#he’s determined and hopeful and willing to take risks for patients? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

makoodles · 1 year ago

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ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups.

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you.

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now.

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly.

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway.

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy.

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it.

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head.

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock.

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you.

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly.

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling.

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying.

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving.

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented.

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria.

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve.

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife.

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off.

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you.

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again.

Well. Okay, then.

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk.

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go.

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things.

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?”

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words.

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice.

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused.

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I�� what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee.

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry.

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure.

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch.

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing.

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged.

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs.

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return.

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming.

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else.

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily –

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face.

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him.

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs.

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy.

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious.

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering.

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy.

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static.

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent.

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside.

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is.

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you.

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him.

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in.

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much.

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today.

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach.

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness.

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest.

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him.

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies.

“Thank you.” You mumble.

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

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

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kleopatra45 · 2 months ago

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Sun in the Signs of D9 Chart

Aries

Born with Sun in Aries Placement in Navamsa Chart, you have a motion of your own and an inherent yearning for commitment free relationships. You will hardly be drawn to someone passive; you have a fiercely independent nature and so looks for an equally confident and determined partner who is ready to take charge. Chances are that this spouse will be active, blunt and daring and will encourage you to take risks in your life. They will urge you to embrace your inner self, will help you strive to ascend to greater heights and will never shrink from your side during thrill seeking and courageous activities. With them, life becomes a journey that is worth the effort and is interesting.

Taurus

For those with Taurus Sun in the D9 chart, you appreciate steadiness and fidelity while taking relationships seriously. There is a high chance you will find a partner who is easy-going, patient, and dependable, one who enjoys life and the little things it offers. This person may be industrious and focused on creating a secure and warm life. You both will share an interest in creating a calm household, relishing the mundanities reputation brings. The partner expresses affection through trust and harmony thus fostering a sense of peace that fortifies the ties.

Gemini

With the sun positioned in Gemini in the D9 chart you love anything and everything that stimulates your physical or intellectual prowess and need variations in relationships. The perfect spouse is stilts witty, well spoken, inherently inquisitive, and it is of course especially fond of conversations and bright ideas. This person may be young at heart, ready to bend down flexible, ever longing to learn or experience other things, thereby averting boredom in the relationship. In no time,; there will be constant laughter, travel and shared hobbies. The partner would care about the mental aspect, besides, the spouse will be whimsical and clever, which will enliven the added peace in the marriage.

Cancer

With the Sun being positioned in Cancer in the Navamsa chart, a person craves emotional closeness and bonding in relationships. He or she looks for a spouse who is kind, caring, and protective, one who loves family, home and instills a sense of security. This person may be nurturing, and sensitive, and be able to connect with how you are feeling. They’ll most likely be a caregiver who encourages you and makes you comfortable within the confines of the relationship. As a couple, you’ll build a relationship that is based on trust, warmth and hopes for the future. This person will love you deeply and make you feel a very Zen feeling at a soul level.

Leo

With the Sun in Leo in the D9 chart, you are a warm, faithful and spirited individual who needs a partner with the same level of activity. More often than not, you will have an affable, self-assured, big-hearted and emotional spouse who enjoys sharing his or her feelings and rejoicing in the pleasures of life. This individual will infuse the relationship with excitement, passion and artistic expression, as well as ensure you are treated like a king or a queen. You will be that power one couple relishing the affectionate, playful and admiring moments with each other. Your husband or wife will make profound romantic gestures which will be showering you with love.

Virgo

When a person has their Sun in Virgo in the Navamsa chart, they may look for a partner who is very meticulous, responsible, and willing to put in effort in making the relationship work. Such spouse would have a down to earth and nurturing personality who is keen on self-improvement and ensuring that you are supported. They will appreciate the little gestures of love and care as well as their consistent presence creating a source of solace. You will also work on establishing a bond that is beneficial to all which contrary to common belief, will not grow cold as each day will serve as an opportunity to strengthen your bond. Your partner will be considerate and thoughtful and will not hesitate to ensure that the relationship evolves positively.

Libra

With the Sun located in Libra in the D9 chart, you desire a relationship free from tension and fights. Most likely, you will find a spouse who is very charismatic, tactful, and who loves to build bridges. That person could be an aesthete who will help turn the union into a haven of love, respect, and beauty. In their midst, a graceful life will be achieved where common tastes, refinement, and deep comprehension will be present. A spouse will provide comfort and order, allowing both partners to achieve equilibrium and joyful interactions in the relationship.

Scorpio

In the D9 chart, sun sign in Scorpio indicates a deep need for emotional commitment in relationships. A person with such an ailment will most often be found in a passionate and sometimes enigmatic individual who strives to know her deeply. This may be a person of great inner strength and determination, who may be steadying yet also quite changeable in the role. You will create an intense relationship that seems almost spiritual, based on trust and faithfulness. You are married to a person who believes it’s okay to be weak because they would always be there to offer strength and support throughout the challenges of life.

Sagittarius

D9 Chart Sagittarius Sun indicates strong tendency towards freedom loving, adventurous and progressive relationships. Your prospective partner will probably be a liberal, visionary, and philosophical person who appreciates autonomy and travel. Such a partner will help you in overcoming any inhibitions and make you live fully, encouraging your zeal for exploration and adventure. This companionship will be enlivening, as both of you will share a common passion for activities, excursions, and education. Your spouse will instill a sense of liberation and elevation in you, prompting you to expand your horizons regarding life and relationships.

Capricorn

The D9 chart has the Sun placed in Capricorn, which means that you are protective, pragmatic and responsible in relationship matters. It is highly likely that the partner you will settle for will be an ambitious, hardworking and organized individual – one who cherishes future goals and ambitions. He or she may be practical and’s always working to ensure that there are no worries in the following days to come. Therefore, the two of you will work together to leave something tangible, while your spouse will provide order in the relationship. This will be a person you can count on, a person who will provide you with the much needed stability in every single one of your endeavors

Aquarius

You will desire a relationship that honors freedom and recognises each partner as an individual. When it comes to your partner, this in all likelihood will be a person with an unconventional, creative, and progressive way of thinking who appreciates original ideas and open-mindedness. They’ll be so different from you in a good way, that it will be a great challenge for you to think about doing things in a different way. You both would be able to enjoy a relationship which allows for both the partners to have their individual spaces without infringing on the others. Your spouse understand and encourage your need for independence and helps you feel loved and cherished in a relationship where you can be yourself.

Pisces

Sun in D9 Chart as Pisces makes an individual gravitate towards relationships that are incredibly emotional and spiritual, almost alien. Your spouse will probably be warm-hearted, sympathetic, and caring—someone whose heart speaks to you. That person can be sweet-natured and compassionate, always caring for you and eager to uplift your visions. It is a relationship in which both of you will form a sacred union with and interwoven concepts and feelings of closeness and emotional connection. A spouse is someone who will give you comfort and restore balance into your life, allowing you to seek a more meaningful relationship that is decidedly uplifting and restorative.

#astro notes #astroblr #astrology community #astrology #astrology observations #astrology readings #astrology tumblr #astro community #vedic astrology observations #solar return #vedic astro notes #vedicastrology #vedic astro observations #vedic astrology #vedic chart #d9 chart #navamsa chart

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notelcol · 1 year ago

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In which John Murphy steps out of his comfort zone.

Trigger warning : blood, reference to violence.

No one asked for this one but it’s here anyway and vaguely edited 😈

(It came out a little longer than intended, I got ever so slightly carried away…)

When Murphy came back from the grounder prison camp, despite him being the bully of all the delinquents, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. What did Bellamy expect after exiling his once second in command? We should have seen this coming. The grounders would have been fools not to take Murphy for all the information he had. Blood was smeared all over him. You couldn’t tell where it was originating he had that many wounds. The image of his torture made you shudder. Even his fingernails had been ripped from his fingers. You looked away. Forgetting all the times you had needed to confront him to protect others, you made a choice.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You asked Clarke, the only person with medical experience.

“You can find someone to go with you to the path that leads to Mount Weather.” She said with a sigh. “The poison sumac there would be really helpful.” The tired blonde uttered her thanks, while you left to find Octavia. She would most certainly accompany you.

Murphy watched through one eye, since his other was tightly inflamed. He could not fathom why you would be willing to risk your life leaving camp, simply to acquire a calming herb to ease his plight. Especially because the last time you saw each other, you were fighting him to save a child. A child who murdered the chancellors son, and got him hung to within an inch of his own life. Murphy hated you for that, so why didn’t you? The child you were trying to save did die because of him after all. He was a black and white sort of man. One who never understood forgiveness. A person would come to blows once and that’s it, they are dead to him. He always stood by those very rules. Until you, who only fought him in the name of peace. Which is why risking yourself to help someone who truly needs it, came natural to you. Even if it meant giving a second chance to someone like Murphy.

Unfortunately none of the hundred felt the same way as you. After failing to find Octavia, you begun asking around camp for someone to go with you. When that also failed miserably, you decided to grab a gun and head out alone.

The expedition went as well as you could have hoped. You did not feel the many eyes of the forest on you for once. In fact, it was so calm outside of camp that it almost spooked you. You decided to grab extra of the plant while you were there, to save Clark and Fin a job. Finally, your bag was full and it was time to turn back. You realised that you were a little bit out of breath after a few steps. You must have been picking the flowers for longer than you thought.

The walk back to camp felt much more tiring, so your feet began to drag. You could feel the sweat dripping all over your body, particularly annoying you around your top lip. Huffing, you removed your coat and wiped away the sweat from your face with it. You moved to tie it around your waist, only to be hit by a wavering buzz. It sent your whole body spinning. You watched your coat drop to the floor and finally noticed the blood. All that blood, covering most of the garment. You were so dazed that you didn’t even notice you had fallen.

“Get. Up.” You growled to yourself. Sputtering thick crimson, you clawed at the mud. This must be biological warfare. Your symptoms too similar to Murphy’s to be a coincidence. This revelation only cemented your determination to get this poison sumac back to camp. If you had caught it, then others must have too. Your mind went round in loops while your arms refused to rest. Until you inevitably exhausted yourself and dropped your head to the forest floor.

Murphy was finally starting to feel better. The countless patients in the drop ship could not say the same. As he gave water to a quiet girl named Fox, the fabric around the drop ship door ruffled loudly. Miller came rushing in with you slumped in his arms, blood and dirt covered you to the point where you were almost unrecognisable. He watched as you were dropped into a hammock. A strange feeling, one he could not identify, filled his chest as your bag spilled open revealing the many poison sumac flowers you had brought back.

You awoke to the feeling of something cold and wet on your forehead. You groaned at the heaviness in your lungs, which only caused the blood to gurgle and spurt from your mouth. As you choked, your eyes shot open to be faced by Murphy. His eyes almost went as wide as your own as he quickly removed the cold cloth from your head and pushed you onto your side. Your breath shook in relief. Instantly oxygen came easier, and the blood drained away.

“Rest.” He spoke in a softer tone than you thought was even possible from Murphy. Of their own accord, your eyes fell closed once more. The blood was wiped from your face in a manner that felt more like caress, helping you drift away peacefully to your dreams.

For the first time in his life, Murphy had entered his personal grey area. Your undeserved kindness showed him the world through a lens other than his own rage and paranoia. He decided then and there that he would take care of you until you recovered. Allowing himself to believe it was getting even, when really it was something else entirely. It was simply another thing he had yet to understand.

#fluff #x reader #john murphy #the 100 #cw the 100 #the 100 x reader #grounders #angst with a happy ending #light angst #genshin fluff #john murphy x reader #hurt/comfort #caretaker #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #scifi #fanfic #writing

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dawneternal · 1 year ago

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✨ A Court of Mischief and Matchmaking ✨

Summary: Feyre, the meddling matchmaker, devises a plan to speed up the numerous budding romances in the Night Court. A mischievous human game called 'spin the bottle'

Meant to be silly and fun. Includes a few crack ships.

Post Azriel bonus chapter. Pro-gwyriel and pro-lucien undertones. And pro-the-batboys-have-kissed-at-least-once-before

Rating: Just kissing

Word Count: 4k

Ao3 link

Feyre, ever the observant busybody, had been watching the interactions at family dinners with extra care for a while now. She had noticed a great many things while doing so. She also knew that Rhys, who rarely turned off the spying instincts in his brain, had noticed these things as well. But he did nothing but store them away in case they became important later.

Feyre was not as content to stay idle. Her observations stirred a restlessness within her, a desire to stick her hands into the situation and help. Not necessarily to interfere, but to grant momentum to anything that was already in motion.

Elain, who had once been growing bolder in her interactions with Azriel, had abruptly become quiet in his presence. She still conversed with everyone else, but carefully kept her gaze away from his. Gwyn, however, snuck small glances at the shadowsinger quite frequently, growing in number with every family dinner she attended.

Emerie looked for Mor at every chance, though she hid her disappointment well when the blonde was absent. But Feyre still noticed the slight droop to her wings and the dampened glimmer in her eyes.

The longing in Lucien's own eyes had never ceased, though he had learned that giving Elain any focused attention would only lead to rejection and embarrassment. Feyre could almost see the wilting bond between them, and the golden possibility of happiness if it was allowed to bloom.

Rhysand noticed his mate's expression as she watched it all. The determination, glints of sadness and hope. He smiled to himself, wondering when she would present a plan to him.

And sure enough, after dinner one night, she crawled into his lap as he sat at work in his study, looping her arms around his neck.

"I have a bit of a plan," She said, watching his face while he read the paper in his hand.

"What is that, my love?" He asked, running his fingers over her back with his free hand.

"I want to nudge fate a little bit. Just push it along if I can."

"Is that so?"

"I know you know what I'm talking about," she grumbled, grasping his chin and turning his gaze toward her. He relented, smiling down at her with happy violet eyes.

"Tell me your plan, matchmaker." He hummed, resting his forehead against hers.

"I want to play spin the bottle," She said firmly. Rhys's eyebrows shot upwards as he pulled back to look at her.

"And risk having to kiss any of the others?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Feyre laughed, "imagine the mischief and tell me it doesn't sound fun."

He had, already. And he agreed with her. But that would not stop his desire to tease.

"Wouldn't it trigger your territorial tendencies to watch me kiss someone else?" He asked her with a sly smile.

"You're the possessive one," Feyre scoffed, "I'm wondering if you can handle it."

"As long as you make it up to me," Rhys whispered, caressing the bridge of his nose along her cheekbone.

Feyre knew this was his permission and agreement to play along. The matchmaker inside her glowed and began plotting with new fervor.

***

"We're going to play a game tonight," Feyre announced to the group, "One that I remembered from the human lands."

It was a rare night when the entire family was all together. Mor had returned from the continent, Lucien had returned to check in, and all three Valkyries had managed to attend. Feyre had waited for a night like this patiently. Nyx laid down after dinner with no fuss, as if he knew his mother's intentions.

Then they had all settled in the living room, a fire in the hearth and various drinks in their hands. Feyre had drawn the furniture in a little closer together, forming a misshapen oval. If anyone had noticed, they hadn't said a thing.

"What game?" Nesta asked, suspiciously, squinting at her sister.

"Spin the bottle," Feyre crossed her arms and looked back at her sister in challenge. She was met with a few laughs throughout the room.

"Oh, we have spin the bottle here, too," Mor snorted, holding her stomach as she laughed.

"But no bottle," Lucien noted, hoping this may deter the shenanigans.

Mor only held up a finger, then grabbed her wine bottle and held it to her lips, downing it in a most unladylike fashion. She set it on the floor in the middle of their circle and slumped back in her chair, wiping the wine from her lip with one hand and pointing at Feyre with the other.

"High Lady goes first," Mor grinned.

"Everyone has to agree first," Rhys said, chuckling at his cousin's eagerness. "Though I'm not above using a High Lord's command. We all know how I enjoy giving Feyre what she wants."

He looked around the room, met with a chorus of reluctant and eager agreements. Cassian and Mor seemed to be the most enthusiastic, as was typical for most proposed games and festivities. Even Gwyn nodded, though she blushed bright pink and fidgeted in her chair. Azriel, though, said nothing. He sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, absolutely glowering at his brother.

"What's the matter, Az?" Rhysand grinned at this brother, "A bit out of practice?"

Feyre cringed, but Rhysand had struck the right cord. Something flashed in Azriel's eyes and he gritted out a "fine."

Amren, however, grabbed her wine glass and retreated to the bay window.

"I'm not playing," she scowled, curling up against a pile of plush pillows. There were a few sad sounds, but no one pushed her. Her Summer Court lover was not here, tonight, and she would have nothing to do with the rest of them. A High Lord's command only seemed to work on her about half the time anyways.

"Alright then," Feyre grinned and leaned down to spin the empty wine bottle, "let the game begin."

They all watched in silence as the bottle spun around and around, rattling against the floorboards, and slowed to a stop, pointing at Lucien.

Feyre and Lucien looked at each other, something akin to displeasure mirrored on their faces. This, of course, was noted with guffaws and cheers from their audience. Feyre did not look at Rhys, knowing exactly what he would say into her mind if she did. Her own words, mimicked back to her; 'It's a risk I'm willing to take.'

