

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this and I'll see you in the next part. Toodles! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Part II of Captains Girl!

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Situationship with Simon Riley

• Simon ‘ghost’ Riley x reader

• Headcanons 18+

• Tags (Smut, fluff, jealousy, lousy communication, more mushy stuff near the end, arguments, head cannons) 

Wordcount? Long.

Ghost doesn't want a relationship. He just isn't built for it; at least, that's what he believes. He's meant to work, and that's about it, and when you're as devoted to your job as he is, there isn't much else he can focus on either. He craves the strict military schedule that gives him a sense of comfort. It's not like he's against the idea of being with a woman altogether; no, he's pretty fond of getting some release from time to time. But it's nothing more than that, a hookup with no strings attached. Ghost also ensures there is no cross between his work and outside distractions. Call it a rule for him: no distractions, no mess-ups. No strings attached? No hard feelings when he leaves. And that's relatively easy when he's bouncing from place to place due to his work. Well, it was easy until you.

Ghost broke rule number one first; that was his first mistake. Not only were you a co-worker of the sort, but you were a huge liability. For him, that is. You'd sauntered into taskforce 141 with high hopes, a dream, and ambitions. You had a life outside work, a family, and civilian friends. You were also polar opposites; you were chatty. A near-constant stream of conversation flowed through you like a broken damn. In his opinion, you were also quite spunky; you loved to tease and play like everything was a game. He found you to be irritating at best, an irritating distraction.

You'd tried to figure him out or what was left of him. And he'd push you away every time; normally, a glare would work to shut you up. However, you managed to catch on and keep trying. Eventually, he got accustomed to it—your questions and conversation and how they'd fill the quiet room. Though he was never one for conversations, you pulled the occasional sentence or two out of him. But he always kept a safe distance from you. But the universe had other plans. During an operation, the two of you had to wedge yourselves between a wall and a shipping container. Usually, this wouldn't have been so bad had it not been for the fact that the both of you were pressed against each other chest to chest with your thigh pressing against his crotch. Ghost doesn't get boners often, yet he did that one time. And you'd felt it pressed against you. He knew you did, how your body tensed, and you swallowed, trying your best not to look him in the eye. He wasn't better off; his mind whipped entirely from the mission. It wasn't your fault, but it felt like it. Safe to say, after the op was done, both of you kept a safe distance from then on.

The distance didn't last long; Ghost wished it did, though. Not only was it embarrassing for him to recount, but it made him question the way he viewed you. More specifically, the way he found that these “fluke” boners started to happen more frequently when you were in the room. He tried to ignore it; he did. It was immoral of him to fist his cock to the idea of you. But after a week or two, he gave in. It fixed his temperament, but it brought on another problem, which was the fact that he had to look you in the eyes every day and talk to you like he didn't just wake up that morning to the thought of splitting you open on his dick. This pushed him past breaking his first rule because not only was the distraction always near him, but it was his fault in the first place. He dug his grave and had to lie in the aftermath of what it caused—like staring at a beautiful animal in a cage, forced to look and never touch it for fear it might bite.

But this didn't last long either; it all came to a head when the task force went to a pub to celebrate a recent success. You'd gotten drunk off your ass after playing a drinking game with Garrick. Only to stumble your way out back to find Ghost smoking a cig. The two of you engaged in conversation, more like you were asking drunken questions, and he did his best to understand. Then you started to go down memory lane, recalling past instances with a giggle and a smile.

╰┈➤

“You’re fuckin’ drunk off your ass, Sarg; I can barely understand a word you're sayin’.” You paid no mind as you continued, “Remember that time we had to hide in between that shipping container?” 

Ghost visibly tensed, feeling himself silently cringe inside. He nodded and blew out smoke, letting you continue. “I actually think about that time a lot.” You murmur; he raised his eyebrow, looking down at you disgruntled.

“Why’s that?” You squirmed a little, your cheeks reddening. “Dunno, we were just like really close. You know?” You told him, looking up at him. Ghost chuckled and put out his cigarette, “Sure, kid, I know.”

You stared at him, your eyes large, almost memorizing his features—the ones you could see, of course. You were pursing your lips together as you started up at him. He shifted under your gaze, “Don't look g’me that look.” He breathed. You blinked.

“What look?”

Ghost's eyes narrowed, and he leaned down a little, letting his gloved hand brush the side of your cheek. Sending waves of electricity down your spine. “That look.” He murmured, looking at you with an intensity you'd never seen. You swallowed, whether it was from the alcohol or the fact that he was so close you felt your body heat rising.

“Why not?” You asked; his eyes flickered down to your lips and then back to your eyes. “It'll get me into trouble.” He stated. Your stomach lurched a little; your mind was too hazy to think as your hand reached up to his face and slowly slid his mask up.

Ghost didn't move, letting you do whatever you wanted with him. Your fingers grazed along his jaw, the smell of cigarettes and his musk clotting your senses in a way that made you feel dizzy. His hands started to snake around your back, pulling you into his chest. Like a primal need to feel you against his body, you looked up at him. “Will one time get you in trouble?” You asked.

“S’long as it stays between us.” He murmurs, his voice husky. Ghost fingers dug into your back, almost like a last attempt to warn you away. But you only closed the gap between you. Pulling him into your lips, letting out a sigh as he's finally in your grasp.

╰┈➤

Ghost broke rule one; he let you in and selfishly didn't push you away like he should have. Because it was meant to be only one time, yet it wasn't. Because God, you were just hard to stay away from. His time outside of thinking about work was devoted to you; you ran through his mind as if you belonged there. His hunger for you was insatiable; those fantasies weren't just that anymore; he felt the real you, and he couldn't let it go. Ghost knew it couldn't last long; it wasn't meant to, but he pushed those thoughts aside. And that wasn't exactly hard when you were doing the same thing. Once you had him, it was like a switch flipped. You made his life a living hell. He was in a debriefing? Oh, you were there, playing footsie underneath the table, trailing your foot higher and higher until his large hand swatted at your foot like a fly. He was trying to get paperwork done? You were underneath the desk, blowing him off. He was on guard? You were on the radio teasing him and moaning into the receiver while nobody else was on the line.

Ghost loved every second of it; it was both adrenaline-inducing and pleasurable. Every time he fucked you in a closet with his large hand covering your mouth. Every time, you snuck into his barrack and left unable to walk properly. Every time the task force would go to a bar or a pub, he'd give you a look, a look that meant, ‘If you don't walk into that bathroom right now, I'm carrying you myself.’ You were like a damn drug that he couldn't get enough of. He tried to quit you; he did. But every time, he thought about what would ensue when you were gone. It didn't sit right with him; the thought of not having you under him, around him, with him in general. Because you weren't a nameless girl, you had such a personality, a way with him that nobody else did.

But you weren't special, that's what he told himself. You didn't belong to him, and neither did he. It was just sex without feelings, no strings attached. He broke his first rule, but he wasn't about to break the second. He couldn't get attached to you; not only were the both of you in a dangerous line of work, but you worked together. It wasn't appropriate, nor was it safe for him to get attached to you. He wasn't capable of love; he couldn't do it. It would end in disaster; he had too much baggage, too much he had done, and too much he would do if someone he loved got torn away. He knew it was wrong. He shouldn't have done it in the first place; he knew the first kiss would lead to more, but he welcomed it. Ghost welcomed you to fill the hollowness in his body that ate at his mind, and he welcomed you to warm his bedside with it.

╰┈➤

“Ghost, you in there?”

It took a beat of silence before you heard the knob of the Barrack door turn, and the door swung open. And there he was, standing before you with his familiar gaze. You grinned, looking up at him unphased. “Hey, big guy, cap told me you got the day off.”

He grunted, “S’pose so. Don’t know why you’re here love. If I remember you’re still s’posed to be working.” His barracks were empty; nobody was inside due to the time of day. Meaning you easily snuck into his room while he was in MedBay without notice. You nodded, “Any reason why?” You asked.

It was his turn to nod now, and he took his hand off the doorknob and held it out for you to see. It was bandaged up; his darkened, muddled tatooes starkly contrasted with the clean cloth around his hand. You raised an eyebrow at his silent display.

“Didn't know they gave out off days for paper cuts.” That earned a chuckle out of him. “Soap was fuckin’ around with a knife and got me in the hand. All I had to hear was, ‘Aye, Ghost catch,’ the bloke doesn't know when to quit.”

