#Captain John Price x reader smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

syoddeye · 2 months

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the dinner

ceo!price x reader / ~4.4k words

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4 Very special thank you to @sleepyeugene @greatstormcat and @mortuarywriting for beta-ing ♥️ Tagging: @sweetspicynoodles

CW: alcohol, oral sex

Straw. Actual straw. Collected, cut, snipped, and arranged by careful hands to ring a porcelain plate to resemble a bird's nest. A piece pokes the chicken egg in the center, and a thin drizzle of black truffle sluices from the puncture and soaks into the dry, flat bed of mushrooms.

You would do unspeakable things for a lamb samosa.

The drinks are delicious, though the service, along with everything else, proves an adjustment. Two sips into a kir, savoring, the waiter clears the glasses, moving you into the second dish without a word. Each course you pick through transitions the same: with a person clad in a fancy little vest ferrying away three-quarter full glasses and disassembled plates you ruined in search of flavor.

Baffling. Pompous. Wasteful.

Your work anniversary dinner. Your date with John Price.

Across the table, he dines in his own world. He methodically pierces the egg on his nest-plate-thing, peppery black truffle oozing more neatly than your own onto the mushrooms. He prepares a bite, and you trail it to his mouth. His eyes close briefly, and your lip twitches.

Holding back a sigh, you mirror him as you have the whole dinner, a plebeian to his patrician.

The conversation lulled when a former business associate of John's, wife in tow, briefly stopped at the table. You don't remember either of their names, only that their intrusion was the killing blow. Although introduced, the conversation remained limited to the three. By the time they departed for their table, the plates had changed.

John did not help the silence, seemingly content with it. While generous in material ways, the Moynat proof of that, he was stingy when it came to speaking about himself. He masterfully keeps the focus on you, with a special interest in your time at The 141 Group.

But as you reluctantly dominated the earlier conversation, you were not keen to restart it. You let the quiet continue to hold you hostage.

The server takes the remains of the cheese course, the most palatable and normal by far, and he finally speaks.

"Not a fan of French food?"

Your eyes flick up from the napkin in your lap. Unfazed, the server arranges another clean set of flatware. John's elbows rest on the table, poor etiquette for a man of his station, leaning forward until his breath makes the candle flame flicker. He doesn't move to make the server's job easier, forcing them to work around him.

You glance to the waiter, mildly comforted they seem unperturbed, then return to John's question. "I don't mind it."

"You hardly ate."

"I don't think my palate is refined enough for this," You carefully explain. This is a free dinner. This is the head of your company. You're neither impolite nor stupid to accidentally insult the man's taste.

"I doubt your tongue's the problem," He smirks, then lowers an arm to the table and extends a hand, palm up, expectant. Grins when you take it, thumb dragging over the skin. "I'll let you pick dessert."

The profiterole is an olive branch. A delicious one, vanilla cream and chocolate exploding over your taste buds, erasing the earthiness and grit of the earlier courses. Fingers pinching the dessert's accompanying demitasse, you find John studying you. His choux untouched.

"Not a fan of sweets?" You ask, echoing him.

"Not particularly," He pushes the saucer around the candlestick.

You take the pastry. With so much food wasted already, it'd be a shame to let the taste of paradise slip past.

The server never returns to the table. The meal ends when John informs you the car is waiting out front, and he herds you to the coat check with his hand on the small of your back. He helps you into your wool coat, murmuring, "Pity it's cold out."

You know what he means. It took hours and a FaceTime call with Jordan to pick a dress. Your friend wasn't so much of a consultant as she was a soundboard, reassuring you looked good over and over again.

"He said he liked the green," you explained.

"Told you, big sexy pine tree," Jordan teased, voice crackling through the phone speaker.

You wore the dark emerald dress to a wedding years ago with good results. It's formal enough the maître d' didn't stop you at the door, yet simple enough in its construction that you don't feel like a peacock or a tryhard. The silky material clung comfortably to your frame but wasn't too snug and fell to your mid-calf. The slit that cut a generous distance to your thigh invited John's eyes when you slid into the car upon pick-up, followed by his hand. The dress dipped beneath your scapulae in the back, the scoop neckline traveled straight across your cleavage, and the thin straps exposed your shoulders. You feel sexy, and you know you look it, too.

The coat's lining is cool on your skin, contrasting with the heat of John's breath on the back of your neck. Your things back in your possession, he steers you to the exit.

John pulls Alex aside when you duck into the car, and the bodyguard glances over his employer's shoulder. His attention returns within the second, but a smile forms under his neatly trimmed mustache.

With that furtive look, it occurs to you you don't know what's next on the agenda. Given the lack of edible food and stilted conversation, you'd prefer to head home and tuck into the samosas you've dreamt of all evening. Bid adieu to this alternate universe where you kind of date CEOs and own expensive purses. Yet, from your limited experience with John, leaving the man's company is easier said than done.

It's as if he reads your mind.

"Night's young. Thought we might have a drink, if I haven't completely mucked this up."

You frown. "You haven't," It's unfair he gets to self-deprecate, and your immediate inclination is to comfort and dissuade him. Knowing the man could buy your building with pocket change grates against the simmering frustration in your chest. You want to go home and ditch the date, as you have others, but instead, you are agreeable. "I could use a drink."

If he registers a hint of your inner turmoil, he does not show it. The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile. "Good. Somewhere we need to stop first."

He looks out the window and settles a hand above your knee again. You should break the habit, even if his palm is warm and the gesture scratches an itch you don't want to acknowledge.

You observe him in the periphery. Since this situation began in the copier room, you look up John Price online every few days. He's constantly in the news, whether by mention or for a quote. Each story uses one of three photos, all from the same batch of headshots. Interestingly, he seems to avoid video interviews, though there are three or four soundbites where he's been invited to chime in by a network.

His Wikipedia page contains more information on The 141 Group than his personal life. The section itself is a measly three sentences covering his birthplace, heritage, and when he founded the company. And although you knew it was a long shot, you searched high and low across every social media platform you could think of, reactivated your Facebook, and everything. Nothing. His control over his public image seems as ironclad as his control over the company. You count yourself lucky his command extends only to work. If you wanted to exit the car at the next traffic light, you're sure he'd let you out and wish you a good night.

An idle flex of his fingers on your leg, as if he really is a mind reader, extinguishes the thought.

Neon light punctures the tinted windows of the car. Your head swivels, and you scrunch your nose in recognition. John's brought you to a popular row of nightclubs, and fuzzy memories surge to the forefront of your mind. The taste of cheap tequila on your tongue and playing drunken therapy in crowded bathrooms. It's beyond you why John needs to stop here, but you're not opening that can of worms.

John reaches for the door handle, and your arm shoots out without thinking, curling over his forearm.

"John, wait."

He stops immediately. "Something wrong?"

"Can I stay in the car?" You ask, eyes moving past his furrowed brow to the few clubgoers outside. "I'd prefer to stay here."

John's face slackens, and then he turns away, his shoulders heaving with a short laugh. He shakes his head and pats your thigh. "Alright, but I'll need your order."

Confusion finds its home on your face this time until John gestures with a thumb over his shoulder out the car's rear window. A bright red food truck sits behind the private car, warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. You watch a woman claim a paper tray cradling a doner kebab. The sight sinks claws into your belly.

The want must be plain on your face as John chuckles and cracks the car door open.

"C'mon. Two tiny pastries is a poor meal. I cannot, in good conscience, take you for a drink on an empty stomach."

When you order, and he reaches for his billfold, you quickly tap your phone to the register. Thanking the truck owner, you delight in the cross expression on John's face.

"You covered dinner, I assume, unless you've made an accomplice of me," You joke as you step to the side of the line with the man, your souring mood remedied with the promise of Turkish food.

John's eyes pinch as if trying to sort you out, and then his face drops into a feigned solemnity. "'Fraid so. We'll never be able to return."

"I'm gutted."

"I can tell."

The two of you stand out of the way of the groups loitering outside of the clubs. Alex hovers nearby.

You watch the short lines with a mixture of admiration and worry. It wasn't too long ago you were one of the giggling young women forgoing proper attire to stand in lines to dance and drink. Arms linked with friends, buzzing from the pre-drink, and making eyes at whoever caught your fancy. It's surreal to be back here with John, of all people. He'd look like an ordinary man if he wasn't in a bespoke suit.

A booming voice calls your number, and you retrieve the food. His serving is massive, tricky to transfer.

"I'm starvin'," He mutters, tucking in like a dog gets after a bone.

You, no better, are two big bites into your kebab. You swallow, shielding your mouth with a palm. "I thought you liked dinner. Our first dinner."

John considers you a moment, cheek bulging slightly with a bite. Before he takes another, he smiles sheepishly. "I hate that restaurant."

The admission poleaxes, and you nearly drop the kebab back into its flimsy tray. "But…I saw you absolutely relish that egg dish. With the truffle?"

"I was keeping the sea urchin down."

"That's what that was?" Your stomach twists, suddenly persnickety, recalling the slimy, coral-pink dish preceding the egg and mushrooms. It tasted salty, but you assumed it was another type of shellfish. Mildly scandalized, a bite finds its way to your mouth, but you pause, shy of the target. "If you hate the place, why did you take me there?"

"Thought you might like it."

You snort, wiping the corner of your lips with a disposable napkin. "Well, I didn't," Despite the lightheartedness, a sliver of asperity threads through your tone, and you swipe your tongue over your teeth. "You didn't ask what I like to eat, or where I might want to go for my anniversary date."

"So this is a date."

You glare, thinking how fast Alex might react to you taking a plastic fork to your employer, shelve the twinge in your chest and settle for pointing the prongs accusingly. "You have some nerve, Mr. Price. Taking a young woman, an employee, to dinner without consulting them."

The glint in his eye sharpens in the kaleidoscopic light. "You didn't complain earlier. You didn't ask."

You rapidly lose patience. "Should I ask next time?"

His mouth curls beneath his beard. "Next time?"

That’s it. You pitch the scraps of your food, dab your mouth again, and head for the car. With a huff, you bypass a hesitating Alex and wrench the car door open, your face flaming with embarrassment and irritation. Head of the company or not, he's an ass, deliberately riling you up. When you turn around, mapping the route home in your head, John's broad form cages you between the open door and the car. A quick glance at the American, and Alex turns away, forcing you to focus on the man before you.

"John." You state simply, hoping his name's magic enough a word to compel him to step aside.

"Didn't mean any harm, doll," He rasps lowly, a hair above a whisper. "Thought the place would impress you. I should've asked, I know, but I've made up for it, haven't I?" This close, his eyes appear darker, overcast with how he's backlit.

Lump in your throat, you exhale through your nose and lick your lip, tasting paprika. "I don't appreciate being teased."

John hums. "No?" His eyes switch between yours before giving a nod of understanding. "Noted. Then I'll be direct. I'd like to take you back to mine for a drink, so we can have some privacy," His hand lifts, palm cupping your face, thumb sweeping a cheek. "Get to know each other. Talk."

Talk. Uh-huh.

It's another precipice that every bit of reason in your bones tells you to step back from. Abort, abandon ship – this man is your boss's boss. No, higher than that. A man whose net worth is a question mark in every record you find. A fragmented exasperation comes out in a sigh, more surrender than defeat. As you mused earlier, leaving the man's company is easier said than done.

It's terribly stereotypical – the sleek high rise, the terse doorman, the private lift, all down to the echo of your heels clicking on dark parquet floors leading to his door, the penthouse, naturally.

However, John's home is warmer than you thought it would be for the owner of a company. A mixture of contemporary artwork hangs throughout the foyer, living, and dining area. Designer fixtures and hardware, clean lines melding with traditional pieces, and a color palette trending darker yet somehow rustic. Despite the company's technological bent, you have yet to spot a single smart home device. Whoever he paid to design and furnish his place, you figure they made out like a bandit.

Eyes cast out of floor-to-ceiling windows, you hold a glass of a Grand Cru, a Bordeaux whose name you immediately forget when you clap eyes on the year. The taste of dark cherry and smoke feels like silk and velvet on your tongue, and you savor it. The view's not too bad, either.

"Like it?"

"It'll do."

