My Daddy Didn't Love Me So I Guess I've Moved Onto You

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.

High Hopes || Chloe Price x fem!Reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: getting high with Chloe Price for the first time w a DASH of nsfw

an: I was extremely upset with the severe lack of chloe price x reader content so I got high and did it myself

To the residents of Arcadia Bay, Chloe Price was known to be a bad influence. Hanging around suspicious men, drinking constantly, smoking often, not to mention the drugs. But to y/n, Chloe was next to perfect. She was the light in y/n’s life despite the fact that the blue haired girl was often surrounded by darkness. The same applied to Chloe though. She would’ve been completely lost, broken even if it wasn’t for y/n. She saved her life after everything with her dad, Max leaving and Rachel, so she owed her the world for making her life astronomically better.

The pair had known each other since they were kids as they lived in the same neighborhood. Through the friendships with Max and Rachel, Chloe and y/n stuck together no matter what.

It was heartbreaking when Max left with out a word, beginning Chloe’s abandonment issues. Chloe began to lean more heavily on y/n, which she completely understood as Max and Chloe were closer friends than y/n and Max ever were. While Chloe dealt with one of her closest friends leaving her, y/n began to slowly but surely fall in love with her best friend. She didn’t know what to do and barely understood her feelings, so she hid how she felt in order to be there for her friend.

Max leaving was one thing, but when Chloe’s dad died, everything changed. She went from being this bright girl with such a wonderful future ahead of her to a burnout punk who couldn’t handle her emotions. She got mixed up with Frank, Damon and eventually Rachel, dragging y/n with her in the process. While Chloe lost herself with alcohol, cigarettes and weed, y/n watched her back to make sure she wouldn’t get hurt, physically at least. Every once in a while though, y/n would divulge in a beer or two, but had never smoked, never wanting to be too impaired so she could properly protect the girl she loved.

Rachel changed the dynamic of things though. Watching Chloe for the first time awkwardly interact with someone instead of being her confident brooding self was strange. The trio shifted and y/n always felt like the third wheel, watching her childhood crush find more company with the DA’s daughter. It was hard, but Chloe was adamant that y/n was her best friend, so she had to act like it and push her feelings aside.

Before Rachel went missing, her and Chloe had some falling out. Rachel said she had met someone who had “changed her life” and Chloe was crushed. Though her and the Amber girl maintained some contact, they were no longer the friends they once were, and y/n was left to pick up the pieces. When Rachel left, it broke Chloe further as she was still hung up on the idea of escaping Arcadia, and y/n was left to pick up the pieces once again.

A couple months after the Amber girl’s disappearance, y/n couldn’t take it anymore. Chloe’s constant flirting was messing her up badly as she thought there was no truth behind her words. One day, y/n broke, releasing all of her bottled up feelings.

“You look so hot in my clothes y/n”

“They’d look better on the floor though”

“You’d look even better under me though.”

“We both know you’d kiss me if you had the chance.”

That was the one that finally made y/n break at the junkyard one day. “Stop!” She exclaimed, startling Chloe, “please just stop.”

“Woah, what crawled up your ass and died?” Chloe asked, not knowing that her words would ignite something further within y/n.

Y/n scoffed, jumping off of the wrecked car she sat on with Chloe. “I have been in love with you for years and I can’t handle you f-fucking....I don’t know teasing me with that shit all the time!” Y/n yelled, refusing to look into Chloe’s eyes. “And it fucking sucks,” her voice wobbled, kicking the side of a wrecked car. Chloe increasingly got concerned at the well-being of her frie- y/n.

“Y/n,” Chloe started softly before being interrupted by y/n. “Please don’t pity me or anything okay? I know you don’t feel the same and that’s fine. We can still be friends and not make it weird.” She paced around, running her fingers through her hair.

Chloe approached her, grabbing her arms and making y/n look into her eyes. “Like hell I want to still be friends,” she spoke aggressively but still softly. It broke y/n’s heart to hear those words and the look of pain on her face made Chloe realize the choice of her words. “It took me too long to realize but I’d be nothing without you y/n. You’ve been there for me through everything, and I can’t lose you too. You’ve helped me so much and I can never repay you but god, you have been so much more than a friend to me these past few months, years even. I-I didn’t pick up on it until....until Rachel left. That’s why I’ve been saying shit about you kissing me and looking hot recently.”

“W-what are you saying?” Y/n’s face held confusion as some tears remained in her eyes. Chloe caressed her face as her other hand fell onto the girl’s waist.

“I’m saying that I’m fucking in love with you too, y/n l/n.”

The two girls sat in Chloe’s room, listening to music and recalling their times together while the blue haired girl got high. “Remember when we spilled my mom’s wine downstairs?” Y/n laughed while carding through the various disks Chloe had stacked under her stereo near the old TV.

Chloe blew out what remained of smoke from the cart she just hit before chucking softly, “you and Max were so scared about getting in trouble. You owe me your life for taking the blame for that shit.”

“Oh my gosh,” Chloe exclaimed from her desk, “the first time you got hella wasted a few months ago.” A fit of laughs proceeded as y/n blushed at her words, “please don’t remind me.”

“Chloe please just fuck me,” Chloe whined as she mocked y/n’s words, “I’ll be a good girl for you.” The deep blush on y/n’s cheeks got even deeper as she covered her face in her hands and groaned.

