Operation: Unforgettable

Operation: Unforgettable

The Craving (Price x Reader)

notes: MDNI, reader is legal age, no y/n, female pronouns, possessive!price, cursing, violence, smut scene, filthy thoughts. Mentions of a bomb. Pls enjoy! Id appreciate any feedback & your thoughts on this series. smut scene but no p in v.

Masterlist here

Of course there you were—getting around. A young charming man had whisked you away, although your focus was on the mission. You positioned yourself nearby the Konnis’ to listen in, swaying with the man who introduced himself as Alexander. Even as he waltzed with you, there was a disinterested look to your eyes and your head was tilted to the archway.

“Do let me know when you’re home.” The man muttered and your eyes snapped to his, in slight surprise.

“What? You look too good to not have.” He whispered in your ear, and instead of it electrifying you the way Price did—it made you pull away. Your mind wandered back to Price and you found yourself swallowing, processing how you felt.

“That I do.” I muttered, “But lay off the flirting, mm?” You hummed and he laughed, grinning. It seemed like he then eased up and then let go of you, his hands resting gently at your waist.

“You know, I’m not stupid. I can see how much he wants you.”

You scoff.

“Why don’t you both—“

“Both what?” You snort and Alexander grins. His teeth sparkles in the light and he guides you so your front faces Price. You met eyes with Price who was burning holes in Alexanders back, hand wrapped firmly on his flute. His head was tipped low to send a crude, intense stare. He was not pleased with you.

You could faintly see the gun peeking out under his suit and your legs wobbled.

“Tell me you don’t see it in his eyes.” Alexander huffed, and you furrowed your brows, struggling to maintain composure.

“What does it matter to you, you’re just a stranger.”

He laughed and his body shook. “I find myself needing to see what’ll happen next. For the plot.” He whispers in your ear and you tilt your head up to him, eyes meeting his chocolate brown ones.

He winks and you immediately catch onto the plan.

And that’s how Price ended up completely wrapped up by you. His gaze never wavering. He had half a mind to rip you off this Alex—whoever he was. At the same time he held himself back, not wanting to create a scene. But the more he watched the more his chest got tight and his blood pumped. He kept holding onto the fact that he wouldn’t make a move.

He couldn’t forget the way you and Alexander swayed too closely for his liking. And he knew you had moves. The same one you pulled on him, you were doing as well. Each circular movement of your hip made him nearly see stars. It only made him remember the way you rode him in bed, ontop and hair flowing down your shoulders in vivacious waves. How it brushed his cheek, the fat of your skin rippling as you moved back and forth harmoniously.

He watched the way the taller slender man grabbed more drinks for you, your red lips teasing the rim of the glass. And then your thinner hand slipped to grab his bicep, leading him to the floor.

How it burned in his gut to have held you instead. To feel those curves pressed against him again, and to trail his hand up and down, the way Alexander was doing. He clenched his jaw and the muscle jumped. To have your hand touching his bulging muscles instead, to feel your nails digging in from ecstasy and overstimulation.

“Another one.” Price muttered to the bartender. This time he got rid of the damned wine and went heavy. Whiskey, neat, half a glass.

He downed it, having shifted. The light obscured his intense gaze, leaving it darker. He no longer lounged against the bar but stood upright, a hand shoved in his pocket to hide his fist. Brooding. It was almost as if the person next to him had noticed and awkwardly glanced—before moving away.

The last straw was the way you leaned in, back facing Price. But he could see so clearly how your plump lips met Alexanders ear, a tongue swiping to lick.

Price nearly crushed the damned glass. His tie felt too tight and he found himself closing the distance on long legs, grabbing your arm in a swift move.

“Price—“

“Now.” He growled.

As he dragged you off the floor, your heels clicking, Alexander shot you an excited look and waved, brow raised. He then turned into the crowd and disappeared. Your wingman.

You huffed and nearly fell on your heels—your arm aching by the way he held it. Price brought past two doors and now it was secluded. He backed you against the foyer walls, although not wanting to hurt you, and towered over you—his breaths coming out in ragged exhaled.

“God, Price—“ You shuddered, eyes wide as you realized what you had done. The plan worked. But now you couldn’t pull away. There was still more to be done. You bit back a grin—a bit too bold for his liking, and tilted your head up, meeting his darkened gaze.

Did you have a death wish?

Under him, probably.

“The fuck did you think you were doing?” Price gritted out, nearly spitting. His leaned in sharply, shoes crowding yours as he pushed himself between your legs. His hips hit yours, and you sucked in a breath. The movement had your stomach quivering and tightening.

Your heart raced at the tension and bass in his voice. It reverberated through you like ripples, resting at your core where it clenched and unclenched. You shuddered under him.

“God help me, woman. I have a lot of patience. But that—that back there.” Price shuddered for a moment and inhaled through his nose, eyes shutting. He seemed to calm himself down and then looked down at you, a hand reaching up to tangle in your hair. It stroked the nape of your neck gently.

You’re surprised at his touch, softening slightly against the wall. You could tell he most certainly did not like that—no he despised of it. Seeing another man on you.

It excited you, to see him this way.

“What…? It was just a game.” You whisper and glance at his lips now. He knew exactly what you needed, what you conveyed through those hazy eyes.

Price clenched his teeth and his resolve snaps. Immediately he crashed his lips into yours, knocking your head against the wall. You have no time to protest before his veiny hand is yanking your hair back, demanding you tilt your head up to feed your breaths into his mouth. The kiss is nasty. Feral. Teeth nipping and his body weight drowning yours. His body heat surrounds you.

“Nasty, nasty girl. I think you need to be taught a lesson.” Price growls against your mouth—the words trickling down your throat like fire. It burns in your stomach and you shudder and grab at his biceps to steady your dizzy form from the euphoria and blood rush.

