STRANGER

LIMERENCE | jeon jungkook

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lim·er·ence

noun

the state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings but not primarily for a sexual relationship.

LIMERENCE | 18+ | s | a … ex!jungkook

ONE SHOT

summary: a recent discovery of old VCR tapes takes you down a rabbit hole of self-pity, remembering what you once had and how it all went down the drain over youthful mistakes. suddenly, you find yourself playing back the old tapes of the best relationship you’ve ever had and all you can think about is how to get it back—if you could get it back

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ exes au | Y2K | grunge┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

warnings: TBD. angst. smut. [jk and oc in videos: 18-20 | jk and oc now: 26]

COMING SOON

[ song inspo : do I wanna know — arctic monkeys {crawling back to you, ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few?}]

VIDEO LOGS :

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 3 ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

COMING SOON

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 8 ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

COMING SOON

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 11 ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

COMING SOON

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 14 ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

COMING SOON

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 19 ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

COMING SOON

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 22 ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

COMING SOON

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 24 ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

COMING SOON

…

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog g @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover r @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @knudsenheggedel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura a @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @marvelbun @sunnikthv @kochycooky @heyhowyoudoin3 @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @jeonjk25 @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @brillantdarling

summary: You’d sworn you didn’t want anything to do with your father, or with your family business. You’d left the country for college, and by the time you’d started your second year of grad school your old life felt like a distant untrustworthy memory.

When your father calls you in late November to tell you he’s dying, your carefully constructed boundaries crumble. You agree to come home for Christmas, on the condition that you help him sort out his will.

By the time your plane lands, it’s too late. He’s died under mysterious circumstances while your plane was in the air, if you can trust Iwaizumi, and you’ve never trusted Iwaizumi.

Chaos ensues, when millions of dollars, thousands of weapons, and a thriving criminal enterprise are willed directly to you - and your husband.

Just one problem? You’re not married. Yet.

genre: fluff, smut, angst

cws - mafia tropes, guns, mild mild violence, yan!oikawa for plot reasons, blood mention, reader’s father is dead. All characters in their mid twenties.

ch 1 - wc 6,913 ch 2

Keep reading

amazing writing!!!! <3

Important — Matsukawa Issei

No harm in asking a simple question. He asked three, to be exact. Couldn’t hurt so, why were you running?

warnings: stalking, harassment, creep!Mattsun, mentions of trauma

note: I wrote this with mattsun in mind, but could actually be anyone

THIS BLOG CONTAINS AND INTERACTS WITH DARK CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+ ONLY

He thought you looked cute. All frolicky and giddy in your little skirt, thighs soft and plump as your high socks hugged them tight making them spill out a little.

He watched you as you said goodbye to your friends, waited for them to go, leaving you all by yourself at this hour when the sun’s already gone down and the streets are less busied.

That’s when he thought to ask for directions. Asking for your name afterwards was just… small talk. Sure he knew which way to go even before he had asked you but he couldn’t help it, he just wanted you to become aware of his existence. His face. His voice. Him.

“Where are you headed?” he asked you, and he asked you again when you started to back away, his voice deep and breathy, eyes fixated on yours as you came up with your little excuses on how you’re waiting for a friend, or actually, it’s getting late and you should just get home.

Which one was it? Lie better, little girl.

But it’s not like he’s never heard any of that before.

He let you leave, or rather, he gave you a headstart, letting you reach a ‘safer’ distance from him as he watched your back. You picked up the pace, but the both of you were dangerously in sync, and you turned around only to find that he’s still there—you haven’t lost him.

You’ve earned yourself a shadow.

That’s when you started running. If only you could see the look of horror in your face. Not only were you aware of him, now you also knew of his stamina.

Though he meant no harm, still, you ran. He wasn’t gonna do anything. He wasn’t gonna hurt you. He just wanted to be important to you.

Important. That’s all he needed from you. And now that he’s sure he was, he let you be.

Because now, he knew you’d look for him every time you’re out in public. When you walk past a dark alleyway. When you’re lost in a crowd and you’ll always swear you saw his face again.

Finally, it’s onto the next one he’d want to introduce himself to—onto the next one he’d want to be important to.

Government Hooker

Synopsis. With the fame and glory of being an international popstar comes the inevitable threat of an overzealous stalker. You just didn’t think that it would also come with a very sexy, buff bodyguard behind your every move.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, popstar! reader, bodyguard! Toji, unprotected, brat-taming, spanking, choking, rough oral (male + female receiving), slight enemies-to-lovers, jealousy (Toji’s side), daddy kink, semi-public sex, manager! Nanami, creampie, power dynamics, dirty talk, stalking threats, TW. knife (brief), swearing.

Word count. 10.8k

A/N.  WHEWWWWWWWWW need some buff bodyguard Toji in my life. Slightly inspired by The Bodyguard.

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

Pop Princess’ World Tour in Jeopardy After Stalking Threats

Dark Times for Pop Royalty: Will She Return for This Year’s Grammy Performance?

Is It Over For The International Sensation?

“Nanami, for the millionth time, do I look like I need a babysitter?” you squint at the headlines flashing across your phone screen, resisting the urge to fling it at the nearest wall. 

Sitting right in the middle of your whirlwind dressing room, you breathe in the heady air, thick with hairspray and anticipation for the upcoming shoot. Normally, you’d preen at the stylists swarming around you - but right now, their fussing only makes it all the more difficult to drive your manager dangerously close to an aneurysm.

As expected, Nanami drones out the same rehearsed response you’ve memorized word-for-word at this point. “My apologies, but with the severity of these threats, we can’t-”

“Afford to take any chances, I know I know.” Still, heart sinking, you scoff, “I understand, but 24/7 surveillance is insane. Can’t I have any-”

Bang!

To your chagrin - and perhaps Nanami’s mercy - the door flies open with a force that rattles its hinges. 

As the bustling activity in the dressing room freezes, your eyes immediately snap to the hulking figure at the door. Expression steely and vigilant, he strides in with a presence that demands attention. You can’t help but raise a brow at his audacity - and the unreal rippling of his muscles beneath that skin-tight t-shirt. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but that blue-haired freak Mojito at the front desk told me to come here.” a low rumble sweeps the room. 

Ah, this must be the one. Gesturing your stylists away, you square your shoulders - ready for a fight. “And who might you be”

“Name’s Fushiguro Toji, your new ‘babysitter’, princess.” he declares, voice gruff and unwavering over Nanami’s tired hum of “Bodyguard, he means bodyguard”. 

You narrow your eyes, studying the pure disinterest on his face. Great, just what you needed - you didn’t claw your way to the top to be scared and controlled by some loser stalker. Tilting your head defiantly, “Hmm, you don’t look like much of a bodyguard.”

Toji’s lips twitch into a sardonic smirk, gaze meeting yours with a hint of challenge, “Mhm, and you don’t act like much of a princess.”

You could almost hear the record screech to a halt. Everyone holding their breath, eyes locked on you as an agonizing beat of silence passes, half the room on the verge of fainting.

One. Two.

A startled laugh bursts from your lips. Shattering the tension in that dressing room as swiftly as the mirror in your stylist’s hand would’ve had you remained quiet a second longer. 

The audacity of this man. No one’s ever spoken to you like that before. 

Toji’s grin widens at your unexpected reaction, that sinful little scar on his lips stretching in amusement. Some small, strange part of him satisfied at passing your invisible test.

“Well, look at that, didn’t expect ya to have a sense of humor.” he comments, tone positively dripping with sarcasm, as if toying with you.

Plastering on that painfully saccharine sweet smile usually saved for nosy interviewers, you mockingly bat your lashes. “And I didn’t expect to have a babysitter breathing down my neck.” 

“Oh don’t expect me to babysit, princess. I don’t get paid nearly enough for that. According to that hardass manager of yours, my job is to keep you safe. Whether you like it or not.” 

With a dismissive wave of your hand, you turn back to your make-up artist, clearly done with this tedious conversation. “We’ll see how long that lasts. I have a knack for losing unwanted company.”

And if there’s one thing you’ve come to learn with Toji Fushiguro, it’s that you do not have a knack for losing unwanted company. Especially not him. 

Wherever you went, Toji was there first - it didn’t matter how fast you escaped, or how many hats and masks you put on. He was everywhere.

He was there when you slipped away to swap sunglasses with a passing stranger, convinced you’d outsmarted your looming bodyguard. But your triumphant laugh caught in your throat as you heard that familiar chuckle behind you - whirling around to find him sporting your ill-fitting shades with an amused glint in his eyes.

He was there during a chaotic fashion show, where you blended seamlessly amongst the flurry backstage, hoping to escape Toji’s watchful gaze. Heart pounding, making it all the way to the elevator. You’d barely let out a breath of relief before large hands intercept the closing doors. Towering figure stepping inside with a knowing grin, “Going somewhere, princess?”

Hell, he was even there when you hatched a plan to ditch him on the tarmac of the bustling airport. Making a dash for your private plane, and settling into your plush seat with smug satisfaction. Ah, at least you’ll have a few hours of peace until Tokyo without-

“Damn, first class is nice. Must be nice to be pretty and rich.” a low whistle causes you to groan inwardly (and outwardly).

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” you mutter under your breath, at the man seated right beside you. At this point, you half expected him to be keeping guard outside as you shower.

Toji was always there. Steadfast as ever, firm chest always blocking whatever escape plan you’ve concocted. In all your years in the spotlight, you’ve never felt so frustrated. The dawning realization that there was no escape matching your slowly slipping sanity as you kick off the first stop of your world tour - Tokyo.

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

It’s in Tokyo that everything changes. 

Electricity crackling in the air, deafening roars of your name in your ears - you stand center stage. This was where you belonged - where you felt alive. 

Pouring your soul into your words, stage lights dance across your skin, as frantic as the adrenaline in your veins. The crowd before you was a living, breathing entity, swept away with energy and excitement.

The music swells to a crescendo as your voice carries across the arena, limelight following you spellbound.

In the intoxicating performance, you don’t notice a pair of widened green eyes doing the same, goosebumps rising along his skin. Gaze fixed on you with an intensity that rivaled the spotlight itself. A silent reverie. 

As the final notes of your song echoed through the arena you felt a rush of euphoria wash over you. Lights dimming, you draw a long breath, savoring the crackling energy onstage. A high that left you craving for more.

With a grateful smile, you bow deeply, screams and applause reverberating in your ears like thunder. 

The cheers continue to ring in your ears as you’re whisked away, backstage buzzing with excitement and anticipation over the special guests for the VIP event. Enveloped by your team, you navigate through the labyrinthine corridors of the arena.  

You catch Toji’s eye from where he flanked your right, your brow raising ever-so-slightly as if silently asking, “C’mon, didn’t I kill it out there?” 

But before you can decipher the fleeting expression on his face, the moment is shattered by a sudden commotion up front. 

“Hey, over here! Is it true there's a stalker after you? Is it to boost album sales?”

“Can you confirm the rumors that you're cozying up with Satoru from Tokyo Special Grades? The fans want answers!”

“Hey! How do you respond to critics who call you a has-been? Come on, speak up!”

You’re barely given a second to breathe before the paparazzi descend upon you like vultures. Bodies jostling urgently as rapidfire questions and incessant flashes make you see stars behind your eyes. 

Trying to block out the swarm of questions, you close your eyes amidst the dizzying chaos, trying to find some semblance of stability.

And stability finds its way in the strong arm that wraps protectively around you, pressing you close against a sculpted chest.

Toji.

“Don’ worry, princess, I’ll get you outta here.” hot breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers creeping down your spine. 

Pulled impossible close to his muscled frame, his steady heartbeat grounds you - while yours stutters as Toji’s voice cuts through the clamor like a knife. “Back off, vultures. Show some respect or I’ll make sure ya regret it.” 

Steely gaze almost provoking - as if anyone would dare challenge the imposing, almost frightening presence in the middle of the room. The paparazzi, momentarily stunned, falter in their pursuit, allowing Toji to carve a path through the chaos.

Hands still tight around you, as you’re hastily escorted away from the chaos, you steal a glance at Toji’s profile, illuminated by the harsh flashes of the cameras. Finding some intrusive little part of you that thrills at the raw intensity, cheeks flaring in response.

He’s so warm. 

You could almost cry as those gaudy VIP doors swing open, swiftly ushering you to safety. They slam shut, sealing off the cacophony outside. In the soft lounge music wafting through the air, you’re left with the nagging awareness of Toji’s body heated against yours.

Embarrassment floods through you like a tidal wave as you register the way you’re still clinging on to him. Abruptly pushing away, you take a larger step back than was probably appropriate. 

In the dimly lit room, you couldn’t make out exactly what was twinkling in Toji’s eyes as they flicker to you. But what you could see was that amused grin curling his lips as you uncharacteristically stumble over your words, “Thank you- Uh, for the way I-”

“Princess~!” Words choke in your throat as a flash of white and blue barrels into you, sending you reeling backward. Playful laughter ringing through the air. 

“S-Satoru?” you stammer, caught off guard. Before you’ve fully recovered, he’s pulling you into a bruising hug, nearly knocking you off your feet. 

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Satoru purrs, voice velvety as he leans in. “You absolutely killed it out there tonight.”

“Oh my gosh, Satoru! I haven’t seen you in forever.” A laugh escapes your lips, though the lingering warmth from Toji’s proximity still prickles at the edges of your consciousness. “What are you even doing here?”

Satoru chuckles, gaze lingering on you, “Couldn’t miss the biggest concert in Tokyo since ours, duh.” His energy was infectious, and you find yourself smiling along. “Thank you Satoru.” 

As Satoru continues to chatter animatedly about the concert, you distinctly realize that Toji has slipped into the background. Where was he? You find your eyes darting around the room in search of his familiar presence, slowly noticing the lack of Satoru’s bandmates in the process.

Your curiosity piqued, you couldn’t resist teasing him. “So, where are the rest of Tokyo Special Grades? I thought you guys were inseparable”

He shrugs it off casually, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially “Rehearsal. Don’t let ‘em know I’m here.”

As you titter at his antics, he gives you a playful nudge, eyes twinkling with mischief. “So…since the band’s away, how about you and me grab a drink together?.”

Something heavy pools in your stomach as those familiar words ring in your ears, hanging in the air - you knew all too well what he meant. 

Skin still tingling with the lingering heat of Toji’s touch, your eyes sweep the room for him one last time. Some strange part of your heart pangs when you find that those piercing green eyes, always studying you so intently, are nowhere to be found.

“Lead the way, Satoru.”

---

The world was rocking, as were Satoru’s fingers on you. Softly tracing along your collarbone, touch searing as he pushes you against the wall of your hotel room. 

Shivers run down your spine, all the way to your heated core. Breaths mingling, a desperate hunger ignites in the air as your fingers just barely graze against the buttons of his overpriced button-up. 

Tension reaching its peak, fingers hazily fumbling with those tedious buttons-

Bang!

You both startle as the door swings open, breaking the heady atmosphere inside. Dazed, you whirl your head towards the intruder standing at the door - Toji. Seems he had a penchant for dramatic entrances. 

Toji stands in the doorway, his gaze dark and unreadable. Without a word, he strides into the room, narrowed eyes flickering between you and Satoru.

“What the hell is going on here?” Toji’s voice is low and dangerous, cutting through the tense silence hanging in the air.

Satoru tries to play it cool, though you catch his easy smirk faltering slightly, “Oh? The bodyguard, right? What brings you here, my man?”

Ignoring the question - and Satoru altogether - Toji turns to you, eyes never leaving yours. “24/7 means 24/7. As your bodyguard, I can’t permit some stranger to get too close.” he asserts.

Mind still burning with lust, you feel red-hot irritation simmering beneath your skin. Fists clenching at the tone that leaves no room for argument. 

“I don’t recall signing up for a warden.” you snap, sharp and defiant. 

Toji’s expression remains impassive, but there’s a glint of determination in his eyes. “I’m not here to argue, princess. My job here is just to keep you safe, princess.” 

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief - this was ridiculous. “Uh, newsflash, Toji. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“You little brat-”

Before the argument can escalate further, Satoru cuts in, his voice uncharacteristically calm and conciliatory. “Hey, it's okay, man. I’ll just leave,” he says, stepping away from you and raising his hands in surrender.

You shoot Satoru a look of frustration, torn between the desire for independence and for someone to fucking make you cum, and the unsettling feeling of vulnerability that Toji’s presence somehow seems to evoke. As the door slams shut - not before a playful hum of “Call me, princess~!” - a deafening silence envelopes the room. 

The room that now feels too small. Too hot. Thighs still quivering in anticipation.

Shit. 

Mind racing, you don’t catch the way Toji’s gaze softens slightly, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry, princess. But I can’t take any chances, I’m here to protect you.” 

“Enough with this ‘princess’ crap.” Running a hand through your hair, you let out an exasperated sigh, trying desperately to quell the storm of emotions swirling uncomfortably inside you. “And protect me from what? A harmless hookup?”

“From whoever is sending those threats,” Toji growls. “Until we catch them, you’re not allowed to be alone with anyone.”

Frustration reaching a boiling point, you storm up to him. “Fine, then you can stay here and watch me 25/8 for all I care. But, what are you going to do about that?” each word punctuated by a hard poke to his sculpted chest, laced with defiance - but also something raw and primal.

Green eyes darkening with intensity, you watch his jaw clench in restraint. He takes a step impossibly close, the air crackling with something you couldn’t name.

“You don’t get to play games with me, princess,” he warns, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

But - as always - you refuse to back down. Heart racing, mind hazy, you stand close enough that you’re toe to toe with him. A hand reaching out to grasp his large ones, manicured nails digging into the heated skin. In one, fluid motion, you place his hand in between your skirt, heated core soaking through your thin panties. 

“I’m not playing games, Toji.”

Before you can react, your back hits the wall. Surface cool on your heated skin. A brick-hard body is against yours, you could almost sink into him at how close he was pressed. 

Heat rushing to your cheeks, slick gushing to your cunt, your eyes lock with Toji’s darkened ones. He murmurs, words low and making your pussy jump in anticipation, “Didn’t expect you to be so filthy, princess.”

You lean in, lips mere inches away from his, whispering seductively. “Oh you have no idea.”