It's maddening. Going from barely looking the man in the eye in the line for a themed cocktail at a company party to standing in his home, drinking his expensive wine after he's paid for dinner and the purse currently on his dining table. As you take in the skyline, you hold on to that thought. The umpteenth time, you ask yourself, what the shit are you doing here? This is bad. There is no rationalization. The facts are laid bare in your mind: You are younger than him, not indecently so, but enough that your parents and friends would raise a brow. You are his employee and well on the way to breaking half a dozen more rules. You are an average person with bills and debt and stand to benefit from his generosity. You see it coming, the belated realization that hits like a pile of bricks.

The words slip out. Part declaration, part self-reassurance, wholly unformed. "I'm not going to be your…sugar baby, or whatever." You take a swig, fighting a wave of embarrassment.

In the window's reflection, John rocks on his heels. "I didn't think you were. I don't want you to be."

You turn, meeting his gaze when he mirrors you, squinting at the amusement written clearly on his face. "Then why the drinks? The dinner? The purse?"

"You deserve to be rewarded."

"No, no," You insist, shaking your head and lifting a finger. "You don't do this for other employees."

"Who says I haven't?"

"Have you?"

"'Course not."

You snort into the glass and drink deep. "You're impossible. How do you run a company with that attitude?"

John grins wryly in his own glass and ignores the jab. "Mm. Is this you askin' what we're doing here?"

Usually, eye contact is easy. Now, it's a challenge. "I suppose so, yes."

"We're two people enjoying each other's company," John's eyes drag down you shamelessly, ending back on your face with a polite smile as if he didn't blatantly ogle you. "One of whom happens to be in a position to give presents, and possesses the inclination."

It's an intentionally obtuse answer. "You know what that sounds like."

"It bothers you that much? To leave things as they are?"

"'As they are'," You repeat, then venture, "Casual, then?"

John faces you completely, looming. "I prefer to call it friendly."

Your chin lifts. "And you know what human resources would call it?"

"I might have some sway there."

"You'd abuse your power for me?" You scoff.

"I'd do worse, if you asked, sweetheart."

There’s a pause, an opening, and to your surprising delight, John takes it. He leans down for a kiss.

It's a mix of restraint and fervor. John's hand cradles your jaw, deepening the kiss when he realizes you're not running for the exit. His mouth's clearly the dominant player when yours opens without prompting. Any trace of stiffness in your posture melts, and it's a good thing you're holding a half-full glass of wine because you don't know what else it would reach for or where else it would head.

"Get to know each other. Talk," John said. If this is how he wants to get to know you, you accept it, and let him take you to his bedroom.

"This'll wrinkle," John rucks the sheath of your dress up to your waist, fingers appreciatively trailing down your hips until they curve beneath your knees. His eyes follow a similar path, albeit starting from your face.

"I'll bill you for the dry cleaning." You murmur, biting your lip, watching him take in the view. It's intoxicating, the shift in his breathing, the narrowing of his eyes when it reaches the pale gold silk of your thong. It's as sheer as gossamer and carefully stitched with a pretty floral design, the gusset the only solid strip of fabric apart from the band.

The look on his face makes the bit of debt it put you in worth it.

Your smug grin collapses under the crawl of a knuckle down your covered seam, featherlight.

He hums, hands sliding beneath the band. His eyes flick to yours, the blue cloudy with want. His turn to smirk. "This too?"

"John," You warn half-heartedly, knowing what he's actually asking, lift your hips a little, and plant your hands on the bed.

Slowly, John pulls the garment down your legs. A sharp, audible inhale escapes him when his eyes snap to the apex of your thighs, and he tosses the piece of lingerie aside.

John sinks to his knees at the edge of his bed, unhurried, clearly content to observe your sex like it's one of the expensive pieces of art in his living room. His hands return, gliding up your legs to draw circles into the patches of skin on either side of your pussy, smirking again when he hears you gasp. He remains fixated. "Look at you," he purrs, a thumb brushing through the wetness, spreading it deliberately over your clit.

His thumb continues its lazy swipes while his mouth starts kissing a trail up your thighs. You tremble head to toe, anticipation painting everything in a lush haze.

"Fuck," The curse slips out in an aborted hiss you bite back. It's annoying how easily John works you up, his nettling at the food truck to this – he's barely touched you, and speech is suddenly a weakness. Has it been so long since you last saw some action? The brief, scalding memory of your last romp in the sheets plays in your mind. Freshly broken up with, it was a half-baked rebound with a man from a bar you went to alone, stupidly, and took in like a stray dog. Rutted like one, anyway. Come morning, he'd gone, having apparently found the cash in your wallet but not your clit.

A nip brings you back to the present.

"Still with me?"

How many times could you make a rich man doubt himself in one night? Quite the undiscovered talent to discover. "Sorry, yes," You breathe, words working their way out through a shudder, "It's been awhile."

His stroking slows, eyes narrowing at your admission, mouth tracking to its north star.

For a moment, it seems like he might stop or, worse, ask about it. You reach a hand toward him and stop short. "Can you, just–please?"

Without another word, John parts your thighs further apart, fingers digging gently into the sensitive skin. He dips his head lower, warm breath fanning over your pussy. His broad tongue flattens and drags one long lick from your hole to your clit, circling the sensitive bud. He groans, lapping up the first droplets of arousal, huffing your scent with his nose pressing to your curls. One of his hands makes for your ass, holding you in place when you inevitably jerk from the sensation.

His tongue is a wicked thing. Fitting, given his predilection for banter.

You involuntarily cant your hips up to his mouth, his beard scraping. "John!"

His smirk stretches across his lips, and he chuckles. For a second, he pauses. It's deliciously agonizing, the sight of him licking his lip before he returns back between your legs. The delay is long enough to make the next touch of his tongue a pleasant shock.

But he stops again. "Yeah? You want more?" The question is punctuated by a swipe.

You clench at the sheer arrogance in his voice. Maybe you did like being–

"What was that earlier?" His teeth gently, gently rake over your clit. "Something about you not appreciating being teased?" His laugh is downright mean when you practically squeal.

Your face burns, leaning back on an elbow, unable to remain seated with how you shake. "John, please."

Every word laces together with amusement. "Impatient, aren't you? Just want to make this last, sweetheart."

He delves back in, and in the process, he hauls one of your legs over his shoulder. You drop the other arm back to hold yourself up. His hand on your thigh leaves its post to join his efforts, and his middle fingers slide in without preamble - no need, judging by the obscene squelch.

Your head is the next to fall back at an angle, eyes squeezing shut at the slight stretch, hips bucking when he thrusts them shallowly. Gradually pushing deeper, stroking you from the inside out. His tongue makes a slow pass over your seam, licking over where his fingers disappear, and his mouth seals over your clit.

Again, language fails. The incoherent, shattered pleas and curses erupt out of you seem to spur John on. He groans when your cunt tightens its grip on his fingers, the heat in your belly skyrocketing to the peak at a dizzying speed. You know the orgasm will hit hard if it really has been over a year since someone assisted you in reaching one.

"John, please, John," you hurtle towards oblivion, leaving human resources in the dust. You fist his bedding, knuckles flexing, and force yourself to look at him.

John's eyes are open, pupils blown, zeroed in on your face with an intensity that makes you clench once more. He grunts something in response, vaguely encouraging with his big palm on your ass, squeezing and keeping you in place.

When it crests, your back meets the mattress with a cry. John rises slightly to follow your body's momentum, tongue still working fervently, though his fingers stop. He pulls out the digits to grab the ankle of your leg over his shoulder, your own wetness painting over the joint like a brushstroke. He gently removes the limb from its perch, and his mouth slows.

The first hints of overstimulation make you whimper and clumsily reach for the crown of his head, fingers threading through short hair to pull him off.

John detaches himself from your pussy, but not without a few parting kisses.

While you try to gather the pieces of your consciousness flung about, John retracts and stands, rubbing one of your calves. You nearly short-circuit when you meet eyes at last. He's sucking his fingers with the same care he showed at dinner. The first one. He grins.

"My dessert."

You consider chucking his own pillow at his face. The crime of a rich man using a cheap line. It's annoying you still want his cock. You reach for him, fingers hooking around his belt to pull him forward and down, a knee landing between your legs. He ducks his head to meet you halfway for a kiss, your tongue licking over the seam of his mouth, tasting yourself. You kiss and kiss and kiss until your lungs hurt. Now that he's broken your dry spell, it's open season.

Only, he puts a stop to it, pulling back when you unfasten his belt buckle. He cups your face. "I'd rather focus on you right now, sweetheart."

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. "That's not–You don't have to…"

"Hm, I want to see how many times I can make you come tonight." His other hand toys with the thin strap of your dress. "Should get this off you, before I ruin it."

The dress is a lost cause, as with any intention you had of sneaking out in the middle of the night. The dress joins your underwear, and you spend the rest of the evening learning just how generous John Price can be.

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xlysaxo · 4 months

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Being Married - Captain John Price Headcanons

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 18+ Content [mdni] ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Captain John Price x fem!reader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

some (nasty) thoughts i had about being married with John Price.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

❥ Price, who divorced twice, but not because he wasn't a good husband. His first marriage was an impulse marriage. His second divorce was because he was too busy as the new captain. He only had his work on his mind, which put her off.

❥ But Price wouldn't make the same mistake with you - he never wanted to let you go. Divorce was out of the question

❥ Your wedding was a dream and you celebrated with the people you love. He never took his eyes of you. He cried seeing you in a white dress. Beautiful as always and that he can calls you his wife, made him emotional.

❥ He never thought he would get married again. The team makes fun of it all the time. But Price didn't care, because this time he wanted it to be his last wedding and to spend his life with you.

❥ Your honeymoon was full of intimate moments. Price acted as if he was making love to you for the first time. But he quickly got wilder and all he did was take you so often that your pussy was stuffed with his cum. A reminder that you belong to him.

❥ "Every man who sees you and sees the ring will want to know who the lucky one is and what do you say to them?" Your breath was ragged, unable to think, the sound of skin slapping against skin and yet he expects you to give him an answer. His hand grabs your bum before he slaps his hand on it and digs his nails into your skin. "Captain Price!" Your words were just a shout and you hoped he would be satisfied with that. Because all you could do was moan and make noises that didn't make a proper sentence. Price smiled and kissed you on the lips. "Just right, darling. Only I see you fucked silly by my cock”

❥ He's obbssesed with you and every time he sees his ring on your finger, his knees go weak and he wants to intertwine your fingers while he's inside you with his cock so deep you can see stars. He wants to spread that cunt of yours and seeing you all messy. He never takes his eyes off the ring while fucking you. After he made you come twice he grabs your hand and looked at the ring. You really wanted to know what he thinks while he stares at your ring.

❥ One time he come behind you while you make the dishes, his hands around your waist while his crotch rubbing your bump. He was moaning in your ear while grabbing one of your breasts and cupping it with his hand. Feeling his ring on your nibble makes you all wet and he knew that.

❥ Oh and how Price loves to see his ring while his big hands are on your waist. The cold metal presses against your sweaty skin. He didn't know what to focus on. On that or how his cock goes in and out of your wet cunt. "Want to fill you up, my wife," he moaned as everything inside you tightened and almost made him cum. "Not so fast, my hubby" A grin spread across his lips because you knew exactly where his body was sensitive. Then he moved faster inside you, grabbing your waist even tighter while his other hand travelled down and circled your clit. Just like you, he knew your sensitive spots - after all, he is your husband

#call of duty #modern warfare #captain john price #Captain john price x fem!reader #cod smut #cod headcanons #Captain John Price x reader smut #john price #captain price smut

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abs-2020 · 1 year

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Captain John Price x Simon Ghost Riley X (F) Reader

Warnings: smut/double pen/daddy k!nk/3some/PinV/

Authors note: this idea has been in my mind for forever. <3

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“Cmon love, it’ll fit you just need to relax~” John’s hushed words would send shivers down your spine as his lips against the lobe of your ear his scruff only adding to your bliss.

A small whimper would leave your throat at his words a moan of pain a pure bliss following soon after as Simon’s hands gripped your waist like a vice his grunts filling the room as he tried to fit himself in with price.

‘Burn’ and ‘stretch’ were the only two words that filled your mind.

“That-s a good girl, taking me and your daddy’s cocks so well, so fucking well.” Simon would groan out as he threw his head back.

Drool would fall from your lips and pool at prices collar bone as your head rested between the croak of his neck.

You were stuck between the two bulky men, between a wall. Getting ‘double penetrated’, and to be honest you can’t really remember how you got yourself here, all you know is that it’s going to be one hell of a night.

