#soap ordered the drink for her

[dragonnarrative-writes]

For the ask game, has anyone asked about Autumn Embers courting yet? The sex cake, I mean, the "courtship cake" concept was amazing. 🍰🔥

For the WIP Ask Game! Autumn Embers really is an interesting project. I wanted to use it to explore some of the weirder implications of the omegaverse and i tripped and fell into being horny about it. I really loved everything to do with The Cake. I definitely need to revisit it.

Have a bit of courting conversation.

CW: None (surprisingly)

“So!” Johnny grins at you and leans back in his seat, rolling his shoulders. “What’s an omega such as yerself looking fer in a pack?”

Kyle groans and puts his face in one hand. “Jesus, Soap.”

“I have my pack,” you answer, leaning back in your own seat to throw your own gauntlet. “Family I’ve chosen amongst my friends. And I’ve never found them lacking enough to seek anything more formal.”

“Oh, aye? They the ones who’ve helped you get all prettied up, this evenin’? C’n smell the wee blonde one on ye.”

Before the Captain can growl a correction, you point your glass at him. “Are you this rude on purpose, or is it just a natural talent?”

“Six ‘f one, half dozen the other,” the man answers easily, chin tipped up. “Wan’ tae see that hint of fang you flashed fer us. That real, or just a bit of show for the base?”

“That wasn’t for you,” you scoff.

“Fer Laswell, then?”

You cock an eyebrow. “Is she interested?”

“Oh aye, she loves a curvy thing with a bit o’ sharp edge.”

“Johnny,” Simon rumbles. “Enough.”

“Nae,” the Sergeant drawls. “She’s ‘ere, with us. If she wants something like that twat Brandon c’n offer, she’d have ‘im wrapped around those delicate fingers. She likes an alpha with a little bite.”

“Presumptuous,” you sniff.

“Yer the one drinkin’ the whiskey.” Johnny’s grin flashes his canines.

[canyonmooncreations]

I’d like to think Simon’s girl is so shy. Simon was never much of a talker so go figure he dates a girl who is shy.

She talks to him in private and they have a wonderful connection. However, when they’re around anyone else she’s just shy.

Drinks with team? She’s wallowing into Simon’s side with blushed cheeks avoiding soaps million questions.

At the restaurant and they got her order wrong? Don’t worry, Simon’s got this.

Need to make a phone call? Just write it down love, he’s got it.

But in bed? “Let me hear you love” “what was that? You want me to stop?” And that is the last thing you want. “Come on lovie; can’t hear you”“Tell me what you want”

Simon never would’ve guessed you might be into inviting someone to the bedroom. But of course you’re still so shy. So when Simon’s holding you to his chest and John’s inside you, Simon’s whispering in your ear. “Tell him what you want” and suddenly you’re mouth is just a stream of words

[op1umeyes]

imagine ur bd being out of the picture and your little girl running up to si ☹️🤍

   “Daddy!”

   Simon looked down, eyes wide at the little girl wrapped around his right leg. Johnny eyed him carefully. He was thankful none of the other café patrons paid any mind. “I’m not your daddy, love,” Simon said. He tugged his leg away gently but the strength of a child is hard to match.

     “Annalise, get off that man,” a woman cried. In the blink of an eye, she knelt near Simon’s leg and tugged the child away.

     “Dada!” She shrieked. Annalise’s chubby hands reached out for Simon’s. “Is dada, mama!”

     You shook your head. “I- I’m so sorry, sir. Her dad was in the military. Anna thinks everyone in fatigues is dada… Do you want me to get either of you a coffee to pay you back? I’m truly sorry.”

     Soap discreetly elbowed Simon harshly in the side. “‘M quite alrigh’ lass. Simon, here, would take a coffee if your serious. If you’ll excuse me, I got to go. Bye, little lassie,” the Scot rushed, face lightinf up at the way Annalise giggled as his parting.

     Annalise was still cooing and reaching for Simon. You just shifted her on your hip and rubbed her back. “Simon, yeah?”

     “That’s me, ma’am,” Simon nodded, feeling suddenly extremely exposed without the balaclava he had decided not to wear for one single occasion. “You don’t have to pay me back-“

     “Nonsense. I would feel like a bad person if I just let my kid latch herself onto your left and call you dad and then just swoop her up and leave,” you said, reaching for your wallet before walking over to the ordering counter. “What can I get you?”

     Simon ordered a small of his usual, watching you pull the money from your wallet without glancing at how much it costed. He observed you in that split second- a beautiful baby girl on your hip who thought any man in camo was her dad. So he had been in the service… Simon watched you smile kindly at the teen behind the counter who fumbled for your change. You murmured a quiet, “It’s quite alright, take your time.” A well-mannered, well put-together individual who was also very attractive. Simon knew what Johnny was doing when he left and Simon would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought you were a catch.

     “I seriously appreciate the coffee, ma’am, but it was unnecessary,” Simon said as you tucked your change back and waited for the drink. “As long as the kid’s alrigh’, I don’t need anything in return.”

     You smiled. You smiled at Simon and he swore his cold heart jumped in his chest. Clearly your bright smile disarmed Annalise as much as Simon because she let out a bubbly laugh and put her hands on your cheek. “What if I said I wanted to?” You asked coyly.

     Simon watched Annalise play with a baby hair near your face. “Then I’d say it’d be a cruel thing to tell a gorgeous woman no.”

[moody-alcoholic]

CW: stalking behaviour, over protective 141, fluff.

“See her coming out now.” Ghost says over the radio.  

“Afirm.” Soap’s voice comes back almost instantly. Ghost watches as you stumble over the pavement, pulling your jacket over your shoulders. It’s almost 3am, and most clubs are closing. The friend you came out with left an hour ago. Now you’re alone, drunk, swaying through the streets of London on a busy Saturday night. 

“Watch your distance Soap, no need to spook her.” Price says.

“Copy.” Soap says as he weaves his way through the crowd of clubbers spilling out of the various nightclubs and bars. He keeps his head low, making sure to keep a safe distance from you. They’re not going to lose sight of you though. That’s what Ghost is for. 

He slips between the crowds on the other side of the street, slipping into the shadows every opportunity he gets. 

“She’ll take the next right. Don’t lose her.” Price says as you pick up your pace slightly. He’ll be driving to the next location, ready to pick you up at a moment's notice. You pull your phone out, typing while you struggle to keep your balance. Ghost lost track of how many drinks you had. 

It was a celebration after all, your friend getting a big promotion, she took you to one of the fanciest bars in the city. Even though she left early you still seemed to be having fun, helping yourself to another drink before finally deciding to call it a night. 

The streets off the main road are darker, quieter. Less room for error.

Suddenly you make a sharp turn, almost throwing your body down a dark alleyway. Ghost’s lost visual, he speeds up his strides, he has no idea if the alley is a dead end or not. 

“Soap, don’t lose her.” Ghost orders panic building in his chest. There’s no reply, now Ghost can’t even see Soap. “Soap, confirm visual on the target.” 

Ghost jogs to the next street over, nothing but shuttered buildings and the odd person heading home. 

“Stand-by.” The seconds feel like they’re ticking on for hours. “Eyes on target, she’s-” 

The line goes silent. 

“She’s just throwing up, seems like she’s had a few too many.” Soap says. Ghost can almost hear the collective sigh as he slips back into the darkness waiting for you to emerge from the alley. When you do you seem even more unsteady on your feet. 

“Keep it tight, she’s got another main strip to cross.” Price says. He’ll be moving on already. The amount of times you’ve walked this route. The amount of times they’ve practiced this route, it’s almost like a rehearsed play they could do in their sleep. 

You move on weaving through the growing crowds of the next cluster of clubs. They seem busier than the last. You work through them quickly, Soap keeping his distance, pushing through people without a care. He has one motive, one mission; never lose sight of you. 

As you make it to the quieter end of the street a group of lads cat-call you. You brush it off waving at them as you skip over to the next turn. Almost home. 

“ETA 10 minutes.” Ghost says hugging the shadows on the opposite side of the street. 

“Copy,” Price says, he will be in his final position. For the next few minutes the walk goes smoothly, you’re almost home, almost safe. 

“Got a guy on her six, just overtook me.” Soap says. Ghost’s eyes flick over in an instant. 

“I see.” Ghost says, watching as the man’s pace slows. “Hang back Soap. I got eyes.” 

Ghost doesn’t even hear a reply, his eyes digging into the man now following a few steps behind you. You seem to notice too, quickly taking a peak over your shoulder, pulling your jacket around you tighter. You’re almost there, almost home. 

“Want me to grab him?” Soap asks. As he says it you pick up your speed, your body straightens up. 

“Negative.” 

You turn into the front garden of the house, shutting the gate behind you. The hairs rise on the back of your neck as you fumble with the key pressing it into the lock and opening the door. The feeling of being followed suddenly fades as you make it inside, locking the door behind you. 

“Hey, welcome home.” Kyle says, sticking his head out the kitchen. You smile walking over to him and wrapping your hands around his neck.

“It’s late, you didn’t have to wait up.” you say pressing your lips on his. He kisses you back, his hands gripping your waist. 

“Needed to make sure you got home safe.” You hear John say. You break from the kiss looking over at him sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of tea in front of him. You walk over wrapping your arms around him from behind squeezing him. 

The smell of tea fills your nose and makes you thirsty. 

“Cuppa? Or bed?” Kyle asks, walking over, placing his hand on the small of your back. You hum looking round the kitchen.

“Where’s Johnny and Simon?” You ask. 

“Sleeping, they’re not used to staying up as late as you are.” John chuckles. You smile looking up at Kyle.

“Bed.” You say. He smiles back at you kissing the top of your head. 

“C’mon, I’ll give you a hand.” Kyle says pulling on your waist turning you to the stairs. John hears you giggling as you stumble up the steps to the first floor. A few seconds later the back door slowly opens, Johnny and Simon slipping in. John raises an eyebrow, quickly checking behind him to make sure you’re definitely gone. 

“You better hurry up, I’m pretty sure she’s looking to climb into your bed tonight.” John says as Simon and Johnny look at eachother. Johnny's smiles, taking his coat off and leaving his radio on the kitchen island. 

“Get some rest cap, you look exhausted.” Johnny says, patting him on the shoulder as he passes him. John sighs looking up at Simon. 

“Another successful night.” John says as Simon puts his radio down. 

“Always.” Simon smiles.

_______ What if something went wrong?

👏zero👏self👏control👏

[gam3r-girli3]

18+ content ahead, mdni! | part two

Something something the boys are out one night and Soap confesses to Price over a few beers that his last girlfriend broke up with him because she claimed he didn't know how to eat her out properly.

It's forgotten about the next day, just a bit of locker room chat between men over a some drinks in their local pub, until Soap is called into Price's office one day to find you - his Captain's pretty wife - laid out on the desk, looking like a damn feast.

Price is kneeled down in front of you between your splayed legs, lapping hungrily at your cunt, and if your echoing mewls and cries are anything to go by, you seem to be enjoying it immensely.

Soap backs up, hand reaches behind him for the door as he stutters over apologies, unable to tear his eyes away from the erotic scene in front of him. He feels his cock stirring in his trousers despite the wrongness of it, the intrusion on a private moment between a husband and wife.

It's been so long since he last got laid, even longer since he got to taste a nice pussy. He can tell just by looking at yours that you've got a nice tasting one, the kind that lingers on his tongue days after, makes him ache and wake up hard just dreaming about it.

Price's head turns, but he doesn't look angry, far from it. His eyes glitter with amusement, mustache looking damp and chin shining with slick arousal from your weeping cunt.

Instead of ordering him to get out, the Captain invites him to come closer.

Hesitantly, still in a state of disbelief but far too turned on to leave, the Sergeant edges closer, swallowing thickly.

"Go on, lad. Give 'er a taste."

It's wrong, so wrong. Depraved. But he is depraved and he's so unbelievably horny.

Soap takes Price's place on the floor, knees leaning on the hard surface as his face gets up close to your pussy.

His eyes dart up to your face, as if checking to see your reaction, but you just smile coyly and give a short nod of reassurance. It's all he needs before he's diving in, suckling harshly on your puffy clit.

He hears you cry out, loud, feels your fingers fist in his hair - but you don't seem to be trying to hold him there, you're tugging. He raises his head, a struggle, looking to see what's wrong.

Behind him, observing, Price clicks his tongue in disappointment. "You're going too fast. You need to slow down. Savour it. Take your time."

Soap feels a flush of embarrassment.

Keeping his Captain's words in mind, he goes in again - but this time, he doesn't slurp, he laps. He slowly and painstakingly devours you, from your clit down to your soaked entrance. He savours the flavour, hums as your arousal dances on his tongue. Thinks back to his earlier thoughts and decides he was right; you do have a nice tasting pussy and he'll be getting off to this for weeks to come, chubbing up at just the mere mention of your name.

He can distantly hear you whimpering and sobbing over the thunderous drumming of his own heart, can feel you squirming, thighs clamping around his head every so often. Doesn't need to look to know the desk is fucking soaked, any paperwork under you destroyed with your juices (not that he's allowed much to escape, the greedy bastard that he is).

"There ya go, lad. She's almost there. A little more."

Price's encouragement only serves to make him work even slower, drawing out your impending orgasm deliciously. When you finally reach your peak, your back arches clean off the desk, legs twitching and quivering, your voice a beautiful high-pitched crescendo full of pleasure and relief that echoes in Soap's skull like a symphony.

Only once he's finished catching every drop of your release that escaped your cunt does he come up for air, licking his lips and tasting your arousal that's coating his mouth, chin, dribbling down his neck.

Soap turns his head to look back over his shoulder.

Price nods, a hint of pride in his voice as he says, "Well done. Next time I'll teach you how to make her squirt."

i don't know what this is and don't ask me how it came into my head

[ pics in collage do not belong to me - all were found on pinterest ]

[readwritealldayallnight]

im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons 🧎🏻‍♀️

The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it

He knows there isn’t anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim you’re going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so

You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over

He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that

You’re as smitten with him as he is with you

Still though, Simon does have eyes

And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that he’s got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he can’t help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you

To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it

That didn’t mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances

“Aw, come on love, just one chance, s’all I ask for!” The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time

“Pfft, ye’d be nothin’ but a waste o’ her time, Garrick. We wouldn’t even ‘ave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.” The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment

Throughout the entire exchange, Ghost’s gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the men’s antics, reminding himself that you’re his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses

Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection

“Once again, gentleman,” you say to them, knowing that they’re listening to your every word and watching your every move. “I don’t fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.”