“Please stop,” she mumbled behind her hands as the Price girl laughed manically. “Come on I thought it was cute,” she chuckled some more before taking a drag of the cart yet again, preceding to roll the joint she’s been working on, “and slightly hilarious.”

Y/n shook her head lightly, picking out a CD that peaked her interest. Chloe finished rolling the joint at her desk, lighting it before flopping down onto her back to land on the bed.

Y/n skipped to track five, knowing it was some fast rock song that Chloe loved. “Hell yeah,” Chloe jumped up, hopping off of the bed. She held the joint between her lips, grabbing y/n’s hands. “Come on dance with me,” her voice mumbled through the joint. Y/n giggled, jumping around to the Firewalk song as the smell of weed she had grown so accustomed to filled her nostrils.

Chloe grabbed the joint between her fingers, still being able to hold the girl’s hand still. She yelled the words to the song wrapping her arms around y/n and pulling her back into her chest. The pair proceeded to mess around like this for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence in such a chaotic way.

Chloe took another hit from her joint, closing her eyes as she did so. Her eyes opened widely as a brilliant idea graced her mind. “You know what you should do?” Chloe spoke as y/n went to change the song.

“Play a song by someone other than Firewalk?” Y/n spoke teasingly. “You leave them alone l/n,” Chloe spoke with faux sternness.

Y/n shook her head, looking down at the stereo before playing yet another Firewalk song, “so what do you have in mind Miss Price?”

She walked towards Chloe yet again wrapping her arms loosely around her neck. “Well,” Chloe started, dragging out the word, “I know you’ve never gotten high before.” Y/n nodded, quirking a brow knowing where she was going with this.

“I think we should change that,” she spoke daringly. She took a step back, trying to pass her girlfriend the joint. “I’m good. What if David comes in? He’ll hate me even more,” she was more worried about protecting Chloe from that man’s torment then she was of the drug.

“Come on babe, don’t be a pussy,” Chloe teased yet again, holding out the joint for the girl to grab, still holding a hand on her waist. “Chloe I don’t think-“ y/n sighed before being interrupted by the girl in front of her.

“What? Can’t handle a little peer pressure?” She took a puff of the smoke, holding the joint out for y/n to take yet again. Chloe has a teasing smile on her face as y/n began taking a step back and holding a hand on her chest to fake pain, “didn’t realize we were just peers then.”

“Oh haha,” Chloe spoke sarcastically, pulling her impossibly closer by her waist, “you know what I mean.”

“What will me parents say if they find out my girlfriend is pumping me full of drugs?” Y/n spoke sarcastically, fake concern lacing her features.

“That should be the last thing they’re worried about being pumped into you,” she whispered in y/n’s ear. “Chloe!” Y/n exclaimed, giving her a shocked look as red dusted her features yet again, causing Chloe to chuckle into her neck.

“Come on y/n, I promise it’ll feel so,” she kissed her neck, “fucking,” she mumbled while pressing another kiss to her neck, “good,” she finally whispered, sucking gently on her neck.

Y/n closed her eyes at the feeling before taking the blue haired girl’s hand with the joint and bring it to her lips, finally giving in. The feeling of grasping her girlfriend’s hand and inhaling smoke for the first time was like no other.

Before she could blow out the smoke that filled her lungs, she began to cough profusely. “Holy shit,” Chloe laughed lightly, “you okay there newbie?”

As y/n recovered, bending down with her hands on her knees she flipped her middle finger at the other girl, “fuck you.”

“Is that a promise?” Chloe flirted despite her girlfriend’s coughs. She took a drag of the joint, keeping it within her lungs before exhaling.

Y/n stood up properly, shaking her head, “how do you do it?” Chloe’s face held a teasing smile before shrugging. “I’m a veteran with this shit, it just comes naturally to me,” she spoke before taking another drag.

“I have another idea,” she spoke flirtatious yet again, grabbing y/n’s hips yet again. “Just go with the flow, okay?” Chloe softly muttered with y/n nodding in response. Chloe smiled, taking her hand from the girl’s waist and to her own lips to take another hit from the joint. Instead of exhaling though, she pressed her lips onto y/n’s, releasing the smoke into her girlfriends mouth.

“Fuck,” Chloe spoke breathlessly when she pulled away, “that was so hot.”

Y/n kept the smoke in her lungs before exhaling, glad to not have coughed yet again. “C-Can I try hitting it again?” She asked innocently. Chloe smirked holding out the joint, “be my guest.” Y/n hit it again and again, with Chloe doing the same.

The best part of all it though was the feeling of Chloe’s lips all over y/n. There was nothing like this, feeling your head float above your body while simultaneously being grounded to Earth by the girl who’s hands were currently fondling y/n’s chest.

“You gonna be a good girl for me y/n?”

Needless to say, this will be far from the last time y/n would get high with Chloe Price.

---

You Showed Up

summary: your boyfriend is playing in the world cup but your own career conflicts with his games. he thinks it's an issue of commitment but little does he know, with the help of one of his teammates, you'll be there in time for the final

requested: yes, by @thehappygrungelife

⚠️: none, bland ending ? help

pairing: lionel x shy!supermodel! reader

authors note: in this, reader is a supermodel so uber busy and uber famous. her and leo are dating but aren't exactly public

the end is like fluff in the sickening sweet way i do it LOLL

-

It was a late night at your place. All the curtains were drawn in your Parisian apartment and the lights were on the lowest setting. You were on the sofa with your boyfriend, your head on his shoulder while you both scrolled mindlessly on your phones. With a sigh and looked up and saw his packed bags by the door.

