#141 x Reader

[angel5ofp0rn]

Young!Price x f!younger!reader

where u and ExHusband!Price first meet 🤭

TW (?) age gap. legal (21&30-something), but still an age gap

got a lil lazy at the end; just a dash of secks

“Jus’ one more.” You giggle to your friends, making your way through the crowd and over to the bar.

Another one more.

The bartender shakes his head when you approach.

For the fourth time.

“What’ll it be this time, kid?”

“Dunno,” You shrug animatedly. You giggle again, your cheeks warm from the alcohol. “How about…”

You turn to one of the men sitting at the bar.

“What’re you drinking?” You point a manicured finger at a tall, balaclava-wearing man with dark eyes.

He glances towards you for just a moment before looking straight ahead again, mumbling a “whiskey” under his breath.

“Eww.” You scrunch your nose. “No, not that.”

You lean over a bit, hands on the bar, looking past the scary masked man and to the man next to him.

The… gorgeous, blue eyed, clean shaven man next to him.

“What’re- whoa.” Your eyes widen for a moment. “You’re, like… whoa.”

The man exhales a small, slightly amused chortle.

“Would you, like, ‘scuse us?” You ask the scarier man.

He stares you down for a moment.

You blink, waiting for him to move.

“F’r fuck’s sake…” The big guy grumbles, standing up from the barstool and disappearing somewhere in the bar.

You happily hop onto the stool once he’s gone.

You extend your arm to the gorgeous man, your tipsiness making you more fearless than usual.

“Hi. It’s m’birthday.”

“Is it, now?” His smooth, English voice drawls out as he shakes your hand.

“Mhm!” You nod, your grin growing.

The man nods, seemingly amused with your young, drunk self.

“Are you, like, an army guy or something?” You ask, glancing up and down at him in his fatigues.

He snorts.

“I am an army guy or something.” He confirms. “John Price.”

“John Price…” You tilt your head to the side, your long hair falling over your exposed shoulder in that tiny going out top you decided to wear.

“Price is cute. Y/N Price sounds good, right?” You ask aloud, not really to anyone in particular.

“Already planning on taking my last name, are you?” He raises his eyebrows at you, entertained by all of this.

Women come up to him all the time. Can’t really go anywhere without a few flirting with him, batting their eyelashes, playing coy about how badly they want to fuck a man in uniform.

But they’re never this bold.

Usually not this young, either.

You’re a good ten years younger than him, at least; the hell do you want with him?

“Y’know,” You continue, ignoring his question. “You have the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

He smirks.

“Y/N!” Your girl friend calls out, waving you over to her from across the room. “Let’s go dance!”

“Oh!” You grab John’s bicep. “I love dancing. Come dance with us!”

John shakes his head, dismissing the idea.

“Don’t dance.” He takes a swig of his beer. “But, eh… Kyle here-“ He pats the shoulder of another, younger, man on the right side of him. “-Kyle likes to dance. Don’t ya, Gaz?”

“I don’ wanna dance with him.” You shake your head with a frown.

“He’s a handsome young lad.” John continues talking up his buddy as if he’s a car salesman trying to sell you the Buick. “Why don’t you-“

You cut him off, rolling your eyes as if that was the dumbest suggestion you’ve ever heard.

“What’f I dance with Kyle and he r’lly likes me?” You slur a bit.

Kyle grins.

John snorts.

“Then he likes ya.”

“No!” You groan.

Drunken you really resembles a fussy toddler.

“I don’ want Kyle’s babies, I want your babies.”

John laughs.

Kyle chokes on his drink.

“You wanna have my babies, eh?”

“Uh-huh.” You nod confidently. “I wan’ a hundred blue-eyed babies tha’ look Just. Like. You.” You poke his chest in synch with the last three words.

John raises his eyebrow at that, taking another sip of his beer.

Your friends pull you to the dance floor by your arm.

You stumble off with them, looking back at John Price and what’s-his-name.

The men don't even glance back at you once you're gone.

They just laugh it off and continue chatting.

But you? You're not giving up that easily.

You let yourself be distracted for a while; dancing, shots, bathroom selfies, whatever.

But when you see John standing up from the bar, slapping some cash down for the bartender and heading towards the exit; you follow.

"John!" You grin, arms outstretched for a hug once you meet him in the parking lot.

"Christ, you're persistent, aren't ya?" John rubs his hand over his jaw.

Your arms hook around his neck, stumbling into him. He places his hands on your waist, steadying you so you don't completely fall.

“Can’t help it,” you sigh. “I go after what I want.”

You tilt your head back to see those crystal blues that made you talk to him in the first place.

John takes a step back, gently disentangling himself from your embrace. His expression is a mix of amusement and something else…

Perhaps a hint of concern.

That’s fair; you’ve just drunkenly followed a strange man outside at night.

"You're a bit too young for me, sweetheart," he says softly. "I think you should go back inside and enjoy the rest of your birthday with your friends."

"But I like you," you protest, your arms crossing over your chest.

He sighs, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I appreciate the sentiment, love, but it's best if you forget about me. I'm not the right guy for ya."

Your lower lip juts out. A proper pout.

“Ah, c’mon. Don’t give me that.” John chortles, crossing his own arms over his chest now. “Look, this isn’t what you want. Tomorrow mornin’… you’re gonna wake up without a single thought of me in your pretty li’l head.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask, missing the point completely.

John looks as if he could laugh, but he doesn’t.

“I do.” John nods curtly. “I think you’re fuckin’ beautiful… but you’ve had too much to drink, haven’t you? Why don’t you let me get you an Uber, at least. Make sure ya get some safe ‘n sound.”

You reluctantly accept his offer, standing by his side as the two of you wait for your rides.

Ride.

Because you might as well share one, right?

And once you get to your place, he might as well walk you up.

You’d just be plain rude if you didn’t invite him in; he’d be a jerk if he didn’t accept the invitation.

Sure, he’ll help you remove your heels, but then he really should get going.

But then your hand touches his face when his head is near your knees.

He looks up. You rub your thumb over his jaw.

“Look-“

“‘m jus’ looking at you.”

He really, really should get going.

“Stay with me.” You beg.

“I can’t stay with you, love. I’ve gotta go now.”

He pulls the covers over you, brushes the hair away from your face, he has you text your friends to let them know you’re okay, and he’s gone…

…until the next morning, when he knocks on your door bright and early because, wouldn’t you know it, he accidentally took your phone home and he’s here to return it.

(He totally didn’t pocket it so he’d have an excuse to see you again.)

Since you’re both awake and have no plans, you might as well go to breakfast, right?

“I’m not going anywhere.” You groan, rubbing your puffy eyes.

“Go on. Get showered.” He sits on your sofa, hands folded behind his head. “I’ll wait.”

You didn’t even make it to breakfast.

Ended up having him pull over behind some trees along the way, straddling him in the driver’s seat, bouncing on his thick cock while he murmured praises about how well you’re taking him.

[sky-is-the-limit]

Truth or Dare, Part 1.

P: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

CW: Sexual tension, Alcohol, build-up to smut.

T: Friends to Lovers.

WC: 2,243 words.

NSFW part coming soon..

You breathed a sigh of relief as your friends finally headed out, leaving you and Kyle alone in the living room.

It was a moment you had been waiting for all evening.

Knowing that Kyle had returned safely from his latest mission filled you with a sense of immense relief and you couldn't help but feel a bit selfish in your eagerness to have him all to yourself, but you knew deep down that he wanted this time alone with you just as much as you did.

The fact that you were the first person he sought out upon returning home warmed your heart in a way that words couldn't fully express.

And so you found yourself perched on one edge of the couch, a comfortable distance from your best friend who reclined on the opposite side, his back against the armrest.

Your limbs felt a bit heavier than usual, a lingering effect of the many beers you had indulged in earlier but it was a very much needed break.

With a slight tilt of his head, Kyle brought the rim of the last beer bottle to his lips, taking a slow sip as he watched you with a lighthearted grin.

"Truth or Dare?" He chimed in, his playful tone carrying a hint of the night's lingering intoxication.

Your heart raced as you watched him, his eyes sparkling with mischief and something more, something you couldn't quite name but longed to explore.

"Kyle, come on." You chuckled, your eyes rolling in mock exasperation. Yet, beneath the teasing, there was a warmth in your tone, a fondness you couldn't hide.