The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before

“Ach, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!” Soap teases you, only kind of joking

“Mmm, don’t think that’ll work.” You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, “You might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.”

The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words

“Shite, sounds like you might ‘ave a chance, LT.” Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night

It’s a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities

Because that’s just it isn’t it? He’s not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend he’s drunker than he really he is when he ‘accidentally’ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy you’re not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot won’t give up that easily, likely asking if you’re here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back

No, he certainly isn��t feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simon’s instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where he’s going suddenly

He’s acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosser’s shoulder, wringing him around to face him

Your would be admirer isn’t feeling so confident now when he’s staring up at a 6’4” wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava

If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot

But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each other’s breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone

[writersdrug]

Bartender ghost’s reaction to waitress reader getting hit on by a customer or customers.

There's not nearly enough of these in my askbox send me mooooreeeeeee

He kinda hates it. He hates seeing her getting ogled at, hates seeing them scribble their numbers on the receipts, hates the way they make you run back and forth to grab them ketchup, mayo, more drinks, or to ask Soap for an extra side of fries - hates the way they try to chat you up, leaning back in their seats and saying anything that'll get you giggling and bright eyed - Simon knows it's all for their pleasure, having you at their beck and call for an hour or two, making you their personal little errand girl and watching you weave around tables and customers for their own enjoyment.

Simon isn't mad at you for wearing those shorts and skirts that have the patrons' eyes glued to your backside, or those low-cut, tight tops that hug you so nicely, making them stutter as they give you their order. He's mad at them, those sleazeballs who think they're worth your time or attention. You're his waitress, not their toy. His pretty little over-achiever.

And that's exactly why he tolerates it. He knows you're a grown adult, and he knows you're smart. You play their game, smiling sweetly and acting the tiniest bit coy and frazzled, nonetheless fulfilling every single one of their requests. Pretending to be apologetic about a burger not made to a customer's liking, then barking out orders to Soap once you're behind the kitchen door (don't worry, he barks back). You do it all for the fat tips, the double, sometimes triple digits on their receipts. He swallows the bitter taste of jealousy - well, he tries to. He's got his own patrons at the bartop to worry about.

You waltz over at the end of your shift and slap a receipt on the counter. "Some bloke left me a billion dollar tip." You say with a cheeky grin, cheeks flushed from hours of running between tables.

Ghost cocks an eyebrow, looking at the receipt. Sure enough, the idiot had left his mobile number in the tips section - technically, he left you four billion.

"That won't go through, 'n you know it." He says, looking over the edge of the receipt at you.

You purse your lips and tilt your chin down, looking up at him through your stupid, bloody, gorgeous eyes. "Twenty percent auto-grat, since that's technically not a tip? Pretty pleeeeease?"

He wants to say no, just to prove he's strong-willed against your flirtatious antics. He's an ex-SAS soldier. He's better than this. Your charm may fool those boys at his tables, but not him.

That is, until you carefully wrap your delicate hand around his wrist, using your other fingers to fold the receipt over his knuckles. "It'll be our little secret."

Thank god he has the counter to hide his raging hard on. He huffs and snatches the receipt from your fingers, turning to the POS.

"Fuckin' whatever." He says, punching in the tip. You squeal in delight and flit back to the restaurant floor to finish your tasks.

"Thanks Simon!" You chirp, and he grunts over his shoulder - discretely pressing his boner into counter.

You have to fan the heat from your face, remembering how his wrist felt in your hand.

[fictionismyreality3]

Scary Dog Privilege

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, allusions to violence

Notes: I want all four of them to walk behind me while I carry a bunch of shopping bags 🤭

Gaz is probably the most level-headed of the 141, but that doesn't mean he won't go to bat for you in an instant. While he might not look as outwardly imposing as Ghost, or have the mecurial grin that Johnny can sport, he is like a snake.

Gaz will walk beside you while you're out, larger hand around your smaller one, a flicker of danger in his eye that only shows to anyone who looks a little too long. He doesn't need bloodly knuckles when he has his tongue.

"Oh, you were just askin' her a question?" All piercing gaze and sharp tone. "Looks like you were just leaving, yeah?"

Soap on the other hand, well... he's a little more physical with the people he's protective of. The man will not hesitate to throw a punch or two if someone so much as looks in your direction a little too long.

Johnny's a little too eager, seeing his abilty to protect you as a way to prove his love. Many nights at the bar with the team have ended with you or Simon pulling him off of someone who tried to order you a drink.

"C'mon, bonnie-" He'd plead, spitting some blood out in his desire to get back to the brawl. "Let m'show ye how good I can fight f'ye."

Price is a little more quiet in his protectiveness, but a little more showy than Gaz. A big hand on the small of your lower back, all burly and gruff as he follows you to whatever store you want to go in next.

Doesn't mind making a point of who you belong to, but prefers using his years of being in a position of leadership to his advantage. Someone giving you trouble at the check out counter? He'll have a nice chat with the young man about the importance of good manners.

"Go wait in the car, little one." God forbid someone tries to charge you $300 for an oil change. "I'm just going to go over the bill with our friend here."

Ghost just has to stand there. The man is like a wall of darkness and shadow and will take advantage of his soulless brown eyes. He doesn't hold your hand while you're out, but thats only because he believes any outward display of affection would get you linked to him and killed.

That said, he doesn't even really have to touch you for others to know you're his. Will follow you around like a lost puppy, just hovering behind you as you walk the streets and point to displays in the window. His presence is threatening enough. But he has no qualms getting messy.

"Simon... he only asked for directions." You stared down at his bloody hands. "..fucker spoke t'you." "Yeah, for directions-"

"Didn't like it."

[bunnyinvanilla]

sugar daddy bar!owner john price x sugar baby!waitress series

🥀 |warnings: +18, laaargw age gap (reader is 21 and price is in his 40s), fem!reader, sugar daddy/baby relationship mentioned, not smut but suggestive.

price thought a doll like you deserved a grown, strong old man like him to treat you like a princess — spoil you rotten, wrap you up in bubble wrap and take care of you. You didn’t need to work, get your pretty hands sore and tired from pouring drinks all the time. he’d give you all the money you needed to pay off your college and to get all the pink, girly things you liked so much, ribbons and all. You just needed to sit cutely on his lap, to be his, and he’d give you the whole world. He was in his 40’s, you had only recently turned 21, a flower on the prime of her blossoming youth, who could give an old, worn out man like him some sugar.

that’s why he offered you to be his sugar baby. that offer, made you flush on the spot — he was so confident and composed, unfazed by his own words. The moment he saw redness spread over you cheeks, he knew he had you. His mustache twitched, his salt and pepper beard stretched as he wore an amused, lazy smile. you were always so obedient and compliant to him, always chirping a “yes sir” to anything he’d ask or tell you to do, a sweet, young, too young lil thing, eager to earn his praise, to feel those goosebumps trail down your skin when he muttered a gruff, deep “good girl”, you’d be the perfect submissive, you’d have it in you to be trained already, even in your innocence and inexperience..

..but, you’d initially declined his offer, because “I want to earn that money, sir, and I’d feel bad if you just..gave it to me like that”

oh, how honest, naive, innocent and pure you were. He admired that about you, but you could see it in his eyes, the way he cocked his thick, dark brown brow upward, that he didn’t believe you’d cling onto those words for long. He knew you were just too shy to accept, but you wanted to. You wanted to be his pretty, little girl. and he was right, as always. One particular night, you’d found a moment to lean your arms against the wooden counter and just breath. You’d been studying all morning, head buried in your notes, and when you got to the bar, you found dozens of soon to be drunk men ready to order alcohol and ask you to bring them ashtrays.

you wanted nothing more than go back home, snuggle in your pink, soft blankets and read your so loved books — it had just been a draining day, you enjoyed your job, but to be honest with yourself, the thing you liked the most was feeling john’s attention and eyes on you during your whole shift and maybe you could finally have someone provide for you.

so, that’s how you found yourself in front of his office door, hesitating lightly while millions of tiny butterflies flew around in your chest, your cheeks as red and warm as ripe strawberries under the summer sun.

knock, knock.

he’d recognized that knock. A feeble, light thud against wood. That couldn’t possibly have been Simon, whose hand could make the whole door shatter down with a single knock, nor Soap’s — bloody hell, that man never bothered to knock at all, he’d just break in.

so he wasn’t surprised to see you, standing meekly in front of his large, wooden desk, the hem of your skirt hugging your milky, bare thighs, your fingers fidgeting together and your eyes looking down at his sitting stance, shy and timid.

“what is it, doll? need ol’ price?” his voice was so rough, so husky, you wondered how it would sound from between your thighs, or from behind you, while his large palm pulled your hair to make you arch against him.

you blinked once, gathering courage to ask for what you’d secretly been daydreaming about, your boss, old enough to be your father, aging like the finest wine, showing you things you’d never ever experienced.

“about your offer, sir” your cheeks were burning, flaming up, “if I accept, can I still come here and help you around?”

“if you accepted,” he almost didn’t even let you finish, eyes already darkening at the thought, a wave of desire rushing through his weary, battle scattered heart, “you could do whatever you wanted, angel, you’d just have to say please”

[pedropascallme]

Meet The Rileys

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader

Summary: "The most troubling fact was that you wouldn’t be concealed backup—a position you had become accustomed to holding on operations like this. Instead, you would be front and center, playing the housewife to Simon’s working man."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) reader is American (no other descriptors), canon typical violence but just barely, maskless Ghost, fake relationship, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, kinda soft!Dom Simon, some hair pulling, dirty talk, mild degradation, lots of praise, creampie, I still don't know how the military works or how undercover missions work, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: To be so honest guys I'm not thrilled with this, but I did what I could. Is the plot nonsense? Perhaps. We're rolling with it.

Bonnie Riley.

The name was right there in bold typeface, printed on the fake ID Price had handed you.

Bonnie Riley, from Connecticut, who looked just like you.

But she wasn’t you. Not in a literal sense, anyway.

She was preppy and proper—presentable, in her tennis whites, her hair loose around her face.

Covert operations were awkward. At their worst, they served as a chilling reminder that so many people had no regard for life outside their own; at best, they were mind-numbing, and a bit uncanny, as you were forced into an entirely new role.

When Price had approached the Task Force with the assignment—an undercover op somewhere in Nowheresville, USA—you had been eager, made excited by the notion of returning to the states.

You missed sweet tea; you missed the rounded, drawled accents of America.

But it was only after you had agreed to the mission that it came to light what you would have to do.

One cartel was working with another, but the details of the brief got hazy from there. The country was suspicious about ulterior motives, worried by the links the domestic group had to other countries. Your job was to find out whether those suspicions were warranted.

As far as stealth missions were concerned, this one was comparatively bland.

The most troubling fact was that you wouldn’t be concealed backup—a position you had become accustomed to holding on operations like this. Instead, you would be front and center, playing the housewife to Simon’s working man.

You still weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up in this position, or whether it was even necessary. But your hand had been forced, as had his.

Ghost’s title as Lieutenant meant a heightened level of responsibility, which was obvious, and more than fair; his consistent silence made him fit for a job that required a hefty dose of observation.

You, in turn, were given the task of having his back; paying attention to his whereabouts just as closely as you did the targets.

Plus, you were the only woman on the Task Force, and an American, to boot.

Playing house ensured that you wouldn’t garner any skepticism moving into the cul-de-sac, granting easy access to the targets.

You leaned against the window of the rented moving van, turning the ID in your hand.

Dragging your finger along the laminated edges, you found yourself thinking of the fake ID you had bought in high school. You smiled at one memory of awkwardly ordering drinks at the local bar, before your father had walked in and seen you and your friends sipping unhappily on warm beer.

You were grounded for a week, but your parents had let you keep the shoddy piece of plastic.

That fake had been adorned with your real name; it was only as fake as it needed to be.

Now, you were Bonnie Riley—faker than fake.

The name Bonnie had been your idea. It was a favorite of Soap’s when addressing you, and you figured a nickname would be easier to remember than something original and unfamiliar. Simon hadn’t been on board with the concept of an alias, stubbornly refusing to pick a name; Price had stepped in and deemed him ‘Jim.’ (“Strong British name, eh?” “S’not me.” “That’s the point, Lieutenant.”)

But when it came to choosing last names, you’d all struggled. Something like ‘Smith’ would be too ambiguous, but anything more unique might be a struggle to remember or explain, were you to get caught up in your web of lies.

When it was time to create the faulty identification, Price had grown frustrated.

“Might as well keep Riley, for all I care—” He had pinched the bridge of his nose as he addressed Simon, “If that’s something you can agree on. God's sake, you’re married.”

“Who says I’d take his last name?” You scowled, already far from pleased by what the mission entailed, but now growing frustrated that your voice wasn’t being heard.

“Aliases aren’t legally binding, Sergeant.” Price quirked a brow at you, daring you to continue your argument.

You had hesitated.

“Should we really go with one of our legal names?”

You posed the question rhetorically, not expecting a response from either of the men.

Realistically, you knew it was a fine idea—it was unassuming, common enough to go unquestioned but not common enough to seem deliberately chosen to blend in. It was easy to remember, and it’s not like people outside the barracks knew Ghost by his real name, anyway.

“Fine," you sighed, resigned. "I’ll be a Riley.”

“Welcome addition.” Simon had nodded in agreement, voice gravelly.

You winced at the memory, watching the landscape pass by as Price drove the van down the highway.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Simon—he was a fantastic Lieutenant, someone you considered a friend before you considered him a coworker. But therein lay the problem; you did like him, maybe a bit too much.

There was a heightened level of anxiety now as you realized that the time and effort you’d spent trying to ignore your feelings for him would be nullified by your need to act domestic with him.