You could only grin at the story, knowing full well that Ghost would be perfectly fine. He'd been through much worse and survived. You hummed, “Ah, well, I was just in to check on you.” Ghost leaned on one hip and stared down at you with amusement, his hand propped up on the door. “Thought you'd drop by one way or another.” He mused.

He was a cocky bastard, but he knew you like the back of his hand. You breathed and rolled your eyes, a smile tugging up at the corner of your lips. “Well, you're in good condition; I think my job is done here.”

You turned on your heel, trying to make a quick escape before he inevitably lured you back into his grasp. But you weren't quick enough; a few brisk steps in, and you already felt his two large hands halt you in your tracks. His fingers squeeze your waist. “Fuck do you think you're goin’?” He asked. You felt your heart pick up again; a smile spread across your lips that he couldn't see. “Work,” you said curtly.

He pulled you back into his chest, your breath hitching as you felt his stiffy pressed against your ass. “I’m not letting you out of my sight that bloody easy, ‘sides; I got another problem you need to check up on.” you could almost feel his grin.

“Is that an order?” You questioned, tilting your head back against his chest to look up at him. Your neck craned to meet his gaze; he nodded, moving a hand to grip your jaw. “Aye.”

╰┈➤

Ghost didn't get jealous; he just didn't. He knew you were your own person, and he didn't care what you did outside of your time spent together. You didn't belong to him, and neither did he. Your little meetings were just a way to blow off steam, no strings attached. Friends with benefits, you liked to say. He didn't care. He knew you'd come back to him because he knew nobody could give you what you wanted like himself. Other people didn't know what to do with a body as perfect as yours; they didn't know how you liked to be fucked. How you liked it when he whispered in the nape of your neck everything he had planned to do with you. They couldn't match up to him. Yet when he visioned you with another person, his body went rigid, and his hands bawled up into fists. He often found himself patrolling your waking hours, who you spent time with, who you talked to, and especially who oggled you like a lovesick puppy. But he wasn't jealous. It was just a precaution, keeping the people around you in line. Until it wasn’t.

It started to draw attention when Ghost began to appear next to you. If you were somewhere, he was in the same place, whether that be from a distance or not. You didn't notice it quickly, but Jhonny did. That's when the comments started; it started light: “Got him on a short leash, don't ya’ lass.” in passing, “Can't get rid of ‘em, can ya’? Like a boggin’ stain.” It was all in good fun, but it became too frequent, and even Price started to chip in the occasional comment. You began to raise an eyebrow at his presence as well. While you didn't mind his lingering, you began to worry about the fact the two of you were drawing attention. And when you brought it up with Ghost, he brushed it off, “Just a coincidence [name], don't go thinking this is something it's not.” While that worked to shut you up, it did tick you off. After all, it wasn't his place to reprimand you for something that was his fault.

The dynamic between the both of you changed after that. Ghost became more touchy, and what was then a pat on the back or maybe a tap on the shoulder became lingering hands pressed against the small of your back in broad daylight. It was like he was sending a message to everyone, a warning. Things also changed behind closed doors; Ghost liked things fast. He liked it hard and rough, not enough to hurt you but just enough to leave you sore. But he started to change; his usual rough and fast thrusts turned into drawn-out and languid. A new addition was also the number of hickeys and bite marks he left. Before, it was only one or two, only left in easily hidden places. But now your neck was peppered with red and purple marks, and your thighs and legs were littered with garish teeth marks. You always gave him shit about it, but he didn't care. Often, your anger was met with a shrug and a “Won't hurt for a few of 'em to show; they look nice on you.”

╰┈➤

Your fingers curled into the fabric of sheets lining the bed—a low pain burning in your back and in between your thighs. Your eyes groggily opened, trying to make out the blur of your surroundings. The bed felt warm but disheveled, the blankets atop you thrown around.

You slowly sat up, trying not to cause any unnecessary pain, stretching your arms above your head. Your eyes adjusted a little, taking in the room. You looked down at what you expected was an empty side of the bed, yet it wasn't.

Ghost. He usually left right after the two of you were finished, or he'd get up at night and make his leave. But here he was, his back facing you, the blanket over him only partially covering his sleeping body. It was a new feeling waking up to him in your bed. Some part of you wanted to go back to sleep, cuddle up to him, and wrap your hands around him like a koala bear.

The other part of you wanted to leave, to retreat to your bathroom and hide out until he left. You knew how strict he was with this; there were no attachments. That included romantic acts outside of just sex. But with the way he’d been acting recently, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to just lay back down with him.

You gently laid back down on your side, facing his back. Watching the way his muscles expanded with each breath he took. Slowly, you reached out and gently ran your nails along his bare skin. Trailing up and down the expanse of his back. You trailed your hand to the nape of his neck, scratching at his hair.

His body tensed for a moment; then it fell back limp—a low, incoherent murmur vibrating through him. Guess he was a light sleeper.

You felt your lip curve into a soft smile, enamored with his groggy state. You threaded your fingers through his short blonde hair, languidly massaging at his scalp. This earned another soft grunt from Ghost. It was endearing, almost, “Thought you'd be gone by now.” You murmured.

It was silent for a moment; just the sound of your mixed breathing echoed across the shell of your ear. Ghost grunted a little, the deep sound slowly beginning to register as words. “M’not leaving…just can't seem to fuckin’ stay away from you.”

That caught you off guard; you did a double-take, a conflicted eyebrow-raising. “Yeah? Why not?” Your voice dripping with skepticism, all you got in return was a grunt and his face burying further into the pillow.

“…Dunno, but I was bloody mad that I ever thought I could.”

╰┈➤

Ghost broke rule two; it crept up on him like how fall fades to winter. Slow in the process, yet sudden. He was blind to the way his thoughts seemed to mesh around you. Blind to the way almost every time you were in a room, his eyes and attention never left you. He was blind to the way he resented anyone who held your interest, and even more so, he was blind to the way he resented himself for not doing more. Ghost realized he was in deep water; he was drowning and hadn't even realized until too late. You had him like putty in your hands; you had Simon in your hands. Simon didn't want you to know him as Ghost, not when he had more to offer you. Ghost wasn't built for a relationship, but maybe Simon was. Simon was the one who nudged your shoulder with his on ops when he could tell you were getting anxious. He was the one who would hold you after sex, cleaning you up and making sure you were alright. Simon was the one who would crack small jokes to you late at night when you wouldn't go to sleep. And Simon was the one who would pay the price when he eventually had to leave.

“Y’know we can't keep this up forever; the longer it goes on, the more reasons we shouldn't do what we're doin’.” You and Ghost often talked about things like this; rather…he brought it up, and you agreed. It had become a hot topic between you two, whispers of “We really shouldn't be doing this.” or “It's gonna end soon, so let's just enjoy it.” both of you agreed that it was a bad idea, and a worse decision to keep it up for as long as you both had. Yet the both of you never seemed to do anything about it. You'd found yourself craving him while he was away, missing his voice and presence. And things were starting to get so nice, too, like a honeymoon phase that couples experience. Neither of you wanted it to end. It began to get real when you physically couldn't think of a life without him to warm your bed. Not being next to or around him felt more abnormal than keeping away. Professionalism was a struggle, to say the least.

Both you and Ghost were in the same boat without realizing it. There were always no strings attached until there wasn't. Until your body was tangled between threads, you couldn't go anywhere without feeling the pull. It got to the point where the team was starting to catch on. They saw the lingering touches, the stares, the convenient dissaperences. Most of 141 didn't comment on it, but you knew they knew something was up. There was the occasional snicker or teasing jab, most of the time directed at you. It bothered you more that they were justified in their teasing rather than the actual comments themselves. However, Ghost did make good on his promise that your predicament with him never bled into your missions. He kept his cool; he was a different person on the field. Then again, so were you, you both understood that this was the one thing you couldn’t fuck up. But you did.

╰┈➤

Your eyes squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights above you. Blinking back the inclination to close them and fall back into sleep. Your senses were still adjusting to being awake, but as soon as you started to process what was going on, a sharp pain hit you like a semi-truck.

You groaned, grinding your teeth tougher, tipping your head back into a soft pillow. Your hands were flexing and clawing at anything, and just as you were about to sit up, you finally started to hear the makings of a muffled voice. “B-nnie… hear-me…c…m..on” You looked up at the voice, the blurred face eventually clearing into a worried man with a sucky mohawk.

“Hey- don't sit up quickly, lass; nurse would kill me if she saw y’up and around. Fuck, you took a hit back ther’ didn’t think you’d wake up this early.”

