#the captain x reader
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Okay so the poll results were for an OC captain, though it was close enough that I still hesitate to name him in the canon of the fic.
I’m also going to be taking my time fleshing out his character because it’s been a while since I made an OC. So please be patient while I add tidbits here and there to build his character.
Content: safe/sane/consensual sex, descriptions of scars, mentions of past torture
Nikto beats you and Nova twice out of three rounds — but that’s no surprise. The man moves like a machine. Even against two opponents he controls the battlefield like a chess master. Neither you nor Nova take it to heart, especially since he always gives you both advice at the end, helping you to improve.
He’s a great partner, a great teammate; you’re sure to show him your appreciation after sparring with a kiss to his nose-plate. His hands spasm on yours as he helps you unwind your wraps, gloved thumb sweeping over your bare palm.
“You did good today,” he says, voice rough and accent thick. He must be pissed about earlier still, when Ghost and Soap threw your matches with them.
“So did you,” you reply, squeezing his hand in return.
“Stay with me tonight?” He asks.
You damn near melt. Nikto has an open invitation to your room, but his is a sacred place, only for him unless otherwise specified. That he’s asking you to come to his tonight…
“Absolutely,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I just need to see the captain first. Okay?”
He grunts in understanding, eyes flicking to the door the 141 left through earlier. He mutters something in Russian — some insult about goats and mothers you think.
“Yeah, exactly,” you reply, voice dropping with simmering irritation.
A good spar with him and Nova has helped ground you a bit, but it hasn’t helped the anger. You don’t spar any of your team with anger; they don’t deserve.
Luckily, you and your captain worked something out a while ago when you’re feeling a bit… aggressive.
“Cap?” You call, still holding Nikto’s hand. “Could I stop by for a nightcap later?”
His eyes flash, a sinful twist to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, babygirl. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Over his shoulder, you see Nova arch her eyebrows and Keegan grin wicked into his water bottle. Gossip fiends.
“Showers. Now,” the cap says, slapping them both on the ass. “Double time. I need to have a word with Price still.”
—
Long after the sun has gone down, you’re standing outside your captain’s door. Take a breath. Remind yourself of your mantra. He wants you, always will, and he’s going to take care of you.
Then loosen your shoulders, unboxing all the frustration and aggression you set aside earlier. Feel it burn through you, make your hands twitch in and out of fists.
One more inhale, and then you shove the door open.
“There you are,” he rumbles. “C’mere.”
You flash your teeth, “No.”
He tilts head back and forth, cracking his neck. “Alright then.”
There’s no real fight. You’re not looking to get away or actually hurt him. And he’s not looking to actually make you submit. That’s not the point of this game.
He strides across the room and shoves you back, pins your shoulder to the wall. You grip at his forearm, nails scraping, and squirming as the hot, hard length of his body squishes you flat.
“Settle,” he orders.
“Fuck you,” you snarl back, nipping his lip.
He growls, tangling a hand in your hair and tipping your head back. Leaves a searing trail of kisses down your throat, bites a bruise into your collarbone. You wriggle and fuss all the while, safely held still and supported by his hands and body.
“Brat,” he rasps in your ear.
“I’m not,” you snap.
“Oh, yes you are, babygirl,” he replies, a mean smirk on his flushed face. “But that’s alright, I like you bad.”
He pulls you from the wall, bullies you onto the bed. You try to grab at him, get him under you. He doesn’t indulge like he normally would. Pins you on your back so that you can keep fighting, yanking at your wrists in his firm grip, pushing your hips up to grind into his as if trying to flip you both.
He slots his hips between your thighs, positions just his knees under your ass so that your back is arched, shoulders on the mattress. Limits your mobility, but that doesn’t stop you from kicking at air, making half-angry, half-desperate noises in the back of your throat.
“Gonna say please like a good girl?” He teases.
“No,” you hiss back.
He has the audacity to chuckle, which just riles you up more. (It’s supposed to). You curse as he works a hand beneath your shirt, palms at your bare breasts and pinches your nipples until they ache. You gasp like a pornstar, surprised and turned on.
“Pretty noise,” he coos. “Do it again.”
When he twists, you mewl, face immediately burning up as you renew your “efforts” to get away. All it does is make the treatment rougher than if you just laid still and took it, but that’s what you want, what feels good. A little edge to the pleasure as adrenaline and energy electrify you from head to toe.
He grinds against you, cotton of your loose shorts sticking against your soaked cunt. Christ you were turned on before you even barged in. Now you’re fucking throbbing for it.
“Gimme,” you grit out, rocking against him. Gears successfully shifted from physically taking control to just ordering him around.
“Give you what, brat?” He goads, slapping your pussy. The thin fabric muffles the sting, but it sends a white-hot ache through you that makes your eyes roll. “My cock? You think you deserve it?”
Another slap. You cry out, notice the sly look on his face when he notices that you’ve soaked through your shorts.
“Yes,” you reply, all confidence and reckless arrogance.
He yanks his underwear down to mid thigh, thick cock springing up to smack lewdly against his toned stomach. Precum smears over the pale scars there, sticks in the trail of groomed hair there.
“Yeah?” He growls. “Alright then.”
He yanks the crotch of your shorts aside (you hear stitches pop) and then he’s plunging into you. It’s too much all at once and you cry as much, knees squeezing around his tattooed ribs.
“Fuck.” His voice is shredded, so rough and low you feel it more than hear it. He lets your wrists go to grip at your ass, grinding deeper. Can feel the fat head of his cock bullying at your cervix, his favorite passtime while you adjust to the thick base of him.
“How does that feel, babygirl?” He murmurs in your ear. “You needed daddy’s cock, huh? Needed it to set you right again?”
You whimper out a curse at him, gripping at his biceps. He croons mockingly, thumb slipping between your bodies to press at your clit. Not rubbing or grinding, but just pressing. Just the right amount to make you sweat and pant, start trying to squirm to get any friction at all.
He lets you — could stop you if he wanted, or pull away entirely — but he likes winding you up like this. Likes seeing all that vicious energy turned to seeking pleasure from him.
“Fucking move,” you try to snarl, but your voice breaks midway through and comes out more pleading than you’d like.
“What was that, babydoll? Are you talking to me?” He teases, rolling his hips.
Your mouth falls open, a moan ripping from your chest, deep and needy.
“Daddy, move,” you cry, voice going up in pitch.
“There’s my brat.”
He pushes one of your knees up against your chest and slams into you. You scream and he doesn’t even try to cover your mouth, whispering filth as he tilts your hips for the best angle with his other hand. Fucks into you deep and rough, grinning at the obscenely wet noises every time he plunges into you.
Can practically feel him fucking your cervix open to get just that little bit deeper. Licks his lips when he sees the little bump in your stomach. You give as good as you get, squeezing down tight, bouncing to meet him, nails scoring lines down his back and shoulders.
“Gonna ask daddy to make you cum?” He goads.
“Earn it,” you reply.
He laughs and pulls out, flips you onto your stomach while you’re still dizzy with emptiness. Hikes your hips up and sinks into you like coming home. Your knees almost give out but that’s fine by him, he’s plenty strong enough to hold you up all on his own, using you like a noisy little toy for his own benefit.