You didn’t expect those to be the words that make him snap - then again, you didn’t expect him to snap so easily either.

Toji’s eyes widen slightly, his jaw dropping open as he processes your words. He stares at you darkly for a moment, gaze traveling over your flushed cheeks, your devilish grin, and finally settling on your heaving chest.

Toji pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other roughly tearing your skirt off your waist. Flimsy cloth hitting the carpeted floor. 

“Hey! Those are Dolce and-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before his lips capture yours. Words catching in your throat as his tongue plunges unforgivingly into your mouth. 

Hands groping and teasing every inch of skin they could find. Kneading your breasts through your shirt, biting down hard on your bottom lip.

A desperate whine that you definitely would’ve been embarrassed about had you been in the right state of mind leaves your lips as something achingly hard grazes your core. Shit, you had an inkling but he was going to split you apart. Mindlessly wondering whether you’ll have to cancel the photoshoot tomorrow. Hips bucking for more more more-

“Patience, princess.” he murmurs, hotly against your lips. Thick fingers slipping beneath your panties - ripping them off. You gasp as the cold air hits your cunt, thighs quivering at the neat fingernail grazing your swollen folds. “You need to be taught a lesson first.”

You’re not in the mood for patience. But whatever retort gets stuck on the tip of your tongue as a long finger circles your throbbing clit. Tight, urgent little circles that inch you closer and closer to insanity. “F-faster-”

“You’ll take what I give, my lil’ slut.”

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

Ah, but alas - thank god for Toji Fushiguro being a merciful man. At least for the moment.

Pressing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your body, dropping to his knees with urgency of a madman. Gaze fiery fiery with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine - you were in for it. 

Licking his lips, tongue catching on that small scar by the corner, he dives nose-deep into your needy pussy. Bed mere meters away, Toji takes you right against the wall. 

His hungry gaze devours you just as greedily as the mouth on your cunt. “Ah! Hah- Oh, Toji!” you gasp, arching into his hurried yet expert tongue. Harsh, purposeful movements that send electric shocks straight to your core. 

“Not Toji, princess.” he murmurs, lips hot against your own. Urgently lapping at your juices, as if a man dying of thirst.

Something hot and sticky coils at your stomach - maybe at the way his tongue was crooking just right to tease your dripping entrance, bullying its way past your swollen folds. Or maybe at the way the realization has your slick beading out of your pulsing pussy.

“D-daddy?” you whimper, almost-experimentally. 

And apparently it was the right answer, as Toji lets out a guttural groan into your snug cunt. Nose catching against your abused clit, rubbing hurried little circles. Tongue stretching out your snug walls, pooling your juices, unforgivingly dipping in and out in and out in and-

Speeding up now, his tongue has you losing your mind in ways you didn’t even know were possible. “Hngh- faster. Fuck me like you want it, daddy.” you whine, hips grinding further into his mouth.. 

And he lets you. In your lust-addled mind you barely have time to think about this strange act of mercy - only thinking of how close you were. So close. So fucking close. Mere moments away from shattering completely. Mind filled with only Toji and his tongue and Toji-

“Didn’t think I’d be so nice to ya, did you, princess?”

Orgasm slipping through your fingers, your crash from euphoria matches that of your heart.

Ah, Toji could cream his pants at the way your face fell so adorably as he pulled away. Delicate strings of spit and slick still connecting him to your slutty pussy. 

“Toji?” you mewl, bruised lips falling into a pretty pout that made him want to throw caution to the find and stuff you full of his cock right now. But no, he had to teach his lil’ princess a thing or two about not getting everything she wants.

“Patience, princess.” With a grin, Toji warns, voice husky and sending shivers down your spine and making you grind your hips against his lips. Before you can whine in disappointment, a sharp smack! cuts through the heady air. The sound hits you before the realization that Toji hit you. 

A sharp slap against your ass, the impact shocking you briefly before arousal takes over. You yelp at the sting, eyes widening in surprise.

“Wha-”

“Count to ten, then I’ll let you cum. You need to learn a thing or two about listening, brat.”

You stare at him defiantly, your heart pounding in your chest. A silent staredown that only makes heat pool more and more desperately at your core. Deafening need, slick dripping down your legs pathetically.

“O-one.” you whisper, voice strained with frustration and barely audible.

He watches you like a predator stalking his prey, eyes never leaving your face. Smack!

His hand connects with your ass again, a low hum of appreciation at the mewl leaving your kiss-bitten lips at the pain and filthy pleasure. Your ass stinging as much as your dripping cunt.

“...two.”

Apparently approving of your obedience, he dives back in with a low growl. Burning his face between your thighs, because fuck oxygen - breathing couldn’t compare to how sweet you were on his tongue.

Lapping up your sensitive folds, scar rough against them, teasing. Edging your climax and your sanity like the merciless bastard he was. Smack! 

“Hah- ah! Two- Oh, jus’ like that-” Broken, raw moans escape your lips as he continues his torture. Ah, he loved this view. The people’s princess, so teary and falling apart because of him.

In the obscenity of it all, thick fingers stuff themselves in your cunt. The lack of preparation makes you squeeze around Toji’s tongue as they pump into your sloppy hole relentlessly. In and out in and out- 

Smack!

“Th-three- hngh-”

Purposefully missing that one spot Toji knew would have you seeing stars. You haven’t earned that yet.

Blood rushes straight to his cock as you throw your head back, letting out a strangled sob. “Daddy, let me cum. Wanna cum on your tongue. Ah-” Oh, you clever minx, knew exactly what made his leaking cock throb with need. For that you get two sharp smacks on each cheek. 

“F-four. Five.” you’re in tears at this point. Delicate little streaks down your cheeks to where Toji had his face buried in your cunt.

“Tha’s right, princess.” Toji praises, voice thick with desire and sending vibrations that make your walls clench. “Tell me how badly you need it.”

Body convulsing uncontrollably around his hot tongue, pushing you closer and closer to the edge - only to reel you back again. Denying you. Chipping away at your sanity bit by bit. A hand reaches to grab a fistful of his silky black locks, tugging needily - and you get punished accordingly. 

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“E-eight! Hngh- please.” 

“Please!” you moan, voice raw with need and desperation. Finally breaking for him - being pushed this far with anyone before. “Please, let me cum. Please please wanna cum-.” Close. You were so close that it hurt.

Ever the merciful man, he forgives this little transgression. Only continuing to cup your sore cheeks possessively, hands mapping the expanse of your heated skin.

“Please, Daddy.” you choke, a broken whisper. Now exhausted, knees weakening, it’s all you can do to not collapse on the floor, Toji’s strong hold on your hip to control you being the only thing holding you up.

Several things happen at once. You barely even feel the final two, sharp slaps - too far gone to register anything other than the rough thumb pressing on your sensitive clit. Hard. 

And then you’re cumming. 

Body convulsing and bowing into him, crying out raw moans of Toji’s name as you cream around his tongue. Your vision blurs at the edges, grip searing on Toji’s hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling him impossibly closer to ride out your high on his pretty face. 

White-hot pleasure courses through your entire body, thighs quivering delicately around his face as you chase peak after peak. 

As the stars behind your eyes disappear into nothingness, you’re left limp and boneless, held up against the wall with a single, muscled hand.

Toji - ever the gentleman, supports you with a steady arm before you slip down the wall, valiant knees finally giving out. 

Blinking your vision back, you catch a glimpse of his achingly hard erection. Straining painfully against his trousers, a dark patch right where his thick head was. And despite your severely fucked out state, your mouth still waters.

Obviously catching your line of sight, he adjusts his uncomfortably tight pants. Steering your still-lustfully delirious self to the bed. “You were such a good girl f’me, princess. Let’s stay that way, hm?”

You blink up at him, confusion clouding your mind. Did he just compliment you? You must be mistaken. 

But as you look into his eyes, you see a genuine twinkle of fondness mixed in with the desire that makes your skin burn. A heady combination. One that makes your mind spin, even as you’re carefully placed on the soft bed. Even as he swiftly closes the door with a low whisper of “Rest now, you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” leaving no room for argument.

Sinking into the soft mattress, a strange surge of euphoria rushes through you as you realize two things:

Nothing would ever be the same. 

It was going to be your personal challenge to make Toji Fushiguro crack. 

Heart racing, feet thumping tersely against the plush carpet, for perhaps the first time in years, Fushiguro Toji is taken aback. The heavenly sight of you falling apart underneath him searing into his brain. Something coiling uncomfortably in his stomach, rushing all the way to his throbbing dick. But, right now, the only thing he’s thinking of being to fucking find somewhere to fuck his fist to the memory.

---

Your third night in Tokyo was a whirlwind of lights and camera flashes. And yet, in the midst of it all you still escaped - this time with Toji - claiming “security talks”. Pulling him into an abandoned green room, your glossy lips capture his with searing passion. Pulling away teasingly, breathless, only once you were sure you’d kissed him silly and achingly hard. And promptly skipping away to bother your make-up artist.

Ah, yet the stubborn bastard still didn’t crack.

It’s in Melbourne where you learned that Toji was much more than just a bodyguard. Finally bothering him enough to join you out rather than shadow you for the first time. Dragging him to a tiny karaoke booth tucked away in a dimly lit corner of town, belting out your favorite tunes to him while he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. And if you caught a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, well, neither of you said anything. 

Your glittering heels were placed teasingly in his lap, chattering away as he drove you two back, your favorite pastime as of late. A silent dare, almost goading. His steely gaze trained on the bustling road and that one annoying blue car trying to swerve him. 

“So, Toji, in your military stint ever tried to sneak away incognito but wear a disguise so bad you end up on the front page?”

He chuckles, eyes flickering down at your feet resting comfortably on him. “Can’t say I have, but I once mistook a high-ranking officer for a recruit. Had him doing push-ups before I realized my mistake.”

You burst into laughter, sound echoing in the car. Feet brushing against him right there - just a little accident, right?

But it takes until Paris for you two to break.

In the chic confines of your favorite studio in Nanterre, the scent of freshly brewed coffee heavy in the air, you find yourself chattering away on call with Gojo Satoru. His voice crackling through the speaker amidst the glow of studio lights.

“That beat you sent is pure magic, Satoru. It’s perfect!” you hum, excitement bubbling in your voice as you bob your head to the soft music playing in the background. 

Satoru’s response is immediate, enthusiasm matching yours, “See, what did I tell ya. Can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with. You sure I get no sneak peaks for this secret lil’ project of yours?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thought so, but anyway, how’s the City of Love been treating you, darling?” he teases.

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully, “Please, Satoru. You know I’m too busy dodging Toji for any of that.”

Satoru chuckles knowingly on the other end of the line, “Ah yes. From what happened last time, I imagine he’s been a welcome distraction, huh? Hey, is his dick really as big as his BDE is?”

“Oh fuck off.” you scoff, heat rising to your cheeks. “And for that, I’m leaving.” 

Swiftly ending the call, you cut off Satoru’s protests. Slight embarrassment coursing through your veins at how apparently obvious you two had been. A strange pang of longing flickers in your chest as you realize you haven’t seen Toji all day - Nanami mentioned something about a security briefing for your closely upcoming Grammy performance.

You sigh at the irony of the situation - just when you thought you got that freedom you’d been yearning for so long, you find yourself wanting for that musclehead presence even more. 

Shaking your head, you turn back to your mixing console, ready to throw yourself into the music once more. Yet before you could, your phone buzzes with a new notification. A quick glance reveals that familiar contact name and a series of messages that have your cheeks flaring once more. 

Blind rat #4 🧿🧿:

You better not block me for this but is this secret project for that bodyguard? You whipped WHORE~~

LMAO JKJK IK you don’t write songs about other people.

Unless…

As that block button was tapped, it’s said that Satoru’s piercing shriek echoed across in all 23 wards of Tokyo - making the people fear an oncoming Godzilla attack.

“Damn Satoru.” you grumble, tossing your phone onto the leather sofa in the corner. “Always saying stupid thi-”

But as you turn around, your breath catches in your throat. There, standing in the doorway, is Toji. His presence filling the space, commanding attention with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Toji?” you breathe, surprise mingling with a rush of conflicting emotions. “I didn’t expect the briefing to end so soon-”

“What’s this about that brat Satoru, princess?” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly. 

He raises his head to meet your gaze, and a jolt of electricity runs through your body. Oh, those eyes. Your skin feels heated in the crackling air. “Nothing.” you reply - almost suspiciously quickly - the words tumbling out in a rush, “Just Satoru being...well, Satoru.”

Toji’s lips twitch in a semblance of a smile, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes among that carnal look. “I see,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to you. You have half the mind to step back - but why would you ever.

“Y’know, I didn’t think you still talk with that white-haired clown.” his minty breath fans your face, darkened eyes searching yours. And you can see the question forming in them before he even asks. “You still plan on fuckin’ him when you go back to Tokyo?”

And usually you’d bristle. Usually, that hardened part of you that never takes shit would rear her head and give Toji an earful. Usually. But right now, a dangerous idea was taking root in your head. 

Heat rushing to your core at the look in his eyes that said he wanted to devour you alive, you simply tilt your head coyly. 

“So what?” A smirk playing on your lips, “Gonna do something about it, daddy? Or are you just gonna leave me all hot and bothered like you have-”

Your back hits the leather sofa before you even realize what is happening. 

Bouncing at the sheer force of his throw, you let out a yelp of surprise. Skirt riding up, legs splaying out so sinfully for him. 

The cushion dips as he looms closer, approaching you unhurriedly like a predatory closing in on its prey. A dangerous little smirk playing on your lips, you spread your legs wider, inviting him in. A carnal part of you relishing in the way his eyes can’t seem to decide between your soaked panties and the way you bite your lips so coyly.

“If you’re that desperate, then you’re gonna get it, my lil’ slut” 

He’s on top of you now, tongue hot against your neck, leaving heated, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. You yelp as sharp teeth dig into the soft skin. Hands exploring every inch of you, desperate for more - and you’re no better.

Sharp nails digging into that sinfully tight t-shirt, all but tearing it to shreds. Your mouth waters as it hits the floor, Toji’s chiseled body on full display. Your eyes greedily take in every curve and dip, hands reaching out to grope the toned skin. Pulling. Teasing. Not enough time in the world to savor the Adonis that was Toji Fushiguro.

His hands were pulling up your shirt haphazardly. Bunching your panties with two fingers, pulling down down down till your cunt was bare and spread open so shamefully for him. “Shit, so wet n’ ready. This for me or that brat, huh?” he grunts cruelly, lowering himself beside you to murmur in your ear.

“Now, on your knees, princess. Be a good lil’ slut for me and don’t make me wait.”  breath hot against your ears, making you shudder so sinfully. It made him want to eat you alive.

You consider disobeying him, just to face his delicious punishment. But that predatory look in his eyes has you immediately dropping to the ground in front of him.

Your hungry gaze takes in the heavenly sight before you. Legs spread, eyes half-lidded, pants pulled down just enough so that his heavy, leaking cock bobbing enticingly in the air. 

Eyes widening, your cunt clenches in both fear and anticipation. Shit, maybe this was why he was holding back. 

He was big. Ridiculously big, and rock-hard. Furiously red with thick veins running down the side, glistening with precum.

“C’mon now, if you’re gonna act like such a slut then learn to take it like one, princess.” Saliva pools on your tongue, warm as it hits Toji’s thick tip, achingly hard. A carnal part of you relishes in the low hiss that leaves him. 

Your tongue snakes out, unable to hold yourself back any longer. Swiping at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip. The sinfully salty taste explodes on your tongue, sending shocks of pleasure right to your cunt.

You feel his intense gaze on you as your mouth wraps around his thick head, inching down slowly. Stretching your lips obscenely, filling you up in ways you never thought were possible. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat as he pulses in your throat. It was overwhelming and everything you wanted to be doing right now.

Ah, but you should’ve known by now. Should’ve realized as your teary eyes look up to meet the dangerous glint in his. 

With a feral groan, his hips thrust forward. You were too slow. 

Hardening impossibly at the way you choke and gag around him, tears springing to your eyes. Using you in a way that was so debauched. “Hah- Fuck. love it when you sing, princess, but you look better choking on my cock.”

Your nose was buried in his pubic hair now, wet with saliva and precum. His heady, masculine scent filling your senses. Toji’s thrusts were jerky, desperate. 

Grip searing on your scalp, Toji uses it as leverage as he fucks your face till his tip hits your poor, abused throat. Moving you up and down on his cock with mindless need, hips rutting with reckless abandon.

Yet, you wanted more. Needed more. More more more. You wanted to feel him deep inside you, splitting you open, making you come harder than you ever thought possible.

And you’re guessing it showed on your dazed eyes. Because a broken, dangerous laugh leaves him. His grip on your hair intensifies, pulling your head back roughly until your eyes water. “More? You want fucking more? Then prove it.” 

Toji’s thrusts increase in speed, his raspy grunts becoming louder and louder as he rams his cock deeper into your mouth, your pussy throbbing in response.

You moan around his erection, unable to form coherent sentences due to his length stretching your throat. 

Without hesitation, you reach up and grab his balls, massaging them firmly as you suck him deeper. Pressing right in between that one spot you knew would make him see stars. Pressing tight little circles. Over and over-

An appreciative groan leaving him, Toji’s thrusts become erratic. Movements growing frantic. “Fuck, Fuck, princess, you're going to be the death of me,” he curses, his voice strained.

You rub your thighs together desperately, relaxing your throat more, refusing to let go. Desperate to taste him, to experience the blissful agony of his seed painting your mouth. But when has Toji ever let you have your way? Never, that’s when.

Instead, he yanks your head back, pulling you off his cock with a rough, almost cruel motion. Your lips pop free, leaving his sensitive head exposed to the cool air. Gasping for breath, your chest heaves as you try to regain your composure.

Before you can even register what's happening, Toji pulls you into him, forcing you on your hands and knees. Large hands grasp your waist, holding you firmly in place. “Face down, ass up. You’re going to take it like a good little slut.”

Delicious goosebumps erupt down your spine. Licking a long, languid stripe down your back along them as you position yourself before him, Toji couldn’t help but huff out a dangerous laugh at your sinful gasp.