You winced, trying your best to form a smile. “Soap. Thought I remembered seeing that ugly mohawk.” His face slowly relaxed into a soft smile, “Wouldn’t be too cocky, I’m not the one in a hospital bed right now.”

Fuck.

You remember, your smile dropping as memories of the past 72 hours flood your mind. You and the team had gone for an operation, it was supposed to be easy. A quick in and out, grab some guys who were linked to Markov. Take them in for questioning and send them off to Guantanamo Bay if anything slipped.

But of course something had to go wrong, it always does. The previous morning you and Ghost had gotten into an argument, it was over something stupid. Nothing to write home about.

You had a nasty habit of avoiding your problems, so that’s exactly what you did. You avoided him, even during the mission. You were supposed to be buddied up, nobody entering or leaving alone. It was the best way to make sure nobody got lost or hurt. And you slipped through the cracks and out of his sight just long enough to get hurt.

It was fuzzy, like a distant memory or a dream; what you did remember was a voice. Entering an abandoned room with your rifle held out in front of you. Just as you were in the clear, you heard a mutter, probably Russian. Maybe German, it was hard to remember, then a stabbing pain in the back of your head. Most likely, the butt of a gun jammed into your skull.

Then nothing.

You swallowed, “I messed up.” You breathed, “Fuck,” you sounded miserable. Like you'd just discovered your favorite show had been discontinued.

Soap sighed and shrugged, “We all do stupid things, lass. We’re just glad you're up.” You looked up at him, “How bad do you think Price will be when I see him? You think he's going to make me bite the bullet?” It was a lousy attempt at humor on your part, but you didn't know what else to say.

He blew air from out his nose, “Dunno, he's comin’ back soon enough. Price had to drag the lieutenant out your room few hours ago. He’ll probably be with him, knowing Ghost. He's like a fuckin’ lap dog, I’ll tell you.”

You tensed. Ghost.

Shit, forget about Price. You didn't want to see Ghost; if anyone had a right to be mad, it was him. On top of being a pain in the ass, you could've put him in danger as well when you slipped away over a petty argument.

You ran a hand through your hair as best you could without pain. Squeezing your eyes shut, “He's gonna kill me.” You breathed; Soap raised an eyebrow, “I don't know about that, Bonnie; I think he was just worried about your soggy ass. Though after you got hurt, I've never seen the man so tense; LT looked like he had a stick up his ass.” You looked at him with a self-pitiful expression, “I don't think so, Jhonny. This time…he's got a right to be mad.”

He laughed, “Never said he didn't,” he looked back at you and sighed, placing a weary hand on your shoulder. “You’ll be fine [name]; he's different around you. I know it sounds like bullshit, but I think you bring out something in him that's good. And deep down, the guy is just as scared as you are.”

You tried your best to believe it, giving him a weary smile. Soap opened his mouth to say something else before the creek of the door interrupted him.

Price stood in the doorway, his lips pulled into a subtle frown. He cleared his throat, “Afternoon.”

His voice was unreadable, he walked in and placed a hand on Soap’s shoulder. “Soap, nice of you to alert the nurse that [name] is up.” Soap paused, his adam’s apple bobbing in place. “I-uh suppose it slipped my mind.”

Price’s fingers squeezed around his shoulder, “well then now makes the perfect time to go and do so.” With that, Soap stood up promptly. “Right.” He gave you a nod along with a wave to both you and price. Leaving the room with the click of the door, you looked up a Price almost bracing for impact.

“Kid I’m not going to kill you,” Price said, his eyebrow raised. “I’m not the type to lecture you when you’re in a hospital bed.”

Your shoulders relaxed, letting air blow out your nose. “Right, thanks for… that.” You felt awkward, looking around the room. “How’s the rest of the team doing?” You asked, Price sat down in Soaps chair. “Fine, besides your mishap we cleared the place, but it’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

You tensed again, to be honest, there were many things he could reprimand you for that didn’t relate to this. Be it your late night snacks in the base kitchen, the contraband items in your room, or your fraternization with Ghost. You cleared your throat, “Alright, shoot.” He looked at you, unimpressed. “Look, I don’t have any concrete evidence or proof, but I know my team. And I know you, what’s going on between you and the Lieutenant… I’m not sure how deep it goes. And to be honest I don’t want to know.”

You looked at him dumbly, your heart beginning to hammer through your chest rapidly. Shit, if Price found out it was over, not to mention it put both your rank and job on the line. Price continued, “I don’t know why you chose to separate; lord knows you know better. I’d have to assume it’s because of your…relations to Ghost. If I have to separate you, I won’t hesitate to transfer you out to a separate team-”

Your heart dropped, hands going clammy. “Price- don’t do that, 141 is my family. I swear I can improve; what happened during the last operation was my fault. But it won’t happen again; you know better than anybody that I’m capable of being on this team.”

Price held up a hand to silence you, “If you wouldn’t interrupt.” His eyes shot you a stern, icy glare. “But, if you can figure out a way to work it out with him, I'm not opposed to turning a blind eye. But that's if, and only if, you prove to me what you pulled, will never happen again.”

Your lips curved up into a relieved smile, “I can- I promise. I'll work it out.” You breathed, looking at your captain like he was your new savior. He looked at you for a moment, “Alright, kid. I already gave Ghost the same speech. He's waiting outside the door; I can pull him away if you need more time.” You thought about it, weighing out the options. But you shook your head, “No, I want to talk to him now.”

He nodded, getting up with a sigh. Lightly patting you on your shoulder, “If you need me, I'm a call away.”

You watched him leave, watching the door shut for a few moments. The silence in the room making your body feel hollow, and then it opened again. A hulking figure of a man entering the room. Simon.

He looked slightly haggard, wearing a sweatshirt and beaten-down jeans. His usual skull mask was swapped for a subtle neck warmer drawn up to his nose. His short-cropped blonde hair was slightly messied. Your eyes met his, dark pools of brown above slight bags. You stayed like that for a beat, staring in silence.

Seeing him brought on a slew of repressed emotions. Sadness, anger, joy, love? You felt your throat getting choked up; you wanted him to run to you, to hold you and tell you it was going to be okay. You wanted him to tell you that he forgave you, to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair. Most of all, you wanted him to say that he loved you, to confirm that your feelings were mutual. That this wasn't just blowing off steam or some silly crush.

“Hey.”

His voice snapped you out of your train of thought, and you swallowed. “Hey.” That was it; you didn't know what else to say, figuring, ‘Hey, sorry, I almost got myself killed on that operation. Anyways, I know you always say we're just friends, but it turns out I have unresolved feelings for you, and I'm deeply in love with you.’ wouldn't go over well.

He stood there momentarily before gingerly taking a seat next to the bed. He cleared his throat, about to speak, when you interrupted him.

“Look- I'm sorry. I know I messed up; I don't expect you to forgive me. What I did was selfish; I didn't want to face talking to you, and I thought running was better than facing you.” Your throat felt like it was closing up again, feeling your emotion burn in your eyes. “And I can understand if this deturs you in any way. I know Price has already talked to you. He knows something is going on between us, which means that I crossed a huge boundary.”

You were rambling, getting out every word that crossed your mind. “And if this means that you want to call it quits, I’ll accept that.” You were choking on your own words, feeling the sting of tears prick in the back of your eyelids.

Suddenly, you felt the warmth of his palm slide along your cheek. His rough, calloused hands welcomed against the burning flesh of your cheek. You shuddered, looking up at him like a simpering idiot. “You get tha’ all out?” He said it almost humorously, and you swallowed, breathing a bitter laugh. “I can keep going if you want,” you replied.

His eyes crinkled slightly, his cheeks pulling up behind the fabric of his neck warmer. His hands brought you in, pulling you into his chest. You gladly leaned into him, bullying your face into his sweatshirt. You felt his breath on the top of your head, softly exhaling. “I'm sorry I wasn't there.”

Your shoulders relaxed; it was like he flipped a switch inside you. Able to calm the storm of emotions that bellowed inside you just by an embrace. You felt his lips graze your head, “You don't need to ask for forgiveness, not with me, not after the shite I've been pulling.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, pulling away slightly to look at him. “Ghost, I-” “Simon.” You stopped, tilting your head slightly. “What?”

He looked at you, his eyes burning holes through yours. “No more Ghost, not alone at least. Not with you.” Your eyebrows stayed furrowed in confusion, almost urging him on. You felt his hand gently stroke atop your head, “[Name], I've been going mad for bloody weeks. I was trying to convince myself that I don’t want more than what we have, and if that makes me a selfish bastard, then so be it. I know I’m shit at talking about things like this, but I need you to know that I want you.”