“Fuuuuck,” you whine, feeling overwhelmed, pleasured tears gathering in your eyes. Then, in a whisper, “Daddy…”
“Feel like being good yet?” He asks. A large, rough hand circles that back of your neck and pins you face down to the mattress.
“N-no,” you whine, fight gone out of you now that you’re getting exactly what you want.
Fuck it feels so, so good. Every inch bullying you wide open and loose, so wet you’re dripping down your own thighs, wetting his ball as they slap against you. You feel split open and pinned, unable to do anything but take it, tortured stupid on ecstasy. He licks a stripe up your back before pressing you down prone, ankles locked around yours to keep you open and accessible.
“S’alright, doll, don’t need to be good to be mine.”
He’s barely pulling out halfway before ramming home now. You can barely get a breath in, the weight of him pressing whatever resistance was left right out of you.
“Daddy, daddy,” you sob. “Fuck, I wan’ it.”
“Want it, huh?”
“Mhmm,” you moan, pressing your face into your arms. Cant your hips just that little bit to get him abusing that bundle of nerves.
“Oh, right there, huh?” He coos. “Did daddy find your little sweet spot?”
A series of short, ruthless thrusts right there, making incoherent, desperate noises fall from your mouth. Before you realize it, he’s wedged a hand beneath your hips and has two fingers toying with your poor, neglected clit.
“‘M gonna… f-fuck, fuck,” you whine, writhing (or at least trying to) against him. Not sure if you’re trying to urge him on or get away. Doesn’t matter, he’s in charge, has been since the beginning. “Daddy, I wanna…”
“Whenever you want, babygirl,” he replies, voice going all warm and gooey. Your chest hitches. “Squeeze around me nice and tight. Let me feel you cum on my cock.”
Didn’t realize that was what you needed, but you fucking scream as you clench down around him, stars bursting behind your closed eyes. He fucks you through it, tapping against your g-spot again and again until you dissolve into a weak, wet whimpers.
“Daddyyyy,” you whine.
And that sets him off, flooding you with heat. He loses control for a second as his hips jerk, pounding brutally into your oversensitive, swollen pussy. Makes a few tears finally slip down, soaking into the sheets along with your drool. The sound of him groaning as he cums makes you spasm around him again, a little aftershock that milks the last of his release.
“That’s it, easy,” he groans, brushing kisses over your trembling shoulders. “Easy, doll.”
He lies over you for a few minutes, letting you feel him there. Right there with you. Breathing and recovering, holding you through the endorphin rush. When you squirm a bit, he eases off you, cock slipping out. You shiver at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you, glassy eyes fluttering.
“C’mere,” he soothes, tugging you in. Lying on his side, he hitches one of your thighs up over his hip, tucks your arms between your chests and rests his stubbly chin on your temple. You splay your fingers over his peck, over the bold, dark symbol for SpecGru. Feel his heart settling back into rhythm and sigh, snuggling in.
The hormone drop is a monster on your emotions, often leaves you shivery and lonely, a little sick in your own body. First time you did this with him ended in tears, expecting him to get up and leave. He didn’t, never has, but you both learned that as much physical contact as possible in the aftermath eases the comedown away from a total crash.
“You did so well, babygirl,” he whispers, leaving kisses everywhere he can reach without dislodging you. “Such a good girl. Even if you think you’re being bad.”
You flush, hide your face against his neck. He chuckles, honeybalm on your soul. Can feel his hand start to move, then pause as he remembers that you can’t handle that stimulation right after sex. So he just squeezes, slow and gentle, helps get you back in your body.
“I still want you,” he assures, echoing your mantra back at you. “Always will. You’re mine.”
You outline a heart shape onto his forearm, not quite able to speak yet. He recognize the feeling though and gently guides your face up to place a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.
“Love you, too, babygirl. Ready to clean up?”
You nod. He eases you up, lets you cling onto his hand as he walks you to the en suite. Fills you a glass of cool water to sip on while he gets the shower running. Turns his back while you use the restroom and wash your hands, then guides you into the hot water.
You lean into him, near boneless, as he washes you, calloused palms with soap instead of a cloth. Then sits still, hands on your hips, while you return the favor. This part is one of the most important for you, getting to freely return touch.
(Simon hardly ever let you touch, especially in the aftermath. Sure, you could scratch and grip at him during sex, but during foreplay it was all part of his dom persona that you couldn’t just touch at will. And afterwards… well. It’s not like he didn’t do aftercare. He did! But the almost formulaic warm cloth wipe down, glass of water, doze for a bit before he left was not… not ideal. Not like this.)
Your captain hums, eyes half-lidded but trained on you, while you smooth your palms over the firms planes of his muscles. Fingers tracing over tattoos and scars. Squishing and patting at the healthy layer of tissue over his stomach and thighs. Lets you nuzzle and kiss his soft cock, even though it makes his fingers twitch with oversensitivity.
Squeezes when you lace fingers together to stretch his arm out, inspecting the lines your nails carved into him.
“M’okay, baby,” he says before you can ask. “Feels good.”
You similarly assure him over the bruises on your wrists and hips, smiling and leaning up to kiss his jaw.
When the shower is over, he dries you off, playfully ruffling your hair just to kiss the pout off your lips. He dresses you in one of his shirts and a spare pair of your own joggers, found in his duffel.
You sit with him for a while longer still, enjoying how he lets himself relax once he knows you’re taken care of. He lies with his head on your chest, your fingers fluffing his hair, while the two of you watch an episode of some stupid show Keegan got the rest of the team into.
Only when it’s over does he ask if you’re ready to go to Nikto’s. If you wanted to stay, you could. Nikto would understand. But you’re looking forward to a night with your quiet Russian while the other three have a little movie night.
At the door, you kiss your captain goodnight. Hug and kiss Keegan and Nova as you pass them in the hall headed to his room. Nova makes a point of kissing one of the bruises on your wrist, while Keegan whispers that he loves you.
You pad to the first door in the hall, where Nikto has stationed himself as the team guard dog. You tap gently at the door, a pre-determined pattern to let him know who it is.
The door cracks open, one startling blue eye peering from the darkness.
“Evening, Nik,” you coo.
A hand reaches out and gently yanks you inside. And then next thing you know, you’re wrapped up in thick arms devoid of any usual covering. You feel smothered, in a good way.
“Love,” he rasps in Russian into your hair.
You hum in return. Place your palms flat on his abdomen. The muscles clench, you pause as you realize his abs, impressive as they are, feel too defined. He needs water. Taking mental note, you draw your hands carefully around, feeling the raised bumps of wicked scars. Make sure he can track exactly where and how you’re touching until your arms are wrapped around him in a return hug.
“Smell good,” he murmurs.
“Yeah?” You giggle. “Showered just for you.”
He snorts, then scoops you up. You make a delighted noise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you across the room. Of course his navigation is impeccable, even in pitch black. He lays you down on the bed, but before he can crawl up with you, you place a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re dehydrated.”
He makes an annoyed noise, sounds like he’s about to protest. You shush him with a quick peck to his chest.
“Get a glass please? I could use some water myself.”