The constant reminder that this was the last time you’d be together until the tournament ended.

Frowning, your eyes remained on the packed bags causing Lionel to look up. "What's wrong bebé?"

“Just gonna miss you when you leave." you replied.

He smirked. "Easy solution. Come with me."

You pursed your lips and gave him a matter of fact look. "You know I can't, I have fittings and castings all throughout January."

Lionel sighed. "Yeah well it'd be nice to have you watch me. You know, help make our relationship public."

A nervous laugh escaped your throat. Aside from being who you were and the career you had, your personal life was completely private. No one knew much about you or your relationships and you liked it that way. You weren't comfortable enough like Lionel to have the media and fans know every single thing about you so when the two of you began dating, he had agreed to keep the entire thing under wraps.

He saw the indecision on your face and nodded. "You don't want to."

"It's not that." you weakly smiled. "I'm just private."

"Too private to let everyone know that you’re in a relationship?”

You said nothing, running a hand through your hair. This was not the argument you wanted to deal with before his departure.

"We've been dating for a year and a half and you still dont want to go public?" he continued.

"Leo-"

He shook his head. "Are you concerned about what the media will say? Are you embarrassed?"

Your face scrunched up in confusion. "What? Get real.”

"I mean, we never go anywhere together. And if we are in the same place, you never acknowledge me in public and you refuse to even admit we're even a couple until we're in the privacy of your own place! Not even mine."

"Okay." You pushed yourself off of the couch. "This is not an argument worth having so I'll see you in bed."

Leo rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Y/n, stop. Come here."

"I'm tired, I've been working all day. I'll be in my room."

You didn't even bother looking back at him as you walked straight to your room. Being as petty as you were, you took an insane amount of time getting yourself ready for bed. Lionel was already in your bed before you even finished and said nothing as he watched you make multiple trips back and forth from your room to the bathroom.

When you finally finished, you shuffled to your bed where he waited, his hands folded behind his head.

"Nice pajamas." he smiled.

Looking down, you pulled the hem of one of his training tops that you paired with one of his pants.

"Thank you. A special man gave them to me." you joked, getting into bed beside him.

Once you were comfortable enough, you reached over him to turn off the lamp and planted a soft kiss on his lips. "Night."

"Dulces suenos mi amor." he whispered. (sweet dreams my love)

You smiled at the endearing words and laid against him with closed eyes, falling asleep.

The night went by and in the morning, you awoke to an empty bed. Confused, you sat up and yawned as you glanced around the room.

Did he leave? He wouldn’t really leave without saying bye?

“Leo?” you croaked, your morning voice raspy.

No response.

With a groan, you forced yourself out of bed and to your bathroom, giving yourself a few minutes to freshen up. When you finished, you shuffled out of bathroom and passed though your room, making a direct path to your kitchen.

On your way there, you glanced at the door and frowned at the empty space where your boyfriends bags were placed not even ten hours ago.

Letting out a breath you moved around the kitchen, preparing an easy breakfast until the sound of your front door slammed shut.

“Hey. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” Leo said, a bit out of breath.

You turned around and smiled. “That would’ve sucked."

He chuckled and rested his hands on your waist. "Don't miss me too much. I'll be back home before you know it."

"No, you won't. You have a cup to win."

Leo pressed a short kiss against your lips. "I love you."

"Love you too. Call me when you can."

"I will."

The distant sound of a car honking from outside caused him to groan.

Sighing, you gave him one last kiss. "Go. Make me proud."

He said nothing more, squeezing your waist before turning on his heel. You remained against the counter and waited to hear the front door click shut.

You were honestly disappointed that you wouldn't be there for his games, seeing that your job was incredibly demanding. Even if you tried, every ticket for the games was sold and every hotel was booked. There was no way around it. Unless you got some help.

Abandoning your breakfast, you went looking for your phone, thinking of the person you’d call.

It didn't take long to find since you left it on your sofa. Grabbing it, you unlocked and swiped through your contacts until you found the person you were looking for.

You found the name of your boyfriends teammate and closet friend and clicked, waiting for it to ring.

It only took a moment for it to ring until he picked up.

"Hola Y/n! Como estas?"

You blanked and went back to your high school Spanish and smiled. "Bien! Look, I need a favor."

"For my best friends girlfriend? Anything."

-

You waited as the phone rang on speakerphone, blowing on your wet nails.

"Bebé?"

Shooting up, you grabbed your phone, briefly forgetting about your nails.

"Congratulations! You did amazing!"

He laughed on the other end of the line. Argentina had just beaten Croatia 3-1, Lionel scoring once and Julian scoring twice.

"That goal was for you."

You laughed to yourself and stuck out your free hand to examine the dark red you chose for the winter. "It was very impressive. I followed the whole thing live."

"You know what would be even more impressive?” he asked.

"Hm?"

"If you actually came to a game and watched me. You know, so you don't have to worry about the livestream buffing or anything."

You lightly sighed. "Leo.."

He huffed. "It was just a suggestion. You know, kind of solidifying-"

"Yes, our relationship.” you interrupted. “We've been over this."

"Yeah but it's like you're scared."

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. "I'm not scared, I just.. I'm not ready."