Mouth watering at your glistening cunt, clenching so pathetically around nothing, Toji pools your juices on two of his fingers. Promptly pushing them into his mouth with a lewd pop! groaning at his favorite taste. “Next time, I’m gonna eat out your pretty lil’ cunt while you suck on my cock, princess.”

“Please, daddy. Anything.”

Fingers circling your wet entrance, your words were music to Toji’s ears. Music that mingles with your needy, disappointed whine as he abruptly pulls away. But that doesn’t last too long - with low hiss, he buries his throbbing cock into your dripping cunt with almost no preparation.  

You keen at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock. 

Toji was hot and throbbing agonizingly inside you, each little bump bump bump sending white-hot pleasure down your spine.

“Ah- are- are you all the way in, daddy?” he hears you whimper, voice tinged with helpless desperation. Huffing out a laugh, Toji’s greedy gaze catches on the obscene sight of you sucking him up so sinfully below. “Not even close, princess.”

Pushing in shallow, determined little thrusts that have your hot cunt enveloping him deeper and deeper. Cock hardening impossibly at the soft ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he rams into you. If you wanted it so bad, you were going to get all of it. A hoarse groan leaves him as his heavy balls meet your twitching folds, fat tip kissing your cervix - finally bottoming out. 

Now, Toji knows he’s big - takes pride in it, in fact. But he’s never been more proud of the fact than right now, hungry gaze taking up the way your eyes widen in shock, snug walls clenching down with the struggle to accommodate him. 

“You alright, princess?” he taunts, voice thick with satisfaction as he watches your face twist with a mix of pleasure and pain. “Can’t your slutty lil’ pussy handle my cock?” Tell me, he as big as me? 

And, of course, you snap back - because you’re mouthy even when you’re whining around his thick cock. Ah, next time he’s gotta make you choke on it for longer. 

“Fuck you, daddy.” your response is a feral growl, hips desperately trying to fuck back into his. “If you’re not all talk then fuck me like you want to already.”

Smack! 

A sharp slap stinging your cheek, you groan in response as absolutely raw, carnal fucking need courses through Toji’s veins. Intoxicating him. Oh, he was going to ruin you. Grinning cruelly, he utters “Then take it. And don’t fucking complain.”

With that, he begins to move. Not easing in, ramming into you with animalistic efficiency. Your ass stinging as each thrust has his hips meeting yours brutally. Toji’s pretty sure his hips were out of control at this point, high off your teary cries of pain and pleasure. That cluttered studio heady with sex and pure, animalistic desperation.”S’good- ah! S’too much-”

Smack!

There’s no going back now. Toji fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits, and you love every painful second of it.

Vision blurring at the edges, you reach out a hand to grab the armrest for stability. Body jerking with each movement, his bruising grip on your hips the only thing keeping you from being fucked off the sofa.

“Who’s fucking ruining you like this?”

“You! Jus’  like that. Fucking ruin me, daddy.” Legs shaking uncontrollably, arching impossibly deeper onto his throbbing cock, you whine each time his length slides in and out of your swollen folds. “Harder…please, harder.” you plead, fucked out.

For perhaps the first time, he obliges, increasing his speed mindlessly. God, you were sure both of you were about to explode any second now. 

Fucked out of your mind, you barely register the muscled front pressing into you, abs rippling against your back. Large hands snake from your hips, leaving deep, purple marks for you to remember him by. 

Smack! 

Another handprint on your ass, as you frantically move your hips to meet Toji’s unforgiving cadence. Sensing your urgency, one of his hands finds itself on your throbbing clit, drawing methodical, harsh circles on it. Pressing just enough to have you seeing stars being your eyes. And the other - digging into your neck.

Your frantic moans choke in your throat, feeling fucking delirious off both the change in angle and the hand around your throat. Eyes flashing at the lack of air and the blood roaring in your ears - and Toji. 

“Open your mouth, princess.” he grows, voice dangerously close to your ears, cock still driving into yours with brutal precision. The intensity of the moment - electric. 

Mindlessly, you comply, tongue lolling out so lewdly. That’s when he does it - without warning, he spits into your open mouth. Once. Twice. Three times.

Steady stream of saliva slightly missing your face - on purpose, you absentmindedly realize - as it dribbles over your kiss-bitten lips and down the side of your face. A marking. 

“No one else gets to fuck you like this, princess.”

Hot on your tongue, sliding down to your throat. He tasted of such sin, it made your cunt clamp down hard.

“Now, what do good girls say?” he grits out, through clenched teeth. The absolute insanity in his voice matching the frenzy coiling inside of you.

“Thank you, daddy.”

You reach around to capture his lips with yours, nails digging into his neck hard enough to draw blood - a marking of your own. White-hot ropes of pleasure making you gasp into his lips - tender where his cock was unforgiving.

In the lewd haze of the moment you’re dimly aware of Toji’s body shuddering above you, throbbing cock twitching deeply in your pussy.

“Oh, fuck! M-hah- M’cumming, better take every drop like my good lil’ slut. Fuck.” 

You flinch as he groans ragged profanities into your mouth. Tight balls squeezing painfully as he cums with a loud groan of your name. Thick, hot ropes that paint your walls white. Two large arms wrap bruisingly tight around your waist, veins popping out as he crushes you impossibly close to him. Toji’s hips not giving up their torture on your abused, awaiting cunt, pumping his seed deeper and deeper. 

Full. You feel so full. And so, so complete. 

You can feel such an obscene mix of your slick and his cum mapping down your legs every time his hips slam into yours. Dripping onto the cushion, pooling at the sofa in a way so sloppy, you knew you’d have to scour online later for a replacement.

Stomach now feeling uncomfortably inflated and hot, vision blurry, you collapse onto the cushion. The last of your strength leaving you with the orgasm that you’re sure fried your brain. You mewl at both the sensitivity and the sudden emptiness as Toji pulls out with a wet pop!

A rush of cum gushes out of you, drenching both you and the cushion below. Limp and boneless beneath him,  you let out a sigh at the heat of his release seeping into your skin.

A soft silence fills the room like a lullaby. Everything feels so heavy. So dizzying and so warm. You barely register the strong hands lifting you gently towards the direction of the bathroom. The only thing on your mind being Toji and what a privilege it was to fall asleep in someone’s arms. You wouldn’t really mind this every night…

And in the dim lighting of that heady studio, fucked to sleep and covered in sweat and his cum, Toji thinks you’ve never looked so beautiful.

His heart lurches as he realizes - in all of Paris, the one sight he wants to look at is you. His pretty popstar.

---

“For the last time. I don’t do celebrities, especially not spoiled pretty popstars.”

Undeterred, the blond man leans forward in his chair, his expression indiscernible behind those glasses. “We’re told you’re the best of the best, even from ex-military. And if money’s the issue then I’ll double- no, triple whatever you’re making right now.”

Jaw tightening, skepticism dripped from his words. “All this for some celebrity drama?” 

“Fushiguro, we’re talking big people, and even bigger money. And a girl’s life in genuine danger on top of it all,” a hint of desperation creeping into words that cut through the tense air. 

“Genuine danger, huh?”

Toji runs a hand through his hair, questioning what the fuck he got himself into by opening the door for this human definition of a stick up one’s ass. Mind racing, eyes darting around the room, they catch yours - twinkling on the glossy cover of some magazine thrown haphazardly on the table. 

Traitorously, something prickly and uncomfortable settles in his stomach as the words ring in his ears. 

Genuine danger. 

Heaving out a sigh, he narrows his eyes at the man currently studying his reaction. 

“A year. That’s it. No more, no less. I don’t care if that prima donna princess of yours begs on her knees otherwise.”

But right now, your twinkling gaze set on him, lips curved into a blinding smile as you waltz through Los Angeles International Airport - as much as you could with your entourage - some small, raw part of him thinks he wouldn’t mind staying like this for a long, long time. 

LAX was probably one of your favorite airports. Not because of its size or architecture, but because of the thrumming energy of the opportunity to come. Namely, your Grammy performance.

Eyes slightly heavy, yeah, you were cutting it close - to Nanami’s ever-graying hair at the stress.  But hey - at least no paparazzi tipped off for your unexpected arrival.

You just couldn’t resist the temptation to push your departure off for a day. Taking the extra time to wander along the Seine with Toji, talking about everything from your new dance number for next month’s Madrid show to why Nanami was a masochist for staying in this industry, all the way to Toji’s military stories that even Hollywood couldn’t dream up. 

The setting sun casting a soft glow on both of your uncanny disguises - your choice of course. A newfound understanding crackling between you two.

And right now, his presence steadfast behind yours as you weave through the bustling terminal, you feel a rush of excitement at finally performing that little project you’d been working on. 

More specifically what Toji’s reaction to it would be. Would he love it? Would he hate it? Would he realize just what that inconspicuous voice memo you bothered him into was actually for? 

But then came the real test: would he realize just who it was for?

The thought made you smirk inwardly. Imagine Toji’s face when he puts two and two together. 

Turning around, you catch Toji’s eye, a mirthful glint dancing in yours. “So, Toji, ready to witness greatness at the Grammys?” you quip, tone playful as you bump shoulders with him. Of course, the man barely budges. 

He raises an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “As long as I don't have to wear a tuxedo, princess.”

“Aww, and here I was thinking we could match.” you whine. Though a chuckle leaves your lips, “And that reminds me…” you trail off as your voice drops to a conspicuous whisper.

Delighting at the playful sigh that leaves his lips as Toji leans down, allowing you to whisper words meant for only him. “You better reward me after my performance, y’know. I remember someone saying something about ‘eating me out till I cry’” 

“You won’t be getting any reward if you continue acting like such a slut, princess.” warm breath tickling your ear as he murmurs. 

“If the shoe fits.” you bat your lashes, mockingly innocent. 

“If the shoe fits then please get into the car. The driver’s here and the team are on their way.” Nanami’s no-nonsense voice rings out. Already sounding dangerously close to an impending stroke. 

“Yes, mother.” you quip, stifling your laughter as you step outside. It’s a short walk to your destination, the cool morning breeze greeting you as you head for your waiting car, just stuck behind some slightly-oddly parked blue car. 

Ah, that’s LA for you, you chuckle inwardly, walking towards it - that strangely familiar blue car. The one you’ve seen a few too many times these past few weeks in the corner of your vision. 

Strange.

Steps slightly speeding up, a cold sweat trickles down your spine. Unease prickling at the back of your mind, something tells you you’re being watched. And not in the way of paparazzi snapping a stray picture.

Subconsciously, you take a half-glance inside the car - time freezes. Heart immediately lurching into your throat at the sight.

There. 

The door swings open. 

A flash of blue hair, one foot out of that dreaded blue car - is him. You don’t know how you knew it was him. You don’t know how you knew he was there. The only thing being your eyes locked on that glinting knife in his hand. Winking mockingly at you in the morning sun. 

Gray eyes locked on yours, whirling with chilling maniacal intensity. The cool morning breeze feels icy against your skin as a primal fear claws at your insides once you realize the imminent danger.

Toji’s trained instincts kick into high gear, eyes locked with his. Positioning himself between you and the assailant, his hand reaches for the weapon concealed beneath his suit jacket. Only for them to stutter in midair as he realizes they’re still safely stored in his checked luggage. Unreachable. 

Shit. Clever bastard.

Nanami moves with a swift grace, eyes scanning the surroundings for any nearby law enforcement. 

Mahito’s lips curl into a malevolent smirk as he realizes the vulnerability, grip tightening on his knife as he takes a menacing step forward. The air so tense you found it hard to breathe.

“You.” the words ring venomously, panic surging within you. “You think you’re so high and mighty, huh?”

“Step back before you do something you regret, you freak.” Toji’s voice is steady, body poised for action. Eyes locked on every minute tremor of the knife in his hands.

His eyes wide and bloodshot, staring right into Toji - almost as if trying to look at you through him. “Little princess~” he taunts in an eerie sing-song voice. “Why did you leave me here all alone, I was lonely, y’know~ And this gorilla never left you alone, ah what a pain to follow you around. But I did it- of course, I did it for my princess.” 

Another step forward.

No one engaged with Mahito’s delirious rambles. Nanami’s hand was firm on your shoulder, whispering in your ear to get away. Now. 

But your mind was stuck on the words that cut through you like a knife - the knife that he was now slicing through the air in jagged, deranged motions. “She can’t leave. She belongs here with me.”

Before anyone can react, Mahito throws himself forward with startling speed. Glinting blade deadly through the air. You stagger backward, the world spinning in a dizzying blur of fear and desperation.

Toji springs into action with lightning speed, body lunging expertly. Hands deflecting the blade with a swift motion. Knife flashing mere millimeters away from his skin.

Yet Mahito continues struggling relentlessly. Each movement calculated and cold. Hand slashing at Toji as he ducks and weaves away, attempting to divert the attack away from you. 

The grip on your shoulder tightens, “Let’s get away now. While he’s distracted.” 

You’re being pulled away before you know it. 

Movements sluggish in the air thick with tension and fear. Your body is frozen, ice running through your veins. Nanami’s urgent hold on your shoulder moving you away. 

But your eyes remain locked on Toji.

On the way he swiftly tries to find an opening amidst the blur of movement, knife slashing away as if it were a game. You were fighting to look back now, body twisting against the one moving you away. Struggling to follow Toji’s powerful kick to Mahito’s midsection. The impact knocking the wind out of him, knife faltering. Yet rage still surging.

Hand coming down down down. Merciless metal meeting skin. Red-hot crimson flashing behind your eyes and staining the ground below Toji as he’s slashed viciously. 

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

It’s in Los Angeles that you think you might lose him.

The sickening sound of metal against flesh echoing amidst the blood-curdling scream you don’t realize you let out. 

The sound making Mahito falter for the briefest millisecond, a flicker of hesitation flitting across his twisted features.

And it’s all the opening Toji needs. 

Launching himself at the man, colliding with a bone-jarring impact that has both bodies crashing to the ground. 

A deadly struggle, and despite Mahito’s fierce grappling - fueled by pure madness - he’s no match for Toji’s punishing blows. Every strike clear and calculated, pinning his flailing hands to the ground.

The screech of metal against gravel and distant footsteps ring in your ears, as Toji wrestles the knife from his hands. Glinting metal skidding away.

 For a fleeting moment, the world seems to hold its breath.

“You’re supposed to be with me.” Mahito's voice pierces through the din, voice hoarse and desperate. “I’m the one who’s been there for you ever since you stepped foot in that godforsaken agency. Me. It’s me.” he snarls. Eyes cutting into yours.

Takedown tightening, Toji pins his body tighter against the ground. “You don’t have the right to talk to her, you blue-haired freak. Be grateful we’re in broad daylight and I can’t rip you limb from limb for her.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Toji’s strained yet still steady voice rings in your ears - in tune with the voices you’re now realizing were surrounding you. As uniform-clad figures rush into your circle of vision, you distinctly realize with a jolt that it’s over. 

Knees weakening in relief, you feel them hit the gravel. It’s all over. You feel light-headed - absolutely delirious. Vision blurring with tears and all you can see is red red red. 

Blood roaring in your ears, you miss Mahito’s shrieks as he’s restrained and escorted away. The only thing registering in your mind being the warm hand under your arm, pulling you up gently as if you were something so utterly precious. 

Toji.

“Are you okay, princess? Need me to loosen another one of that bastard’s teeth?” he rumbles slowly, slightly breathless. As you cling onto the words like a lifeline, a fresh wave of tears prick your eyes at his uncharacteristically careful tone.

“Are you okay?” you repeat, words heavy with remorse as you blink at the sight of that stark red against his t-shirt. A deep gash running along his side that left Toji vulnerable in ways you knew he would never openly admit. 

Seeing your shaken state, he lets out a sigh. Pulling you flush against his chest, careful to avoid his injury. “I’ll be fine princess.” he murmurs, quiet words strained and meant for only you, amidst the chaos in the background. You lean into his touch, reveling in the feeling of him being solid and whole and here. With you.

You think you could stay like that forever. 

Ah, but one can’t get everything they want. 

Nanami’s voice cuts through the fragile peace with his usual calm authority, “I've spoken with the authorities,” you whirl around to meet his exhausted gaze. “They’ve assured me that Mahito will be taken into custody, and measures are being put in place to prevent any future incidents.”

Eyes flitting between you and Toji, he continues, voice taking on a much softer tone. “There’s no need for you to attend the Grammys after all that happened, I understand and will contact them if you wish to stay here.” And with that, Nanami walks away to a nearby police officer, presumably to give a statement - but you knew better, grateful for the moment of privacy he’d given you two.

Right. The Grammys.

Part of you is relieved at the prospect of not having to pretend that everything is fine in front of the flashing cameras and millions of scrutinizing eyes. And the other part, well, you glance up at Toji. 

Wide eyes meeting those green ones. Unspoken questions swirling between you two like a whirlwind. Is it really over? What does that mean for us? Will you stay?

Please stay.

“I don’t want to go,”  you confess quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to stay here with you, make sure you’re okay.”

Toji’s gaze softens, a hint of warmth flickering in his usually steely eyes as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. “My princess worries about me, hm? I’ll be fine.” he reassures, yet words weak from the pain. “Go out there and kill it.”

And in the delicate tension of it all you find it in yourself to arch your eyebrow skeptically, “Fine? You’re bleeding out, Toji. That doesn’t exactly scream ‘fine’ to me.”

“I’ve had worse, I promise. Worst case scenario I track that freak down and break his arm.”

You let out a watery laugh as Toji leans down, hot breath fanning your face. His lips brush against yours in a tender kiss. A silent reassurance. But just as quickly as it began, he pulls back with a playful bite to your lower lip.

“Now go. Blow the overpriced silk pants off of all those overrated snobs. Trust me.”

You almost bristle at his words, but that twinkle of fondness in his eyes made all your inhibitions melt away - involuntarily, of course. Throat tight, you give an affirmative nod. 

Now, Toji always did delight in catching you off guard. But right now, ignoring the fussing EMTs, watching you be hastily ushered away by your team - the words tumble out before he can stop them. 

“Oi, princess.” he calls out, voice carrying over the chaos. “I love ya.”

And as he watched you trip over nothing but thin air, a lightheaded chuckle leaves him - maybe it was the bloodloss, probably it was that adorable look on your face. “Smooth, princess.” he laughs.