So Feyre swallowed her pride and met Lucien in the middle of the circle. Lucien wasted no time, bringing his hand to her cheek and meeting her lips to get it over with. Not much longer than a peck, there was no semblance of spark passed between them. At one point, human Feyre may have jumped at the chance to kiss him. But now that he was involved with her sister, all of that desire had died.

They pulled apart, looking at each other for a moment before both shrugged and returned to their seats. Cassian and Nesta cheered and Mor was laughing again. Rhys's eyes twinkled at her as she turned to sit back down, clearly amused. She snuck a quick glance at her sister and found Elain's face flushed, but her expression was unreadable.

"Your turn," she flashed Rhys a smug grin as she returned to her spot curled up beside him.

Rhysand sighed and spun the bottle. Feyre noted Gwyn's pale face and wondered if she would refuse to kiss the High Lord if it landed on her. To Gwyn's apparent relief, the bottle pointed at Cassian.

Cassian grinned, pulling his arm from around Nesta's shoulder to beckon him. Rhys swaggered across to Cassian with a matching smirk. He stood to the side of the loveseat so as not to block Feyre's view. Hands tangling in Cassian's hair, he leaned in and kissed him. It was certainly not as shy as Feyre and Lucien's had been, quite the opposite. Passionate and almost sloppy, deepening with every second they pulled each other closer. And Cassian's hand slid over Rhys's jaw with an ease and familiarity that made Feyre wonder how often this had happened in the past 500 years.

Very aware of the reactions that had spread throughout the room, they grinned after pulling away. Like the show-offs they were. Rhysand cleared his throat and straightened his shirt, and Cassian merely slid his arm back around his mate's shoulder, meeting her bewildered look with a smug smile.

Feyre wrinkled her nose as she noted the gleam in her sister's smouldering eyes that hinted at her arousal. Amren snorted at the scene from her corner. Feyre's eyebrows raised as her mate turned back toward her, and he flashed her a look that said I'll explain later.

"Gwyn," Rhys gestured to her as he took his seat, arm draping over Feyre's legs.

Gwyn paled again, but swallowed hard and spun the bottle, albeit a bit feebly. Feyre thought she saw the quickest of glances towards Azriel as she did so. Feyre eyed the shadowsinger from her peripheral. He was stoic as always, though one shadow near his ankle was trying to tug away from him, toward the priestess. As if he could barely keep it contained. Interesting.

Gwyn's spin landed on Nesta, and Mor gave a particularly loud cheer. Gwyn's giggling smile was infectious, her bubbling laughter pulling smiles from the whole group's faces, even Amren.

Nesta grinned back at her and crossed the circle before Gwyn could move. She grasped Gwyn's face in both hands and gave her a short but loving kiss, adding a peck to the tip of her nose and forehead. Feyre's heart warmed at the affection they held for each other, deepened by their experiences in the Blood Rite. Nesta's friends were the best thing to come out of her move to the house of wind, and Feyre took no credit for it. Nesta had done it all on her own. Emerie and Gwyn exchanged giggling looks and elbowed each other as Nesta sauntered away.

Emerie was next and she quickly sobered upon realizing. She reached for the bottle and spun, sighing as she waited for it to reveal her fate. The bottle stopped, pointing at Mor, and half the room held their breath.

Mor, slightly tipsy from finishing the bottle, smiled at Emerie with wine-red lips and went to meet her in the middle. It was the most nervous the other Valkyries had ever seen Emerie. She was notoriously unshakable. Her only weakness, apparently, was pretty blondes in low cut dresses.

Mor slid one hand into Emerie's curls and met her lips. It was shy to start, but quickly grew heated as they pulled each other closer, heads tilting to deepen the kiss. Mor grasped Emerie's waist as Emerie's own hand settled on Mor's neck, thumb sweeping across her jaw. Cassian whistled, but they didn't seem to hear it. As their kiss-turned-make-out began to go on just a bit too long, Mor's hand starting to reach below Emerie's waist, Rhysand cleared his throat loudly.

They jumped apart, breathing heavy, looking at each other with glazed eyes. Mor broke into a smile and Emerie laughed as they reluctantly let each other go. Gwyn's eyebrows waggled back and forth as Emerie returned to her seat. Rhys flashed Feyre a look, and in her mind asked is this what you were hoping for? She ignored him, tossing her hair over her shoulder. But she was smiling, too.

They all glanced at Nesta, who looked as if she had hoped no one would realize it was her turn. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, uncrossing her arms to reach for the bottle. Feyre knew better, of course. Her sister enjoyed this sort of game. She saw it as a challenge.

Feyre saw it in her eyes, that glimmer of determination as the bottle landed on Rhys. Rhys blinked, lifting his gaze to Nesta to see what she would do. She gave him a sly smile, the challenger showing through. So, Rhys gathered his own resolve and rose to meet her.

Feyre had gone through the game in her mind earlier that day, knowing who she hoped would be paired, and who she hoped would manage to stay away from each other. Somehow, she had not considered this possibility. Either her sister would devour her mate whole (and not in a good way), or the other way around and there would be no Nesta left at the end. This may not end well.

What Feyre had not expected, was for Rhysand to grab Nesta's face gently in his hands and press a soft, deep kiss to her mouth. But she knew right away why he had done it. Nesta was not expecting the tender, coaxing kiss that he gave her. She had expected him to fight, had grabbed the collar of his shirt in her fists in anticipation of something cruel and bruising.

So when his lips met hers so gently, dragging her into the depths of his night-kissed affection, she lost herself for a moment. Just a moment. The room was full of wide eyes and baited breaths as the pair pulled apart, waiting to see what the fallout would be.

Nesta stared at him through her lashes in a way that revealed the girl in her, slowly unravelling her fingers from the fabric of his shirt. Rhysand smiled back at her, real kindness in it as if to bring her back to herself gradually. It spread into a sly grin, and Nesta blushed, finally realizing that Rhys had won.

She tossed her head in response, not noticing the jealousy that took over her mate's face. Cassian was not very jealous as a general rule. But apparently Rhysand, who Cassian looked up to so much, was one of the few that posed a true threat in the warrior's mind.

"I suppose I can see it," She said, her voice a little unsteady as she waved a dismissive hand toward Feyre.

Of course, Rhysand was absolutely delighted with himself. This was a boost to his ego that he certainly had not needed. When the others were sure that a brawl had been avoided, they burst into howling laughter. Nesta was above it all, looking down her nose at the rabble with her arms crossed once again. Cassian tucked her closer into his side, eyes ablaze.

Then he realized that it was his turn, and he could seize the opportunity to make Nesta jealous in turn. He all but jumped to give the bottle a spin.

The bottle, ironically, pointed to Nesta. Feyre, who had felt Rhys power flicker, looked up at him. He gave her the tiniest of smiles back.

The group let out a collective groan, having been subjected to the couple's displays countless times. Gwyn raised her hand in a preemptive measure, shielding herself from any obscene thing about to happen.

Nesta gave him a warning look, but Cassian did not hesitate to pounce on her, wrapping his arms around Nesta and devouring her with the same fervor he applied to battle. For all Nesta's airs of irritation and impatience, she smiled against his lips as she kissed him back. When they pulled apart, unprompted for once, she was flushed and beaming. No one could hold a candle to her warrior, after all. All of Cassian's jealousy seemed to have washed away.

Next in rotation was Mor, who grinned and stretched her arms above her head, as if to prepare. She spun the bottle with a flick of her wrist, eyes never moving as it whirled around.

And landed on Azriel.

Her eyes snapped up to his, hints of anxiety on both of their features. And of course, the anxiety of the group rippled back toward them, nearly palpable. It annoyed Azriel as hit him like a wave. Like they all thought he would fall apart the second she touched him. Mor looked at him like she was contemplating whether to turn him down. But she saw the twitch of his jaw and understood.

Mor stood and made her way to him, dropping down on his lap as he looked up at her. His hand wrapped around her waist as if on instinct, as if he had thought about what to do in this moment countless times. As usual, his shadows hurried away to hide from Mor's glowing aura. Inside, Azriel was bracing to laugh it off as the others had. Make it a joke, something lighthearted.

But the way she looked at him, eyes glimmering as if she were holding back tears, stirred the deep well of emotions in his chest. She threaded her fingers through his curls, brushing her thumb over his temple as she kissed him. Tenderly, he pulled her in tighter. But there was no longing in their kiss, as the others may have expected. There was an undertone of sadness.

Mor pulled away, resting her forehead against his as her hand slid down to hold his face. Then they locked eyes, something invisible passing between them as they held each other. Feyre blushed a little, feeling like she was peering in on something she shouldn't be. It seemed to be a shared sentiment, everyone but shamless Amren averting their gaze. Feyre did notice that Elain had been looking anywhere else since the moment Mor had stood up. And Gwyn looked as though she was holding her breath. Nothing like jealousy or animosity anywhere on her face, she was only waiting to see what would happen.

When Mor finally untangled herself from him and Feyre could read his face, she found...gratitude? Then she understood, something twisting in her heart at the bittersweetness of it. Mor had been saying goodbye. To whatever had been growing and wilting between them in a perpetual cycle for centuries now. She felt her mate squeeze her hand and she looked at him to see the gleam of a single tear at the corner of his eye.

The tension lifted as Mor returned to her chair and they all realized Elain was next. Elain was sometimes a wild card to Feyre, who had not known if Elain would love or hate this game. But she hadn't turned it down, despite her apparent discomfort when Azriel had chosen the chair next to hers before the game had been proposed.

But right now, Elain had a bit of mischief hiding behind her smile. She gave the bottle a spin and sat back, waiting.

The room was in uproar when it came to a stop on Cassian.

"Did he put a magnet in that thing or something?" Lucien muttered, earning another wave of laughter.

But Elain took the challenge. And it was not the shadowsinger she looked at before making her way to Cassian, nor her mate who was expertly masking any emotion he felt. It was Nesta she glanced at, something haughty in it that insinuated revenge.

Cassian did not have time to react before Elain grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled him toward her. Her usual temperament was nowhere to be seen, some sly vixen replacing the proper lady. Elain kissed him hard, so hard it pushed him backwards, her lips working against his feverishly. Cassian tried to meet her pace but she had taken him off guard.

She finished her display by pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and releasing his shirt to let him slump back on the couch. Nesta looked at her sister incredulously, too surprised to show any anger. Whatever it was that existed between Elain and Nesta had been leveled, that was certain. Nesta saw her sisters demand for what it was. Don't underestimate me again.

Cassian was still silent with bewilderment, his eyes a little glazed over. Her kiss may have held a message for Nesta, but Elain also reveled in the chance to shake Cassian up a little bit. Rhys broke the stunned silence, howling in laughter at his brother's surprise. It was not very often that Cassian was bested in such a way. He had not expected anything like it from demure Elain. Especially not in front of her mate and the shadowsinger. Which Rhys figured was likely why she'd agreed to play the game in the first place.

Feyre whipped her head toward them, remembering that they existed. Azriel showed nothing, but Feyre figured he may still be sorting through anything that Mor's gesture had brought up inside him. But Lucien...Lucien kept his expression neutral but she could tell he was positively boiling under the surface. She could sense the power coursing through his blood as he tried to keep it in check. Cassian was too distracted to consider Lucien, the typically cordial redhead currently plotting his violent demise.

"Spy master," Rhysand said, easing the attention away from Elain and her mate, "your turn."

Azriel sighed, but did as he was told. He seemed as eager to get this over with as Lucien had been. The room stilled for a moment as the bottle landed between Lucien and Feyre's chairs, pointing straight at Amren on the window seat, half-asleep with an empty wine glass in hand. She realized they all stared at her and shook herself awake.

"I'm not playing," She snapped, curling into herself further.

"Come on, Amren," Rhys goaded. Someone began a chant of her name and soon they were all cheering and coaxing.

Azriel stood in the center, grinning at her, holding out a hand. Perhaps he should have been scared, but there was not anyone else he particularly wanted to kiss. Certainly not during a game in front of a jeering audience. This, at least, could be entertaining.

Amren flipped them off, but set her wineglass on the floor and stepped inside the circle of chairs and sofas. As soon as she was within distance, Azriel snatched her around the waist and dipped her low, pressing his lips to hers in an admittedly very romantic and passionate kiss. It lingered for the perfect amount of time. Long enough for her to process the gesture but not long enough to elicit a punishment from her. He pulled her upright again and let her go, grinning in anticipation of her response.

"Very well, shadowsinger," Amren sniffed and smoothed her dress.

The cheers, laughter, and whistling erupted again, the loudest of the night. Spin the bottle was not typically a game with a winner, but somehow Azriel had bested them all. Despite the dramatic displays of Rhysand and Elain, the spark between Mor and Emerie, the emotion of Mor's goodbye, Azriel had undoubtedly received the highest praise of anyone. Not only had Amren refrained from ripping him to shreds, but gave him a near-compliment and looked a bit dizzy. Of course, that would be going straight to Azriel's head.

Feyre peeked at Gwyn once more. She and Emerie were laughing heartily, but Gwyn's face was flushed, eyes glittering in such a way that the matchmaker wondered if Gwyn would be picturing herself in Amren's place.

There was one more turn to anticipate, tonight. Though everyone knew, including Lucien, that nothing would top Azriel's turn. Azriel wooing Amren would go down in history, now a part of the lore of the inner circle.

Lucien gave the bottle it's last spin, looking a little tired as he waited for it to stop. And then-

"No, absolutely not." Lucien held up his hand as the bottle pointed toward Cassian. Mor was doubled over with laughter and Nesta had to wipe tears from her eyes. Cassian tried to look offended, but was not even effectively holding back his own giggles.

"Game over," Lucien declared as he caught Elain stifling a laugh. He picked up the bottle and tossed it in the trash. The raucous laughter continued, Gwyn and Emerie clutching each other for support. Even Azriel laughed with the rest of them, the tips of his ears turning pink with mirth.

Feyre, quite pleased with herself and the results of her plan, did not argue Lucien. Several courses had been set as a result of her meddling. And she was already planning the next step.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #cassian #azriel #valkyries #nesta #elain #feyre #feysand #nessian #elucien #gwynriel #fanfic #fanfiction #spin the bottle #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction

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ayre-rayne · 2 years ago

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Fluff to get things started

Ominis x GN!MC

ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP 18+ (Think 7th year and everyone is graduating)

Ominis Gaunt sat alone in the Slytherin common room, his wand resting in his hand. His eyes remained shut, but he didn't need them to navigate his way around. His wand had become an extension of himself, almost sentient. He let out a sigh as he recalled the memories of his childhood. The trauma of his upbringing had made him pessimistic, sarcastic, and distrusting of people. He disagreed with his family's use of the Dark Arts, which aligned him with his favorite aunt, Noctua Gaunt. She was the only person who understood him, and he felt a strong connection to her.

"Ominis, are you okay?" asked MC as they walked into the common room.

Ominis smiled. "I'm fine, MC. Just lost in thought," he replied.

"Thinking about your aunt again?" Sebastian joined in the conversation.

Ominis nodded, "Yes, I miss her. I wish I could have been there with her in Slytherin's Scriptorium. Maybe I could have helped her."

Sebastian frowned, "You know it was too dangerous for anyone to go with her, Ominis. No one knew what was inside."

"I know, but she was brave. She was willing to take the risk to uncover more about Salazar Slytherin's legacy," Ominis replied, a hint of sadness in his voice.

MC patted his shoulder, "She would have been proud of you, Ominis. You are continuing her legacy by standing up for what you believe in."

Ominis smiled, "Thank you, MC. I appreciate it."

The conversation turned to lighter topics as they reminisced about their time at Hogwarts. Ominis shared a memory of when him and Sebastian first practiced the Blasting Curse, and they all laughed as he remembered how they had singed their eyebrows. Ominis's playful nature shone through as he joked about his pranks on first-year students, making them believe that mermaids could be seen outside the Slytherin common room windows.

As the night went on, Ominis felt a sense of peace in his heart. Despite the darkness of his past, he had found a family at Hogwarts, and he was grateful for that. He knew he would always carry the weight of his childhood trauma, but he was determined to stand up for what he believed in and make a difference, just like his favorite aunt.

As the years went by, Ominis and MC's friendship grew stronger. They had been through so much together, and their connection deepened as they shared their hopes, dreams, and fears with each other. MC saw the goodness in Ominis, even when he couldn't see it in himself.

One night, as they sat by the fire in the common room, MC turned to Ominis and said, "You know, Ominis, you're not like the rest of your family. You have a kind heart, and you stand up for what you believe in, even when it's not easy."

Ominis felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. "Thank you, MC. You know how much your friendship means to me."

As their relationship blossomed, MC became more curious about Ominis's unique way of navigating the world. One day, while they were sitting in the Hogwarts courtyard, MC turned to Ominis and said, "Ominis, can I try something?"

Ominis was taken aback. "What do you mean, MC?"

"I mean," MC said, taking a deep breath, "Can I try to 'see' the way you do? Can I use my hands to feel your features the same way you do with mine?"

Ominis was touched by their request. He had always been self-conscious about his blindness, and the way people sometimes treated him differently because of it. But with MC, he felt accepted for who he was, and he was willing to share this intimate part of himself with them.