“I thought it was just sex. I thought you didn’t care.” You breathlessly say, lips swollen from his feverish kissing. Your lipstick smudged slightly and Price pulls his head back, gazing at you. His hungry eyes roam all over your face, taking in the sight of you all dazed and lit with arousal.

“We never agreed on there being anyone else. You get that?” He says lowly, grabbing your chin to make sure you understood.

Strange, you thought. He didn’t directly answer your question.

His hand in your hair releases and slides down the front of your throat, then down to your clavicle, where he traces the bony area. It’s sensitive.

You shiver and gulp—mouth going dry. Even your own words were gone.

“If I see you with anyone else, I’ll strangle them. You’re mine.” Price said firmly before a hand groped at your chest—squeezing the flesh. Not hard enough to hurt but definitely enough to remind you of his position.

You gasp and your jaw hangs open, to which he finds satisfaction in. His hand lingers, and you feel your core tremble and drip.

Before you could talk—Johnny chimes in over your lines. You switch your comm on shakily, and Price moved away. You fix your dress and take in a breath, trying to calm down as Price adjusts his tie with a harsh, angry pull. “Damned cockblock.” You thought you heard Price mutter.

“Armed suspects approaching the north hallway. 7-2 your closest.” Johnny says to you, and you nod.

You fix your hair and Price stares, eyes narrowing before he responds, “Copy that.” His voice is rough with desire and tension.

You give him a glance before swallowing and moving away. What else could you do or say? As much as the ache between your legs begged for release, you had work to do.

As you turn to face the tall white doors leading to the main hall—Price stalks behind you and ushers you in.

“Report in five.” He said stiffly.

Parting against your will overwhelmed, you knew you also needed the space. That was bloody intense. You usher in and then wait by the arched hallway in the shadows as the men seperate. One is sent for drinks, and shortly after Price follows—who strikes up a civilized conversation about their suits. Most likely discussing brands and where they imported their fabrics from.

Of course, comparing them.

You could hear them faintly.

The other man is sent off—as you heard the leader discuss something about, “Check the Harmonica.”

Now the leader was alone. Sweet. He was tall, towering at 6’4 and had shiny slicked back hair. Lower set brows to reveal a more menacing look, and a chiseled jaw. He tucked his card in his suit front pocket before turning away, down the golden hallway.

Harmonica? Who the hell’s playing a harmonica? You hesitate on whether to tell the team and tap your finger against your thigh. You need more information and without it—it’s considered a distraction.

“Going in. Comms off for now.” You report.

You then make your move, wobbling drunkenly on your heels and on your phone. Clumsily, accidentally on purpose, you bump into the leader. Your phone catches and falls, landing with a thump and you bend to grab it but he is faster first. His nimble fingers pass it to you.

“Oh god—I’m so sorry!” You put on your barbie ecstatic voice. You knew he would be the type to fall for it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” The man grins and eyes you, shadowed by the hallway lights as you two stand. Far behind is the crowd and music—and you can hear his voice sharply, “Qattara.” He reads your card momentarily, rolling the words out smoothly.

You carry on, plastering a smile on your quite excited features.

“It should be me asking that, you look a little too fine tonight to be alone.” You give him a flirty once over, one he can’t mistake. That pulls him in.

“I assume you’re here for the vault meeting, mm?”

This was going to be a long night.

“Weapons are coming in from Dubai, then he will receive his blood money.” He scoffed, lanky form walking smoothly ahead.

He sounded russian. Typical for any Konni man. The one thing that made it easy to identify them. You stare at his back.

You were poised as you followed him up to the vault room—a suite. You eyed his key card he pulled out, knowing it would come in handy for later. There’s a beep—then the door opens with a soft hiss. Luxurious, you note.

He enters first—you last. You watch your back before shutting the door, your hand pushing it.

“Makarov must be havin’ a helluva time receiving it, then.” You scoff, playing along. You cross your arms, a finger tapping on your bare arm as he strode forward to the table. Soon enough chatter is heard down the other room, and a few tall men enter. One woman.

You’re outnumbered in case it all goes sideways. You remain firm, eyeing and taking in their details. Armed as usual.

“Alright, alright. Enough.“ The leader silenced them. You could hear a pin drop. The woman eyed you, having shorter hair.

He then turns to you quite comically—with a little spin on his heel, tilting his head. You didn’t like the look he’d given you.

Now you felt like his prey. “This fine little lady joined us, Qattara was it?” He asked, slowly walking forward.

But the real Qattara was found and held in Laswells’ quarters for investigation. You were simply her replacement. You could see the other men getting ready to sit—the smell of musky cologne clogging your nostrils. The woman also sat at the end of the table, pressing her skirt down with her manicured nails.

The man ahead tilts his head this way and that as if trying to figure you out. He then comes close and whispers in your ear, “If I find out anything that I don’t like, well. You know where it’ll end.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Let’s talk guns and weapons shall we?” You say, although trying your best to conceal the sarcasm and bitterness as he leaned in. You knew he was trying to assert some sort of dominance over you by instilling fear, yet you knew you had to play compliant.

“Feisty. Давай, join us.”

And so, the meeting began. You mentally made a note of everything, having switched on your wire so the team could hear. You sat across a man, eyes set on the leader who elaborated his plan with his arms, a drink in one hand. No surprise to see it was vodka.

“Good, you’re doing great.” Price said through the comm whilst you nodded your head along to the man.

His voice made you feel tingly—almost comforting through the overpowering masculine presence in the room. Your mind flashed as you remembered the moment in the foyer where he held to you the wall—legs clenching slightly. It was an amazement to you how he managed to do this—switch from absolute madness to team leader.

If anything, it encouraged you. Even though earlier he was absolutely feral.