You looked at him; it was like you weren't breathing. He continued, “And Price, the team, anyone else be dammed to hell. I'm not losing you, not if I can help it.”

Your lip curved into a smile, “you get that all out?” You threw his words back at him, and his eyes crinkled further. “On second thought, I can leave now.” You giggled and pulled him back by the scruff of his hoodie. Pulling his face in and sliding down his neck warmer to slot your lips against his. He leaned into you, a low hum coming from his throat. Your hands moved along his stubble, pulling him impossibly closer.

After a brief moment, you separated, feeling his breath fan against your wetted lips. “So…we’re okay?” You asked, the makings of a smile pulling at your lips.

Simon smiled, “Yeah. We’re okay.”

╰┈➤

Bonus Smut! ❤️

Scroll to end If you don't want to read :)

You had been discharged from the hospital for a few days; however, you weren't cleared for active duty for another week, which was terrible news for someone who could never sit still.

Twiddling your thumbs and watching reruns of cheesy reality TV could only get you so far before you went stir-crazy. Simon came around when he had the time, but as it stood, he was busy and had to put work first. So you were left inside a shifty apartment off-base all alone.

The worst part? You were sexually frustrated as all hell. Not only could you not satiate your needs inside a hospital, but Simon wouldn't touch you. It's not that he didn't want to, but in his words, “I'm not fucking you right after you almost died. You're still healing.”

Well, he can piss off.

Concussion be damned, it's not like your pussy was damaged. You groaned, just thinking about it; who needs a boyfriend anyway? You could make due; your fingers weren't bad. You looked at your phone, debating. Maybe one last try wouldn't hurt.

You picked up the phone and typed out a message to Simon.

{you} sent 8:34 pm: I miss your cock :(

The reply was almost instant, making you frown.

{Simon} read 8:35 pm: Jesus [name], what is wrong with you?

You grumbled, tossing your phone onto the couch. What was his problem? You were just being honest; you really did miss him. Him: more specifically, his cock. But you perked up when you saw more bubbles appear on your phone. You picked it back up as soon as the phone vibrated with a new message.

{Simon} read 8:37 pm: I’m coming over, hold on.

You stared at the message, your body almost levitating with happiness. It's about time; after days of pining, you were going to get laid!

You scrambled off the couch and to the shower. The base wasn't too far away, so he wouldn't be more than thirty minutes. This was the first time you would be with him since officially getting together. The least you could do was clean up a bit.

After minutes of scrubbing and lotioning your body, until you felt like a lubricated pool noodle, you weaseled out of the shower. Throwing a towel over your hair and drying off, finally throwing on an oversized shirt, not bothering to put on undergarments because, in the end, they would just be thrown off.

You walked out of your room just as the lock on the door clicked. Simon emerged through the door, he was still in his uniform. He smelled like sweat and musk, and god, it made your knees almost buckle. The keys dangling from his hand, he pulled down his balaclava, throwing it on the entryway table.

“You know-” He started, running a hand over his face. “You really need to learn how sexting works because out of the blue isn't how these things usually go.”

You shrugged, “it got my point across, didn't it?” Standing there and looking at him with a smile, your arms crossed before you. Simon rolled his eyes, walking over to you and settling his arms around your waist.

“You never were good at keep your true feelings hidden were you?”

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Simon, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to fuck me?” His hands squeezed you tighter, “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

He pulled you closer, slotting your lips against his in a hungry kiss. The soft sound of lips melded together, echoing through the quiet apartment. He trailed his tongue over your bottom lip, lightly nipping at it. Earning a soft hum from your throat, his large hands migrating down to the flesh of your ass to give it a firm squeeze.

He started to walk you backward, bumping into the wall while in search of the bedroom doorway and pushing your hips flush against his. You groaned, clawing your dull nails against his neck. Threading a hand through his hair, he gripped you by the meat of your thighs and hoisted you up. Letting you wrap your legs around his waist as he supported you by palming your rear.

He walked you over to your bedroom, separating from the kiss. Your nose slotted against him, and his breath fanning against your lips. His eyes cast down to the bottom of your lifted shirt and to your bare cunt.

“Fuck, you're trying to kill me woman.” He groaned, his fingers digging into the bare flesh of your ass. He set you down on the bed, sliding your shirt up to reveal your breasts.

He started to place open-mouthed kisses on the underside of your chest, down your stomach, and to the skin just above your v-line. You moaned, threading your fingers through his hair and lightly tugging with each kiss, letting out soft whispers of his name that spurred him on.

Eventually, he tugged the shirt over your head. Revealing your bare body to him, he licked his lips, sliding his hand along your exposed flesh. “Look at you, you're a fucking vision, you know that? Been torture not being able to see this.” He mused.

You shuddered, his form looming over you like he would pounce. “Torture? You're the one who was denying me.” You said with a breathy chuckle as he tucked his head into your neck, suckling along the exposed skin.

“You were fresh out of the hospital [name]; I'm not going to fuck you when you're freshly concussed.” He breathed into your neck; you clawed at his shirt, tugging it up. “Yeah, well, it would've been worth it.” You giggled.

Simon leaned back, tugging his shirt up and over his head. Your eyes trailed over the expanse of his muscles, tattoos, and hair trail leading down into his pants. You felt yourself clench just looking at him. “Simon, I swear I'm going to murder you if you don’t fuck me right now.”

He rolled his eyes, “You haven't been fucked in over a week, and you think you can just take my cock straight off the bat? You're out of your bloody mind.” Simon laughed, amused by your desperate attitude.

You groaned, “asshole.”

He snickered, holding out a finger in front of your mouth. “Open.” The command was simple, and you obeyed. You sucked on the finger, your tongue swirling around his digit with vigor. After a minute, he removed it. Then, moving his finger down to circle your clit.

You shuddered, the arch of your back lifting slightly off the bed as he continued his menstruation. You felt his chuckle reverberate off your skin, “That good, huh?” Your cheeks turned a little rosy; you didn't have a witty comeback, so you settled for a slow nod. His finger slid down the lips of your cunt, gathering as much slickness as he could before slowly pushing a digit into you.

A soft gasp ripped through you, tossing your head back against the soft pillows of your bed. “Simon.” you breathed, a soft plea for more; he hummed in response, slowly pumping his finger in and out at a steady, slow rhythm.

Your dull nails dragged along his neck, letting out a whine as you felt him add a second finger. The stretch hurt in such a good way, making your bones ache for more. He silently cursed as he watched his digits slide in and out of you with ease. “Missed feeling this, god I never get tired of feeling how tight this cunt is.” Your skin seemed to burn with his words, and the slick sounds accompanying his voice made you squirm.

As he kept it up, you felt the low hum in your stomach turn into a roaring fire. Now, you rolled your hips into Simon’s hands, desperate for more friction to quell the sparking flames in your core.

You moaned, your lips parted into a soft ‘o shape. The muscles in your core constricted then relaxed with each thrust of his fingers, “Simon- close, I'm close.” You breathed, the words spilling out from your tongue in fragments. He nodded and thrust his fingers up, feeling out for the spongy bundle of nerves deep inside you. Simultaneously, he angled his thumb over your clit, applying pressure as he moved his digit in circles.

“Come on, love, cum for me. That's it, baby, come on.” A sharp cry ripped through you, your hips jolting and your body moving in tandem with his hands. Your eyes squeezed shut as he worked you through your orgasm.

By the time he slid his fingers out of you, you were a panting, disheveled mess. Your chest expanded with each deep breath you took. You looked up at Simon, blinking away the daze of afterglow. He smiled and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Atta girl, you need a minute?” You smiled, basking in the bliss. Your hands moved down his back, stroking up and down. Shaking your head with a breathy chuckle, “I meant what I said, Simon Riley. If you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to murder you.”

His lips curved into a wolfish grin, pressing another quick kiss to the base of your forehead. “You're the boss.” He murmured. Simon leaned back up and began to unbuckle his belt, your eyes watching his pants slide down like your life depended on it. The apparent tent in his boxers and a darker stain on the fabric where his tip was made your mouth water. 

“You're gonna burn a hole through me if you don't quit staring.” He deadpanned; you smiled and sat up on the bed. Leaning on your heels with your hands on your knees, “Just enjoying the show is all.” You said smoothly; Simon shook his head and chuckled. He freed himself of his boxers, then leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“You have any preferences, love?” You shook your head no, “Up to you, Simon.” He thought about it briefly, his dark eyes boring into yours.