…

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Authors note: to be continued..? Or finished?

#cod mw x reader #captain john price #captain john price x reader smut #x reader smut #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #john price x reader #john price #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #price mw2 #ghost mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 smut

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ethereal-night-fairy · 3 months

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Between Fire and Ice

Witch x Rún X Price

You try making a fatigue potion, only for it to go very wrong...very very wrong.

This was inspired by this post by @ghouljams and since then I've been having brain rot. So enjoy this 5k not so short short fic of majority smut. I'll likely make a part two but no promises. Thanks to @ghouljams for their encouragement of my brain rot. I blame you for my Witch smut hyperfixation. Now you'll have to deal with me writing unhinged fics about her - xoxo 💋

Rún is a reader insert

This isn't canon

Warnings: MDNI, accidental self-drugging, aphrodisiac smut, degradation, oral sex (Witch and Price receiving mainly Witch though), vaginal sex, p in v sex (Witch), creamie, dry humping, orgasm denial, breeding kink, hair pulling, rough treatment, little bit of cum play, spitting, choking, Dom/Sub dynamic, Price being mean and withholding orgasms, extensive teasing, fluff, lighthearted bickering, sorry if I missed any.

Part 2

Forgotten Sorrows Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 5k

Your ears were buzzing, well not quite buzzing but something very similar. You could hear the blood rushing to your ears making hearing your own thoughts difficult. Trying to ground your mind was proving to be very taxing in this situation despite your best attempts at staying present. Your pounding heart definitely wasn't helping your predicament either. You try to focus on things to distract yourself like trying to identify oddities on Witch's shelf. But the smell of your dripping cunt was starting to overpower you're senses, causing your mind to go a blank.

You sit on her sofa with a towel underneath your skirt. It was just a precaution. You didn't want to stain it with your… your cum. You really shouldn't have tried making your own potion to cure tiredness, but you had seen Witch do it so many times that you thought you could pull it off without having to constantly bother her anymore. That definitely didn't go to plan. It seems you only ever make more trouble for her.

She walks back into the living room causing your blood to rush to your cheeks and ears again. You didn't know how to look at her anymore. Who would have known your potion would turn into an aphrodisiac. At least she was very understanding of the situation, even going as far as to offer you her guest room so you could "relieve" some tension as she goes about making an antidote. But you couldn't bring yourself to agree. The situation was as embarrassing as it is. You've been suffering here with heated skin and trembling legs for the past thirty minutes and the ache was just getting worse. You couldn't let her know that her proximity to you was causing spikes in your heart pounding. Sweat drips down your forehead as you watch her cipher through her books to find something.

“What were you thinking of when making the potion?”, Witch holds up the half empty bottle examining it in the light. The colour shifts from a deep magenta to a blood red.

“The cause of my sleepless nights….”, you don't need to elaborate. She understands what you mean.

“It's probably the reason the potion turned into an aphrodisiac. How are you holding up, do you want me to get you some cold water?” She looks at you with concern. You've been restless since you arrived. Your sweaty skin wasn't helping you look any better. It looked like you were going through a bad fever. She walks over and places her hand on your forehead. She radiates such warmth, making things even more difficult for you. You inhale her wildflower and rose scent. Breathing in the literal definition of summer air. There's a sweet after smell making your mouth water in need. You'd give anything to attach your mouth to her sweet honey tasting skin.

She brushes your hair away from your sweaty forehead trying to get you to focus on what she was asking you. You know she was probably checking for a fever but her soft hands were making the ache so much worse. Yet you wanted to be greedy and let her hands stay on your body for as long as possible. Even though you knew it'd cause you so much pain when she removes it. You wanted to feel them in other places. Wanted her to caress your body as she undresses you. Wanted to know how her meticulous hands would pay attention to all your curves and soft dips. How she'd play with your sensitive nipples. You snap out of thoughts when the front door abruptly opens. Price's voice rings out from the hallway before he enters the living room. He seems confused but you're too far gone to listen to more than one person at a time.

The second Witch removes her hand to turn towards him, your body feels like it's engulfed in flames. Like every nerve endings was lit like a sparkler refusing to be put out. Your mind goes blank as you squeeze your thighs together with all your might. You could feel your slick soaking your panties and skirt. If you tried standing up right now it'd probably run down your thighs ruining your stockings. Instead you clutch the sofa for dear life as you try your best to breathe through this. In…out…in…out…1…2…1…2… you shut off your mind and just focus on your breathing. You don't care about what Witch and Price are talking about. You'd prefer not having to listen to Price at all. For some reason in this state he was pissing you off even more than usual even if he wasn't actually saying anything to you. You were probably upset that he took Witch's attention from you but it's whatever.

“Rún?... Rún?...” Witch waves a hand in front of your eyes but you seem dazed. You glance at her but words don't leave your mouth. “This isn't good…Price keep an eye on her while I try to finish up the antidote”, She leaves for the kitchen before he can say much. He wasn't expecting to deal with this today. He smelled sex the second he had walked in yet it wasn't the smell of his Witch. You smelled of fresh flowers budding from winter snow, the smell of fruit just starting to bloom on trees. The smell of freshly baked goods when walking down the street, mostly sweet like vanilla or caramel.

You poor thing, accidentally making an aphrodisiac. You were that pent up huh? You needed to get dicked down, needed your pussy played with experienced hands. Maybe he could call Soap to come help you. But your friendship was only just budding. So that wasn't going to work. Also he doubted Witch would let him into her home either.

It would have been interesting walking in on Witch playing with your pussy. But that was expecting too much from her. Even after the shop incident he didn't think she believed you were sexually interested in her. Price walks over to where you sat so he can crouch down to eye level. When he does this you come out of your daze and look around before fixing him with a glare. He watches you clutch onto the sofa for dear life.

“Need some help hun?”, You glare at him before shaking your head not trusting yourself to talk anymore. Price chuckled as he made himself comfortable on the opposite end of the sofa. He shouldn't have expected a different answer. You always had your walls up high. He has never seen you in such a horny state before. You poor thing, you looked like you were in a lot of pain. It would be fun teasing you though. He doubts he'd be given another opportunity like this.

“What were you thinking about then? Was it Witch? Was it her tight little cunt you were dreaming about devouring?..Hmm?....Not going to answer me are you? Did you like imagining her playing with your little pussy.”, Price watches you squirm in place at his words as you glare at him. But he doesn't stop there; he keeps going until you have tears threatening your waterline. Oh how fun it was to watch you squirm. The living room was filled with the smell of your wet pussy. It smelled good enough to devour. He's surprised Witch didn't react to it. Probably too busy trying to help you neutralize whatever it is you drank. He keeps teasing you and teasing you until you finally break. You let out a pathetic sob from your trembling lips, while tears fell from your eyes. The sudden noise causes Witch to hurry back into the living room with urgency.

“Price! I said to keep an eye on her! Not make her cry!”, she reprimds him, clearly annoyed by his behaviour.

“I was just helping her sort through her feelings, it's not my fault she's in denial..”, Witch comes over to soothe you by petting your hair and face while you cry it out but her touch just causes you to squirm more. In the two minutes she's comforting you, smoke starts filing in from the kitchen causing everyone to direct their attention to new problem that arose.

“Oh fuck!”, the candles in the room light up as she runs to the kitchen to check on the potion with Price following closely behind to help. You knew the potion was ruined before she even said anything. The world had it out for you today it seems.

Witch immediately begins on a new one while Price promises to keep quiet for now. Twenty minutes go by and you feel like your about to pass out from dehydration. The thoughts Price put in your head were swirling and driving you absolutely insane. He painted very erotic visuals of Witch for you that you can't get out of your head. All you wanted to do was quench your thirst by attaching your mouth to Witch's cunt. Allow her sweet nectar to dissipate the ache between your legs. The breathing technique you were using wasn't helping anymore. So you had to resort to more of a drastic measure to stay somewhat sane. You hide your left arm away from Price's view, not that he was paying attention anymore. The bastard got his fill of tormenting you today it seems. He was now sitting quietly reading a book not acknowledging you anymore.

You begin to lightly claw at your arm. Not trying to draw blood just enough for the pain to distract you. It was better than feeling like your whole body was going to explode if you didn't get to cum. You claw and claw until pain is all your feelings. You don't know when or how but you begin to draw blood without realising it, too much in a fixated state to care or notice. It's only when Price has your arms in a tight hold do you realise what you're doing. He seems annoyed. You try your best to escape only for him to snap his fingers and have your arms restrained.

“Stop! I need to check if you did too much damage!”, Again Witch hears the commotion only to storm in to find Rún tied up tightly with one arm bleeding. Immediately they both spring into action Price gets some water to clean the wounds and Witch gets salve and bandages. She coos at you as you cry telling you it wasn't your fault and that she's sorry for taking so long. By the time they realise that the potion is left unattended again it's too late. You're still tied up so you won't hurt yourself again as Price tries to comfort Witch about the second burnt potion.

“You don't understand I'm out of a key ingredient and all shops are closed on Sunday” Witch sits with her head in her hands. “How am I supposed to help her now?”, Witch looks at you with pity. You squirm and cry in your restraints trying to escape the burn of the rope against your skin. The feeling was too overwhelming and you wanted out.

“I have a couple ideas….”, Witch looks at Price confused as to what he was suggesting.

You don't how things ended up like this but you weren't exactly complaining.. apart from your bound hands that is. Striped bare with only your cum stained stockings on you sat prettily on your knees in front of the sofa where Price had Witch sat on his lap. She looked embarrassed and flushed as her legs were held open for you to see her panty clad pussy. There was a wet spot developing. Price had a smug look on his face as he was the one who had situated you on your knees for Witch. If you were in your right mind you wouldn't have let him strip you. And you would have felt guilty for forcing Witch into this position but right now all you could think about was drinking her sweet juices from her cunt. You wait for permission constantly looking into her eyes then back to her pussy.

“Look at how pretty she looks on her knees for you luv. And you thought I was joking when I said she wanted to eat you out. Look at her panting like a bitch in heat begging to quench her thirst with your cum”, Witch moans at his words while you whimper for being degraded. It made you want to cry but you wanted your mouth on her pussy more. You watch Witch stutter through her words not making much sense as you watch Price move her clothed cunt over his bulge causing her to whine.

“You should offer her a drink as a good host, look at how parched she is.”

“I-I’ll get some w-wat-”, Price deliveries a mean slap to her clit making her yelp and causing her to forget all her thoughts.

“Why bother with water when there's a tap right here”, he emphasizes his words through a couple more slaps to her clit which are followed by jolts from Witch. “Get closer Rún”, You hesitate at his words, your eyes flickering to Witch's as a way of asking for her permission.

“P-price we're supposed to be helping her..”, Price removes his hand from between her legs and brings it to her throat giving it a generous squeeze. “We are helping her”, Price growls in her ear. He knew for a fact that Witch was extremely turned on by this situation, she just didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the friendship. If only she knew the feelings were mutual on your end too.

“Are you really going to deny her in her sorry state? She's even tied up, unable to finger herself because she might try to hurt herself again. Look at her luv.. She's so pathetic.. Show her some mercy”, you feel angry tears whelm up in your tear at his words… no you weren't pathetic… you weren't…you could endure this a while longer..couldn't you?

Your teary eyes move to Witch who was also sexually frustrated by Price's teasing, probably not as much as you though. She looks at you with a conflicted expression. You didn't know what to make out of it. She didn't want you, did she? Despite how badly you wanted her you'd hate to force her to do anything she didn't want to. So you ignore Price's order to come closer and instead move further back as tears slipped down your eyes. You hang your head in shame. You're such a nuisance.

“Oh poor thing got rejected…”, Price mocks while continuing to hold Witch tightly over his hardening cock.

“No that's no-..I-I mean I don-... I just…I don't want to ruin our friendship…it's not because I don't like the idea..”, Witch stutters out. She escapes Price's hold with ease as she knees beside you wiping your tears. Having her hands cradle your face wasn't helping soothe you at all; it just made your skin burn with need causing you to grind your cunt on the wooden floor for friction as Price watches you with amusement. While Witch tries to soothe your hurt feelings, your skin felt electric where she touched you and despite the growing pain of being denied release you wanted to keep yourself close to her.