That or maybe the smile that couldn't stay hidden as it tugged at your lips. "What are we? Twelve?"

"Go on." Kyle urged, brushing off your question with a gentle poke at your ankle, where it met his knee.

"Truth, I guess."

"Is it true that you and that asshole with the bad haircut had sex?" As Kyle's words tumbled out, the air seemed to thicken.

His smile dissolved into a tight line, his brows furrowing slightly as if the mere thought he uttered soured his mood.

"Kyle!" The exclamation burst from your lips, your eyes widening in surprise at his boldness.

You had hoped that he might've forgotten about it, even though you briefly mentioned it to him through text while he was away. You recalled the casual conversation, how you had mentioned meeting a guy at a bar and going on a few dates, only for it not to work out. As expected.

"What? I'm curious." The Sergeant shrugged casually, his gaze fixed on you with unwavering intensity.

As he leaned back, a picture of ease, his toned arms crossed over his chest, you couldn't help but steal a glance.

You lied to yourself, claiming you didn't mean to stare, but it was impossible not to when his black tight tee hugged his sculpted body so perfectly, accentuating every curve and contour of his muscular frame.

Despite being friends, it was undeniable how ridiculously good looking he was, something that never failed to catch you off guard.

"Plus, you never told me how that went, so.." His tone shifted, less playful now and more edged with something you couldn't quite place.

Perhaps it was the intoxication from the alcohol but his forwardness felt different, almost tinged with a hint of jealousy.

"I didn't know you were that curious about my sex life, Garrick."

It was a feeble attempt to steer the conversation back to safer, more familiar territory, to pretend that this moment wasn't charged with something more than two semi-drunk friends joking around.

"Can't blame a guy for being curious."

"Fine. Yeah, I did." You finally admitted to his question.

Kyle's reaction was immediate, his features tightening almost imperceptibly as he absorbed your words.

For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the soft hum of background music and the faint rustle of fabric as Kyle shifted on the sofa.

There was a flicker in his eyes, a flash of emotion too raw to name, before it was quickly masked by a veil of indifference.

He leaned back further, his arms now behind his head as he got more comfortable on the sofa, his defined muscular biceps hypnotizing you as though he was doing it on purpose, knowing the effect he had on you.

"Yeah, well, we've all made questionable choices." He said finally, his voice casual but tinged with evident bitterness.

"Your turn, pretty boy." With a playful grin, you smoothly transitioned the conversation, addressing Kyle with the familiar nickname you always used ever since you first met.

Kyle Garrick was indeed a masterpiece of nature. He seemed to have been sculpted by the gods themselves, with skin bronzed by the sun's caress, amber eyes that captivated all who met their gaze and a smile so captivating that not even the world's greatest poet could find the right words to describe.

"Dare, obviously." He declared with a grin.

"Ah, such a brave Sergeant." You remarked sarcastically, using his military rank to poke fun at his very predictable choice.

"Hm. I dare you to... Give me your shirt." You continued, your smirk widening as you leaned in closer, your fingers briefly grazing the seams of his black cotton shirt.

Visibly, Kyle tensed under your touch, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes remained glued to your fingers, tracing their every movement whilst they pulled back from the tantalizing proximity to his v-line.

If only you could glimpse what was going on through that pretty head of his. But even the mere thought of delving into the depths of his mind sent a shiver down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"Are you trying to get me naked, Y/N?" Kyle's voice pierced the air, its usual cocky, playful tone replaced by something more serious, low, and gravelly.

It was as if the dare had been set by him, not you, as if he was dangerously close to encaging you like a predator does with its prey.

As the seconds passed, it felt like you were dancing on the edge of a dangerous cliff, a line you were about to cross without second thought.

It wasn't just a playful game anymore, your close friendship hung in the balance, poised to fall into something reckless, a one time thing you could blame on the alcohol and the heat of the moment.

But deep down, you knew that the crack in your friendship would remain. A fracture that no amount of laughter or shared memories could fully mend if he was to touch you the way you always wanted him to.

And yet, despite the consequences of such scenario, the way Kyle manspread on the couch, his defined arms inviting you in and the sinful thoughts were written all over his gaze, convinced you that it'd be worth it.

"You know I've always had my eye on that shirt, Garrick." You said, trying your best to seem nonchalant, to mask the desperation clawing at your insides. "Not everyone wants to fuck you."

Kyle chuckled, shaking his head as if amused by his own unspoken thoughts. "Lying is not part of the game, sweetheart."

The pet name sent a rush through your veins, despite having heard it countless times before. "Truth or Dare, then?"

You intended to say truth, wanted to say truth, but your mouth moved before your brain could catch up. "Dare."

Kyle's eyebrow arched in surprise, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"I dare you to sit here." His voice dropped even lower, filled with implication as he patted the space barely an inch away from his lap, nestled between his spread-open thighs.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand moved, the suddenness of the gesture almost making you choke on your own saliva.

For a moment, you were frozen, unable to even blink. He could have easily asked you to sit on his lap, but this? This was something else entirely. It was a calculated move, designed to test your resolve, to push you to the edge and see just how far you were willing to go.

Kyle wasn't just playing games. He was playing with fire, stoking the flames until they threatened to consume you both. And deep down, you knew that's exactly what he wanted from the start. He wanted to torture you enough to make you realize that you wanted it, to shamelessly admit it out loud.

Timidly, you shifted your body from the end of the couch to move to where he instructed you, every passing second feeling like an eternity as the anticipation coiled tighter in your belly.

You were acutely aware of the wetness between your thighs, the undeniable arousal that pulsed through your veins, making your skin flush with heat with every movement.

As you settled into the space beside him, your hips facing forward to ensure your feet touched the ground, you couldn't help but notice how your body aligned with the front of his crotch as your back touched the inside of his thigh that was relaxed on the sofa.

The material of his jeans brushed against the end of your dress, sending a jolt of heat straight to your throbbing core.

Gathering whatever sanity you had left, you blurted out a fast-paced, "Your turn."

You refused to meet his gaze, the intensity of it feeling like it could burn through your skin.

"Truth."

"Oh? Not so brave now, hm?" With a self-assured expression, your face turned to meet Kyle's eyes, relishing the power you felt rushing through you to this unexpected choice.

"Is it true that you've had at least one wet dream about me, Sergeant?" You inquired, your tone low and sultry.

With deliberate slowness, you leaned back, allowing yourself to get comfortable against his thigh and crossed one leg over the other to apply subtle pressure against your sensitive parts.

"More than one." Kyle confessed casually, his voice steady despite the bombshell he had just dropped and his hand, once resting on his thigh, now reached out to intertwine with one of your locks.

The pulsing between your legs intensified, a relentless throb that demanded attention while your gaze remained locked with his.

''Dare.'' The word escaped your lips almost instinctively, without waiting for him to ask the question or say anything, at all.

It was as though you already surrendered, yearning for the game to end so that the tension between you could finally be unleashed.

"I dare you to sit on my lap." Kyle's chuckle cut through the tension like a knife, his gaze darkening with a predatory gleam as he observed your reaction.

"Kyle.."

With deliberate slowness, Kyle's hand trailed down from your hair to the back of your neck, caressing the skin torturously slow.

"Cowards take a shot, Y/N." His free hand patted on his thigh, a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes darted to the table crowded with drinks then back at you.

Every nerve in your body screamed for you to comply and so you did.

"Good thing I'm not one, Kyle." As you closed the distance between you and him, his eyes followed your every move, dark with need.

Taking a deep breath, you shifter your body upward and then lowered yourself onto his lap, feeling the heat of his body beneath you.

The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the lingering alcohol enveloped you in an intoxicating haze, unable to form any coherent thoughts that would help your situation.

Beneath you, you could feel him tense, his semi-hardened cock pressing insistently against the fabric of his tight jeans, nestled snugly between your ass globes.

All you could manage was a simple, breathless "So?"

"Dare." Kyle's lips curled into a knowing smile.

As you gathered your courage, thoughts raced through your mind like a thunderstorm, each one more daring than the last.

With a determined breath, you began, "I dare you to..." You wanted him, badly, and now was the moment to make your move.

With a trembling hand, you lifted it to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch.

"Tell me what we were doing in those dreams." You dared, your voice surprisingly steady despite the turmoil of all kinds of emotions swirling within you.