“Lean back, head on the pillows and one under your back. I want to see your face.” You nodded, happily assuming your position. He crawled onto the bed with you, kneeling before your spread legs. Without warning he hooked his arms around the crease in your legs and lifted. Your breath hitched, your eyes never leaving him for a moment.

He lifted your legs onto his shoulders, almost folding you in half like a lawn chair. One hand held your thigh in place while the other dropped down to give his cock a few generous pumps. Spreading the beading liquid at his tip down the base of his girth. You swallowed, and the familiar buzz deep within you returned.

He dragged his length across the slick lips of your pussy, making the both of you groan. “Ready?” He asked, his eyes studying your face, “Simon fuck me.” You said sternly; the corner of his lip twitched up.

Simon pushed inside, splitting you open with his dick. You threw your head back, savoring the stretch of his girth. Even with prep, it burned, pushing the muscles of your insides as far as you felt they could go. He cursed, his mouth open as he savored the delicious feeling of your walls wrapped around his burning skin. “Fuck, so fuckin’ tight. God [name], you feel so good wrapped around me like this. Like you were made for me.”

All you could manage was a whine and a simple nod in agreement. It was like he was pulsing inside you, “You’re still on the pill, yeah?” He breathed, and you nodded. “Yep.”

“Good.” He groaned, suddenly forcing his other hand back onto your leg. He pushed himself fully into you, leaning over you so that your knees almost touched your ears. You moaned suddenly, “Simon-” you choked. With new rigor, he withdrew so only his tip remained inside your swollen walls. Then, slammed back into your cunt with a lewd slap of skin on skin. The both of you moaned in sync, your arms clawing at his neck, back, hair, anywhere you could reach.

“This what you wanted? Hm? Begging me to fuck you like that, driving me fucking insane all week.” He grunted as he thrust in and out, your legs and chest bouncing with each thrust of his hips. You choked out a yes, “So dirty, telling me you miss my cock when I'm on base. Can't even go more than a week-” Thrust. “Without-” Thrust “This-” Thrust. “Dick.”

You couldn't think straight, not when he was fucking you like this. Like it was his last wish alive, you were a moaning mess, almost going cross-eyed from the amount of pleasure that was surging through you. Your eyelids drooped, watching him fuck into you through your eyelashes. “Simon- fuck, I can't-” you gasped. Quickly, he used one hand to grab your face, squishing your cheeks and snapping you back into reality. “Look at me, don't you dare close those eyes. I want to see you look at me as I fuck you. I want to see it when you cum on my cock.”

You shuddered, clenching around him. You knew he felt it by the way his hips stuttered; your eyes opened, looking dazedly up at his face as he rammed into you.

Simon moaned, his face drooped down into the crook of your neck. His breath against your burning skin and his fingers digging into the meaty flesh of your thighs. “[Name], shit, I'm close, Christ. I'm not going to last much longer, sweetheart.” He grunted, making you squeeze him tighter to you. You shook your head, “I’m close too; please, Simon cum for me.” You begged, feeling the familiar coil between your legs starting to tighten.

He pulled his head away; his eyes glazed over as he snapped his hips into you with vigor. Grunting with each thrust, “That's it, oh fuck that's it, pretty girl. So good f’me, so fucking beautiful. Gonna fill this tight cunt, that's what you want yeah?”

You nodded feverishly, gasping for air, “Yes, please, Simon!” Your mind turned to mush, and his hips drove into you, filling every crevice in your pussy you thought you had. Simon cursed loudly, his hips stuttering as his cock pulsed; he came deep inside you, the force of his hips making your toes curl. Sparking your own orgasm, you saw white, throwing your head back and moving in tandem to meet his sloppy thrusts. After a few more thrusts, he relaxed, dropping your legs from his shoulders as gently as he could.

You both laid there, panting and basking in the afterglow of sex. His cock was still snugly inside you, slowly softening. He leaned into you, resting his head against yours. Your fingers gently trailed over his head, brushing and smoothing his sweaty blonde hair. He pulled away after a minute or two, sliding out of you. Simon watched as his cum pooled from your cunt, and even though you had just had sex, it made you a tad flustered.

He gently brushed a hand against the side of your face, and you took his palm and pressed a soft, weary kiss on the inside of his wrist. Simon’s eyes crinkled lightly as he smiled, “You alright?” He murmured. You giggled softly and nodded, a dopey smile plastered across your face. “More than alright.”

You pulled him in for another kiss, cupping his jaw in your hands. After separating, you breathed, looking down at yourself and then back at him.

“So…how do you feel about another shower?”

╰┈➤

Woah, it's been awhile!

First off, let me say thank you to everyone who liked and followed. There are 400 likes on my last post now, and I couldn't be more honored! Sorry, I've been MIA, lol. My Life got in the way, and I had no motivation… so, take this as my apologies.

Anyway, I would love it if you could like the post and follow. It feeds my ego, and spurrs me on.

I'm so sorry, but I totally lost the person who should have been credited for the banner. I swear I just had it, and now it has disappeared; I think their name has Frost or Panda in it. If you recognize them or their work tag them please!!! ✺◟( ͡° ᗢ ͡°) ◞✺❤️

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Tough Love

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Smut with a plot nobody asked for.

Overview || Older man König being a dick but we’re trynna get that dick.

(Warnings) Smut, Age gap, soft sex, degradation?, poorly written, praise, size diff, bad grammar, daddy issues if you squint, crying, p in v, power imbalance, mirrors, desperation, covenant plot, semi-public sex, fingering, oral.

I don't know how many words it's just long. 18+

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Being in the military wasn’t easy; nobody had ever said it was. Long, grueling work hours, fixing trucks and tanks you didn’t even know how to operate.

Sleepless nights that left you catching sleep anywhere you could. Training that left your body sore and numb. Yet one man made your life in the force more complicated than necessary. Your Colonel was a man who haunted both your dreams and your hours in the daylight. Putting you through training that exceeded your limits.

He was pushing you to the brim of what you could achieve as a human. He was like a moth drawn to a flame, eyes trained on you. Always you. His rank kept an iron grip on your tongue; never had you wanted to curse out an officer like you did him. He was constantly muttering something in German around you, his voice a low-pitched grunt.

Not only was his training enough to make anyone shiver, but his size alone provoked a kind of unease. The closest thing to a superhuman that you’d ever seen; the fear of him keeping your lips sealed, making you swallow your words and follow his orders like a dog. After all, what was a couple more laps, sets, or chores compared to the punishments he could put you through?

Yet at the same time he ignited a fire inside you, one that bellowed deep within your stomach. Twisting and turning your organs with each step he took. As much as you despised him your subconscious mind had other ideas, ideas buried inside dreams, haunting your nights with his touch.

Rough calloused hands grazing on your skin, wedging between your legs. Breathy groans of relief flooding the shell of your ear. And god, his eyes. His eyes; oh how they would look at you, clouded over like perspiration on a window. Eyebrows knit together in pleasure, your hands cupping his face; tactile touch along his stubble and jaw.

You couldn’t stand it, waking up from those fantasia. Legs tangled inside the sheets of your bed, your chest heaving, and a burning feeling spread across your cheeks and down to your thighs.

Only for you to be torn apart from those fantasies of your Colonel into the harsh realities of daylight. However like all things, this was temporary was it not? A silly little fantasy blooming from your own masochism. It was bound to end.

Right?

————————————————————————

The gym was a good place to blow off steam, and so was the punching bag. A large sack of metal wrapped up in fabric just for your temper. Or lack thereof, holding everything in until it bubbles to the surface only to be released in quick bursts of energy.

Even if it was public and people could see you in all your glory, sweaty, gassed, and irritable. It didn't hinder your fists, rhythmically contacting with the rough, bright red fabric of the bag. Today was a better day; hardly anyone was there. They were keeping to themselves and then wandering back to their barrack. You stayed put. Immersing yourself in the numbness of your spent body.

It had been a collective of instances that had put you here. Firstly a rough start to th morning when you had split the mediocre breakfast onto yourself. Secondly after you had cleaned up there wasn’t much time left before drill runs so you opted out of eating. Big mistake.

People always say breakfast is the most important meal of the day; however, they say it because they mean it. You were irritable and tired, an incessant growling and podding of your stomach for everyone to hear. Your dill instructor also just so happened to be Colonel König. It was almost comical like the universe played an elaborate joke on you. And König being well, König made sure not to go easy on the drills. For being in the military and a colonel at that, he never yelled. He didn't need to, though; his normal voice was enough to command and make your blood run cold.