"Of course, MC," he said, taking their hand in his. "I would be happy to show you."

Slowly and patiently, Ominis guided MC's fingers over his face, explaining how he used his sense of touch to navigate the world around him. MC was amazed at the level of detail they could feel, and the way Ominis seemed to know exactly where their fingers were at all times. As they sat there together, MC felt a deeper connection to Ominis than they ever had before. They realized that his blindness was not a weakness, but a strength, one that allowed him to experience the world in a way that others could only imagine.

MC looked down at their lap for a moment before they spoke again. "Ominis, there's something I need to tell you. I don't know how you'll feel about it, but I can't keep it inside anymore."

Ominis turned to face them, curiosity piqued. "What is it, MC?"

MC took a deep breath before they spoke, "I'm in love with you, Ominis."

Ominis's heart skipped a beat. He had never thought of MC in that way, but as he looked at them, he realized that they had been the one constant in his life. They had always been there for him, through thick and thin. He reached out and took their hand, "MC, I don't know what to say. I never thought of you that way, but I realize now that you're the one who's always been there for me. You understand me in a way that no one else does."

MC smiled, "I know it's a lot to take in, but I had to tell you how I feel."

Ominis leaned in and kissed them gently, "MC, I think I'm falling in love with you too." Ominis felt a sense of peace in his heart knowing that he had found someone who accepted him for who he was and loved him unconditionally.

#ominis x mc #ominis x oc #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis gaunt #ominis fluff #ominis fanfic #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis x y/n #light fluff to get this page started

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silver-rings-and-rabbits · 1 year ago

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I've just finished chapter 9 of Open Heart Second Year and wanted to share my thoughts at the halfway point (ch 10-11 are another world entirely). It's a long post and probably repeats all the arguments that have been made since the original release...but I'm gonna post anyway.

When Second Year started, I couldn't decide which romance route to take. I genuinely restarted the first chapter several times, but EVENTUALLY I settled on Ethan. And...I got bored. He was there all the time and I just didn't feel anything like I did in book 1 (the opera scene had me in a chokehold for a while). Meanwhile, Raf had apparently broken up with MC and had a new partner which was leaving me intrigued on how it would go (sweet naivety before I saw the ch 10 draft). So during the first hiatus, between ch 8-9, I replayed the whole lot for Rafael.

The difference is stark. For two people who aren't allowed to be together, MC and Ethan sure ended up spending a lot of time alone together. They sure held hands a lot. MC sure had a lot of extra flirty dialogue. Yet Rafael appears briefly every couple of chapters to talk about how he would risk his life for another (I should have seen the signs sooner) then disappears back to his new partner that we still know nothing about. Most of the pining for Rafael was in my imagination and personal interpretation of the scenes.

Players were willing to justify this with 'Ethan is our boss' and 'we work on the same team so obviously they will spend time together'. Bryce and Jackie are our best friends or partners, Jackie is our freaking ROOMMATE and we don't see them at all?

Furthermore, we have two brand new characters in June and Baz and barely spent any time with them because Ethan had to be front and centre. I would have happily spent diamonds to get to know either of them one-on-one. But no...

An idea: instead of Ethan having a professional diamond scene every chapter (patient's house visit, visiting the art gallery, making a pictagram account), this is where June or Baz come in. Especially if Ethan also had a personal diamond scene in the chapter. Open Heart was popular because of its diverse cast after all (including Ethan, yes, but there was someone for everyone in book 1).

FURTHER furthermore, one of the 'plots' of this book was MC teaching their own intern, Esme Ortega. And we had a diamond scene to take her with us on Diagnostic work, a diamond scene to mentor her around six chapters later, and...a few quick scenes of MC giving her some work to do. That's it. Because even though being a mentor is part of MCs job, it's not nearly as important as Ethan's screen time.

I've played all four romance routes, and obviously Ethan's had the most content (his romance route v platonic route is night and day!!). Raf's route was completely empty to the point where it made sense to me that MC was in the hospital with Ethan all the time because they didn't want to spend their free time sitting at home nursing a broken heart. But Bryce and Jackie's routes had no reason for that. There's almost no reason to play the chapters without them and it's no surprise their fans started dropping away. All the signs pointed to one LI being killed off, but the other two didn't have anything to hope for either so why stick around?

Chapter 8 is the baseball game and we get to spend time with Bryce and Keiki, AND practice baseball with some friends. Probably the most friend group content we saw since the chapter 5 music festival. I enjoyed being rude to Landry (again, my MC is too stressed and upset at this point to spend energy being nice to him) but I didn't like how my response to him determined how the two sides interacted. Just because I'm rude to Landry doesn't mean I don't want to meet Sienna's med school friends at Kenmore. We then get to go back with Ethan for dinner or go home alone. I don't suppose it would have killed PB to put some kind of friend group scene in as an alternative? They did in book 1...

Chapter 9 is where the emotions really pick up as we have Kyra's cancer getting worse. Man, I love well-written angst. When MC is overwhelmed and has to calm down in a supply closet they are discovered by...June. Who at this point is becoming the villain (despite the fact this plot line would have only made sense if you were romancing 1/4 LIs).

Another idea: we get to choose which LI discovers us, just like in book 1! We could have a rare moment of softness with Jackie because it kills her that she can't help the situation. It could have been the catalyst for Bryce to look into radical gore-tex surgeries as a last resort. Or we could have had a painful heart-to-heart with Rafael, maybe MC being standoffish because he's their ex or open and desperately wishing Raf could comfort them as before. The possibilities are endless, but we can't waste time (or money) on those guys.

Speaking of Rafael, this is the infamous chapter ending:

Like a punch in the heart. But possibly what hurt more was the fact that chapter 10 opened with - of all things - a time jump to a few days later with the Senator coming to Edenbrook!! Because that's the Diagnostic team which is the only thing that matters! In fact, Rafael isn't mentioned until around two thirds of the way through when the narration - of all things - casually mentions that he is in fact moving to BRAZIL. More fool me, I thought he was just moving to another state, but no. Another freaking country. There is no way that would have been an easy conversation, especially on his romance route, but it's yet another conversation that happens OFF-SCREEN for the reader to be hastily informed later.

Book 2 began with a recap that omitted Rafael completely, despite the fact his superhero complex was going to be 'plot point' of book 2. Luckily he does appear in the next recap but this scene has been retconned with him saying 'I'm moving to Brazil' (if I remember to get a screenshot of that later, I'll post it).

PB tried to justify all this with 'Open Heart is a mature story...exploring themes of heartbreak and loss' (and some players will still believe that), but it never was. If it was, we would have seen the break-up between MC and Rafael, we would have been able to talk with Raf about his suspension in detail and how it was affecting him, and we would have SEEN THIS VERY CONVERSATION. But all the resources went into Ethan and his parents, Ethan and his morals, Ethan cooking a chicken.

I get it, he was a big moneymaker. I myself contributed once upon a time. But that doesn't justify throwing out the rest of your characters. (My school sold out my year group to get some money, and in doing so lost all credibility with a generation of girls). Like I said before, Open Heart was good because of ALL it's characters that we had grown to love and PB now wanted to chuck those out. Unless a LI had absolutely 0% interest, you write for them or you don't put them in the story (and we all know where that leads us: single LI books). Why alienate Bryce, Raf and Jackie romancers when, for all you know, they might be Sam Dalton's biggest fans? (The biggest book I can think of that was releasing at the same time as Open Heart). This whole thing was a stupid, stupid decision by PB and it has nothing to do with Rafael.

I hope there were people on the OH team who knew this was a bad idea from the start. I hope the higher-ups started sweating at the reactions to Sora and the ending to chapter 9, and I hope the smart ones on the team felt unbelievably smug about being right.

#open heart #playchoices #rafael aveiro #i really hope to get this out my system soon #three years is long man #long post

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kingscyrus · 9 months ago

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( V. Dark Side of Fantasy )

The kingdom was ruled by King Cyrus, a ruthless and tyrannical leader who had no regard for the welfare of his people. The kingdom, once a vibrant and prosperous land ( a few 100 years back) was now reduced to ruins, with its people living in fear and oppression. The land was desolate, scorched by years of neglect and abuse. King Cyrus sat on his imposing throne, his eyes scanning the map spread out before him with a cold and calculating gaze. His fingers traced the borders of neighboring kingdoms as he planned his next move in the never-ending game of power and conquest. He had no qualms about using force or deception to achieve his goals, and his ambition knew no bounds. Within the walls of the castle, King Cyrus remained untouchable, surrounded by his loyal soldiers and advisors. His people were left to fend for themselves, struggling to survive in a world ruled by fear and violence. As the sun set over the kingdom, casting long shadows over the ruined land, the people huddled in their homes, praying for a better tomorrow. But for as long as King Cyrus remained on the throne, hope seemed like a distant dream.

The man stood with his daughter, Valia, who had once looked up to him with admiration and respect. But now, her once bright eyes were filled with disdain and contempt for the man who stood beside her. She had witnessed the depths of his depravity, seen the suffering he inflicted upon those who dared to defy him, and she had grown weary of it all. She longed for the day when she could escape his grasp and forge her own path, away from the toxicity of his rule. Despite her inner turmoil, Valia played the part of the obedient princess, masking her true feelings behind a facade of compliance. She knew that openly opposing her father would mean certain death, and so she had to keep her true desires hidden away. But deep down, she was determined to find a way to break free from his grasp. As she stood beside him, she felt a sense of resentment building up inside her. She couldn't help but think about all the people her father had hurt, all the lives he had destroyed, and how he had turned their once beautiful kingdom into a place of fear and misery. (" My father is brainwashed by my Grandfather..") She knew that something had to be done, and she was willing to take action when the time was right. For now, Valia waited patiently, biding her time and carefully planning her next move. She knew that the road ahead would be treacherous, but she also knew that it was the only way to break the cycle of oppression and bring peace back to their kingdom.

Across the kingdom, murmurs of a rebellion against the tyrant king, Cyrus, were spreading rapidly, like wildfire on a dry day. Despite the high stakes, brave souls took a stand against the iron grip of the king's power. They were led by a ragtag group of rebels who plotted in secrecy, gathering strength and allies in their quest to overthrow Cyrus and bring peace to the land once again. The rebels knew that they were up against a formidable opponent. King Cyrus had an army of enslaved mythical creatures under his command, and he was not afraid to use them to quash any dissent. Whenever a hint of rebellion surfaced, Cyrus was quick to act with ruthless efficiency, crushing any hope of revolt before it could take root. Despite the odds, the rebels remained determined. They were willing to risk everything to restore freedom and justice to their kingdom, no matter the cost.

The kingdom was on the brink of destruction, and Valia-onora was faced with an excruciating decision. She was torn between her loyalty to her family and the desire to see justice prevail. She felt the weight of her father's darkness and the fear that it would eventually consume her too. With each passing day, she struggled with the choice of standing by her father's side and perpetuating his reign of terror, or joining the rebels and fighting for the freedom of her people. As the kingdom descended into chaos and despair, Valia's heart grew heavy with the realization that she could no longer tolerate her father's ways. With eyes filled with determination, she made her decision. She turned her back on her father's kingdom, leaving behind the darkness that had consumed her soul for so long. She embraced the light of a new dawn, where justice would prevail, and her people would be free.

#Drabble tag.#v. ( dark side of fantasy.)#I wanna say Valia is a pre-teen around this time -- having more of an understanding of things around her #still trying to flesh out my verses and characters <3 #dont mind meeee

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tharedfish113 · 2 years ago

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Wip of omega bakugou

Can you prentend? please?

Kirishima watched as Bakugou lay on the floor, hugging the pillowshima tightly. Lost in a book, the omega smiled innocently until sleep overtook him. He held onto the pillow, which carried the comforting scent of his hoodie, and snuggled closer to the All Might plushie. It was a peaceful sight that made Kirishima's heart flutter. If he could do it without waking Bakugou, he would have gladly taken the pillow and hugged him himself. Kirishima's tail wagged with delight as he imagined cuddling up with Bakugou, purring softly by his side.

The combined scents of Bakugou and Kirishima filled the air, evoking the memories of a serene camping trip with the fragrance of pinewood, campfire smoke, marshmallows, and the earthy smell of rain. Kirishima took a deep breath, wanting to absorb every bit of that enticing scent.

After some time, Kaminari and Kirishima quietly left their hiding spot in the closet. Fearful of being caught, the fox grabbed Kirishima's arm, and they made their way to Kirishima's room, where they could be together without arousing Bakugou's suspicion.

Kaminari couldn't contain his amazement and whispered, "Dude, did you see that?"

The redhead let out a lovesick sigh, his thoughts consumed by Bakugou's image. He couldn't forget the softness in his eyes and how he opened up about his day. Taking in the captivating scent that lingered, Kirishima daydreamed about a future where they could be close, sharing warmth and happiness, purring in harmony.

"Kiri? You ok?" said the blond, watching him with caution "Look, sorry to dragging you into this mess man, damn, i feel like we shouldnt have seen that...How do you feel?"

The alpha let out a sigh, his mind replaying that scene over and over again. He wants to witness it again, to experience that tender connection.

......

Kirishima couldn't resist the temptation that consumed his thoughts, he needed to see Bakugou cuddling that pillow again, he just couldn't get that image out of his mind. He made a plan, he would be entering the omega's room and hide, eager to catch another glimpse of that beautiful scent.

With careful steps, Kirishima made his way into his closet, his heart pounding with anticipation. He found a concealed spot where he could observe without being noticed, his excitement growing with each passing second. He knew it was a risk, but the chance to witness Bakugou's vulnerable side was worth it.

As he settled into his hiding place, Kirishima held his breath, hoping that Bakugou would repeat the same rutine yesterday. He was willing to wait as long as it took, just to catch another glimpse of Bakugou's peaceful expression and the way he snuggled the pillow close, as if it were his alpha. As if he was his alpha.

Time seemed to stretch, but he remained patient, his determination unwavering.

As Kirishima hid in Bakugou's room, he felt a slight vibration from his phone. He had set it to silent to avoid getting catch by the omega. Taking a cautious look, he saw a text from the same blond, asking "study session?"

A smile crept onto Kirishima's face as he read the message. Bakugou really cared about spending time with him. However, he couldn't bow his cover just yet, so he quickly responded, "Sorry, bud, I'm working out with Tetsu right now."

He was left on "seen," but he couldn't help but feel the need to reassure the omega. Maybe he could plan something for the next day. Kirishima typed, "How about tomorrow? We can catch a movie later?"

With a sense of anticipation, Kirishima sent the message, hoping that Bakugou would understand that he yearned to spend time with him.

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replicantdeviancy · 5 months ago

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Listening to James as he spoke, pouring his heart out to the detective in that firm yet loving tone, felt like a slow agony weighing upon the whole of Connor’s being. Every explanation, every attempt to arouse some inkling of understanding in the younger man felt like just one more reason they couldn’t be together. Because Connor didn’t understand, & laying bare the risks of pursuing this hopeful romance only left him feeling confused & alienated. What was he supposed to say? How was he meant to convince somebody that he was willing to accept the inherent dangers involved when he didn’t believe in such an intangible evil? Beneath that azure gaze, he felt lost, suddenly afraid that any move that he made would be the wrong one & he would lose the chance to ever truly experience the feelings promised by this inexplicable bond between them. Heaven & hell were words to him - that was just the reality he lived in, the world in which he resided. But Connor knew in his bones that if such a place existed, he would gladly suffer an eternity for the chance of being loved by someone true.

He couldn’t meet the older man’s gaze just then, fearful of what he might find there. Connor’s mind was somberly grasping at fleeting, unfinished thoughts, quietly anxious as he could do little more than hold onto that hand clinging to his own as he sought a solution to what felt like an impossible problem. He was scared of making a mistake, of saying the wrong thing. Now that he had briefly tasted James’ attention, the detective knew that he would go on craving it, perhaps forever. The thought of losing something that had only just begun, something so sudden yet so real, it made him feel hollow inside & his innermost self shied away from James’ ominous monologues like a child being scolded. The hopelessness of it left him breathless - what was he supposed to do? It was a defeating feeling.

But then, Connor felt James’ hand take his chin in a gentle grasp & guided him to look at him. Staring into his eyes, the tumultuous thoughts inside of the detective’s head quieted & everything felt better, like they were going to be okay. James said that he wanted him & Connor was momentarily taken aback at the sincerity of his words, of the depth of emotion present in his gaze. What he found within cerulean hues was beyond lust, more profound than mere desire. It was a need for him, for the bond growing between them, & it was fear. Horrible, gut wrenching fear of the unknown, of the unforeseeable future. The both of them were in uncharted waters, & it scared them. James wanted so badly to protect Connor, but neither of them lived a life without risks; he of the mortal realm, & the priest of the infernal. There would always be that fear of loss, that the horrors of their individual worlds could tear the other from their arms. Even so, Connor was willing & determined to take the chance as long as he could have this man by his side.

Nothing could have been worse than never knowing how it felt to love him.