Not to mention his phrasing when the name had been decided upon—a welcome addition. It produced a pang in your stomach not unlike butterflies, which made you more embarrassed, than anything.

You looked down at the ID again. Your picture next to the Riley name made you feel something warm in your chest.

It was an alias, sure—a sham—but the sight was gratifying, either way.

You yawned, growing wary of the silence in the van.

“I still don’t understand why this is something we have to do.” You spoke up, dropping the ID in your lap and staring at Price in the rearview mirror.

“Got somewhere t’be?” He replied with an amused huff.

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the window.

“Just doesn’t seem like our jurisdiction,” you frowned, “Cartel in Middle America? More of an FBI racket, no?”

“Usually.” Price adjusted the mirror.

“But…?” You prompted him when he didn’t continue.

“But, this cartel may be on the ins with a British operation in Wales. And the Welsh fellas are working with a group somewhere on the European continent,” Price drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, “FBI thinks collusion could lead to something bigger than just moving drugs. Already gotten word of terroristic threats.”

“So now you have Ghost and I playing Mulder and Scully?” You scoffed, still staring out the window.

“You’ll have your kit back on in no time, Sergeant.” Price chuckled.

“Good,” you smiled, finally meeting his gaze in the mirror again, “This sweater is itchy.”

“Consider yerself lucky, lass,” Soap piped up from the passenger seat, turning his body to look back at you. “Least ye got a regular sweater. Poor Ghost looks a pure fandan.”

“Nobody knows what ‘at means, MacTavish.” Simon shifted in his seat, typically stoic but clad in a sweater vest and looking just as abysmally preppy as you did.

He looked handsome, but the clothes were so uncharacteristic of him that the thought made you feel somewhat guilty.

“Sorry, LT,” Soap craned his neck to look at Ghost, “A brief translation: ye look like a dick.”

Gaz huffed a laugh under his breath next to you, and Simon clenched his jaw.

~~~

The neighborhood was so polished that it looked unnatural. Identical houses lined up in rows; yards with high, pruned bushes; shiny cars, parked carefully in front of white garages.

This was wealthy territory, and it made you uncomfortable to stare the upper class in the face after spending so much time in the barracks.

There wasn’t much to unpack, despite the number of boxes that had been loaded into the van. Most of them were empty, or filled with small items that would come in handy during the stakeout that would be occurring during the foreseeable future.

But the weightlessness was certainly beneficial, and as Gaz, Soap, and Price acted as movers, you stifled a laugh at their attempts to make it seem as though the boxes were full and heavy.

“This’s the last of it.” Gaz dropped the final box in the middle of the floor.

The cardboard made a clinking sound when it hit the hardwood, and you saw Kyle’s expression turn to one of vague panic as he opened the box to reveal a set of extension cords and small mics.

“Good,” Price didn’t seem bothered about Gaz’s carelessness over the equipment. “S’get ourselves set up here.”

You folded the empty boxes as they were unpacked, stacking them up beside you.

“Why do we all need to be here.” You quickly grew bored of unpacking in silence, mind still buzzing with nagging questions.

“Reinforcements.” Price said simply.

“For a sting operation that we haven’t even started?” You countered.

“Rather do all the work yourself?” Gaz looked up at you, smirking, and you tossed a sheet of bubble wrap at him.

It flew sideways, swaying as it floated to the ground.

“What do we do if people see you?” You voiced a larger concern, “Think they’ll buy it if we tell them the movers just...decided to stick around?”

“Tell ‘em we’re yer kids.” Soap had settled onto the floor, fiddling with an extension cord.

You looked at the Sergeants and Price; none of the three could pass as younger than you, and none of them looked like you or Simon in any capacity.

“You’re stupid.” You laughed quietly, shaking your head at the obvious faults in Soap’s idea.

“Oi—s’no way to talk to your son.” Kyle laughed.

“Big house,” Price butted in, “Nobody’ll see us. And there should be no reason anybody should come in.”

“There room for us all?” Gaz perked up, “Or is someone sleeping on the couch?”

“Not me.” Johnny perked up, ready to argue.

“There’s space,” the Captain chewed his cheek, hesitating before he looked at you, “You two are sharing, though.” He gestured to Ghost.

“Why us?” Your gaze shifted to Simon, who didn’t seem to care, or maybe he just hadn’t heard; he was busy setting up one of the monitors.

“Married.”

“Aliases aren’t legally binding.” You threw his words from weeks ago back at him. “Why can’t any other combination of us share a room?”

“Assume it’s cause the rest of us take up too much space,” Gaz smirked, “’Nd Soap snores.”

“Dinnae!”

“Just—” Price sighed. He’d clearly been anticipating your pushback. “Unless you’d rather take the couch…”

You swallowed, weighing your options.

Sleeping on the couch would be the more admirable thing to do. Simon was putting a lot of effort into this mission—and he outranked you. It felt only fair that he got the opportunity to sleep in a real bed.

Plus, you could feel your ears heating up at the mere thought of sharing a bed with him, and you didn’t want to know what would happen if it actually came to fruition.

“I can take the couch,” Simon spoke up before you had the chance to respond to Price. “Don’t plan on doin’ much sleeping, anyway.”

“Typical honeymooner.” Johnny chuckled.

“Rather keep watch ‘an stay kushy.” Ghost scoffed.

“Don’t care what you do in here. Just remember that outside this house, you’re married.” Price nodded, picking up the pile of empty cardboard boxes at your feet and tossing them by the front door.

“Right,” you sighed. “Yeah.”

~~~

You walked down the stairs slowly; it was dark, and you didn’t want to run the risk of missing a step and tripping over yourself.

Being in a new place always made you uneasy. You had become so accustomed to life on a military base—small rooms and small beds, curfews and floodlights—that anything else felt unnerving.

This house had shadows in new places, the bed was against a different wall. It all felt so liminal, and you despised it.

You remedied your discomfort by wandering the halls, trying to acclimate to your surroundings.

There was quiet chatter coming from the living room, and you turned the corner to see Simon awake on the couch, flipping through TV channels.

“What you doin’ up?” He didn’t bother turning to look at you.

“Big house,” you mumbled, not at all surprised by his knowledge of your presence; he was intuitive to a frightening degree. “Trying to...gather my bearings.”

Simon grunted a response, still not looking at you. You rounded the corner of the couch, keeping your distance.

“Why are you still up?” You chanced the question.

“Been a long time since I ‘ad cable.” He almost smiled, and you liked the way it looked; the light from the TV illuminated his face, and he seemed so docile.

“So, you’re just doing a, uh…” You looked at the TV, “A Brady Bunch rerun marathon?”

He looked up at you, not replying, but he smiled for real now, and that was just as good a response as any.

“Still in your day clothes.” You pointed out.

“My stuff’s in the room you’re sleeping in,” Simon shifted on the couch, and you tried not to focus on the way he let one hand fall over the curve of his thigh. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Wouldn’t bother me,” you shook your head, “Change, LT. You’re allowed to get comfortable.”

“Who said anything ‘bout being uncomfortable?” He challenged.

“Ghost, you’re wearing pleated slacks,” you scoffed at him, “I’m uncomfortable just looking at you.”

“Miss my casual attire, love?” He smirked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. Already sick of having to look at you without the mask.”

It was a deflection, really, to hide the fact that you were thoroughly enjoying being able to see him without the hinderance of the balaclava.

“You wound me, Sergeant.” He heaved a sigh, the smirk on his lips still obvious.

“You gonna change, or not?”

He stared up at you for a moment, short strands of blond hair falling over his face as he analyzed you.

“A’right,” he conceded, standing up and walking over to you. “Go on.”

You smiled, nodding in approval at his cession as you made your way up the stairs.

The bedroom was big—too big for just one person. The high ceiling and lack of any furniture, save for the bed, only served to make it seem even more spacious, which in turn made it feel even emptier.

Having Simon in it with you made it much cozier, and you couldn’t tell if it was just because he physically took up so much space, or if it was just his presence alone that soothed you.

Wordlessly, Simon grabbed the duffel he’d tossed beneath the bed. You watched on intently as he hoisted it by the strap over his shoulder.

He really did look so handsome like this. In another life, maybe this is how he’d be living; white picket fence, a nine-to-five. Maybe even a dog—you could picture him so clearly with a German Shephard by his side.

But you couldn’t imagine Simon living the domestic life in suburbia, not really. You couldn’t picture him without the scars and the grit.

It’s what made him Simon, and you didn’t necessarily think that was a bad thing.

“What’s your story?” You sat on the edge of the bed.

“Y’know enough.” He grunted, turning to you.

“No, your—” You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Your backstory. For…” You gestured between yourself and him.

He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Married two years, together f’eight—”

“You work slow, Jim.”

“I’m careful, sweetheart,” he quirked a brow at you, and you smiled, allowing him to continue. “Moved ‘ere from England cause you missed being home.”

“What do you do for a living?” You prompted.

“IT.” He gritted out.

“Nobody will believe that.”

“’Nd they’ll believe you’re a ‘ousewife?” He shot back.

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Fair.”

He shifted his jaw, and the conversation was over. He turned to leave, but you had one more thing on your mind.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch for the whole op,” you called after him quietly. “I can…we can trade off, every night. If you’d like.”

He turned to look at you again, standing in the doorway.

He shook his head. “Deserve your beauty sleep, Mrs. Riley.”

He turned to leave, closing the door behind him, and you could hear his footsteps as he walked back downstairs. You were left alone in the stupidly large bedroom, the sound of your pulse rattling around your skull.

~~~

To any outward observer, it looked like a chance encounter; people meeting, exchanging pleasantries as neighbors do, finding a sort of simpatico.

But it was a well thought out plan—as well thought out as it could be.

Price had given you the instructions over coffee that morning. You were bleary eyed and felt ill-prepared, but you had to admit, the man worked fast.

“Make sure they stop.” Price stood with folded arms as he watched you and Simon leave the house.

“Can’t really force it.” You paused in the foyer to point out the flaw in his logic, uncertain whether this would pan out the way you all hoped.

“Trap ‘em with small talk.” Price countered.

“Yeah—cause Ghost is known for his chit-chat.”

“S’why you’re helpin’ him.” Price cracked a small smile upon hearing your swipe at Simon.

“What do we do if this works?” You felt a little anxious about being in the spotlight through all of this, “You want us to walk right back inside? Cause that seems—I feel like that wouldn’t…look right.”

“Drive around,” Price shrugged, “Go wherever your heart desires.”

“Pick up some groceries!” Gaz shouted from another room, eavesdropping.

“Aye—yer kids are sick o’cereal and cheese sandwiches.” Soap added his two cents from the couch.

You rolled your eyes as you made your way out of the house in yet another uncomfortably starched outfit.

Simon was already outside, leaning against the front wall of the house. He seemed to have positioned himself fairly purposefully behind the hedges that lined the lawn; he held himself awkwardly without his kit, arms crossed and shoulders hunched.

You realized he was likely trying to find comfort in a more sniper-like position so that he wouldn’t have to face the world more than he already had to in this situation.

“C’mon,” Simon nodded at you when you closed the door. “Y’a’right?”

You nodded, sighing. “We’re getting groceries after this.”

He made a face, but he didn’t say anything as he pushed himself off the wall and followed you down to the driveway.

A few feet from the garage, Simon grabbed your arm.

“Look.”

His voice was low, a gravelly whisper as he nodded to something down the street.

You followed his gaze and saw a couple approaching—they fit the description, matched the pictures; target acquired.

Simon opened the garage door, an action that made him look busy and ensured they would take notice of the two of you.

It worked; they looked up with startled smiles.

“Oh—new neighbors!” The woman called out before she had even reached your driveway.

Her accent rang out as clearly East coast. These were city folk who had run West to avoid the prying eyes and greedy pockets of whichever police department they were under the jurisdiction of; they were finding solace in small-town ambience while they made bank off of moving goods.

“Hi, there!” You waved, smiling wide as you encouraged them closer, attempting to rope them into conversation. “Just moved in.”

“That’s so great! That house has been empty so long...”

The woman finally stood before you, and you could see now that she was older than you, probably by at least ten years or so—though she was clearly putting effort into hiding it.

“About time someone made a home out of it—I was just saying so. Rob,” she turned to her husband, who trailed behind her, “Wasn’t I just saying so?”

“You were,” he nodded, sliding an arm around her waist and reaching his free hand out to Simon. “Robert Ferguson—this is my wife, Deborah.”

“Call me Deb!” She exclaimed, feigning bashfulness.

“Jim Riley,” Simon shook Robert’s hand, nodding sideways at you. “My wife, Bonnie.”

“You’re British!” Deb looked absolutely astounded by this revelation.

“Yes.” Simon nodded, and you couldn’t help but notice how the muscle in his jaw ticked; all of his focus seemed to be on making his features behave to hide his feelings now that the balaclava was off.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Robert asked, quirking a brow, and you wondered if he was already onto you.

“Missed home,” you finally found the opportunity to speak up, inching yourself closer to Simon to keep up the guise of married life. “We’ve been living overseas for so long; I just couldn’t go another day of rain and beans.”

Simon glanced down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a begrudging, but amused, smirk. He wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you against him.

“S’right.”

You swallowed the sound that wanted to come out of your mouth when his hand made contact with your body.

It was for show, and you knew that, but it felt nice; he was warm, and you could feel the soft rhythm of his heartbeat when you leaned into him.

You willed your blood back down when it began to rush to your cheeks.

“Overseas…You military?” Robert prodded.

“No—I’m in IT.” Simon quickly shut down any discussion of military service, which you knew was not done with any satisfaction.

“Scars are from a wonky laptop, then?” Robert laughed, but you could tell he was prying, trying to get a feel for you.

Simon cleared his throat, putting his free hand in his pocket to avoid reaching up and tracing the scars on his cheek.

He hadn’t really considered that the scars that marred him would be visible; he’d practically forgotten what his own face looked like at this point.

He didn’t think anybody would care to notice the details.

“Mining accident,” you rushed to cover for him. “We lived in Wales for a few years—when we met.”

You looked up at Simon, who looked confused, but grateful.

“Turns out, he’s not as good with a pickaxe as he is with a computer.” You forced a laugh, and Deb followed suit, wheezing out a giggle.

Robert nodded, buying the lie, and you chanced a smile at him.

“Well, if you need anything…” Robert turned from you to look at Simon, who had regained his composure—though you weren’t sure if anyone but you had noticed he’d lost it. “We’re right down the street, love to—”

“You should come for dinner sometime!” Deb butted in.

“We’d love to have you.” Robert nodded.

And just like that, you were in.

You said your goodbyes and watched on as they turned to walk back down your driveway.

Robert paused for a moment.

“You golf, Jim?”

“Once or twice.” Simon lied—he’d never so much as picked up a golf club.

“Should come down to the club sometime—meet some of the other guys in the neighborhood.” Robert smiled, rejoining his wife and walking off.

You and Simon stayed silent as you loaded yourselves into the car.

You drummed on your thigh, staring out the windshield and watching the house get smaller as Simon backed out of the driveway.

The car was nice. It matched the setting; sleek and shiny, though the vehicle didn’t feature any of the off-putting atmosphere that the neighborhood seemed to buzz with.

Simon had taken the moving van back to the lot it had come from the previous day. When he returned in the new car, you hadn’t asked anybody where it had come from, or why you needed something so flashy.

“Wales?” He finally spoke when he turned onto the main road.

“The other group Price mentioned—they operate out of Wales,” you explained, “First thing that came to mind.”

“Right,” Simon nodded, “And I worked in a mine?”

“I just associate Wales with the miner riots…” You felt flustered, maybe a bit embarrassed by the link you’d come up with.

“Where’d you learn about ‘at?” Simon smirked, shooting a glance at you before refocusing on the road.

“They teach us a little more in history class than just Paul Revere and his midnight ride.” You found yourself grinning at him.

“‘Nd you think I’m ‘at old?” He shook his head, “Old enough t’be a miner in nineteen-eighty?”

“In that outfit?” You pointed out his sweater vest, “Yeah.”

“Cheeky thing.” He dropped a hand to your thigh, patting your leg twice before removing it.

For a second time in an hour, you caught the sound that would have otherwise passed your lips. You straightened your skirt in an effort to chase the warmth his palm had pressed into your skin.

“Just thank me, LT,” you sighed, “Saved your ass.”

“Won’t be the last time, sweetheart.”