Teamwork, right?

“Shipment container is being sent here. We’ll have our men stationed there ready to receive the equipment.”

You fold your hands together on the table, catching eyes with an older gruff man. His gun is settled in his lap, hand resting on it. He eyes you with a curiosity and intrigue, and you tilt your head just a bit.

The man doesn’t look away. He’s got a buzzcut, a scruffy jaw and dark eyes. His suit lays flat and firm.

“Where is Makarov located to receive the money?” You ask the most important question. For a second it falls silent as if the misogynistic men did not expect you to have talked. You straighten up and stare down the Leader, firm.

“Why do you need to know that?” The room went still as all eyes were on you.

“I need to know if the money is an international wire transfer.” You reply smartly. You raise a brow and you thought you heard Price chuckle smoothly.

“That’s the lass we know.” Johnny said, before going quiet.

Once given the location of him, you nearly ease up, and nod your head.

You glance up as you stood, the rest of the men leaving the room. You wait, watching their bodies leave single file.

“Where is your accent from?” His gruff voice sounds out. He sounded like a smoker. He’s busy at the bar and you slip the key card the leader left, that rested on the chair seat. You slip it into your bra as if adjusting your girls.

You then pause and still, gathering your thoughts. Moving your hands, you sling your purse over your bare shoulder. Your dress glints in the light and you never remove your eyes from him as he stood across the table.

The door shuts softly.

“Do I sound too american for you?” You give a vague reply, meeting the question with a question. There’s a slight humor to your voice.

The man cocks his head and stares you down. He’s serious, not one for joking.

“You sound much too american for the Qattara I know.” He said sharply, eyes cutting into you like ice. Your blood runs cold and you swallow, eyeing him. It was as if the room dropped several temperatures.

He goes to drink his whiskey from the glass, pouring it back. Something irks you know. The drink was almost like a kicker for him, for what’s to come.

You know you’ve been figured.

Your heart patters as you hear Price growl in the comm line, “Get out.”

Your head spins and you straighten up, smiling slightly and stepping back. Your back faced the exit door.

“And what was that quote? From the Quran? I’m sure you know it.”

“There’s many.” Your answer only confirms his suspicions. Your breath hitched and you know you’re about 10ft away from the door. His eye twitched at your smart ass response.

Price growls and you hear something slamming like a door on his end.

The man slowly stalks closer, holding the glass of whiskey. Until he stops, staring at you. He does not move, but holds the whiskey in his hand.

Your heart pounds and all you could do was stare.

When you don’t say anything—you see the slight movement of his hand gripping the glass and you hurl yourself in your heels, grabbing open the door.

You fling it open just in time for the glass to crash, missing your head. You could hear a barrage of laughter from behind, his voice booming, “I’ll give you ten seconds, before I rip your throat out.”

You’re blazing down the hall, and eventually you throw off your heels, grabbing them. You curse as it threatens to slip off. Again, you think back to the Harmonica. The Harmonica, check on it.

Your heart batters in your chest like a ram, and you could hear a crash and the sound of shoes thudding as he chases after you.

“Harmonica—harmonica—“ You rehearsed, breathing harshly.

“Harmonica what?” Price snaps on the line and you panted. You glanced up at the chandelier, knowing where you were approaching. Soon enough a cold gust of wind blows down the hallway.

“It’s code, Price. Code for something.”

“Like Bravo?”

“Like bravo in the water.”

“A fuckin’ bomb?” Price seethes, “We got a bomb threat unconfirmed in the building.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon hashes out over the line.

“Steamin’ Jesus, we need t’find it.” Johnny says urgently.

“On it.” Kyle said.

“Kyle stay in position.” Price demands, “Simon, where did you last see the men walk off upstairs?”

“Towards the north wing.”

“Fuck, that’s where I am.” You shouted and grab a waiters pan. A loud thunk and clank is heard as you toss it against the mans face who chased you.

“The hell was that—“ Kyle muttered.

“Bonnie—“

“Focus! Simon find the bomb.” You shouted.

“What’s your position?” Price says lowly, although you’re sure you could hear his voice tremble. You focus on turning the hallway—as the cold gush of air worsens.

“North side of the balcony.” You shout and the man follows, his dress shoes slamming rapidly against the carpeted halls. You take off even faster if it was possible, hair flying behind and gun gripped tightly.

To slow him down, with your free hand you yank your gun out the thigh strap. You take a shot but miss. Too hard to do it when you’re running and your gaze is unsteady. The bullet bounces sharply off the wall, and the man grins wolfishly as if hunting his predator.

“7-1, take the North side. You’re closest.” Price orders.

“On it.” Johnnys accented voice sounds in your ear and you know he’s on his way.

“Watcher 1, position to the North Side balcony.” Price orders.

You ran under an archway, feet thudding on what sounded like tiles now. The cold air of the night blew rapidly and you turned, having nowhere to run. The balcony columns were there, guarding your fall.

You wheezed and panted, wide eyed. Looking for the man—he soon approached and rounded the corner with a haste and dangerous glint in his eye. He crossed the area and before you knew it, instincts kicked in.

Your heels hung in your hands, swaying with the breeze. Damned if you were going to lose these expensive Louboutins.

As he strodes forward with vigor—training kicks in. You kneed him in the groin earning a sharp groan—then without time wasted, with your free hand, you bashed his head against your knee as well. A sickening crack was heard and he cried out. Blood sprayed, and you then grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pushed him to the balcony railing.

“Got him, 7-1.” A minute later, Johnny strides in and glaring. His jacket is thrown off revealing underneath his black dress shirt, tight and pulled from each movement. His gun on display.

You move aside, and he grabs the wanker by his suit and hoists him up against the wall roughly.

Time is running out, you panic.