You're practically panting at this point so Price decides to step in to help everyone. He gathers Witch back into his lap with a yelp as he goes to spread her soft thighs again. Her panties are practically soaked, exuding her sweet scent. You're transfixed on the spot waiting for permission to approach, mouth becoming dry with lust. You turn your teary eyes to Witch waiting, pleading for her approval to come closer.

Finally you see her let go of her worries and match your look of desperation as she gives you a shaky nod. You waste no time in scooting over rubbing your face against her inner thighs as she lets out shaking moans.

In your excitement you bump your nose against her clit, resulting in her shivering in Price's hold. You watch Price bring his lips to her ears as he begins whispering to her, his big hand tight around her throat as he forces her eyes to stay on what you're doing. You pepper her inner skin with plenty of kisses, your own need on the back burner for now. You've been desiring this for so long, that this moment didn't feel real. This moment never seemed attainable to you. And all it took was a potion mishap.

The first taste of her sweet flesh entered your mouth as you lap at the skin sucking hickies on the sensitive area. Both of your groans ring out throughout the room making you redouble your efforts before finally attaching your mouth to her wet panties. You lick at the clothing, desperately trying to feel her heat through the fabric. Inhaling the scent of her dripping cunt greedily.

It was hard enough doing this with hands tied but it was harder when Price started using names to degrade you as you lapped at her wet panties. He made sure you knew you were pleasuring his Witch, which just made you glare at him, not that he cared he continued to call you mean names. ‘Cumdrunk whore’ ‘Nasty little slut’ and ‘Pathetic slag’ were among the names he started calling you.

It fucked with your brain and made you lose your rhythm, and you think that what Price wanted. Because the third time Witch had let out a needy whine after you failed to make her cum Price's hand had already snaked his way in your hair creating a tight fist. He pulls your head back causing both you and Witch to groan out infrustration. He pulls her panties aside before shoving your face deeper into her cunt. You couldn't even be mad because you finally get your tongue in which causes her to writhe and squeal in Price's lap

“Do your job properly slag or you won't be cuming today." He groans out bucking his hips into Witch's ass while maintaining his hold on your hair.

“P-price don't be so m-mean…we're supposed to be…helping her”, Witch can't seem to get a complete sentence out of her mouth without whimpering in between. You suck and flatten your tongue against her her swollen needy clit. Doing your best to bring her to the edge. It would have been much easier if you could use your hands but the bindings were painfully tight against your wrist. Price really outdone himself. You try pulling and tugging at them but they just rub your skin raw. The bandages were becoming itchy too, due to you sweating so much. The sweat ran down stinging the claw marks you left. Though it was a nice distraction from Price's mean words.

You work her clit with rough and soft licks before drilling your tongue into her leaking pussy. You gulp down her sweet nectar like it's the source of all life. Like it was the fountain of youth. Like it was an elixir that would grant you immortality. You feel her walls beginning to clench and flutter as your tongue goes in and out of her. You start using your nose to bump her clit from time to time watching her shake and shudder from what you were doing. She was close, you knew she was close and all you wanted to do was feel her tight cunt flood your mouth with her cum. Make her soak your face in her release as she drowns you in her scent, marks you with her flavour.

One more bump of your nose and you'd achieve your goal, you could feel the pride swelling in your chest as you think about making Witch cum on your tongue alone. But of course like everything else nothing was going your way today. Price's fist tightens, causing the back of your head to burn with pain. He yanks your mouth off Witch a second before you're about to make her come. Immediately Witch let's out a heartbreaking hiccup. And all you could do was watch on with teary frustrated eyes. Fucking Prick. He's such a dick for taking this away from you.

“No no…please no..Price…please.”, You watch Witch plead with Price to let you make her cum but he just shushes her.

“It's ok.. it's ok.. she'll just have to make you come while my cock is inside you luvie. It's unfair if it's only you two having fun. Especially when I'm the one doing so much of the work.”

You watch Witch beg him for release as he coos and shushes her. She goes limp in his arms. He uses his other hand to unbutton his slacks as he fishes out his large veining cock. The one that you've been ignoring completely in favour of Witch's cunt despite it being directly below her.

Within seconds he's forcing you to watch him bully his fat cock head into her tight hole. It causes her stomach to bulge with his shape as you whimper and whine at the sight. Only getting a glimpse of his angry leaking head before it disappears into her tight little hole with one hard thrust. Within seconds he's stretching her spasming walls over his veiny rod. Stupid asshole. You whine and whimper even more as he begins fucking her in earnest despite having one hand still tightly gripping your hair. You try batting your teary eyes at Witch to get Price to loosen his grip so you could back to pleasuring her. But all she could do was lightly tap the arm holding you but the grip stayed.

“If you want something you ask for it like a good girl Rún..I'm in charge here”, Price makes eye contact with you as he continues hammering his hips up against Witch's dripping cunt while she continues to moan. Her clit was particularly swollen with no one to pay attention to it since your hands were tied. His blue eyes pierced into yours causing you to shudder with need. You wanted to cry out of frustration for not being allowed to participate despite it being you who drank the aphrodisiac. Why was he trying to be nice now? He's been degrading you the second you mouth touched Witch. Was it because you didn't follow his orders? Was it because you touched Lio without getting his permission? Or was it because you solely paid attention to her while you were ignoring him out of anger?

You watch Witch with hunger as she gets her insides rearranged with a fat girthy cock drilling into her without mercy. A strange sense of jealousy fills you. Not only because it wasn't you making Witch a babbling mess but also because your insides felt so empty. Your pussy was making a puddles on the ground below you. You hadn't realised how badly you were trying to ignore it until now. It made you rock your hips harder to gain some friction on the floor. Which didn't go unnoticed to Price. You watch his expression soften while he continues to use one hand on Witch to make her grind on his cock, forcing her to slow down when she was close to cuming. You tear up at the sight of them fucking without you, which makes Price look at you with pity.

“What is it sweet girl? What do you need?”, Price coos at you. Witch is too far gone to say anything but she does look down at you apologetically for not being able to help. Your eyes go back and forth from her eyes and Price's then back to where Price cock is buried deep within her. You couldn't take it anymore, you needed something, anything to lessen the feeling that was ever present in your drooling cunt.

“Want..want.. to make Witch cum…please”, you whisper out in desperation. You wanted to cum too but you weren't going to ask for that. They shouldn't have to deal with your problems so pleasing Witch was enough.

“That's it? That's all our pretty girl wants?”, you hesitate before nodding your head as much as you can with Price gripping it. Price looks at you with such pity it makes you want to hide somewhere. Away from his prying eyes. Away from his piercing gaze. He was so in tune with everything around him, it made you feel uneasy. Like you were a pawn in a game only he knew how to play. Like knew exactly what to do to get you begging for him prettily. You feel him loosen and let go of his grip around your hair. He caresses your head softly as he grabs a cushion to throw it between your legs. Where your glistening pussy was on display for them. How needy and desperate it looked, as it dripped your cum onto the floor and now the cushion.

“You can help Witch cum if you grind on that while doing it…understand?”, he removes his hand completely from you as you watch his hands trail over Witch's body only for him to rip open the bodice of her dress as she whines further. You watch her beautiful supple breasts spill out. You watch Price give them a generous squeeze as he palms them into his large hands. You watch transfixed her breast bouncing with every thrust from Price's cock. But before you can scoot yourself closer Price's voice rings out.

“You didn't answer Rún…Do you want to be punished?”, you shake your head in fear of being denied the pleasure you sought. “Will you obey orders then?”, Price's thrusts don't falter for a second as continues his conversation with you. You give a final glance to Witch's disheveled state, you make up your mind convinced you would die if you didn't get your mouth on her again.

“Y-yes sir…”, you scoot closer and this time he doesn't stop you but he does have a gentle smile on his face as your mouth finds Witch's clit again. She flinches the second you mouth it on her, her hands finding themselves tightly wound in your hair as she bucks her hips against you. Your mouth fills with the essence of Witch again only this time Price's musk is mixed in too. The combination causing your mind to short circuit, turning your brain to mush. You can't help but lower your hips to the cushion to grind against it though a bit clumsily. You aren't really sure what you're doing but it feels good to have your mouth on Witch again while stimulating your clit feels even better.

Price watches you with fondness as you lap at where Him and Witch are connected, making sure to dip down to lick and suck his full balls while you're at it. You let your mouth lick from the bottom of his balls to the top of Witch's clit making sure to give them equal attention as you move your hips clumsily against the cushion.

It was tough going to get here but it was all worth it for Price. Price feels your hot tongue lapping at Witch's clit, making her buck and press down harder on her engorged cock. He felt his swollen head kiss her cervix as she let out a series of ‘please’, ‘more’ and ‘fuck’. He made sure her breasts were getting ample attention, knowing she was close to cumming any second now. He redoubles his thrust making sure the slap of their skin meeting was evident for everyone to hear. She was clutching him like was wanted to be bred, like she wanted her stomach swollen with his kids. And that's exactly what he whispers as his hands find themselves around her throat again as she pleads for his cum. You also redouble your efforts seeing that Witch's movements were becoming sloppy as her legs began to shake. You watch through hooded eyes as Price forces every inch of his fat cock inside with a brutal thrust causing Witch to yelp in need. She twitches from her orgasm after one final hard suck to her swollen needy clit sends her and Price over the edge.

You watch them shudder from release as cum floods around Price's cock while you eagerly lap it up like a dog starved. Making sure every drop lands on your tongue.

"Keep it in you mouth until I tell you to swallow", you let it sit there savouring it's taste at Price's command. Once the cum gathers you open your mouth obediently to show Witch and Price at his request.

"Open wider for us hun, we want to see properly", you do as he says showing them your coated tongue for their amusment. He looks at you proudly when you obey while Witch looks like she's about to cum on the spot again. Price crouches down a little, taking your jaw in his calloused hand to spit in your mouth while Witch watches.

"Swallow", you do so immediately showing your clean tongue after you've savoured the taste in your mouth. Witch lets out a breathy moan at your obedience. Your still cum drunk though and craving more, so you try satiating yourself by kissing where Price and Witch are still connected.

After a while Witch's whines softly unable to take the added stimulation of you kissing where her and Price are connected, forcing Price grab your head softly to move you away. You take the hint and move back, eyes hooded with lust as you gaze upto Witch's soft body limp in Price's arms while licking the residual cum of your lips.

Price pulls out with a hiss the squelch of the cum dripping from her was very evident. You wanted to lick her clean. But you doubted she could take any more simulation right now. Her pussy must be sore after such a hard fucking. Price gently moves her to sit on the sofa as you rest your head beside where she is. Your nose nuzzling against her hand for comfort as she smiles at you exhausted while brushing your hair out of your face. You stay resting as you lick your lips and try to get your breathing under control. Your body still felt way too hot and way too cold at times. The knot in your abdomen still felt sore and tightly wound since you hadn't come but having the chance to pleasure Witch was far more rewarding than any orgasm.

Without warning your binds disappear releasing the tension in your sore shoulders and arms as Price grabs your body to place on the couch between them. He wraps a blanket around you three making sure everyone was situated comfortably. You're sandwiched in their hold as Witch moves herself to lay her head on your shoulder. As she gently runs her hands across your marked wrists and arm. The affection is sweet and you absolutely love it when Witch shows it to you. But your mind was occupied by the guilt seeping in. For being so needy. For forcing this situation on them. For being a nuisance. You try moving away so they can cuddle together but Price holds you down making your cunt clench even harder reminding of your ongoing predicament.

“Don't run away Rún we still need to take care of you..You deserve a reward for being so patient”, Witch says while meeting your eyes and all you could see was love and care which just made your heart ache. You didn't deserve it.

“Oh no.. that's ok..I'm ok..you don-”, your words are cut off my Witch kissing your cheeks as she holds your body closer to hers making sure you feel her warmth.

“Do as you told Rún…we'll take care of you in a bit..just let me clean Witch up and we'll make you feel good too. Good girls like you deserve at least that much”, You're speechless at his words and you don't know what to say. His behaviour is so different from how it had started. He was being so much sweeter than before, so much so that it was becoming hard to hate him. Watching them look at you with so much adoration was making your heart flutter and your eyes water. So you just end up just burying your face into Witch's chest to hide yourself as they hold you close to them. There was a new sensation developing in your heart...you didn't know what to make of it....

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mslowlife · 1 year

Text

Distracted

18+ ONLY NSFW

Pairings: Captain John Price x Fem!Reader Warnings: SMUTTTTT Summary: After an interesting night with Price, you find yourself daydreaming about him during a particularly important meeting. Word Count: 741

C/S = Callsign

A/N: Lowkey had no clue what to write ;-; been very busy last few days so apologies if this isn't very long or interesting.