~~~

It was dark by the time you returned to the house; the streetlamps that lined the road had turned on, and the houses were unlit—save for a few bedroom lamps that glowed through curtained windows.

Simon put the bags of groceries on the kitchen island, tossing the car keys down next to them. He ran a hand over his face, pressing his palms onto the counter.

Soap wandered from his chosen bedroom when he’d heard the front door, sidling up next to Simon and sorting through the food that was still stacked in the bags.

“Johnny?” Simon sighed.

“Aye?” Soap pulled out an apple.

“C’you teach me ‘ow to golf by tomorrow?”

“Think just cause I’m Scottish I play golf?” Soap scoffed, peeling the sticker from the apple.

“Do you?” Simon quirked a brow.

Soap rolled his eyes, hesitating.

“Aye…”

“He agreed to play a round with the target.” You cut in on their conversation, pouring yourself a glass of water and kicking off your shoes.

“Didn’t agree,” Simon scowled, “Didn’t even respond.”

“Told him you’d golfed before, though,” You finished your water, putting the cup in the sink and shooing Johnny away from the grocery bags so you could unpack them. “Seems to me like you haven’t…”

“Already lyin’ about everything else.” Simon folded his arms, glaring.

“Yeah?” You quirked a brow. “You sure you weren’t just trying to fit in? To seem cool?”

“Haud yer wheesht,” Soap laughed, “Ye fight like a married couple.”

“S’the point, yeah?” Simon huffed.

“And ye still won’t share a bed,” Johnny rolled his eyes, “Shame—most couples a’least start in the same room.”

You shook your head with a laugh, trying not to let the topic of conversation get under your skin.

You were bickering like a married couple. It was one thing to keep up the act when you were in public, around people who might recount what they’ve seen to the targets, but it was increasingly obvious that the make-believe was seeping into your real life.

Ghost was on your mind far more often than you’d care to admit. But now, rather than fantasies of lust and satin bedsheets, you were imagining him as the husband he was pretending to be.

Soap put a hand on your forearm when you reached into the bag of groceries again, silently reprimanding you for doing the unpacking, and taking on the job himself.

You thanked him and made your way to the staircase.

Simon followed you, and you turned to shoot him a curious look.

“Don’t need attitude ‘bout my sleep clothes again.” He passed you on the stairs, and you sped up to meet him as he pushed the bedroom door open.

“Didn’t realize you put your stuff back up here.” You watched him wrangle his duffel from beneath the bed.

“Didn’t realize I needed to tell you.” Simon shot back, and you rolled your eyes.

“Does this mean you’re going to stay up here tonight?” You pondered aloud.

“No,” he answered simply, “Fine on th’couch.”

You nodded, slightly stung, but you could understand the awkwardness of the position you’d both been put in.

The room fell silent for a beat.

“Do you miss the mask?”

You thought back on his actions earlier in the day, when you’d watched his face morph in response to the conversation with Robert and Deb.

“I mean…you seem kinda naked without it.”

“Think about me naked a lot?” Simon stood back up, smirking; a pair of sweatpants slung over his shoulder.

“Just—” you rolled your eyes. The answer was yes, often, but he didn’t need to know that. “It’s weird seeing you without it for so long.”

“Not comfortable to ‘ave it off, ‘f’at’s what you’re asking.” He sighed, and you nodded.

“Did you pack it?”

“No.” He almost scoffed, but he seemed to catch himself when he realized that your question was genuine.

“Are you sure you want to take the couch again?” You broached the topic once more, “You can sleep up here—I’m fine with sleeping downstairs, instead of—”

“Stop,” his voice toed the line of superior rather than friend for a moment, “S’a’right.”

“Ok…” You mumbled in lieu of an apology.

“Quick thinking today,” his voiced turned softer—by his standards, at least. “Impressive.”

“Does this make me a trophy wife?” You smiled, trying not to grow flustered by his praise. “My skillful lies?”

He seemed to waver for a moment, brow creasing slightly as he thought.

“No…” He shook his head, turning to walk out of the room. “‘At’s not what does it.”

~~~

Simon struggled to feign interest in the discussion happening around him; the topic of conversation was just as showy as the country club itself.

Getting closer to the targets felt like a loss, despite the overall net gain.

The men who surrounded him—all with the same bland accents and unflattering polo shirts—pushed him into the reality that he was an outsider, no matter who they thought he was or who he was pretending to be.

It wasn’t often that he felt small, but there was a creeping isolation that came with undercover work. Though he tried not to let it get to him, Simon felt completely alien.

With golf clubs in hand, they spoke about absolutely nothing despite talking so incessantly, occasionally pausing to sip their beers.

Soap’s introductory explanation on how to properly hold a golf club had done little to assist in Simon’s actual gameplay, and he knew he must’ve looked downright miserable despite making an effort to remain upbeat.

That was never his forte, though.

He watched Robert swing his club against the green, and the loud thwack made Simon feel more comfortable; it didn’t echo in the way a gunshot would’ve, but it was a nice disruption from the tedium.

A young woman drove a cart over to the hole they were on, offering an array of concessions. When she left, slowly carting herself away, Robert let out a whistle.

“If I were ten years younger…” He sipped his beer through a smarmy expression.

“What happened to age is just a number?” One of the other men chuckled, and Simon felt himself cringe. “I like them young, they should like me old.”

The other men laughed, clinking their bottles together. They looked at Simon expectantly, and he felt cornered in a way he had never felt before.

“Mm?” He offered, running a thumb over his golf club.

“Ah, c’mon, Jim—wives ain’t here. That girl a prize, or what?” One of them nudged Simon’s arm, and he tensed.

He convinced himself that it was pressure from his obligation; that his disgust at the notion of looking at another woman lay in the act he was attempting to put up, convincing those around him that he was a diligent husband.

But he knew the truth.

“Bonnie’s all I need.” He forced a smile, trying to maintain a level of geniality.

“Give it ten years.” Robert smirked, and the others laughed.

The group of men moved on to the next hole, and Simon trailed behind them.

He already knew he hated these people. The things they did for profit, their willingness to allow everybody else’s lives to go to shit for a few extra dollars in their accounts; it was enraging.

But this anger stemmed from something else, an unfamiliar frustration that blossomed in his chest.

You were enough for him. You always had been, you always would be, and how dare they think you weren’t as perfect as he thought you were.

Not that you even needed to be—flaws and all, he’d take you over anybody; he’d choose you in a heartbeat every time.

For the mission, he reminded himself. For the mission.

~~~

Simon was active in gaining intel for several days in a row—infiltrating the inner circle, seeing what there was to see, hearing what there was to hear.

They trusted him enough to mutter when he was still nearby, and that was good enough, for now.  

Simon had been so busy that you barely saw him, rarely encountered him when he wasn’t on his way into or out of the house.

And the separation, for whatever reason, made you feel anxious. You worried that he was mad, despite the fact that there was no real interaction between the two of you in recent memory that would’ve caused any conflict.

Maybe you had crossed a boundary that you hadn’t realized was there; you had really been gunning for him to sleep in the bedroom—and with or without you there, he clearly had no interest in doing so.

But you kept pushing. You wanted to keep pushing.

You recognized that the anxiety probably stemmed from elsewhere, but you didn’t want to acknowledge your feelings more than you’d already had to lately.

Now, though, you felt alright. Better than alright, even; you felt pretty, and, what’s more, you felt eager.

It was just dinner, a meal with the targets; something that would hopefully see the culmination of Simon putting so much effort into gaining Robert’s trust. But the thought that went into your outfit, your daintily applied makeup, the inner turmoil of what you should do with your hair—it almost felt like a date. One you were excited about; one you’d call your mom to dish about at the end of the night.

You felt girlish; you felt thrilled; you told yourself it was for the mission.

The mission was what was making your heart bounce around in your ribs and your stomach flip with every step.

“Look at ye,” Soap whistled as you walked down the stairs in a dress that was only a bit less tweedy than the outfits you’d been wearing. “Hot date planned, lass?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Something like that.”

“Who’s th’lucky guy?”

“My husband.” You quirked a brow, a shy smile grazing your lips.

“Where’s the man o’the hour, then?” Soap chuckled.

“Probably fixin’ up his hair,” Gaz cut in, smirking, “Now that we can all see it.”

“Perfection takes time, Sergeant.” Simon inserted himself into the conversation, emerging from down the hall and fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt.

It was almost unnerving how good he looked.

You’d become so used to seeing him in fatigues, in a full kit and a balaclava, that seeing him in anything else felt foreign. The past few days had remedied that, if only slightly, and though the outfit he wore now was similar to those he’d been wearing for the past few days, something felt different.

Maybe it was the tautness of the sleeves around his biceps, or the fact that there was no sweater vest in sight, or that he’d gelled his hair back enough to make it seem like he put effort into it without really doing anything at all.

Whatever it was, you swallowed thickly, and tried not to stare.

“Christ…” Soap huffed, a borderline sympathetic look on his face as he gave Simon the once over.

“Never seen a man this handsome, Johnny?” Simon smirked.

“Never seen a man this outta his depth.” Soap countered, laughing.

Simon didn’t bother with a reply, grunting resentfully at Soap before turning to you and effectively shutting Johnny and Kyle out.

“Wired?”

His voice was hushed, as if he intended on keeping the conversation a secret despite the fact that Soap and Gaz had already been more than clued in on what was happening.

You nodded, unable to ignore the sticky, tight feeling of the tape on your skin where you’d planted the wire.

You were worried you might sweat it off, but the dress had a tight bodice; you hoped that if the tape did come unstuck, the fabric would keep it in place.

“Good.” Was his only reply, and then he had his hand on your waist, ushering you out the door.

You tried to think of anything other than the way his palm fit so naturally with the curve of your body.

Simon didn’t mind the perfect fit.

~~~

Dinner was nice, for lack of a better word. That was the only way you knew how to describe it; carb heavy and seasoned. It was better than anything you might get in the mess hall, and you didn’t complain when Deb offered seconds.

The conversation, though, was dreary, and you had to pinch yourself to stay awake. There was something so uninteresting about the lives these people led, despite their involvement in such high-stakes business.

After what felt like ages of trying to seem intrigued by their vacation stories and fine china, Deb piped up with a new topic of discussion.

“Rob just got the car—oh, what do you call it, baby?” She posed the question eagerly, anticipating a reason to brag.

“Wrapped.” Robert shot her a smug look, equally as interested in showing off.

“He got the car wrapped—it’s gorgeous!” Deb fawned over the thought of the newly done-up car.

“Cost a fortune.” Robert rolled his neck, looking at Simon and searching for jealousy in his eyes.

“But so worth it.” Deb swirled her glass of wine before taking a long sip.

“I bet.” Simon nodded slowly, not bothering with eye contact or compliments.

“Why don’t you show Jim, baby?” Deb swallowed the wine in her mouth before turning to Robert, “You boys go out to the garage, leave us to our girl talk.”

“Yes,” you tried not to seem too keen on her suggestion, exchanging a knowing glance with Simon. “That’s a great idea.”

Simon smiled softly, a look that was meant only for you—fashioned so as to express understanding and gratitude.

And maybe something else.

He got up with Robert, following him to the garage.

~~~

“You a big car guy?” Robert closed the door that connected the main house to the garage once Simon had made it over the threshold.

“Not particularly.” Simon shrugged; he’d never even had a car of his own.

“Should get into it—ladies love it.”

“Do they?” Simon smirked.

“You’d be surprised by how much a woman appreciates a nice set of wheels.” Robert laughed.

Simon bit his tongue; it was clear that this man knew nothing about women—then again, neither did Simon, so he just nodded through his doubts.

Robert smacked a hand down on the hood of the car. It was bright red, almost glittery, and Simon didn’t understand why it was anything to brag about.

“S’nice.” He offered, letting his eyes trail over the entire vehicle before looking back up at Robert.

“Hope so. Cost a pretty fuckin’ penny.”

“You mentioned.” Simon grunted, though he tried his best to make it seem lighthearted.