Your eyes darted from his lips back to his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation but you found nothing but fierce determination mirrored in his gaze.

As Kyle murmured, "Are you sure?" his hand shifted from a gentle caress to a firm grip around your neck as if he couldn't get enough of such a simple touch.

It was a warning, a silent promise of what he might do once given the green light. But you didn't hesitate. You simply nodded in response, granting him permission to cross that line, to take the lead.

Without wasting another second, he leaned in closer.

The warmth of his breath against the shell of your ear sent a tingle down your spine when Kyle finally whispered, "As you wish, love."

And in that moment, you knew that whatever laid ahead, you were ready to surrender to him completely.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Omega!Gaz x Omega!reader x Alpha!Price….

Gaz has a pussy here, you’ve been warned. Either male omegas have cunts or he’s trans, pick whichever you prefer because I sure as hell don’t explain shit.

Omega-Omega couples were rare… but not unheard of.

You and Gaz were one of the rare examples of a pair of mated Omegas, and while it had been hard in the beginning (not for the reasons anyone assumes. Heats were, if anything, easier with another Omega) people around you would cite you two as an example of a perfect couple- just two people who loved each other more than anything else.

Gaz had worked hard to get where he was- to prove he could serve and hold his own right alongside betas and alphas without being a liability. It’d been hard, the military wasn’t exactly always the most progressive place, but Price had welcomed him into the 141 with open arms, treating him like he would any other soldier.

He’d felt accepted in the 141- at home, and after a while, he’d eventually decided to introduce you to his team, figuring you had a right to know the men who kept him from coming back home in a box and trusting Price to be accepting and respectful of your relationship (and also to keep the less socially-adept members of the team from making any off comments)

And it had been great- Price stood up to shake your hand as Gaz introduced you two, treating you like any other even when you fumbled the greeting and extended the wrong hand. He’d sat across from you and Gaz in the circular booth the group had claimed in the pub, giving the two of you kind smiles as he asked occasional, respectful questions about your relationship.

The night had nearly gone sideways when Soap had started to ask “So- like, the two of you, how does that work for your, you know.. hea-“ only to be immediately shut down with a stern glare from Price and the man Gaz had introduced as “Ghost” smacking him on the back of the neck.

You and Gaz had never considered opening up your relationship to an Alpha or beta. One too many insensitive comments (not unlike Soap’s, though at least his didn’t come from a place of malicious intent) and Alphas taking the first chance to trample over your relationship just because you were omegas has put you both off the subject as a whole.

But, Price’s protective demeanor, the scent of whiskey, smoke, and something distinctly him hanging off of him, the way he’d clap Gaz on the back or shoulder, treating him just like he would Ghost or Soap, the small, U-shaped smile he seemed to only give the two of you- and that was all it took for your resolve to crumble.

And Price? Well, he was just happy to have the two prettiest, sweetest omegas he’d ever met dropped right onto his lap.

All this time, he’d been keeping his emotions and desires under wraps- resisting the urge to shove his pretty new sergeant down on his cock until he choked and gagged, painstakingly applying the sticky, annoying little white patches over his scent glands so Gaz wouldn’t find his scent overwhelming or obnoxious and wouldn’t be able to tell when his scent got heavier after staring at Gaz’s ass a moment too long.

And then to find out his sergeant was mated? To another omega?? Oh the things that ran through his mind. The two of you would think him derange if you’d known the things he wanted to do to the two of you.

And of course, when he meets you, he’s only down worse. Seeing his sergeant and his precious girl he’d talk about so fondly- and he could blame him, you were a sight. A pretty girl like you for a pretty boy like Kyle, it was fitting.

That entire night at the pub, he’d been chanting don’t be a prick don't be a prick don't be a prick in his head like a mantra, desperately trying to stay professional and respectful. He was digging his nails into his thigh so hard trying to ground himself that he was half concerned he’d break skin.

Only to then, afterwards, find out that you two were pinning over him almost as bad as he was for you? To find out that the pair of omegas he wanted nothing more than to absolutely destroy were practically offering themselves up on a silver platter?

Oh, he was ecstatic.

When Price first gets the two of you into bed, he’s mean, sitting back in his chair and lighting one of his fancier cigars and smirking as he makes you two scissor and grind your clits together for him- not letting the two of you stop until he’s done with his cigar and both of you have cum.

He’s content to sit back and enjoy the sight, watching you cry and writhe under Gaz in over stimulation from already coming as he holds you tight and grinds his clit against yours desperately, panting out pleading, breathy apologies over not being able to cum faster.

Price likes to have the two of you kiss too- especially sweet kisses shared between the two of you that devolve into desperate, needy make out sessions all under Price’s watchful eyes.

He just likes to watch his omegas love on eachother- giving the two of you occasional instructions to give her a hickey for me, Gaz. Mark her all up for us. Love, how about you help our boy get out of those jeans? Good girl, good job.

He’ll give you or Gaz permission to hump the other’s thigh, only to take it away right as you're about to cum and laugh at the desperate, strangled plea he gets in return.

He’ll pull the two of you to your knees in front of him, having the two of you make out around and worship his cock. One of you will take him as far as you can in your mouth, while the other sucks and kisses at what doesn’t fit and at his heavy balls.

And fucking the two of you is an ordeal with how needy you can be- Price usually ends up with three fingers buried in one of your cunts and his cock stuffed deep in the other, trying desperately to keep pace and keep it together even with two whining, needy omegas under him.

[trashbandit777]

Stalker! Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Thought the degenerates of tumblr would appreciate my latest piece of Simon as I do.

Time taken: 10 hours 45 minutes

[iloveoldermen-posts]

Price is definitely a forehead kisses kinda man. BOAF WAYS - receiving and giving (wink wink)

[stankygay]

m!reader x 141

Prompt: You suffer from PTSD~

Gaz: He finds you on the ground at the showers. You are sitting with your head between your thighs, your breath coming out quick and short. He kneels before you, he hesitates to touch you, unknowing how you will react. Gaz reaches a hand and ever so gently touches your shoulder. You flinch, your head rises. Red eyes of falling tears. Gaz is frowning but you forgot how to breath. He talks to you but you can't hear him. He feels distant. He stays with you in the showers as you start coming back to yourself. When you're back he asks you what happened. You frown ashamed of your reaction but Gaz is always so sincere. Always caring. You tell him what happened as you lay your head against his chest. He rubs your back, the weight of him holding you feels good. Right, you were going to shower. He asks if you'd like it if he joined you. You nod and you both shower. You feel like yourself again.

Price: You're waiting for exfil. The mission was a success. The adrenaline pumping in your veins is still blatant but the rush starts to change. You feel like you cant breath. It had been a close call. Your men were injured but fine overall. Your tac vest had taken a hit, but nothing piercing. Price is talking over the radio as his gaze moves over to you, as if sensing the change in atmosphere. Your eyes are distant. You don't know why but it feels like you're a private all over again. You had been shot in the gut, you'd been dragged to exfil. Your friend had died. You bled so much that you couldn't lift your arms. You haven't thought about this in a long time. Price calls your call sign trying to get your attention. You turn to him with unfocused eyes. "Doing alright,"he asks. You nod. Back at base Price stops you. You frown at the captain. You want to undress and lay down. He asks what happened. You don't tell him. He sighs, asks you to join him. He leads you to his office, pulls out whiskey and hands you a drink. He doesn't ask, he lets you speak first.

Ghost: He knows. It's the way you attacked the recruit. It was an accident, you had apologized at the young recruit. They had you in a chokehold, the air gone from your lungs. The familiar feeling of when you had been captured for a short stint. Waterboarding is different from a chokehold, but the lack of oxygen felt the same. Ghost understands. He's quiet, he hands you a tea when you are at the mess. It's his way of showing support. You sit in silence and drink your tea. Comforted that you don't need to explain yourself.

Soap: He notices as well. He has a keen sense when something is wrong, when someone doesn't feel well. He turns to you quickly. Soap is hurt, he's holding his side and you are helping him walk. You don't know why you feel cold sweat over your body. You don't know why you feel like Soap is going to vanish if you don't hold him tight enough. He stops you from walking and you try to pull him along. He stops you and forces you to look at him. "You solid,"he asks. You nod mutely. He needs medical attention. You won't think about how you feel foreign in your body and mind. How you feel like you aren't in the present. Your focus is Soap. He lets you continue helping him walk. When the medic sees him you feel the panic start to set in. He keeps looking at you. You start pacing and fidgeting. He grabs your hand to stop your fidgeting. You pause and look at him. He gives you a gentle smile, and your let out a large exhale. He's fine. It was just a graze. "Let's finish that tv show when we get back,"you agree. It's a distraction and you are thankful for it.