Which has him instantly moving. You politely turn away as the bathroom light flicks on, the water runs. Can hear him chug two entire glasses before he fills it one final time. The light turns off again. The bed dips as he returns, presses the cool edge gently to your cheek.
“Thank you,” you murmur, sipping about a quarter of it to appease him before he sets aside for you on a bedside table.
And then he gets what he really wants, stripping you down and tucking you in like a nesting bird. Practically on top of you while you’re still reeling from how much skin you can feel. Even during intimacy, he tends to stay clothed or mostly clothed. But right now all you can feel is a pair of underwear against your bare ass. Everywhere else it’s miles of warm skin, uncovered muscle and texture of scars.
“This is nice,” you coo. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
You wiggle around until you’re chest to chest. Start with his hands. Kiss each smooth fingertip, prints flayed off. Then his palms, the divots from nails driving through. Flip them over to kiss his scarred knuckles, smile at the way he twitches, flexing them outward like he’s trying not to close his hand.
“Okay?” You ask.
“Yes.”
You kiss his wrists, his forearms, to his collarbone. You’ve peeked a blue-black tattoo there before. Stars and the start of something that might be religious. Spend a little extra time there, tongue peeking out. He shifts; you take it as a sign of discomfort and move on.
“Here next,” he says when you dip to go to his chest.
He guides your face up his neck, where you press long (but chaste) kisses until you bump his jaw. And realize that’s all skin too.
“Oh,” you breathe. “Can I…?”
“Yes.”
You feather your lips along his fresh-shaved jaw, the nicked scars on his chin. Then up, ignoring the wicked scar along his cheek. Breathe against his temple, feeling dizzy with the trust he’s showing you.
“I love you,” you whisper, continuing along to his nose, twice broken and poorly set each time. A line over one nostril where a piercing was ripped out. He makes a noise in his throat, think he might be having trouble speaking again. Don’t mind.
He lets you get down to his mouth, where a particularly twisted scar warps part of his upper lip away from his teeth. You think that if you saw it in the light, his canine would be visible. His lower lip is uneven too, like a misaligned seam.
You don’t pay any special attention to any of it, focused more on reacquainting yourself with how your mouth fits with his. He doesn’t lead, doesn’t rush or pull or press. But there’s tension all along his body, everywhere you touch. You don’t ask for more than a chaste kiss, and when you pull away, you tilt your forehead gently against his.
“Still okay?” You ask.
“Still okay.”
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#the captain#cod nikto#the captain x reader#specgru reader#former 141 reader#nikto x reader
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Give 'Em a Show
Pairings: Pierro x Isekai'd!Reader (with some Capitano x Isekai'd!reader)
Summary: Pierro fucks you until your vision becomes white when you cum. You're put in a situation where your naked body is on display for others to see. Specifically when you're getting railed by the first Harbinger.
Note: Any [character] x Isekai'd!Reader is part of my "Not What You'd Expect" Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series. These mini-fics are made so every character in the harem can get their screen time without having twenty to thirty people overtaking their spotlight. Some characters (or all characters) can make an appearance in individual character mini-fics. One of my readers on AO3 wanted some more Pierro content, so this is for them ✨❤️ As previously stated in my other smuts, the smuts that I type out do lean toward female!reader/afab!reader. I do use gender-neutral pronouns unless stated otherwise. Minors, DO NOT INTERACT! Anyway, I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).
Warnings: Breath play, voyeurism, oral sex (male receiving), deep throating, face fucking, spanking, light BDSM, hair pulling, creampie, cum shot
Word Count: 1.6k
The sound of wet skin slapping against each other echoes in the living room of the abode. There is a blindfold over your eyes, your wrists are bound together, and your legs are spread wide open for everyone to see the first Harbinger hammering his fat cock into your sopping wet heat. You let out small whimpers and gasps, feeling the tip of Pierro’s dick hit the most sensitive spot inside of you repeatedly.
You try to close your legs, as you can feel eyes staring holes into your naked figure. Other than heat rushing to your face because of your and Pierro’s activity, you know there’s someone else in the room with you and Pierro. The two of you aren’t alone, and you know it. Pierro grabs your neck and pulls you close to his bare chest, and lightly squeezes your neck, restricting your airflow.
“Spread your legs,” Pierro murmurs into your ears, continuing to piston his fat cock in and out of you.
You shake your head. “It’s embarrassing,” you whine, trying to keep the noises to a minimum. Even if you try to keep your voice down, the sound of squelching between your legs while Pierro is jackhammering his dick inside you is loud enough to overtake the sound of your whimpers and gasps.
You hear Pierro let out an amused chuckle, momentarily pausing his thrusts. You gulp and feel your hands begin to tremble when you hear someone else breathe in the same room as you and Pierro. Pierro reaches for the blindfold around your eyes and pulls it off your face. When your vision clears up, and your eyes adjust to the light in the room, you feel your heart drop in your chest, your body becomes even hotter than it already was, and you nearly faint at what you see in front of you.
In front of you and Pierro are the other men, their wrists tied behind their backs with ropes, their mouths taped shut; they are naked— all of them are naked. All of their cocks are hard, the mushroom tips are red and leaking with pre-cum, and their gazes are locked on your naked body, though their eyes are locked on the area where you and Pierro are connected.
Itto growls, thrashing against the binding around his wrist, only to fail. Capitano emerges from the shadows and chuckles at Itto’s futile attempt to get out of the binding. The men’s pupils are blown wide to the point where it almost covers their irises. They look like they’re close to snapping.
“Why don’t you give your audience a little show,” Pierro says, the tip of his nose pressing up against your cheeks as he begins to thrust his hips up against yours slowly.
His cock slides in and out of your entrance, making you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head while hiding your face behind your tied wrists. There’s no way you can look at the men in the eyes after today; there’s no way at all. Sure they’ve seen you naked before, but all at once while you’re getting impaled on Pierro’s fat cock? No way.
Pierro raises his eyebrows at you. “Oh? And why is that? I’m sure they’ll appreciate it,” Pierro looks over at the men and smirks.
“It’s embarrassing,” you whisper.
Pierro smirks and leans back on the couch, his back pressing up against the cushions, and holds both of your thighs firmly, his hands squeezing the plush of your thighs. “Well, if you can’t do it, then it looks like I’ll have to do the heavy lifting,” Pierro says gruffly.
Pierro spreads your legs wide open for everyone in the room to see; your sopping wet hole, stuffed by Pierro’s cock, occasionally tightening around Pierro’s throbbing cock. You let out a loud squeal when Pierro suddenly pistons his cock up inside of your entrance. Pierro groans, and his head falls back on the couch, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when he feels your spongey walls tighten around his cock.
With one hand, he snakes his right arm up across your chest and grips your left shoulder, pulling you down on his dick until he’s completely buried deep inside your entrance. Pierro thrust up, pressing the tip of his cock against your cervix. You clench your jaws and dig your nails into the palm of your hands, and a strained grunt and whimper tumble out from your lips. Childe growls and tries to break out from the thick ropes wrapped around his wrists, only to give himself a rope burn.