“Johnny, go now.” Johnny growls. His teeth bares at the sight of the wanker just laughing and drags him along.

Just then Simons voice made you two pause.

“Bloody hell, 7-2, we got a bomb. North wing. It’s situated bad near an oxygen line.” Simon mutters and you freeze up. Your hand reached up for the comm, eyes meeting Johnnys’ wide eyes. The man scoffs.

Soon a loud bang is heard on Simons’ end. And then gargling and a thud. He most likely dispatched one of the Konni soldiers.

“Time?!” Johnny growls out. He discards the man, shoving him roughly to the side. The man was useless at that point. He scrambled nearly tripping over on his feet—before dashing off like a cat.

Johnnys’ long legs strode to keep up with you, as you’re running and down the hall, hair flying behind you. Desperately looking out for the foyer doors.

“Blows in 10.” Despite the situation, Simons voice was flat and gruff. You panted and felt your heart racing with realization. It almost sounded as if he accepted this—part of job. Dying at any moment. It sounded too real. Your heart was shriveling.

“Ghost, get out of there now.” Price warns and you hear a, “Copy that.”

“Did he hurt ya?” Johnny immediately looked over you—hearing screams echo about as you both neared the main hall. You shake your head and look at him, eyes wide.

“No. Stay sharp.”

“Hope Simon is able to dispatch the bomb.” Johnny cursed, hurrying you along down the red carpeted hallway.

“No time.” Simon barks over the line.

Property of evanescencelovrr. do not modify, repost, or translate.

Operation: Unforgettable

The tension (Price x Reader)

hey lovies guess who’s back with a new fic 🫠 undercover agent (you) x price. Excited for this!! Smut scenes & smexy thoughts, so you know the drill. MDNI. no y/n, fem pronouns, reader is legal age. Mentions of guns, fighting, occasional swearing, possessive!price. Probably inaccurate military info 😭 also reader might have a death wish—always giving snarky comments to sir price.

also: venue described here is made up, not part of the cod storyline. Just to add some extra details and difference in the story :) some things might be inaccurate pls dont come for my soul 🙏🏻 side character- Qattara Ali. Not relevant to the cod storyline.

“We know they’ll be meetin’ here at evening.” Price said gruffly to the rest of the team, before slapping down a manilla folder. On it was Makarovs’ mug shot, shadowed face and head tipped low, so his dark and primal eyes sent daggers into you. No matter the stare—you remained firm, despite the uncomfortable roll in your stomach.

The briefing room was bright with fluorescent lights to drive anyone mad—glass tables shining enough to see past any weak agent.

And that—that was not you. Nor was it anyone on this team. Johnny, Simon, and Kyle stood beside your form, behind the table. Despite his usual jokester appearance—Johnny lips were pressed thin and hand rested on his strap, fingers curled with ease on his gun. He didn’t discard of his gear as of yet.

“Ain’t that a nice venue.” Kyle said, brows furrowed harshly. Though he commented on the venue, his voice was humorless. He was an efficient, focused and driven man.

The venue was indeed beautiful. A tall beige terracotta building with a stunning terrace opening to the mountains rising in the distance. Golden warm lights lit the palace, like fountains opening up to scatter golden rays. Aged stone wrapped the columns. Arabesque arched doorways lined the front, along with windowed wooden lattices, accenting the structure. The designs were so beautifully intricate, it nearly made you forget about the danger of the mission.

“Laswell will be accompanying us. She’ll be our eyes and ears outside.” Price said.

Time was ticking and tension grew up the air thick—something we as a team got used to. But when the feeling hit that something wasn’t right, that something was going to go sideways, that was a feeling we’d never forget.

Simons’ heavy eyes flickered to Kyle, before meeting Price with a subtle nod. He shifted his weight on his boots. We got em, the bastards.” His strong Manchester accent was smooth.

When you first joined it was hard to understand him, as well as Johnny. But you caught on quickly, your ears were used to the sounds and how they stressed the syllables, being that you learned a few languages yourself out of necessity.

His gear jostled yet he remained at ease despite the heaviness.

Your eyes roamed all over his balaclava—this one covered everything, leaving only his eyes showing. Menacing.

Apart of you were curious to see what he would look like under it. Since coming here—the brute never took it off. You tapped a finger against your clothed arm, tight compression shirt hugging your form. The weight of your gear belt hung low on you, and you glanced at it.

Suddenly Prices’ voice cut through the air like a knife.

“Agent, are you ready to act as our bait?” His gruff voice made your eyes snap to his. He was without his hat, arms extended as he leaned over the glass table—head lowered to send a look to you. His lips were pressed thinly in focus, the folder beside him.

The team awaited your response, eyes tracking towards you. Simon appeared firm, Johnny looked concerned—maybe for your wellbeing. And Kyle looked confident, after all he trusted in your abilities.

You watched Price, swallowing.

Agent.

That’s not what he called you last night in bed.

You nodded firmly, ignoring the warmth that flood in your stomach from the thought. An impulsive thought. Things like that came and went recently, because now you found yourself in a sticky situation with your captain.

You could remember faintly the harsh breathing, the smell of his sweat mixed with cologne as he pushed you up against the wall—hands greedily groping at your clothes. He tore them off to the floor, just before you landed on the bed, bouncing from the recoil.

“Yes, sir.” You say, sucking in a breath. You turn hot on your heels at his dismissal—and Johnny eases up.

He comes to your side and follows you out to the armory, grinning like a cat. His boots thud loudly down the hall, of course aiming to disturb any sleeping recruits at this hour. No one would sleep because of him.

“This one’s no different, lass.” He said, mentioning the mission. His sharp eyes remained on you. His concern faltered a bit and he returned to his usual chipper self.

“Don’t have to tell me.” You mumbled, combat boots thudding down the hallway.