[daffy-20]

Bounty on the girl

Chapter 1 - 5 is enough

(Please all minors get off of this page, I beg of you.)

!Warning! - Not COD original plot, NSFW in some chapters, mentions of abuse, violence, trauma and r@pe.

Kyle(Gaz) Garrick x Johnny(Soap) MacTavish x Simon(Ghost) Riley x John(Price) x König x Fem!Reader

(That was a shit ton;-;)

Summary - You are an extremely popular idol and you tend to travel a lot, your father owns a very high class company but never really dug too deep into since you turned 21 but all of a sudden you have been receiving constant death threats and you have a feeling your father has something to do about it. Once you confront him about it he denies everything and hires a total of 5 trusted bodyguards to keep you safer when performing or going out.

I was on stage performing and everything was so lively, the crowd’s happy cheers, the sweat on my body.

“We love you!” A group of teenage girls yelled.

I reach out the grab their hand and right as I was about the touch them I hear screams but not the joyful ones I love, I hear screams of complete terror.

I hear gun shots as my manager Neil pulls be backstage.

“Wait! I have to help them get out!” I yell trying to get out of Neil’s grasp.

“You have to worry about yourself right now-” Just then Neil got shot in the head mid-sentence.

I panicked and I ran, I had no idea where I was going but I ran and I couldn't stop.

A few months after the shooting I've been receiving death threats, my Dad has been off and on the phone with me because he is worried but I can't help but feel like he had something to do with the shooting. He has never seemed to keep secrets from me but I know that he has been arrested a few times for selling drugs and illegal substances.

I was getting out of bed and I decided to call my Dad.

“Hey, baby girl! How are you this morning?” my Dad says enthusiastically.

“Hey Dad, can I ask you something..it’s about the shooting.” I say starting to regret my decision on asking. I could feel every drop of sweat run down my forehead as my mouth began to water.

“Yes? What is it baby girl?” he asks.

“Did you happen to have anything to do with the shooting that happened at my performance a few months ago?” I ask as my voice begins to crack a bit.

“My sweet baby girl, why would I ever be a part of something like that? Y’know what I think you need better assistance because it is clear that you need it! Now I'll need you to come by my workplace and we will have you some new bodyguards faster than you can say-” The line then got cut off.

I sigh deeply, that isn’t what I wanted. I wanted him to actually act like a father and discuss it with me, not get me a new bodyguard but not much I can do now.

I throw on a hoodie, some cargo pants, and some sunglasses so I can blend in with the crowd as I take a taxi to Dad’s company building.

As I ride the elevator up to my Dad’s office I feel almost nervous, I was never a non-social person but the way people have seen me since the shooting has been a lot different, I guess I just don't want to make a bad impression.

I knock on the door out side the office and when the door opens I see my Dad’s wide smile.

“Aww! There is my baby girl!” He said bringing me into a tight hug.

“Hey..Dad!” I say trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Come on in and take a seat!” He said closing the door behind me.

I then notice 5 very large men standing behind my Dad’s desk. I took a seat and for some reason, I started getting all hot and sweaty.

“Dad, I thought you were getting me one new bodyguard,” I say with a confused tone.

“Well, I feel like it would be better if you have 5! A lot safer, don't you think?” He pats my shoulder.

“Right. So what are their names?” I ask.

“This guy is Soap, then we got Gaz.” He says pointing out the two shorter ones but the two were still taller than me. One had a mohawk which normally not many people could pull off but it looked good on him, the other had lovely eyes and a hat on his head with darker skin.

“Hello, we will take good care of ye’” Soap said reassuring me.

Gaz just sat there as a kind smile grew on his face.

“And this is Price, he will be leading them in the best way possible to guarantee your safety.”

Price and I lock eyes for a moment, his eyes felt like pools that I could swim in for hours, something about his vibe makes me feel safe.

“This is Ghost, and this big guy is König!”

The last two intimidated me the most, Ghost just had a skull mask over his face and König didn't even look at me, he had his face covered too but it was almost as if he was nervous but he was absolutely humongous.

“Dad I appreciate the favor but I don't-”

“It's settled then! I'll have you boys moved in with her as soon as possible and I'll send your belongings over with her!” My Dad says cutting me off.

“Moving in with me? Dad you can’t possibly be serious!” I say protesting.

“Sweetheart it will be better for your safety, now you all go on now!” My Dad says almost as if he as pushing me out th door with his words.

Once all 6 of us leave the building a large sigh leaves my mouth.

“Well, I have an interview tomorrow and I have some work to do back at home so I guess we can start from

There?” I say turning around and looking up at them all.

I couldn't help but heat up, my cheeks were hot and I couldn't stop fiddling with my fingers, I'd never been around so many taller people before all at once.

“That sounds fine, whatever you need,” Gaz said.

“Price will drive us to ye’ home, would you like a ride?” Soap said looking into my eyes.

“Um..sure!”

On the way to my house, I am completely crushed in between König and Ghost, clearly, The two don't know how to give a girl some space.

“Could you please move your leg please?” I say looking over at König.

“Oh, y-yes sorry.” He said as he moved his leg over a bit, his tone had a gruffness to it and his accent made it a bit hard to understand what he said but I understood.

I was already fed up with this, I understand these men are just doing their job but my Dad couldn’t take two seconds of his time to listen to me. It’s like he was trying to hide something.

I just want this day to be over.

———————————————

I hope yall enjoyed the first chapter<3

[kiwistrawberryboat]

Does anyone know who wrote that poly 141 x reader fic where the reader was an aspiring author with a bookstore, it was mostly angst up to the parts I finished. I can't remember if everyone was with each other or it was just the reader dating all four of them at the same time but basically they were being super neglectful, with Kyle never answering reader's texts and then Johnny just showing up for sex and immediately leaving to go to some family dinner, and then the reader calls Simon cause she's super upset but he's very mean to her about it. Can't remember what John's role was but reader gets fed up and blocks all of them and immediately gets on a flight to a convention I believe for their writing stuff

When they come back, they're just about to close but John (Price) walks in and confronts reader but she goes off

Last chapter I remember Johnny (Soap) comes over to try and talk the reader out of it. She is on her way to meet another author but he thinks she has a date, they sleep together but reader is like "this is a mistake" and leaves, telling him to lock the door on his way out

Cuts to reader at dinner with her author friend, Rebecca(?) And thats the last part I read

[thetravelingtyper]

Our Shattered Heart Part 5 (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Taskforce 141)

You wake up to find the boys gone, so while making dinner you recount your relationship with Oliver...

Warnings: A very minor allusion to smut between two 18 year olds.

Part 4, part 6, Masterlist

AN: I am so excited to post chapter 6 it may come tonight lmao we are getting there

Chapter 5

You end up passing into an easy sleep, one that wakes you in the early evening. You blink away dreams of American missions and find yourself clutching the bandana. You sigh and just use it to tie your hair back like a headband. A grumble in your stomach pushes you to quietly pad over to the door and crack it. 

Opening it and looking into the hall you find no trace of the rest of the 141, Kyle’s door next to yours is shut but a motion of black has you jumping with a squeak. At your feet lays Simon’s jacket with a note and a poppy pinned to it. You tenderly pick up the three items, clutching the jacket to your chest and reading the note.

Peace? 

You recognize Simon’s loopy handwriting and you sigh, tucking the poppy into your hair before moving out into the living room of the flat. You look around, setting Simon’s jacket on a chair before checking both Kyle's and Johnny’s rooms to find them empty. You were alone. Something shifts uncomfortably in you at that and you just pace looking for a note and checking for your phone. You send a text in the group chat but it shows unread.

You frown but your stomach rumbling overrides concern and you decide to just chill out and make dinner. You look through your phone and find a song that makes you nostalgic. Hitting play you move to the music.

Babe

There's something tragic about you

Something so magic about you

Don't you agree?

As you cook you are taken aback by memories of home. 