You feel like Pierro is going to rip you in half. Pierro presses his lips against your shoulder blades and begins to press kisses to your neck. This is the only time he’ll be gentle with you during a time like this. Capitano walks to you and Pierro; he stops in front of you and grabs a handful of your hair, pulling your head back and making you look up at him.
You see Capitano reach down to his erect cock from the corner of your eyes. You gulp when you see how thick and long his cock is; the tip of his cock is red, and the mushroom tip of his dick is smeared with precum. Capitano taps your lips with the bulbous tip; you slowly open your mouth, and he slides his cock into your mouth. Capitano’s breath gets caught in his throat as he continues to slide his dick into your mouth. You whimper and let out a small gag when Capitano’s cock hits the back of your throat; your eyes become teary, and a single tear rolls down your cheek when your lips touch Capitano’s pubic hairs.
Capitano begins to slide his dick in and out of your mouth, his head lolling back, his grasp tightening on your hair. Pierro pinches your nipples, latching his lips on your neck, and bites down. The feeling of Pierro hammering his cock deep inside of your sopping wet heat and Capitano shoving his erect member into your mouth makes your lower stomach tighten with need.
While Capitano and Pierro are keeping you busy by drilling their cocks into you, the men are struggling to get out of their confinements. Their cocks are painfully hard; precum is dripping from the slits of the bulbous head of their dick, sliding down the base of their cock and coating their pubic hairs. Being forced to watch you get railed by Capitano and Pierro is pure torture, and it's driving them insane.
The sound of your whimpers, muffled moans, wet skin slapping, and the sound of your entrance sucking in Pierro’s cock eagerly sends a shockwave down to the men’s cock, making it throb even more. You try to close your legs, but your actions earn you a spank on the ass from Pierro. Pierro lifts both of your legs up, pressing them against your chest while plunging his fat cock deep inside you, making sure to press the tip of his dick against your cervix with each deep thrust.
“Oh, fuck!” You gasp loudly; Capitano’s dick slips out your mouth as you arch and writhe in Pierro’s arms.
Pierro slaps your sopping wet heat, the tip of his fingers hitting your engorged tiny nub. Capitano tightens his grip on your hair and shoves his cock back into your mouth, making you choke on it. Capitano thrusts rigorously in and out of your mouth, chasing after his release. Capitano pulls his cock out from your mouth and strokes his cock in front of your face.
Capitano taps your face. “Open your mouth,” Capitano orders.
You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, struggling to keep your eyes open while Pierro continues to ram his cock inside of you. Capitano groans and a ribbon of hot, creamy cum shoot out from Capitano’s cock and lands on the bottom half of your face and your chest. Capitano scoops up his cum and shoves his fingers into your mouth; you swirl your tongue around Capitano’s fingers, licking and sucking the cum off his fingers.
Pierro tightens his grip on you and plunges in and out of your entrance, getting close to his release. A tight coil forms in your lower stomach, and your walls begin to convulse and tighten around Pierro’s cock. Your vision suddenly goes white; you hear ringing and Pierro’s faint grunts in your ears as he shoots his cum deep inside you. Your body goes limp, and you slump against Pierro’s chest. When you come to your senses, you realize that the tight rope in your lower stomach has snapped, and you have cummed all over Pierro’s cock.
Pierro pulls his cock out of your hole and opens your legs wide for the audience to see. He reaches down and spreads your folds apart; a mixture of your and Pierro’s cum pools out of your entrance and onto the couch. You’re too fucked out to feel embarrassed about Pierro showing off to the other men.
Your bleary eyes scan each man’s face; their cocks are painfully red, bobbing up and down with every movement as they try to break out from the ropes holding them down. You know that once the ropes are untied around their wrists and ankles, all of the men will all jump your bones until each of them fills your holes with their cum. You sure did give them a show, and now, they’re ready to begin the encore.
You hear a rope slowly ripping; you look over at Itto and see his biceps bulging. The cord falls to the ground, and Itto rubs his wrists, glaring at Capitano and Pierro. Itto turns to Ayato and unties the rope around Ayato’s wrists. Each man unties the other’s ropes, standing up and letting the rope fall to the ground behind them and stepping out from the rope that once bound their ankles together. It looks like the encore is about to begin and Capitano and Pierro have a front seat to the show while you are the main centerpiece of the entire performance.
Note: Not sure how I feel about this smut 🤔 I decided to add Capitano into the smut as well because originally, this idea was for Capitano, but it also fits Pierro, and someone on AO3 wanted Pierro content. Therefore I am killing two birds with one stone and making it about Pierro with a pinch of Capitano! Wow, my second smut after a long time! And a third smut coming this Sunday on Christmas! I will be posting a new taglist form when Crave 5 is released :> but for now, no taglist for the first two mini-fics. For my new and returning readers, I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!
Read more of my works on my Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^
#Genshin impact x reader#Genshin impact imagine#Genshin impact fanfiction#Genshin impact smut#Pierro x reader#Pierro imagine#Pierro fanfiction#Pierro fanfic#The Jester#The Jester x reader#The Jester x reader smut#Pierro x afab!reader#Pierro x afab!reader smut#genshinluvr#Capitano x reader#Capitano x afab!reader smut#Capitano x afab!reader#The Captain x reader
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this idea has been boiling in my head for WEEKS I tell you WEEEEKSS so I thought I might as well just let it out:
what if you worked for the tsaritsa as just another fatui skirmisher or cicin mage and slowly climb the ranks until you manage to land a position as the personal assistant to the personal assistant to the harbingers! yay! a promotion! but also maybe not so yay since it’s highly likely you get killed in like the first week or so… but whatever, you’ll take what you can get.
they don’t pay much attention to you at first but they eventually warm up to you and even start seeking you out more as time goes on.
meanwhile, you, on the other hand, have started to notice this- how could you not when you could feel the captains gaze on you whenever youre bent down over paperwork and thinks you can’t see him or the way the balladeer always drags you away from whatever you were doing for something “urgent” when he really just wandered around somewhere while ranting about random things to you or the fiery red butterfly that’s seemed to take a liking to you and could almost always be found resting on your shoulder
…and well, there were less subtle ones too- like the random segment that would always be a few steps behind you no matter where you went or the almost weekly chess games that the jester kept invite you even though you kept losing miserably to him hey! it’s not you’re fault when you also have to focus on ignoring the suprising amount of sexual tension!
but even more suprising is the way damselette calls you over to just. lay her head in your lap and sing or doze off while you do your work.
however, unlike damselette, the marionette is one for more silent appreciation. she shows you the projects she’s working on and if you show interest in a particular thing, say, one of automaton she’s creating, she’ll take note of it and might even make a pocket sized version to give to you- something that you could put on your keychain or keep as a figurine if you’re into that type of stuff!
Speaking of gifts- the regrator. gives. you. so. many. at first, he gave you jewelry with a price tag that even glancing at would probably send someone into debt but if you don’t wear jewelry, he’ll probably take note of things you like or hobbies you have. you like drawing? prepare to have trouble opening the door with how many expensive art supplies are piled up infront of it. you like stuffed animals? BOOM!! Your bed is overflowing with so many stuffed animals! You’re hyperfixating on something? Don’t worry- hes got ya covered!