As you regain your composure and flip him off, promptly being whisked away by Nanami - who looks two steps into his grave already - Toji can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell within him. “Tha’s my girl,” he mutters to himself, a rare gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

---

“Ladies and gentlemen, music aficionados around the world. It is my pleasure to announce our next performance, a star who needs no introduction. Get ready to witness the talent, the charisma, and the sheer audacity of the one, the only-.”

Cameras flashing. Cheers roaring, The anticipation electric as your name echoes through the auditorium, the audience’s excitement reaching a fever pitch as you take to the stage.

“Buckle up, darlings, because this is ‘Government Hooker’!”

---

“They don’t call you pop royalty for nothing, huh? You're going to take over the charts with that one!”

“Girl, who was that sexyass voice in that song? Drop me his number if you aren’t already with him.”

“Stunning as usual, huh?”

The whirlwind of congratulations and praise envelop you back at the Grammys afterparty. Your hand throbs from being clutched so tightly, and you can’t help but smile at the adrenaline and euphoria thrumming through your veins, washing away most of what happened earlier today. Yeah, you killed it.

But as you navigate through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and posing for photos, a nagging part of your mind keeps returning to Toji. Red, red to match your gown. He should’ve been here with you tonight. 

Nodding and smiling along at the compliments, you find yourself drifting away from the bustling center of the party. Constantly checking your phone for any updates other than Nanami’s “He’s alive.” text from a few hours ago.

Ah, there it is.

Finally reaching the exit, goosebumps erupt along your skin as you step out into the chilly night air. You’re momentarily blinded by the barrage of camera flashes from the waiting paparazzi outside. Their shouts merging into an indistinguishable cacophony. 

Yet, you push forward, determined to reach your awaiting car.

Just as you approach the curb, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulls up beside you, tinted windows shielding the figure inside. God, you gotta remember to give Nanami a raise.

Swiftly sliding in, “Nanami you wouldn’t believe-” 

“I’d hope I don’t look anything like that walking resignation letter.” 

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you turn towards the figure seated beside you, and there he is. Toji.

All signature smirk and twinkling eyes despite the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.

A gasp leaves as your eyes catch on them, a million thoughts running through your head at once. “Wait, what are you even doing here- You’re hurt, are you even okay- Should we call the ambulance? Those look like-”

“Woah woah, slow down princess. I’m clearly alive, hm? Why, shouldn’t your muse be there to personally pick you up?” he chuckles. “Besides, you killed it out there. That shit was playing was all that every radio was playing for the last hour.”

You can’t help but laugh at his teasing tone, relief flooding through you at the sound of his voice. “Well, you are the exception.” Reaching over and gently cupping his cheek, that small scar was rough against your thumb.

Leaning in, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, you take in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the way his hand rests protectively on your thigh.

“Thank you.” you whisper, breath hot against his lips. And though you don’t specify for what - both of you know. Both of you understand. Your lips meet his in a lingering kiss, he tastes of mint and the anticipation of something new and freeing. 

Pulling away slightly, his gaze meets yours with a rare little vulnerability. “Always, princess.” A raw second of silence.

One. Two. Before a smug smirk curls his lips, hand squeezing your thigh. “Now, I remember someone wanting to be eaten out till she cried as a reward?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Oh yeah? Right here, right now?”

“Think we’ll make the front page, princess?”

“I know so.” 

It’s in New York that you meet Toji Fushiguro.

It’s right now, giggling amidst the chaos of flashing cameras and forgotten afterparties, that you think you just might love him.

A/N. Actually frothing at the mouth I want him so bad y’all. Also, reader isn’t Lady Gaga, I just think the song fit.

Reblogs so, so appreciated.

Plagiarism not authorized.

genesis | hayakawa aki

this is part one of the series menthol.

PAIRING.  aki x bff fem!reader

PLAYLIST.  nightdrive + sesh

SERIES SYNOPSIS.  after a string of casual dating mishaps leaves you unsatisfied, you find that the grass is greener in the front seat of your best friend’s car.

PART ONE LENGTH.  5.5k words  |  coauthor @akishroom​

PART ONE WARNINGS.  slight nsfw (18+, minors do not interact): fantasizing; vaping + smoking; aki is a Car Guy ™ so he drives a slammed car, teaches you to drive stick, and fixes a car up for you; reader and aki have a long history, reader is in makeup and a sundress, reader has a backstory and a personality; there’s a slight age gap (less than two years), but it’s exaggerated as a running joke between them.

A/N.  heavy nasty smut in the next part HEHE this one’s mostly just buildup <3 ENJOOOOYYY

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

Keep reading

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER Ⅹ. OH, HOME, LET ME COME HOME...

TWELVE YEARS EARLIER. 

Rindou felt anxious. Rindou felt anxious and he hated it--he did not ordinarily feel anxious, it was an uncommon and unwelcome feeling, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not push it away. His throat was tight and his eyes flickered back and forth between the elevator that led into the penthouse and Ran, who was sitting next to Rindou, stiff and unamused as he glared at the elevator. 

There was something wrong with you. Okay, that sounded bad, he acknowledged. There wasn’t something wrong, wrong with you, but you were acting different and Rindou didn’t like it, Ran even less so even though he was trying to hide how much it was bothering him.

You asked them to stop picking you up from school two weeks ago. And they had tried to convince you otherwise but you had gotten angry at them--genuinely angry at them for the first time since they met you five years earlier. Rindou had never heard you yell before until you were shouting at them for being overbearing and smothering and ‘never giving you a fucking break.’

It had hurt. It had really fucking hurt. Ran had lost his temper right back at you, and the whole situation had only spiraled from there. Miss Yua offered to talk to you on their behalf, mentioning that it was probably just a phase, ‘girls get quite difficult in high school,’ she claimed, but evidently she had not gotten through to you. 

You had not spoken to them since the argument. 

And Rindou tried, he really, really did. He pushed away the hurtful words you had spat at them to try to make amends--even though he really had no reason to be apologizing. You ignored him. You ignored him every single time, brushing him off and walking to your room without a word, locking the door behind you.

Rindou was tired. You were acting like Ran did whenever Ran got all in his head about something and Rindou hated it when Ran did it and he hated it even more when you did it. He wasn’t sure what had even caused the change and it made him sick to his stomach.

Maybe you didn’t want them around at all anymore, the thought that had been eating at him for the past week rang loudly in his head. No, he tried to convince himself, that couldn’t be true because you would never think something like that. 

But he couldn’t help but remember the genuine anger in your eyes when you yelled at the two of them that day, how you refused to even look at them for nearly two weeks now. 

He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to stop it from trembling, and he let his gaze flick back up the elevator, anxiety growing as the numbers began rising higher and higher, closer and closer to the floor of the penthouse.

“Ran,” Rindou began, worry seeping into his tone.

Ran clicked his tongue as the elevator stopped on the floor, “Relax, I’ll handle it,” he said, but that only made his nerves grow worse because that was exactly what Rindou was fucking worried about.

The doors to the elevator slid open, Ran rose to his feet, Rindou briefly shut his eyes, throwing up a short prayer to whatever god would listen to him as you stepped into the penthouse, a frown on your lips and brows furrowed.

You were already irritated about something. This would not go over well. 

Rindou wanted to cry. 

Ran called your name. 

You ignored him. 

Ran called your name again, sharper this time. Rindou could see the way Ran’s fists tightened at his sides, and he could see the way his nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, trying to contain his temper. 

“I’m talking to you,” Ran said sharply, “Look at me.”

You ignored him. 

“Hey!” Ran said loudly. You jumped at how he raised his voice, the only sign of acknowledgment of the two of them that they had received from you in nearly two weeks. “Stop acting like a fuckin’ child.”

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” you spat out so viciously that Rindou physically drew back at your words. His lips parted to speak, to say something, but he didn’t even know what to say, and any word he thought up died on his tongue before he could force it out.

They were losing you. 

No, he told himself immediately, trying to convince himself of the matter. There was no way. Something else had to be going on. 

“Leave you alone?” Ran hissed, “We’ve left you alone for two weeks, what the fuck is going on? Why won’t you talk to us?”

“‘Cause it’s none of your business,” you shouted, shoving at Ran’s chest when he got too close to you. Ran didn’t budge, of course, it would take a lot more than a shove from you to push him off-balance. You went to push him again, brows furrowed, tears pooling in your eyes, and Rindou’s chest felt like it was caving in, “Leave me alone, leave me alone! Why won’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”

His lips parted in shock as he stared at you, as he watched your lips tremble and your hands shake from where they were slamming against Ran’s chest over and over again. 

Okay, he thought to himself, this is more than just them pissing you off somehow. Something else is definitely going on. 

Ran seemed to realize it too from how his anger seemed to wash away and his lips turned down. And Rindou truly did feel ill because he had never seen you this distressed before and it really didn’t sit well with him. 

Ran murmured your name quietly, grabbing your wrists, stopping you from hitting him again and Rindou’s breath caught in his throat, one of his hands reached out toward you, eyes narrowing in on your arms, or more specifically, the discolored purple bruises lining up your arms--fingerprints embedded deep into your skin. 

“What happened?” Rindou asked, his voice was low, steadier than he expected and you looked thrown off, following his gaze down to your arms. He watched the panic shoot across your face. You looked at your shoulders, as if you were looking for something… oh. The jacket you started wearing nonstop a few weeks ago.

Have you been…

“Nothing,” you snapped, “It’s none of your business.”

“None of our-” Rindou hissed, eyes ablaze but he cut himself out, desperately trying to calm himself down--the sight of the bruises marring your skin awakening a sort of primal rage that he didn’t know he had in him. “Don’t try to brush this off, tell us what happened.”

“You and Ran come home with bruises all the time,” you said loudly, your voice was shrill, your eyes were wild. You were panicking and Rindou was getting angrier because he didn’t know what you were hiding from them, and he didn’t know why you were hiding it from them. 

“We come home with bruises so you don’t fucking have to!” Ran shouted, stepping closer to you, but you only stepped back, breath quick as your eyes darted around like a cornered animal. “Tell us what the fuck’s going on.”

He should have expected it but Rindou did not react fast enough when you darted between them, taking off down the hall. Rindou moved to chase after you but Ran grabbed his arm, stopping him. 

“Ran, what-” he began angrily but Rindou faltered when he caught the distressed look on Ran’s face. “Ran-”

“Don’t chase after her, you’ll only push her further away,” he said quietly. “She’s not gonna say anything now. We’re gonna have to figure this out ourselves.”

---

“The fuck is your guys’ deal?” Shion complained, wiping the blood off of his cheek as he looked over his shoulder at Rindou and Ran. Rindou rolled his eyes, lips turned down as he looked away, “You guys aren’t usually this boring.”

“Fuck off, Shion,” Ran said sharply, exhaling a puff of smoke as he shot a withering glare at the younger boy, “Not in the mood today.”

Honestly, they hadn’t been in the mood for a while now. Rindou and Ran both have had severely shortened tempers ever since you started with your bullshit a few weeks ago, and he was sure that they had noticed it from the way they started holding Rindou and Ran at arm’s length 

“You haven’t been in the mood for two weeks now,” Shion countered, voicing Rindou’s thoughts, turning around and leaning back on his heels, “What crawled up your ass, huh?”

“I said fuck off,” Ran said and Rindou did not like the tone that edged at his brother’s voice--it was dark, threatening, and from Shion’s narrowed eyes, he caught the implications of it too. Ran, Rindou wanted to plead, let’s not do this right now. 

Rindou had no issue fighting if it came down to it--he had thrown hands with Shion before and would do it again--but right now… His eyes darted to Mochi and Mucho lingering by Shion, gaze shifting between them, and then to Izana, who was lounging on a nearby box watching the scene with interest.

“Somethin’ up with your girl?” Mucho, ever the calm one of the group of them, asked curiously, blue eyes flicking between him and Ran, waiting for a response. 

Ran bristled but Rindou spoke up before Ran could snap something at Mucho, which would undoubtedly go over poorly. Shrugging, he said, “She won’t tell us shit. Asked us to stop pickin’ her up from school ‘n we figured she’s talkin’ to some guy and doesn’t was us to scare him off. Now she’s comin’ home with fuckin bruises all over her arms.”

And Rindou genuinely would have preferred that you were talking to some rich boy that spent his weekends on yachts over this--no matter how much the thought of you getting close with another guy made his stomach turn and his head hurt. Because at least then you weren’t getting hurt for whatever reason, and at least then they weren’t worried sick over what was going on.

“Bruises?” Mucho’s brow furrowed and Rindou noticed that Ran’s rising temper seemed to dim a bit at the genuine concern in Mucho’s voice. “What you mean bruises?”

Rindou motioned helplessly to his arm, “Fingerprints ‘n stuff, up ‘n down her arms, we tried to ask her but she started yelling, getting defensive, then she ran off,” he said.

“You couldn’t chase her down? Let the girl juke you out like that?” Mochi snorted, mocking them and Rindou scowled. 

“It’s not that simple,” Rindou snapped, talking down on him as if he wouldn’t have made that very mistake had Ran not stopped him, “You would know if you ever spoke to a girl before. They get all riled up and angry and then they get silent. We wouldn’t’ve gotten anything outta her.”

Mochi scowled at the dig, opening his mouth to retort, but Mucho was speaking again, “And she’s coming home from school with it?” Mucho asked.

“Yeah, think so. Doubt she’d be getting jumped on the way home from school, we own those streets. No one would dare, not to her,” Rindou muttered.

Shion stretched, fastening his brass knuckles back onto his fist, “Let’s go check it out then, we already fucked up these guys anyway. They’re no fun anymore. I’d like to get my hands on one of those prissy little trust fund babies. Bet they’ll squeal just like their pig parents,” Shion jeered, snickering to himself before looking back at Izana, “What’dya say?”

Rindou followed Shion’s gaze to where Izana was still sitting on the box, watching them all curiously.

Izana’s eyes focused on Ran, seemingly uninterested with the topic, “She goes to that prep school by the National Art Center?” Izana asked, and Rindou and Ran shared a look, unsure of how he knew that because they were pretty sure they had never mentioned it.

“Yeah,” Ran agreed.

Izana’s eyes lit up oddly, a sort of interest swimming in them that had Rindou on edge because he had never seen Izana look so… excited for something before.

“Let’s go then.”

—-

“This is completely unnecessary,” you repeated for what seemed like the millionth time as your eyes darted around the side alley right next to your school, trying to figure out what the fuck you were supposed to do. “Please just get out of my way.”

It was your own fault, really, for prioritizing time over safety. You had thought cutting through the side streets to get home faster would be better than taking the long route and risking them catching up to you but you hadn’t even considered the fact that they’d have set up around the side streets to corner you there. 

It was your own fault, and you were sure you were going to pay for it. 

“Shut the fuck up,” a sharp voice snapped back immediately and you felt ill, breath shaky and trembling fingers shoved in your pocket to try to hide your growing anxiety.

It wasn’t your fault, you tried to convince yourself, it was your fucking uncle’s. 

And it was--anger brewed in you as you remembered how quickly your already shitty social life had fallen apart after your uncle had started his relentless pursuit of Izanagi’s expansion a few weeks back, tearing down some of the other major businesses run by the parents of the kids in your school just so Izanagi could get a few steps ahead. It had been ruthless, and it had annihilated the wealth of even some of the objectively powerful, old money families of Tokyo, including some of whom had kids that went to your school.

And there was no way for them to get back at your uncle. Their parents were stuck trying to manage the fallout of what he had done and the kids were suffering the repercussions--the attention of the tabloids and all of the mocking articles, the shame of having lost the majority of their wealth, paparazzi and reporters had been outside the school for days now--and the only way to ‘get back’ at your uncle, in the eyes of the other kids, was through you.

Two weeks of nonstop harassment and you had no one but your uncle to blame. He had to have known what targeting the parents of kids that went to your school would do to you but he had gone through with it anyway.

Selfish. So fucking selfish, you felt tears prick your eyes as you took another step back and Sato stepped forward, closer to you. His parents had been the most affected by your uncle and he, in turn, has been the most aggressive with you. 

And it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t like you told your uncle to do this, and it wasn’t like you supported it. You barely even fucking spoke to him. And now you were the one getting punished?

“Sato, this isn’t going to do anything,” you pleaded, giving it one more shot, “I’m not-I didn’t-Just let me get home-”

“Fuck you,” Sato spat, “Fuck you and fuck your douchebag uncle too.”

You grimaced, swallowing thickly as you tried to figure out what you should do. Maybe you should have told Ran and Rindou what was going on, you thought weakly as your eyes darted around the group of kids whose families had been ruined by your uncle. But you dismissed the thought immediately. 

If you had told them what was going on, even before this started getting physical…

They would fucking kill them. You knew that. Ran and Rindou were protective over you, Ran had already killed someone for threatening you before. Knowing you were getting harassed at a place that was supposed to be safe--the one place they couldn’t make safe for you… They would lose their minds and they’d be sent to juvie again, except this time they would have a target on their backs because even though these kids’ parents lost the majority of their wealth and power, they still had powerful friends and those powerful friends had a lot of influence and they could spell trouble for Ran and Rindou, both in juvie and out of juvie. 

And it wasn’t fair for you to rely on them for everything--and yeah, you knew they didn’t care, if anything they preferred it but… you didn’t like it. All your life you had been relying on other people for help--your parents, your uncle, Miss Yua and Mister Ayato, and now them--you wanted to handle one thing on your own and you wanted to cry because you knew you failed.

You always fucking fail unless someone else steps in. 

Your eyes blurred, you pressed your lips together tight to try to hide the way they wobbled. 

“Sato,” your voice came out weaker than you would have hoped, pleading, and you were embarrassed because the older boy immediately mocked you, taking another step closer. You matched him with a step back, and in your panic, you didn’t notice how Sato had paused in his movements toward you, and you didn’t notice the way some of the other kids started going wide-eyed.

You stiffened when you felt someone’s chest pressed against your back, fear taking over just for a moment until their right arm wrapped around your waist and you caught sight of the tattoos decorating it.

Rindou.

You were relieved. 

For a second. 

Then realization dawned on you and the fear returned for another reason. 

Rindou.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, but his eyes were narrowed and trained ahead, jaw clenched tight.