As the smell of chocolate chip cookies baked two kids played on a console together. You look over to Oliver as you shove him so you can beat him. Ivy green eyes shoot to you before the lanky boy tackles you in a fit of giggles. 

Babe

There's something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me

As you both go into middle school you're stuck together like glue.  While you both did different extracurriculars you would both wait for the bus or walk home together. Oliver always had messy hair something you would always run your hands through to try and calm but it never worked. In 8th grade at a sleepover with some classmates, you were playing spin the bottle. On your turn, you spun it and it landed on a girl, one of your friends and you were dared to kiss her. Nerves bundled themselves tightly as you nodded. But right as you were going to press your lips to hers there is a grunt as someone takes your collar and pulls you away. You look to find dark green eyes glaring at the darer. You gape up at him before the crowd of kids starts to chant ‘kiss, kiss. Kiss’. You blush and look away but Oliver presses a kiss to the side of your lips.

No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony

No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me

High school starts with no issues and Oliver is still the same scrawny kid you grew up with but something changed after the kiss. You found the boy to be your shadow. You both had similar schedules so you often sat next to each other. 

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Sophomore year there was the case of homecoming. Oliver and you had gone together freshman year but he was sick the week of it this year. This year another friend of yours (who you didn't know had a huge crush on you) took you with a group of friends. During the dance, you discovered it when the girl tried to kiss you in a secluded corner of the room. You declined but let her down gently. But you found yourself wishing it was someone else instead. 

Babe

There's something wretched about this

Something so precious about this

Where to begin?

Over the summer after junior year, Oliver went to stay with family to work. When he came back he was different. He seemed to grow into his personality. The boy who greeted you by surprise after your first class was strong, he picked you up with a squeak from you and spun you around. The prom was a fun night. The after party was even better. You, Oliver, and a few other friends took a jeep to the coast.

Babe

There's something broken about this

But I might be hoping about this

Oh, what a sin

One night, the last of the trip the others went drinking while you and Oliver gamed like old times. The boy you grew up wrestling into the ground grew up, and in a way so did you. Deep veins of friendship always threatened to simmer into something more and you both knew it.  So when everyone was gone over a beer Oliver caught your hand and asked,

“Where do we go from here?”

To the strand a picnic plan for you and me

A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

That night and the following week you will always remember. Turning in the covers and bodies pressed close together. But at the dawn of day, you found the bed empty. You walk into the kitchen to find Oliver with packed stuff and on the phone in a hurry. He had to leave, his maternal granddad was dying and the family was heading out of the country to be with him. He hung up the phone and pulled you into a blistering kiss. 

“Wait for me yeah?”

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

That one day turned into four years of the man being away. You kept in with what contact you could but the connection where he was was bad. You went to college, made friends, and had relationships, but nothing came close to that night. However, your heart was broken when in one call when Oliver revealed he was engaged. In your final year of college, you vowed to get over the man by enlisting. Your final year of college came and went and you returned home to enlist. Only to find a surprise. When you moved back home one day when leaving you were tackled by a man only to have a warm laugh draw you to tears.

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door

Oliver had returned home and followed you into the force where you served together for years. Your feeling subsided a year in and the pain became a scar. You nor he ever brought up that week together as he wore the band on his finger. But one day, without your knowledge, the engagement was broken and the band disappeared. But before Oliver could tell you he was pulled overseas for a covert ops and you eventually found a new home in your transfer. 

You turn the stove off as the stew finishes simmering, having finally finished off all the vegetables when there is the sound of the door opening and quiet voices. You pop out of the kitchen to find your boys. Kyle and Johnny lead both catching you first. You offer a small smile and the men both sigh in relief.  John follows pulling off his infamous hat.

“Something smells good love.”

“I made dinner” 

Kyle approaches you first and you nod when he holds an arm out. You tuck yourself into his chest as his arms close around you. Johnny passes into the kitchen with a kiss on your head. John takes off his jacket and looks at his sergeants with a sense of peace.

“Where is Simon?”

You ask as Kyle lets you go and you approach John. You see the door open again and are met with a sight that melts your heart. Simon enters with a bouquet of roses and sunflowers tucked under his arm as he pulls the balaclava off. He turns and freezes when you see him. He hums nervously, a little bit of nerves biting at him when you pass John to approach him. It subsides when he sees the poppy in your hair. 

“Hey, Love.” His voice comes a little lower than normal and you find yourself reaching out for him. He hands the flowers to John who moves to the kitchen with a small knowing smile. Simon takes your hand and tugs you into his chest. He rubs your back and sets his chin on your head before speaking,

“I am sorry about us not telling you about the transfer. We were going to after you recovered. It's just-” he pauses, not wanting to discuss the alternative to the current solution.

“I understand. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave either Si. But you should have let me know I could have helped.”

He nods,

“Never again.” He sounds sure and you nod into his chest. You pat his arms and he draws back.

“Come on let's go eat.”

He presses a kiss to your head before letting you go. Simon enters the kitchen but there is one more thing. John leans against the archway leading into the kitchen, as Simon passes they nod to each other and you follow coming to a stop in front of your Captain. The man looks down at you with a gleam in his eye. 

“We got you flowers Poppit.”

He reaches up and pulls the poppy from your hair gently, careful not to damage the petals. He sets it on the counter before cupping your cheek.

“It was and is my duty to protect this team and that includes you.” He murmurs your name the pressing thought of losing you chases from his mind. 

You nestle into his hand and the hum of Hozier echos in your mind. No one was alone in the team anymore. Any other hurdle you would now tackle together. John would stand living with you or die fighting for you. He looks to your lips and your eyes shine with wetness. His thumb brushes a tear that rolls down your cheek.

“We are here, always.” and with that promise, John dips his head and kisses you. You melt against his lips, arms going around his neck before he pulls you close. You sigh as he parts from you, eyes shining. He lets you go but eyes the bandana with a sharp eye. Price dismisses it for now but can’t help the feeling of wanting to pull it off of you and throw it in the bin. He shakes the feeling off and follows you into the kitchen where the others are waiting and talking. You settle into your normal seat next to Johnny and John and Kyle work on getting everyone food. 

Dinner passes with the normal ease of jokes and conversation. Johnny's hand works its way to your knee and you squeeze it, a small smile quirked on your lips as you recount stories from back in America. 

You laugh your way through basics recounting stupid things your unit did to give Keats early greys.

“So we hoisted Evans by the vest and decided, off duty, of course, he was a great paintball target. He encouraged it insistent he had the muscle to hold out, we gave him a shot of vodka and a helmet and went at it. Murphy got him in the shoulder twice, with the wind I missed a few before tagging his inner thigh. He cursed me out for that. But Ollie was always the best shot out of all of us. He went as far as the range would allow and shot dead center. 4 rounds to the chest and on the head. We had to spend 10 minutes trying to get the paint off the visor.”

You smile at the memory before blushing, Kyle looks at you with curiosity,

“What's on your mind love?”

“Just the after-party.”

He smirks and gestures for you to continue, you hesitate but Johnny echos him. 

“If you insist.”

You take a spoonful of stew to ready yourself, this story always was embarrassing to you, but something in you swooned, well you’ll see.

It was hot in the Arizona summer sun when the paintball contest finally ended. You and the 6 other sergeants who joined in the post-mission celebration hoisted Evans down. The man was bruised but in good spirits, as he leaned into your arm. He pulled the helmet off with a pained whoop before dropping into the dusty grass with a laugh. You go to help him up but he only pulls you down onto him as the others laugh. You push against him but just laugh appreciating the coolness of the grass. The others worked to clean up leaving you and Evans alone. He rolls to his side leaning his head up on a paintballed elbow and watches you.

Your eyes move to his about to ask what was up but there is a weight in his gaze and you feel your heart catch. You weren't blind to his attraction towards you, you saw it in the hidden glances and the tugs towards the rec room. You had served with the man for a year or so at this point and it seems he wanted to say something.

“So Heart,” you look to him before rolling over in the grass to meet his eyes, “I’ve got family nearby who run an excellent Italian restaurant and I was wondering…”

His hand runs through blond hair and baby blues look to you. 

“Are you asking me on a date Steve?” You just ask plainly and it seems to make the man a little nervous and he sighs, pulling himself up to rub at his painted shoulder.

“Yea if that’s fine with you.”