“I want you, too…” The words felt small spilling from his lips now, the detective usually such a confident & self assured being. Just then, he didn’t feel very confident, even when the priest was assuring him that this need was mutual, that a desire for companionship with the right person outweighed the security of solitude. Neither of them wanted to let go of this. But the requisition of comprehension felt like an ultimatum, something Connor knew he couldn’t possibly fulfill, for as open minded as he was, as accepting & patient as he had always been, the realm of the fantastical remained just out of his grasp, as evidence of its existence hadn’t yet presented itself to him. So he was left apprehensive & shy as to the consequence of his ignorance, yet no less determined to try.

He hoped that meant something in all of this, that he was willing to try for James. These feelings inside had come on fast, but they were strong, bigger than himself. It made Connor reconsider the probability of fate & the concept of preordainment in the course of one’s life. Was everything already decided? Was he meant to meet James Rutherford & live through a profound experience that would change him in some fundamental way? Or was it all just happenstance? He didn’t know, but he didn’t want to run away because things were complicated. So he was honest with the priest, as he had been from the start. He had to be, for both of them. “I admit that I don't understand… & I might never understand these things that you're afraid of.” The detective needed to allow himself to be vulnerable with James, just as he had been with him. Dark eyes soft & just a little wary, Connor tilted his head just a little, enough to further rest the curve of his cheek into the warm palm cupping it so tenderly. It was a grounding touch, one that helped the detective gather himself, the inner strength he had found so fleeting.

James had expressed his feelings, & now Connor needed to do the same. “But I want you. I want this… whatever it turns out to be.” He needed the priest to understand that he was worth any risk, that the detective wanted to try for him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his own well being, though his own neutrality towards self-preservation couldn’t necessarily be overlooked. Rather, Connor felt that he had found something to fight for, consequences be damned. “Isn’t that worth taking a chance?” His free hand came to rest atop the priest’s, cradling it against his cheek as he watched him with a soft yet penetrating gaze, searching the older man’s visage for any miniscule reaction, for any hint of his feelings in return. He knew that James wanted him, that his own fears of personal inadequacy were unfounded. But he needed to know if the priest could brave his own fears & take this chance that was being given to him.

Everyone had their inner demons to battle against, & Connor wasn’t going to let James give into his own without making his case. “I can't be afraid of a place that I don't believe exists, or things that I've never seen.” He had to lay his soul bare & hope that he was accepted as he was, even if that was blissfully ignorant & blindly optimistic, but receptive. “But I am afraid of losing you.” Connor could only be honest & hope that it was enough.

Up until that afternoon, when he had wandered into a local downtown church with the intention of following up on a mysterious ongoing investigation, Connor had been doing just fine on his own. He hadn’t ever considered the probability of being alone for the rest of his life, or how he felt about it. But after that fateful meeting with a handsome & devilishly charming foreigner, he had suddenly come to the realization that he didn’t want to live like that anymore. Connor didn’t want to be alone, & he knew that James felt the same. That simple fact made him want this even more. “This— Maybe it's too soon to say. But I could see it lasting.” He didn’t know how or why, but it felt right. He felt as though this relationship could change the course of his life for the better, in ways the younger man hadn’t thought possible. Perhaps he was showing his naivety & James would find him childish for thinking this way, but he didn’t care. He still wanted to try. “I'm willing to take the risk if the reward is having you.”

"I'll try my best. Wouldn't want to disturb your nightly frivolities now, would we?" Although it was something of a joke, the notion of having to call if things did go awry wasn't entirely unwelcome. It didn't happen too often, him finding himself in the hospital, or at least being checked over before sneaking back home to lay down and pray that a good night's rest and some painkillers would be all he needed to get by. He could never really tell how a night was going to go, it could be anything from a slight dent in his pride all the way through to bruised ribs after being flung around the room like a ragdoll. "Can't say I'd mind seeing that handsome face of yours though. Bet it'd really brighten up my day." And that was the truth, even as he sat there admiring every feature of the detective's face as if memorising it, storing it in his head. "Also wouldn't mind a bunch of grapes and maybe a half-decent bottle of whisky discreetly concealed somewhere on your person." Maybe there was only a little bit of truth to that, not that he'd turn either away if it really came down to it.

Though he imagined that Connor had probably figured out that the priest wasn't much for sitting back and doing nothing, even if it was just a part of getting better. Regardless of his injuries, James was always adamant that he wouldn't take up a bed that someone else could have. Not that ageing was making that mindset any easier to live by, he'd already noticed that bruises stayed a little longer, that it took a lot less for them to dirty his skin, a slight nudge here, an unnoticed knock against a corner table there and it would be a good week or so before they would finally clear up as if his body was trying to remind him to be careful. Would James listen to it? Of course not. He'd meet every challenge with the same stubbornness as ever in spite of those silver hairs invading his scalp.

He had a feeling the American wasn't so different himself, he was still young, and those problems hadn't crept in yet, but that didn't mean the guy wasn't just as stubborn or wouldn't be once he hit James' age. He'd just have to look out for him and perhaps vice versa seeing as neither one seemed to take their own well-being into much consideration.

"I don't doubt it..." That wry smile crept into his face again, a slyness to his eyes as he tried to contain his amusement. It should be the very last thing that the clergyman was thinking, he should be horrified that someone would say such a thing, let alone to a man of God. But James found it both entertaining and exceedingly inviting, more than happy to indulge in adding a few more sins on top. "I'll hold you to it." Not that he actually would, but playing it off a little didn't hurt either one of them and it wasn't as if they were hiding their real intentions from one another. It was just another thing he couldn't help but adore about the man, how easily it all came to them, there was no dancing around the subject, they wanted each other and they both knew it, but it was more than mere surface lust, there was a real connection there, while James' skin yearned to touch against Connor's, his heart was thirsty for all the rest of him. It wasn't a feeling that the older man had thought possible, certainly not since his younger days and even then he'd never given much notice to the notion of settling down with anyone or making a real go of a relationship.

Yet there he was, middle-aged and suddenly having those thoughts springing to mind, the domesticity becoming a real possibility rather than just a dream that anyone else could grasp in their hands but never his.

But at the same time, it terrified him. That want, that need, how quickly it could all be swept away thanks to the life he led, the countless soulless creatures that would happily toy with or snuff out that spark of light in a dark chasm that was the Englishman's isolated path. Those feelings were the greatest gift he could ever ask for but they were also an almighty weakness. One that would surely be utilised just to get at the priest somewhere down the line if he wasn't careful. No, Connor deserved more than that, he deserved to know what he was walking into.

James owed him that much.

When he'd said it, tried to let the younger man know, he'd seen the change instantly, that brief flicker of something cold beneath those delicate and angelic features. It didn't frighten the Brit, didn't deter him, if anything it just made him all the more determined, he needed him to understand what it meant to be close to him, to get involved with him over more than just some one-night fling or brief dalliance just to bat away a few hours of loneliness. "You still don't understand what I'm trying to tell you." A laugh left the man as he shook his head from side to side, no real amusement to it, yet it wasn't completely bitter either. Maybe somewhere in between? That faux hilarity just to cover up how bad things could go, how dangerous it was to quite literally jump into bed with a renowned exorcist with enemies from all over the moral spectrum. "You still think this is some sort of gimmick, like my work is just... words." He didn't blame him, it really did sound ridiculous, how could anyone wrap their head around it without actually seeing proof for themselves? "The things I fight, the things I send back to Hell, they don't forgive and they certainly don't forget. No gun, no police-force, no jail can put them down for good. One body falls, they just find another one. I send them back to Hell? They'll be back, not if... when, and it's my job to be there every time they do and just to send them packing all over back again."

His hold of the other man's hand tightened, just by way of reassuring him. "When you get into this line of work... being killed plummets on the top ten list of worst things that can happen to you. Good people, innocent people, can end up burning for all of eternity all because of one sodding Hellspawn trying to get its jollies at the expense of a mind that's already been pushed far beyond its limit. Just pushing and pushing until finally..." His gaze failed him in that moment, his throat tight as he thought of his mother. "You might not be scared, but I am. I'm scared that letting you get close to me will be the biggest mistake of your life and you could end up being punished for it until the end of the bloody universe." His breathing had quickened, his voice firming, that fear present in his drying throat as he tried to make the American understand. "I want you, Connor... God help me, I want you more than I can explain and that scares the shit out of me. Because I'm not the only one at stake here, you are. Why'd you think I spend my life alone? Because I want to?" He tried to find the brunette's eyes, those sombre old blues staring across the table. "I'm alone because caring about someone, letting them into my life on a regular basis is a surefire way of making them the perfect target for every soulless fucker I've ever sent packing." He knew how he probably sounded, like some sort of raving madman who should be on street corners shouting at people as they passed by.

Pausing, he leaned over a little, his free hand lifting to reach, gentle fingers coming to rest against Connor's jaw, fitting perfectly into the warm palm of his hand. "Look at me... I want you, I want you more than anything. I just need you to understand what you're getting yourself into."

#cheekypriest #˾ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ & ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇꜱ ̚ ;; ⁱ ʷᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ ʷʰʸ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᵃ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ⁱ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵘⁱˡᵈ ᵒʳ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗᵉ.▐ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ #{Honestly same. My goodness. What is it with this week?}#{I hope you’re able to rest before your deployment! Is it a deployment? Idk what you’d call it.}#{Still. You need to take care of yourself. I hope you’re doing okay.}#{I adore these two sm. Thank you as well for your patience. James is such a love.}

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pascalssbabyy · 1 year ago

Text

The Accidental Solution

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit

Word Count: 17.1k (wtf am I okay?!)

Summary: Joel accidentally walks in on you naked when you’re fresh out of the shower. The situation as you expected leaves questions in the air and Joel to avoid you as much as he can. That’s until you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, no use of Y/N, age gap (Joel is 52 but age of reader is not specified), friends to lovers, plot of how Joel and reader met, description of readers body but again not that specific, sub!Joel, insecure!Joel (he just needs some lovin), but also mean!Joel, Joel gets called a good boy (oops?), pet names, dirty talking, M!masturbation, Joel having filthy thoughts 💭, blowjob, fingering, P in V, unprotected sex (don’t be naughty!), creampie.

Okay listen, I don’t know how the hell this turned into a 17k fic but here we are 🤦🏻‍♀️ why do I have to be someone who has to write in so much detail (because shit this took me ages 😭) anyway… I hope enjoy 🤣 and let me know what you think! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I know it’s been a while! 🥹

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @mumma-moonchild @chyannealaniz @millercontracting 🤍

Warm water cascades down your bare back and shoulders as the heat begins to unravel all those aches and tight knots in your worn-out muscles. You can slowly feel your body letting loose from the long day you’ve just endured; the lengthy walks, the cold nights, the tense stretch felt in the soles of your feet swiftly easing from the water pooling on the shower floor. The steam starts to travel up, surrounding the enclosed walls and clearing up your sinuses. You can smell the freshness of your shampoo and conditioner, the floral scent giving you that comforting feeling of finally being back in the familiarity and safety of your own home. You lather all your products in between your fingers and palms, rubbing them deep into your scalp and across your body, your fingertips massaging the headache and ringing in your ears.

You’re happy to be home. Eyes observing the clock and knowing before your shift even started that patrol this time would be a long one; abruptly waking up at dawn to the repetitive sound of beeping coming from your alarm on your bedside table, tired eyes failing to adjust to the sun rising through the split of your curtains and fighting to pull yourself out of the warmth of your covers. Mornings were always a struggle for you. Attempting to get through your morning routine, having breakfast and quickly getting ready for the day. Your shift goes by smoothly which you’re thankful for, but once it’s over it seems to remind you that you’re returning home to another day gone so soon, your walk back home filled with empty streets and dark skies.

🍃🍃 A few months ago 🍃🍃

You knew Tommy was hesitant at first glance when you’d offered him an extra set of hands with patrol duty. His wide eyes and furrowed brows peering down at you, displaying nothing but a face full of determination and so much willingness. His reaction didn’t surprise you and never bothered you in the slightest, already expecting that certain response from people and knowing exactly why.

You were young; soft in personality and had a pure heart, always being able to see the good in all people. You weren’t someone who belonged within the dangers that surrounded the outskirts of Jackson, and it was rare for someone who’d been in a world that held endangerment and risk to still have that positive outlook on it. But that wasn’t all that you were. You were also devoted and strong-willed, knowledgeable of outside life and full of eagerness, so it didn’t take long to prove to Tommy that you were just what he needed to get the job done.

You were dedicated, fast on your feet and capable of doing and making any necessary decisions to help others you worked with. After a few shifts, you began to notice how the rest of the team started to warm up to you, considering you were still fairly new and just making your way around the ins and outs of the job. Apart from this, everyone who you worked with was kind, respectful and you were able to make a few friendships along the way with a different range of people.

That’s what you enjoyed about the job, how effortless it was for you to get on with the community, and how welcoming they were to any newcomer.

Of course you knew you’d come across certain situations that would have you questioning yourself; how could it be dealt with. How to get around it as efficiently and effectively as you could make it. You were ready for that moment to arise, but what you didn’t expect was that this was first coming your way in the shape of a man. Tommy’s older brother in fact.

And his name was Joel Miller.

You’d heard the name, the way it was whispered around town, eyes unable to look away when said person was nearby. Tommy had mentioned his brother a few times around you, whether it was in meetings or general conversations, and what you had gathered so far was that Joel had been new to Jackson for just a few weeks when he started patrolling, barely having time to settle down in the new environment and heading straight to protecting the people of the town. It didn’t surprise you that Joel was immediately giving himself a persona of negativity and dislike, being a hard man to please and someone who had no intention of getting to know people apart from the obvious; Tommy, Marie and Ellie. He was intimidating, vague and held a stern facial expression that had everyone stepping back.

You knew it was coming. Joel had made his way around certain shifts with different people who’d found it difficult to break him out of his hard, concealed character. So when Tommy mentioned that your next shift was with someone who you hadn’t yet worked with, it didn’t take you long to know exactly who that person was going to be.

Tommy meets up with you before your shift starts, expecting that if he somehow warns you about Joel first, it’ll make the situation less tense. “You see my brother…,” he lets out a deep sigh, “he’s…he’s a complicated man. He’s not one for talking or getting to know people.” You can see Tommy wince slightly at his own words, having a picture already drawn up in his head with how this’ll go.

“I just wanna try one shift with you. To see what he’s like.”

You weren’t someone to say no, conscious that Tommy was already having a hard time getting his brother to ease up to people. You give him a reassuring smile and nod at his request, and happy in yourself that you receive a smile back, his stance now not as tense and face softening at your reply.

Everyone you’d worked with so far had been fine, shifts running in order, so you thought surely he’s not that bad.

To your surprise, it’s worse than bad. It’s just unwelcoming.

The first time Tommy introduced Joel to you he didn’t even bother to shake your hand, small arm outstretched ready to finally meet the man whose name had been on your mind since you’d heard it. The way he’d take a glance at you and just grunt when you told him your name, with that simple look of unimpressed planted across his features. Joel knew he didn’t have to mention his own, certain that he was already known around the people of Jackson. What was even worse than his rude posture and not-so-open welcome was that he had very little vocabulary and a miner attitude in having any sort of conversation, just simply having no interest in others and just wanting to get on with things without distractions.

Even with his not-so-keen introduction, his ways of communicating should take you back, upset you in some way or maybe even annoy you. That’s what you expected from yourself but somehow it did the exact opposite. Yes, he was rude but you knew behind that harsh exterior held someone who’d just been through a lot, done things he knew were wrong but for reasons he knew deep down was right. His eyes held a lot of his true self. They were a dark brown colour but were so soft, eyes you could get lost in if you looked in them for too long. They were so different in comparison to how he showed his persona, how he stood his ground.

So when you’d mentioned to Tommy that you didn’t mind having more shifts with his brother he seemed taken aback. “You sure?” he says, tone high and dubious, “I don’t want you sayin’ that just cause of what is said—”

“Tommy…,“ you console him before he can get you rethinking your decision, giving him a light chuckle. “I’m sure. I’m more than happy to have him around more. Wasn’t as bad as I thought he’d be.”

You can see that Tommy’s grateful, going through certain shift plans with you and letting you know which ones you and Joel will be paired on together.

You can feel the butterflies flutter in your lower stomach, an unknown feeling tickling its way up your spine. Could it be nervousness? Maybe doubt? Or perhaps you’re feeling sceptical about your abilities to change the way Joel perceives you.

Or maybe, just maybe, deep within yourself, that feeling you felt was excitement.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

You and Tommy had agreed on a few shifts a week working with his brother, just to see how you’d both get on with one another. Tommy demanded updates from you every time you got back from patrol and each time, the feedback became more positive; the shifts not being as awkward or dealing with Joel’s quiet moods, his negative attitude.

He starts to become more at ease with your presence. You begin to see more of what you knew he wanted people to see, to understand.

You liked how with each minor conversation you had with him they’d become longer, talking back and forth about everything and anything you could get out of him. His replies back now came from a place of interest, wanting to let out any built-up resentment or just wanting to talk about the little things.

Of course, he was adamant about you in the beginning, but what you began to realise was that Joel was someone who needed time and patience. Time to trust and accept you and others around him. That people weren’t there to be his enemy, they were there to show him that Jackson was good and that he was in a community that would keep him and Ellie safe.