“Rin,” you said quietly, and he finally looked down at you, lavender eyes sharp and searching yours just for a moment before he shook his head and shifted you behind him, taking a step forward. 

Your heart sank, “Rin!” you called louder, but he ignored you as he took a step forward, body tense. You tried to take a step after him to grab his arm but a hand curled around your shoulder before you could. You froze, gaze darting to the side and your mouth went dry when your eyes met vacant purple ones, bright in contrast to tanned skin.

“Who are…”

Your voice trailed off when you noticed that Rindou had not come alone. Ran, the boy who grabbed you, and three other vaguely familiar boys had all entered the side street you had gotten cornered in with him. Your brows furrowed as you tried to remember where you had seen them before until your mind was drawn back to the day at the car shop when you had found Rindou and Ran hanging with that group of boys.

The white-haired boy watched you curiously, “Kurokawa Izana, you must be y/n.”

You didn’t get the chance to respond as Ran was moving forward in an instant, face twisted in a sort of fury that you’d never seen on him before. “Ran!” you called after him, voice pleading but Izana’s grip on your shoulder tightened, holding you in place as Ran swung forward hard with his baton before Sato could react.

You flinched at the sickening crack that rang through the air as Ran’s baton connected with his jaw and your breath caught when Sato crumpled immediately.

No, nononono, “Ran, stop!” you cried out but Ran ignored you, reeling his arm back before driving the baton right against the back of his head, “Ran!”

“Fuckin’ piece of shit,” one of the other older boys from your high school spat, moving forward quickly, leaning down to swipe a scrapped pipe on the side street, aiming right for Ran, who was still preoccupied with Sato, who was trying to push himself off the ground.

“Stop it” you shouted, eyes wide, “Ran, look out!”

Rindou was on the other boy in a second, grabbing the pipe mid-swing with one hand and driving his fist into his face with the other. 

Your heart felt like it was in your throat as the rest of them moved forward once Rindou got involved too. 

“Ahh, this gonna be fun,” a boy with a tattoo on the side of his head crooned, “Wonder if blue blood tastes any different from ours.”

Madarame Shion--you recognized that one from Rindou, other than Ran, he was the one that Rindou was closest to in that little group, he was also the one that Rindou bitched about the most. The grin on his face was half-feral as he played with the brass knuckles adorning his left hand. 

Fuck, you thought, eyes wild as you tried to figure out what to do. If it escalated, it wouldn’t be good for them. They’d run home and tell their parents, their parents would get the cops on the case and-

“Guys, stop,” you called louder but you knew it was futile, Ran was too far gone and Rindou wouldn’t listen while Ran was in danger and there was no way their friends would listen to you. You knew enough from Ran and Rindou that all they cared about was violence and bloodshed. 

“They’re not gonna stop,” Kurokawa Izana confirmed your fears, “Let them do their thing.”

“If they kill them, they’ll-” your voice was panicked, your breath was quick.

“They won’t,” a new voice said firmly and your eyes caught sight of a tall boy with blonde hair and an even taller, broader boy with black hair. “We’ll stop ‘em before it gets that far.”

They didn’t wait for you to respond, only following after the three brasher members of their group--the Haitanis and Madarame Shion. Your jaw was slack as you watched the blonde haul one of the boys on Shion off like a garbage bag, flinging him hard into the brick wall on the side street. There was another disgusting crack as his head hit the wall and he fell limp to the ground. 

What the…

Izana did not join them and your hands shook as you watched the fight continue to escalate. Ran was still beating the shit out of Sato while Rindou took care of anyone that tried to approach the two of them.

Your lips parted to call out to them again, they were outnumbered but… 

But you knew the boys from your high school didn’t stand a chance. You physically flinched as you watched blood splatter against the ground when Shion’s brass knuckles drove into one of the boy’s faces and he dropped limp against the concrete.

You glanced up at Izana and you swallowed thickly at the thin smile that tugged at his lips and the cold look in his eyes as he watched Ran and Sato. 

“Stop him,” you said, and you thanked god that your voice was firm and steady. Izana’s eyes flickered down to you, surprise visible in them for a split second before the cold, calculating look returned. He was evaluating you, for something, you just didn’t know what.

Finally, he let out a quiet hum of agreement, “Ran,” he called, voice sharp and demanding. Instantly, Rindou and the three others drew off who they were fighting.

Ran did not.

Izana’s lips twisted down, an unpleasant expression on his face as he let go of your arm to move to Ran.

Rindou was in front of you, taking his place in an instant. His hands curled around your forearms, lavender eyes meeting yours—he was angry, you could tell, but his lips twitched down in concern as he looked over you.

“Why-“ his voice was loud, heated. He took in a shaky breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Can’t we talk about this later?” you said, “I don’t-“

Your voice faltered as you caught sight of Shion licking at the blood on his brass knuckles, a bored sigh escaping his lips as he stretched, “No different.”

“I don’t want to do this here,” your voice was quieter, so only he could overhear, “And I don’t wanna say it more than once.”

Rindou’s lips parted to respond but he was interrupted.

“Oi, you,” Shion called and your gaze drifted to the side, frowning when you noticed he was staring directly at you. “I wanna see the fancy place where Rindou ‘n Ran are always staying at.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Rindou said, turning his attention to Shion. 

“I’m not asking you, shuddup,” Shion said, keeping his attention on you. “C’mon, we just came all the way out here to beat the shit outta your pathetic bullies. Least you can do is offer us some food.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you said pointedly, but frowned when Shion only raised his eyebrows. Your shoulders slumped, and you glanced at Rindou, catching the warning glare he directed at you. At least you’d be able to delay the inevitable argument for a little while longer, “Fine,” you said.

Rindou scoffed in frustration, Shion looked absolutely delighted, tossing an arm around your shoulders and tugging you toward him, “Knew you were better then them fuckin’ lame asses,” he grinned.

Rindou called your name sharply, you looked at him from the corner of your eye, “You’re not getting out of this conversation,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, “I know.”

—-

PRESENT. 

“Can’t you drive any faster?” you demanded, voice panicked, breath quick as you looked up at the front of the van. Mina glared back at you through the rearview mirror and you glared right back, although you were pretty sure that the glare came off as rather pathetic considering your vision was blurry with tears.

“If I drive any faster, we’re gonna fuckin’ get pulled over, and I’d like to see you try to talk your way out of that one. How you gonna explain to them why we’ve gotta Bonten executive in the back of our van? Not to mention it’s fuckin’ pouring.”

His words didn’t even register as Ran let out another low groan, shifting in your lap. Your attention was drawn back to him, heart in your throat as you brought your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. He instinctually leaned into your touch and a whimper built in your throat as his long lashes fluttered back open, unfocused lavender eyes searching your face.

His bloody lips parted, as if to say something, but before he could try to push out whatever words were on his tongue, his head lolled back again, passing back out. A cry of frustration bubbled at your lips as you cradled Ran’s head to your chest, arms tightening around him. 

He’d been like this since you broke him out of there, fading in and out of consciousness, skin getting paler and breath getting shallower. 

“Mina, drive fucking faster,” you shouted, voice cracking as your words split into a sob, “Fuck, fuck, drive faster!” 

“Y/n, I can’t fuckin’ drive any faster,” Mina boomed, “Getting pulled over by the cops is as good a death warrant for him.”

The cops…? But-

“The fuck you mean?” you asked, “The cops? Wha-How would they even know-”

“Bonten got outed,” Takuya said quietly from the passenger seat, “All of its executives, some time between right after the explosion and now. I saw it on one of the headlines before we got him out of there.”

The world stilled around you, breath catching as you stared down at Ran, slowly processing Takuya’s words. “What?” you breathed out, “Outed? But how?”

“Don’t know,” Takuya admitted, “It’s not looking too good though. Yamagishi still keeps tabs on what goes on regarding this stuff. He says Bonten’s being forced underground. Half of their warehouses have been raided by the PSIA and TMPD.”

Fuck, you wanted to scream, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck why were you just receiving bad news after bad news? Why couldn’t you get a break?

Why couldn’t you get a fucking break?

You were having trouble breathing. Control yourself, you pleaded with yourself desperately, Ran’s labored breaths and the sound of the rain beating against the top of the van was causing you to spiral, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

But it was hard. God, it was so fucking hard with Ran slowly dying in your arms and Rindou out there alone, hunted by the cops and feds and… reckless, Rindou was always so fucking reckless when it came to Ran and-

You couldn’t even finish the thought. You felt sick and exhausted and guilty, so fucking guilty. Every time you looked down at Ran you swore that your chest was tearing apart, that the anchor on your ankle dragged you down even deeper into the murky depths of the sea. This was all your fault.

All your fucking fault.

Your regrets were endless. You’d been recounting every single moment you went wrong in your life since you woke up from the explosion--every little lie, every time you distanced yourself from them, every time you snapped. You regretted leaving. You regretted losing contact with them. You regretted coming back to Tokyo and you regretted not staying with them the night you had met them at the club. You regretted driving them away at the auction. You regretted everything.

Everything. 

No. Not everything. You did not regret stopping to help them that night all those years ago. You didn’t regret meeting them, you never would. You were sure of that. 

Weren’t you?

Tears of frustration built in your eyes as Ran’s body shuddered in your arms, his breath was ragged and his body was limp and shaky, his weight heavy on your lap. You buried your face into his hair, rocking him back and forth as you tried to muffle the sob that fell from your lips against the top of his head. 

I’m sorry, you wanted to scream, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.

“We’re almost there,” Takuya said quietly--his words didn’t register but the streets around you did. You felt ill as you caught sight of the old playground that you and Rindou used to visit all the time, the streets that the two of you had chased Ran down when he had dumped a bucket of water on you and Rindou’s head while the two of you were plotting a prank on him, the alley that you had met them in.

You felt sick and dizzy.

You could see the building the penthouse was located in the distance, vision blurry, breath coming out as near wheezes as you tried to calm yourself down. And you were grateful for Takuya and Mina because neither of them acknowledged your ongoing breakdown, you knew if they did, it would only get worse.

“You should let one of us go in with you,” Mina’s voice was as tense as his hands were around the steering wheel, “You won’t be able to get him in on your own.”

“No,” you forced out, “No, you have to get Takuya to a safehouse, they’ll be coming after us as soon as they realize what’s happened. Staying in Tokyo right now is too risky, this is too risky but I have nowhere else and no one else that can help him. I’ll get in contact with you after. I promise.”

“Y/n,” Mina began but you shook your head.

“No, Mina,” you snapped, “I said no. Get yourself and Takuya out of here. If one of us doesn’t…” your voice broke and you squeezed your eyes shut. Calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. “If one of us doesn’t make it out of here, we lose. I’m not losing anyone, not again. You guys are-you’re my family.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Mina insisted, “If any of Sugawara’s guys catch up to you, how the fuck are you going to defend both of you and get out of there at the same time?”

“I won’t be alone,” you said firmly, “I-”

“You don’t know if he’ll show up,” Takuya said quietly, “Bonten’s gonna need all hands on deck, they’re-”

“He’ll come,” you said firmly and Takuya quieted down immediately. “I know he will.”

He had to.

You shut your eyes again as Mina began to pull up to the building, letting out another shaky breath as you pressed your lips to the top of Ran’s head, “I’ve got you,” you whispered for the millionth time that night even though you knew he couldn’t hear you, “You’re gonna be okay.”

Pulling back, you tapped his cheeks several times, watching as his eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused, “Ran, you gotta work with me for the next few minutes, okay?”

He wasn’t registering what you were saying. You could see it from how his eyes didn’t acknowledge your words, from how his brows just barely furrowed. Your throat tightened, “Ran,” you repeated, “We gotta get inside, okay, we’re gonna stand you up.”

After a few moments, he nodded, and you let out a relieved exhale, shifting on the seat to help him to his feet, kicking open the back doors of the van, helping him down off the back as best as you could, grimacing when you steadied him as he swayed on his feet, gasping in pain. 

Takuya climbed over the console into the back of the van, crouching at the edge. He called your name and you turned back to look at him. Concern was etched on his face and guilt ate at you when you noticed the heavy bags beneath his eyes--realizing that he probably hasn’t slept in almost a week now.

“Be careful,” he murmured, “please.”

“I will,” you promised, “I’ll see you guys soon.”

Takuya let out a short breath as he nodded, shutting the van doors. You wrapped an arm around Ran’s waist, letting him lean his weight onto you as you helped him to the main entrance of the building. 

You winced as the rain beat against your skin, angled under the overhang, pricking your skin, “I’ve got you,” you repeated again, vision blurring with tears and because of the rain as Ran let out a low groan, nearly crumpling under the pain, “I’ve got you.”

“L/n-san! Where have you-oh god,” a familiar voice called. Mister Botan’s name was on the tip of your tongue, and it hurt having to bite it back. The new doorman’s face was ashen as he caught sight of Ran’s state. 

“Call up to Miss Yua and tell her we need her assistance,” you said sharply, grateful that your shakiness didn’t show in your tone. The doorman only stared at the two of you and anger hit you so hard and so suddenly that you couldn’t even control it, “Now!” you roared and that started him out of his shocked state as he nodded, bowing hastily.

“Of course, l/n-san, I’ll call up immediately.”

And your heart hurt, you barely were able to stop the sob that was rising to your lips as your mind drew you back to the first night you met them. Rushing ahead to the elevator as Ran carried Rindou, Ran’s aggression and defensiveness, everything had been simpler then, even if at the time it felt like the world was ending. 

“I’ve got you,” you told Ran again, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to reassure him or yourself as you pressed your face into the side of his shoulder as you waited for the elevator, “I’ve got you.”

The elevator dinged and you helped him in, pressing the button to the top floor, and it took all you had in you from losing control as Ran leaned onto you, face pressed against the top of your head, breath weak and unsteady, one arm draped around you. The arm you had around his waist tightened, and you grabbed his hand with the other, holding it in yours, trying to breathe in and out slowly to keep yourself calm.

“I’ve got you, I promise,” you said again, desperately trying to blink away the tears, “I promise.”

“I know,” his voice was hoarse, barely audible and this time you couldn’t hold back the sob and Ran’s hand tightened around yours, if only barely--just enough to show he was still with you. 

“I’m sorry,” the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, “Ran, I’m so sorry.”

And you weren’t even sure what you were apologizing for at the moment--maybe everything, you realized dully. 

You swore it felt like eternity until the elevator binged again, signaling that you had reached the top floor--you were at the penthouse. You couldn’t tear your eyes from Ran’s lidded, barely conscious expression as you half-dragged him forward.

“Miss Yua!” you called, voice shrill and panicked, “Miss Yua!”

“Relax, child,” Miss Yua said sharply, her face was tight as her eyes landed on Ran, gaze worried, “Bring him to my office and then go get changed out of that mess. Understood?”

You opened your lips to protest--there was no way in hell you were leaving Ran’s side yet--but Miss Yua’s gaze narrowed and you swallowed thickly nodding as you helped Ran to the backroom. 

Miss Yua grabbed your arm, eyes softening, “He’ll be okay,” she said firmly, “I’ll make sure of it.”

---

Sixty-five. Eighty. Ninety-five. One fifteen. One thirty.

The speedometer kept ticking up. Rindou’s grip was tight on the handlebars of his bike as he tore down the empty streets of Tokyo. How he hadn’t gotten pulled over yet was a mystery that baffled him--or well, maybe it didn’t. He supposed the cops were too busy raiding all of Bonten’s warehouses to care for someone speeding down the streets.

One forty. One fifty-five. One seventy.

The rain started falling faster and Rindou knew he should slow down, that it was dangerous for him to keep up at this speed in this type of weather but instead, he leaned forward on the bike, speeding up. His breath was shaky and his arms were tense as he turned down another street, closer and closer to the building he had considered home for years, and as he drew closer, the anxiety he had felt upon receiving your message only amplified. 

“If it’s a fuckin’ trap, we’re not getting you outta there, you or your brother. We can’t spare the resources right now. Be fuckin’ smart, Rindou.”

His chest tightened, his lips pressed together tight as Sanzu’s words rang through his ears. And he knew that he was right--he was being dumb, rushing head first into what could be his death because of a shady message from you that he didn’t even know was legit or not. 

02:34 Penthouse. Ran. 

No explanation, no telling him if Ran was okay or not, no anything. Just those two words and when he had tried to respond, the message hadn’t gone through. That was all you had sent. 

Or, well, he assumed it was from you. 

It was from an unknown number that he assumed was you.

That he had no reason to think was you. 

He could be driving to his fucking death. It could so easily be a trap set up by their enemies--it was more likely a trap set up by their enemies than it was you fucking coming through for them. You had given them zero reason to believe in you, zero reason to trust you so then why the fuck was he-

He cut his own thoughts off, pushing away the doubt and steeling himself as the building of the penthouse came into sight, he slowed down the motorcycle, stopping at the front entrance hastily, not even bothering to turn off the motorcycle as he ripped off his helmet and sprinted inside of the building, hand curled around the grip of his gun, safety off, finger ready on the trigger.

He went right for the elevator, grateful that it didn’t take as long as it usually did to get to the bottom floor. He tossed Miss Sara a silent apology when he heard her call out after him in surprise, pressing the doors closed and the button for the top floor.

It was slow. Just as it always had been. And Rindou wanted to punch the fucking wall as doubt began to creep in again. Bonten was falling apart. All of their warehouses had been fucking searched and raided, their faces were all over the news. Sanzu and Kakucho were scrambling trying to protect what little resources they had left and Rindou was here, risking himself for something he had no reason to trust.

He let out a heavy breath, leaning forward as his eyes darted back up to where the floors were binging upward. His clothes were drenched, his hair wet and hanging in his face. His body burned with stress and nerves. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push it away. 

What if it’s a trap?

His grip tightened around the gun, finger locked on the trigger. 

He knew the answer to that question. 

A sick feeling stirred in his stomach, his throat felt tight, his eyes felt wet.

Please don’t be a fucking trap. 

He readied the gun in front of him as the elevator doors slid open to an empty room. The lights were on and the television was running in the background on the news station. Rindou grimaced as Sanzu’s face flashed on the screen, as live footage from one of their warehouses played in the background. 

Fuck.

“Rin.”