You mirror him and think, stretching your legs out. Your mind immediately goes to Oliver and your heart clenches, the pain however old, was still there and you shake the feeling off. You had sworn to get over him and this could be a good opportunity to get to know a teammate.

“You know what,”

You start and Steve gets a hopeful gleam in his eye before there is a splatter of paint right next to his hand that makes you both jump back.

“Still have it.” A smooth voice rings out above you and Oliver is suddenly there with the paintball gun hanging from one large hand. Steve refocuses, looking from the paint splatter on the ground where his hand was between you and him and back at Oliver.

“What the fuck man you could have hit us.” Steve is pissed.

Oliver looks at him with a bored look, but you can sense the tension hidden under it. You know him too well. He brushes Steve off with an apology before dropping a hand down and pulling you up. 

“We’ve got debrief Heart, also Italian works.” Oliver pulls you to him before winking at Steve and walking off. 

When you reach the locker room he sets the gun aside before shaking off the dust.

“Oliver, you know that was rude.” You stand with your hands crossed as the man pulls off his shirt. Your eyes widen at the tattoos spiraling out from his shoulder blade. Amongst them, you find a few anatomical hearts. He feels you approach and looks over his shoulder as you graze a finger over the warm skin before you realize yourself and pull back. 

He exhales through his nose before turning to you with dark eyes. He lifts a hand to your hair pulling a blade of grass out before stepping into your space. The man is taller than you and you find that your breathing constricts with the smell and feel of his body so close. You look up to him with wide eyes as his search your face. 

“Don’t like him near you.” His voice is a growl and he pulls his shoulders back. Your heart thumps and you want to lean into his warmth, old ties pulling at your soul but the shine of a ring on his finger hurts.

He traces your eyes to it and seems to tense as your eyes well up. He moves to bring a hand to comfort you but you step back, breaking the moment.

“Don’t Ollie. I can’t.”

He tries to explain but you are already turning and leaving the room, leaving the sound of a frustrated fist against a locker.

-

Italian was apparently the name for dinner as you reemerged to find Steve having showered and shirtless in the sunlight. His eyes find you and if he notices your unshed tears he doesn't say anything, but there is a friendly hand to your shoulder that speaks volumes. 

The party continues at the lake house near the base owned by Steve's family. Later into the night, the group grows to a few dozen others including some higher-ranking Sergeants and Keats. You are unsure how the poor man got dragged into watching a party but you didn't question it. You found yourself in the middle of a drinking contest with Evans, the loser having to do a (almost) naked swan dive off the roof. You were in the middle of your next shot when you felt a buzz at the back of your neck, you turned to find Oliver having reappeared, talking to Keats about something serious it seemed at the edge of the room. 

His eyes are dark but sensing you he turns, eyes drinking in your relaxed form before he offers you a small smile before being pulled outside by Keats. Your heart skips and Steve pulls you back into the moment by downing his shot and winning the contest in your moment of distraction. 

Blue eyes shine in victory and you sigh and succeed to his victory. And that dear reader is who you found yourself in the cold desert air, on a rooftop, in your undergarments about to make an 80 or so foot drop into a dive site. You cover your arms as the others cheer for you from the deck. Steve is behind you shirtless and he looks into the dark water. 

“I'll dive with you if you want Heart?” But you shake your head a bet is a bet and your parents didn’t raise a quitter. You take a step toward the edge before there is a call of your name and Oliver is pulling himself up easily onto the roof. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He is livid eyes taking in your form before turning to Steve. Before he can go off though you shush him. 

“Leave Steve out of this Ollie, it wasn’t just his idea.” Your best friend frowns before approaching you but Steve steps in between the two of you. He isn't as tall but pushes against Oliver’s chest anyway.

“You have a ring on your finger buddy so how about you leave them the fuck alone. You aren’t being a good friend.”

Oliver snarls at that making a move to shove Steve back but you call his name sternly.

“He’s right Oliver just drop it.” He wants to protest but there is a noticeable line of hurt in your voice that quiets him and he can see the tears welling up in your eyes.

Steve steps towards you concerned, but you just wipe them with your hand. 

“It’s ok Steve, sorry about dinner, but here,” you press a kiss to his cheek that lights up his face and darkens Oliver’s. He tenses but you ignore it and the heartache before lining up at a sprinter run and jumping off the roof in a swan dive. 

-

The cold water wakes you like a nightmare and you can feel your chest constricting but as you float in the middle of the lake the nebula above mentions to you with a trail of meteors. When you are finally fished out of the water the party continues but you don't see Oliver the rest of the night. 

As it turns out he was pulled by Keats into covert ops and you wouldn't see him again. Until now.

-

You recount the story accurately, keeping the bits with Oliver to yourself. The others have a mix of reactions from humor to an obscure look on Johnny’s face before he mutters a “lucky bastard” before turning to his stew with a sour expression. You elbow him lightly with a laugh before reaching a hand into his hair and tugging lightly,

“You're not in a position to complain Johnny.”

He blushes and looks away and the others laugh as you press a kiss to his cheek. You lean back into your seat please and the rest of dinner passes as the boys chime in with stories. 

-

You hum to yourself as you clean dishes, the boys having gone to shower. As you finish the padding of feet alert you to Johnny and as expected his arms come around you and you to his chest as you both sway to your music. He leans his head against yours some of the wet strands of his hair against the side of your face.

“You done growing it out?”

He thinks a moment and runs a hand through his hair. The sides of his old mohawk are now even with the rest of his hair, it all coming down to his chin when messy. He sweeps it back now since you’ve been off base. 

“You and Simon like it longer.” He offers it simply and you turn your head to eye him. 

“Cap may have a comment on that.”

Said man arrives out of Kyle’s bedroom in a pair of black sweats. 

“On what?” He asks with a curling smile.

“Should Johnny bring the ‘hawk back?”

John enters the kitchen, reaching for a strawberry tart from the counter. He then comes to the side of you and Johnny evaluating as he takes a bite of the tart. He looks for a minute before giving a suggested

“Sure.”

“No” Simon leans against the entrance of the kitchen and you laugh wholeheartedly. You move out of Johnny’s arms after paying the kiss tax to his cheek. You set the dishes to dry before moving to straighten up the chairs as Kyle finally enters.

“Did I miss something?” He asks and the others shake their heads with assorted chuckles and you turn to check the time and find it late.

“Alright boys, big day so off to bed.” You turn to John with a grin and he huffs a laugh,

“You heard them, men, bedtime.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Kyle snickers before you pop him lightly with the towel.

“Where are you sleeping lovie?” It’s Johnny who asks with a hopeful grin.

“And be kept up by your snoring no thanks I'll leave that to Simon.”

He dips his head in defeat and SImon opens his arm for the man to walk into, both men mentioning a quiet goodnight before going to their respective room. This leaves you, John, and Kyle. Kyle turns you you and you press a kiss to his cheek before he nods to John and heads to bed. Then there were two. 

Blue eyes look into yours and you look up at him. There is something on his mind and you could tell. You step to him and trace one of the scars on his chest that leads up to his sternum. He hums under your fingertips a hand moving to your hair and the bandana.

“What is it, John?” 

“Who is Oliver to you.”

And there it was. You had expected this from one of the men at some point but not exactly from your captain, but you shouldn’t have been surprised. He watches you slump back against the counter an old weight settling on your brow. You feel your age then, the ache in your muscles and the cold of old feelings. But there is a spark in your chest when John's hand cusps your cheek. With his support, you feel a welling of tears spilling and you move forward toward him with a muffled cry. His eyes widen and his arms wrap around you easily pulling you into his chest as you cry. 

A beast prowls in your chest stamping out all the shadows you concealed over the years. No contact only for him to reappear like a spark and ignite everything. Every little touch a brush of hair behind your ear to Oliver chasing off bullies in elementary school to the kiss in middle school. You both never spoke of that night in high school. All the feelings swirl, around his disappearance during college. To the blasted ring. The simple silver band that signaled everything, he never eventually explained before disappearing once again and then here you were. You were Homesick. Sick of the confusion, then you look up to find Price peering down at you with the weight of the world braced against his shoulders, weathering you and the others from the storm, and through everything, here you were. 