“Quiet, no one can hear us” he hushed into your ear. His voice was coarse and deep, yet so seducing. you enjoyed being so exposed, where anyone could catch you two in a seconds notice.

You weighed yourself into him more, your body twitched like a bubble about to pop, the foreplay, the teasing, the fact this was happening drove you insane. You still remember the nights you fantasized this. Your hand would be in your pants, imagining your own captain treating you like you were his. pleasuring you, teasing you so well, owning you. How you would moan his name so quietly, hoping no one would hear, especially him. The bear thought of Price left you in your own little world, imagining things so dirty.

His fingers went lower and lower, until they struck gold. you choked out moans, as his finger rubbed your clit. Price quickly placed his hand over your mouth, trying to silence your lewd noises. His fingers circled your-

“Y/N! Are you listening?” Laswell shouted from across the room, death staring at you as you swung your feet from the chair.

“Uh-huh, yes ma’am” You stuttered, your cheeks turning red. Clearly not listening. How could you focus to be fair? Last night was a completely unexpected, you never thought you'd fuck the captain.

“Everyone has notes, go through them, familiarize yourself. Meet back here in an hour” She ordered, Laswell kept her eyes on you for a moment, before spinning around and pinning her notes to the board behind her.

As Laswell said that, the other men stood up, holding their files and exiting the room. You followed along, picking up your paperwork and trailing behind.

Still in your own little world, you dawdled to the cafeteria, trying to collect yourself after your dirty reminders of last night. Spreading the notes out on the metal table, you sat down, skimming over the notes, before noticing a figure approach you.

“Uh- captain, morning” As you spoke, your eyes gazed over his body, specifically paying attention to his neck. Closer to his collar, where dark red marks showed, you silently cheered to yourself, admiring your handiwork.

“Morning, C/S” He said, sitting beside and peering at the paperwork.

“You seemed… distracted… at Laswell's conference.” He noticed, watching as your hands flicked the pages.

“Yeah, jus’ a little” You answered, adjusting your shirt slightly. Why did you have to feel so nervous and awkward around him?

“Why?” He asked again, shifting his body just a tad closer to you.

“Just stuff” You replied, awkwardly flicking through the pages, even though you’ve already read them.

“Was it me?” He whispered, before discreetly moving his hand onto your thigh, then moving closer to your inner thighs. You gasped, before swiftly covering your mouth with the back of your hand, attempting to play off the sudden noise as a yawn.

“Were you thinking of me, Y/N?” He reinforced, asking again. You quickly scanned the cafeteria, noticing the room was empty to your luck.

“Mhm” You gulped, feeling his hands edge closer.

“During a meeting? Not very professional C/S.” His warm breath tickled your ears as he spoke.

Even though Price was egging you on, thinking of your Captain like that was quite inappropriate. But how could you not?

“Isn’t this appropriate?” You sarcastically remarked back, referring to his hand buried in between your thighs.

“Maybe. But, you enjoy it. Don’t you?” He marvelled.

“Uh- yes, but shouldn’t we be careful? What if someone sees?” You nervously asked, gesturing to the wide open doorway, where anyone could walk by at any given moment

“Mmm, but you’d like them to see, wouldn’t you love? You didn’t seem to mind last night” He purred, massaging the flesh on your legs.

“Mhm” You hummed, “I do, but-”

“Then shush” He commanded, using his other hand to grab your hips and slide you closer. You squirmed under his touch, facing towards him, as he softly kissed you once, before pulling away. You choked on your breath as he pulled away, whining quietly as a stood up, towering over you.

“Captain- what? Where are you going?” You cried out, looking up at him.

Reaching down to your face, Price cupped your chin, giving your cheeks a small squish because speaking

“To my office. Be there in an hour”

“Yes sir” You agreed, disappointed after the loss of contact as he walked away.

Fuck. What had you gotten yourself into.

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prettyoatmeal · 5 months

Text

Thinking about BratTamer!Price...

Like I know I've already written him something but I just can't stop thinking about it. He's been on my mind ever since. How if you're acting up then he'll just so casually bend you over his knees, pull down your slutty little shorts and give you a nice and firm SMACK! And with the kind of force that would jolt you forward.

It hurts so bad but it feels so good, instantly forgetting what you were pissed off about. He'll make you count each one until each cheek goes a pretty red and numb from the stinging (which lets be honest, doesn't take long), and... why were you upset again?

And once you're crying your pretty little tears, he's apologising profusely and rubbing cooling gel on your poor, raw skin. He's cooing at you, pressing kisses all over you, maybe even eating you out from behind as a way to say sorry. All that attitude has been smacked out of you successfully and now you can go back to being his pretty little trophy spouse.

Mnnghh... someone sedate me..

Masterlist here!

#call of duty #cod mw2 #John Price x reader #Captain Price x Reader #John Price Imagines #Captain Price Imagines #John Price Fluff #Captain John Price Fluff #MW2 x reader #John Price Smut #John Price x Reader Smut #Captain John Price Smut #Captain John Price x reader smut #Captain Price x reader Smut #Captain Price Smut

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crimsonbubble · 9 months

Note

Need ur take on pregnant reader getting it from the side by price 🙏🙏🙏 I love that elderly man

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, pregnant!reader, praise *not proofread, just pure horny

[HES SO SJSLSNDHDI] I hope this has any sort of accurate 😭😭

MINORS DNI!!

so so loving and gentle

he'll hold your leg up by your thigh

his pace is moderate bc he doesn't want to hurt you

even if you reassure him that you'll be okay, he'll go softer on you bc there's a chance that's your words are your hormones talking

but if just his dick isn't enough, he'll push your thigh up his forearm so he can play with your clit

can't stop kissing your neck, shoulders and back

the sweetest praises bc he's just so 🥰🥰

"just like that, honey."

"you're doing so fucking good for me."

"a little more, yea?"

"god, I love you so much."

"you're so fucking beautiful."

"c'mon, let me hear you. nice and loud for me, yea?"

#bubbly speaks <3 #ash answers #bubbly writes <3 #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod mwii #cod smut #cod x reader smut #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price x reader smut #john price #john price x reader #captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x reader smut

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makoodles · 5 months

Text

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.

#PLEASE don't look at me right now i will be taking NO questions on my state of mind #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #john price smut #cod smut #cod fic #141 x reader #daddy issues price

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abs-2020 · 11 months

Text

Captain John price x (fem) reader

~Aye Aye sir~

Summary: a new and alluring man unexpectedly moves in next door to you his hulking frame and calm nature drawing you in..

Warnings:(nothing too serious yet) masturbation/explicate images/detailed images/almost getting ran over???

A/U: I didn’t really know what to title this but I’m if anyone has a better suggestion let me know? This is definitely going to have multiple parts tho.. and possibly Simon Riley.

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Your heart was pounding and your chest thumping as sweat ran from your forehead trickling down to your cleavage. Each breath you took was quick and sharp as music blasted in your ears. Each step you took light and swift. You were running, a nice and peaceful morning run. And your body felt like it was beaming with pride and joy each step of the way. This was your favorite part of the day. A morning run. They were always peaceful, long, and never interrupted.

Of course that was until you were making your way across the street only to be met with the sound of screeching tires and a honking horn.

A gasp would leave your throat as you jumped back from a giant silver Ford F150 truck. Salty sweat dripped into your eyes as your heart now raced 10x more than before.

‘Asshole…’

Anger would flash across your eyes in a shimmer as your face contorted with the emotion.

“Asshole!” You’d shout as your brow furrowed.

“FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

Anger would swell inside of you, the powerful emotion caused you to slam your fist against the hood of the truck as you started into the sunglasses of the driver. He looked unfazed his plump lower lip pressed into a hard line, the top one hidden beneath what you had to sadly admit to yourself was a ‘killer beard’. You’d shake your head again.

“Watch where you’re going you dumbass!” You’d shout again.

With that you’d flip the driver off one last time before feeling pleased enough to continue your run with a shake of your head.

‘Idiot.’

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The slam of a car door and the click of a lock fillyour ears as you struggld to carry all of your groceries in your arms. A small grunt would push its way past your lips as you balanced evening in your arms. You looked like what you could only imagine to be a cartoon character and it had you cringing on the inside as you held onto a carton of eggs with your chin praying to god that ‘they don’t fall and crack open’

You’d squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and sigh

“God damn it..” but you’d quickly shake your head and make your way to your front door. If all of this was going to fall it might as well fall while you’re trying to get it to your DAP(distant aiming point).

“Aye, let me help ya with that why don’t cha?”

The accent of what you could only imagine to be a British babebrute filled your ears. Hastily you looked to the left and right of you only to hear a ‘panty dropping’ chuckle.

Whoever was behind you was probably new, someone who’d just moved into the right next to you area you though to yourself. Either that or he’s stayed hidden for a long time.

“At your six love~”

Your eyebrows would shoot up at the name ‘love?’ Your quickly ignore the heat growing in your lower abdomen at the foreign nickname and shake your head. ‘It’s probably a British thing.’ You told yourself.

With a sign you’d turn around. Your grip on your groceries tighter than before. You weren’t 100% when it came to military stuff or knowledge but you knew enough to know what ‘six’ meant. You’d paint a smile on your lips as you turned around to face the new Britain behind you.

“Uh yeah, some help would be nic-“

Your mouth would drop into the shape of an ‘o’ as you can face to face with the man in front of you.

“YOU!”

You’d shout as your brows furrowed at the realization of who the man in front of you was. And he seemed to catch on just as quickly because his eyes widened in realization as he took a small step backwards. And if you were totally honest the small step backwards didn’t help much, because this guy was huge, massive even. His shoulders were wide wide enough to block anything else behind him whistle he stood in front of you. his arms and pecks seemed to bulge out of the way to small grey shirt he was wearing. And you wouldn’t even get started on his forearms, But it wasn’t only his muscle mass, ‘oh god no’ you thought to yourself it was also his height. A good ‘6ft something’ you thought to yourself as you all but oogled(eye fucked) the man in front of you.

And he seemed to notice, a certain tilt of his head and an observant glint in his eyes all but told you he did. He noticed your wandering eyes. He didn’t saying anything though.

Quickly you’d contain yourself and furrow your brows even more your lips twisting into a frown.

“you, you are the idiotic asshole that almost ran me over this morning because your dull ass must’ve been to blind to see me!” You glare up at the bearded brute “either that or you just drive like old people fuck, and that’s bad.”

The Britain’s eyes would widen at your words his mouth falling into a small ‘o’ the expression quickly turning into a faint smirk. You would’ve missed it if you weren’t looking at his lips. Again the Britain would chuckle, sending more heat to your lower abdomen. You’d internally curse yourself for having that kind of reaction to the man that almost ran you over this morning.

His smirk would turn into a smile his facial hair covering most of the upright curve of his lips, it would’ve been hard to miss but his eyes, ‘god his eyes’ you thought to yourself. They were so full of emotion and expression. The little creases that formed around his eyes as he smiled almost melted your heart. Almost..

“Well, I’ll take that as a no then eh?” The brute would make an ‘oh well’ gesture as he casually pivoted to the right and made his merry way back to wherever the hell he came from.

Reality would finally kick in as your anger quickly subsided and turned into regret watching the Brute Britain walk away. Now you had to show how manage to hold all these groceries while you got the house key from your pocket and then above all that some how manage to open the front door.

All by yourself.

Now you were the idiot.

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You would be lying to yourself if you didn’t believe or think that the Britain(next door) was the most beautiful and drop dead gorgeous man you’d ever seen. You’d be an idiot to deny that fact. Downright stupid, so when your fingers started to fiddle with the elastic waistband of your underwear who could blame you? You sure as hell wouldn’t blame yourself. ‘Sure he almost ran me over.’ You though to yourself as your fingers slipped under the elastic fabric and started to inch they’re way to your little bundle of nerves. Slowly, inch by inch, tantalizingly. Images of the brute flashed in your mind a small gasp leaving your throat when the small pads of your fingers finally touched your clit.