You started to like having him around, warmth building in your chest when you’d look at the patrol board and see his name right next to yours, even when you knew already that you were on shift together. The more he opened himself up to you the more you craved his company. You’d never met anyone like him, so it didn’t seem to shock you that you’d started to see him in a different light.

It hadn’t taken long for your feelings to develop into a minor crush, subtly taking longer glances at him when he wasn’t looking, heart pumping out your chest when you’d make him smile or chuckle at something you said. You were aware that he wasn’t like this with many people, being so open the way he was, and the thought had you blushing.

You’d take time to admire all his frame; his wide shoulders, his broad arms hidden in his thick coat, mind picturing what he’d look like without any fabric covering his physique. Even in the cold weather, his skin was tanned in colour, his hands large and fingers thick. His hair was scattered in salt and pepper strands, with tight curls that rested atop his furry collar. You’d wonder what it’ll be like to run your hands through them, to even tug on them, him wincing at the pull as you cover your lips around his neck and jaw.

His nose framed his face, soft brown eyes and a scattering of wrinkles around his temples and forehead. Fuck he was attractive, and the in-depth staring started to become a continuous reminder that Joel was a man much older than you, which only made you like him that much more.

You struggled to conceal the hidden desire that shivered up your back when he told you his age, “uh…I’m 52. Been doin’ this for a long time… N’too damn long if y’ask me.” You give him a short and sweet reply, too afraid your voice would give you away with how badly it turned you on.

Fuck you definitely shouldn’t be attracted to someone twice your age.

It comes to into full effect when he starts calling you certain names; every once in a while, a darlin’ or sweetheart leaves his carefree lips when he asks you for a favour, or when he initiates a certain change of plan when necessary. The words glided off his southern tongue so smoothly, having to clench your thighs together to ease the ache you felt for him.

He had changed every single aspect of your thoughts. Wondering what he would be like if he’d give himself a chance to feel. To give himself a moment of vulnerability. Was it something that he’d even allow himself to have? To drop his guard down just a little and delve into that part of him that maybe he hadn’t felt in a long time.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

Joel wasn’t someone for getting too close to people.

It had been that way for him for as long as he could remember, and he knew it was selfish, but that’s the way he wanted it.

And it was so easy for Joel, not to feel. To not be someone whose emotions got in the way of everything. To be a person who was closed off and shut down that part of himself that made him feel anything other than his own protection. This meant he’d never get hurt, even if it meant damaging people in the process.

It was until he’d become acquainted with you, he’d question everything he’d set his mind to.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

Joel doesn’t remember the last time he’d felt so intimidated by someone. He was shocked at how quickly it had taken you to become confident around him straight from the get-go. You were keen to show him how knowledgeable you were, how you’d face any problem with intelligence and no trouble. And he hated to admit it, but he liked how ahead of the game you were, how you took everything on with attentiveness.

It had been a long time since Joel had met someone like you.

He’d never let you know this. Joel was too proud and stubborn to admit that you had challenged him first-hand and that you’d started to make him question his ability to be someone who’d work better on their own.

The more shifts the both of you were on together and being within each other’s company, Joel had noticed his shoulders weren’t as tense as they’d usually be. His body became less formal and opened up to your company and the warmth that radiated off of you. He liked how you brought out that side of him that he thought had disappeared. It was even rare that at certain points in the shifts your humour and wit would catch him, small and subtle chuckles escaping deep in his chest.

You had fire and you were headstrong, determined to get him to let go of that rough ego and just be himself around you, which Joel initially though he’d hate, but it didn’t take long for him to privately crave the attention you gave him.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

A few months into patrolling, Tommy had set you and Joel up as official partners.

Your constructive feedback at the end of each shift had Tommy already making the clear decision to pair you both up permanently.

Even noticing himself how well you were getting on with his brother, and how you both thought it would be the best option for him. To stay with someone who he knew he got on with. To Joel’s surprise he didn’t mind, knowing that you worked well together and got on with the job quickly and efficiently.

Throughout the months of getting to know each other, the relationship between you two had developed into something much more than work colleagues and had eventually made its way out of patrol hours. On a whim, you’d asked Joel if he wanted to grab a drink with you after one shift you had together which was rougher than usual. You knew this was a big offer and Joel, as always seemed hesitant, but after a moment of silence, he accepted your invitation. Because fuck he could do with a drink right about now.

This then turned into a routine for the both of you. Meeting for a late night cap after your shifts were over and also in your free time, either having a few at the Tipsy Bison or at each others houses.

🍃🍃 Present Day 🍃🍃

This of course was no different tonight. Patrol running fondly and you both getting back to Jackson much earlier than anticipated.

Once you arrive back at the gates you look up towards Joel. “So…same tonight Joel? Wanna pop by mine and grab a drink if you’re free?” You secretly adored how Joel would react when you’d ask him to come over, still slightly unsure and not used to your kindness and simply wanting to be with him. While he stares down at you in thought, all you can think is please say yes, please say yes, please say yes. And after what feels like minutes have gone by, he gives you a gentle smile, “yeh sure darlin’. Just need to pop by mine n’ I’ll be over.”

You nod at him, grinning at his acceptance until eventually you part ways, rushing back home and hoping he’ll give you enough time to quickly freshen up until he comes round.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

Joel gets to yours in no time at all, making his way up your porch and standing outside your front door. He knocks on your door a couple of times, ready to hear your small footsteps and see your wide smile welcoming him inside your home.

Whilst he continues to stand there, trying to wait patiently, you don’t answer. He waits a few more moments until knocking again and doing so much louder this time, but after another minute of waiting…you still haven’t answered.

He knows this isn’t like you; front door opening the second you hear his hard knocks echoing through the four walls of your front room, barely giving him enough time to prepare himself and ushering him inside with your open body language and sweet voice.

It makes Joel think that you’re somewhat excited that he’s here.

He isn’t worried, that’s what he wants himself to think and he knows he shouldn’t be, trusting you fully with how you carry your independence and welfare. The many times he’s been inside your home you’ve always reassured him that you don’t take longer routes back and that once your shifts are over, you’re making yourself straight home.

But yet why does his chest suddenly feel slightly heavier? Why does his throat feel tight and restricted? You would have got home by now, so why aren’t you here? He’d never doubt you by all means, but right now he needs to know if you’re safe.

So he thinks fuck it, and lets himself inside.

You two had become close enough now that he’d know you wouldn’t mind if he walked into your house on his own accord, especially with the unknown certainty of your wellbeing in his thoughts and it becoming his main concern.

He pulls down the door knob, initially thinking to himself, please be unlocked, and thankfully when it is, he lets himself inside. Firstly he checks the front room and kitchen, which are both encased in darkness, softly being lit by the moonlight sliding through the sheer curtains hanging on your window rods. He lets out a frustrated sigh, you’re nowhere to be seen.

He calls your name, followed by a darlin’, y’here? Again, no answer. Once both rooms are looked over he’s making his way upstairs, his large boots creaking across each step, careful not to trip over himself. He notices that the first door which he suspects is your bedroom is halfway open, the absence of light clouding the room and just the gleam from the landing light outside dimly illuminating the space. He gently opens the door and like the others, the rooms are empty. Once he’s about to make his way back downstairs, you waltz out the bathroom.

You were naked. Towel in both hands and currently drying the ends of your hair, with soft hums of a song vibrating along your sealed lips and eyes closed. Mind oblivious to Joel's now wandering gaze.

Joel couldn’t move, his body frozen and lascivious eyes glancing down at every inch of your bare skin that was visible to him.

Your hair was drenched with droplets of water falling seamlessly onto your shoulders and goosebumps covered the skin of your arms from the abrupt coolness that hit your body once you walked out of the warm and steamed-covered bathroom.

Your breasts were fully in view, the shape of them accentuating your waist and your nipples hard from the cold temperature change.

It was like Joel’s life had instantaneously gone in slow motion, and fuck he was so grateful for it. His eyes mapped out every line and curve of your smooth skin, how the water covered you and cascaded down your body making you glisten in the dim light.

His knees buckle under him when his eyes land in between your legs, his vision getting a subtle glimpse of your sex.

He can feel his cock growing for you, becoming hard and twitching with need. He has no control over it, and he knew if he looked down now there’d be an evident tent expanding in the thickness of his denim jeans.

Your eyes abruptly open when you feel a radiation of heat in front of you, your throat letting out a surprised yelp. Your limbs act quickly, throwing the towel across your bare chest so it covers your upper body and ends just above your knees, swiftly giving yourself some dignity.

It takes a moment for you to contemplate what’s happening in such a quick amount of time, and once you realise it’s Joel who’s stood in front of you, seeing you naked and who’s in such close proximity to you, you jump at the act.

“Fuck Joel!” You squeal in surprise.

Those two words spring Joel into action. Who the fuck does he think he is? He knew he was expected here but never like this. You must think he’s a creep, wandering into your house to catch you so exposed and open, and all for him, just for his own personal pleasure.

He brings his large hands up to his face, palms covering his now reddish features and blocking all images of you out of his mind. His voice gets stuck and his words stutter in his chest, all thoughts fogged and glazed over, hoping anything will come to mind as to what he can do to explain himself.

Your hands clutch your chest tightly, your touch easing the thumping of your heart. “Jesus Christ Joel…,” you chuckle awkwardly, “you scared the shit out of me.”

He looks down at your stairs, body retreating to provide you with some comfort and to insinuate that he’s not trying to make you feel uncomfortable.

“F-fuck darlin’, I—shit, I’m sorry,” the words fall quickly off his lips in hasted rambles, voice attempting to explain why he’s put you in this situation. “Y-you weren’t answering the door I thought—fuck I don’t know what I was thinkin’—I thought somethin’…”

The more he hears the miserable attempt in his tone, he knows there are no words that’ll make this circumstance any better, so he comes up with the next best solution.

“M’gonna go. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Before you can help relax his nerves, his feet are moving faster than his thoughts, throwing all his weight down each step of your stairs and straight to the door, not even daring to look back, dreading to see that look of shock and how flushed your face had become from his sudden presence. He needed to get out and get out quickly, slamming your front door firmly shut and leaving you in silence.

The loud bang causes your whole body to flinch, shoulders and face wincing inwards from the harsh sound.

You never expected this to be the way it would go. Bluntly coming face to face with the man who’s been lingering on your thoughts right in front of you, him now seeing every part of you, slowly being uncovered by his lengthy stare.

His face was in full shock, eyes wide and mouth fully agape, all of his warm colour being ripped away from his features, but his feelings kept unrecognisable as he eyed your body up and down.

You cannot help but think to yourself; Why did it make you feel so good, seeing him become so shy and flustered in comparison to his hard and demanding nature? Knowing that you were the one who pulled his guard down. Seeing that undisclosed side of him that you’d never get a chance to see.

You begin to wonder what he’d thought. Did he like what he saw? Would he think about you when he’d return home? What could’ve possibly happened if he hadn’t scurried off when he did? The different scenarios cause your heart to race again, a toying smile caressing its way across your face.

But then maybe his reaction was out of pure disbelief, not wanting to present you with the thought that he was giving you the wrong impression. False hope. And that it was just a simple mistake and he’d never want it mentioned again.

You don’t move from your spot on the landing, feet concreted to the ground and mind puzzled, racing with too many questions that you know can’t yet be answered.

So for right now, all you know is that this is going to be something that could possibly change your relationship with Joel, either for the better or for the worse.

And you beg it’s the first option.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

Joel feels humiliated. He feels ashamed. He knows he’ll never be able to come back from this, having possibly ruined the relationship that he knew you had ought to seek out of him for so long. That moment his eyes had finally seen you so intimately he knew his current feelings for you were now out of his control, and that he would never be able to keep his thoughts about you hidden, like he had been doing pretty much since he had got to know you.

It’s become too much for him to bear. What the fuck is he going to do. He’s completely embarrassed of himself and too much of a coward to face you. He needs time away from you, to alleviate the stress he’d put on himself.

So he decides to change his routine altogether so he can avoid you as much as he can. To avoid the crumbling mess that he’s made. But no matter how many times he tries to sidestep the obstacles of that sudden consequence. He sees you everywhere.

Whether it’s in the mornings. Just when you were about to start your shift with whoever it was you were now working with, fuck he wanted it to be him. Or either at the canteen eating your breakfast or through the frosted window of the Tipsy Bison, clutching a drink in hand, with just an empty stool and silence beside you to keep you company.

He feels terrible, fully conscious of your confusion as to why he’s pushing himself away from you, leaving you with numerous questions in the thickened air that now surrounds the two of you, and Joel having no intention of answering them.

It had been a long time since Joel had allowed himself to feel or do anything other than protect himself and others, and he was fucking terrified that out of all the people he had been acquainted with throughout the years that it was you that had these unknown feelings of wishing and wanting someone resurfacing. Even during and before Tess, Joel had never been interested in those sorts of relationships, until now with you.

Joel had lost a lot of people he’d put his care and trust into, and every single time that affliction happened it crushed him down even further than the last.

He thought that maybe if he’d push you away intentionally, he wouldn’t have to deal with losing you all together.

He knew that empty void inside could easily be filled if he allowed himself to relish in the feelings he felt for you, and deep down he wanted nothing more than to show it to you, but his mind and body had been deprived of it for so long he’d simply forgotten how to.

How could he just become so honest and vulnerable in such a short space of time, and with someone he’d only known for a couple of months, even if your relationship had developed quicker than any other he’d had? How can he be with you in such an intimate way and come full face to face with the truth?

Because fuck, it had been way too long since Joel had given another woman pleasure.

He knew it was wrong. The wanting. The craving he felt for you. And you were so much younger than him it made his chest hurt. He knew what people would say if they found out, Joel being involved with a much younger girl. He cared more about what people thought of him than his own and it pushed his feelings down even further.

You had been so soft and sweet and kind to him when all he wanted to do at the start was ignore you altogether. He was so impolite when he barely introduced himself to you, and the fact you had swallowed down the rudeness of his words with a smile, he knew you’d forever change him.

He wanted you so bad, and it felt like a huge weight off his shoulders once he’d finally admitted it to himself. But it wasn’t just your beauty that had him questioning his whole life’s purpose and what he believed he wanted. It was how confident you were, and the way that confidence radiated off you. How you’d persevere when people or life threw obstacles at you. And you were so fucking welcoming to everyone that added to it.

Just seeing you for all you were, so supple and bare and open to his gaze just moments ago was just the last straw for him to cave in and just accept his feelings.

He knows it’s bad but there’s not one ounce of him that feels any regret. The constant pondering of what you’d look like finally coming to light, and it is better than anything that he’d pictured.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

The moment his feet make their way through his front door he’s rushing his body through the house and straight up the stairs, not even bothering to switch on any of the lights or even question if Ellie was home. Once he’s upstairs he takes himself into the bathroom and turns the shower on so cold water runs out of the fossil. His skin feels hot to the touch, burning sweat coating his forehead and clothes suffocating him as he frantically shreds the fabric that clings tightly to him.

He hisses through his teeth, the cold water falling onto his bare back and shoulders, trickling down his body and cooling his heated condition. His breathing is laboured, chest rising and falling in quick bursts while he attempts to calm himself.

He pushes his body forward, eyes meeting the floor and preparing himself for the crisp temperature as the water pours onto his hair, the wet strands dropping in front of his face as he allows his head to fall in defeat.

He’s hard. His cock standing strong in between his thighs and aching. His tip was red in desperation, with that tight coil of pressure rising in his low abdomen.

He shouldn’t. But his minds to overpowered with the need to come he’s pretty sure that if he doesn’t, he might pass out.

A low grunt rattles in his chest when his shaky hand wraps around his shaft, stomach muscles clenching and legs quivering with need.

He can’t take it slow, fucking his hand at a vigorous pace and already feeling his peak creep its way up to the surface. His head hangs back over his shoulders, eyes falling shut and small, deprived moans leaving his lips.

His tip is so sensitive he can feel it everywhere and all over his body, pre-come pooling at his slit and covering his fingers as he uses his other hand to grip the shower wall in front of him.

The moment his vision is blurred and his mind explores all of his demands, all he can see is you. The image of you carefully opening the shower curtain, your body exposed and knees falling onto the shower floor as you take his cock into your mouth, savouring the salty flavour and pushing him to the back of your throat.

He thinks about how you’d look; mouth so small compared to his thick cock and using your hands to wrap what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, wetting every inch of him with your saliva, and swallowing his release down with that sweet smile you curse him with.

He’s going to come, and it’s happening painfully quickly. Your appearance bringing him so so close to his orgasm that it’s like he has no control of his own body, yourself having full dominance over him and you weren’t even there.

He stutters over his words, those exact words he wishes he could really say to you, “fuck darlin’ that’s it. You’re—shit y’gonna m-make me—.”

He inhales in a sharp breath and his body eventually lets go, his cock left without release for too long as his hand continues to tug on his thickness in irregular and faltered motions, pleasure rippling through his whole body like a tidal wave.

His release runs down his fingers and spurts on the tile wall. And there’s so much of it. His cock is pulling so much neglect from him that his other hand has to grab into the shower curtain to hold himself up.