He eyed you down every step of the way through your drills. His cold blue eyes drilled into your own, and when that was all you could see of his face, make no mistake that those eyes didn't leave you even when he looked away.

You saw those eyes everywhere. His gaze clung to your psyche like sap from a tree. However, they were never as soft in the waking world. You preferred looking at him in your dreams; a spark of life that you couldn't see now when you looked at him.

After exhausting yourself with drills he pulled you aside, crossing his arms and looking down at you. His presence no less menacing than the day before.

“You are cutting back on training.”

It was direct, and straight to the point. Not like you expected anything else. You bit your tongue, “I've been present for each drill Colonel.” You replied plainly, keeping your voice flat.

“Then why are you struggling? Kleines mädchen (little girl), if you are keeping up with your other drill sergeants, you should be able to keep up with me, no?”

His accent rang in your ears, thick inflections rolling off his raspy voice. You swallowed, looking up at him, craning your neck to meet his icy gaze. “I don't know, Colonel, I'm trying, Sir. Believe me, I am.” You breathe, holding back a slew of profanities and excuses you knew he wouldn't accept behind your tongue.

He chuckled, cold and dry like his words. Eyes narrowing in on you, “You don't know?” he clicked his tongue, each one echoing through your eardrum.

“Das ist nicht gut (that is no good), [name] I train soldiers. Not fragile little mice. I know you are a capable young woman. So next time you come here, you train like a soldier. Is that acceptable, maus (mouse)?”

His words made your blood boil, and pursing your lips together you nodded. You nodded like a good soldier, “Yes Colonel.”

His eyes crinkled a little, not as if he was smiling but as if he was smirking. “Good. You're dismissed.” He murmured. You couldn't help how your eye twitched and your jaw clenched. Something that the giant man didn't miss.

You winced, repeatedly striking a metal bag for hours did end up coming back to bite you in the ass. Stepping back for a breath, the sound of your heavy breathing was the only sound you could hear besides the incessant ringing in your head. Running a hand through your hair, your scalp sweaty. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, you never understood how easily König got under your skin. His words cut deep, and it ignited something. A need to please.

You wanted him to like you, you wanted his snide comments and belittling remarks to stop. You wanted his praise, his pride, his approval. And you hated that you wanted it.

Everyone else seemed to like you, so why couldn't he? Why couldn't he see you were trying? How hard you had worked?

You punched the bag again and again. You grunted each time your fist hit the fabric. Wishing it was him, his body, his face, his eyes. You couldn't hear and couldn't think, wanting to dull your senses until you were dumbed down enough that you forgot what you were angry about.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You jumped a little, stumbling forward and looking over your shoulder. The hairs on the back of your stood up. You knew the voice, the rasp, the accent. Königs large figure met your eye, looming behind you like a statue. You panted.

“What?” You looked at him quizically, your body frozen like a deer in headlights.

He chuckled, walking closer to you. “You can punch that bag with such rigor yet you fall short during my drills.”

You breathed, an airy silence filled the open room. You could feel your heart beating, a soft thumping that filled the silence of the now empty gym. König didn’t wait for you to respond.

“Your stance is off; you’ll hurt your back and hands if you punch like that dummes mädchen (silly girl).” He hummed casually.

You blinked; it was this again. Your eyes narrowed up at him, your posture straightening. “Thanks, Colonel, but I don't want your input.” You breathe, feeling a sudden tension strike between you and the large man in front of you.

König shrugged, his gaze never leaving your eye. His stare was almost cockly, arrogant. Like he knew he made your skin crawl. If only he knew how much he made your skin crawl. “I was not inputting on your stance, I'm telling you that it's bad. And that you're going to fix it.” He said calmly.

You tensed a little. Was this man serious? You didn't know if one man could have a more significant power trip than he did. You bit your tongue, something you felt you did frequently when he was around you.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed. The quicker you get this over with, the better. Or maybe someone would walk into the gym to take König away. You could only hope as you turned around to face the punching bag, raising your arms to a stance.

The hairs on your neck stood as you felt a warm body press against your back. You felt it, his warmth, his breathing, his gear; it ignited something. That familiar low buzz from your lower body. Like vibrating a strange frequency between comfortability and unease. A large hand rested on the small of your back, pushing lightly, making your stomach turn.

“You're hunched over too much. No wonder you struggle with posture.” He chuckled, low and throaty. You felt the vibrations of his voice against the shell of your ear.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling your throat get dry. The jab at you didn't mean anything anymore with how you felt his large fingertips pressing against your spine. You involuntary arched your back a little, something that he didn't miss.

“Sensibles kleines ding, nicht wahr (sensitive little thing, aren't we)?”

König murmured; it was in German. You only ever caught bits and pieces of his speech. His other hand ghosted over your elbow, raising it. “You also need to raise your arms; it's no good fighting if someone can strike your head.”

You were slowly becoming hyperaware of everything around you. The sound of Königs breathing, his gear pressed against your neck, his hand on the small of your back. You memorized every detail of his touch; for such a large and dickish brute that he was, his touch was gentle.

“I know you despise me maus (mouse), but I am only ever looking out for your best interest.”

You faulted. He knew? You figured that lying wasn't going to do you good because you did despise him. You hated him. And yet you responded to his touch, even more so you leaned into it. You craved it so much that you dreamed of it. “What gave me away huh?” You breathed.

A low rumble came from his throat again. Raising your other arm, “You are… not very good at hiding emotions, ja (yes)? You tense your jaw and fists when you speak to me; I have noticed you bite your tongue a fair bit around me as well.”

Well, he got you there, but König continued. “Out of everyone here, though, you are the hardest to figure out. Even as you wear your emotions on your sleeve.”

You narrowed your eyes in confusion, letting his large hand guide your movements like a doll. “I don't know what you mean,” you asked.

His hand started to ghost down your arm and over to your jaw. König grabbed your face between his thumb and fingers, his large hand gripping your cheek effectively shutting you up. And you let him.

“You seem to hate me more than anyone, yet I can always feel your eyes on me. And the fact is if you hated me as you do, you wouldn't try so hard to improve; you wouldn't seek my approval.” He murmured.

Your stomach twisted into knots, and he held you like putty. Melting in his hands, “So tell me [name], do you want my approval?”

The buzzing continued; it rang in your ears, and it sent waves through your core. Your eyes were wide, and you could feel your heart pumping in your chest. You were like a deer in headlights; Königs grip on your jaw loosened to help you speak. Everything was quiet. The only sound was your heart racking through your ribs.

König was getting impatient with the silence, his other hand grabbing your hip and squeezing.

“Tell me the truth mädchen (girl).”

You nodded slowly. It was as if you were processing your answer as you nodded. Inhaling shakily, “I do.” you murmured.

“You do what [name]?” He corrected, forcing your head up.

“I want your approval.”

There it was, that obedience that he loved oh so much. If you were good at anything, it was following orders. His upper lip curved up. He laughed softly, squeezing your face In his hands. “See? Was that so hard, maus (mouse)?”

You didn't respond, feeling a twinge of shame. Your body was recoiling in on itself. Your lips formed a soft frown, and your eyes faltered as they were forced to meet him.

He caught this and shook his head, clicking his tongue, “No, no, none of that Schatz (Darling), you said you wanted my approval no?”

You nodded, swallowing your pride. “Gut (good), you listen, and you get my praise. So, can you listen liebling (love)?”

You nodded again, feeling a warmth pooling in your stomach, your cheeks reddening. König tightened his grip on your cheek, “Say it.”

“I'll listen, promise.” You manage out.

He smirked, Königs large hand trailing to the front of your abdomen. “Braves mädchen (good girl), I have no doubt you'll be a good listener. You're already an exceptional soldier, aren't you? While stubborn, yes, but you're an obedient little thing.”

Your stomach tightened, his words filling your ear like music. His hand felt warm as it ran along your shirt. He gripped your body and forcefully moved you to the side so the both of you faced the large mirror wall. Your cheeks flushed at seeing yourself in such a state, as well as seeing Konig's large form pressed against your back, staring at you through the mirror.

“Do you know why I am hard on you [name]?”

You thought for a moment, coming up empty-handed with an answer. “No, I don't know.” You breathe. His hand snaking to your belt.

König leaned down a little, his mouth beside the shell of your ear. You could feel his breath against you, and it drove you mad. “I want what's best for you, maus (mouse), but you rely on others too much. So, someone needed to toughen you up, no? It's just tough love engel (angle).”