Now, if you ever wanted to get better in combat, who better to ask for help than the Knave herself? However busy she is with the orphanage, she can always find time to help you fix your posture or get better at using a different weapon or anything you might need help with. While she’s cold and straightforward to everyone else, she’s surprisingly patient when it comes to you and sometimes, on the particularly rough days, quietly reassures you that you did good.
And lastly, Childe. He’s one of the more openly friendly ones that you can have actual normal conversations with. He’s definitely more comfortable with showing affection because of the traveler and his family and such so he’s someone you could go to if you just need a hug and a headpat.
Soft harbingers. That’s it. I WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY PLEASE MIHOYO PLS GIVE THEM HAPPINESS
anyways so sorry that this turned into just me rambling or if this is incomprehensible or something 😭
#fatui harbingers#pantalone x reader#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#regrator x reader#capitano x reader#the captain x reader#pierro x reader#the jester x reader#columbina#columbina x reader#arlecchino#arlecchino x reader#sandrone#sandrone x reader#the knave x reader#the marionette x reader#damselette#damselette x reader#childe x reader#childe#tartaglia#tartaglia x reader#genshin ajax#ajax x reader
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being alison's younger sister and seeing the ghosts:
(this is a fem!reader but lmk if you want gender neutral stuff too, also this is rlly long sorry i got so carried away)
(what event that led you to die for a bit and come back alive is up to you - car crash, falling over etc)
seeing ghosts is something that you’ve always dealt with ever since the accident but you've never told anyone, in a fear of being seen as unfit or crazy, y’know? so you’ve always kept it to yourself
and that is until you move into alison and mike’s big home after some money troubles (which you’re ever so thankful for) and as soon as you get out the car you see a group of people from different ages behind alison in the doorway
you’re trying ever so hard to ignore them when seeing alison again and her welcoming you in, but it kinda slips when you look towards thomas who has made some sort of romantic comment towards you and both alison and you look to him but alison catches you and is like ?!??!?!
“y-you can see them too?” alison asks and you really don't know what to say, there’s a silence before you just nod and you’re like “yeah. yeah i-i can, yeah” and then you explain everything to her and she tells you her story
when mike finds out you can see the ghosts too, man poor guy feels so left out and is like this is so unfair :((
a week or so pasts and now everyone knows each other and you’re all friends :D
alison is now happy and more comfortable as thomas no longer directs his comments to alison but now you, which you really don't mind at all and sometimes you’re honestly quite flattered
the captain quickly becomes one your best friends and he likes to be around you a lot as you listen to him and all his war stories and never shut him out, you enjoy his company and he really loves your company (he will never admit it though) but he feels comfortable around you
you like to go on walks around the grounds with him and just listen to him speak about whatever and such, just enjoying his company. you know he’s got a lot of feelings all bundled up inside and you catch onto his secret quickly, you let him know you’re always there for him if he needs
you always join in on the ghosts meetings or the talks they have set up for everyone - kitty always makes sure you sit next to her
kitty loves you a lot - often when doing your makeup or painting your nails you ask kitty what colour goes best and sometimes you even pretend to paint her nails or do her makeup telling her how beautiful she looks
people dont include humphrey a lot but whenever you do find his head you talk to him for a while and ask if you can do anything for him. sometimes you wish you could pick him up and carry him around, and keep him company more but you can't :( but he always appreciates when you sit with him for a bit
one night you find him on the roof and so you sit with him for a bit, looking at the stars and just telling him about your day and such
there’s one night where you are just having a horrible day feeling horrible about yourself and the way you look, and you’re sat staring into yourself in your vanity mirror. you’re a bit teary and just pulling yourself apart and thomas is suddenly in the doorway, and he’s like “if i may, have i told you how beautiful you are today, my dear y/n?”
and instead of jokingly telling him to go away, you smile at him, speaking softly “thanks thomas” he smiles back at you before walking off again.
but you quickly get out of the seat and rush to the corridor, “thomas” and he stops walking, his hands behind his back and looks at you before you walk closer to him, “i’d…i’d like to hear more from your poetry i-if you don't mind”
you two spend the next hour or so walking, just listening to thomas speak and the other ghosts just kinda look on at you two and are like aweeee:(( (my heart)
falling in love with ghosts is really a not a good idea
that time where alison and mike host a party and you are all completely drunk out of your mind, and even the ghosts are dancing with everyone, well just beware because julian will be dancing with you - mostly behind you but perhaps you don't hate that.. : )
whenever you come home from work, everyone is always excited to see you and they each wanna tell you about their day etc
alison and mike go on holiday just for a week, as an anniversary gift from you, so you’re basically left to babysit everyone for the week
its an interesting week, robin nearly burns the house down, you all lose humphrey (both his head and body) for a few days and cant find him, pat hosts a song competition,,, and well one ghosts proclaims their love for you and somehow tries to kiss you well yeah we can all guess probably who
fanny often complains about your outfits and how short some your skirts or whatever are and she just follows you around the house and is like, “THAT IS NOT APPROPRIATE! NO ONE SHOULD SEE A LADIES ANKLES!”
and your simply just trying to make a cup of tea, and alison gives you a sympathetic look as fanny is following your every move
the only ghost who doesn't mind you swearing is julian. sometimes his tory-ass will annoy you and you just give him the finger and tell him to f off, and he either laughs at you or is like “what did i do?”
the ghosts all support you in whatever hobby you have and always end up distracting you and asking you questions about it
and basically these guys are your best friends :))
if u want a part two let me know! or any request ideas for any ghosts i am down!! <3
#bbc ghosts x reader#bbc ghosts#bbc ghosts imagine#thomas thorne x reader#julian fawcett x reader#thomas thorne#julian fawcett#fanny button#lady button#the captain#pat butcher#pat butcher x reader#the captain x reader#alison cooper x reader#mike cooper x reader
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⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄
— ★ the captain x afab!reader ⋆⋆⋆ smut. 18+ reader. requested by anon ········· › hans going ballistic, r@ping and knotting the reader in wolf form (>﹏<)
Hans' hulking figure was sat against your door, his once dignified demeanor now replaced by a primal fervor. The muscles in his back tense as he hunched over, his tongue moving with a frenzied energy, driven solely by the insatiable hunger that consumed him.
The darkness of your room was filled with wet sounds, a mixture of slurping and sucking that reverberated off the walls as the werewolf lapped at his throbbing knot for some form of relief. Amidst the sounds, the cold air was thick with the scent of sweat and musk, mingling with the underlying aroma of raw desire.
He felt his abs clench and unclench as your body shifted, unaware of how your ass and thighs displayed themselves from under the covers.
With a tired whimper, you recognized the familiar scenario that had played out countless times before.
"Hans," you muttered in a tired drawl, your voice tinged with annoyance. "Knock it off."
Your protests fell on deaf ears as he persisted in his frenzied state. His tongue darted in and out of his mouth with feverish determination, the intensity of his breaths increasing with each passing moment. The low growls that emanated from his throat grew in volume, echoing off the walls of the room.
Despite your efforts to deter The Captain, his focus remained unwavering. If anything, the subtle movements beneath the blanket seemed to spur him on further, a faint wagging of his tail driving him to continue with even greater determination.