You turned into the armory and stood by the locker, grasping at your gun before reloading it.

“Ya’ looked a little worried there.” Johnny teased and you wonder if he noticed that dazed look to your face when Price spoke to you.

You push the thought away—needing to focus. You couldn’t have any of the team knowing, it would only complicate everything further. This little game you and Price started needed to stay hidden. Apart of you liked the secrecy anyway.

The idea of it being forbidden, hidden, and private drove you feral.

But so did being out in the open and him claiming you as his.

You grabbed your thigh holster from the table and raise a brow at Johnny, quick to put the safety on. Although you were tempted to leave it off to mess with him.

Your lip tilted up slightly, responding to him. “Worried if you would jeopardize the mission.”

He watches in amusement, busying himself with strapping a gun around his waist. His back faced you, muscles stretching and rippling.

“Admit it, lass. You dream of being with me.”

With that, he winked.

You rolled your eyes and now broke out in a grin. You walked to the exit of the armory and held your hefty gun—thigh strap in the other. You shot him a glance before walking off—leaving Johnny flustered and rubbing his neck.

Tonight you were the bait. You knew in your line of work—this would eventually happen. To try and soothe the nerves you breathed out, and then grasped at the dress in your bunker room. You needed to look exceptional tonight. No room for sloppiness. This was a high rank venue.

The dress was a stunning crimson red on your form. It had a dangerous slit. Your curves were snatched—and in your purse was your gun. You cleared your throat—checking your bombshell hair for any fly aways. You fixed it and then your mind wandered back to Price. What was going to be his reaction? You wondered—feeling that familiar ache between your legs and that excitement bubble in your chest.

“The mans in for a proper teasing.” You say to yourself, scoffing and grinning. You knew you had him in a chokehold.

You grab at your heels from under your bed—fancy black and red Loboutins. God. It would look absolutely stunning in the night. Sexy. You slipped them on with ease and stood taller, eyeing yourself like you were the most captivating thing in the room. Of course you were.

“Of course I’ll buy it for you. Need t’sell the look, yea?” You remember Prices’ words. That day, Price caught you red dress in hand, scrolling on your phone from just having shopped. He caught your arm before you bumped into him and said—“You need a nice pair of heels.”

It echoed in your mind—cheeks warming. You brushed your palms over the silk material of the dress and swallow, turning to look at the door.

It’s just sex, you remind yourself. A good hot fuck with the Captain. You didn’t need to fuck your way to the top either—you were an exceptional Agent. But sometimes—just sometimes the things he’d say or do had you freezing. Shuddering. Stammering to speak.

Especially when he bought the heels giving no mind to it, as if it were a regular occurrence. And the way he were able to switch to the cold, obscure Price in the briefing rooms, to greedy, hungry and desperate in the room with you. Craving you. Chanting your name and consumed by you completely.

And then, only to give you that look in the briefing room as if nothing had been going on.

“Talent.” You murmur and angle your torso to slip out the room—sinful heels clacking down the hallway to prepare to leave. You clutch your purse, red nails glinting in the light.

Just then—you hear murmuring and speaking. Laughter from Johnny—you recognized the Scotsman a mile away. Of course he stood, motioning to his phone whilst Simon stood beside him.

“D’ya see this picture? Look will ya? They made tiny characters of us! Tiny!” He exclaimed.

“The hell is tha’? Tumblr?” Simon spoke gruffly, although disinterested.

He rolled his eyes, a hand resting on his belt when he heard heels clacking.

Price’s head picked up as well at the noise, back turned to face the huge glass windows of the sunset. He adjusted his tie and turned around—a brow cocked. A hand still rested on his tie but froze.

There you were—in all your glory. Hair done up to the nines, smokey eyeliner to accentuate the color and shape of your eyes. Lips red enough like blood.

The lot of them were left speechless.

Meanwhile, Price wore the darkest suit jacket he could find, ironed bone straight. His tie matched, so did his button up. His hair was slicked back neatly, revealing sharp, icy eyes. His dress shoes glinted daringly in the light above. He smelled of aftershave.

Johnny wore an unbuttoned black shirt, tight chino pants and a belt. A belt that screamed luxury. His jacket was draped over his arm. The black only emphasized the rich color of his eyes, and went perfectly well with his devilish grin.

It was silent until Johnny spoke first, “Fuckin’ hell lass, if ya took a swing at me with them heels I’d say thank ye.”

Meanwhile, Kyle hid something behind his back—his charcoal eyes sticking to your face and smiling softly. The man was humble and respectful towards you and you found yourself appreciative of his presence.

Simons’ eyes never left yours—lips pressed flat. You could see more of his eyes and nose bridge with his simple balaclava mask. He was impressed by your ability to clean up. But even more so impressed by how you carried yourself tonight. He decided to wear a heavy suit jacket, white undershirt and a black tie. Simple. Elegant. Golden cuff links.

Price’s thicker fingers worked his tie, then shifted it—chin tilted up in approval at what you wore. On the surface he tried to remain professional, but his body language betrayed him. His eyes roamed hungrily over your curves, down to the way those heels slipped perfectly on your feet, the ones he got you, and the way your eyes were done dark.

Intimidating. Like a prowess.

And the way you leaned on the wall, a shoulder bracing. Arms crossed loosely and eyeing the team.

He liked a challenge. His heart was hammering when he heard you speak, smirking and moving away to walk to Johnny. Every click of those heels made him imagine what it would be like for you to walk to him instead—

“Only thing I’m looking to beat is this mission.” Your voice cut through, ringing perfectly in the air. You then walked past the team—their surprised looks not going unnoticed by Price.