Your breath hitched as his hand undid your belt. Königs other hand was still holding your face; it was as if time was moving slower. You watched his movements from the mirror's reflection, the way his eyes stared directly at you through the glass. His eyes weren't like in your dreams, but they didn't look like how they usually did either.

They were darker and more concentrated. Königs pupils dilated, and his irises a greyer hue.

“König, there could be someone around Sir-” You were hushed by the feeling of his fingers sliding over your pelvis, trailing against the fabric of your underwear.

He hummed and looked at you through the mirror, “There is no one. Trust me, engel (angel), just stay put and look pretty for me.” König murmured, his lips against your temple covered by his sniper hood. His middle and ring fingers start to move in slow, sultry circles around your covered bud.

You inhaled; it was shaky. Your stomach jumped as his fingers sent feverish currents of electricity through your body. Your thighs tense, and you blushed, trying to look anywhere but in front of you, knowing you would be greeted by the lewd sight of Königs fingers dancing around your panties. Your hand grabbed his arm for support, and he chuckled grabbing your face harder and forcing your jaw and eyes back to the mirror.

“Don't look away. You look away, and I stop,” He rasped. You looked at yourself, practically put on display for your higher officer. Hips jittering forward as the pad of his fingers brushed and circled over your clit.

König smiled and let go of your face, the same hand trailing down to your chest. He grasped your breast, his larger hand squeezing and prodding at it like a stress ball.

“So verdammt hübsch (so fucking pretty),” König put more pressure on his fingers, digging into your bud. Smiling as you whined quietly, “Look at you, so eager. You hate me, but you can't resist letting me play with this perfect cunt of yours.”

You hated that it was true; you hated him, but God did his fingers feel good. A slick spot started to develop around your panties, accompanied by your red face and heavy breathing. You were getting worked up by barely anything, yet it was better than anything you'd ever experienced. And König seemed to pick up on this rather quickly.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Tell me, engel (Angel), tell me, have you ever let a man do this to you?”

You swallowed, watching through the mirror as his fingers slid up and down the fabric of your soaked panties. You shook your head, “No… I've fooled around with other guys, but nobody has ever done…” You trailed off, breath hitching again as his other hand pinches your nipple through the fabric of your clothes.

König hummed, “I figured so; you fool around with little boys liebste (sweetheart), not men. None of them know their way around. They don't know how to please you, do they?”

You whimper as he slips a finger down your panties, the pad of his middle finger coming in contact with your needy clit. Circling it, gathering your arousal with his strokes. You shake your head, looking at yourself. “No- they don't,” you choke out.

You looked like a skank in your mind, submitting so quickly to him—his hand down your underwear and one on your breast.

He smiled, “Good thing I'm not a little boy.”

Suddenly, he slipped one of his fingers into your eager little cunt. You choke out a surprised moan, your voice echoing off the walls of the empty gym. His finger was enormous; it almost hurt. And you shivered at the thought that just one of his fingers stretched you out.

“Scheiße (fuck), such a tight pussy.” He laughed lowly as he lazily drew his finger out and pushed it back in. He drank in how your gummy walls clenched and twitched around him. “M’gonna have to stretch you out.” He chuckled.

You grappled at his arm as he pumped his finger in and out. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out sweet whines and moans. König promptly withdrew his finger and flicked at your bud, causing a sharp pang of both pain and pleasure that shot your eyes open.

“Hey, what did I say? Eyes open while I work this pretty cunt open.” He ordered, and you whined. Your eyes pool with soft tears from the shock.

You nodded, and he slipped his finger back in, gently working in his ring finger. You squeaked, panting as you watched his fingers through the fabric of your panties. “König, s’too big-” you whined.

He shushed you and pressed a masked kiss to your temple, letting his second finger slide entirely in, scissoring you open. “Shh, it's not too big; trust me, engel (Angel), you're just not used to it yet.” He hushed, pumping his two fingers in at a steady pace.

You felt your thighs shaking a little, watching your reflection as he worked you open. König murmured words of praise into your ear as he did so.

“That's it [name], braves mädchen (good girl). Take it; take my fingers. Let me stretch this perfect cunt out.”

You let out a moan, feeling a burning pleasure building in your core. Your hips began to stutter, bucking into his hands. You covered your mouth with your hand, trying to muffle your moans and cries of pleasure.

König quickly took your hand away from your mouth, “No, no, don't you dare do that. Let me hear you, engel (Angel), let me hear those pretty fucking moans.”

You felt yourself coming undone, your thighs clamping down. A tightness was blooming in your stomach; you could barely hold yourself up as it was. Almost impaling yourself on Königs fingers.

“König, fuck- I can't, m’gonna cum.” You whimpered, your body tensing up.

At that, he forced his fingers deeper, finding that pillowy spot inside you as he curled his fingers, finding your g-spot. “Go ahead, schatz (darling), come for me. Look at me in that mirror; look at who's making you cum.”

You felt light for a moment, and König watched in satisfaction as your mouth formed that ‘o shape he loved so much.

Your legs quivered as it hit you, crashing down on you like a wave. It was too much, the pads of his fingers digging into your G-spot, his large fingers stretching your cunt out oh so nicely. You screamed, the noise bouncing off the walls. Your head thrown back into Königs chest.

That was the first time a man had made you come on his fingers alone.

You came back down into reality after a couple of long seconds. Almost falling due to your limp legs, luckily König held you up. Withdrawing his fingers from your spent cunt and holding your hips. He chuckled and pressed a kiss through his hood to your ear, neck, and temple.

“So good, took it so well, didn't you?” He whispered you looked messy. Your clothes are messy, and your eyes are glazed with the remanence of that hazy pleasure. Your own slick was dripping down your thighs. 

You teetered in his hands like jello. König looked down at you, “You're almost ready, I would say.”

Looking up at him confused, your eyes furrowed and eyebrows knit together. “Almost?” You repeated. Almost slurring your words.

He nodded, grabbing you by your hips and hoisting you up. Turning you around and walking towards the mirrored wall. “Yes, did you think you'd be ready after just my fingers?” He mused, lifting you so your legs were wrapped around his torso.

You blushed, feeling a little dense. “Well… yes?” You said feeling your back hit the wall.

König let out a throaty laugh, “Engel (Angel), I appreciate your eagerness, but I'm a large man, no? And your cunt could barely take my fingers; what makes you think you could take my cock?”

You looked away sheepishly, “Don't worry, this will feel good too. I'm not withholding anything from you that you need.” König hummed.

He slid off your pants and your dirty underwear, leaving your bottom half barren. Holding you by your thighs and your back pressed against the mirror, he looked at you. “Take off the top, and the bra too.”

You obeyed, sliding off your remaining clothing. After you were barren of your garments, he took you in. “Gott schau dich an (God look at you), the prettiest body I've ever seen” König breathed.

You felt your cheeks burning at his praise, this was wrong. You would be in deep if the both of you got caught, yet that look in his eyes made you crave more of him. Something real, he was real and he was in front of you.

“Promise to hold on ja (yes)? I won’t drop you.” He breathed, you looked at him in confusion.

“Hold on?”

Before you could do anything he hoisted you up again, throwing your thighs over his shoulder. The mirror behind you pressed against your back. You yelped, caught off guard.

You were high up, almost like a game of chicken. Your face burned as you saw your core inches away from his hood. König held you behind and your thighs, keeping you in place. “König, what are you doing?” you squeaked.

He looked up at you, his eyes crinkling. “I thought it was pretty obvious, no? I want my fill, too. Why not make this a pleasurable experience for the both of us?” He hummed, reaching up to his hood and lifting it past his nose.

His lips curved into a smile, a small scar carved into his upper lip. Königs jaw was sharp, peeks of stubble over his chin and jaw, some of it greying at the edges.

The stubble on his face pressed into your thighs, making it tickle. Your breath hitched, and you felt your stomach do a small flip; you could feel his breath on your core, and it made you shiver.

“Scheiße (fuck), can't wait to taste this perfect cunt.”

Before you could protest, he buried his face into your core. König licked a strip down your slit. Making you mewl, your thighs clenching around his head.

Due to your previous activity, you were already soaked. Königs mouth was covered in your arousal; he hummed as he pushed his tongue inside your swollen folds. The vibrations of his voice sent shockwaves through your spine.

You moaned, and your hands shot to his hood, grasping at the material on the top of his head. “Oh, oh fuck,” you whined, throwing your head back into the wall.

It felt too good. The feel of Königs mouth was like heaven; he moaned into your pussy while his fingers dug into the meat of your thighs and behind. He drew up for air before focusing his attention on your needy clit.