You’d bite your lip at the image played out in your head. It wasn’t you touching you, it was him. The British brute. His thick and what you could imagine calloused and rough fingers rubbing slow and tantalizing circles on your clit while his other hand went to rub the tent forming in his black sweats. His deep azul eyes staring right into your pleading one’s, watching, observing every little reaction that came from you. Your face contorting, lips twitching in pleasure, eyebrows furrowing, watching how fast your chest rises and falls, the way your toes curl, hell he even went as far as to listen in on every peep you made so he knew exactly what to do. that’s what the military trained him to do.

Well you could only imagine and assume he was former or still in the military. There was no doubt about it. You’d been around enough military men to know when you see one. For better or for worse…

A small moan would leave your throat at the scene playing out in your head your fingers making quick and needy circles as your hips bucked up into your own hand and your thighs began to tremble. Your chest would rise and fall your breaths heaving as you tried to bite your lip to keep yourself quiet. Getting closer and closer to your wanted high.

His shoulders were huge, wide, and firm. He took up your whole view. He took up everything. He was all you could see, smell, or focus on. And his forearms were no different, his forearms were massive. You watched each muscle contract as his fingers danced around your clit his veins protruding in the most slutry way.

“Yeah that’s right love, come undone with just my fingers. Look and see what I can do to ya.”

Another moan would leave your throat, you were just about to hit your high.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,-“ you whispered only to be interrupted by 3 harsh knocks on your door.

“Fuck..”

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A/N: sorry I haven’t been writing as much I do apologize, but I hope this will suffice for a bit. This is supposed to be like a series for THIS little “short fic/Drabble” of mine since y’all said you wanted more. Anyways uh I hope you enjoy. :) <3

#captain john price #captain price #captain john price x reader smut #john price x reader #john price #John price x reader smut #call of duty mwii #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #price mw2 #cod smut #smutty fanfiction #fanfiction #18+ fanfic #mw2 x reader #mw2 smut #smut

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ethereal-night-fairy · 6 months

Text

Forgotten sorrows

Chapter 6

Fae!Soap X Female Reader

Witch X Rún X Price

Price warns Soap to stay away from you for his own good and you enjoy a day out with your best friend. Seeing her in pretty dresses might have cause your brain to short circuit with very dirty thoughts plaguing your mind. It doesn't help when Price decides to butt in on you flirting with her.

Warnings: MDNI, smut (Rún thinking about Witch and Price, no Soap this time sorry i got carried away but I'll include it in the future chapters maybe...that depends on if this ship lasts) kissing, oral sex, fingering, light bondage, Top/Bottom, dark themes, mention of trauma, light angst, cursing, hurt/comfort sorry if I missed any.

I'm so sorry I've been gone so long again you might as well just expect chapters at a monthly pace lol. I fought myself so much writing this chapter because i was in such an angsty mood but i had promised to be sweeter and that what i wanted to deliver. I was literally doing a 'Ricky when I catch you Ricky' with my own brain lol. I know I said I'd include Rún thirsting after Soap with some smut and you all voted on it but i just don't think Rún likes him enough to willing let herself think about him like that yet. Especially since she thinks he's fucking her sister. I'm not comfortable with writing cheating. Even though he's so hot. It's got to wait until he confirms he never done anything romantic with Daisy. Your getting smut with Witch X Rún X Price though hope you enjoy that. Hopefully in the next chapter I'll include some real light smut and more fluff. Feel free to send me ideas or questions about the story if you don't understand anything. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. This Fae au belongs to @ghouljams I feature their Oc in my writing, send them some love. This story wouldn't exist without them. Thanks again to @ghouljams hyping me up to post this chapter. Your the best!!! Also shout-out to 🦖 anon on ghouls blog who's Ocs I mentioned in this chapter.

Forgotten Sorrows Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 8k

Soap laid on Gaz's bed trying to get air back into his lungs. After being fucked into the mattress, on request of course. His wrists were raw from the bounds he was just in, the pain helped distract him from his racing thoughts. Gaz comes into the bedroom freshly washed and glistening with water droplets, a white towel wrapped around his waist. Soap turned to admire his figure as he opened his closet to get dressed for a night out. He drank in the sight of Gaz's toned body and wet skin. Getting up he presses himself into Gaz and starts kissing up his defined back towards his neck while pulling him back towards himself. His skin smelled nice and he felt his cock harden with his familiar scent and warmth.

"Enough you mad dog! I've been fucking you for the better part of today. I need to go hunt. Don't you dare leave hickeys on me", Gaz said, pushing Soap back with his hand as he grabbed his clothes. Soap whined and tried clinging onto him like a lost puppy.

"But ah need yer support right noo mate, dinnae be sae heartless", he wrapped his thick arms around his torso preventing Gaz from moving. Getting fed up with Soap's clinginess Gaz snapped his fingers causing the ropes on the headboard to spring alive and restrain Soap back to the bed. His wrists and arms were bound as the ropes coiled around him. He tried escaping but to no avail. In the time he was struggling Gaz managed to dress and style his hair quickly. Soap continued to throw a hissy fit as Gaz put his socks on.

"I'll restrain your legs too if you don't stop", Gaz directed a pointed look at the exposed man laying on his bed. He was covered in bites and rope marks given to him again on his own request.

"What am ah supposed tae dae while ye're gone", he grunts aspirated, flexing his bound arms still trying to escape.

"Come with me and find someone else to fuck if you're so pent up, I've done the best I can. Almost blew my back out for you with how rough you wanted it today", Gaz gets up looking for his shoes when he hears a knock on his door. Both men exchange glances before Gaz snaps his fingers releasing Soap.

"Get cleaned up and dressed I'll go check what Price wants", Gaz walks out the room not waiting for Soap to answer.

Gaz walks down the hall to open the door for Price. He could recognise the smell of his cigars anywhere. It was unusual for him to visit at night though. More often than not business was done in the early hours unless it was a premeditated attack. The door swings open and Price stands outside with his hands full with takeaway food. The smell of his recent cigar was clinging to him like pollen does to bees. Gaz steps to the side to allow him in, breathing in the residue of the smoke as he walked by. It was comforting in an odd way.

Price came in going towards the living to set the bags of food down. While Gaz trailed behind him waiting for Price to begin talking.

"I need you to do some digging on someone from the winter court", he turned to face Gaz. "It doesn't need to be done tonight but I'd like the information by the end of the week", Price writes down who he's talking about and what kind of information he's looking for before telling Gaz to enjoy the food he brought and to have a quiet night with Soap since he's gonna need some company after what he's going to tell him.

When Soap was showered and dressed he met with Price in Gaz's living room. Gaz was lounging on the sofa enjoying his Chinese with 'Come Dine With Me' on the Tv.

"Ah thought we were going out?", Soap gave him a questioning look.

Gaz shrugged and said he changed his mind and focused back on the Tv. Price was sitting beside him waiting for Soap. He eyed the bags of takeaway wondering why there was so much food for 3 people. Soap took a seat and grabbed a container from the open bag and began eating, waiting for an explanation for Price's late visit. Maybe they could invite Ghost over for a boy's night. A change of pace would be nice from his insistent drinking. Soap noticed Price wasn't eating either. So he assumed he wasn't going to be staying long.

"I just dropped by to tell you to leave Rún alone, do whatever you want with Daisy but Rún is off limits", after finishing his sentence Price stood up to leave with the other bag of food.

"Wait? What? Why!?", Soap put down his food and hurried after Price. Gaz just glanced at them and continued watching his show, too tired to get involved. Maybe if he hadn't fucked Soap so hard he'd have some energy to help but he didn't. Probably needed a hot water bottle for his back.

"I don't understand why you're so upset, there's a whole city for you to hunt from. Just leave the girl alone, she's been through enough already and my Witch will more than likely end you if you try anything with her. So I'm warning you in advance, find someone else", Price left no room for negotiation and apparated his smoke swirling where he once stood.

Soap sunk down into the armchair as Gaz continued to eat. He held his head between his hands as he tried to understand what just happened.

"You're that whipped huh? This the same girl you met at the Renaissance festival? Or the other one you couldn't take your eyes off?", Gaz lets out a chuckle. "No wonder you came to me, it's ok mate there's plenty of fish in the sea. You'll find a decent meal soon."

Soaps first instinct was to protest what Gaz had just said. That you weren't just a meal to him but stopped himself by pressing his lips together. That's all you should be though, a source of sustenance nothing more. He wanted to delude himself into believing the only reason he wanted to expose and get rid of Daisy was to get to you. To make you trust him, to let him inside your mind. He didn't want to admit that his heart stirred when he thought of you rather than his stomach. Or that you had a little corner all to yourself, where you fluttered around carelessly. Tugging at his heartstrings from time to time.

He wanted to devour you, to slowly wear down your walls. To be allowed inside your turbulent mind, he wanted to sink his teeth into the tender parts of yourself you kept hidden. He wanted to cut you open and take you somewhere far away where he could consume you slowly and in peace. Away from prying eyes. Where he could painstakingly inspect every crevice of your mind and soul. While he basked in the taste of your sweet flesh and blood. He'd stitch you back together piece by piece once he was satisfied. Finally satiating his heart on how and why you had wormed your way into his mind. Or what magic did you cast over him to make him constantly think of you.

This is what his true nature was, a predator. Well that's what he's been telling himself. Not the silly lovesick puppy he thought you were trying to make him become with your gentle smile and mischievous eyes. Yeah, this was your fault he thought. You shouldn't have been born so sweet and kind. What other choice does he have but to steal you away from everyone else. Especially those who didn't know how to truly appreciate the value of your blood. He can still feel the weight of your little drawing in his void. You were too good for him to destroy and deplete without discretion. He'd be no different than Daisy who was using you without actually acknowledging the gem she had in her grasp. It would be like chugging down expensive Scotch. No he was going to truly savour you, down to your bones. But that was all it was, this was just about his own hunger. He didn't care for you….. no truly he didn't but for some reason those words wouldn't leave his mouth.

You weren't his typical prey, you weren't easy to hook. You didn't fall for pretty words or shallow complements. You didn't look at him like other people did. You weren't affected by his looks or his magic. On top of that you wanted nothing to do with him. Or was that just what you wanted him to think? He had caught your heated gaze on multiple occasions. Perhaps you felt too guilty acknowledging your own feelings, especially taboo ones like these. You probably wouldn't forgive yourself if you confessed to your sister's man. Not that he considered himself her man, he hadn't even kissed her. There was no need too, when all she wanted was to gain connections and contacts from him. But you found him attractive at the very least. He could work with that.

The fact you didn't have the sight was unusual. He didn't get to take a closer look into your bewitching eyes since you liked avoiding his gaze. But he was grateful for the fact you couldn't see his true form. His only redeeming quality in your eyes as of now. If he lost that he wouldn't know where to start in winning you over. He so desperately wanted to hook you. To bind you you him in a way you couldn't escape easily. He knew he was in for a challenge. You seem like the evasive kind, the kind the could slip through fingers like dry sand. This was no short of trying to capture the wind. It's what make it all the more fun. The chase, the uncertainty, the sweet taste of blood when you finally get caught in his trap.

He didn't want to disobey Price but you weren't someone he was willing to let go so easily. Good thing Price hadn't used a tether to stop him, it was just a warning. He could deal with the witch, he has before. Though that perfume she wore last time they met was atrocious. He just needed to avoid seeing her again, at least she didn't know him by name. What's the worst that can happen? He doubted Price would let his witch kill him. He knew his own value in Price's heart, he could definitely use it to his advantage when pleading his case after he was done with you. He'll be good to you in your short lived life. He'll promise you that.

He just sighed and went back to eating. He'll come up with a plan sooner or later but in the meantime he needed to utilise Daisy. That was the only bridge he could use to get closer to you. You were too smart for his typical tactics, but he'll find a way around that. Maybe he'd have to go old school. But being near you would be enough for now.

Witch had your damaged necklace in her hand. She had brought it back with her after checking on your condition before leaving you to rest. It brought back good memories of your healing. It was a shame it was burnt now. She took off the knot pendant from the burnt bark and put it in a bowl and went to go find a silver chain to go with the pendant instead, after finding it she placed it in the bowl as well. She began her cleansing ritual and started preparing a protection spell to cast on the necklace as it soaked in Acacia flower water. She plucked some asters from her dried bouquet to grind into a powder as well as rosemary, rue and angelica as she chants the spell. She covers the bowl to let it soak.

She stood there for a second just getting her thoughts into place after finishing the spell. You were sleeping peacefully in your room when she went to check on you. While taking a look at your burns again she saw you had tried clawing at your chest. There were red blood marks on your sternum.