How he wanted to claim you right then there. To show you, you only belonged to him. Was it selfish of him? To want you so bad that he felt like hiding you from the team? From the crowd itself at the venue? He stiffened up at the thoughts running through his head.

Oh yes, he knew there would be a lot of men eyeing you up tonight. Price was no stupid fool, he knew most would be thinking with their half inched cocks, raving about a beautiful, empress you were. What they didn’t know is you were a skilled, talented Agent.

That made him bristle with satisfaction, knowing you had power.

And he knew you’d handle it. If anyone made a move, he had full faith in the Agent you were to manhandle their ass.

Kyle whistled lowly and followed out, looking quite dapper in his suit himself. He went for more of a romantic look. A black v-neck vest, biceps straining under the white button up he wore. Crisp and smooth.

As you loaded up in the limo first, you efficiently swung your legs over, sitting by the corner. You couldn’t have your hoo-ha showing to everyone. Johnny managed to snag a nice limo for the team, saying something about it being our last time and joking.

You had to admit—it was decked out.

You poured yourself a shot, earning a look from Simon who sat across from you. His broader form took over two seats.

“What a fatass.” You couldn’t resist the joke, red lips curling up deviously.

Simon grew used to your teasing and the brutes’ chest rumble, a low chuckle leaving him. He wore his simple balaclava mask, nose bridge showing and more area around his eyes. He grasped for the shot glass too, knocking it back.

“Gonna need more of these, aye?” He spoke gruffly. You had a feeling there was more to it than a joke.

Johnny then climbed in, slamming next you. His arms brushed yours and you weren’t surprised by his lack of personal space. The man was stuck in cloud nine half the time, except when he was on missions.

You took it as him needing to power off his brain.

“Move over.” You groaned and shifted so you weren’t so pressed against Johnny. He snorted and of course made no room to move at all, the heavy man not budging. He rolled his eyes.

Price sat next to Simon, and Kyle followed next to Johnny. It suddenly smelled of cologne and aftershave in the limo as it drove off. Your head was dizzy from it, and you looked out the window—as Johnny and Kyle worked their way to drink shots.

From here Price could have a good view of you, you realized. He looked hot, you admitted. Would’ve been better if he wore a red tie to match with me, you thought. God, the idea had you shaking in your seat slightly. The thought, lips and dress matching his tie as if you two were something more—

More? You froze and watched as the limo zipped past trees and the golden sun kissed the leaves.

Not “more.” It shouldn’t be.

It was only sex, you reminded yourself.

“Hey, I got you something.” Kyle suddenly said, cutting through your thoughts. The men looked over and Johnny sighed at the burn of whiskey—obviously enjoying his rounds.

Price murmured to him, “Don’t over do it.” His stern eyes tracked the drink and then his face.

“Ye know I won’t.” Johnny brushed off the staring gaze of Price who squinted ever so slightly at him for dismissing him. He then watched as Kyle reached around and whipped out a small bouquet of roses, grinning ear to ear.

You widened your eyes at the scene, Simon nearly sputtered out his drink. He then composed himself.

“Kyle, what is that—“ you go to ask.

“I got you a flower. You once said roses were your favorite, remember?” Kyle said, and plucked one from the small bouquet.

Johnny watched, having to flatten his chest, when Kyle leaned over. His brows raised as Kyle handed you the rose.

You held it carefully, unsure of what to do with it. Your wide eyes tracked him, the way he leaned forward, chin tilted down to give you that charming look of a knight.

“Alright, alright, more of that and I’ll puke.” You teased. That earned a laugh from Kyle and Johnny.

As you held the rose with a soft smile on your dark lips, Price watched. Occasionally he’d flicker his gaze away, and ahead, but his eyes kept moving to how you reacted to the rose.

——

Finally arriving at the beautiful venue—your heels clack against the pavement. The venue looked even more breathtaking in front of your eyes as it stood massively. You had to tilt your head up just to get a good look. Immediately, you note the entrances and two armed guards standing there, comms in their ears for easy communication. Most likely undercover Konni soliders.

You adjust yours and then turn to your team who were behind you. Simon adjusted his cuff link, languid eyes cutting through the crowd sternly.

Johnny pulled on his suit jacket, giving it a firm tug.

Kyle passed along the bouquet to a beautiful woman, although he made sure to fix it so one rose wasn’t missing. Cheeky.

“Alright, comms on, no funny business.” You say in a hushed tone to them, although teasingly. Although you had a feeling you’d be in the funny business tonight. More ways than one.

Price is the last to step out. He closed the limo door, and straightens his jacket. The sight almost has your mouth watering hut you remained focused. Your heart beats firmly in your chest, a sign of your determination to track down Makarov.

But Simons’ voice pulls you back.

“Got it, lady.” Simon spoke gruffly, his eyes peering into yours momentarily.

“Dinna ave’ to tell me.” Johnny grinned wolfishly and you roll your eyes.

Price nods and you’re up ahead walking, although feeling multiple eyes bore holes into you from behind. Nonetheless you don’t waver, you continue head raised high and confidence in your stride. Approaching the venue—you pull out your RSVP card under a name Qatarra Ali.

It wasn’t your real name no. In fact, you’d taken her spot and filled its vacancy. More like, Laswells team found her and interrogated her. The meeting was to ensure the delivery of the arms. Trafficking arms to make money—which helps support the war—real interesting, Makarov.

Now, it was business time.

Or should you say, time to buzz around and flirt.

You enter in the venue immediately after their approval, and so the rest of the team gets checked as well. You’re left to eye all the exits and entrances slyly whilst nursing a white wine—Pinot Grigio. The liquid is sweet and has a perfect blend bitterness to it.

It wasn’t overwhelming along with the massive crowd of people. They’re all dressed like novelty, royal. Somewhere in here—hidden in the masses were Makraovs’ people. And what better way to hide their arms trafficking than to join a massive venue, and scamper off?