His mind races through the thoughts of how your mouth or cunt would feel in comparison to his hand. The way you’d swallow all of him down your throat, opening your mouth to show him exactly how good you were for him, mouth all empty and tongue licking your lips to taste all of his come. And fuck he knows you’d be so tight; so warm and soft as he’d fill you with all of him, your eyebrows knitting together in slight discomfort from the stretch. He’d know you’d take him so well, begging him to fuck you like he knows you truly deserve.

He freshens himself up and makes his way into bed, hoping that sleep will give him some sort of a stress-free night, and to mostly block out the image of you. Joel feels that regret instantly, knowing too well that he shouldn’t have let his body take over him the way it did.

Joel already knew it was going to be a long night.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

Joel avoids you like the plague.

His way of steering himself away from you has gotten so bad that he’s asked for his patrol shifts to be with other people, and to be cut to shorter hours to avoid you completely. His reasons are that he wants to try again with previous partners, saying that he was harsh with them before and wants to do better. Or he’s too occupied with things at home and with Ellie. You didn’t even hear this from Joel himself, Tommy confessing it to you one morning when your patrol shift was about to start.

Whether it be in the early mornings at the canteen or weekly patrol meetings; he’d be up and off the moment you’re entering the building, chair tucked under the table and the entrance door opening and closing before you can get the chance to scan him out from the crowd. He’d even begun to skip his daily drink at the Tipsy Bison, which he never missed out on. He’d just make his way back as soon as his shifts were over, muttering quiet goodbyes and marching his way down the street and straight home.

His absence makes your heartbreak. Did he think the situation was that bad? Was he that embarrassed by it that he’d made the decision to avoid you forever? It wasn’t you that had made the situation awkward and it didn’t have to be. You thought he’d come up to you by now, but yet still after the two-week mark, you hadn’t spoken one word to one another.

You want to scream till your voice aches, till that hurt in your throat replaces the other pain felt low in your chest. You want to let out that built-up frustration that had begun to boil over, to talk to someone who could easily give you hope about the whole situation.

And that one person who you knew could help, didn’t want to talk to you.

You need answers and you know you have to talk to Joel eventually, even if he didn’t want to. This circumstance can’t go on for much longer and the both of you know it. So if it has to be you to initiate it first. Then so be it.

You don’t know what suddenly gives you that burst of energy and confidence to confront him, but your body’s moving before your mind can even process where it’s going.

🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

It’s late. But not too late at night so you know Joel will still be up and that you won’t be disrupting him. Once you freshen up after your patrol shift you’re making your way to his house, the walk from your home not being too far from his which you’re thankful for. Your mind attempts to drift elsewhere; analysing other things as you know if you reflect for too long about the possible outcomes, your mind will start to counter multiple reasons as to why this is indefinitely a bad idea.

But then was it such a terrible idea? The both of you were grown adults and people who were now close enough to be able to talk to one another and to have a reasonable conversation.

Without having any opportunity to regret your decision and give yourself more time to back out, you’re standing right in front of his porch, feet walking up the few steps and hand now inches away from knocking on his front door. You take a final deep breath in through your nose and exhale out your mouth, giving a few gentle knocks as you wait for Joel to open.

How long have you been standing here? Would he even answer knowing it was you who was waiting nervously behind the door? Fuck, maybe he was asleep. Yeah, he’s definitely ignoring—

Your ears pick up that sound. Those familiar boots treading across old oak flooring, getting louder and more prominent with each step until finally the door opens and a tall frame stands in the doorway.

Well you think…this is it.

“Hey Joel…” your voice is quiet and just slightly above a whisper, like your throats pushing it straight back down, too anxious to speak as you take all of him in.

He looks tired, his hair fuzzy and sticking up in different directions. Fuck maybe he was sleeping. His beard hasn’t been trimmed, but the stubble brings out the sharpness of his jaw. He’s wearing a checkered flannel, a dark forest green with burgundy red crossed stripes, the fabric buttoned up only halfway showing the bare tanned skin of his chest underneath it. Your eyes drop down to the sight of his chest and quickly rise back up to his face, heart pounding and mind racing with all the thoughts of what you’d rather want to be doing to him at this defining moment.

His face drops when he sees you, and fuck it hurts to see it. His stare wanders around you like he’s lost. You can see that distinct look in his eye, like his mind playing tricks on him, and dumbfounded as to why you were here on his porch so late at night, with that look of distress on your face and in need of answers.

“Uh, hey…”, he runs his hand through his hair. An act he hopes would proceed as confidence, but he’s worried it’s showing every ounce of apprehension running through him, “what are y’doin—“

You beat him before he can finish his sentence. “D’you mind if I come in? I thought we could talk.”

Joel’s said no plenty of times, and it’s such an easy word for him to say. Mostly all of his life he’s been rejecting people and saying that one term more than he could count. But with you, no doesn’t exist in his vocabulary, “yeh—,” he coughs out the strain in his voice, “uh yeh. Sure darlin’.” He moves his frame to the side, “come in.”

You smile at him before making your way past him and into his home. And once you step in, the side of your arm subtly grazes his front, your body trying to abstain from his touch. The hold he has on you and he doesn’t even know it. Feeling him so close for just a second has your mind going dizzy, his body giving off so much warmth that has your cheeks heating up.

You make your way inside so you’re now standing in the middle of his front room. And once you’re inside…it feels weird. You’ve been in his house plenty of times, but in this circumstance, it feels different to you. Like you’re seeing it from another perspective. The whole room feels bigger somehow, the décor and frames covering the old brick feeling somewhat unfamiliar and unrecognisable as you look around, hoping that the walls surrounding you will give you some sort of consolation.

Outside his house you felt confident to a certain degree, preparing yourself to get straight to the point but right now, your mind conjures through all the different scenarios that could possibly happen.

You hear the click of his door shutting, his frame coming into view as he just stands there and watches you watch him. It’s awkward, hardly having talked or even looked at one another for weeks. You try and break the silence. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I thought I’d pop by as I thought you’d still be up.”

His voice is quiet, “no you didn’t wake me. Just didn’t expect to see you that’s all.”

Of course he didn’t expect you, he’s been avoiding you as much as he could for the past couple weeks.

The silence is loud, bouncing off the walls and deafening. You can just about hear the voice in your head as it tells you to leave. It’s saying yes, yes this is a terrible idea and why did you come? He doesn’t want to see you. His feet can only just be picked up over the roaring in your ears as his boots make contact with the floor, his body moving only a few steps in.

He doesn’t look you in the eyes, “So…everythin’ alright?”

He has no reason as to why he’s said it, and he regrets it the second it leaves his lips, already knowing that everything’s not alright. That he’s aware of the suffering he’s put you through. How he’s constantly and intentionally ignored you for as long as he could, how he’s escaped all possible interactions with you.

You give him a blank stare, eyes boring into his faltering stance, “Uh...I don’t know Joel,” you cross both arms over your chest, “why don’t y’ask me.”

You were getting straight to the point, your courage outweighing his without question, something that he’d already anticipated the moment he’d see you again.

But yet, that’s what he loved about you. How you weren’t afraid just to throw yourself into situations that could become awkward, how self-assured you were to confront him about something he knew was out of his depth, and those lingering unknowns with what the consequences would entail.

But this doesn’t stop Joel from becoming flustered by your words, his stare firmly locked down at the floor, voice flat and one tone, “don’t know what y’mean.”

That makes you chuckle, his vague response causing the air in your lungs to contract, annoyance clearly being shown in your pitch, “oh Joel please. You don’t speak to me anymore and apparently have no fucking time for me. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks and to even swap partners and cut your shifts short just because you want to avoid this. To avoid what’s clearly been bothering you.”

He can hear as each word falls from your lips the substantial burden he’s placed on you. And he feels awful for it. He never wanted it to go this way, him leaving you with nothing but his neglect on your side of things and not giving himself the chance to act on what he’s really been feeling.

The look of bewilderment is held strongly on his face, brows furrowed and mouth firmly fixed straight, blocking anything he might want to say. His posture remains restricted, bend forwards to hide himself from his own mistakes.

“I just…,” you let out an exhausted huff, “I don’t know what to do. What’s been going on with you lately? Why won’t you just talk to me. You’ve been so distant with me and I want to know why.”

He’s still stood near the door way. Hands down and glued firmly on his sides. He’s agitated, not having any ounce of preparation for your statement, his body being thrown into hot flames without hesitation.

He shrugs his shoulders, “s’nothing. Don’t wanna talk about it.”

You burst. “Bullshit Joel. I know it’s mostly because you walked in on me that one night. Because if so. I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. It was a simple mistake.”

His voice becomes much louder, and it surprises you. “What do you want me to say? Huh? Yes that’s the reason,” Joel now makes his way into the room, marching over in your direction, “and yes it’s a big fucking deal, okay?”

His statement has you easing, finally noticing that you’re getting somewhere with him. You want him to understand that even though his reaction came out of pure astonishment and humility, he didn’t have to act this way, even if you liked that he saw.

You attempt to calm him, “it doesn’t have to be Joel. Why can’t we just go back to—“

“Because I can’t get the image of you out of my god damn head. The way you looked I can’t…,” he eventually sighs in defeat, “I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s there every time I see you, even when I try n’avoid you you’re still in my head. It’s there when I close my fuckin’ eyes a night.”

You look up at his face, your expression is wide and body shaking with adrenaline. He’s frantically staring at you now, in desperate need for you to say anything as to why he knows this affair between you both is a bad idea.

“Joel—“ you say in condolence.

“I shouldn’t…fuck I shouldn’t. I know it’s bad and I know I shouldn’t be thinkin’ about you like that.” He runs his hands across his face. “It’s wrong darlin’—so wrong.”

It’s all starting to make sense, the missing pieces connecting and creating a full picture. The realisation hits you fill force; the reason as to why he’s been avoiding you, why he’s cutting down his hours and how he’s swapped his shifts around, all because his thoughts about you since that moment you both shared have had him questioning his feelings for you.

And that he liked what he saw.

Now that you’ve recognised his emotions, it strings your own into action. Gently moving yourself closer to him, taking small steps forward and watching for any doubt in his eyes, your words simple and hushed. “Joel. It’s not wrong. It’s okay.”

His shoulders stiffen when he catches how close you’ve gotten to him. He knows if you come close enough, it’ll have him pushing all reasoning out the way. He sees the way your body’s moving so intently, walking so slowly to him, his head already shaking in disagreement.

“I’ve wanted to talk about it…” his eyes visibly bearing the shame he’s felt in himself since he’d slammed your front door shut, “n’ I feel so fuckin’ bad for how I’ve been treating you. I jus’ didn’t know what to say or do to explain myself.”

Joel has your face softening as he tries to explain to you why he’s acted the way he has. Being too ashamed in himself to confront you about his reaction on that night, and how negatively his actions were after it.

You’re still making your way towards him, his words only spurring your movements on with nervous excitement building in your stomach. His eyes are fixated on your face, seeing nothing but acceptance and understanding washed over your facial features. And it makes his palms sweat, “sweetheart I—.”

“Joel just listen to me. If you’d had just talked to me, we wouldn’t be in this situation. We’re both close enough now that we should feel like we can talk to one another, and whatever you’ve been feeling for me I’ve also been feeling for you. And if I’m being the honest one now, I’ve felt this way about you for a while. Fucking hell Joel if it’s taken us this long to admit it, I’m glad you saw me like that.”

He backs away slightly, pulling himself from the magnet that’s forcing you so close to him. The pressure that surrounds him is suffocating, the tension in the room beginning to thicken. “I shouldn’t of— sweetheart it ain’t right. This, I can’t… “

He wants to give in, and he can tell that you can see it in him too, his body language yielding into you too easily. He needs to finally feel something he’s missed out on for so long, and fuck he wants that with you. It’s right here in front of him as your words and gaze initiate it, but now it’s in his grasps, his mind can’t seem to comprehend it.

The two of you are that close now he can feel the heat emitting off your body. But he can also sense that your still sceptical, not moving too close where you’d break the revealing traction that’s growing between the both of you. You look into his eyes, watching him earnestly. “And why not Joel? What’s stopping us from doing what we both know we’ve wanted for so long?”

And the fact is, there’s absolutely nothing. Not one single thing Joel can muster up or give any reason as to why he shouldn’t stop himself from having you, to take you right here and right now.

So he thinks of one pathetic excuse, and his face grimaces. “I’m a lot older than you sweetheart…”

His justification makes the corners of your mouth curve upwards. If only he knew. “You think I care about that? Joel there’s so much more you need to be worrying about these days. We’re living in an apocalypse for fuck sake. Your age has never been a bother for me.” Your eyes fall down to his mouth. “I actually like that you’re older. I like it a lot.”

A haltered exhale flows from his lips. All he can see is the pure want in your eyes, pupils dilated and eyelashes fluttering. He can feel the desire pouring out of you and drenching his skin, affecting him more than he thought it would.

He knows the more you stare at him the way that you are, with that look of just surrender, Joel. I want you as much as you want me, he’ll do anything you want, no matter what the price may entail.

You gently place both of your hands onto his firm chest, but not too forcefully, hoping the touch would be just enough to ease him into you. You can feel the beating of his heart hitting the skin of your palms as his chest palpitates wildly. And that’s when you try and relax him, your hands moving up and down to inspect the newly felt part of him. You dig the tip of your fingers into his muscles to help relieve his rigid stance against you.

“Joel—,” his name falls so cautiously from your lips, so indifferent to how you usually say it. As this time it’s said with lust drooling off every letter. This moment has been replayed over and over in your thoughts too many times; how he’d feel so close to you, how his body would tower above you, how he’d gaze at you with need in his eyes, his mouth leaning in close to yours.

Your hands follow further up his chest and onto his shoulders, pulling at the neck of his collar so your hold makes contact with his bare skin, making more of his tanned chest visible to you.

You voice follows up his upper body, “I want this, and I know you do too. So don’t be nervous with me. Let me take care of you Joel...”

You step a little further in, his body as near as it can get and now brushing your front. Your hands stay where they are, your head falling back so you can see his face, your doe eyes peering into his.

“Please. Let me show you how much I want you.”

He doesn’t say anything, eyes locked on the shape of your lips and arms still placed at his sides. His form however leans into you voluntarily, begging him to just simply give in. His backs curved over, face almost level with yours as he waits patiently for whatever you want to do to him. You pull down on his shoulders just a little more and stand on your tip toes, luring his lips closer to yours.

You give a faint kiss to his mouth, just so subtly and quickly that he doesn’t have the time to react. His moustache tickles your top lip, and the sensation has your mouth quivering. You move your lips to the corner of his mouth, kissing him there once and then kissing his cheekbone, pouring every ounce of appreciation you have for him onto his skin. He breaths heavily against your face, his breathing low and eyes falling shut.

It’s his turn now, and you can slowly feel him returning the affection. With every graze of your mouth on his you can see the affect it has. Your body waits in anticipation, waiting for him to wrap his arms around you tightly, to squeeze and grip as much of you as he can.

You place another light peck on his lips, your mouth now hovering over his, the both of your faces only millimetres away from each other as your voice whispers the honest truth.

“I really want you Joel.”

His body shakes, tongue already salivating just from the slight taste of your lips on his mouth, so sweet as he finally gets a tease of how you feel. His arms that have been secured straight on his sides are reaching out to your safety, his embrace wrapping around your back, holding you close.

His eyes open so faintly, glancing down at where the two of you are lightly attached. And you’re so close. He can smell the freshness of your shampoo, he can feel your hands caressing his muscles, your needy touches igniting that fire inside of him. Your eyes tell him everything; that once hidden stare saying please Joel. Give in. Let me show you what you need.

He needs you, and he wants you to show him exactly what you want to give him. So he mumbles a low and greedy ‘fuck’ before his mouth pushes strongly towards yours.

Once Joel moves in the rest of the way, you allow him more of your body to touch, arms wrapping round his neck and pulling his mouth down harder onto yours, small fingers threading though the soft curls on the nape of his neck.

When you brush your tongue across his lips he’s easily giving you access, opening his mouth wide as the both of you savour the taste of each other. A satisfied hum leaves your mouth and travels straight into his, your tongues dancing with one another.

His hold on you can’t let go, hands lifting up and grasping hard onto the back of your neck and knotting his fingers in your hair, growling in fervor as he continues to explore the inside of your mouth.

Your body contorts so effortlessly into his, moulding in shape as he bends forward to push himself so boldly into you, your spine curving backwards with the way he’s gripping you.

But you pull him back way too soon for his liking. He pinches your skin and prepares himself when he notices your feet are moving him backwards, his hands clinging onto you in until he feels the back of his knees hit the corner of the couch.

His whole body drops onto the sofa, the touch of your mouth and hands leaving complete numbness on his skin that he misses instantly. He holds onto the cushion and arm rest, knuckles turning white from the clench as he just watches you stand there, bearing down at him, with a gentle smile plastered across your face.

It feels so overwhelming. Seeing him like this. Having known Joel for as long as you have it hadn’t taken you long to uncover that cynical persona he’d put out for himself. Joel was strong. Joel was a man of integrity and leadership, so watching him melt into the palm of your hands has your insides tingling with control.

His eyes are steamed over and his mouths marginally open while he takes all of you in. You lean your body forward as your hands land on his chest, putting most of your weight on him to make yourself comfortable, your knees being placed on the sides of his legs and lowering yourself down on him.