There was a pause then, and Simon waited to see if the conversation wouldn’t move; he wanted to make sure he had Robert exactly where he wanted him.

He might not know women, but Simon knew a rat when he encountered one.

“How’d you do it?” Simon’s tone bordered aloof; he let his gaze fall over the car once more, attempting to seem almost disconnected by his interest in the flashy color.

“What?” Robert leaned against the car.

“Afford it.”

“Saved up,” Robert sighed and picked his nails, “Worked for it.”

Simon nodded. “What was it you said you do f’work?”

“IT.” Robert scoffed, eyes darting over Simon’s form.

He seemed impatient, somewhat antsy; either Robert was onto this sting, or he was about to spill.

“Y’know…I been thinking, Jim,” Robert spoke slowly, straightening up from his spot on the car to look Simon in the eyes. “Don’t seem to be out of the house much unless you’re with me and the other fellas.”

“Solitary job,” Simon tilted his head, “Nice house.”

“Uh-huh,” Robert sucked his teeth for a moment before continuing. “Your wife’s a real peach—real prize.”

“She is,” Simon felt the words slip from his mouth without thinking about it, “She’s my everything.”

He barely heard himself, but he knew he’d said it, and he knew it was true, sham marriage or not.

“Never seem to wanna plant one on her.”

If only you knew, you bastard. Simon kept the thought to himself, rolling his eyes at himself; now wasn’t the time.

“Shy.” Simon offered.

“You or her?”

Simon shrugged; he didn’t care if his cover was blown now. He knew what was happening—he’d been here before, plenty of times, and he’d be here again.

He was far from scared, despite the clear attempts of intimidation on Robert’s part.

Robert seemed comforted by Simon’s casual air; the lack of any obvious fear made him settle.

He returned to a more reserved, trusting state, and Simon could only infer that the grilling was a matter of initiation—a poor method to weed out those who weren’t able to handle the truth.

“I—I like you, Jim,” Robert nodded, gaze glued to the floor and chin grazing his chest as he spoke. “I do.”

“I’m glad,” Simon grit his teeth. “Happy to have a friend in the area. Good start.”

Lure flies with honey, that was the saying. Simon was doing just that, however frustratingly slow-going it was.

“If I show you something—tell you something…” Robert seemed to ponder aloud, not quite looking at Simon as he spoke, his gaze now settled vaguely into the distance. “You be able to keep a secret?” His voice was low, his tone almost sour.

“Yeah,” Simon nodded, waiting. “Sure.”

“Sure,” Robert scoffed, “Need a yes or a no.”

“Yes,” Simon couldn’t help the smirk that crept over his face now. “Yes, I can keep a secret.”

“Good.”

Robert walked to the far wall of the garage. Simon watched on as he popped the lid off of one of the various paint cans that littered a shelf, digging around in it only to pull out a slip of paper.

Easy access: anybody could’ve reached in and found it. Further proof to Simon that these people had no clue what they were doing.

Robert handed the paper to Simon. It was obviously some sort of blueprint; an outline, incredibly amateur. But it was evidence of deeper plans.

A bomb of some kind, but messy and unfinished.

“What’s’is?” Simon feigned ignorance—the more Robert talked, the more a takedown was warranted.

“You never seen a bomb before?” Robert furrowed his brow.

“What’s it for?” Simon pressed on.

“What’s with the questions?” Robert shot back.

“’Umor me.”

Robert exhaled slowly, huffing into the air as he walked around Simon, practically stalking him.

“You wanna know how I could afford a car like that?” Robert laughed, gesturing to the garish car, “How I can afford a wife like mine?” He paused, grabbing the paper from Simon’s hand. “It’s all money, Jim—just without the trail.”

“What are you saying?” Simon was playing a little fast and loose now, but he was eager to get this over with.

“I’m saying,” Robert put the blueprint back into the paint can and sealed it shut again, “If you say anything about this, I’ll gut you.”

Robert walked back over to Simon, putting his hands in his pockets.

“What?” Simon quirked a brow, trying desperately to keep his features under control as his lips threatened to curl upwards into a smile.

Suddenly, Robert lunged, and Simon’s back was against the wall; a small knife pressed to his throat.

He almost allowed himself the joy of kicking Robert’s ass, finishing this once and for all, but he knew better.

Instead, he just stared; this was far from a dire situation. He’d had guns to his head and landmines underfoot—a dull Swiss army knife was hardly comparable.

Still, he feigned shock, putting his hands up and freezing.  

“You tell me right now if this is something you don’t think you can handle,” Robert was growling, “You tell me right now if you’re gonna cry like a bitch about this to your wife—you hear me?”

“I hear you.” Simon swallowed, and the blade dug against his Adam’s apple.

“This is bigger than you. This is something that’ll give people like us a leg up,” Robert rambled, “Give us everything.”

People like us. Simon missed his gun.

“So you’re building a bomb.” Simon kept his voice above a whisper to ensure the mic picked it up.

“That’s it.” Robert nodded.

“Why?”

“Stop with the fucking questions!” Robert was growing more agitated by the second, “You wearin’ a wire?”

“Why would I be wearing a wire?” Simon deadpanned.

“Fuck!”

Rob dropped the knife from Simon’s throat for a brief moment to reset his grip as his palms grew sweaty, quickly replacing it with a bit more pressure.

“Alright—alright. Listen…we got connections. Ok? Down in Germany, in Britain—that’s your neck of the woods, right?”

Robert smiled, as if adding humor to the situation would lessen the impact of holding a knife to Simon’s throat.

“Gonna target the airports.” Robert’s eyes were dark, but deeply uncertain.

“The airports?” Simon had a feeling that was coming—same old tired story, same old awkward plan.

“Major hubs in every country. Get to New York, London—guys in Germany can get this to Frankfurt,” Robert wiped his forehead with the back of his free hand, “No movement through the big city hubs, harder to smuggle shit in—no competition.”

Christ. This was hardly worth the FBI’s time, let alone the Task Force’s; these people had no idea what they were doing. This was the most hastily tacked together plan Simon had ever heard—not to mention completely batshit insane, and not at all logical.

“In a year, we’ll be rich. Get access to our own planes—drones, we’ll be the biggest cartel in the country.”

“Right.” Simon couldn’t stop his voice from taking on an amused lilt.

“So…you in?”

~~~

“Blond, British—and he’s so tall!" Deb shook her head with a giggle. "You are one lucky girl.”

Once Simon had followed Robert out, you found that Deb was serious about the aforementioned girl talk.

Eagerly, she poked and prodded into your personal life. It wasn’t as if you cared, but it was hard to keep your lies straight when you were faced with question after question.

At least she was tipsy—that made it easier for you to get away with things on the off-chance that you slipped up.

“Can’t complain.” Your face burned in response to the heaps of praise Deb lauded Ghost’s husband alter ego with.

“How’d you meet him?” Deb’s eyes went wide, and for a moment she looked so young, so excited. “Was it love at first sight—oh! I love that.”

She seemed to be filling in the blanks herself, and you played along.

“Something like that, yeah.” You sighed.

Deb topped off your glass of wine, and you smiled.

In another life—maybe the one where Simon had a German Shephard—you thought you might be friends with Deb for real; you were in a book club together, you drank together on Saturdays and gossiped about the other families in town.

“That’s so sweet—I love it. Love it!” She topped her own glass off. “Have you thought about kids? Got that nice big house now.”

“I…we haven’t really talked about it…”

You yourself had never considered children an option—not at the moment, anyway.

Maybe someday. Maybe when you retired; maybe if you found someone who understood all the nightmares and the adrenaline; maybe when the time was right, and the stars aligned, and you could trust yourself to properly hold an infant. 

You dared, momentarily, to imagine Simon as a father—a father to your children. Chubby babies with his piercing gaze; fat little hands that grabbed at his nose, traced his scars.

Maybe you did want kids.

“Honey, it’s just us,” Deb leaned forward over the table, “Is he…you know…?”

You stared blankly at her.

She sighed, almost giggling. “He shooting blanks? Cause Rob—”

You almost spat out your wine.

“No! No—no, it’s not—” You exhaled through a surprised smile, “…We really just...haven’t thought about it.”

“You’re young,” Deb shrugged, “There’s time.”

There was a pause as you both sipped your wine.

“So,” she glanced up at you with a smirk, “He’s good in bed, then?”

You looked at her like a deer in headlights. You tried to think of a lie, wondering if you could stall for time by chugging the wine in your glass.

“I mean—he certainly looks it. You don’t have to worry about me, but some of the women in this town—God, they’ll be all over him if they get the chance.” Deb continued, her animated gestures threatening to spill the wine over the rim of her glass.

You felt a flare of unwarranted jealousy at the thought of Simon being interested in other women; of other women being interested in him.

“I’m not worried.” You lied, unsure of why it was a lie.

Deb leaned in even further, and you could see every eyelash where they connected to her eyelid.

“He go down on you?”

Now, you did chug what was in your glass.

Before you had time to answer, Simon and Robert walked back into the dining room.

Something was wrong. Robert looked tense, but Simon seemed overly casual.

Simon was never casual.

“Grab y’coat, love,” Simon tilted his head forward a bit, which struck you as odd, but you knew better than to question it. “S’get on our way.”

“Oh,” you pouted, trying to make it seem as though you were disappointed to part from the other couple. “Alright.”

“Thank you for having us,” Simon shook Robert’s hand, and maybe his grip was a little stronger than necessary. “Was lovely. Really.”

“Come back soon!” Deb stood, swaying a bit as she placed both her hands on Simon’s outstretched one, “This was so fun.”

Robert said nothing, grunting a farewell as Simon shuffled you to the front door and out of the house.

You didn’t like how silent he was being as he walked you to the car. It wasn’t out of character—he was always quiet. But this silence seemed more anxious than anything.

You found your voice when you had gotten a good few yards from the house.

“Jim…?”

“Sh.” Simon turned his face towards you, and it was then that you realized he was bleeding from a cut on his neck.

“Jim.” You pressed on, uncertain about what to call him when you were in this strange limbo.

“Shut up.” He hissed, opening the passenger door and all but pushing you in.

When he took his seat behind the wheel, you glared at him.

“Lieutenant, you’re bleeding.”

“Not a word till we get home.” Simon was whispering.

Home. It almost felt real for a moment.

When you didn’t respond, he grabbed your face to hammer his point in.

“Got it?”

You huffed at him, and he dropped his hand. For a split second, you were tempted to ask him to replace it; to continue to hold you, even in the slightly callous way, just because.

Instead, you turned to stare out the window as he put the car in drive.

~~~

The house was calm; the lights were off, and the only sound was the faint hum of the monitors scattered about. Everybody else had already gone to bed, that much was clear.

The stillness left you and Simon to yourselves, and you weren’t sure whether or not that was a good thing.

Simon closed the door behind himself, stretching his shoulders back and undoing the top two buttons on his shirt.

“Got what we need.” He said simply, rolling his neck.

“Why’d you get all paranoid back there?” You turned to him, your discontent with his demand for silence in the car overpowering your interest in what he’d uncovered.

“’Ad to be certain.”

“About…?”

“We’re bugging ‘em—s’not crazy to think they might be doin’ the same to us.” Simon tilted his gaze down at you, and you sighed.

He had a point.

“You…” You eyed the nick on his throat with uncertainty. “You got what we need?”

Simon nodded as he untucked his shirt and peeled the tape off the wire, “Gotta make sure the mic picked it up.”

“You’re bleeding.” You mentioned once more.

“S’fine.”

“LT.”

“Enough.”

You stared at each other, tense.

“Let me clean it, at least.”

“S’not necessary.” 

“…Simon…”

“What?”

You hesitated, looking down at the floor before you could find the confidence to make eye contact.

You didn’t want to come off as desperate.

“Let’s…let’s go upstairs,” you sighed, “Let’s listen to the tape, let me just…wipe it off.” You tilted your head at him, hoping he could see that this was important to you.

Not that you knew why it was so important.