You scoffed and leaned against the bar, sultry eyes darting around the room. Price makes his way in first, you see. His head is tilted, never keeping his back turned from the guards, so does the test of the men one by one. Coming in hot and ready to party.

“You already found a drink. Good blending in.” Price says, murmuring as he approaches your languid form at the bar. One leg bent, your weight onto your other, and holding your flute. You don’t miss the way his eyes roam over you hungrily.

You grin—figuring you could let go of your stoic persona for the night. Price surveys the dancing and swaying crowd, and then looks to you, “Gotta be a civilian, yea? This is what they do, hm?”

You snicker and Johnny, Kyle and Simon take their positions around various exits around the venue to keep eye. You and Price were scoping the main hall now.

At that, the hunk finds his lip tilting up in a grin. His eyes had years of exhaustion and the wrinkled all too much describes his story—yet moments like this highlighted his charisma. His pull. It was attractive to see his face light up and his eyes dance around you shamelessly.

Price then leaned in, a hand reaching forward and brushing yours as he took the flute. He didn’t have to lower his voice because the baroque music was enough to cover it, “If I recall, civvies dance.” Then he took a sip of your drink.

God, the movement had your stomach fluttering and shaking. Those lips had been in places hidden—under the dress specifically. Apart of you ached to feel it again.

Your eyes sparkle—only to dissipate as for a moment you contemplate it. Now unease settled and you looked away, ignoring the dull ache in your stomach. Was it too intimate? Too much? Your heart rate pittered and pattered, eyes darting around the venue before landing on his.

He seemed to sense your uncertainty before leaning in and whispering, lips brushing your ear in a way that sent electricity down your spine. God, this man was making moves subtlety yet enough to inspire devious thoughts. You shudder—to which he makes a low sound.

It vibrated through you.

“We need to blend in for the night. Focus.” Price said, although his words weighed heavy with a sense of desire and arousal.

You pull away, eyeing his face and then deciding to play along with him. You grasped your flute again. This man truly had no idea what he signed up for—because in your time, your day, you picked up a few skills for dancing and sure as hell were not going to back down tonight. With the rest of the team scattered—Price turns on his comm.

So do you. But both of you would have to keep it under wraps as to not drop hints. You slip your hand in his larger rough ones—the action feels vulnerable, almost as if he was entrusted to hold you. You shove the feeling away as he takes you to the dance floor. He’s massive and intimidating, and people immediately move aside to make way for you both. You find yourself blushing at the sight.

Amongst others, you place your hands on his broad shoulders and lean in, eyes flickering up to his dark suit jacket sleeves, arm, shoulder and the curve of his strong jaw.

“We’re doing a good job of blending in.” You say, murmuring. Your breath fans across his face to which Price tilts his head down to scan your features. As if taking with him the way your sultry eyes bore into his, eating him from the inside and out, it made him shudder. And those red glistening lips.

He wanted it somewhere else.

So then, he leaned in, eyes scanning the crowd and brows raised. He swiftly checked for any arms or signs of personnel, but whispered in the meantime, “Soon we wouldn’t have to blend in.”

At that your head spins and you steady yourself. You suck in a breath at his casual teasing—but you know there isn’t anything casual about it. Because it’s happened more than once. And now you both can’t stop coming back.

You lean back, his hand flying gently to rest at the curve of your lower back to keep you there. The skin warms beneath the dress and you both sway, his arms holding you.

The movments and sway of your hips catch his attention. It swayed easily with the rhythm and beat, something he didn’t know you had in you. His eyes remained captivated lower, before meeting your gaze with a stronger hold on your waist. He pulled you in, so you were flushed to his chest.

Your breath hitches and you have nowhere else to look but him. The tension was growing hotter, and you can feel gazes of people on you. But apart of you didn’t mind. You liked this, when other people knew you had a hold on him.

You undulate your hips, almost a little too heated for him and he stiffened up. Your front catches his—and you feel the belt brush your stomach. He tightens his grip, and gives you a look. His eyes were shadowed with intensity, fingers grasping tight at the thin material of the dress.

As a warning, he leaned in and rolled his hips again—causing you to shudder and gasp involuntarily.

“Focus.” His voice was gravelly and low, moving away now. You miss his body heat. He wasn’t as pressed up to you, but nonetheless you two waltzed.

“Six—we got company. North of the terrace, a few men just walked in with a smoke.” Kyles’ voice broke through the line and you remained swaying to not disturb the moment.

“Watcher 1, any visual on the terrace?” Price commands, holding you. His gaze moves from your form to the hall which he sweeps.

“Got eyes. Moving.” Laswell responds.

You glance up at Price who responds, “Copy that.”

“Approaching the balcony stairs, coming down to your left.” Kyle reports, now filling you both in on their position.

“On sight, 2-6. I have eyes on three suspects.” You reply firmly.

You then tilt your head, swinging so Price’s back faced the three men whilst you gave a cunning once over. They were armed beneath their suit jackets, dressed to the nines. They came down the stairs sweeping their eyes around the room.

Price didn’t like his back facing them, basic military training purposes—and spun you efficiently so you faced the bar. Your back was to his chest so both of you could ID them. Smooth.

“Suspect carrying a glock, possibly all three are. Konni soldiers by the sound of it.” Price reports, murmuring against your hair. Your heart is pounding at the intimacy of the embrace—but remained focused on the sight ahead.

Can’t get carried away.

“Copy that.” Simon responds along with the other men. “On standby.”

“7-1, position?”

“Standby.” Johnny responds.

“One seems to be the leader.” You spoke, seeing as one man strode forward ahead whilst the two followed behind. “5’7, lean, around 190 pounds. Tattoo on his neck depicting a cross.”