You couldn't see but your boyfriend on the other end of the line, all the way in Qatar had his hand through his hair as he paced around the locker room, obviously annoyed.

"It was only a suggestion. And what do mean ‘not ready?’ What are you not ready for, what are you scared of?”

The end went silent and you gave yourself a second before smiling to yourself. "Goodnight honey. And congratulations, once again."

Lionel dragged his free hand down his face with a sigh. "Carino,"

"Goodnight." you repeated, adding extra emphasis on the word.

You heard him sigh and before he could mutter an apology, you spoke up. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Hanging up, you tossed your phone aside, glancing at your packed bags by the door.

Little did he know, in just a few hours, you'd be on a plane to Qatar, just to see him play the final.

No one knew except for Ángel, a close friend of Leo's and yours. He helped you with everything, a place to stay for your brief stint in Qatar along with good seating.

You were excited. A little bit nervous, but excited nonetheless.

-

The minute you entered the stadium, you only needed to flash a badge and you were almost immediately escorted to the seats where the players' family and friends were. It was crowded seeing that you got there near the end of the first half and it was 2-0. Leo put it in the net at at the twenty-third minute and Ángel scored at the thirty-sixth minute, a moment you enjoyed watching on the way to the stadium.

You thanked the man who escorted you to the proper row and saw one open seat. Next to his mother.

Smiling, you excused the people you had to pass in front of and sat down beside her.

Celia tore her eyes from the match for a second to see who sat beside her and when she did, her hands flew to her face.

“¡Mi niña hermosa! You came!” (my beautiful girl)

“I did!” you exclaimed, pulling her into a side hug.

The woman shifted in her seat to face you and pulled you away with a large smile. “Does he know you’re here?”

With a shake of your head, you held her arm tightly. “No, it’s a surprise! I’m gonna see him after the match.”

Celia pulled a hand away from you and rested it on her chest. “He’s gonna love this. You know he’s crazy in love with you, right?”

You laughed to yourself, suddenly feeling shy. “Yeah?”

The older woman’s smile never left her face and she nodded, turning her focus back to the game. “Wouldn’t be surprised if I saw a ring on your finger.”

“Aha.”

She winked and you couldn’t stop smiling at her words as you turned to the pitch, mulling over her words.

-

The minute the whistle for half time blew, it was like the entire crowd was on needles.

So far, Argentina was the one with points on the board and to you, this looked like an easy sweep.

In the wait, you headed to the restroom and when you returned, you chatted with your boyfriends family who were all incredibly happy to see you.

While you were chatting and catching up with his family, Leo on the other hand was a mess in the dressing room.

After he gave a pep talk to the team, he went to his respective spot and sulked. No one seemed to notice except for Ángel.

Hermano mío, ¿qué pasa?” the man asked (my brother what’s wrong?)

Lionel sighed. “Ella no es,” he paused for a minute before shrugging in defeat. “Ella no está aquí.” (she’s not- she’s not here)

Ángel turned his teammate around. “¿Está seguro?” (are you sure?)

Leo nodded. “Sí. No pude verla cuando salimos del campo.” (yes. i couldn’t see her when we left the pitch)

His friend said nothing. There was no way you didn’t show. Ángel had just texted you before the game to make sure you were coming and you confirmed. Hell, you even sent a ridiculous selfie of you at the airport in Qatar giving a thumbs up.

Lionel frowned at his friends silence and rolled his eyes. “Lo que sea. No importa. Tenemos un juego que ganar.” (whatever. it doesn’t matter. we have a game to win)

His friend said nothing and nodded and the team manager whistled.

“¡Vamos! ¡Vamos por la copa!” (let’s go! let’s go get the cup)

Cheers erupted from the group of men as they all clapped each others shoulders and passed words of encouragement as they filed out of the dressing room.

The two teams walked onto the pitch and the whistle blew, signaling the start of the second half.

The second half of the game was nearly a heart attack waiting to happen. It was nearly deadlocked the entire time and it felt like every sudden move was a make or break.

You watched with focused eyes as the players on the field moved back and forth. Whistles were blown, obvious insults were traded and the players seemed agitated and on edge, especially the ones who played for France.

At the eightieth minute, Kylian Mbappe, one of your husbands club teammates found the net. You groaned and you were even more surprised when he netted the ball not even a minute later.

The game soon went into overtime and you were nearly silent the entire time, not uttering a word to anyone, just focused on the game, praying for a good outcome.

It was at the one hundredth and eighth minute Lionel finds the ball and puts it in the net. Screaming, you stood to your feet and hugging his mother who also standing.

The two of you cheered and jumped around in pure joy.

As the game went on, substitutions happened and yellow cards were given. It wasn’t until later when the scored was equalized again, thanks to Kylian.

Your eyes found your boyfriend who looked on edge. It wasn’t like him and you watched as his jaw clenched before sighing. You just knew going back to club football wasn’t going to be a walk in the park with those two.

The extra time runs out and the game soon goes to penalties and you were literally on the edge of your seat, your body shaking with anticipation.

France took the first kick, Kylian bringing it home.

Argentina was next and you barely cheered as Lionel made the shot. You were too focused.

France’s Conan missed and Dybala scored for Argentina. Tchouaméni misses for France and Argentina’s Paredes scored.

You took a deep breath and exhaled as you eyes Muani take Frances’ fourth penalty. It’s almost silent as he preps to take the shot and when he does, the ball goes in.