And through all the tears John holds you close to his chest and you can hear his heart racing. Eventually, you begin to realize he's rocking you and humming softly. A melodic noise that begins to emerge from the background of your static-filled mind and pulls the beast out to play. You begin to slow your cries and eventually, the tears stop though your face is probably a mess John’s eyes shine down at you as if you are the last gem on earth. 

“At ease Sergeant.” He whispers it and you hiccup a giggle, he would say the exact same thing when you would fuss over his tea in those long nights. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“I am here my Heart.” You give a shaky inhale at the weight of his presence. You just nod at him a little spaced out. He then adds,

“If and when you are ready to talk you know where I am.” You nod thankfully at that before murmuring,

“I,” you think before clutching at his arm, “we should probably go to bed.” Price nods and in an effortless motion sweeps you up into his arms and presses a kiss to your forehead. You shut off the kitchen light before he walks to your room and nudges the door open with his hip. He sets you gently in the bed and you quickly work yourself under the covers exhaustion settling into your bones. John stretches before you scoot over and let him join you. You curl into the blankets before an arm pulls you into his chest. He turns off the lamp and murmurs a goodnight sweetheart into the shell of your ear, his warmth allowing you to fall into an easy sleep. 

Taglist!

@ghostlythots, @00ops1e @fruitymoonbeams-blog @ashy-kit @character---obsessed @rafaelacallinybbay @my-amazing-nerdyness @star-struck-universe @breakawayresin, @br0ken-rec0rds @buckysjuicyplums @cod-z @chickennn-soupp

[harlenia]

I’m literally gonna sloppy kiss all of you

[angel5ofp0rn]

Y’ALL

IDK WHERE TO GO WITH EXHUSBAND!PRICE X READER

plz send help 🫡

[simp-ly-writes]

Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.8)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary:The boy's have stated that you are their last mission at the agency. Little did you know how seriously they would take this operation. Familiar faces will appear, old one's will help to cast forward some advice, and maybe, just maybe in the end you can finally find that dancing partner.

Warnings: 2600 words, Mentions of Addiction, allusions to depressive behaviours and depictions of smoking, light mentions of violence.

A/N: the end nears but a sweet ending I promise!

Masterlist | Taglist Request | un-edited.

6:00 AM | Spring | Your Home

"Your our new mission," those words would come to haunt you. By-gone were your days of throwing your phone at the wall and yelling at your home's digital assistant, 'X.' To having your burnt toast with a shot of vodka to get your system started for the workday ahead of you. No- the boys would not allow you these things, nor a lonely moment as Johnny woke you up with a smile, jumping onto the other side of the bed as eggs and freshly-squeezed juice came wafting up the stares. Pots and pans banging to the morning news as you groaned, turning yourself over, trying to hide yourself deeper within the covers.

"C'mon Daniels, you should be used to our antics by now. We have a meet in 2 hours, gotta be looking good for the chief-"

"He can suck my ass, fucking putting me on that fucking mission in the first place. They all can go to hell," you grumble into a shriek as Soap quite literally shoves you off the bed and onto your carpeted floors. "Well that hurt, thanks Soap," you spit back, standing up with a huff before slamming the bathroom door closed, the sounds of running water had Johnny giving himself a self-high-five and he ventured back down the stairs.

John leaned against the counter, papers in hand as his gazed snapped up to his teammate, "They up?"

"Oh yeah," Soap answered, pouring himself a coffee before taking a seat beside the captain, a plate being served by Simon. Gaz tries not to laugh, coming out of your pantry with a set of tea-bags in hand watching as the giant tries to navigate your small living space with sub-optimal grace.

--

You gripped the steering wheel the whole way downtown, having to listen to Gaz and Soap's pointless arguments as they debated is Zebras have black or white stripes. John looked at you from the passengers seat, turning up the radio in a social cue to the boys in the back as you pulled into a parking space. Throwing the keys into his lap and slamming the door closed you scanned your ID, presenting a small smile to the newest secretary before locking yourself in your office, taking a deep breath in silence.

You would be lying to yourself if you didn't miss the constant silence that trailed your presence in the office space, everyone not knowing quite what to say or seeing your drink-driven self stumbling throughout the halls. It all felt worthless, empty, the fun of the job completely stricken without Whitby's pet names calling after you, his hand on your back, guiding you into meeting after meeting, or his humor through your radio as you wrote notes on his assignments back at home-base.

You felt sick, having to work, having to act as a Handler knowing that you ended up killing one of your men- who's to say you wouldn't do it again- but before these thoughts could consume you, like clockwork another pair of the boys had wrangled their way into your space with bright smiles, pressed suits, and a tray of snacks and tea in hand. "Ready for a meeting?"

--

6:00 AM | Summer | Your Home

The cycle would continue, the boys somehow breaking through your security systems- Soap always looked extra guilty. Shifting his eyes away from your sights, feet shifting as Gaz chuckled, "We are good at are work." Casting you a wink as you sighed, slowly falling into compliance, trying to hide a smile as fresh breakfast coating your counter tops and people talked to you about anything other than death when you were willing too.

Butt when the night came, you hated it, hated the way you were moving on- seemingly too quickly. Whitbys voice haunted your dreams, his promises of adventures without weapons and suits, cameras or contracts. So you put on a record, leaning against your coffee table in front of your electric fireplace, fingers pinching against your leg as you eyed your phone. A few of Price's messages left unanswered alongside Laswell's.

You fell asleep on the floor that night and in the morning Simon threw a blanket on top of your form, quietly brewing a pot of coffee while shifting through your cabinets for something to make, Johnnys booming voice echoed from the front door as Ghost cursed underneath his breath, you slammed your head against the wooden furniture, gun clicking into place as you rounded the corner. His hands pressed upwards, grocery bags dropping as an apple rolled down the hall, stopping at your slippers. "Morning!"

--

And yet, you were back at the office again. Suit freshly washed, a few new sets already in the works as you talked with Charlotte for the first time in months and yet, when you first looked into her eyes. Struggling for an apology, trying to find the right words for your lack of appearance. She pulled you into a hug, cursing your name playfully before joining your tears into her shoulder. "I missed you, Handler."

"I missed you too, Doctor, so very much."

--

You and Charlotte would train the newest agents, you were saddened to see such early versions of yourself, asking yourself where the time went, in a way where your life went. Yet their smiles, jokes, and spirits reminded you of Whitby. His never ending teasing or endless stream of thoughts he would converse with you. It had you chuckling in their faces as you flung another to the mat, raced down tree-lines with gear on your back in endurance training or in the firing rang as Charlotte yelled orders. You felt yourself slipping slowly back, allowing for her voice to order you and the fellow trainee's around for the few weeks you shared together before they all were sent away once more.

You through your hair back off your forehead, gaze snapping as the 141 boys cheered for you from behind the glass as you passed your quarterly fitness examination. You gave them a nod, heading towards the showers and once the adrenaline wore off, Charlottes voice was no longer ringing through your skull, you began to cry without a reason as to why. Just gripping the tiled wall as your shoulder heaved, the water turning cool as you glided into a towel, into a suit, and out the door once more. Taking a break out back once more, Simon silently joined yourself, picking up a lighter you both stared off to the park cars in the alleyway before Price was calling you all in for dinner orders.

--

Dinner, it was the time you looked forward most to. Your growing team with Jacobs and Jason, followed by Charlotte entering the room, various plates and games in their arms as they joined your crew. The office had a near daily board games event, debriefing with playing Monopoly or a supposed, "rigged" game of life as Gaz put it jamming a finger in your face, accusing you of cheating as you casted him a middle finger with a smile. He matched your expression with excited eyes.

--

1:00 PM | Autumn | Somewhere in the Country Side

Spring had slipped away just as the summer heat, you packed yourself back into layers in order to hide away from the chilling air. Today you would be embarking on your longest hike yet, Simon had commented on taking one of your weekends every month for a hike, and today would mark your 7th together.

You breathed in deep the crisp air, closing your eyes as you paused on the pathway before feeling for your cigarettes, you had stopped the drinking yet couldn't give it all up just yet, the itching in your spine, the sweat dripping down your forehead as you looked up the rest of the hill ahead of yourself, Simon paying no mind to your stoppage.

You took a deep breath of smoke in, coughing up the taste as it had been a few weeks since your last smoke. Your eyes started to burn fore you casted the remainder of the bud against your pant leg, stamping it out before chucking the remainders in your pocket. Picking up a light job to catch up to Ghost who stood now at the top, looking down at you expectedly as you neared.