Fuck he knows there’s no going back from here, now that you’re sitting on his lap, sighing in fulfilment when you drop yourself down on his thick thighs.

He knows you can feel his hard on, his cock becoming needful the moment your lips touched his. And he can’t help but feel embarrassed by it, how easy it’s been for you to have him right there, his body quickly responding to your hands on him.

You trace patterns on his arms, fingers following the creases of his flannel and hands moving up to his shoulders. His atmosphere’s hot and heavy underneath you, the trust in his own actions buried beneath him while he looks at all of you in complete awe.

You slot your hips more into him so they’re flushed up and close to his groin. Yep, you can definitely feel his cock now. You moan his name and your voice comes out strong, much more pronounced than he knows his will be. “Fuck Joel. You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you like this.”

Joel bites back the desperation that pressurises the back of his throat, “christ sweetheart,” his shock is followed by a harsh swallow, “you can’t say that to me’.”

Your words have power over him, and you love it. You lean your lips down to the side of his face, mouth inches away from his ear as his stubble tickles the side of your face. “Why not Joel? Don’t you wanna hear how badly I’ve wanted you.”

He doesn’t say anything whilst you continue to spur him on, your kisses travelling down his jaw and neck as his pulse rapidly beats against your mouth. You give a lingering kiss on his sweet spot, finding that place that has him shuddering under you.

He’s quiet, and you feel like you’re back at square one with him, hands not touching you and his words have disappeared. You’re now contemplating your own beliefs, his silence starting to come off as unsureness, mind fixated on too many things at once.

You try and make him feel less tense, “hey…” you brush the strand of hair that’s fallen in front of his face, also lifting his chin up to look you in the eyes, “talk to me Joel.”

Depending on who he’s with, Joel has always been a man of very few words, having never found the time or place to be so talkative or to make general conversation. But the situation you’ve put yourself in with him, silence is the last thing you want him to be.

You want him so much, but you can’t let your pure want overcome the circumstance too much, needing him to express that he’s wanted what’s about to happen as much as you have.

His voice is hesitant, “it’s jus’… y’sure? Y’sure you want to do this with me?”

“Yes,” the answer leaves your mouth in a instant, as it holds so much certainty in it and so much truth. “I’m sure Joel. Since the moment I met you I knew, you’re the only one I wanna do this with.”

This isn’t like him; his easy comebacks, his sarcastic jokes. You wonder where has that Joel gone? Why is he so concerned about you. You’re throwing yourself at him and he’s yet to catch you. It has your mind twisting and turning until…your eyebrows droop in, mind deciphering in understanding.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been taken care of. Hasn’t it Joel.”

He’s motionless, jaw firmly closed and hands still resting on the sofa, his touch only inches away from your thighs. “Answer me Joel,” you say in solace.

“Yes…,” he chokes out, fuck he’s feels stupid, eyes closing in complete surrender and voice trembling with how easily you’ve read him.

He expects you to laugh at him. To humiliate him. Tell him how can he be so weak with you when all he’s ever known is the hard life that’s been full of danger that lurks around each corner. How can this world that he’s had to adapt to pull such a doubtful response out of him.

But instead, you caress the stubble on his jaw in sympathy, and his head follows suit. You hold his face in the palm of your hands, your voice faint and warm. “Poor Joel. It’s been a while since you’ve had someone want you like I do. Give you pleasure like I do. Someone who’s treated you right.”

He needed to hear you say that. Fuck he does want it, he wants to finally be the one who stands back and lets someone take over. And he wants it more than anything to be you to give it to him.

You clock your head to the side, “is that what you need Joel? Need me to show you how good I can make you feel? To show you what you’ve been missing out on?”

He nods his head embarrassingly.

Now you’ve got him. All he needed was time and patience, and your reassurance to get him there. You bring your thumb up and drag it across his bottom lip, your tone dropping an octave, “say it Joel. You don’t need to hide from me. I need to hear y’say it.”

He inhales in through his nose, praying to god that he can summon up the words to tell you exactly what he desires, “please darlin’. I need you—it’s been so long. Fuck I want you.”

You can feel your arousal seeping into your underwear from his pleas, his lack of sexual attention thoroughly soaking the material.

You rub your clothed core onto the tent in his jeans, moaning as his hard cock grazes your throbbing clit. A drawn out mmm fills the space between you, your tone of voice seductive, “good boy Joel.”

His groan pulls deep within his chest, he likes that. He likes how you praise him when he’s done something right, when he’s been good, when he’s done exactly what you wanted him to do.

His reaction has you biting your lip, “you like that don’t you Joel. Y’gonna be good for me? Gonna let me do what I want with you?”

His eyelids are half open. Yes he thinks, yes I’ll be the best for you. You can do absolutely anything you want to me and I’ll let you do it.

His response is clingy, “yes. Fuck. Yes I’ll be good f’you.”

You smile at him, giving him a rewarding kiss on the lips. But before he can deepen it you pull back, Joel pouting at the coldness your mouth has left on him. You lower your gaze onto the fully grown bulge in his jeans, “you wanna know what I’ve thought about?”

He’s allowing you to say what you’re about to say without actually telling you to. Excepting that his body’s lost all power, your weight on him making him lightheaded, his mind becoming intoxicated.

“I’ve imagined what these big hands would feel like on my skin,” you articulate, taking ahold and tracing your fingers lightly across his wrists and over his calloused palms, using him however you please. You inspect them, noticing that his fingers are hard in texture, rough to touch but the rest of him is soft.

“I’ve pictured your fingers across my cheeks…” you use his knuckle to soothe your cheek, “and how they’d feel on my lips…,” and then bringing them down to your lips, “how easily they’d cover my breasts.”

You can hear the air falter in his throat, face locked on his hands that you’re using. You allow his hold to drop down your neck and lower to your chest, staying there for just a second until you lead them further up and back to your lips. “I’ve made myself come so many times with how these thick fingers would fill me up. Fuck Joel, I know they’d stretch me out real nice.”

Well shit.

Your smirk against his fingers, “You want that, don’t you? Want to feel how I’d struggle to take your fingers? How I’d come all over them. Preparing myself so it’ll be easier for me to take your cock afterwards.”

Joel feels like he could come just from your words alone. Every single syllable was exactly what he’d pictured in his head. He lets out a weak huff, “christ sweetheart. Fuck let me do that. You can use my fingers. Wanna feel you come on them—please.”

“You’ll have that soon Joel,” you coo, “ just let me have my fun first.”

You remove yourself just as he is about to ask you what you mean, standing back on both feet while he looks above you. His hands again fall onto his sides, knees bouncing in anticipation.

You remove your top, inching the fabric above your head and throwing it somewhere on the floor behind you. You give him a lascivious smile before your hands make their way behind you and unclasp your bra, your breast now visible and accessible from their confines, and to Joel’s wide stare.

Just as he was about to usher you back onto him with his grabby hands, you’re unbuttoning your jeans, pulling the denim down your legs and leaving you in just your underwear. You waste no time, hooking your fingers into the thin material and sliding the final piece of clothing off your skin, showing all of yourself once again to Joel.

And it all floods back to him. As you had never left, it’s more detailed now than hurried and rushed as it was weeks before. He remembers how silky your skin looked, how your breasts shaped your frame, your nipples hard and perky from the cold air. How your body held this natural glow, beaming from the moonlight casting through his window.

He can see your arousal coat the insides of your thighs, and fuck, he’s a goner. He wants to lean forward and spread your wet folds and delve his mouth and tongue into your sweet cunt. He wants to devour you and make you come all over his face, to use him as you ride out your orgasm.

But you do the exact opposite. Instead of settling yourself back onto his clothed thighs, you drop yourself onto your knees, reaching both hands out and dragging them up and down his legs, caressing the muscles as you watch his thighs twitch.

You call out his name. “Joel?”

He stutters back. “Y-yeah?”

Your one hand travels up and cups his thickness, making his hips buckle. Fuck he looks big, and he feels big, the rough outline of his cock being shaped by the tight material that hugs him. You lick your lips and your mouth becomes hungry, yearning in need to be filled.

“Can I suck your cock?”

His head slacks onto the back of the sofa, his cock pulsing and reacting so well to your words and how they glided so quickly off your once so innocent tongue. He looks at you with hooded eyes, “fuck baby…” he’s pushing his cock up into your hand, giving you the go-ahead, “Yes, please.”

You squeeze his girth, watching his face screw up at your tiny hold on him, “you’re being so polite, aren’t you, Joel. Y’doing s’good for me.”

His thighs constrict when you trail your other hand across them, fingers finding their way up his clad jeans and skimming the material.

The suspense is too much, his mind running the image of your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock. He needs it badly, the thought enveloping him, so he’s becoming quick with his movements, frenzied hands pulling his belt through the belt loops.

But his motions are put on a standstill when you stop him dead in his tracks.

“Let me Joel. I’m the one who’s looking after you, remember.”

He nods his head, eyes following you whilst you undo the rest of his belt and pull down his zipper. His one hand returns to its rightful place on the armrest, and the other is on his thigh, compressing the muscle and clinging on like his own life depends on it.

There’s no way he’s hiding it; even if he tried, there’s no contradicting it. Once his zippers undone all the way, he’s lifting his hips eagerly to help you pull off the denim and relieve that pressure building in his lower stomach.

His erection is resting heavy in his boxers, and it makes your mouth water, parts of the material deeper in colour from the pre-come that’s coming out of his tip, painting them in his arousal.

His size through his boxers has you gasping. You thought he was prominent in his jeans, but nothing compares to seeing him now. “Fuck Joel, you’re so hard already. Lift your hips again for me. Let me see you.”

He’s so willing to comply, raising his lower body and watching as you pull the waistband of his boxers over his cock and down his legs.

His tips are red—looking angry and hard as his cock hits his stomach with a smack, his pre-come pooling onto the hairs just under his belly button.

You wrap your dainty hand around him, a hiss pulling from Joel’s teeth when you inspect his thickness.

“I knew it,” you confess to yourself, “knew you’d be big Joel.” You tilt your head down and kiss his slit, moaning at the taste, “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You get straight to it, lowering your mouth and swirling your wet tongue around the head of him, collecting his release so he covers all of your tastebuds.

A flavoured hum leaves your lips and pulsates and laps around him, finally savouring those thoughts that clouded your mind all day and night. Now, never having to wonder how Joel would taste, how he’d feel inside your mouth, what he’d look like above you while you urged him closer to his orgasm.

You look up at him through your lashes, landing continuous licks to his slit, “this okay, Joel?” you murmur like he isn’t already putty in your hands.

“Christ,” he grits, his cock reacting to every single swipe of your tongue, “d-darlin’—”

“Go on, Joel,” you utter, “tell me how badly you want me to suck your cock.”

Fuck you’ll be the death of him, his chest filling with oxygen and voice frail, “yes darlin’ jus’… fuck. Want you to suck my cock please—please I need it.”

You giggle at his eagerness, the sound vibrating all over his cock and causing his hips to buckle up, edging his length deeper into your mouth.

You pull off him slightly, tutting your lips together, “Now stay real still, Joel. Don’t move, or I’ll stop. Can you do that for me?”

He’s quick to nod his head in complete understanding, cock becoming impatient and weighty and full in your hand.

This was even better than you’d imagine. This little game you have started with Joel. And noticing how much he was liking it had your cunt dripping for him. Joel’s withering above you when you put your lips back on him, his stare lingering on where you’re both connected. He gasps when your mouth swallows all of his tip, mouth back to swirling your tongue around him like he is your favourite flavoured lolly pop.

There’s no going back from this now, and why would he want to after you’ve just given him a taste of letting go. Why the fuck did Joel stop himself from delving into something he’s been without for so long? How had he forgotten what it was like to be given pleasure and praised for it?

And with your perfect mouth wrapped around him, it’s just the reminder he needed.

You slip more of him inside your mouth, each drop of your head reaching down further until he hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflex contracts around his girth, causing Joel’s stomach to tighten, using all his willpower to stop himself from thrusting up and into your mouth.

Because he remembers your words. Stay real still Joel. Don’t move or I’ll stop.

You alter between bobbing your head and circling your tongue around his swollen tip; the mixture of your saliva and his pre-come coats his cock and makes him glide so smoothly in and around your mouth, the sounds of your slurping and sucking filling the room.

Joel chokes on his words, “f-fuck sweetheart, your mouth…shit, it feels so f-fucking good. Can I move my hands? Please—jus’ wanna feel ya.”

He’s being so patient, keeping his hands down on the sofa, and so much that his strength could split the seams of the material. But behind his compliance, there’s a hunger so deep, so guttural. You can feel it in the way his hips weight themselves down, his thighs clinging together.

You lift your mouth, his tip leaving your warmth with a light pop. Your cheeks are flushed red, and your eyes water from his cock abusing the back of your throat. You use your hand to slowly pump him, keeping him in a state of pleasure, “y’doing so well Joel, and being so good f’me. Go on, I’ll let you touch me; touch me wherever you like.”

You edge him on, bringing your mouth back down and swallowing all of him once again. Joel pulls his upper body forward, soothing his hands on the dent of your spine and anywhere he can reach without disrupting you and your movements on him.

Joel tries to put all of his focus into his breathing, give it full attention, and try his best not to come so quickly. “Christ, darlin’,” Joel mutters, “you’re so perfect. Y’feel so fuckin’ soft.”

Your moan onto his cock, showing him that his touch on your skin is affecting you as much as it is for him. His grip remains on your back, and his other hand moves under you and grabs your breasts, pinching your taunt nipple in between his fingers.

And fuck, his fingers feel good, continuing to bob your head on his cock and dragging your one hand from his thigh down to cup his balls, gently squeezing them in your palms.

Joel’s eyes widen in surprise at the new sensation, “holy s-shit.”

Joel’s rambling. And he’s not even self-conscious about it. He is exposing all confessions and desires to you so voluntarily.

“I touched myself after I saw you,” he acknowledges, “fuck, I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop myself. I p-pictured you like this. On your knees and taking me like this. Shit, you made me come so quick.”

You clench your legs together. Fuck he’s got a dirty mouth when he puts his mind to it. Your eyes are glossy whilst you look up at his wrecked face; his foreheads covered in a sheen of sweat and eyebrows are knitted together to hold off the orgasm that’s about to course through his entire body.

You move your mouth up to his slit, keeping your attention there where you know he’s the most sensitive. You kitten lick his tip, smiling devilishly at his fucked out form, “Is that right, Joel. Did seeing me like that make you horny? Did seeing me so open like you did make your cock hard?” You tease him and he nods at you.

“You’re a naughty boy, aren’t you Joel.”

Joel sighs pathetically, his length throbbing in your hand at the way you provoke him, how you push him even further into divulging into his secrets that he once thought he wouldn’t manifest.

You press wet kisses along his base, pecking his cock in endearment, and your stare never leaves his face. You lick a long strip up the side of him and hollow out your cheeks when his tip fills your mouth again.

He’s close. You can see it on his face. The rushed whimpers are gliding so evenly off his lips, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. And he knows that you know it too, how pitifully fast you’ve got him to that peak.

“You gonna come, Joel?” You ask him enticingly, “You gonna come in my mouth? Like you imagined when you fucked your hand thinking it was me.”

Fuck he wants to. He wants to feel your tongue lick every last drop of him as you swallow his come down your throat, opening your mouth to show him how much you enjoyed it.

He grunts your name, followed by a weakened yes. Yes I’m gonna come. You’ve gotta stop. Baby please stop. Wanna be inside you. Need to feel you.

You chuckle gleefully, and you will stop. But he doesn’t need to know that right now. It’s so fun seeing him struggle. So you continue to lick him and roll his balls in your hand, spurring him on and pulling him just a smidge closer to his high.

He attempts to pull himself away from your mouth, but every time he does, you move back onto him. His thighs begin to shake, chest sucking humid air into his lungs to calm his heart rate but also the pulsing in his cock, “fuck darlin’,” he warns you, “oh my—fuck I don’t—y’gonna make me come. S-shit stop.”

And this time, you do. You do not want this to be over before you’ve even started. You eventually pull your mouth off of him, watching how his cock drops onto his lower stomach with a wet slap, glistening and covered in your spit.

You can see how Joel’s trying to hold it back, wrapping his hand around his head to stop the throbbing still being felt across his cock. His tummy clenches and then releases, becoming soft as he fully takes back charge of his breathing.

You wipe the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand, leaning your lips down to press kisses across Joel’s belly, loving how plush he feels against your lips.

“How was that Joel?” You question, “you still okay?”

You’re such a tease, mouth shifting up Joel’s stomach and onto his chest, his arms pulling you up as you go. “M’fine darlin’,” he huffs, hooking his fingers around your neck, “just come ere’. Come sit on my lap.”

Before you do, you help him remove his boots, boxers, and jeans that still rested by his ankles while Joel unbuttons his flannel and throws it on the floor with the rest of his clothes. The image of his bare muscular chest has your breath hitching and your pussy pulsing. You rest your weight on his shoulders and put yourself onto his thighs, where this affair had begun just moments before.

But only this time, you’re fucking naked and your bare pussy is making a mess on his cock.