A mix of cheers and groans erupt all around the stadium and your heart pounds even faster. Celia grabs your hand tightly and you glance at her. She glances back before focusing back on the pitch.

You let out a low whistle and watch in anticipation as the Gonzalo Montiel prepares himself for the pitch. It’s like everyone’s on pins and Celia grips your hand even tighter, causing you to wince.

Montiel lets out a breath before taking the shot. You held your breath as you watched and it was like everything was moving in slow motion. When the ball hit the net, the blood rushed to you ears as you let out a scream that was immediately drowned out by everyone else in the stadium.

Celia stands to her feet, picking you up with her as she hugs you tight, her face wet with tears. You hug her back and to your own surprise, you’re crying as well.

After minutes in each others arms, Celia pulls away from you and rests her hands on your cheeks, shaking your face with excitement before letting go and turning to her husband.

His other family members around you embrace you tightly and when they release you, you’re watching the man you love on his knees with tears in his eyes, a smile never leaving his face.

Your thoughts circle back to his mothers words to you and you smile to yourself until Celia grabs your hands.

“¡Vamos a verlo!” she exclaims, dragging out of the row and down to the pitch. (let’s go see him)

You nod and let the older woman lead you down as you take in the energy and reactions of the crowd.

Almost everyone sporting some sort of Argentinean merch are either crying or screaming with joy. The entire way to the pitch was blur and when you felt the grass underneath your shoes, you sighed and took it all in.

“Do you want to see him now or do you want to keep it a surprise?”

You glanced at her with a smile. “You go first. Go congratulate your son.”

Her face softened and squeezed your hand before running to her son. You watched as she grabbed his arm and he turned around in shock.

The man smiled and wrapped his arms around his mother, making your heart melt. Celia pulls her sons head down as he walks her away from the commotion on the pitch.

You shove your hands in your pocket and watch as he suddenly straightens. He cocks his head and points to the ground, saying something to his mom. She nods and he begins to look around frantically.

“Leo!” you call out.

He immediately recognizes your voice and turns around, seeking for you.

Taking a few steps his way, you pull your hands out of your pocket and cup them around your mouth. “Lionel!”

His eyes continued to search until his mother turns him around in your direction.

When he turned and saw you steps away, his eyes widened. Looking at his mother, he looks your way again, earning a nudge from the older woman.

“Go.” she nodded with a warm smile.

He says nothing and smiles, letting go of his mother. He began to walk to you, slowly at first before breaking into a full spirit towards you.

Naturally, many cameras followed him and documented the sight of him quite literally jumping into your arms.

You stumbled back and wrapped your arms tightly around him before he fell to his knees, consequently bringing you down with him.

With the both of you kneeling in the grass, Leo slightly shook in your arms, his emotions taking over him all at once.

“I can’t believe it,” he sobbed. “you actually came.”

You nodded and held him tighter. “Yes honey, I’m here.”

He said nothing and continued to cry in your arms, bringing forth a multitude of cameras. Normally you would’ve told them to go away but this was too precious of a moment to let a few cameras ruin.

Pulling away from him, you cupped his face and brought him close, your forehead touching his.

“Congratulations. You played fucking amazing.” you whispered with a smile.

Lionel smiled, mumbling a thank you before pressing a soft kiss on your lips. "How'd you get here- the seats, my mom-"

"I had some help."

He shook his head with a laugh. "From who?"

"Your friend. Your hermano." you teased.

Turning to look for his friend, you both were caught by surprise by a camera being shoved in both of your faces along with a microphone and an all too eager reporter.

"Lionel Messi, World Cup winner!" he grinned. "First, let me extend my congratulations."

Leo nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course! And you, Y/n L/n, famous model, queen of the runway. What brings you here and if you don't mind, what is Lionel Messi, the new World Cup winner to you?"

You and Leo shared a look before he stood to his feet and helping you up. Once you both were standing side by side, you rested a hand on his chest.

"This man here is the love of my life. My boyfriend."

Lionel's eyes widened and he glanced at you, his eyes dampening once more.

By now, more cameras were surrounding you and the original reporter looked incredibly pleased. "That's some news! For how long?"

You lightly nudged your boyfriends who answered the question. "A little more than a year, next month makes two years."

"So are we expecting a ring soon?" one reporter asked.

A chorus of mumbles erupted around the two of you, causing you to shyly turn into your boyfriends chest with a laugh. Lionel caught on and chuckled, walking the two of you away from the cluster of reporters.

"So this makes us official?" he joked.

You rolled your eyes and pulled him close for a kiss. "Go get your award."

He glanced over his shoulder to see the platform being set and turned back to you with a grin.

"Again," you spoke up. "congratulations."

"Lo hice por ti." he whispered with a teary smile. (i did it for you)

You mulled over his words and slightly shook your head. "Get up there."

Kissing your check, he gave your hand one last squeeze before jogging over to his teammates.

You stood there watching him with receive hugs from his mates with the biggest smile on your face, paying no mind to the few cameras catching your smile as you watched.

After the ceremony, Leo brought the trophy to you and you shook your head.

"No, Leo, don't." you warned.

He held it out to you. "Just for the pictures carino."

You glanced around. "No, it's a family thing, I can't."

Your boyfriend scoffed and lightly pushed the coveted cup in your hands and smiled. You smiled as well and after a few flashes you gave it back to him but of course, photo ops were never finshed.