Rindou’s gaze snapped to the side, eyes wild as he shifted on his feet, gun raised in the direction of where your voice had come from--at the entrance of the hall where your bedroom was located, and where theirs used to be. You didn’t flinch, even as his arms trembled and his finger twitched on the trigger.

A part of him told himself to pull it. Bile rose to his throat as soon as the thought crossed his mind.

“Where’s Ran?” he forced out, and he hated how his voice cracked, how he choked over his own words. He pointed the gun at you more insistently, “Where the fuck is he, y/n?” 

“Miss Yua is patching him up,” you said, and he hated how steady your voice was compared to his, even with a gun aimed at your head. “You know how she gets when we interrupt her, I-”

“I don’t care,” Rindou hissed, stepping closer, he pressed the barrel of the gun to your forehead. You didn’t flinch. Your eyes met his. “Turn the fuck around and bring me to him or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off. For all I know this is a fuckin’ trap, just like the fuckin’ auction.”

“Rindou, look at me,” your voice was tight, “Does it look like I am dressed to fucking set you up for a trap right now?”

Rindou’s eyes dropped at your words, lips tightening when he realized you were dressed in a simple cotton tank-top and loose shorts. Pajamas, you would always wear something like that to sleep. And for a moment, just a moment, he could picture you standing in front of him as you argued for a horror movie over one of his ‘dumb action movies.’ Except instead of a gun pressed to your forehead, it was his hand as he forcibly shoved you back down onto the couch before you could change the channel. 

What the fuck was he doing?

He felt sick.

“Boy, put that gun down before I shove it up your ass,” a familiar, rough voice demanded and Rindou’s eyes widened, gaze flicking up to where Mister Ayato was standing at the other end of the hall, eyes cold, lips twisted down. 

Rindou’s hand dropped limp to his side. 

You turned your head to the side, “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” you told Mister Ayato, “You’re still ill. Go lay back down.”

Mister Ayato looked disgruntled, shooting a suspicious look between you and Rindou, and Rindou felt guilt eat at him as Mister Ayato’s eyes narrowed back in on the gun at his side. Rindou’s fingers were shaky as he holstered the gun back at his side, turning the safety back on. 

Satisfied, Mister Ayato turned back into his room, but not before tossing Rindou one last dark look. 

Your name left his lips, little more than a whisper, and he hated how weak he sounded.

“It’s okay,” you said, and he was grateful for the fact that he didn’t need to verbally apologize for you to understand what he was trying to say. “I get it.”

Rindou’s lips tightened and he looked away, “Is he okay?” he finally asked after a few moments. 

“Miss Yua said he would be fine,” you responded and Rindou’s tense shoulders slumped, relief hitting him like a truck because…

“She never says anything she doesn’t mean,” he murmured, and a soft, amused puff of air escaped your lips.

“No,” you agreed, “She doesn’t.”

There was another pause where neither of you spoke. Rindou grit his teeth as he braced himself to speak again, “I want to know the truth,” he said, and next to him, you tense. “The whole truth. From the beginning. You’re not fucking running away this time.”

You didn’t respond, Rindou looked back over at you, catching the way your lips were just barely wobbling, the sheen on your eyes. 

“Promise me,” he insisted. “I want you to-”

“I promise,” you said. Your voice cracked, and Rindou’s eyes darted down, noticing how your fingers were trembling like a leaf in the wind. He let out a long breath, anxiety pooling in his stomach as he wondered what could possibly have you this fucking spooked to tell them. Without thinking, he reached out, taking one of your hands into his, fingers curling around your shaky ones. You tensed for a moment and Rindou’s jaw clenched, waiting for you to pull away, but instead your grip on his hand tightened, and a warm feeling passed over him that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “I promise, can we just… I don’t want to say it twice, Rin.”

His eyes met yours again, a pleading expression on your face that he had never quite seen you wear before, and he relented, shutting his eyes briefly as he looked away. 

“Fine,” he said quietly. “We’ll wait for Ran.”

—-

wordcount: 8k

REBLOGS N FEEDBACK GREATLY APPRECIATED

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.

Keep reading

4play Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro, Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/reader (haikyuu!!) word count: 8.2k rating: E (18+, minors DNI) tags: gangbang, dry humping, oral f!receiving, edging, unsafe sex, creampie, mentions of alcohol, consensual sex while mildly under the influence, voyeurism kinda?, makki and mattsun are bad roommates a/n: this is the filthiest thing i've ever written! sorry!

CROSSPOSTED TO AO3

Through the trials and tribulations of first-hand experience, you’ve come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a good roommate or a bad roommate — instead of a binary, it’s more like an ever-fluctuating spectrum that exists between the two.

Some roommates are tidy but loud; others are messy, but beyond the disaster they leave in the kitchen after every meal they cook you hardly notice they’re there; some roommates respect your privacy and belongings, but insist on keeping their lube in the fridge next to your orange juice.

In short: it’s never black and white.

Ultimately, living with roommates is just an unfortunate inevitability — though if you could afford to live alone as a broke university student, you would — and you have to learn to adjust your lifestyle to cope with it.

Living with strangers is a bit weird, like your first roommate freshman year: a tiny girl who was perfectly pleasant to cohabitate with, and said almost nothing beyond the absolute nightmare fuel she used to mutter in her sleep on the other side of your shared shoe-box of a dorm room. You, decidedly, preferred living with friends whom you knew and trusted not to tell you they were going to kill you in their sleep.

Which is precisely how, after moving out of your dorm first year after realizing residence just wasn’t for you, you ended up moving in with two of your best friends from high school: Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei.

Living with members of the opposite sex presented an entirely new spectrum of difficulty, to be sure. But you knew Makki and Mattsun, you’d been friends since you were 15, and you’d long grown used to their antics and eccentricities. So all in all, the three of you made a pretty solid trio of housemates — so solid in fact that your cohabitation somehow managed to endure all the way through to your senior year.

Which is how you find yourself on the phone with a friend in the kitchen of your three-bedroom apartment just off campus in the early afternoon, AirPods in, tidying up some dishes that someone (probably Makki) left out that morning before heading to class. Your lab that morning was cancelled, and rather than make your way to campus for the one other class you had scheduled that day, you decided to treat yourself and play hooky for once.

“His name was soooo long, too,” your friend’s plaintive voice sighs from the other end of the call, in the process of regaling you with the story of a dating app hookup gone wrong the evening prior. “And I only called him ‘daddy’ because I didn’t know if we were close enough to nickname him, and somehow that felt less personal!”

You huff out a little breath of air, halfway to a chuckle, twirling the slightly damp towel that you’d just finished drying the dishes with between your hands. “What’s the point of a boy even having a name if it isn’t moanable?”

Your friend’s tittering laugh resounds through your headphones and you giggle along with her, a sly smile pinching at your cheeks at your own joke.

Movement in the corner of your eye startles you, and you whip around suddenly to see Hiro (aforementioned dish-leaver and everyday bane of your existence) leaning in the doorway as though waiting for you to notice him, both hands tucked down the front of his grey sweatpants. He looks at you with a single eyebrow drawn up.

“Jesus christ, make your presence known you creep — No, not you,” you assure your friend on the other line when she makes an indignant, confused noise. You roll your eyes after tossing a brief glare at the boy still standing in the doorway, looking as pleased as ever. “Makki was lurking behind me.”

You quickly end your call with your friend once you realize that your nosy roommate has no intention of going anywhere anytime soon, popping your headphones out from your ears and turning to look at him with an unimpressed scowl on your face.

The corner of his mouth quirks up, the exact opposite of your own.

“So, moanable names, huh?”

You huff, annoyed that not only was he eavesdropping but now he was trying to make some sort of group discussion of the indignity. “Fuck off.”

“No, no. Tell me more.” Makki slides a little further into the kitchen, grinning down at you. “Is my name moanable?”

“Makki, I swear to god,” you try to sound threatening but it just comes out exasperated. You’re used to his antics — you’ve been friends for long enough that you’ve simply become acclimatized to the garden-variety chaos he seems to exude at all times, but this conversation felt like it was toeing a lie that you didn’t want to cross.

“I didn’t even know this was something girls care about, so help me out here,” he said, cajoling you further. “Friend to friend, I gotta know. Tell me.”

“No.”

“No as in it’s not moanable? Or no as in you won’t tell me?” he pesters on, and you only get more flustered and annoyed as he bullies you a little further into the corner of the kitchen where the counter meets the stove in an L-shape.

“No as in there’s no way in hell I’m having this conversation with you.”

You hit him with the dish towel in your hands, though not hard enough to do any real damage, and he yelps but he’s still grinning all the while.

“Now what’s going on in here?” a deep voice full of mirth pries your attention away from the strawberry blonde crowding over you, and your gaze lands on your second roommate.

Mattsun is leaning against the doorframe in much the same way Makki had been only a moment prior, still wearing his jacket — he must have just gotten back from his morning class, though you hadn’t heard him come in.

If you’d been hoping for salvation in his sudden appearance, the smirk on Matsukawa’s face all but dashes that aspiration.

Once Makki gets him up to speed, he all too delightedly joins in.

“It’s really not that hard of a question,” Mattsun drawls, cocking his head to the side. He’s still on the opposite end of the room, a full six feet or more away from you, but his presence is just as stifling as if he was hovering over you like Makki presently found himself. “We’d tell you if you were the one asking, you know.”

Your lips part a little, and a terrible, treacherously inquisitive voice in the back of your mind tells you that you should ask — that you want to know if they think your name is moanable.

You bury the thought as quickly as it surfaces, choking it back with your indignation.

“Well I’m not asking, and I have no plans to — now or ever,” you shove a little against Makki’s chest to give yourself a bit more space. He hardly budges.

Why are your friends all so fucking tall?

“Well, it is.”

You blink, eyes flickering up towards Hiro who had said the words.

“Your name,” he explains, pressing the tip of his pointer finger to the furrow that had made itself known upon your brow, reading the signs of your confusion without you needing to openly express them. “Super moanable.”

“Agreed,” Mattsun pipes in unprompted from the doorway, and your eyes flicker over to see his smirk had given way to a full-on grin — wolfish though it may be.

You snap out of your stupor and smack Hiro’s hand away, throwing your dishtowel right in his face as you shoulder by him towards the door, glowering at Mattsun on your way past for good measure.

You storm off, footfalls heavy on the floor of the hallway as you go, and slam the door behind you once you make it into the sanctuary of your own bedroom.

You’re mad at both of them — borderline fuming as you throw yourself down atop your unmade bed.

Because it’s awkward.

And annoying.

And unnecessary.

They both have perfectly moanable names.

You know it.

They know it.

Hell, you hear their hookups do it often enough through the paper-thin walls of your three-bedroom to say it with an almost unfair degree of certainty. Walls so thin it’s like you can see through them — can see all the ways the two boys you’ve known for years are making those girls you’ll never actually get the opportunity to properly meet scream.

Admittedly, you hear cries of Issei more often than Hiro, but the latter is always more ragged, more desperately obscene than the former. The sounds echo through the apartment so clearly that not even your noise cancelling headphones are enough to drown them out some nights, and you find yourself falling asleep to the mortifying thought of what it might be like to be the one who was screaming their names.

You bury your burning face in your pillow at the thought and resist the urge to shriek.

The rest of your day is spent hiding in your room; watching Netflix on your laptop, taking sporadic naps, and rationing the water in the bottle you kept on your bedside table to stave off the need to leave your bed for as long as humanly possible.

There’s a bit of noise that drifts into your room throughout the afternoon, specifically in the evening as two familiar voices join the other two that had been in the apartment for most of the day. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were supposed to come over to drink and play video games that night, and their arrival had crept up on you faster than anticipated.

About half an hour after they land, you get a text from Iwa asking if you’re gonna come out and join them, but you ignore it and pretend to be asleep.

Eventually the water bottle goes dry, and you can’t ignore the grumbling of your stomach any longer, and when you think the coast is clear — shouts in the living room telling you that the boys are likely distracted by whatever game they were playing —you slink out of your room to grab a snack from the kitchen.

You’re quiet as you pry open your bedroom door, careful to avoid the parts of the floor along the way which you know are a little creaky and might give you away. You’re so focused on where you’re stepping that you don’t notice a figure stepping out from the bathroom until you’re colliding with a broad, muscular chest that smells like expensive cologne and fabric softener. You squeak in surprise, looking up to see Oikawa grinning down at you.

“Going somewhere, sleeping beauty?” he teases you, and you stumble back from him.

“I was just, uh, I just wanted to get something to eat,” you say quietly, nodding towards the doorway to the kitchen at the other end of the hall.

Oikawa takes a step forward, bullying you with his much larger frame back towards the living room.

“We’ve got plenty of snacks to share,” he says with a knowing smirk that makes your skin prickle, and you wonder just how much of your altercation earlier in the afternoon Mattsun and Makki had already shared with him. “And now that you’re awake you can join us!”

You sigh in defeat, following along behind him to where the other three boys are waiting in the living room.

The coffee table is already covered in empty beer cans and bowls of half-eaten snacks, and your eyes immediately hone in on a bowl of the pretzel sticks you’d been hoping to snag from the kitchen on your pilgrimage that had been unceremoniously derailed.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Oikawa chirps as he flops himself back onto the couch next to Issei, whose attention remains focused on the screen in front of him as he and Hiro (who was seated in the chair beside the sofa) went 1v1 on some combat game you never really got into.

Iwaizumi looks up from his place on the floor, spotting you hovering in the doorway and shooting you a little smile. He pats the open space on the floor beside him and you resignedly shuffle over to join him.

“Did you have a good nap?” he asks with a laugh as you sit crosslegged to his left.

You nod curtly. “Can you pass me the pretzels?”

You settle in with the bowl in your lap once he hands it to you, popping a salty snack into your mouth and risking a glance at your two roommates on the other side of the room. Neither of them appear bothered or otherwise moved by your sudden appearance, and they seem to have let your earlier conversation go. Mattsun even brings you back a beer after his next trip into the kitchen, which you accept — cracking the can open and carefully sipping the carbonation that fizzles up over the rim.

Your empty stomach from barricading yourself in your room all afternoon means that the beer hits you faster than the pretzel sticks you and Iwa were sharing, and before you know it all the tension you’d been feeling in your shoulders has fizzled away like the bubbles in the beer you’re all drinking.

You really should have seen it coming.

“So,” Oikawa drawls, draping himself over the arm of the sofa overhead, leaning towards you. “Do I have a moanable name?”

And you’re mortified.

Makki does nothing to conceal his laughter at your horrified expression. Mattsun’s smirk is thinly veiled at best. Iwa (the only one you’re leaving in your will, decidedly) tells them to fuck off and drop it, his voice gruff and firm.

“I think as a friend we have a right to know these things, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa counters his friend’s command, holding a hand to his chest. “Don’t you want to know?

“I don’t care,” Iwa bites back, but there’s the slightest waver in it, the furtive way that he steals a glance at you that betrays the comment’s sincerity.

Oh.

“God, fine!” you huff out, exasperated and embarrassed and ready to just put this entire conversation to rest once and for all. “I’m sure you all have moanable names — happy now?”

The boys take pause at that.

“But which one of us has the most moanable name?” Makki asks with a smirk, leaning forward in his seat to leer at you. The look in his eyes is predatory, and makes something in you rise like panic, but without the actual fear of any danger.

Anticipation, you realize. That’s what you’re feeling.

Their video game has been abandoned now, one controller dangling loosely from Makki’s hand while Issei’s has been discarded on the coffee table.

Their eyes are all on you.

“I- I don’t know that, you perv!” you squeak out, heat climbing so quickly in your cheeks it’s making you dizzy, and you’re uncertain if it’s the beer or the blood rush that’s to blame. Maybe both. “Who am I to judge that?”

“Could you?”

Your eyes flicker to Mattsun.

“Judge it, I mean,” he adds when he sees the blank look on your face.

“Wh- how?” you squeak out, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. The atmosphere in the room has changed, become charged, in the few moments since the subject had come up.

“Moan for us,” Oikawa says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You blink, absolutely bewildered by the request.

“Moan for us, please?” Oikawa stretches forward, his hand cupping your cheek. He looks so sweet and beseeching as his thumb presses down into your bottom lip.

“Why me?” you manage to ask through the pulse pounding in your throat.

“You’re the only girl, so you’re the only one who can do it, y’know, authentically,” Makki says from his seat. Your eyes flicker over to him, Oikawa’s thumb still prodding against your mouth. “Plus you’re hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you undeniably feel a shiver run through you when none of the other men in the room make any efforts to dispute his claim.

“So?” Mattsun asks, and the single word is so loaded that you feel like it sucks all the air from the room.

Oikawa finally pulls away from you, and the five of you sit quietly for a moment.

“Okay.”

You have no idea what makes you say it. Maybe it’s the alcohol in your bloodstream, maybe it’s something more depraved that was already inside of you long before you brought the can of beer to your lips that evening, the same thing that occasionally had your fingers creeping into your panties on the nights that your headphones aren’t enough to hide the sounds coming from your roommates’ bedrooms.

Something shifts in the room the minute you agree, like a spark catching on a pool of gasoline.

Oikawa laughs, the sound absolutely delighted and conniving, from his seat on the sofa.

“How far are we taking this?” Iwa asks gruffly, your eyes flickering over to him as he sits beside you. He looks reluctant.

“That’s up to her,” Makki says, nodding in your direction.

“Whaddya say?” Mattsun asks, eyes trailing all the way up your body before landing on your face. A little twitch at the corner of his already smirking mouth, ticking upward to make the curl of his lip a little more feral. “It’s your call: how far will you let us go, sweetheart?”

Your mouth feels too dry to form a response.

“First base?” Oikawa asks sweetly, leaning over the edge of the sofa once more as his fingers skirt up your arm. His touch ghosts over the swell of your breasts, right where the neckline of your tank top dips down, but only grazes you lightly enough to leave you squirming and unsatisfied.

Your breath hitches as you feel the warmth of his lips on your neck, your head lolling to the side instinctively — but the touch is so brief that you’d almost consider it chaste if not for the way his hand had slithered down to cup your pussy through the material of your leggings, brazen and self-assured.

“Second?” he poses a another question, murmuring the words directly into your skin, even though you’d never responded to the first.