After describing the pack leader, both you and Price already have it fleshed out. You stay on the dance floor. Price then maneuvers to the bar. His back faces you momentarily as you check out the main hall, holding your purse. You remain vigilant and alert.

Soon he turns around with a lip lifted and holding two flutes once more, despite the situation. He leans in to you, breath ghosting your ear. “Try not to get too high.”

You’re tempted to say something, but the comm lines are open. So you wrap your slender fingers around the flute and eye him, not missing the way he tips his head low, almost telling you to behave. You shudder.

“Eyes on them.”

He watches as you turn your back to the bar and raise the flute to your stained lips, eyes set on the Konni men who shook hands with an elder, prestigious man.

“Would’ta been so bad aye? If we dinnae ave’ to deal with the mission.” Johnny snorts over the line.

Price resists the urge to roll his eyes, and leans against the bar beside you, elbows digging into the counter. His suit stretched over his wide chest, accommodating for the larger build he had.

“Keep the line clean.” Price mutters as he sips his wine. You follow as well, and smirk, knowing damn well Johnny was no “clean” and pure minded soul.

“Jus’ makin’ a conversation, cap.” You could hear his voice dripping with amusement.

“I can hear your incel thoughts a mile away, Johnny. Don’t even.” Kyle snorts and you can imagine the arms crossed and the way he’d rub his nose bridge in mock irritation.

You smile at the thought and Price glances at you, switching the comm off.

He motions for you to do the same.

“We can’t, not when there’s Konni soliders around.” You whisper.

“For a second.” He murmurs and turns to you. You turn off your comm.

His torso angles, and you find yourself doing the same, eyes meeting his beneath your lashes. You hold your flute. It almost feels like an intimate conversation—but you remain focused on the soldiers in your peripheral.

“I didn’t know you liked roses.” Price said, leaning in and his lips brushed your ear. You nearly closed your eyes at the feeling once more and backed up slightly. You can’t have yourself working a mess in your panties already.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You say, lowly. There’s a certain edge to your tone, slightly flirtatious and the other ominous. It only pulls Price in more and he tips his chin down to get a good look at you in your eyes, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in his gaze. He’s aware he doesn’t know much, other than your tactical skills, your presence in team 141, and well, your other skills in bed. He couldn’t resist the tease as he spoke.

“Oh, but I know what makes you go all dumb in bed. That much I do know.” He whispers and his breath ghosts all over your face.

At that, you widen your eyes and gaze at him, straightening up.

But apart of him feels the need to know more beyond the bedroom activities. But was he going to cross the line to something more intimate? Most definitely not here, nor at this time.

“You’re distracting me.” You hiss and turn your body to the Konni who appears to be engaged in a lengthy conversation with the prestigious man.

Price smirks, knowing full on exactly what he’s doing. If anything he finds himself unashamedly admitting to it, “I can’t help it. A man like me sees a gorgeous woman like you by herself tonight. Just imagine what it does to me.”

You snort unceremoniously, and resist the urge to roll your eyes. You glance at Price, already seeing his hungry gaze on you.

“Keep it in your pants, will you?” Although you’d very much prefer it out.

Price takes a last sip before sighing out his nose, glancing at the crowd. Then he slides his gaze to you, head tilted and watching you with a sense of curiosity at your words. Almost as if you’re his precious prey—and your snarky comments press him further. “Darlin’ if you haven’t noticed, I’m a man.”

“I can handle it.” He whispered in your ear again, and you couldn’t hold back the shudder and gasp. The sheer volume in his words sent a thrill straight to your core and you grip the flute, which was empty.

He takes it and rests it on the bar side and switched his comm on before you could say more.

Damn bastard.

You scoffed and eyed him, the way his gaze casually wondered off as if he hadn’t said anything implying filth. A habit of his. There’s a flash of irritation arising in you and desire. It burns in you waiting for a spark. It slowly eats away inside you, begging to be fed more.

You switch your comms on, his eyes sneakily gliding over to the way your hands move. Almost as if replaying a memory. He nearly groans at the way you move your bouncy hair aside, the tendrils curling delicately.

“Eyes on them, not me.” You then say, shooting him a cheeky wink.

You hear Johnny laugh—and Price watched you with a sense of admiration and slight amusement. He then spoke up gruffly.

“I can guarantee you, even if I did look at em’ my eyes would be right back on ya, sweets.”

Shit.

Your eyes widened and you looked at him, nearly sputtering on your spit. Fuck.

“Can ya’ll get a room already?” Kyle groans, and Price shoots you a look before gesturing at the area behind you to pay attention to the Konni soldiers.

“For once I agree with the lad, Garrick.” Johnny chuckles.

Simon is silent, probably disinterested in the whole spiel.

You’re very tempted to bark at him something intimate, but that’ll only cause issues—especially exposing something going on. Then again maybe the team suspected it.

So, you turn away diligently and laugh, although slightly bitter, “Seems like someone can’t get it on with anyone else, so he’s going after what’s easy.”

“Shit lass.” Johnny whistles, amused.

“Remind me to use that one.” Kyle chuckled.

Price narrows his eyes at the side of your head, jaw setting. Irritation flares in him and he puffs his chest out to breathe in, and you? You just remain there, eyeing the soldiers who disperse to talk to various people. You want in on their conversation, but Price and you are stuck in a sticky mess.

“You sayin’ you’re easy to get?” He then spoke up, not caring if the team had heard.

You snapped your head around to meet his.

“I—“

“Lass, you really got everyone on their toes, yea?” Johnny snickers before you could get a response in. Flustered, you crossed your arms and felt your cheeks burning. Damned him. Damned this mission. You shifted on your heels and Price took the advantage of grinning at you as if he won.

Oh no.

He was in for a whole tease.

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