He led you around the pitch, stopping for photos and interviews all with his arm around you.

He managed to get the pair of you away from everything and the two of you made your rounds, walking around the pitch..

"Te amo mucho." he said, kissing your cheek. "Mas que cualquier otra cosa en el mundo." (i love you so much. more than anything else in the world)

The sweet words made you grin and you squeezed his hand.

"Te amo." you replied.

He laughed at the way the words came out of your mouth. Even with almost two years of being together, your Spanish was awful.

"Expect a ring in your future soon."

You stopped and your mouth dropped. "Leo."

He stopped beside you and nodded. "Serious."

With a scoff, you continued walking. He walked up beside you and held your hand, fingers intertwining with yours.

"You're funny." you said with a laugh.

He chuckled and said nothing, keeping tight lipped about the ring he already showed his mother just days before.

The two of you continued to walk hand in hand, in silence and peace until it was time to go back to the hotel.

Once inside, he helped you move your stuff to his room which was only doors down, thanks to Ángel. The two of you showered together and once you were in bed, you quickly fell asleep but he couldn't.

Lionel was over the moon. His life was everything he ever dreamed of. He finally won the one thing in his career that really mattered and all with the love of his life watching. He couldn’t even close his eyes as he laid back with a silly smile on his face.

Because you showed up.

-

argh i hate ending things

expect a cheesy, sappy, romcom fic soon

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That's Mine - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You get jealous and don’t like when people take what’s yours (based off of THIS request)

Warnings: jealous reader, suggestive

Word Count: 2.6k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Let me know what you guys think!

You and Caitlin had been dating for about 6 months now. The two of you met when you were helping your roommate take photos of the team. She was one of the student photographers who would photograph different sports teams on campus. She was in charge of women's volleyball, women's basketball, and track and field. It seemed like a lot but she juggled it well.

You got roped into helping her out for one of the media days for the women's basketball team. It was a Friday morning and you had no excuse to get out of it.

You joined your roommate, Sophie, at Carver-Hawkeye Arena. You were in charge of carrying around gear and getting whatever lens she needed ready. It was honestly pretty simple.

You helped her set up the space before any of the team got there. When you were done, you went to grab coffee for the two of you. On your walk back you bumped into a few of the girls from the team.

You started talking with them as you all walked to where the media day was being held. A few of them had classes with you, and the others got introduced. They were all super chill.

When you returned, you handed Soph her coffee and got to work. You gathered all the props that they had and handed them to the girls whenever they went to switch up a shot.

One of the girls came up to you to introduce herself.

"Hey, I just wanted to say thank you for helping out today. Sophie mentioned you would be helping out today. I'm Caitlin." She says as she extends her hand to shake yours.

"Hi, I know who you are," you say with a little smile and laugh. "You are truly incredible on the court."

She smiles and you swear you see a slight blush creep into her cheeks.

"Thanks." She says. "Well, I better get back, thanks again for helping out."

You thought it was sweet that Caitlin came over to introduce herself. She didn't need an introduction as she was well-known throughout campus as one of our star athletes. But it was nice to know that she now knows who you are.

The rest of the media day goes smoothly. Everyone looks amazing and the photos are the best media day photos you have seen your roommate take - and she has taken quite a few.

At the end of the shoot, you help her clean up when Caitlin comes over again.

"Hey," you say as you start folding up one of the lights.

"Hi," she says and just stands there.

You don't think much of it and continue to tear down. She is playing with her fingertips and seems like she wants to say something.

"How did we look today?" She ends up asking, not getting to her real reason for coming over. You stopped what you were doing to continue the conversation with her.

"The team looked absolutely amazing." You say. "I think one of my favorite shots was of you actually." When you say it, noticing a blush that creeps up into her cheeks.

"Oh ya? Which one?" She asks, trying to regain her confidence.

"The one where you were midair for the dunk." You say with a little smile.

"Oh that one was fire, I think it is one of my favorites as well," she says. It is now or never. She takes a deep breath and mumbles, "Would you maybe want to grab coffee or something sometime?"

At first, you stare at her - your brain trying to process what she is asking. There is no way she is asking you out right now, she has to mean it as friends.

“I would love that,” you say with a sweet smile. You try not to think anything of it but it is hard when a gorgeous all-start basketball star is asking to hang out. The two of you exchange phone numbers and go your separate ways.

Over the next 8 months, the two of you really get to know each other. The two of you became friends and started dating shortly after.

That leads you today. The two of you are with a few girls from the team. It is one of her teammate's birthdays and they wanted to go out to a nice dinner and then to their favorite ice cream spot.

Everyone dressed up nice to go out to dinner.

When you walk into where Caitlin is getting ready - she takes your breath away.

You walk up behind where she is sitting and place your hands on her shoulders, rubbing her arms.

"You look stunning." You say as you look at her through the mirror. She looks at you through the mirror with a smile. She is putting on some light makeup, not that she needs it, that compliments her well.

"You don't look too bad yourself," she says checking you out.

You lean over and kiss the top of her head.

"Are you ready to go?" You ask as you sit on her bed.

"Yep, just finishing up," she says. "Can you come help me put this necklace on?"

You get up and help her. It is a necklace you got her for her birthday. It was a diamond circle that fell beautifully on her chest.