With a sigh, you resigned yourself to the reality of the moment, knowing that attempts to intervene would likely be futile. Instead, you settled back against the pillows.
A satisfied growl escaped from his lips while his tongue danced teasingly around the swollen base, his red eyes gleaming as they fixated on your shapely form. His hips twitched when you moved again, moving your ass in small circles.
The werewolf's mouth opened while he moved his face to rub against his throbbing member, drool coating his furry balls as his body uncontrollably shifted between wolf and man. With each passing moment, the sounds of pleasure grew louder as the movements of his lips grew sloppier and needier.
He growled when the scent of your dripping cunt filled his heightened senses, still moving your hips towards him in a taunting manner. He took your alluring movements as an invitation and swiftly rose from his seat on the floor.
As he approached the bed, there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere, and with a startled gasp you felt the weight of a massive presence looming over you.
His form now resembled a magnificent wolf, white fur gleaming in the faint light of the room. Hans had shed his human guise, the lust in him causing his form to change without his consent.
He wasted no time in mounting your exposed body. With a low growl, he nudged the back of your neck with his huge muzzle, a silent reminder than he could rip your throat out with ease.
The wolf's eyes gleamed with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, fixated on the subtle movements of his tail as it brushed against the damp fabric of your panties. He responds in a low grunt when you gasp at the sudden surge of friction. Your body instinctively arches upwards, craving more of the electrifying sensation.
His furry hips lower, the rhythm of his movements aligning with yours as he begins to rut his sheathed cock against your back, spreading a mixture of precum and drool along your skin.
The werewolf rests his massive head on your shoulder, his powerful paws shifting under your stomach to intensify the pace of his thrusts. His primal growls of pleasure escape from his parted mouth, adding to the symphony of desire that fills the air. Meanwhile, his tail continues to flick against your wet pussy, each movement heightening the sensation and driving you both further into the depths of animalistic desires.
With a silent yet unmistakable command, he nudges your shoulder with his forehead until you turn, settling onto your side. As you reposition, he backs up, his muzzle nuzzling against your covered cunt with a determined eagerness. You can feel the twitching of his nose against the fabric as you clench and unclench around nothing.
With an almost desperate eagerness, he wastes no time in burying himself between your thighs, nuzzling in until he finds the perfect angle to attack your pussy with a steady, hungry pace. His jaws work tirelessly, moving with a primal urgency as his tongue flickers against your clit in a feverish motion.
The sound of your sloppy pussy being eaten made the werewolf’s ears twitch, his hips thrusting in the air as he only grew more desperate to mark his territory.
The sound of your slick, wet pussy being devoured sends a primal thrill through the werewolf, his ears twitching in response to the lewd noises. His hips thrust in the air with increasing urgency, driven by a primal instinct to mark his territory and claim you completely. Each slurp and moan only fuels his desperation, heightening the raw intensity of the moment.
The sensation of the wolf's powerful tongue is overwhelming, each stroke sending electric shivers down your spine. It's a mixture of roughness and gentleness, delicately exploring every inch of your soft flesh.
The moment he senses more of your hot liquid drooling from the small opening, he pulls away, driven by an insatiable hunger to claim his prize. With a swift motion, he tears away the fabric concealing what's his. You can't help but whimper as your panties are forcefully ripped off, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to the ravenous beast before you.
Trembling slightly, you muster the courage to speak, your voice laced with a shy and innocent tone. 'Puppy want a treat...?' you ask, your words hanging in the charged air.
A quiet growl escapes him as his paws settle on either side of your frame, exerting a firm pressure that presses you deeper into the bed. The weight of his furry body pins you down, pinning you into the softness of the mattress beneath. His hot breaths come in quick pants, each exhale stirring the air with an undeniable urgency as his cock extends to its full, throbbing length.
At the mention of the word 'puppy,' his primal instincts surge, driving him to press himself against you with even greater force. His large, powerful paws firmly hold you in place as he moves with an unrestrained urgency. The wolf's hips move back and forth at a rapid pace, his member plunging into you with each thrust. The slightly flared, pointed tip of his dick stretches you open, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body as he claims you with primal ferocity.
Each powerful stroke has you clenching around him, drawing him in deeper with each thrust. The intoxicating blend of your slick cunt, his drool, and precum facilitates his movements, allowing him to drive into you with increasing speed and intensity. As his desperation mounts, Hans begins to emit low, primal barks, urging you to meet his rhythm, to move your ass against him.
He channels his frustration into action, driving himself forward until every inch of his cock is buried deep inside you. With a primal determination, he presses into you, seeking to assert his dominance and claim you completely.
With each snap of his hips, The Captain emits loud grunts, each one punctuating the rhythm of his movements. It's as if you're nothing more than a chew toy to him, a plaything to be used at his whim, to be humped and bitten whenever he desires. His actions are primal and unapologetic, driven solely by his own carnal instincts and desires.
The wolf grinned wickedly as your back arched, granting him even greater access to your gummy insides. "Hans, please— I can't... I can't be your mate...!" you plead, desperation lacing your voice. But your protests only seem to fuel his primal desire further. With a feral gleam in his eyes, he quickens his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent and relentless, driven by an unyielding need to claim you as his own.
Just when you think it's over, his cock begins to swell, pulsating to its full, throbbing size, rendering it nearly impossible for you to move beneath him. You curse under your breath at the defiant response of his body, feeling his furry frame tighten around you, trapping you in his grasp as your attempts to escape prove futile against his overwhelming strength.
You feel him twitch inside you, his precum squirting out almost constantly, slickening your walls and making it easier for him to move again. He drives into you with slow, deliberate strokes, each one penetrating deep, his knot pounding against your hole with every forceful thrust. The rhythm of his movements is primal and relentless, driving you both closer to the edge with each powerful movement.
The pressure of his larger body was increasing as his movements grew more frantic, wanting to plug your cunt as soon as possible.
The thought of dragging your limp body out to the dark forest where no one would find you, allowing him to rape you like this whenever he wanted was enough to make the white fur on his body stand on end. The wolf’s head tilted towards the air as he howled in ecstasy, his claws piercing your soft hips while he felt the wave of a powerful orgasm wash over him.
You scream out in a mix of pleasure and pain as his swollen base finally disappears inside you, eliciting a nasty, squelching noise from your soaking cunt as he drives his seed deeper and deeper into your core. The sensation is overwhelming, a blend of raw ecstasy and primal satisfaction as he claims you completely, filling you with every inch of his pulsating length.
You become intoxicated by Hans' forceful release, your body tightening impossibly around his wolf cock as you instinctively milk him. His jaws clamp down on your shoulder once more, muffling his feral growls of pleasure while leaving behind a trail of his primal mark in the form of teeth marks on your skin.
Despite the primal nature, there is a tenderness in the way Hans remains inside you, using your plush insides to cockwarm his full length.
You feel the gentle throb of his member pulsating within you, his primal need for closeness evident in the way his tail wags with contentment. With a low, rumbling growl of satisfaction, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, relishing in the warmth of your embrace.