She wonders if you crave having tethers like other fae do. Did you yearn for the bond that they created? But you seldom ask for anything. Even for your gifts or favours. Not with her, not with anyone you help. It's been like that since the first day she met you. You'd have a gift ready to give in exchange for any help you would ask from her until she had to stop you. You already knew not to say thank you, and you had previous knowledge of fae until your memory seal was put in place. After that everything was taught to you again by her grandmother and her, not that you would believe in it but you listened regardless and followed what you were told. She supposes that you became a lot like her in that regard. You were very careful not to get tethered. Or if you did ever need help you'd have a repayment ready before a tether took hold. You were hyper independent to a fault, you'd only come to her when things were out of your control, not before. She knew the reason why as well, though she wished you had more trust in your friendship with her to know she'd never see you as a burden.

She took a step back from her workstation to go stoke the fire that was dwindling. Getting comfortable on the armchair, she let the flames lick at her feet. She mulled over her thoughts on how to help you or just reassure you that things will be okay. Tampering with your memories again wasn't going to do you any favours. What if ten years down the line the seal breaks again, who knows what state your mind would be in then. Maybe this was a good time to heal from past trauma rather than try to forget everything. This could open your eyes to how your sister has been treating you all these years.

She knew of the promise you made to your sister, that you'd look after her in the name of family but this was just exploitation at this point. Well it always was on Daisy's end. She doesn't think Daisy ever considered you as family but you did and you continue to delude yourself into thinking this is what family was.

Her eyes landed on a box sitting high on her shelves, strongly warded and locked. It was made of eucalyptus wood from Egypt. Given to her on her trip to Faiyum by a coven who she assumed was from the region. The box had their symbol on it but she wasn't able to find substantial information on the coven even using her connections. A nepenthe draught they had called it but she couldn't verify it herself. The liquid was too small to run tests on or to analyse without wasting it. Nepenthe, a fictional elixir many had debunked as opium or weed as a way to forget worries. No witch she knew actually knew how to make the potion. The coven didn't really specify how the drug worked or what it did exactly. There were potions similar to that of nepenthe, potions that altered memories or made you forget entirely but they said that nepenthe was a gift of new life entirely. To leave one's past behind to begin anew. It was for the mortals or fae who had lived too long, had seen too much. Unlike other potions and draughts the effects of nepenthe were rumoured to be irreversible. Once drunk there was no going back to your previous life. But all that was speculation. She had never seen anyone use or procure a nepenthe draught. She didn't even realise it was an actual thing until they had given it to her with cryptic words as they left without asking for anything in return not even a tether took hold. She wasn't able to track or trace the origins of the box or the coven. It was as if they never existed.

"When winds clash from all four seasons, chaos will ensue. The choice will lay in your hands, on who you choose to subdue", she repeated their words to herself.

She didn't really know what to do with the draught, so she kept it safe in her home after her return from Faiyum. Which was hurried by your hospitalisation. She had contemplated on what the words meant since then, with zero luck. She only had ties to Summer nor did she engage with Fae from the high courts except for Price but that didn't count since he didn't involve her in his work. But there was no point thinking about it now she needed to figure out a way to help you.

She felt a wave of magic course through her wards before she felt his presence reappear. He was in the kitchen putting down food as she walked in.

"Should we wake her?", he asked.

"No, let her rest, she hasn't slept properly for the last few days."

The air was a little stuffy with notes of musk and wood floating through it. You picked up on the scent quickly when you had entered the quaint little shop at the end of the alley with Witch. The shop also smelled of wax and incense and the walls were lined with jars and jars of odd things. Some had claws, others had hair. You wondered where the shopkeeper got his supplies from. Witch was conversing while you walked around the quiet store. There was no one here beside the three of you.

Witch had thought it would do you some good to get out, especially after yesterday's incident. So here you were, helping her gather and stock up on her supplies. It wasn't much different from you going to your favourite art store in the city. It's been a while since you've seen ‘the old hen’, the owner of the store. A sweet old lady who had given you your first job at 16. You worked for her up until you graduated from college. She was very kind to you, to this day you buy your supplies from there unless it's a niche item you're looking for. You remember getting your first paycheck and buying the more expensive art supplies you could only dream of having before. You even got a staff discount. You had also made a friend called Mimi a couple years ago when you were working but she didn't stay long though and you haven't seen her since. She might return though she said she would. She had taught you a lot about painting more so than your actual art teacher. You catch yourself smiling at the memory. Even with all your horrible memories that had resurfaced. Remembering the nicer ones just felt warmer and sweeter than before. Much like an oasis in the desert.

You browse the store as Witch continues discussing the more rare items she was looking for. Your eyes land on a murky jar with eyeballs in it. Were those human eyeballs? They seemed like it. You were hoping it was just a prank, a gag joke to make customers laugh. Why would the shopkeeper have human eyeballs? You take a closer look trying to decipher if they were real or fake. An eye twitches and turns to face you. You clamp your hand over your mouth to prevent a scream from escaping. Once that eye had turned in your direction the rest of them did too. It's an odd staring contest you're having with roughly 20 eyeballs. To say you were unnerved is an understatement. But this was your life now you couldn't just ignore the existence of fae and magic like you did before. Slowly stepping back from their direction, you make your way towards your best friend. She's finalising her order as you approach her. You rest your chin on her shoulder as you watch the shopkeeper weigh and pack her order into brown paper bags tied with red strings. It was strangely captivating watching him do the task. She cups your face gently with her hand as you both watch the shopkeeper's packing skills. Her head turns slightly to place a kiss on your cheek as you continue watching.

"Bored?", she inquires. You just shake your and make a humming sound. Her warmth seeps into your skin as she continues to caress your face with her delicate fingers. Once everything was packed you two moved onto the next store she needed to visit arms linked. The day went by like this, with you two running errands and enjoying each other's company. Around mid afternoon you two finished your late lunch in a cute cafe and decided to walk home.

The September air had developed a sharp edge to it as the sun was lowering in the sky. The warmth once acuminated, now fading by the second. Your only source of heat was Witch's hand holding yours as you two admired old cobblestone buildings on your way back making idle chatter. You really should have dressed more warmly, but heavy clothing always felt restrictive to you. You preferred lightweight, airy, breathable fabrics to shroud your figure. You enjoyed the way the wind would play with your dresses and skirts during all the seasons. Air coursing through the fabric as if it was trying to give you flight, trying to whisk you away from all your troubles. But in all honesty you needed to take your sweaters and jumpers out of your storage, hopefully no moths had gotten in this time.

You're passing an alley when an old shop lantern catches your eye. You stop to peer into the dark space to see what kind of shop it is. Witch halting when you do.

"See something you like?", she squeezes your hand as you walk closer to the old shop. It looks run down at first glance, almost dingy in a sense. But you look closely at the display of a gold embroidered silk gown. If you looked long enough you'd catch flashes of light emanating from the finely done embroidery, before getting a headache and squeezing your eyes tightly. Your eyes wander to the hanging sign post 'Golden Threads' written in peeling paint.

"Want to go in?", she said, giving you a second to collect yourself from your disoriented thoughts.

"Yeah…. If that's ok… we can go home if you're too tired", you fumble with your words a little bit as you talk to her.

"Nonsense! Who doesn't want to look at pretty dresses. It'll be fun. We can play dress up like we used to as kids," She giggled as she led you through the small entrance. "You might find a dress for your upcoming exhibit at the museum".

The sheer expanse of the shop shocked you as you walked further in. It was better lit on the inside than it looked from the outside. Sun lanterns decorated the high ceilings raining down beams of subtle sunlight. You felt heat re-enter your body slowly warming your skin. The walls had racks and racks of very expensive looking dresses, skirts, suits you name it and a whole section of the shop to display jewellery and accessories to go with any items in the store. Witch was greeted by a very pretty sales assistant, but when her eyes landed on you her face fell for a second before she recovered. Witch couldn't help but eye her for an explanation.

"Oh forgive me, I thought you were a moth for a second. We don't allow moths inside, you see. Bad for business if they eat all our stock", she laughs awkwardly.

You simply smile and nod acknowledging her apology even though Witch was reluctant to let it go. She leads you both to the sitting area near the ornate mirrors and large changing rooms. And begins asking questions to best help you find what we were looking for. Once that was done she led you both to a rack with very elaborate looking dresses specifically made for big events.

"Don't worry about sizing, everything here can be altered by the owner who sews and designs these dresses. If nothing catches your eyes you can always book a consultation to design a custom piece. Give a shout if you need any further help I'll be right back with some tea and coffee, she gives you both a final smile before going back to the backroom to get your beverages.

You both begin browsing through the rack, showing each other dresses you think are nice. By the time your coffee and her tea arrived, she had decided on a dress to try on. You waited for her to change as you enjoyed your coffee.

When she emerged from the changing room in that champagne silk gown you almost choked on your coffee. You had to calm your coughing enough to get a good look at her cinched in waist and her ample breasts spilling out from the cowl neckline. To say you were speechless was an understatement, you were gobsmacked. You may have stared at her breasts for far too long that she clicked her fingers in front of your eyes to get your attention back to her face. Heat flooded to your cheeks when she gave you a knowing look.

"You'll catch flies if you don't close your mouth Rún", she smirks at you while walking closer to the mirror to get a better look at herself. The dress was structured and fitted her body well. The colour also suited her complexion making her look more radiant than ever. With her back turned to you got a great view of the very low backless dress. You really shouldn't be looking at her with such lustful eyes. But she looked good in anything in your opinion. She could be wearing a nightgown right now and you know she'd look beautiful. The image of her wearing a nightgown popped into your head and you felt your heart rate pick up.

"You can hardly blame me, it's your fault for looking so good", you flirt back trying to quell the hammering of your heart. You hoped she couldn't hear it. She smiled a full tooth smile at your compliment as she fixed the dress to sit better around her breasts. To distract yourself you get up again to look for a dress to try on. The sales assistant goes to help Witch look at accessories that would elevate the dress if she chooses to purchase it.

A dress that looked to be have dyed in a blood caught your eye, the deep square neckline makes you think it would look divine on Witch (picture). You pinch yourself trying to get your mind to stop popping up images of her breasts. You felt like a pervert or worse a hedon. The velvet fabric glides through your hands as you contemplate if you should show her the dress. Would she think of you as a pervert? No…. Probably not… It would be a crime if she didn't try on the dress, you try to counter your own thoughts. You go back and forth with your own mind for a bit trying to come up with valid reasons for her to try on the dress that didn't frame you as a pervert. But you didn't need to because the sales assistant had come over to you eyeing the dress and looking back at Witch countless times to take the hint in what you were thinking. She smiles and takes the dress off the rack to bring it to Witch as she was looking at necklaces that matched the current dress she was wearing.

“I think this dress would suit your body so well, why not give a try?”, she smiles as she places the dress on the hook in the changing room after showing Witch.

“Oh that dress is beautiful, have you found anything Rún? I feel like I'm the only one trying things on”

“I'll find something soon…. you go try on that dress, I think it'll suit you very well.”, you didn't stutter, you felt proud that you didn't stutter. But your heart rate still hadn't gone down. You hoped seeing her in that red dress wouldn't cause anymore heart palpitations.

By the time she came out you had chosen two dresses to try on. But you could care less about the dresses when your eyes landed on her. Your breath got caught in your throat, almost choking you. A sculpture of pure beauty and elegance she was. The dress accentuated her curves just the right amount without making it vulgar. The neckline was deep and showed the rounds of her bosoms. Her skin glowed from the contrast of the deep red colour. The sleeves had slits running up it. And were connected from the back in a sort of cape that could also be used as a hood if she wanted. It was of the dress was made to be worn by her and her alone.

You knew she didn't particularly like going to big events where eyes would be on her but she had promised to attend your exhibition and go to the afterparty. You hadn't asked her as of yet to be your plus one, finding out about Price made you think it'll be better just to give her two tickets to attend the event with Price and you'll take your sister as your partner. You didn't want to overstep your position as her friend. But that didn't mean you couldn't jokingly flirt with her.

“Wow…..just…..wow”, you drank in her body as if it were the fountain of youth. Your eyes just roamed and appreciated her body and elegance as the velvet hugged her figure. You hear her giggling at your words or lack thereof.

“Staaawp….you going to make me blush”, she says, raising her hands to her face to hide for a second before looking at herself in the mirror. “You really think it suits me?”