He pulls away when you say nothing, your thighs clenching unconsciously to trap the pressure of his hand where it rests between your legs. His eyes are alight with something entirely too devious to look so tender as he locks gazes with you.

“Oh, you’re letting us go all the way,” he breathes the knowing words out like a prayer, honeyed and exalted.

“Don’t assume things, pervykawa,” Iwa snaps, but his voice is tighter than it had been a moment prior.

“Go on then,” Oikawa urges you, nosing at the edge of your jaw before pressing another featherlight kiss to your throat. “Tell us.”

You let a little noise out at way he presses his hand down a little firmer between your legs, your hips rolling against the pressure instinctively. Your eyes flutter closed, and when they open again, you’re acutely aware of the four men whose attentions are intently focused on you.

You swallow hard, fixing your eyes on the floor to avoid their esurient gazes.

“You can do whatever you want.”

They draw pretzels to decide the order. Four broken sticks held tight in Iwaizumi’s curled fist for them to pick from. Longest stick goes last, and the shortest first. You feel the blood drain from your face when you see who’s holding up the fated stub to start the endeavour off.

Matsukawa seems far less hesitant than you as he beckons you over into his lap. You shakily crawl a bit closer to him across the floor and then pause.

You’ve made out with Mattsun a few times over the years, mostly when you were high or a little tipsy — but it was always lazy and pointless and just for fun.

This was different.

There was a purpose to this — a goal that effectively erased all of the boundaries that normally existed between you and your friends.

“You, I-I… you can’t go first,” you say, your tone panicked as you slowly process the facts in front of you.

Mattsun smirks at you from his place on the couch, leaning down so his face is closer to yours.

“And why’s that?”

Your eyes widen, flickering to the other boys around the room who are watching you squirm with varying looks of interest - Oikawa’s smirk in particular is acutely sadistic from the other end of the sofa.

“You’re too big,” you say quietly, too much breath behind the words to make them anything more than a whisper.

You’ve heard the conversations they’ve had about the size of Mattsun’s cock over the years, and though you’ve never seen it in full view, you’ve caught him half-hard in his sweatpants first thing in the morning enough times to know they weren’t exaggerating when they called him massive.

“What was that?” Issei feigns ignorance, holding a hand up to his ear. “Repeat yourself, so we can all hear you a bit better.”

“You can’t go first,” you repeat yourself adamantly, but it’s not the part that Matsukawa wanted to hear you say, and he clicks his tongue admonishingly.

“Sure I can,” he drawls, holding up the piece of pretzel that he’d pulled, by far the shortest of the four that had been tucked into Iwaizumi’s curled palm, “it’s the luck of the draw.”

Issei extends his hand to you, and eventually you take it, allowing him to guide you up onto the sofa so you’re straddling his lap. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs dipping under the hem of your tank top to brush against the skin underneath.

“There you go,” he says, smiling up at you toothily as you brace yourself on his broad shoulders. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

This is familiar enough. You’ve sat on his lap before, felt the way his palms flatten and slide down down down to palm your ass through the material of your leggings. He’s not smiling anymore as he peers up at you — no, that look has been replaced with something hungrier as his eyes flutter down to your lips.

You lean forward and kiss him.

Issei is a good kisser.

He has been since the first time the two of you made out in the backyard of a house party in high school when you were both drunk off of pitifully meagre amounts of liquor you’d convinced one the boys’ old volleyball senpai’s to buy for you. His lips are just as soft as they were back then, and he takes his time — focusing on your lips for what feels like an eternity before even thinking to swipe his tongue forward, pressing into your mouth gently in a gesture you’re all too happy to reciprocate.

Your lips start to burn from the way Issei nips and sucks at them, pulling away and watching with a heavy-lidded fascination as he lets your swollen bottom lip snap back into place as it slips from his teeth. You writhe in his lap.

You feel hot.

Too hot for someone who lives in a drafty apartment and isn’t wearing that many clothes to begin with.

You feel like you’re melting when Mattsun leans forward and presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat, his teeth biting down into the skin.

“Issei,” when his name finally slips out from your parted, stinging lips, it’s a whimper more than a moan. You head lolls back as your eyes flutter shut.

“Come on, that doesn’t count and you know it, sweetheart,” he says, the words smug and smothered by your skin between his teeth.

“He hasn’t even touched you yet and you’re this whiny,” Oikawa chuckles breathlessly from the other end of the sofa, and for the first time you remember that the two of you aren’t alone. Your eyes flash over to the young man only a few feet away from you, watching your face carefully.

“Hey,” a hand on your chin guides your face back towards the boy whose lap you’re perched on top of. Issei’s dark eyes bore into yours, his lips pink and swollen in a way that you’re sure yours also mirror. “Why are you looking at him when I’m right here? You distracted or something?”

Issei places the hand not holding your chin on the small of your back, pulling you forward at the same time that he ruts his own hips up. You gasp as you feel the pressure of his hard cock pressing against your clothed cunt. Even through the layers of clothing separating you, you can feel just how big he is.

“O-Oh my god, Issei, you’re…” you let out a strangled yelp, your train of thought lost as he repeats the same roll of his hips as before.

“Seems like I’ve got your full attention now,” Mattsun laughs, but his words are a little hoarser than they were before, a little more laboured. He grunts as you press your chest into his, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him again, your hips continuing the same steady pace that he’d set for you both.

You should be embarrassed how quickly the knot in your stomach builds up while you grind against Matsukawa’s lap, or at the very least embarrassed that you have an audience to the entire spectacle, but the heat thrumming through your veins makes you shameless and desperate. Mattsun moves with purpose and an almost inhuman precision, riling you up so fast that you find yourself on the brink of cumming and all of your clothes are still on.

His teeth bite down into the flesh of your shoulder at the exact moment the outline of the head of his cock ruts directly against your clit.

“Issei!” you throw your head back, gasping at the feeling.

“That was a moan!” Oikawa says with a sudden sharp clap of his hands, shattering the intimacy of the heated moment.

Before you know what’s happening you’re being pulled off Issei, who can only groan in response, his hands trying to cling to you as you’re pried from his lap.

“No, no, please I-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good, too. Better even,” Oikawa smiles at you as he cuts off your desperate babbling, but it’s sharp and predatory as he lays you out on the sofa, flat on your back.

Your thighs are shaking, panties sticking between your legs as he crawls over you.

“Isn’t that right, Cherry-chan?”

You have half a mind to kick him off the couch just for the nickname, and call the whole thing off.

You dated Oikawa in high school, much to both of your dismay now that you’re older and wiser and not virgins. And he’d started calling you the pet name not long after you’d started seeing each other — citing the way your cheeks would always flush a telling, rosy hue at the slightest bit of provocation. You’d actually found it sort of sweet, until you learned (way later than you should have) that the nickname came from the fact he popped your cherry, not because you looked like one.

But you’re too worked up to do either of those things, and instead you fist the material of his t-shirt and pull him down towards you to crash his lips to yours.

Oikawa shows none of the patience that Mattsun showed in the preamble, immediately working the waistband of your pants down over your hips, underwear along with it. Before you know it, you’re naked from the waist down and Tooru is sinking to his knees on the floor between your parted thighs.

He wastes no time. Oikawa Tooru is a man who knows what he wants, and he has been for as long as you’ve known him.

Driven.

Unyielding in the pursuit of his goals.

And what he wants right now?

To break you apart.

Maybe it’s because of how worked up Mattsun had gotten you, maybe it’s the skillful way Oikawa uses this mouth, but in no time at all you find yourself on the edge.

“Oh my god, oh — haa — my god,” you’re babbling as the boy between your legs sucks your clit into his mouth. You’re trying your best to be quiet as you speak, all things considered; not quite moaning yet, though you’re uncertain as to whether or not it’s because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction, or that you know the moment you do you’ll be denied yours again.

“You taste so good.” Tooru licks a long stripe up your pussy with his unfairly talented tongue, flicking the tip against your sensitive clit as he reaches the top. “So sweet.”

You keen, back arching up off the sofa as he curls two long fingers inside of you without much warning beyond the brief glimpse of him wetting them with his mouth.

You’re going to cum.

You’re going to cum.

“Then do it,” Oikawa says, peering up at you lustfully from his place between your thighs, his tongue flicking out to lave against your clit again. You didn’t even realize you’d said it out loud.

Tooru spits into the hand that’s not currently three knuckles deep inside of you, and shifts slightly as he reaches down out of sight. The slick sound of him pumping his cock fills the room along with the obscene noises of him lapping at your cunt. The fact that he’s getting off on this as much as you are makes you feel even more unhinged.

When you finally cum, you feel like you’re going to die.

“Tooru!” you cry out, unable to hold the moan back any longer even in spite of your best efforts. Your thighs clamp around his head as your hips buck up against his face, back arching like a bow string drawn taught. Your hands tangle in his soft brown hair while you ride out the wave of heat that rips through your body.

You’re too far gone to worry that you’re going to be interrupted, but it doesn’t matter: the boys around the room are watching with such a fascinated intensity that none of them dare to interrupt.

“Look at that,” Makki breathes.

“Shit,” Mattsun grunts out an agreement as you struggle to catch your breath.

Oikawa’s hand has sped up it’s frantic passes along his cock, and when he shifts up to his knees on the floor below you, you catch sight of it for the first time since you were a teenager: still long and curved and nicely pink at the head, glossy with the precum oozing out of it.

“Like what you see?” he rasps out when he catches the way your eyes have travelled down to his dick, the muscles in his abdomen clenching to make them even more defined in a way that you’re uncertain is intentional or instinctive.

You nod weakly.

“Cum on me, Tooru.”

His muscles tense again.

“Where?” his pretence of nonchalance is fractured by the way his voice cracks, a pretty hand wrapped around the base of his equally pretty cock to keep himself from cumming before you tell him exactly where you want it.

“My tits,” you breathe, eyes flickering up to his feral gaze, “cum on my tits.”

One of his hands wraps around your knee, tugging you to the edge of the sofa where you’re still lying flat on your back. Your shirt rucks up slightly in the scramble, but his other hand tugs your tank top the rest of the way up over your chest, positioning himself over you between your spread legs as he pumps his hand hard and fast one, two, three times more before you feel the first spatter of cum hit your sweat-dampened skin.

You watch as he rests back on his haunches, reaching up to push his ruffled hair back from his face.

Tooru smirks, dragging a long finger through the mess he made on your chest — probably writing his name in it — as he speaks again.

“I don’t remember you being so lewd when we were in high school, Cherry-chan.”

“I don’t remember you being able to make me cum when we were in high school, either. Guess things change,” you say, and your words would have been more cutting if you were a little less breathless. Your hand reaches up and cards through Tooru’s impossibly soft hair, but what could have been a tender moment turns cutting when you curl your fingers in the tresses and tug hard — Oikawa looks like he’s holding back a moan. “And stop calling me that.”

“Here,” a voice says softly from beside you, pulling your attention away from the obnoxious boy who’d just made you cum. You let your head loll to the side to see Iwa handing you a bit of tissue. You have no idea when or where he got them from, but you thank him, watching the way his eyes follow your careful motions as you clean yourself up.

“You missed a spot,” Oikawa says, dipping down and dragging his tongue across your breast, maintaining eye contact with his best friend while he does it. You whimper a little at the way his teeth graze you when he suckles your nipple into his mouth — just for the hell of it.

“Alright, enough rekindling that old flame,” Makki says, eager for his own turn, before grabbing Oikawa by the collar of his shirt and dragging away from you. The brown-haired boy makes an indignant squawk as he’s so unceremoniously uprooted, but you have virtually no time to process it before Hiro is pulling you up to your feet and maneuvering you over to his seat, flopping down and pulling you into his lap along with him.

“Take this off,” he says, tugging at the shirt bunched up over your chest. He helps guide it up over your head properly and then he appraises you for a moment, moulding his hand to the shape of your breast.

He sighs, and it sounds soft and almost dreamy. You don’t trust it at all.

“Perfect.”

If Issei and Oikawa had been determined to unravel you as quickly as possible, Hiro is the opposite — he touches you like he wants to drive you to the brink, but never quite allow you to go over.

“‘Atta girl, just like that,” Hiro breathes as his thumb rubs infuriatingly slow circles into your clit, his other hand guiding the thick head of his cock through the slick of your slit. His shirt is long gone, but his sweatpants had only been tugged down around his knees — unsurprisingly he’d not been wearing underwear beneath them.

He’s been teasing you like this for what felt like an eternity, painstakingly circling your clit, rolling your nipples between his teeth, laving his tongue over the bite marks he’d littered across your collarbones to match the one’s Issei had made while you mewled. He appeased your needy whines with the occasional dip of his tip pressing into you, a little bit of a burn each time as you adjusted to the intrusion, you still feel too empty.

“H-hiro, please. I need it,” you’re almost sobbing as you plead to him. Hell, you are sobbing — the words mangled and watery as your fingers tangle their way into Makki’s perpetual bedhead.

“Nah, you don’t,” Makki says. “You can cum like this.”

“I don’t want to,” you warble, fingernails raking bluntly over his scalp. “Wanna cum on yo-on your cock.”

That makes him falter, slipping a little bit further inside you due to nothing but pure shock. You feel his cock twitch as you sink halfway down it.

“Oh I felt that,” you keen, tossing your head back and dropping your hips down onto him as much as his vice grip on your waist will allow — which isn’t much. “Please Hiro. I know you want to.”

“‘Course I want to,” he groans, thrusting shallowly into the tight heat between your legs. “But you’re so pretty like this, all wrecked and desperate. Who’re you begging for?”

“You,” you murmur, kissing up his throat to his jaw, sliding little pecks all the way across to his mouth. “It’s for you Hiro — so please just fuck me.”

“I don’t have a condom on,” Hiro hisses out through clenched teeth. “And I’m out.”

“I’ve got some,” Mattsun drawls from his spot on the couch and your half-lidded gaze lands on him. He licks his lips as you make eye contact, your walls clenching around the tip of Hiro’s cock that’s still half-inside you.

“Fuck you,” Makki spits, not to you, and you all know why. Mattsun is the only man in the room that would fit into the king size condoms tucked into his bedside drawer.

“I don’t care,” you keen, head lolling back.

He’s halfway in already, no condom in sight. Was it your finest hour? The most shining example of reason you’d ever set? No. But you were three quarters of the way through letting your four best friends have their way with you, so it’s fair to say that logic and reason were well beyond you by that point.

“Really?” Hiro’s voice is comically pitchy as he croaks the question out, desperate and hopeful.

“Just don’t cum inside me, ‘kay?” You nod, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. He rolls his hips a little deeper than before, not all the way, but fuller than he’d been filling you up until that point.

“You got it, princess.”

Makki’s cock may not be the most impressive in the room, but god does he know how to use it. The first thrust to the hilt he makes has you crying out — a pitiful, broken sound that rips from somewhere deep in your chest.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Hiro moans, pulling out just to repeat the same toe-curling accuracy he’d executed on the first thrust. Three more and you’re ready to snap, and the softest pressure of his thumb on your clit has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Hiro, H-Hiro, Hiro!” you moan his name as you come undone, nails digging into the soft flesh of his shoulders as you scrabble for purchase in the pale skin.

“Fuck, fuck,” Hiro chokes out, managing two more sloppy thrusts through your orgasm before he’s pulling out of you and cumming all over his own tightly-drawn abs.

You crumple forward, hands gripping the back of the chair as your sweat-slicked chest meets Makki’s. His hands immediately reaching around to stroke your back as the two of you struggle to catch your breaths.

It’s an unusually gentle gesture, and you find yourself melting into his touch — though careful not to get the cum splattered across his skin onto yours.

“Wow,” he says with a huff of a laugh, the warm breath fanning against your ear. “Your pussy’s unreal.”

You pull back, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

Way to ruin the moment.

You flick him on the forehead, right between his brows.

You stand up onto unsteady legs and almost immediately stumble, but a strong arm around your waist keeps you upright.

You turn in the aforementioned grip to see Iwa supporting you.

“Hi, Iwa,” you say softly, for lack of anything better to say, a delirious smile on your flushed face.

“Hi,” he repeats the greeting with a sweet chuckle. He says your name quietly, and you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach. “You good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, with a little nod, very aware of the way his stiff cock is pressing into your hip as he holds you.

You wait for a second before stretching up to press your lips to his.

He freezes momentarily — like even after everything he’d just witnessed he wasn’t quite expecting it — before responding in kind, kissing you deeply and holding you a little bit tighter.

You stay like that, making out in the middle of the living room, before Iwa sweeps you up into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist as he holds you like it’s effortless and carefully he leans down, laying you out across the floor — hardly breaking the kiss all the while.

Iwa steals a pillow off the couch — you think it’s Oikawa who hands it to him but you can’t be sure — nestling it under your hips to angle them up and protect them from the hard floor underneath.

“Is this okay?” he asks, though he barely separates from your mouth to speak the words, so soft and quiet and close that it’s like you’re the only person in the world who’s meant to hear them.

You nod a little bit, your fingers tracing through his short hair while he’s hovering over you.

“We can stop here, you know,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “You’ve done so much already.”

You panic a little, your grip on his hair tightening.

“No,” you say, voice pitching up in your fluster. “Please, Hajime. I want you to fuck me.”

Iwa swallows hard, leaning back on his knees as he tugs his sweatshirt up over his head.

You’re wet and more than ready for him when he finally presses in — but there’s still a delicious stretch as he carves his way inside of you that has you arching up underneath him, grabbing his corded shoulders to ground yourself.

“Oh,” Iwa gasps out as he feels the way you’re wrapped around him, sucking him in.

You whimper as he pulls back only slightly before rutting into you again, sending you sliding up on the carpet, the burn against your shoulder blades little more than a dull ache even if you know you’ll feel it acutely in the morning.

“More, Iwa,” you plead to him breathlessly. “I want you.”

“You’ve got me,” he replies hoarsely, but he still obliges your request readily, looping your knees over his forearms and bending you in half. The change forces a sound out of you that’s so carnal it even takes you by surprise.

He’s so deep at this angle, you swear you can feel the tip of his cock hitting your diaphragm — anatomical possibilities be damned. Your throat is tight, breath hitching with every slow, calculated thrust inside of you as he takes his time.