He surrendered with a sigh, dropping his head and gesturing forward with his hands. You led him up the stairs.

~~~

You put the tape into the slot, hitting play before turning your attention to Simon.

He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread; he’d undone a third button on his shirt, and you tried not to ogle his chest.

You’d managed to locate a first aid kit, but upon closer inspection of Simon’s scrape, all you really needed was Neosporin and a band aid.

You moved to stand between his knees, fingers drifting to his chin and encouraging him to tilt his head back as you began gently cleaning the scratch and applying the Neosporin.

“Shallow.” You muttered, now clearly able to see that this was a nothing—something you’d talked up to yourself, thinking it would be more serious than it was.

He had been right—it wasn’t a big deal. But you still felt a weird obligation to patch him up, and there was a large chance that what compelled you to do so was the promise of being able to touch him.

“Mm.” Simon grunted, and you could feel the vibrations move through his throat.

You fell silent, listening to the tape.

Your hands went shaky as you heard how Robert interrogated Simon—not that it was really grounds for any anxiety; Simon could hold his own just fine, and Robert clearly wasn’t well versed in grilling someone.

“Your wife’s a real peach—real prize.”

“She is. She’s my everything.”

You chanced a glance up at Simon upon hearing his words played back on the recording.

He was already looking back at you, and even without the mask, his face was unreadable.

He waved off your attempt to put a small bandage on his scratch, and even so, you found yourself reluctant to leave your place between his legs. So you stayed, and you listened back to the whole tape like that; him sitting on the bed, you standing awkwardly in front of him.

When the tape looped, you sighed, walking over to remove it from the slot. You found a safe space for it in your luggage.

“Told you.” He seemed smug, but you knew it was in jest.  

You looked at him, rolling your eyes.

“Yes, well—thank you, LT.”

“Don’t ‘ave to be my wife anymore.” His words were sudden, and you felt a bit hurt by his apparent eagerness to be rid of this partnership.

Simon wasn’t entirely sure why he said it. He spoke mostly out of disappointment; he liked having you as his wife, even if it was pretend.

He liked to have something tangible, something that proved he could do it, someday. He liked having you. And maybe, in his own, socially awkward way, he was trying to gauge your interest; look for indicators in your reaction to see if his affection for you was one-sided.

“It’s a shame,” you laughed nervously, “I was just getting used to it.”

He smirked, still looking at you.

“Glad you got what we needed,” you were suddenly very set on changing the subject. “Deb wouldn’t talk about anything important.”

“Girl talk.” Simon echoed Deb’s earlier sentiment with a barely-there smile.

“She only cared about the kind of sex you and I have.” You winced as soon as you said it—so much for veering the conversation into less awkward territory.

“What’d you tell ‘er?” Simon seemed genuinely curious now, and you couldn’t help but imagine what you would’ve said to Deb had this been a real marriage.

“Told her it’s just pathetic missionary,” you smirked, “And I always fake it.”

Simon chuckled lowly, shaking his head.

“Let’s ‘ear it.”

“What?” Your brow furrowed.

“Tape,” he nodded to the tape player. “Showed you mine, yeah?”

“Ghost—”

“None o’that,” he huffed, smirking. “C’mon.”

You hesitated, but did as he instructed.

There was a sick part of you that was somewhat eager to see what he would do when faced with the questions you’d been barraged with.

You managed to reach into the neckline of your dress, peeling the wire from your skin. You put the tape into the machine and hit play.

This time, you stayed next to the tape player, leaning against the wall and watching Simon.

You snuck glances at him while the tape played, alternating between keeping your gaze on the floor and letting your eyes dart up at him. It was so unimportant—such awkward lies told by your recorded voice.

But you wondered if he could see through it all.

When you heard Deb on the tape player asking whether Simon went down on you or not, followed by Simon and Robert re-entering the room, you popped the tape from the slot.

“See?” You huffed as you tossed the tape into your luggage alongside the other one. “Nothing important.”

“Y’never answered ‘er.” Simon’s voice was low, almost hesitant.

“Hm?” You looked up at him, confused.

“Never answered ‘er question,” he tilted his head back, eying you up in your entirety. “Do I?”

“You…” You felt warm.

“C’mon,” he smirked, “Part o'the backstory, yeah?”

“I don’t…” You breathed, “I didn’t think that far.”

“D’you want me to?”

“To think up a backstory about our sex life?” You scoffed.

“To go down on you.” His voice was suddenly serious, and the low tone he had taken morphed from nervous to downright possessive.

You felt your heart flip, or maybe it was your stomach; your body felt too tingly to tell what was what anymore.

“I…” You took a breath, nodding slowly. “Yes.”

Simon exhaled audibly, maybe a sigh of pride. He clapped a hand down on his thigh, encouraging you to take a seat on his lap.

You practically tiptoed to him, perching yourself on his thigh and letting him wrap an arm around your waist. His other hand fiddled with the hem of your dress where it rested, just above your knee, and the subtle gesture made your pulse pick up.

He leaned in, not to kiss you, but to appreciate your proximity. You could feel his breath against your neck, your jaw; he paused just below your ear, pulling back to look down at you.

“Look pretty,” he muttered, “Don’t think I told you ‘at yet tonight.”

“Thank you…” You found the confidence to bring a hand up to his collar, fiddling with the unbuttoned part of his shirt. You still couldn’t look at him, not trusting yourself to remain collected beneath his gaze.

He smiled softly, bringing his fingers to your chin and tilting your face up to him.

“You gettin’ shy on me, Mrs. Riley?”

You swallowed, unable to stop the way your eyelids fluttered in response to his touch.

“No,” you sucked in a breath. “Just—don’t usually hear things like that from you.”

“Y’like it?” He quirked a brow, still smiling.

“Yeah,” you nodded as best you could with his hand beneath your chin. “I do.”

“Good,” he nodded back at you. “S’good…Do it more often, then.”

There was a moment of incredibly charged silence between the two of you before he finally leaned in to kiss you.

It was slow, but eager; you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he slipped his tongue past your parted lips once you’d matched the pace of his movements.

You allowed yourself the same kind exploration, pushing your tongue against his, licking into his mouth just as he did to you. You let your spit mingle, breath turning heavy when Simon brought both of his hands to your waist.

You trailed your palms from behind his neck to his chest, running your hands over the bit of exposed flesh his semi-unbuttoned shirt allowed, tugging gently on the fabric. Simon let out a quiet groan, and it spurred you on; you dipped your fingers beneath his collar, grazing your nails over his skin.

His hands wandered over your back, finding the zipper on your dress and toying with it. You made a sound of approval, soft and breathy against his lips, as a go-ahead for him to strip you of the layer. He tugged the zipper down, and you let the top of the dress fall over your shoulders, exposing your front to him.

He didn’t even look at your bare chest, too focused on pressing his mouth to yours. You, in turn, pushed your body against his—a subtle gesture, one to encourage him to lie down, and it worked well enough; he leaned back on his forearms, breaking the kiss to admire you as you looked down at him.

“Take it off, sweetheart.” He reached a hand up to fiddle with one of the straps of your dress where it hung loose over your arm.

Somewhat reluctant to rise from his lap, so content with the closeness, you obliged nonetheless.

You let the fabric of the dress pool around your feet, leaving you completely bare, save for the basic panties you had on.

Simon looked unbelievably pleased as he drank you in.

“Got a damn good-looking wife.” He teased, sitting up and reaching out to run his hand over your side.

“Yeah?” You looked down at him, responding in a similarly playful tone. “Your everything?”

“Yeah…” Simon glanced up at you, cold stare reduced to something more tender, though still serious, “Yeah, ‘at’s right.”

You smiled softly, unsure of how to respond.

Simon busied himself, playing with the waistband of your underwear.

He hooked his fingers beneath the elastic and slid your panties down your legs, exposing your core to the temperate air of the bedroom. You stepped out of them, along with your dress, and waited with bated breath for his next move.

He gripped your thighs, enjoying the warmth of your body and the sight before him; you could feel his breath fan against your stomach, his eyes glued to your form.

“Sit,” Simon commanded as he rose from his seat on the edge of the bed. “Here. C’mon.”

You took the spot where he had previously been sitting, pressing your thighs together and staring up at him with uncertainty.

With little hesitation, Simon moved to kneel before you, placing a hand on one of your knees.

“Open.”

He seemed focused, determined, and the imbalance of his title and the fact that he remained fully clothed wasn’t lost on you; it made your heart beat a little faster, head swimming with desire despite the as yet gentle, chaste touches he’d laid upon you.

You spread your legs for him, and he made a sound akin to a soft growl. He pressed a kiss to your knee before moving up your leg, nipping at the plush skin of your thigh and pulling breathy gasps from you as you watched him move further up your body.

By the time you could feel his breath fanning your bare cunt, you had grown impatient, fingers lacing in his hair and tugging gently as you combed through the strands. Simon huffed a shaky breath, glancing up at you with a look that verged a sneer.

“Fuckin’ needy,” he whispered, and you could feel the displaced air around your body as he spoke, “Use y’fuckin’ words if you want it so bad, love.”

“Simon…” You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the outline of him between your thighs fall in and out of focus, “Please…like you said you would.”

“Say it.” He was demanding, desperate to hear the words fall from your lips.

“Go—go down on me. Taste me. Just like you promised.” You felt pathetic begging for it, but you didn’t really mind, given the circumstances.

You tried to keep your voice even, but the anticipation was killing you. He smirked, a subtle expression, as he leaned his face forward into your cunt.

“Man o’my word.” He quirked a brow before all but diving into you with his tongue.

You inhaled a gasp, a choked sound that hit the back of your throat sharply. Still pulling gently on his hair, you spread your legs even wider, hungry for the feeling of his tongue on your cunt.

“Fuck—” You couldn’t find the words, content to offer brief curses of gratitude while he flicked his tongue over your clit.

He teased the bud, flattening his tongue over you before pulling back to delicately trace it with the muscle.

He wrapped his lips around you, sucking and applying pressure to varying degrees while occasionally letting his teeth threaten to close around you. It offered a sort of sinful thrill; the suspense of whether or not he’d really bite down made your back arch as you watched him.

When he pulled his mouth off of your clit, he licked a stripe up your slit before using his tongue to tease your entrance, slowly tracing your hole before pushing into you.

Simon looked drunk off you; eyes closed and groaning softly as he licked into the warmth of your cunt. He collected your slick, swallowing it as if it were a sort of heavenly ambrosia.

“Christ,” Simon pulled back for a moment, bringing a hand down to your core and spreading the messy combination of spit and slick around, admiring how you glistened. “Fuckin’ soaked, sweetheart, look’t you.”

You bucked your hips with a whimper when he swiped over your clit, and he growled at the reaction.

“You need more?” He looked so smug, “Give you a finger, see ‘ow much you can take?”

“Yes.” You breathed the one-word response, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.

He growled at your enthusiasm, removing his hand to lick one more stripe up your cunt before pressing his middle finger to your hole and slowly pushing in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, entranced by the way you wrapped around the digit, “So fucking tight.”

He thrust his finger down to his knuckle, curling the digit upwards and letting it dance over your most tender spot.

You whined, reaching for his wrist and lazily tugging at it.

“'At's’it,” he finally tore his gaze from your cunt, “You enjoying y’self, sweetheart? You feel nice?”

“Simon I—I’m gonna cum.” You gasped as he leaned forward again to press his tongue to your clit.

“Nah, no you’re not,” Simon shook his head with a smirk, “Gonna give y’another—not fair ‘f my girl only gets to cum on one finger, yeah?”

You just mewled, letting your body fall back onto the mattress and raising your hips in submission.

Simon pressed kisses to your inner thigh as he pulled his hand back, giving himself the space to push another finger into you. He followed the same pattern, curling them up against your g-spot, sucking eagerly on your clit and watching you squirm from the stimulation.

“Still wanna cum f’me, sweet girl?” The thrust of his fingers slowed, focusing all of his energy on your sweet spot, twisting his wrist to amplify the squelch of your cunt. “Wanna show me 'ow this pretty cunt can squeeze me nice ‘n’tight?”

“Ye—es,” you sighed, “Simon, just like—like that.”

“Right ‘ere, yeah?” Simon’s gaze darted between your face and your core, as if he couldn’t decide which view was prettier. “C’mon, love—right on my 'and like this, lemme taste it.”

He brought his mouth down to you again, sucking down hard and speeding up the pace of his fingers again. He made a point to nudge your delicate spot every time, in sync with the pressure he put on your clit.

Your back arched, writhing in pleasure under him and letting your orgasm consume you all at once; it was white-hot, a culmination of your longing for him, coupled with the speed at which he’d let his walls down and allowed you the pleasure of having him.

Your legs trembled, muscles tensing rhythmically as you gasped through your high and the shivered aftershocks.

“Look’t ‘at,” Simon groaned, still nestled between your legs, “Fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart.”

You reached down to comb your hand through his hair. When he continued lapping at your slick, nose nudging your clit and refusing to let up until the experience bordered overstimulation, you yanked lightly at the strands between your fingers.

“Right,” he sighed, allowing you to pull him away from your core and placing kisses on your inner thigh instead. “Can’t get enough, love.”

“Hardly an issue…” You mumbled, staring down at him with your lust-blown eyes, cheeks flushed.

He continued to nip at the skin of your legs, alternating between each of your thighs and occasionally pulling away to admire the subtle marks his teeth left on you.

It gave you enough time to recover from your release. But just as soon as the heat in your core began to quell, you were hit with a fresh ache between your legs, amplified by his breath fanning your skin and the position he remained in, so close to where you still wanted him.

“Simon…” You sighed, propping yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him properly.

He managed to tear himself away from you, replacing his mouth with his hands and pressing his palms soothingly against the tops of your thighs as he analyzed your expression.

He didn’t respond, staring up at you expectantly and waiting for you to continue.

“Give me more.” Your voice didn’t falter now, well aware of what you wanted and what you hoped to receive.

“You givin’ orders now, sweetheart?” He chuckled lowly, letting his fingers press a bit harder into the plush flesh of your thighs.

“Not as your subordinate,” you smiled shyly, “As your wife.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to read his expression; his eyes seemed to darken just as much as his smirk widened.

“…Please?” You added in an effort to get him to respond, whether it be verbally or physically.

“S’right,” he nodded, “Knew my wife ‘ad better manners 'an my Sergeant.”

You laughed softly at his words, appreciating the uncharacteristically lighthearted approach he seemed to be taking.

But he cut your giggles off, forcing you to replace them with a gasp as he grabbed you by the ankles and stood.

“Y’want it like this?” He practically cooed, though his voice was sweet to a mocking degree, “Lemme fuck you out while you lay ‘ere?”

He rested your legs on his chest, positioning himself in a more than suggestive manner as he pressed his hips to the back of your thighs.

“S’at what you want, love? Or did you want me to bend y’over?” He let your legs fall, leaning over you so that he was close enough to let his nose press against your cheek. “Treat my sweet wife like a fuckin’ whore…”