"Nice view," you commented, looking over the yellow and red trees they swayed lightly in the wind. He grumbled out a yes, sitting back on a fallen log as you did the same. Opening his bag, you both took out snacks and water as you became absorbed by the sounds of the world before you. Birds wings fluttered, chirping in the skies above, A few snapped twigs off to your side reminded you of the shy animals hidden in the trees as a squirrel darted off bast your feet.

--

You came to host the games nights as Laswell invited over her wife. She brought a homemade cheese cake that you ate a few too many slices of, now feeling the food-coma overcoming you, losing whatever game was currently in play as your eyes became heavy.

A series of light snores had everyone softening their voices, Laswell and John observed your sleeping form with softened eyes. "They look to be someplace happy," you shifted into a smile, "yeah," John added to the conversation, placing his wining hand down as Johnny nearly flipped the table, cursing out the group before being quieted by a drunk Gaz covering his mouth with a hand, tilting his head over to you.

--

12:00 PM | Winter | Taylor's Tailors

Winter was a long and slow season, work had slowed down yet no-one dared to comment before a new recruit was tackled to the floor for saying the criminals were celebrating the holidays for the year. Rolling your eyes into a smile, you brewed yourself a new cup of coffee as you leaned against the printer, nodding along to whatever Samantha had to say as she ranted about her newest agents lack of regard to their personal safety after falling three stories and running after a convict.

You sat down together in the staff room, offering your own advice as you had finally signed the papers for that promotion. 'Handler of Handlers' Charlotte commented one afternoon as you requested the results of the quarterly exam. It was a new experience, being so far removed from the fields yet the distinction helped you to move on in many ways, not forgetting but being able to take a step back, regarding all the past to present and accepting the decades you worked together with fondness sprinkled with regret.

--

A few years later...

A phone called surprised you one morning, Price's name flashing across the screen as it had been some time since you last seen the boys at work, a part of you forgetting that in your new navy blue suit and pictures framed on the wall, a connection to Whitbys mom and a new dog established a mission finished that you never quite noticed up until now. "You boys are very clever, arn't you all, how's the military treating you, camo was very last year, I hope you know-"

"Hello to you too, Daniels," the Captain chuckles back to you, you can hear whatever chair he sits in squeaks to the movements. "Anything I can help you with?" you ask, fingers dancing across the keyboard, preparing an email to Laswell.

"Not exactly, but we all wanted to invite you to our wedding."

"Our wedding?" your voice raises, eyes now opening a tab to facebook as you stalked each of their feeds only to come up with nothing.

"Yeah... we met a officer. Great one at that, our team photographer, they go by Dice," you can hear the mans smile as you can't help put smile for him as well.

"Thats fucking incredible man! Oh my, when did this all happen, I-... wow. Give an Agent a minute or too, I thought I would be on this shit just like Laswell's..."

A series of laughs erruput in the background as you make an inquisitive, high pitched tone in question. "You're on speaker," Simon says as the rest of the boys yell out their hellos.

--

The boys go on to give your the rundown of the event and the overarching points leading up until now as you checked out of work early and made your way home, laughing and crying alongside their story.

"Well of course Im going to your wedding! Have to meet this Dice of yours, they have any friends or siblings" you tease out.

"Actually..." Gaz pipes up, looking around the room as your fingers tap against the steering wheel, sitting in your driveway, not wanting to end the call at this new information.

"So, they go by fish-"

"What the fuck are these codenames, seriously guys, fish?" you question.

"You're one to speak Daniels," Soap retorts, defending the stranger as a series of laughs consume the call, echoing around your car as you lean back, ending the call with a smile before stressing out on what you were going to wear.

--

It was bittersweet to attend the ceremony as you blinked past tears, throwing rice as they all ran down the isle together. You walked around their new house together, admiring the green scenery around you all as the summer sun illuminated the various colourful petals of the flowers inside the garden.

Pouring yourself a glass of lemonade, a dip in the couch had your gaze casting over to a tall woman. She placed her boots on the couch table across form you both. Setting her own glass down in her lap as he sunglasses slid down her nose as she gave you a once over. A playful smile pinching the corner of her eyes as you tipped your head in greeting. "Names Daniels, do you happen t be the infamous Fish everyones been tellin' me about?"

"My name would look rather good in lights but I rather hear you calling me Gabby, pleasure to meet you Daniels. Price was telling me all about your missions together when they came back, did you really slit a guys throat open in an ice cream parlour?"

--

And just like that conversation flew easily between the two of you, both unaware to everyone keeping away from the bubble you both had formed as they obsessed you both from inside. "Think they will get together?" Gaz asks, pulling an arm around Dice that snuggles further into their side. "Nah, they'll kill each other before that, sure of it," Soap responds, taking a swig from his drink before pulling Simon to a dance. Price taps against the glass window behind you both, you two startle to attention, now glaring at the man as he waves you both inside, pointing to the dimming sun as bugs rapidly surround you both.

Joining Gaz and Simon on the dance floor, you give Gabby a twirl as she dips you with a playful smile. You both whisper jokes into one another tear, nails digging into skin as your foreheads crash against one another. "Wanna go for a smoke?" Gabby softly asks, eyes darting over your shoulder and towards the front door.

"Yeah, just gonna get freshened up, be out soon," you give her hand a squeeze. It's already the next day as you check your watch and fix your hair. Hands pressed against either side of the sink, a voice drifts from memory as if the present as you make your way to join the lady waiting for you outside, "...and maybe one day we will dance together again but for now- it's time you took some lessons and find a new partner, I will be waiting to see all your new move..."

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt @no-lessthan3 @cod-z

↳ A/N: hope you all enjoyed reading this ending, if you read my Lasting Pictures series, Gabby and Dice are characters from that series, thought it would be a nice way to combine the two series. Thank you all seriously for the support, wouldn't write this much without it in all honesty, so thank you, again, truly.

[ra-bies]

One of my biggest issues with most x reader fanfics is the fact that the reader is always displayed as more of a mother and not a partner. Not just fem readers but gender neutral readers too, the reader character always feels so bland. (Idk abt masc readers lol) No matter the personality of the character, most writers just default to “motherly figure who is also your partner.” I get that relationships have to have support (and that the fics have to be inclusive to everyone who is reading) but I feel that there are better ways to show that. Idk is that just me?

[makoodles]

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

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

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

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

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That should be it.

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have tougher targets to tackle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kid–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

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

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

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

“No!” You blurt.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, ma’am.” 

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

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Okay, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You squeak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[deunmiu-dessie]

divorced!john price who lets his daughter and her best friend (you) stay at his house every summer without fail. divorced!john price who leaves the two of you home alone more often than not when he's deployed. divorced!john price who spoils the two of you when he is home, by taking you out to restaurants and going shopping. divorced!john price who should see you as a second daughter, and treat you as such. divorced!john price who feels like a dirty old man for not thinking that way. divorced!john price who's wanted to feel your cunt wrapped around him since the moment he laid eyes on you. divorced!john price who swears to let his fantasies be nothing more than they are. divorced!john price who gets a text from his daughter during his early drive back that you had arrived sooner than she did. divorced!john price who gets home only to find you sprawled naked across his bed, playing with yourself and moaning his name. divorced!john price who can't help but swallow thickly at the sight of your messy pussy ruining his sheets. divorced!john price who clears his throat, voice gruff, "d'you wan' help sweetheart?"

he knows he shouldn't be doing this, knows that it's wrong, but the taste of you is addicting. warm and sweet against his tastebuds, innocent and needy. the precise but shaky roll of your hips against his mouth is driving him insane as well⸺ and the only thing he can do is watch. watch as you fall apart on his tongue while he grinds himself against the edge of the bed. listen to the muffled sound of your moans and pleas as he takes you higher and higher only to slow down his ministrations and ruin your orgasm, your slick, soft thighs trapping him against your swollen, drooling cunt. john can't help but groan against you, tongue lashing out to flick your engorged clit, when he finds your teary face, your head shaking back in forth. "m-mr. price! mmf--! please! i can't, need t'cum."

and maybe he shouldn't have given in as easily as he did, but god he's jerked off to the thought of this exact moment for what feels like an eternity. "all y'had to do 's ask, luv."

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ - 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓂𝑒!

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