#4alu#hellsing x reader#hellsing oneshot#hellsing imagine#hellsing smut#the captain x reader#the captain smut#hellsing ultimate x reader#hellsing ultimate imagine#hellsing ultimate smut#︶꒷꒦︶ー writing#hans gunsche x reader#hans gunsche smut
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As warm as a dead man can be - The Captain x male reader
Summary: A small look into the life of you and the Captain.
Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.
A/N: One of my favourite gay Ben Willbond characters, which there's a lot of...
It took a few decades to get over your own death, to come to terms with the fact that you’re forever stuck in the same house where you died, giant bleeding gash in your abdomen and outfit never changing.
Though through all it he’s been there.
At first he’d check in on you, minding not to stand too close, his posture stiff but his eyes shaped like hearts. He would watch on as you entertained Kitty, the young woman becoming a sister to you, his heart swelling with pure love he hadn’t felt since Havers, his hands itching to be held.
Then the check ins evolved into him sitting next to you whilst you stared off into space, the early nineties being the hardest for you because the sudden realisation that you’d never age another year age had dawned upon you. He’d sit close, sometime he’d tell a story to quell your nerves, other times he’d allow you to talk about the seventies and the hippy movement, about passed lovers, how for just a moment you felt a part of something bigger. However, one day when the skies cried out heavy thunderous rain, the other ghosts hidden away and quiet, you had flung your arms around him in the tightest hug.
Those hugs became frequent when eyes weren’t watching, your fingers always touching him when you walked passed and you'd always aligning the lapels of his uniform just to be close.
The Captain likes that you’re a very touchy person. Maybe it’s because he can't touch anything else with his hands, that the only thing that he can feel are the cold dead skin of the other ghosts.
The Captain loves to watch you dance with Kitty, the young woman always begging you to teach her disco dance moves, either that or she’s dragging you about the house like a hyper little child pointing at everything like she’s never seen it before. Just imagine the sight, you dressed in your flared jeans, cowboy boots and white shirt (not minding the blood stains) being twirled around by Kitty, your eyes catching the Captain’s with every spin, a giant smile on your face.
You’d get the courage to steal kisses from him years later. The first time it happened it must have been two thousand and four in late afternoon, you both were sitting outside watching the clouds in silence when all the sudden you leaned over, peck him on the cheek followed by fleeing.
The Captain had sat in the same place red faced for a half hour before Fanny came around disturbing the peace.
That very same day the Captain had the courage to ask for another kiss, for he was too shy to do it himself, which you did. Then you did it again. And again, and- well you get the picture.
His hands are as warm as a dead man could be, his fingers intertwined with yours as you relax in a quiet corner of the house. His jacket if off, though he can’t go far without it for it is a part of what he died in. Your hands are warm and so connected to his that they refuse to let go.
Pat would have described your hands like a stubborn knot that could only be untied by the best of knot tiers.
Your face leans on the Captain shoulder, his cheek pressed in the short crop of your hair, the seventies style jostled by the occasional kiss.
The radio plays in the background, radio four playing for it’s the best compromise between your music tastes, the long talking of the presenters lulling in the background almost like the two of you have left Button house and are sat in a nice café or park.
“It’s a nice day today.” you say as your eyes trail to the small window overlooking the large back garden, the radio mixed with the birds songs calming you down from morning filled with disorganised chaos and too many dead bodies.
“It is indeed.” he replies as you nestle into his shoulder some more.
“My Captain how I wish to stay like this forever.” you whisper as you take you other hand and cup his face, your fingers moving across his jaw.
The Captain happily hums almost like a purr, a thing he only really does around you, his body sinking closer to yours.
“Let’s stay here until the sun sets and everyone lays down to sleep.” you carry on.
“I would stay here forever if it was here with you.” Captain whispers, his voice so quiet that you almost miss it.
You smile and snuggle closer, the sun yet to set.
#not proof read#bbc ghosts#bbc ghosts x reader#ghost x reader#the captain#bbc ghosts the captain#the captain x reader#male reader#x male reader
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Imagine struggling with chronic pain and Captain tries to comfort you
It was not an easy job to take care of a mansion this big, especially with the way your health has been worsening lately, but you loved your job nonetheless. Despite struggling with chronic pain, you worked hard to keep the rooms clean, the water running, and the owners happy. And when Alison, one of the owners, discovered you could see other residents of the house, you agreed to add another item to your to-do list: entertain the ghosts.
Most of the time, you succeed in this job, taking pride in how well you managed to handle most of the ghosts and even developing friendships with most of them. But every now and then you have a bad day, and unfortunately, today was one of those days.
This morning you struggled to get out of bed. Your whole body refused to listen to your brain's commands, acting as if it was made of wood and not flesh. Usually painkillers help you get up and about, but today the pain felt especially unbearable. And now you can’t even reach for them to get some relief. As he did every morning for the past half a year, the Captain, who took the role of your co-caretaker to heart, marched into your room to wake you up and check on the plans for the day.
“Good morning!” He exclaimed, and without a pause, he strolled to the window. “Now it’s come to my attention that the bricks in the wall of the room in the west-wing are starting to crumb…”
He turned to get a better look at you and gave you the once over, stopping mid-sentence. Seeing you still lying in bed,motionless, the man let out an exasperated sigh and marched to your bed.
“Being lazy today, are we? Now I have never said it before, but I think your duty as a caretaker of this house are requair-”
“I can’t get up.” you say quietly, interrupting him before he could give you a full speech about your irresponsibility. You couldn’t deal with that, not now. The Captain sighs heavily but notices how your voice sounds strained.
“What in heavens do you mean by that?”
“Do you remember our conversation about back pain? I said that I have chronic pain and that sometimes it hurts so much that I can’t move?” He nods and you continue, barely holding back your tears.
“Today is one of those days.”
He gives you a quiet “oh” in response, and you feel the tears finally spilling out from the corners of your eyes, wetting your cheeks and the pillow under your head. The poor man doesn’t know what to do, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other and nervously twirling his stick in his hands. Usually he’s not the best at handling feelings, prefering to ‘bottle them up like a man’. And seeing you, dare he say his friend, always so stoic and unwavering to anything, battling your own body and bearing so much pain… He feels his dead heart sink to his stomach.
Slowly, he takes a seat at the end of your bed, looking absently at the distance. Millions of thoughts are swirling in his head, but he has to accept the truth, in this situation he is helpless. Finally, he musters up the courage to ask:
“Can I help you anyhow?”
“No, there’s nothing you can do. I just need to wait it out.”
“Can I… Can I wait with you?” he feels a little foolish to ask, embarrassed to even assume you would want him to see you in this rare moment of weakness. He knows he wouldn’t. But no matter what he would do in this kind of scenario, he wants to be with you, even if there’s not much he can do to help you. To his relief, you don’t shoo him away, accepting his supporting presence.