Your mouth felt dry, breath hitching in your throat at the apparent promise he was making to treat you as gently or as roughly as you deemed fit.

“You…” You felt lost for words, turning your face and letting your nose bump his. “Bend me over.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he breathed his words softly. “Can’t leave my girl wanting.”

He left feather-light kisses over your jawline, maneuvering his hands under you to haul you up and flip you onto your stomach. You let out a soft grunt, content to allow him to manipulate your form and position to his liking.

“Christ, ‘at’s a sight…” Simon ran a hand over the curve of your ass after he’d helped you settle, his calloused fingers rubbing roughly against your softer flesh.

You laughed softly—at the gesture, at his words. There was comfort in knowing him this way; in seeing the man with the mask fall out of his stoic demeanor and into something so much more gracious and inviting.

You pushed back against his hand, chasing the heat and weight of his palm and whining slightly as you became impatient at his lack of action.

Simon tsked softly, now using both hands to knead your ass.

“Gave y’what you wanted, love,” he gave your ass a light smack, and your whine caught in your throat. “Lend me some patience, yeah? Wanna admire what’s mine.”

The sheer avidity in his voice, the quiet tone in which his possessive words spilled out, made you exhale a dreamy sigh as you surrendered to his touch.

You stretched your arms out in front of you on the mattress, resting your head on your bicep and letting your eyes drift closed.

Simon’s breath was hot against your skin, and there was a moment where you wondered if he was going to ignore your pleas and instead use this time to go down on you again—not that you would complain, but it was amusing to think that a man so tough in stature could be so easily pussy whipped.

Instead, though, after what felt like ages of him simply sweeping his hands over your body, kneading your flesh and pressing open-mouthed kisses to the back of your thighs, he seemed to vanish from behind you.

You emitted a quiet whimper in confusion, craning your neck in an attempt to look back at him from where you lay spread out on the mattress.

Simon shushed you softly, pressing his hand to the small of your back.

“Not leavin’ you,” he spoke gleefully through a growl, thrilled by your need for him. “But I can’t fuck you with my trousers done up, sweetheart.”

You nodded lazily, listening to him unfasten his pants and pull his cock from its confines.

The waiting was the worst part; you had already done so much waiting for him in the time that you’d known him.

Still, the building suspense was oddly delicious, forcing your body to acknowledge that you would finally, finally, be getting what you’d been craving.

You whined when Simon finally offered more contact, placing his cock between your ass cheeks and rocking his hips.

He was heavy against you, and the warm, smooth skin of his length urged a new flood of arousal throughout your body.

You could feel the fabric of his pants rub against the back of your thighs, and you subconsciously pushed yourself back towards him to chase the implication of his power.

“Gonna go nice ‘nd slow f’you, love.” Simon moved, fisting his cock and aligning himself with your entrance.

You sucked in a breath. “Don’t have to…”

“Can’t go breakin’ my wife in 'alf.” He answered frankly, and you wanted to point out his ego in the moment, but as his cockhead nudged your hole, you forgot all about chastising him.

“Simon—”

“Easy, sweetheart…” Simon sunk into you slowly, as he’d promised; his hands guiding your hips backwards onto him. “Jus’ take what I give you.”

You let out a shaky breath when he bottomed out, mewling softly into the bedspread as you grew accustomed to the intrusion of his cock inside you.

“’Ere you go,” he groaned, looking down to get a proper eyeful of your cunt wrapped snugly around him. “Feel nice, sweetheart?”

“Y—eah,” you kept your face buried in the comforter, the pleasure of the stretch absolutely overwhelming. “S’so good…”

“I know.” Even with your back to him, you knew he was smirking.

He pulled out quickly, eager to get it over with so that he could bury his cock back inside of you. He thrust back into you just as fast, swallowing a moan as he was hit with the pleasure that was being hugged by the warmth of your cunt.

“Fuck,” he swallowed a moan, tossing his head back, “Such a fucking—you got the most perfect cunt, sweetheart. Made f’me.”

“For you,” you moved your head, tilting your face up in a poor attempt to look at him behind you. “For you, Simon.”

“’At’s right.” His grip seemed to tighten on your hips, possessive to the point of leaving his fingerprints on your skin.

Maybe it was the way you said his name with such fierce desire, undercut only by your quiet whimpers; maybe it was your murmured promise: for him, and only him. Something about this—about you—had him completely at your beck and call, no matter what the reason.

He moved one of his hands to press against the top of your back, pushing you down and forcing your back to arch.

“What a pretty fuckin’ picture,” his thrusts were growing sloppy in the midst of his enjoyment, and he reeled himself in slightly as he spoke. “So easy to fuck you out, sweetheart—little slut of a ‘ousewife, you are.”

The position allowed him to fuck into you deeper, his cock pounding your cervix with every thrust of his hips.

You gripped the bedspread, desperate to ground yourself in the haze of such intense bliss.

“Simon—,” you felt your eyes roll back as you tried to maintain a level of composure so that you could get your words out. “So fucking—y-you’re so deep, Simon.”

“Yeah, you say my fucking name,” he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “You let everyone ‘ear who’s nice ‘n’deep in your pretty cunt.”

“S—imon!” You heeded his request, though you needed no instruction.

He straightened up, and his speed steadily increased.

You felt a heady sort of pleasure that traveled throughout your body and all but turned off your brain. Babbling, you reached back for him as best you could.

“What d’you need, sweet girl?” Simon took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your palm. “’M right ‘ere.”

“…See you…” you tried to verbalize your want. “Wanna—see you.”

Simon’s hips slowed, stilling inside of you as he took in your request.

“You wanna see?” He wasn’t asking as if he’d misheard; he was teasing, drawing the scenario out before he inevitably gave into you. “Wanna watch yourself get fucked, love? Act like a whore while I treat you like one?”

You moaned in lieu of any real response, nodding against the mattress.

“Prefer to see my face, or my cock?” He queried, once again leaning forward to press kisses to your shoulder.

For some reason, although the latter option was absolutely something you’d like to see—a front row seat, watching him fuck you senseless—you felt yourself much more eager to watch him; to view the pleasure on his face as a mirror of your own enjoyment.

You wanted a domestic level of intimacy, something filthy but so pure, in its own right.

“Let me see your face, Simon,” you whined, “Please.”

He let out a sharp breath, not quite a laugh but in the same realm.

“Hoping you’d say ‘at.” Simon slid his hands down your body to grab your waist, using his grip as leverage to slowly pull himself out of you.

You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, and he stroked his palm over your back in an apparent effort to soothe you.

“C’mon. S’get you up.” He squeezed your sides, encouraging you to flip over onto the mattress.

Just as you settled onto your back, Simon moved away, dropping himself onto the bed and patting his thigh.

You turned to face him as best you could, still hazy with lust, and shot him a curious look.

“Come sit, sweetheart,” he smirked down at you, “Wanna see how you look bouncin’ on my cock.”

You smiled, “You just want me to do all the work.”

“Promise no wife o’mine’s gonna be left wanting,” Simon quirked a brow at you, leaning forward to coax you over to him. “’Less y’keep talking back like ‘at.”

You fell into his arms, allowing him to pull you onto his lap. You rolled your hips against his cock, the zipper and fabric of his pants biting gently at the flesh of your ass as you made yourself comfortable.

“All the work,” Simon huffed, reaching between your bodies to align himself with you again; you lifted your hips to provide the necessary space. “Kinda shit husband d’you think I am?”

“You—fuck—” Any retort you’d had planned was immediately subdued when he pushed you down onto his length, one hand on your hip while the other splayed out over your ribcage to keep you balanced on top of him.

“Can you manage, sweetheart?” He was teasing again, taunting you as you tried to compose yourself by pressing your hands onto his chest.

“It…” you breathed, refamiliarizing yourself with the stretch of his cock nestled deep inside of you. “Simon…”

You rocked your hips slowly, grinding down on him and letting him open you up; enjoying the tingling pressure of having him buried in your cunt.

“What’s’at?” He reached up, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip.

“I—” you kissed the pad of his thumb, gaze drifting down to his face. “I love it.”

Simon grit his teeth, pushing his thumb between your lips and letting his jaw fall open when you began to suck eagerly on the digit.

“Yeah…” His eyes drifted from your face to your figure, his free hand rubbing up and down your side as he began to pull you back and forth over him.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, trailing the wet digit over your nipples and watching them pebble before he placed the hand on your thigh, his other hand still rubbing over your side.

Your head fell back, breath coming out in short puffs. His control was easy, comfortable to be under, and the occasional twitch of his fingers when he felt you clench around his cock was something you could get used to.

When you’d become accustomed to the position, you used your hands on his chest as resistance to push yourself up and down on his length.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart—look’t ‘at…” Simon’s voice was raspy, chest heaving as he watched you bounce your hips over his cock. “Pretty cunt’s making a fuckin’ mess on me.”

You chanced a glance down, craning your neck to get a proper look at his cock as it disappeared into you.

He was right—it was messy; slick and wet, you coated him with your arousal. You could feel the stickiness between your thighs and under your ass when you ground yourself down against him.

Simon tsked, reaching up to wrap a hand loosely around your throat, refocusing your attention on his face.

“Said you wanted t’see my face, love,” he smirked up at you, forcing the smug look as best he could through the daze of having you ride him. “You fuckin’ look at me, then.”

You moaned, eyes fluttering closed at the way his fingers felt around your neck before you quickly opened them to stare down at him.

He dropped the hand from your throat, but it stayed on your skin, roaming your body and exploring every dimple and curve of you.

“Perfect,” he was muttering to himself now, admiring you in a way that felt so unfamiliar but so natural to the both of you. “You’re fucking perfect. My sweet girl—fuckin’ incredible.”

You whined, feeling as though you could cry.

His actions were one thing; his touch, the way he raised his hips to meet you, chasing the warmth of your cunt and burying his fingers into your flesh. But the words he spoke, the tenderness you were receiving from such a typically cold man—one you’d yearned for, one you’d assumed would never reciprocate your hunger for a decent touch, a kiss—made you feel a sweeping sense of pride; a sort of validation that made your ears warm and your heart stutter happily.

It was almost too much, and you could feel the spring in your abdomen tense in the same way the muscles in your thighs did as the exertion of riding him became more than a little tiring for you.

But Simon knew—intuitive to a frightening degree—and as your hips stuttered above him, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a hand to your back and coaxing you to curl against his chest.

“So good, sweetheart,” he mumbled into your hair, arms still wrapped around you as he bucked his hips. “Perfect little wife, did your best, yeah? Ridin’ me so nice, let me put in the work now, right?”

You whimpered into the crook of his neck, relishing in the way he used your cunt like a toy for himself; hands moving to your hips to keep you steady, he fucked into you at a much faster pace, but the comfort you found lying on his chest was unparalleled.

When he pushed you down a bit rougher, letting the head of his cock punch into your cervix and making you let out a mewl of pained contentment, your jaw went slack. You felt drool pooling beneath your cheek and over the shoulder of his shirt.

Simon all but laughed when he felt the damp spot on his shirt, craning his neck to smile at you as he slowed the pace of his thrusts enough to reach up and tug you back gently by the hair. He forced your gaze on his, letting his voice take on a sweet, taunting lilt.

“What would the ladies in the neighborhood say if they saw you dirtying my clothes like this?” He cooed, pushing his cock into you so slowly that you could feel your walls moving, contorting to take the intrusion inch by inch. “Soaking my pants ‘nd droolin’ on my shirt? What would they think, sweetheart?”

“Probably be—be jealous…” you sighed, the angle and his slow movements creating the perfect storm to properly stimulate the spot on your front wall while your clit dragged over the base of him. “Probably want you just as bad as I do.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Simon growled, voice coming out almost hoarse as he spoke, his grip on your hair tightening ever so slightly. “Only want you.”

Suddenly he was burying his face into your chest, mouthing at your breasts and offering deep, fast thrusts up into you.

You cried out, clawing at his shoulders as you found the strength to wrap your arms around him and press yourself against him.

“Pretty thing,” Simon moved to look back at you. “Only want my wife. Only need you, sweet girl.”

“Simon—” You could feel the lust reach a fever pitch, the spring in your abdomen threatening to unfurl completely.

“I know, sweetheart,” he was panting, putting all of his effort that wasn’t focused on fucking you into responding to your moans. “C’mon ‘nd give it to me. I got you, lemme ‘ave it.”

It was almost pleading, the way his words came out, and it only served to push you over the edge.

You felt a deep seated tingle, muscles spasming and stomach tightening as a soft, needy gasp of his name escaped your lips.

You felt electric, charged and satisfied, slumping into Simon and letting yourself free-fall into the warmth that bloomed from your core around his cock.

“Fuck, ‘at’s it,” Simon moaned beneath you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as his hips stuttered feverishly, chasing your release in an effort to find his own. “Talk to me, sweetheart, gotta—”

“Inside,” you breathed, already anticipating the question and dead set on your answer. “Inside me, Simon. Please.”

He groaned, head falling back and eyes squeezing closed; wanting to draw out the pleasure of being inside of you, if only for a moment longer.

“I’ll give it t’you, love, I—fuck, lemme see you. Show me ‘at pretty face. Wanna see my wife when I fill ‘er sweet fuckin’ cunt up.”

You pushed yourself up, immediately obliging.

Pressing your forehead to his, noses brushing, he captured you in a brief but bruising kiss before pulling back to admire you above him.

“Fuck—‘ere you go, my pretty fuckin’ girl,” his eyes were heavily lidded, his gaze plastered to you, hungry and triumphant but so soft. “Jus’—Christ—”

Simon met his high with a grunt, thrusting lazily into you and coating your walls with his spend.

You whimpered, melting into him once more; listening to the way your breath fell in sync with his; appreciating the warmth of his release inside of you.

Simon sighed, splaying a hand over your back and tracing shapes on your skin.

After a moment of tranquil silence, he reached for your hips and carefully eased you off of him, both of you making quiet sounds of discontent.

Just as soon as you were off of him, though, you curled into his side, slinging a leg over him and pressing your face to his chest. He wrapped an arm around you, tugging you against him in a manner that made you feel like you were made to be there, flush against him.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, Simon,” you spoke softly, but there was already a level of playfulness returning to your tone. “Do you wanna sleep up here tonight?”

You felt him huff a breath, laughing at your question.

“Does the bed come with the woman?” He tilted his face to look down at you.

“Up to you…” You held your breath, though you were unsure why; at this point, it seemed clear that he wanted you around, that he was just as eager to share space with you as you were with him.

“I’ll stay, sweetheart,” his other hand came up to toy with your hair. “Be a damn shame to make you sleep alone, Mrs. Riley.”

“What a doting husband.” You rolled your eyes, but you released the breath you’d been holding. 

“Don’t you forget it.” He tugged playfully on a strand of your hair, and you squeaked, swatting at him just as impishly.