“I love these hands…” you bring one up and play around with it, inspecting them and pushing your thumbs down into his palms to massage the longed strains in them, “they’ve worked so hard,” you caress them, “you’ve worked so hard, Joel. For too long.”

You rest your own hands on top of his, caging them so they grip the skin on your thighs, “touch me again, Joel,” you plea, “I ain’t gonna bite.”

You can feel that his hands have no intention of moving, his hold just squeezing the flesh of your legs, with his eyes showing you his need for guidance, “or do you need some help.”

He gives you that well-known signal. So you begin to move his hands for him, bringing them up and onto your hips and then onto the flesh of your waist. You can feel his pulse quicken again as you show him where you want him. You keep him there for a moment…watching the desperation fall from his lips. You smile at his reaction, loving how even having sucked his cock, and almost having him come down your throat, he’s still so hesitant in the way his hands follow your skin.

You guide his touch up to your breasts, feeling his palms kneading the sensitive skin. He massages your chest so tenderly, each rub of his thumb over your nipples pulling more wetness from your core.

You moan out his name, “fuck Joel,” the words permitting him to carry on, “That feels so good.”

And god, you feel so good. “You’re so soft, darlin’,” he mutters, “feel better than I imagined.”

“You’re so sweet, Joel,” you say, cherishing his words, “how many times have you thought about this?”

Fuck he’s thought about this every day since he’s been given the chance to know you. He tried so hard to avoid the temptation that began pestering his mind when you were together. And even when you weren’t, you still drifted into his thoughts.

“Too many times baby,” he admits, “wanted you like this for so long.”

Joel’s so indulged in your breast. He finally feels the way they fit so well in the cup of his hands. He kneads them. He pinches them. But his gaze instantly drops when you avert his other hand locked in place on your chest down lower and in between your thighs.

His cock jumps on his stomach, impulsively reacting to where he knows precisely where you want his hand. And mostly his fingers.

He doesn’t have time to behave, already using two of his fingers and gliding them through your folds, and that alone has your head rolling back, your pussy clenching hard against the calloused skin of his digits.

He saw how drenched you were, but he becomes bewildered when he gets a feel of your soaked cunt. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart. Christ you’re s’wet.”

And it’s all because of him; his words, his actions, his cock in your mouth, his lack of control. “It’s all for you, Joel,” you softly say. “You’ve done this. Sucking your cock has made me this wet for you. Want to feel you inside me.”

His fingers are uncertain. They’re Nervous. Each slide of them learning everything about you and changing their motions to see what has you twitching in his lap.

You become restless, the tip of his digits teasing your hole and the hood of your clit, “Joel, please,” you babble, “put your fingers inside of me.” So he does. He inserts one finger into your deprived cunt, and fuck; you feel warm and soft, his digits being engulfed by the heat and the pressure of your inner walls.

He doesn’t waste any more time in adding a second finger. Slowly pumping and curling them inside to reach that spongy spot that has your grasp strengthening on his shoulders, your features creasing inwards at the slight stretch of him.

You can feel how your walls are trying to accommodate his fingers, your pussy tight and restricted as your try and get used to having him there. “Knew I’d struggle to take you,” you say quietly, breathing out in rhythm to help you adjust, “yes, Joel, keep going. Yes, that’s—fuck, that’s it. I want to be ready to take you.”

Christ, you were everything. Feeling your stuffed-up pussy pour more of your wetness down his knuckle and hand while Joel uses his thumb to play with your puffy clit, rubbing it in tender figure eights.

“Here’s what I want, Joel,” you muster up to say, your body trying to take pleasure in the instructions you’d firmly set in place for him. “Want you to make me come on your fingers first,” you wrap your fingers around him again, giving his cock a slow tug, “and then you can have this pussy on your cock.”

It’s all becoming too much; how fucking filthy your mouth is. How the words flow out so fluently. It overwhelms him, and he’d be an idiot if he disobeyed.

You question him, raising your eyebrows, “You got it, Joel?”

His fingers falter to a stop, knowing how vocal you like him to be, and what you’ll do if he isn’t. You need to make sure that he heard you, you need him to say that he fully understands you.

He gulps, his voice weak, “Yes, sweetheart.”

You soothe the patchy stubble on his jaw, kissing his lips and hovering your mouth over his, “now show me how y’gonna make me come,” you challenge, “fuck me with your fingers, Joel.”

That sparks him into action, fingers back into the metric pace that had your walls fluttering against him, mouth open with needy moans falling from them.

“Oh my god Joel,” you sob, “yes—fuck right there. Keep going.” He connects his lips with yours, again licking and forcing his way into your mouth as you oblige his invitation. He can taste himself as he still lingers faintly on your tongue, but he’s too far gone now to give a shit about that.

His fingers are relentless, hitting your g-spot each time with the tip of his digits, his other hand following suit to play with your messy and swollen clit, a whimper erupting from your throat and flowing into his mouth.

It hadn’t taken Joel much to find those hidden spots to have that knot tightening in your stomach. To have that pressure rising up and overheating. And fuck, it had been a long time since Joel had used his hands to pleasure a woman, and he thanked the lord that he hadn’t lost his touch.

Your lips break apart for air, your mouth wet and abused from Joel’s ravenous tongue, with your chest rising and body shaking. “Oh my—,” you choke on your words, “fuck Joel. I’m so close. Y’gonna make me come—don’t stop.”

As if he’d ever stop, how could he ever stop.

His fingers keep up their pace, curling into your velvety walls and flicking your clit with his other hand. His weight is ready for your body to tremble and contract as he gives you what you wanted, what he’d always wanted to provide you with.

“Yes baby, please,” he begs you, “give it to me. Show me how pretty you are when you come.”

That’s the last thing you need for the string to snap, that coil in your lower stomach to burst, body falling forward and pussy gushing and throbbing on his fingers, your orgasm pulsing through you and Joel’s one arm already outstretched, ready to catch you.

You cry out his name, Joel Joel Joel, your body now using him for your own pleasure as your hips move on their own terms to prolong that feeling of ecstasy that’s Joel’s flared up inside of you.

“Yes darlin’, that’s it. Fuck I can feel your pussy hugging my fingers so tightly,” and he can imagine what it’s like when he feels it on his cock. He kisses your collarbone and neck when your head falls back, sucking the skin red and leaving a trace of what’s he’s just given to you, marking you, eyes closing shut with that added gratification of his claim.

He lets you ride it out for as long as he can, because you deserve it with how he’s treated you. He slowly pulls out his fingers when his doesn’t feel your walls contracting around him, his two digits shining with your release.

Your body slumps forward onto his chest, and he’d somehow forgotten how much he missed having you this close. His skin is hot, making your limbs shudder. “Oh my god…,” you manage to say, arms wrapping around his neck, “fuck Joel, you’re good at that. You’re s’good.”

Your words make him laugh, and god, you’ve missed that sound, remembering how stern he used to be with you, how it had taken you months to get him to even smile at you. You watch as he grins up at the ceiling, pinching the flesh of your hips.

You lift yourself and shift Joel’s body down lower on the sofa, purchasing his cock so he rests in your folds. You move your hips so his tip nudges at your clit, your pussy lubricating him with your release. Joel grunts at the sensation; just the rubbing of your cunt on his cock has him rocking his hips under you, drawing him closer to where he needs you.

You shudder above him, and all Joel can do is watch you intensely. Waiting for that exact moment when your pussy engulfs his tip, and your thighs start falling. But in his impatient state, it doesn’t come; you continue to stroke yourself on him. And the sound of your voice pulls him back to you.

“Is this what you want Joel?” Like you don’t already know. “You want this pussy to ride your cock?”

He ventures out and pulls you flush down onto his hips, but you refuse and hold yourself frozen in place, ushering your hand up and cupping his jaw in a firm grasp, constraining his face to look at you.

“You’re so impatient Joel,” your features teasing him just that little bit more. “Now. I want you to tell me. Tell me exactly what you want.”

He whines deep from the back of his throat, “fuck sweetheart—” His breathings nonexistent, completely knocked out and winded, firm hands biting down hard on your waist, “I need you. Wanna feel you wrapped around me. Wanna make you come on my cock. Fuck I need it—please.”

You lower your pussy until his head is fully shielded inside you, lusting over that new stretch of his cock spreading you out. You take control of your movements, wanting Joel to feel all of you at a restrained pace, to take all of you in.

Joel strives to gain back some of the strength you’ve swept out of him, and fuck you did it so easily, plunging your hips down so your cunt takes more of him, and his thighs pushing upwards to meet you halfway.

Joel’s wrecked under you the moment his cock feels the comfort of your cunt. His face falling into your hot chest, and in an instant, you’re welcoming him as you knot your hands into the back of his curls.

He feels fucking incredible; he’s so hard and thick, and even with his fingers before, the pull his cock gives you is such a painful pleasure. It makes your pussy burn, fluttering from that hot sting as his cock reaches heaven and smooths that spot inside you that has you seeing white stars behind your eyelids.

The back of your legs make contact with his thighs, and you’re pining at the fullness, “fuck Joel—oh my god.”

Joel musters up a chant of fuck fuck fuck with every inch of his thickness filling you to the brim. He grits his teeth down hard, pulling in his lip and almost drawing blood, needing to stop himself from becoming too into you too fast as his body flavours your tightened walls around his cock.

You can feel his breath heat the skin on your chest, his tone muffled by his lips kissing the flesh of your breast, “fuck baby—shit, you feel…”

You keep your pussy flushed on his length, pulling his hair through your fingers, making him wince from the tug. He lifts his marks from your chest and brings your mouth down to melt into his, only then to take his touch off of yours and pierce into your eyes.

He wants to tell you that he is on cloud nine. He wants to say how beautiful he thinks you are, how he’d never be able to go a minute without having you like this, and not only intimately but to have you so close to him, to have you so near, how you’ve made him question all his past decisions.

So he tells you the truth, “Perfect. Christ sweetheart, you feel perfect. Like y’made for me.”

You become embarrassed by his words and reward him with a swirl of your hips, testing your body to see if your cunt has yet adjusted to his thickness. His fingers felt incredible, but it doesn’t compare to having his cock buried inside you. You can feel how your walls pull him in so well, your slick and a mixture of his arousal making his cock glide so simply in and out of you.

You pull your hips up with shaky legs so only half of his cock’s shielded inside you and drop back down slowly, repeating the action until you have to bear yourself, feeble hands being placed on his knees, arching your back as your head faces the ceiling.

He has you everywhere, hands gripping your hips and waist, his contact moving up your ribs to the curve of your breast and neck, touching as much of you as he can.

Your pussy throbs and latches down hard on his cock, Joel’s mind unable to focus on anything but the squeeze. “Shit baby,” he curses quietly, “y’so fucking tight.”

You look back at him, voice mellow and movements evenly paced, “Yeah? Does this pussy feel good? It’s all yours, Joel,” you promise him, “fuck, it’s all for you.”

Your assurance goes straight through his body and down his length, which starts to throb inside you at how true your words are, your confidence emitting straight onto him. He looks at every inch of you, taking his time to fully appreciate what’s in front of him, to admire what’s on top of him: the way your chest lifts and falls with every ragged breath, breast sensitive to his fingers and mouth, the way your whimpers fill the room, your body covered in sweat that makes your skin glisten.

And that’s when he notices a change in your attitude, dropping your guard just a smidge as you continue to move your hips but now at a hurried pace. Your hands are suddenly needy and attentive, your words now imploring, “fuck Joel. I need you—” you beg him.

“What baby,” he says, his tone low, “tell me. Shit—tell me what you want.”

You need him deeper, you need him harder, fucking all of himself into you until you can’t walk the next day, until the second orgasm he brings out of you has your head dizzy with just the thoughts of him.

“I need…,” you mumble, “Joel, I need it harder. Please fuck me. I want it hard.”

Yes, he can do that. So he stops your movements, ready to give you what you need. “Okay darlin’. Fuck— yeah, okay.”

His stare is firm and direct, and all you can summon is a weakened nod and a pull at his shoulders, beckoning him to swap positions.

You cage your arms around his neck to keep a firm hold of him whilst Joel puts his one hand down on the sofa and the other on your back, carefully lifting his weight off his hips and crashing both of your body’s onto the couch, his cock remaining nestled in you warm walls.

He sets his one foot onto the floor and the others bent by your side, giving himself that extra leverage and strength while he holds himself up by his palms, his mass adding pressure onto the cushion below.

He soothes, coasting his touch over and pinching all of you, his hands sending bolts of electricity down to your core, your legs wrapping around his lower back to keep him condensed and up close.

Every thrust of his hips has your back lifting off the sofa, his cock continuously hitting that spot inside you, his tip nudging that knot cramping in your stomach and pulling a gasp from your throat.

He looks down and regrets it the moment his eyes stare at where you’re connected. He chokes on his breath and his thrust stall, not trusting another pull of his hips in your cunt knowing too well he could come quickly and shamefully. His pays attention to how his cocks covered in your wetness, saturating his skin and the hair on his pubic region.

You force his head up from where his eyes are frozen, moving his attention to you, “Look at me, Joel…,” you beckon, “look at me when you fuck me.”

And he listens. Even though he’s on top of you, he’s listening to you. He watches you with a desired expression as he observes the pure ecstasy flourishing through your features.

He knows you’re about to come, he can feel it wrapped all around his cock. It’s that same feeling of your cunt fluttering on his fingers just moments ago when he watched that pleasure take over your body and when he let you ride it out in slow and steady waves. But only this time, it’s so much more intense. And this time, it lunges his orgasm forward.

Fuck he needs you to come. Like, right now.

Somehow, you’ve read his mind, finally jumbling out your words, “F-uck Joel. I’m close. Fuck I’m so, so close.”

He’s barely holding on, arms juddering and stomach clenching to keep himself from spilling his release inside of you, needing you to finish before him.

“Give it to me darlin’,” Joel pleads, “that’s it—let me feel ya. Let me feel you come around me.”

His words are what you need to break; you begin to pulse and convulse around his hard length, arms dragging him down as your breasts compress into his sticky chest, weak arms holding onto his shoulder blades.

The feeling of your pussy coming around him has his hips faltering. Joel has no fucking idea how he’s lasted this long, his own legs shaking and his eyebrows furrowing in concentration, “fuck darlin’, I’m gonna—” his forehead connects with yours, “fuck y’gonna make me come.”

Once your high has substantially subsided, and his thrusts have you riding out every flood of pleasure that washed over you, your mind can take into his words as you place a gentle kiss on his lips. “Please, Joel,” landing another kiss onto the side of his mouth, “come Joel—fuck, I want it inside. Want you to fill me up.”

Surely, he’s not hearing correctly, his ears ringing and heavy heartbeat blocking all noise around him.

His movements become delayed, his voice cracking, “y’sure darlin’?” Fuck let that be what you said because he’d do anything to come inside you right now. To stay nestled in your cunt for as long as he possibly can. “Is that what you want?”

Your eyes are glazed over, tears threatening to spill down the sides of your face, “yes Joel,” you cry out, “Please come in me. Wanna feel it.”

“Christ,” he huffs, his breath hot and heating the already reddish flush on your cheeks, “okay—fuck okay I’ll come inside you baby.”

You intentionally clench your walls around him, digging your heels into his lower back to keep him deep and as close to you as possible. You keep that up until Joel warns you, mumbling your name before an ‘Oh shit, I’m coming, fuck I’m coming.’ And with a few more thrusts of his hips, they slow down, his high taking possession of his body, his seed filling you up.

“That’s it, Joel. Fill me up.” Your words prolonging his orgasm, feeling his warm come coat your walls and his cock twitching with each spurt of his release.

His thrusts come to a hilt, finishing off with one final quick and deep thrust before all of his body weight lands on top of you, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

You feel so full of him. The way his body is hefty on top of yours, his mind oblivious to his weight as he squashes you deep into the sofa. And you wouldn’t want it any other way. Once he has dominance of his own body again and gathers enough energy to, he pulls his softening cock out of your hole with a groan, his release dripping out of you.

He wraps his arms around you, changing the position so you’re now back on top, your head now lying on his chest and your legs becoming tangled together.

You both lie there in silence, the sound of Joel’s heart and his overall warmth across your skin has your eyes feeling heavy. You dig your chin into his peck, giving him a gentle smile, “y’feeling okay Joel?”

“I’m okay darlin’, he soothes, running his hand through your hair, “I’m more than okay.”

He kisses your lips, eyes looking back down at you, his voice coming out small. “Listen darlin’, I never meant to ignore you. It’s just…I haven’t felt this way in a long fuckin’ time and I know there’s nothing I can say to—“

“Joel stop—,” you place your finger on his lips, shushing him before he can say anything further.

“We don’t need to talk about that now,” you say, “that’s all in the past. All I want you to know is that I understand, and it’s okay. We’re okay.”

He nods at you, grabbing the blanket that rests on the top of the couch and pulling it over your body to keep the warmth in.

You always know what to say, your words having his eyes quickly falling shut with you all over his mind. He’s spent the last fortnight feeling shitty and regretful, struggling to get any sleep as he thinks about how much he’s hurt you. But right now, with you resting on top of him and soft snores leaving your lips, he knows he’ll never have to worry about you again.

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