You nod your head adamantly leaving no room for doubt that you found her and the dress stunning.

“You wear that out and you'll see men, women and anyone in between falling to their knees for you”, you see her scoff in disbelief before you continue. “Heavens you'd have me on my knees from a simple look in my direction”. She was about to counter what you just said but before she could you both heard a deep chuckle come from the entrance.

“Ya think you'll be able to satisfy my Witch?”, Price saunters in like he owns the place. His hulking body stopping directly where Witch and you stood.

On instinct you find yourself shielding yourself behind Witch as you look over her shoulder at Price. Witch seems just as shocked as you to see Price so neither of you were expecting to see him. You don't know what caused you to say your next words but you were feeling slightly vexed by yesterday's incident and now his current appearance. The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“I'd do a better job than you”, you say bitterly and mostly to yourself. But by his amused facial expression you knew he heard you. He steps closer causing you to hold onto Witch out of reflex. Placing your hands on her shoulders.

“I'd love to see you try, and when you fail. I'll show you how to do it properly”, he shamelessly counters while giving Witch his signature smile. He didn't seem at all threatened by your comment. Probably knowing you were all bark no bite. Witch smacks his arm when he comes closer.

“Stop teasing her, you still have to apologise for yesterday”, she gives him a pointed look choosing to ignore the words that were exchanged between you and Price probably thinking it was a joke. Price takes a closer look at your face to find your burns healed. Witch's salves must have been extremely potent. It's just another testament to her skills. You shrink back against his stare when you see him coming closer.

“Your right luv, I should have addressed that first”, he places a gentle kiss on her cheek before turning to you. “I'd like to apologise for my unrefined behaviour with you yesterday, my words caused you harm and for that I'm truly sorry”, he bows his head slightly and offers his hand. “I'd like it if we didn't carry any animosity towards each other.”

You didn't know what to do, should you take his hand and accept the peace offering? Or should you keep your distance and not speak to him again? His kiss had you feeling a slight sling in your heart but you pushed that aside. You knew he was a better match for her than you. No matter how much you wanted her for yourself you knew better than to be selfish. She deserved better than what you could offer her. Being her friend was enough for you, even that was beyond what you deserved. You look at Witch to try to gauge an answer but she didn't give anything away on how she wanted you to answer. You knew Price was more than likely going to end up a permanent figure in Witch's life and by default in yours. It was best to bury the hatchet. You glanced at his eyes trying to find any hint of deception but you couldn't. You saw some type of remorse, you didn't know if it was for hurting you or upsetting Witch by hurting you. You take his calloused hand in your soft one giving it a gentle shake before retreating swiftly.

Witch smiles once you shake his hand and tells you to go try on your dresses so she can have a look.

Soap was peering in from the display window of the shop. Price had entered a few minutes ago sensing his Witch was in the area while the four of them were completing some ‘errands’ to put it nicely. Price had dismissed them and Ghost had taken the first chance to apparate home to his misses. Gaz and him had stuck around trying to catch Price with his mysterious Darling who was impossible to hook even though they had seen her before, not with Price though. Gaz was blowing out his smoke from his cigarette dispelling the stress of their recent activities as he peered into the shop as well. Nothing exciting was happening; it looked like Price was helping her choose accessories and possibly getting matching suits for himself to compliment the dresses she was buying. He was so soft with her it was uncharacteristic compared to what he was doing a little while ago. He was acting if he didn't just wash his hand of blood. Price really won the lottery with his Witch she was beautiful and looked even better in the dress she was wearing. Both Gaz and Soap try to look discreetly not trying to get caught by Price. The consequences of that would be detrimental. Or worse he'd put them on clean up duty without magic. He could feel himself getting ready to gag remembering the last time that happened.

His eyes drifted to the changing room curtains that fluttered open to reveal a very beautifully dressed you. Your delicate steps took you to the spotlight in front of the large mirrors as you inspected the sheer fabric. You turn and twist your body scrutinising every detail of yourself and the dress that looked as if it was sewn onto your body. The outer fabric was an ethereal lace (picture), the metallic blue complementing your smooth skin on display. A nude slip peaked from underneath the fabric of the floor length dress yet your underwear could still be seen slightly. You didn't seem to mind though. He supposes this wasn't much difference to type of clothing you liked wear on the few occasions he's seen you. You seemed mostly comfortable with your body or rather comfortable with the clothing you chose to wear. Airy and light very indicative to the type of magic you possessed. The slip dress moulded itself to your figure creating a ravishing silhouette. All he wanted to do at this moment was bury his face in the crook of your neck while inhaling your scent. Maybe bend you over the counter and take you right here in front of everyone. It was unlikely you'd let him near though. Especially now that you had your friend to protect you. He needed to stay put to avoid her gaze. She was the main obstacle at the moment. Seeing you dressed up like this had his blood rushing to places it shouldn't. Hearing Gaz let out a whistle from next to him was what brought him out of his trance.

“What a sight, sucks you got no chance with her”, Gaz smirks at Soap regardless of the glare he was getting. “You should have chosen better mate, you've dug yourself into a hole.”

“What would ye know?, ye cannae even get yer darlin to desire anythin tae make a deal.”

“Low blow mate, why don't I go talk to her and show you how it's done”, Gaz chuckles.

“Don't ye dare go near her”, he growled. Usually Soap was fine with sharing; they'd all know each other long enough for it not to be a big deal. But that fact his chances with you were low and that fact Gaz could literally charm anyone by simply smiling at them was irking him.

“Too late”, Gaz was already halfway through the door before he could stop him.

You stood in the changing room in the nude slip that came with the dress you were about to slip on. The blue lace felt really soft in your hands. But your mind was elsewhere. Price’s words irritated you. Just because he was a couple hundred years old he thinks he knows everything. You're confident in your ability to give oral regardless of the fact you've never actually given oral but that was beside the point. You've read enough books to rival Price's experience in years, that's what you delude yourself into thinking that is. You were probably just upset he called you out on it. But you did have intensive book smarts about sex even if you don't have any physical experience. Not forgetting you also possess female genitalia, so you knew your way around a woman's body. You knew how to please yourself so you were confident if a chance ever arose where you were on your knees for Witch you'd do a good job at pleasing her. Not that it would actually ever happen. Why would anyone ever want you? Especially in a sexual manner. Yes you know you and witch flirt from time to time. But that was just some banter between friends. No one has ever actually approached you with genuine interest before.

But right now your mind was flooded with images of Witch. All you could think about was being on your knees for her. Having her in a state of undress on the couch with her legs spread over your shoulders as you go to town on her folds. Her breasts on display, nipples becoming erect. Her dress pooled at her waist as you caresses and stroke her clit while fucking your tongue into her sloppy cunt. Her juices leaking into your mouth as you drink in her sweet essence while keeping your eyes locked on her face taking note of every flinch, shaky breath and whimper. You'd hold her legs open as you'd ease your fingers into her drenched pussy attacking her clit with your tongue altering between soft and hard licks to keep her from cumming too soon. Feeling her hands tighten in your hair when you wouldn't let her cum. Her tugging and pulling to get you to comply with her needs. In your mind you come up with various positions where you'd have your mouth attached to her cunt. Her sitting on your face as you run your nose over her sensitive folds and clit while tongue fucking her. Or on her hands and knees as you ate her from behind until her legs shook and gave out. Seeing her collapse in a heap on the floor. Breath laboured skin shining from the exertion. Or over the table as you play with her cunt her hand gripping the edge for dear life. You finger fucking into her soft spot until she gushes on them before placing them in your mouth to get a better taste. Running your tongue over her juices on your slick fingers. Making a show of it to get the point across that you adore her taste. Savouring her sweet release and the salt from your sweat. Then brushing your lips against her in a gentle kiss. To give her a taste, an understanding on why you're so addicted.

You pinch yourself again feeling guilty for having these thoughts. You run your thighs together trying to ease the tension building. You hope your panties didn't have a wet spot on them. You slowly start slipping on the fitted dress as your mind wanders again even with you trying to stop it. You think about Price actually watching you do all the things you wanted to Witch. His glacier eyes sending chills down your spine as you work your mouth on his women. As you make her breath catch and shudder. Would he shove your face deeper into her cunt if he thought you were teasing her too much? Would he yank your hair back if you took too long to make her cum? Or would he guide your head gently giving you tips to improve your performance. Would he shower you both with compliments for doing such a good job? Maybe he would tie you up to make you watch how he does it? Preventing you from partaking. Preventing you from touching her supple body as he eats her out. Making you strain against the ropes as you witness her come undone. Showing you how he covers his body over her smaller one, how his thick fingers stretch her out more than you ever could. How she probably prefers his prickly kisses as he runs his face against her thighs. How he makes her a babbling mess in just a couple seconds.

You shake your head dispelling the thoughts. You really needed to stop having fantasies like these. She wasn't yours and you needed to accept that. You chide yourself for coveting something that you didn't deserve. The dress had moulded to your body as you pulled at the spaghetti straps to adjust the top before slowly opening the curtains and stepping out. The dress moved with ease and comfort as you walked to the mirrors. Witch stops her conversation with the sales assistant and Price to look at you giving you a very genuine smile. You feel heat rush to your face again but for more innocent reasons this time. Her looking at you like that made you feel beautiful and bashful at the same time. You inspect the dress as she walks closer giving youn lots od compliments and suggestions what jewellery would look nice. You look at yourself in the dress thinking this dress would be great to wear to the exhibition. You didn't mind it being see through since you had a slip underneath it even though that also wasn't completely opaque. You didn't need to worry about Price looking at you, you knew he only had his heart set on Witch. He wasn't foolish to jeopardise his relationship over wandering eyes. Not that he'd look to begin with. You don't think anyone would really look at you properly other than Witch.

“I think this dress suits you so well. It'll definitely look great at the exhibition, but you should try some more dresses on to see if you'll find something better.”

“I couldn't agree more, you're a force to be reckoned with”, a dark skinned man walks into the store and the first thing you notice is his disarming smile. A full toothed smile so bright you might temporarily go blind if you looked too long. His tall muscular frame comes into view next as your eyes wander down. You're taken aback by his words, you can hardly remember a stranger ever coming up to compliment you like this. Especially not a handsome young man like him. You say young but he was probably older than you by a couple years. Or maybe a lot with him being a Fae and all. Age was tricky to pin with them always looking so youthful.

You feel put on the spot not used to this kind of attention so you just hide behind Witch not sure on how you should respond. A more familiar voice joins his not a second later causing the hair at the back of your neck to stand up.

“Ah told ye not tae come in ye fucker”, Soap grumbles as he comes into view. Price looked at them unamused at their stupidity for coming in when they had no business here. Now Witch wouldn't believe him when he said he was just passing by.

Gaz continues to make idle chatter causing Soap to get even more irritated. You watch as they take sneaky glances at Witch's breasts not that you'd blame them but it still irked you. You kinda wish Price would notice and give them both a smack on the head for daring to look at what was his, not that Witch was considered property. It was more so a show of affectionate jealousy. If you knew how to use your magic properly you'd have sent them flying. Or maybe you should just cover your hand over her breasts to send the message.

Witch keeps her gaze sharp on Soap, a look of recognition falling over her features. And irritation quickly dripping from her form. You didn't know where to look anymore, too much was going on at once. Feeling them stare at you as they argued was putting you on edge. Maybe you should pick something more subtle, something that would draw less attention. You didn't like the attention you were getting even though you have experience wearing pretty dresses to fancy events. The attention was always on the art you were selling, not on you. People hardly ever paid attention to staff. This situation wasn't something you were used to dealing with. Price was growing more annoyed at their disturbance, especially by Gaz's blatant flirting and Soap's irritation. Price had had enough and just dragged the two out as Witch led you towards the accessories to distract you from the chaos. You hear Gaz shout one last time before he leaves. You were assuming he was just doing it to get on Soaps nerves.

“You'll send an invite to your exhibition won't you darling? I'd love to come see your work.”

You did have extra tickets given to you so it wouldn't be hard giving him one but you didn't even know his name and it kinda felt like he was just messing with you to get to Soap. But it was amusing how easily he could get Soap worked up. You also wanted to get at him for causing you so much trouble. You still haven't figured out a way to get him to leave your sister alone. But he seemed unhealthily interested in you. You could use that to draw his attention away long enough to get her to safety.

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