Once the necklace is on, she turns round to face you. She takes in your appearance and takes a deep breath. You don't know how she does it but it brings butterflies to your stomach without even trying. You crumble beneath her gaze.

She leans down and places the lightest kiss on your lips. You lean into her wanting more. She gives in and lets you take the lead. When things get a little too heavy, you break away from her. Your breathing is uneven and your eyes are still closed.

"If we don't go now, we won't make it out the door," you say taking a few steps back from her.

She just gives you a look, knowing you are right.

The two of you head out and meet up with the other girls.

The night is nice, you are all enjoying dinner and each other's company. Following dinner you all head to THE ice cream spot. When you all arrive, there is a line around the corner. The is nothing new and you all head to the back of the line.

As you are waiting in line and talking to one of Caitlin's teammates, something catches your eye.

You glance over at Caitlin who is in conversation with the girl in front of her. At first, you think nothing of it as it didn't seem like anything out of the ordinary. You brush it off and get back to your conversation.

After about 10 minutes, you notice Caitlin is still talking to the same girl only this time, the girl's hand comes up to touch Caitlin's arm. Caitlin just laughs at something the girl says, making no effort to remove her hand.

You know it is harmless, but part of you was hoping your girlfriend would politely step back or remove the girl's hand from her body.

You try to shake the rising sense of jealousy that is building within you but it doesn't subside. Even though you are still in the conversation with Caitlin's friends, your ears and mind are trained on Caitlin and the girl.

After another five minutes, you hear the girl talking about how amazing Caitlin is on the court and how she has been following your girlfriend this past season, making sure she was at every game.

Caitlin being Caitlin, was very kind and to anyone else would look like she was flirting back. Deep down - you know she never would, but the insecurity that the jealousy brought, had you raving to get your girlfriend out of that situation. You wanted to stake your claim.

Your final straw was when the girl asked for a photo with Caitlin, which she happily agreed to. When the girl pulled out her phone, she leaned into Caitlin, putting her head in the crease of her neck, and tilted her head in. She was posing as if Caitlin was hers.

You had enough and excused yourself from your current conversation. You make your way over so you are standing right behind Caitlin.

You have a slight advantage since Caitlin is taller than you, so you could sneak up behind her without the other girl knowing. And when you do, you ever so lightly trail your fingers from her lower back all the way up to just below her neck. You see the skin on her neck stand straight up as her speech becomes uneven.

The dress she is wearing makes this all so easy. There is a large open slit that goes from her lower back up to her neck, right where your fingers just trailed and tied at the top. Your fingers begin to play with the strings as your other hand comes and plays with the bottom of the slit, hands teasing her waist.

You can feel every muscle in her body tense and you know that isn't the only part of her that is affected. You go on your tippy toes, just close enough for her, and only her, to hear what you say.

"Looks like I need to show you who you belong to tonight," you whisper in her ear. Caitlin's mouth goes dry as she politely excuses herself from the fan she was just talking to.

As she turns back to the group and you all approach the front of the line, she tries to grab your hand - wanting to make any sort of contact with you to ease the tension that builds inside her. You notice her hand coming to meet yours and move it - keeping up a playful conversation with the girls. The lowest of whines comes from your girl as she is becoming visually flustered and frustrated.

You knew exactly what to do to get her going, and once she was going, there was no turning her off.

The thing about your relationship with Caitlin is that when you two are intimate, it is usually sweet or based off of a mutual need for one another. And if there was any dominance, Caitlin would always be the one to take the lead. It has never been the other way around, until tonight.

You can see hands begin to fiddle with themselves and then come to the bottom of her dress, straightening it out and smoothing it over. She is doing everything in her power to keep it cool.

As the group enters the ice cream shop, you let her go first, placing your hand on her lower back, and guiding her in. She slows her movements, hoping to lean into your touch more yet nothing more than your fingers grace her body. She is itching for your touch.

She can barely focus as she is trying to decide what flavor to get. You are standing right next to her, your perfume overwhelming her. She wants to bring her arm around you and pull you into her body but is nervous about what repercussions that would have later that night. Your choosing to be the dominant one is new and the excitement that comes with that alone is enough for her to excuse the two of you to take you home to find out more.

When it is your turn to choose a flavor, you look over to Caitlin to let her go first.

"Ummm, can I please get....umm," she says, not knowing what to choose.

"She'll have a single scoop of your cherry vanilla," You say, not acknowledging Caitlin's look wondering why you weren't getting any.

"Can we also get a pint of that to go please," you ask the man who's taking your order, he gives a light nod and gets your order all set.

He hands it all over to you as you pay for it. You hand Caitlin her scoop and the paper bag holding the pint while mumbling something along the lines of 'tasting something sweeter tonight'.

Caitlin tries to engage in the conversation as everyone is sitting at a table that is too small for your group but can't focus on anything other than you. How your knee hits hers and your hand occasionally comes to her thigh when you laugh at something one of the girls says.

She leans over to you and quietly says, "Can we please go home?"

Her need for you continues to grow with each touch.

"I don't think I am ready yet," you say, finally looking into her eyes. Even the simple action of eye contact has her fighting back a squirm.

"Please," she whispers in your ear, practically begging.

You see how her thighs are pressing together and her hands can't keep still. You take a second to contemplate her request and cave. To be quite honest, seeing her in such a needy state has you riled up as well.

You stand and Caitlin immediately follows suit.