“Yes, that would be nice.”
requested by @chmerkovskiy-chmerkovskiy
masterlist | request rules
#Ghosts#Ghosts BBC#ghosts bbc imagine#ghosts x reader#Captain ghosts#the captain ghosts#the captain x reader#ben willbond#six idiots#gender neutral reader
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COD TWT P!LINKS
SIMON "GHOST" RILEY
Simon fingering your tiny pretty pink pussy
loserteenage!ghost in your room past your bed time
Simon lavishing his pretty girl
fucking your thighs
letting you dominate him once (maybe he realized he should let you more)
JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH
fingering you after a long mission
sucking your tits because he missed his mommy
waking you up to this
riding him cuz you missed him
JOHN "CAPTAIN" PRICE
throwing your pretty little body around
while your watching a movie
makeup sex after your fight
letting you sit on his face whilst you read
fucking you because you asked for it
ALEJANDRO VARGAS
eating you out after dinner
after a mission
eating you out pt.2
#cod x reader#cod smut#cod mw2#ghost#ghost cod#ghost fanfiction#ghost smut#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#alejandro vargas#alejandro vargas cod#alejandro vargas smut#alejandro vargas x reader#alejandro vargas x female reader#alejandro vargas p!links#cod p!links#ghost p!links#p links#john soap mactavish#john mactavish#soap smut#johnny soap mctavish x you#johnny soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish plinks#soap plinks#captain john price#john price#captain price#price x reader
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COD P★ LINKS
Yawll……dis is horny… so like fair warning
John price
Price tying you up after he catches you disobeying him by touching yourself :(
Overstimulation with John <3
Price eating you out after a loooooong mission
More price eating pussy (the guy LITERALLY looks like him or am I tripping)
Since you like using them so much, this shouldn’t be a punishment for you, correct ?
John getting you to ride his thigh
Theres a reason why they’re his favourite
Kyle Garrick
Gaz after ruthlessly fucking you for three hours ;3
What you get for flaunting yourself in front of his mates :(
Lazy night in with gaz
Shhh don’t want anyone to hear you
Late night humping with your clingy boyfriend
Roommate! Gaz getting tired of your horny whining
Simon Riley
Just a quick reminder of where you belong
Quick polishing’
A goodbye gift
A welcome home gift
Roommate! Ghost pounding you till you wake up :(
Owner! Ghost with his lil pup
Little film for later
Gettin’ crafty
John McTavish
Riding him until he’s dumb <3
Mornin sex with Johnny boy
Self restrain
Virgin! Johnny
Just his doll
Convincing your friend, Johnny to join your live 🫣
König
Hes just too big you needed a photo for confirmation
Need your colonel to reach you a lesson?
Just a quickie before he leaves for work
Quickie part 2
Good girls beg
#okay yall lemme go to bed#call of duty#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#cod x reader#ghost x reader#captain price#ghost#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mactavish#konig x reader#konig#konig cod#captain john price#john price x reader#john price
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Y/N: Hi I'm your medic and I'll be drawing your blood today, as soon as I finish this capri sun
Y/N: *misses the hole four times then finally punches the straw through the side*
Ghost, sweating: PRICE
#incorrect cod quotes#incorrect quotes#cod incorrect quotes#incorrect call of duty quotes#cod x reader#cod x you#cod x y/n#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley#ghost#ghost cod#captain price#john price#captain john price#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty
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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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Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc
This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright
Price
HA! Good one!
No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around
That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart
Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)
He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress
Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...
Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off
She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions
What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻♀️)
Ghost
When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so
You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants
But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on
You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.
The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move
You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love
His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise
But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?
Soap
If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap
From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas
You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine
Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)
You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!
For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle
But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?
Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some
Gaz
By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is
Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps
There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't
You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest
And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most
But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…
He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?
You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲
#wiw asks#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#captain price x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#john mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#john price#simon riley#john mactavish#kyle garrick#tf 141 x reader#task force 141 x reader#cod x reader#cod mw3#call of duty#modern warfare 3#female reader
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Government name vs Military callsign
Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?
Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader
Word Count: 0.9k
Warnings: none
John Price
Government name.
Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.
“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”
Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.
“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”
“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”
He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.
“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”
When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.
Simon Riley
Military callsign.
When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.
“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”
“Fuck you callin’ me that for?”
Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.
“We playin’ games now?”
You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.
“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”
Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips.
A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.
Kyle Garrick
Government name.
He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.
“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”
Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.
If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?
“Kyle Ga-”
“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”
You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”
He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”
“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”
He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room.
“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.
John MacTavish
Military callsign.
He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.
Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.
“SOAP!”
Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.
“JOHNNY!”
“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.
“C’mere, c’mere.”
He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”
You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”
He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”
“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”
“You called me Soap.”
“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”
Posted: 2023 Dec 10
#cod x reader#cod fluff#john price x reader#john price fluff#captain john price fluff#captain price x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley fluff#ghost x reader#ghost fluff#kyle garrick x reader#kyle garrick fluff#gaz x reader#gaz x fluff#soap x reader#soap fluff#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish fluff#soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish fluff#cod mw2 x reader#task force 141 x reader#task force 141 fluff#cod mw2 fluff
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NSFW, 18+
John Price always convinces himself that he means it. He’s not the kind of man who breaks his promises.
“Just the tip, love,” he groans, positioning himself at your entrance. Your desperate nod and pleas for him only spur him on.
He swears that he’ll restrain himself, that he’ll keep his promise. He just wants to feel you bare, if only a little. He’s a man of iron resolve — he should be able to control himself without a problem…
But he never was good at keeping this promise when it came to you.
Instead, he finds himself balls deep in your heat, fucking you furiously. The way you’re screaming his name in ecstasy would make him break any promise if only to give you more pleasure. When his cum has painted your walls and you’re both coming down from your highs, he can’t even find the decency to feel sorry for it.
“Fuck…” you groan, pulling him down to kiss you before begging, “Just… just do it again. Please.”
John smiles. With a low, seductive voice, he teases, “Just the tip, yeah?”
#john price#john price x reader#john price x you#captain john price#call of duty#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you#cod#price x reader#john price headcanons#my need for this man is unmatched
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Maybe an unpopular opinion but a domesticity kink + dry humping is one of the best combos out there EVER
Like imagine this big, strong, burly man like Price or Simon or Graves being absolutely wild and soft for you, the pretty housewife that drives a man crazy♡ All soft curves, nice ample breasts and soft, broad hips with a pretty floral apron tied around your waist as you cook a nice hearty mean for your tired man and greet him with that beautiful smile of yours :((
It honestly would make them soft, desperate, hating the idea of being even a second longer away from you, all pent up and horny so they just cling with their big, rough hands to your hips and they can't helo themselves but thrust their quiclly hardening cocks against you, effectively humping you like an animal in heat but even your soft whines that you need to finish their dinner doesn't stop the man; he needs to fuck, needs to be close to his girl♡
#kin speaks#hhhrrrnng#just men being desperate enough that even dry humping would be enough for them💔#cod x reader#cod mw x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#philip graves x reader#graves x reader#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#price x reader#simon riley cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley#philip graves#cod graves#captain john price#john price
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Thought of this at work today lmao
#cod mw2#ghost cod#cod x reader#cod mwii#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#john soap mactavish#captain john price#modern warfare x reader#modern warfare 2#call of duty#real#john price#soapghost#soap mw2#soap x reader#task force 141#call of duty mw3#call of duty mwiii#captain price#kyle gaz garrick#gaz cod#gaz mw2#kortac#specgru#cod mw3 spoilers#mwiii spoilers#mw3 campaign#mw3 spoilers
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