“Ha-“ your moan is cut off before you can say his name, his hand pressing against your swollen lips to trap the word behind them unspoken.

“Sorry, baby,” Iwa murmurs, eyes tracing over your wrecked face. “I just don’t want this to end too quick, okay?”

You can only nod underneath his palm as it covers your mouth, tears of exertion gathering along your lash line and dripping back towards your temple.

“Be good for me,” his words are strained, tendons in his neck flexing as he swallows hard and rolls his hips down into yours once more.

If any of the boys want to complain about how this is breaking some unspoken rule, they don’t. A silence so profound has settled over the room that you wonder if they’re even breathing.

Iwa fucks you languidly — tenderly. Like he’s savouring every slick slide into your cunt for all the moment is worth. He’s groaning openly, the sounds occasionally muffled by your skin as he presses hot open mouthed kisses to every inch of it he can reach - your mouth is still covered by his heavy hand, so he focuses his attention on your jaw, your throat, your tits.

He doesn’t care about the competition, the way he’s taking his time makes that clear, but when he finally removes his hand and you moan — properly moan — it’s a sound so high and sweet you can almost feel the shiver that runs down the length of his spine.

“Hajime.”

“Shit,” the grunted curse isn’t from Iwa, who is still rocking his hips into yours, but rather Makki — who had begun shamelessly jerking himself off again on the other side of the living room.

You cum for the third time that night, but it’s no less impressive than the first two. Your vision goes from black to white with how hard your eyes squeeze shut, and Iwa moans your name out when he feels the way you clench around his cock — so tight he can barely keep fucking you through it. Your legs wind themselves around his hips and keep him still as you writhe through your peak.

“‘M gonna cum,” he grunts out through clenched teeth, hands moving to try and pry your legs away, “baby, I’m gonna cum, you gotta-“

“Inside,” you keen, “cum inside me, Haji.”

With a defeated, wanton groan he nods, rolling against you again— it’s harder this time, more frantic.

“You sure?” he manages to bite the words out though it seems to take every last ounce of resolve he has, hands pressed into the carpet on either side of your head as he leans over you fucking you into the floor.

You nod frantically, tears still rolling down your cheeks. Your hands press weakly against the smooth planes of his chest as you feel the first pangs of overstimulation, your fingers scratching into the skin beneath them a little more on every thrust. You loosen the lock of your legs, allowing Iwaizumi a bit more leeway to fuck you harder, and after only a few more bruising thrusts you feel him cum, cock throbbing and filling you up so well that you feel on the verge of bursting.

Iwa collapses on top of you, his face tucked into the crook of your neck as his heavy weight bears down and crushes you into the floor — but you don’t quite mind it.

He gets his bearings soon enough, as though realizing for the first time he might be harming you, rolling onto his side.

His eyes are a little hazy as they rake over your features, a look of concern pinching his handsome face. You can tell without him saying it that he’s worried he went too far, so you reach up and cup his face in your palm with a weak but genuine smile.

You feel a pressure on your knee unexpectedly, gently nudging your legs apart. You look down to see Hiro’s foot coaxing your thighs open, eyes fixed to where Hajime’s cum is dripping out of you. He’s tucked his cock away and pulled his sweatpants up again, meaning he must have finished again at some point, but his lip is stuck out in an obnoxious pout as he looks at you.

“How come he got to nut inside you but I didn’t?” Makki whines, and Oikawa reaches out and smacks the back of his head lightly — shooting him a look that you don’t quite understand.

“I’ll go get a warm cloth to clean you up,” Iwa says to you, pulling your attention back to him as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. He clears his throat a little. “Okay?”

You nod weakly, your exhaustion having finally crept up on you.

“Iwa-chan, get one for me too! My face is still all sticky!” Oikawa calls after Iwa’s retreating form.

“Get it yourself!”

“But Iwa!” Oikawa complains, standing and shuffling after his friend, grumbling about the injustice all the while.

“You need some water?” Makki asks, standing from his seat and peering down at where you’re still laying flat on the floor of your living room. He stretches his arms up over his head, the muscles of his upper body flexing under his skin as he does so. You nod, hissing a little as you pull yourself upright.

“Yes, please,” your throat is hoarse so you say the words a little weakly, and you wince as you feel more cum seep out of you and smear along the tops of your thighs. Makki nods and saunters off towards the kitchen, but you could have sworn you spotted a little blush along the tops of his cheeks before he left.

You sigh a little bit, blinking away some of the residual wetness in your eyes.

A figure appears in the periphery of your blurry vision, and you turn, peering upwards.

Mattsun grins down at you, his towering height only amplified by your position on the floor. He tilts his head to the side.

“Kinda unfair that I’m the only one who didn’t get to cum, you know.”

He crouches down beside you, his eyes trailing all the way up your body until he reaches your flushed, tearstained face. He cups your cheek in his hand, the pad of his thumb swiping away a lone tear still clinging to your skin. He brings the thumb up to his lips, and you watch raptly as his tongue sweeps out to taste the brine from his fingertip.

Your stomach clenches.

“Think you’re ready for me now, sweetheart?”

None of you even seem to notice that the competition had been all but forgotten.

Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader

Part 1: It Starts In A Bar

summary: your friends take you out to a local pub when you would much rather be grading assignments. a/n: hello! big surprise, me writing for john price! I don't know how long this will be, but I definitely have a general idea of where I want this to go. I hope y'all like it!

thank you @lethalchiralium for dragging me into the clubhouse kicking and screaming LMAO

Why did they pick this place again?

Ah, right. “It’s a hometown pub, a staple to the community,” they said. That was clear from the couple dozen men and women, ranging from middle-aged to elderly, scattered about, and a few younger folks peppered into the crowd. It wasn’t run down by any means, just…a dive. You mindlessly picked at the peanuts and pretzels in little bowls, elbows perched on the edge of the sticky table, for hours. You chatted and occasionally laughed at the stories they shared about their homeroom students and the shenanigans the other grades got up to. You’d been teaching year thirteen for a while, students taking their A-levels in history. 

It was supposed to be a quiet evening, spent with a stack of papers to grade, surrounded by glowing candles scattered around your apartment accompanied by soft white string lights stretched across the ceiling. Instead, your friends somehow managed to drag you out of your cozy home to a dark dive in town. You loved them dearly (really, you did), but you had a routine. Your ideal Friday night wasn’t in a damp bar.

Your kids could be challenging at times in their late teens. They occasionally cause trouble, known for getting into fights, interrupting class, or bringing drama into the classroom. Nevertheless, you’d never had a set of students that was more than you could handle. They turned their work in on time and were always nosy about your personal life, which – much to their chagrin – was uneventful. Your love life was stale, to put it nicely. And your friends tried everything in their power to set you up on dates, every single one striking out miserably. It didn’t feel natural to meet some guy at a restaurant for a blind date.

One of them talked about themselves the entire time, barely letting you get a word in. The next ordered about three more drinks than you and a meal that cost twice as much as yours but demanded you split the cost of the date. You were all for splitting the bill but on the first date? Not a good impression.

The rest were uninteresting and immemorable.

“Seriously? You haven’t been on a date since – Oh, what was his name again?”

“Zachary,” you pointed out, taking a long sip of your drink. “You should know; you set up the date.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t realize he was such a bore one-on-one.”

“Thanks for that, by the way. Loved talking to myself for two hours.”

You all laughed at the memory, starting to finish drinks and gather belongings. “Let’s get to the next spot to find you a man!”

Bar hopping was the absolute last thing you wanted to do, but you knew better than to resist. It would all be over much faster if you just went along. Your companions were much quicker on their exit, considering the nearly-full drink that you felt like you just bought, and they were already moving on to the next dig. You threw the rest of your drink back, flinching as the big gulp of alcohol burned down your throat, and hurried to catch up with them. You took one of their outstretched hands, giggling as they just about pulled you into the circle exiting the pub–

“Excuse me, miss!” a deep voice called out. You’re not sure why, but you turned, feeling like the man was calling out to you. Your assumption turned out to be correct, and a tall, dark-haired man with a beard and a soft smile approached you. “Sorry, you left this.”

He held your cardigan to you. You must have abandoned it in your haste.

“Oh! Thank you so much. That’s kind of you,” you said, taking the garment back and draping it over your forearm. “I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached,” you added, tapping your temple with a soft chuckle.

“Quite alright.” Behind you, an elbow nudged your spine; you barely caught yourself from making a face and snapping at whichever acquaintance decided to egg you on. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it seems you’re heading out.”

He certainly was handsome. His beard was well-groomed, just like his hair. It looked like he went to a barber fairly recently. He even dressed well, in a cream, ribbed polo tucked loosely into his jeans. Dark chest hair peeked out where the top two buttons were undone. It was an enticing offer…

“Um, yeah, but….” You looked over your shoulder and met expectant glances. Some looked like they were about to bust apart at the seams with glee, which made you roll your eyes. Clearly, you wouldn’t be missed. “I could hang for a little while longer.”

The man's smile grew, and his stance shifted to open a path toward the bar. “Are you sure? Y’don’t have to,” he amended, his hands in his pockets. His energy was warm and soft but still masculine. He held a confidence that not many people carried, at least not the men you’d been on dates with recently. And the Liverpool accent? Maybe things were starting to look up.

“No, no, I honestly need another drink.” You flashed your teeth back to him, folding your arms over your chest with your sweater in hand.

“In that case, after you.”

Before taking his arm, you realized you’d yet to even ask for his name. “Thank you…?”

“John.” John’s right hand hovered before you and he flashed his bright teeth. His hands were clean, nails neatly trimmed. Although, one nail bed was bruised.

Man, he’s pretty for a grown man.

“Y/N,” you replied with an easy grin. He kept a steady hold on your gaze, carefully examining the bright twinkle they held. You didn’t know it, but John had just returned from a long mission. One that had left him yearning for a shower, a haircut, and somebody to come home to. He’d never had anything to look forward to and stay alive for; no affection or comfort after a rough assignment, no one to care for and spoil.

And he wanted that.

“A surname to that, John?” you asked, sliding your hand through the loop he created with his elbow. Holy shit, he was strong. Your hand rested on the soft but well-built muscle of his bicep. You figured he must have a labor-intensive job, or he goes to the gym frequently. John didn’t seem like the type to spend hours at the gym in his spare time, so you went with the first option. You’d keep that in mind when making small talk later.

“John Price.”

“Very regal name.”

John scoffed but laughed nonetheless. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

John couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were unbelievably bubbly, especially for interacting with a stranger who only gave back your forgotten cardigan. He’d been watching you from his spot at the bar, laughing with your friends but zoning out every once in a while. He was no stranger to giving himself a mental break, particularly in a hectic environment like a packed bar on a cool, Friday evening.

“I’ll call you when I need a ride!”

You and John watched the giggly group exit the pub, happily waving as they piled into a cab. You waved back with your free hand, your other palm still pressed against his warm skin. They didn’t embarrass you too badly, thank god. You met John’s eyes, a dark color twinkling with mischief.

“Your friends seem chipper.”

“I’m so sorry. They’re just happy to see me talking to a man.” 

“Oh? Is that right?” he chuckled, nodding to your previously held table. John broke away briefly to retrieve his unfinished drink and denim jacket from the bar.

You followed his lead back to the booth, attempting to keep control of the flush you felt beginning to heat your cheeks. “They’ve set me up on many an unfortunate date. Not saying I don’t get along fine on my own, but–”

“It’s rough out there?” he finished, sliding into the cushioned seat across from you. When you nodded in return, John smirked. “Believe me. I get it. My career makes it difficult to find time for much of anything.”

“Yeah, well, I have sixteen kids.”

The man sputtered, choking on what looked to be an old-fashioned. Possibly a bad joke, but it was such a great opportunity; you were feeling frisky, and you couldn’t help the giggles that erupted following his reaction. “I teach history for year thirteen.”

“Oh, thank Christ.” John wiped the cocktail off his lip with the back of his hand, shaking his head at your laughter. “You had me going there. Five minutes into our date, and I’ve made a mess of myself.”

You quirked a brow. “So this is a date?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, I would consider it light conversation. Getting to know each other.”

“That’s a date.”

“Mmm, I’d say it’s more casual than that.”

“I’m not looking for casual, love.”

You paused, examining his calm demeanor. He didn’t seem cocky, but honest, a welcome change to the pattern you’d observed over the last few months. None of your dates had been so bold as to know what they want and make their intentions clear. Especially not so quickly. It was refreshing.

“Me neither.”

“Good.”

You both sat in peace, pausing your conversation for the waitress. You ordered another drink, as promised, and folded your hands on the tabletop, fingers laced. “So, what do you do, John?” you asked, tapping your thumbs together.

“I’m in the military.”

You paused, expectantly waiting for him to continue, only to be met with silence.

“Care to elaborate?”

He tutted once with his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth. “I would love to, but I can’t.”

Interesting. Normally, resistance like that would be a red flag. On the other hand, his job could be “classified” or whatever is said in the movies. No alarms went off in your mind; your intuition told you that John was trustworthy, so you let it go. The pretty brunette dropped your new drink off and another for John.

“I can tell you that I’m a Captain.”

“So you have pretend kids too?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he hummed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. A slight tinge of the citrus notes from the expressed orange peel wafted across the table. John’s laugh was distinctive, chesty and rumbly, inviting. “Of course. Mine are bigger, though, I’m sure.”

“Oh? They’re not scrawny little soldiers?”

“No. One’s almost two meters tall.”

“Jesus. How many?”

“Five. Gaz, Ghost, Soap, Alex, and Farah.”

“Well, I for one can’t wait to meet them.”

“Likewise.”

You fussed with your hair for about the thousandth time in your bathroom mirror and huffed when it wouldn’t settle right. John was to meet you in about fifteen minutes. Knowing him, that meant he would be buzzing up to your apartment any second. You’d been on a few dates and knew his date habits pretty well. If you’re not fifteen minutes early, you’re late. You had been out to dinner, grabbed coffee once or twice; you even grabbed an ice cream. So, it was a surprise when John suggested a trip to the museum. It didn’t seem like his thing, but you weren’t about to turn down a trip to the history exhibit.

As you expected, a familiar BZZT BZZT reverberated through your flat, signaling his arrival. The first time he picked you up, you let him into the building without using the intercom. You tried explaining that the speaker broke and your landlord had yet to fix it (shocker), but John wouldn’t hear it. You could have been letting in a random creep pressing buttons until some tenant unlocked the door. He insisted on creating a little system, so you would know it was him downstairs and not a kidnapper. From then on, he always rang the bell twice.

You gave up on your hair, switched the light off, and paged him in. Your unit was on the first floor (which wasn’t ideal), so it only took John a few seconds to reach your door. When you heard a knock at your door, you peered through the peephole (as promised) before unlocking the deadbolt, revealing a very well-dressed captain. John’s hair was a bit shaggy, but it suited him well. Your heart fluttered helplessly at the bright smile that appeared when he laid eyes on you, his gaze obviously taking in the sight before him.

It was a weeknight, and you didn’t have time to change between school and your usual errands. You threw a plaid skirt, thigh-high socks, and loose sweater together; just a sliver of skin showed between the top of your socks and hem of your skirt. You felt underdressed compared to John, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. 

“Hi,” he said, leaning to kiss your cheek. “You look lovely.”

“Same to you. You always clean up well.”

“If you saw the state I’m usually in at work – you’d understand why.”

John kept a watchful eye to make sure you turned both locks for your door before guiding you outside to a waiting taxi with a hand on the small of your back. He held the door to your building and the car open for you. The drive was short, but the weather was starting to catch a bit of a chill, and you didn’t want to walk too far.

Ever the gentleman, the captain followed closely behind you up the steps to the gallery. Even if he weren’t perceptive, with years of experience reading people, he could tell you were excited to be there; however, he wasn’t so experienced in the ‘romance’ department. John honestly couldn’t even remember the last time he visited any museum, let alone a dedicated history exhibition. But when he suggested it and assured you that he would have a good time, he was only being partially truthful. Secretly, the man just wanted an excuse to listen to you talk. What better place to bring you than an exhibit where he knew you would talk his ear off for hours?

You slowly worked your way through each exhibit, explaining some pieces you recognized and their significance to the period; at displays you weren’t familiar with, you both quietly hovered closer to the title cards, reading through the description. While that kind of date wasn’t John’s usual cup of tea, he was glad he planned it; it helped him figure out how to slow the fuck down and try to be normal outside of a military setting or a pub.

His breath nearly stuttered every time you laid a gentle hand on his arm and drew his attention to the next section, beaming as you animately but quietly pointed out the tiny details in a Renaissance painting hung on the wall. The man couldn’t help but stare at how your lips curved at every syllable, wide eyes glued on the intricate scene portrayed. John hadn’t spoken much so far aside from the occasional affirmation that he was listening; he was very much in his head, unsure if you were excited to be there with him or just excited to be there. But, standing in front of the big painting, you went quiet. You met his gaze, and his lips pulled into a lopsided grin, which you returned before you both shifted back to the artwork. It was peaceful, absorbing the atmosphere and just existing together. Suddenly, John was jolted out of his reverie by the feeling of something brushing the side of his palm. 

You were itching to hold his hand all night but were too nervous to take that leap. What if he rejected you? That wasn’t likely after so many dates, but still. Your nerves got the better of you for the better half of the self-guided tour. Regardless, you had managed to work up the courage, cautiously grazing your pinky against his wrist and hand before wrapping it around his. You didn’t look away from the illustration, but he did, moving to you, then down to your hands.

He simply stared for a moment, surprised but positively giddy at the same time. Surely enough, John took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and leaning just a bit closer to you. He could stand there forever, basking in your warmth and energy, the sound of your voice sinking into his every thought–

“Oh no,” you said, breaking the silence. You looked up at him worried, wrinkles forming between your brows. “I-I’m sorry. I was teaching again.”

He immediately gave you a reassuring squeeze, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Don’t be. I like hearing you talk.” Jesus, did he have a way with words. He liked hearing you talk? With that accent, he could spew nonsense, and it would still draw you in. But hearing John Price give you compliments and praise? Flattery? You were a goner. “Tell me more about the next one?”

As if he could get any more fucking perfect.

“Okay.”

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