"We are going to head out, Caitlin doesn't feel too good," you say which isn't completely wrong. Everyone says their goodbyes and you say happy birthday to her teammate and begin the journey back. Everything was within walking distance of her apartment which made it an easy trip back.

Easy in the sense of the distance. Borderline unbearable to Caitlin as you still wouldn't hold her hand. She followed you like a lost puppy.

When you got back to her place, you didn't say a thing to her as you put the ice cream in the freezer and began looking through your phone. She expected you to have her pinned against the door the second you walked in the place, showing her who she belonged to just like you said you were going to.

She didn't know what to do when you didn't immediately jump her.

"Ummm," she doesn't know what to say but knows she wants you.

You look up from your phone and just stare at her. There are your eyes again, unraveling her without a single touch. Her heart rate going a mile a minute. You walk over to her and look her up and down.

"What do you want baby?" You ask low and slow, your hand coming to brush her own.

The control Caitlin wants to take is taking every ounce of willpower she has to subdue.

"Touch me," she says and your eyebrow raises. "Please, touch me."

Your hand comes to hold hers now, and her eyes flutter close. Her breath picks up and becomes uneven. She takes in the feeling of your skin on hers, even if it is just her hand. You then bring your other hand up to where the pads of your fingertips are skimming her neck, tracing her ear. Her neck tilts and she lets out the sweetest moan.

"Go get on the bed," you say as you grab one of the strings of her dress and pull it undone.

She immediately does what you say. You take your time in the kitchen, wanting her to sweat a little.

"If I find any evidence that you have touched yourself, that's it." You yell to her. You hear her groan in response.

You make your way to the freezer and grab the ice cream and a spoon. Once the freezer closes, you make your way to your girl in the bedroom.

AN: I hope this did the prompt justice. Please let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for the love and support 🤍

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what was her reddit page like? 😭

it was full of men sexualizing her and talking about things they would do to her. i didn’t see anything that actually mentions her playing basketball. it was just all pictures of her w the comments being weird.

examples:

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Ooooo how about Mafia norstappen and reader with kids where there’s intruders that come into the home and max goes protective mode

Love all your recent blurbs🫶🏼

Movie nights were your favorite. The your two kiddos and your third on the way would quiet down and just lay still and watch the movie. Max and Lando would forget about work and hold the three of you, but you could tell they were still on edge watching everything around them.

"Daddy, tight." You turn seeing how Lando's arm was tight around your baby girl Violetta's waist. Lando's arm relaxes and you see the instant regret in his eyes as he leans down placing a soft kiss on top of her head. At 4 she was every bit of her father. Looking at Lando and her now people would think she was his, but really she was every bit of Max's. Her wild curls were blonde with those sparkling blues everyone fell in love with. She had his fiery attitude as well.

"Sorry, princess." Lando whispers and readjusts them to lie down and she giggles, lying on his chest which has him smiling. Max's hand starts to move again, as you laid against his chest. Your little boy, Michael was the spitting image of Lando. It freaked Max out sometimes just how Michael was the carbon copy of Lando.

You still remember playing a game of baby pictures and asking him which was Lando and Michael. Max felt like crying from that game honestly. Little Michael all 2 years old of him was conked out, drooling a little on Max's shirt who didn't even seem to care. "You're thinking to hard," Max whispers, giving you a soft kiss that has you sighing. "Not that hard, just thinking how much I love our family." Max hums and nods in agreement.

You settle back down, your mind and eyes drifting off to sleep when you hear something shatter from upstairs. Sitting up quickly you almost scream when a hand covers your mouth but you notice it's your husband. "Shhh, someone is in the house, come on." Lando whispers, grabbing your hand. You look around, noticing your babies are gone. "Lan," You almost sob but he turns, "Max got them, they're okay, I promise." You nod as he leads you through the house.

"In," Lando opens a small bookcase and you move and sigh seeing your babies asleep and cuddled together. Lando follows and cocks his gun slowly, not to scare the kids as he closes the bookshelf. "How'd they get in? Where are the guards?" You ask, shaking as Lando puts the gun down and pulls you into his arms, kissing the top of your head. "I don't know, but it's going to be okay." You shake your head no. Not believing him.

"Where's Max?" You twist around trying to find out where your other husband is, as Lando's hands tighten on you, refusing to let you go. "Stop, please, he's going.....he'll be okay." Lando's voice wavers and you start to move around more but he stops you.

"Dammit, no," Lando moves covering your mouth and you hear footsteps outside the bookshelf you both freeze, Lando grabbing the gun and holds it up. You try to hold your breathing as the bookshelf cracks open. "Lan? Schat?" You both let out a sigh of breath as Max comes into view.

You balk, shocked to see Max covered in blood but Lando doesn't as he crushes him in a hug. Max sighs and runs his still wet hands through Lando's hair. "How many?" "Don't worry about it," Max whispers and notices your hesitancy to move. You knew their life, what it held, the violence, but they never brought it before you.

"I'll shower, when I can. The others are here, um, cleaning." You just nod and Max looks at his babies and sigh Lando whispers something that has Max nodding. "Are you and the baby okay?" He asks, and you hold your stomach nodding, the little one had been kicking the entire time.

"We're okay," Max nods and Lando looks over him making sure he wasn't injured. You knew Max was ruthless, but you never truly know the lengths someone will go for their children, tonight you saw just a small glimpse of that length, you hope to god you never see the end of it.

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