Your back arched in surprise, and you gasped out a lewd moan. Your fingers dug into the fabric of his hood as he sucked and pressed open-mouth kisses to your bud of nerves. It was a lot.

Hot tears pooled into the corners of your eyes from overstimulation. Your thighs clasping as his head, you tried to push his head away from your clit, but he was relentless.

König looked at you the entire time, watching eagerly to see each twitch, moan, and tear.

After another minute, he detached from your cunt. His breathing labored, and his chin covered in your slick. He groaned and pressed a kiss to your spent clit. “You taste so good, engel (angel), sweetest pussy I've had.”

You caught your breath, letting out a soft whimper, “don't stop, please.” you whine.

König raised an eyebrow and laughed, “So bedürftig (so needy).” He readjusted himself, making you bounce on his shoulder. He spit on your cunt and plunged his lips back into you. Moaning as his tongue slipped in and out of your clenching hole.

You yelped and whimpered, rolling your hips into his face. As you did, he tightened his hold on your thighs, “Mhfp- yes, just like that liebe (love), roll those pretty hips.” He groaned against your soaked folds.

You could feel that familiar coil tighten in your stomach. Staring to blabber and whine, your thighs fighting around his head.

As soon as König felt that you were on the brink of cumming he pulled his mouth away. You whimpered at the loss, bucking your hips needily at the loss of his touch. Looking down at him with a fucked out expression, eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why’d you stop?” you whine.

König licked his lips, looking up at you. “Es tut mir leid Liebe (I’m sorry, love), but I can't wait.” He breathed with a grin.

Quickly, he grabbed your thighs and hoisted you down until you were even with him. He was holding your butt with one hand and unbuckling his belt with the other.

You didn't have the heart to complain at the loss of his mouth when you knew his cock was waiting.

König managed to unzip his pants and then pull down his boxers, taking his length into his hand. You swallowed.

It was big; he wasn't kidding when he said you needed that prep. Your eyes were locked on his hard cock pulsing in his hand. It had to be at least seven inches, maybe eight. The reddened mushroom tip was sticky with his precum. Your eyes trailed down, watching the vein that ran down to the base of his pelvis and his heavy balls.

König chuckled as he watched your eyes, completely enamored with his dick. König stroked himself a few times so he could fully harden, making you blush just watching it.

He smiled and kissed your temple softly, “Don't get shy on me now, engel (angel).” He rasped.

“That thing will not fit; it will split me open.” You breathed, and he laughed at that. “I'll make it fit.”

You looked at him, your eyes a mix of unease and need—a paradoxical combination that left even you confused about what you wanted. But the way he left your cunt wanting, you didn't think you could leave without it.

“Promise to go slow, okay?” you asked him. König nodded. “Promise hübsches mädchen (pretty girl).” He whispered back to you; he then slowly dragged his hard cock along your puffy cunt. Making you squirm as the tip collected your slick.

König then pushed the fat tip into you; immediately, you whined, and your hands dug into his shoulder. Your back pressed against the mirror, and your thighs tightened around his abdomen.

He slowly pushed his hips into you inch by inch. It was a mix between pain and pleasure, feeling a tightness in your cunt as König stretched out your gummy walls.

He looked up at you once you were halfway, “Gut fühlen (feeling good)? Can I keep going?”

You nodded and breathed out, “Yeah, keep going.” You whimpered.

Fuck, it all felt so good, his hands slotted at your back and thighs. His cock pushing into you at an agonizing pace. König hisses as he plunges himself fully into you, his hips pressed against yours. “Mein Gott (my god), that's it.” He groaned.

“Oh mein Gott, verdammt (oh my god, fuck), tightest pussy I've had.” König breathes, his hands squeezing the flesh of your hip and thigh. You felt full; his fleshy tip prodded against your sweet spot. This was different than his fingers or his mouth. This felt addictive, the way your cunt pulled him in, the way you melded into him like you were made for his cock.

You felt your head fall back against the mirror, sucking in breaths and moans each time he pulsed inside your cunt. “König, need you to move.” you gasped.

He nodded, lifting your hips and then dropping them down while bucking up into you at the same time, using you like a human fleshlight. You screamed.

He immediately set a pace, not slow, but not fast either. It was like he was testing the waters on how much you could take. And god, did you want everything. You wanted it more than air.

His cock slipped in and out of your pulsating cunt, a squelching noise sucking him back in every time he forced himself back in. The both of you were a mess, grunting and gasping for air. König slotted his face inside the crook of your neck so he could whisper his profanities into your ear while he speared you with his cock.

“Dir gefällt das, nicht wahr (you like this, don't you)? Come on, hübsches Mädchen (pretty girl). Tell me how much you love this dick.”

His hips rammed up into you, the tip of him pushing up into your cunt, making you yelp. You were barely processing what he said, “Feels so good, fuck you feel so good König.” You cry out.

This spurred him on further, his hands forcing you down at a much more brutal pace. König was splitting you open, and you couldn't be more willing to take it. You took it so well, wet cunt fluttering around him.

The sounds the both of you made echoed across the gym's walls. The grunts and moans, the wet slapping of his balls against your body, and the lewd noises of you soaking his dick in your own arousal.

The mirror that you were pressed up against was fogged in the shape of your ass and back. Yet you didn't care; all you could think about was the giant of a man desperately plunging his needy cock into your swollen pussy.

“God, do you know how long I've wanted to do this? Huh? To fuck you on my cock? Every damn time I looked at you, I wanted you.” He hissed, bucking his hips up into you.

You felt dizzy; you couldn't process his words. You were too fucked out. He noticed this and chucked, followed by a moan—his breath melding against the curve of your neck. “Dummes Mädchen (dumb girl), can't even think now, can you? Too drunk off this dick.” He grunted.

Your hands held his shoulders, nails digging into his clothes. “Making a mess of my fucking pants.” he breathed.

There it was again. You felt the familiar coil within your body. You were close, “König- gonna cum. Can't hold it,” you cried out. Your thighs were clenching around his abdomen. He nodded, “I know, scheiße (fuck), I know. Come on, do it for me; come on this cock.”

You screamed his name, a tidal wave of electricity running through your body. Your cunt fluttered around him, gushing perfectly around his cock. It was like you saw white, your eyes rolling back as he pounded through your orgasm. Your toes curling and your legs straightening out.

König moaned as you creamed around his dick. He felt it, too. His digits dug into your skin, “Engel (Angel), tell me where. Fuck tell me where you want it.” he gasped.

You almost didn't respond, almost in another world entirely, as his hips pounded into your spent cunt. You felt a thousand things at once, “I-Inside, I'm clean.” you choked out.

At that, he came, his hips stuttering, letting out a long breathy moan. He coated your pussy white, a warmth spreading through your hole. He lazily thrust a few more times before just staying put. Gasping for air as he twitched and slowly softened in your cunt.

The two of you stayed there for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow. Then König raised his head from your neck to look at you; his eyes were clouded through his hood. “Hey süßes mädchen (sweet girl), you with me?” he murmured. Holding your hips while he stayed inside, enjoying the warmth of your pussy.

You nodded lazily, your breathing still heavy. “Mhm, I'm with you.”

He nodded and looked at you, “Atta girl, took me so well, engel (angel).” you smiled at the praise feeling a low buzzing in your body that spread over you like a blanket. You let your head fall into his collarbone. “I can't feel my legs,” you giggled softly.

König held you a little tighter, “Like a good ‘I can't feel my legs’? Or a bad one?” He asked you and you hummed in response.

“Good, I think. But I'm not going to be able to walk.”

He grinned, “Well, that was kinda the idea, süßes mädchen (sweet girl).” You could only smile softly; you knew this was probably a wrong decision to do this again, but you couldn't care less at that moment. “I still hate you, by the way,” you murmured playfully into his collar. He chuckled, his fingers rubbing soothing circles around your hips.

“Look who's giving tough love now?” He mused.

Maybe that was all it was between you, tough love. Some unresolved tension that ate away at the both of you until it boiled over. But at that moment, you didn't mind. It was better not to think about that. For now, you just wanted to be.

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Hi, this is my first work. I'm not sure if I like it; it's rather bad. I haven't been on Tumblr that long, so I'm still getting everything sorted out. I'm not much of a writer, and I've never posted any works. If people like it, I'll probably write more, but otherwise, I don't see much of a point. This was kind of a one-off thing. But if you found it mildly entertaining, then I'm happy. And if you did make it this far, then thank you: much love, and happy holidays.

<3

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