~~~

By habit, you woke up early.

The room was quiet, bathed in a blanket of hazy sunlight that poked in through the curtains.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, so intent on staying up and appreciating Simon’s presence next to you in this brand new, exceedingly pleasant way.

But now that you were awake, you could enjoy it again.

His arms were still wrapped around you, soft breath fanning the top of your head as you lay tucked into his chest.

Sometime during the night he’d stripped down to match your level of nudity, and you trailed a finger over his bare shoulders, admiring him. You couldn’t help but press a kiss to his skin, warming your lips with the heat that radiated from him.

He stirred slightly, grunting as he tugged you further against him. He placed a kiss to the top of your head before falling back asleep, and you closed your eyes, happy to join him.

Covert operations were awkward. Not this one, though. 

☆Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi :)☆

[kitkat13001]

₊˚⊹♡⭒˚.⋆ 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚠 ?

i try to be the chill girl but honestly i’m not knee deep in the passenger seat (and you’re eating me out) two weeks and your mom invites me (to her long beach house) if its casual, is it casual now?

⤷ katsuki bakugou x reader

⤷ fem-leaning reader (“girl” used twice, no other pronouns), friends w benefits-ish to lovers, reader is bad at feelings, brief mention (1) of underage drinking, heavily implied reader and bakugou are sleeping together but nothing explicit, lyrics and title from chappell roan’s “casual,” this is long (~2k words)

for three months it’s been like this. three months of sneaking around and shared glances and private smiles and near-silent laughter at one in the morning. 

it started one night towards the end of winter, just before the beginnings of spring. 

you had just finished up a big practical exam and the class had come in first. you’d worked your asses off and it had been totally worth it. everyone felt like they were walking on air that night, and you’d all decided to get together for a late dinner in the dorms to celebrate. 

you remember it clearly. the valentines decorations were still up in the lounge. you’d ordered pizza to supplement sato’s delicious noodle arrangement and bakugou’s yakitori, and stayed up well past curfew talking and eating and laughing. it was one of the best nights of your life. 

you’d gone to the bathroom, but when you came back to the lounge everyone had already gone up to bed. 

“guess the party’s over,” you’d mumbled to yourself with a little laugh of disbelief. 

“oi!” had come a voice from the kitchen. “who’s out there?!”

“guess,” you’d called out teasingly, leaning against the doorframe. 

bakugou wore his trademark scowl, same as ever. he was standing over the sink, hands covered in suds amidst a pile of dishes. 

“hmph. the hell you doing up, dumbass? figured you’d gone to bed after you disappeared on us.”

“hm. three years and you think you’d come up with a better nickname,” you laughed. “i told denki i was going to the bathroom. something in those noodles did a number on me.”

he had scoffed, seemingly irritated by your overshare. you didn’t care. you were never one to withhold anything and he knew that. 

“whatever. everyone’s asleep already anyway.”

“what are you doing up, kacchan?”

he’d scowled at that, but said nothing. he had long since given up trying to dissuade you from using the nickname. he nodded to the pile of dishes in the sink before him. 

“damn extras left a mess. said we’d pick up in the morning but i can’t sleep with this fuckin’ mess.”

you had laughed at that. he fixed you with a withering glare. 

“what’s so fuckin’ funny?”

“what a mouth,” you snickered. “you never change, do you, kacchan?”

he’d scoffed, scrubbing agitatedly at a plate. “i change plenty.”

you just laughed again. you guessed he was right, because three years ago he never would’ve been caught dead up this late. 

“you gonna help me with this or what?” he demanded, gesturing to the mess of the kitchen. 

you’d shrugged, figuring it would’ve been cruel to leave him to face this alone. 

“i guess so. you wash, i dry?”

he replied with a soft grunt of affirmation. 

it was peaceful that night, standing shoulder to shoulder with bakugou as he handed off soaked dishes for you to wipe down. you took comfort in the warm brush of his hands against yours. 

and the fateful moment that led to all of this?

he’d fumbled a dish, the mug slipping from his soap-slicked grip. you had gone to catch it, reaching over at the exact same time he did. 

you remember the brief pain of your heads colliding and bakugou’s proceeding shout. 

you had grabbed his shoulders for support, and you remember being surprised by how warm he was. it’s not like you’d never touched him before, but the number of times you’d ever been this close to him was minuscule. 

he might’ve been mad, probably about to open his mouth to berate you about how he’d “had it!” and that you “should’ve left it” or something. but he stopped cold, eyes wide at just how close you were. barely an inch between your noses. you could smell the spices on him from when he’d been cooking earlier. 

you don’t know what led you to say it. maybe it was the late hour or the obscene amount of food you’d eaten or the wine cooler you’d allowed yourself to drink after mina had brought them out. 

“can i kiss you?”

you think bakugou might’ve been more surprised by that than if you’d socked him in the face. 

you don’t know why he did, but he had nodded. he thought about it for a second—just one, not too long—and then given the slightest incline of his head. and you did it. 

you kissed him. 

it wasn’t your first kiss. if it was his, you couldn’t tell. he was soft, responsive to your movements but still sure of himself when he kissed you back. 

he tasted vaguely of spices. 

you don’t know how long you stayed like that. you don’t know at what point his hands moved from the sink to your cheeks or when he’d backed you against the counter. 

you just know that when he’d asked if you wanted to go up to his room, you nodded with flushed cheeks and a breathless smile. 

and that’s how it’s been for three months. you’d never addressed it, never put a name to what you had. you’d never questioned it or taken it for granted. bakugou is the kind of person you can follow blindly into any situation and know you’re going to come out okay. and you’ve never been someone who needed a reason to be around people you like. 

tonight’s not much different. it’s quiet, a cool breeze in the air from the open window. the nights are getting warmer as spring sets in, so the breeze feels good on your skin. 

you lay back on bakugou’s bed, breathing in the smell of his ocean breeze laundry detergent and the faint scent of the almost-blooming cherry blossoms just outside.

he didn’t used to let you stay over. he’d walk you back to your dorm once everyone was asleep, grumble a goodnight and disappear back down the hall. but after a while, he stopped mentioning how late it was getting. he’d just toss over and fall asleep, his arm still resting across your body next to him. 

“what’re ya sighing for?” bakugou huffs, reaching over you to plug his phone into the charging outlet. 

“i’m not sighing,” you reply, frowning up at the ceiling. 

“and now you’re pouting.”

you huff back at him, propping yourself up on your elbows. “i am not pouting. i’m eighteen years old, i don’t pout.”

katsuki raises his eyebrows in challenge. “you want me to get you a mirror?”

you roll your eyes and toss a pillow at him. he catches it just the way you expect him to, right in front of his face. you strike quicker than he can move it, smacking the front with a palm. you laugh at his startled growl, falling back on the bed as he throws the pillow back your way. 

you smile innocently up at him, clutching the pillow to your chest and relish in the scowl he casts at you and the way his hair is tousled from the scuffle. 

“brat,” he scoffs, knocking his leg against yours. “c’mon, it’s late. i wanna sleep.”

he waits until you’ve crawled in beside him to turn out the lights. 

you stare out into the dark for a while, but sleep doesn’t come. 

“katsuki?” 

his responding groan in muffled into the pillow. you prop yourself up to turn and look at him. 

“can i ask you something?” 

you see his scarlet eyes open in the dark and glance up at you with a furrowed brow. 

he huffs as he rolls over to face you. “i guess.”

now you’re nervous. god, why did you have to bring it up?

“i don’t want to sound stupid or anything, but i…” you pause, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “what are we? i mean, like…to each other?”

it’s both a relief and an immense amount of anxiety finally getting the words out. “it’s been eating at me for a while now—and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to—but i figured i’d die if i didn’t at least ask.”

katsuki’s looking right at you, but for once you can’t read his eyes or expression. the silence is stretching and your stomach turns with unease. you keep talking, and even though you know you’re rambling, your mouth is like a runaway train. 

“i mean, to my knowledge at least, you don’t sleep around, right? we don’t see other people. and you’re not…you’re not completely detached when we’re together—at least i hope you aren’t. you don’t act like it anyways. so it seems like it’s more than a physical thing?”

god, why can’t you stop talking? it’s more to yourself than katsuki at this point anyway. 

“and we’re friends. we’ve been friends for such a long time now. it’s not like i’m some random girl you picked up off the street.”

he scoffs quietly and you glance over at him. his expression is pinched, but otherwise unreadable. “tch. i wouldn’t do that.”

“exactly,” you agree, trying to keep your voice even as you fidget with your hands. your voice is quiet and you hang your head a little, unable to face his deep eyes. “i…know you care about me. so i guess that’s why i’m asking what this is to you.” you start rambling again before the silence gets too long. “are we just friends who mess around sometimes? is it that you’re not ready for a relationship…or maybe you do want a relationship but just not with me?”

“do you want a relationship?” he asks. 

“i…i don’t know. maybe, if that’s what you wanted.”

“what do you want?”

“i mean, we don’t have to put a label on anything if you don’t want to. unless you do want to, then i guess we could do that too.” the options are flooding your brain, mouth going off without filter. 

“what do you want?” katsuki asks again, red eyes boring into yours in the dark. 

you shrink back, feeling small under his unwavering gaze. “i…i don’t know.”

he scoffs. “liar.”

your heart sinks a little. 

“what do you mean?”

“you know what i mean,” he replies, and you can hear the frustration in his voice. “you’re not the ‘whatever you want’ girl. you never have been.”

you know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it less painful to hear. normally that kind of tenacity is what people strive for, what people admire. but the way katsuki says it…he makes it sound like a bad thing. like you’re selfish. 

“so tell me,” he insists, face mere inches from yours. “why don’t you care what we are?”

“because i care about you,” you whisper, almost against your will. “and i want you to be happy, so i’ll take you in whatever capacity i can get you.”

he looks almost surprised at that, then slightly exasperated like you’ve missed his entire point. he exhales sharply, sitting back against the headboard. 

“before i answer you, lemme ask you something myself first.”

“okay,” you breathe. 

“why the sudden need to know?”

“huh?”

“you said this shit’s been eating at you for a while now. how come? what’s got you feeling all contemplative all of a sudden?”

it takes a minute to gather your thoughts, much less the courage to speak. you hadn’t been expecting him to turn this on you. 

“well…we’re graduating in a few weeks, and i guess i just…i don’t want to never see you again. i don’t want this to end. and i…” you pause, taking a shaky breath, then shrug. “i don’t want to lose you, kacchan.”

he’s staring now in what you can only describe as disbelief. your stomach stirs uneasily as you sit in silence for a moment. 

“you don’t want to lose me,” he repeats, like its the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “that’s it?”

“yes, that’s it,” you reply, suddenly defensive. you cross your arms, feeling incredibly self-conscious now. 

“and you think i’m what, just gonna up and leave you? don’t you give a fuck about us?” he demands. 

“i didn’t know there was an ‘us’!” you cry. “i didn’t know it meant anything to you.”

“of course it fuckin’ meant something!” katsuki shoots back, on the verge of a shout. 

“i stayed with you the entire time you had the flu in second year. i let you come with me to the gym. we did our work studies together. i make you food when you’re stupid and don’t eat, i let you come in my room whenever you want and sleep in my fuckin’ bed when you have a bad dream.”

you sit there for a moment, absorbing it all. it’s true, all of it. 

“i don’t do that shit for just anyone,” he adds, grumbling. and he’s right. he doesn’t. “so don’t you for one minute think that you don’t mean anything to me. why else would i be spending all this damn time with you?”

“i don’t know,” you hum, crawling over to him. “maybe you did it cause all our other friends were getting together and you felt left out.”

“when have i ever done something just because some other fuckin’ extra did too?”

“never,” you giggle, leaning against him until you’ve fallen into his lap.

“exactly. so what does that tell you?”

“that…you’re very brave and independent?”

he groans loudly, rolling his eyes. “you’re fuckin’ impossible.”

“you love it,” you beam up at him. your stomach flutters with something warmer now as he reaches down and brings you up to meet his lips. it’s a deep kiss, leaving no room for anything but him and you and saying everything that you never said up until now. 

“yeah, so what if i do?” he murmurs when he pulls away, still close enough that his lips brush yours when he speaks. 

“tell me,” you say, smile and voice soft as you push his spiky bangs away from his face. his cheeks are warm under your hands. “tell me for real this time.”

his ruby eyes are deep and sincere when he says it. 

“i love you.”

it’s all you ever needed to hear.

nothing like the pressure of finals to get you locked in on a fic. i’ve been sitting on this for a while and i finally got inspired to finish it. i really enjoyed the reader/bakugou dynamic here. hope you like!

[diejager]

👉👈 imagine reader as a cow living in a nice farmer but because they doesn’t produce any milk than other cow, the owner was worry so they brought lot of Bulls (task 141, kortac) to chose as mate but all of them wanted the cow.

Credit to @frogchiro and @nymphany for this!

Pasture Cw: hybrid, mention of breeding, milking (milk and cum), SLIGHT DUB-CON, SLIGHT DARKFIC, tell me if I missed any.

Price, the gentle, bear-looking farmer, had initially planned to have you milked, his high-end and pedigree from an ancestry of HoJos spanning many generations that he bought for a high price, soft and plump in just the right areas. He heard from Kate that she and her wife had bought a couple of HoJos, making quite the profit on their milk, fatty and thick, but silky on the tongue. He wanted to have such luxury in his arsenal, a cute, little heifer that he’d milk for the sake of tasting and drinking it to fill his stomach with warmth until he decided to sell a few bottles.

He wasn’t in any need for money, he had enough to last the rest of his life without lifting a finger, but he liked keeping busy, work and routine beaten into his body from the military. He already had a business with the amount of bulls he bought, broad and sturdy, powerful hybrids that he could milk for their potent semen and labour. Most were obedient despite a bull’s temperament, listening to his orders like his subordinates would, following them to a T without a complain. But there was always that one who acted out, either from sheer cheekiness or mischief, he would reprimand them, punish them if it went too far.

He thought he’d experiment with you, his new little obsession he would coddle and pamper with a house of your own and an open stall. You were so well behaved that he could leave the house open to let you graze and sunbathe under the warm sun when you weren’t busy with him training you with various aspect of your new life as his prized possession. You were everything he could’ve ever wanted, obedient, gentle, soft-spoken and eager to please him, letting him suckle on your swollen and heavy tits, your ears flickering back and forth and tail wrapped around his thigh.

His only issue was that you had problems producing milk. You would produce trickles of it some days and a gush of milk the other, it was a disorderly affair that he sought to fix if he wanted to create a stable trade with you alone. When he brought the issue up with Kate, she told him that cows usually produced more milk after birthing, breasts heavy with milk and aching to be milked of it’s produce, thick and rich tasting to raise a little calf that he would soon sell than let them take your attention away.

“Introduce her to the bulls, they might help,” were the mind blowing words that Kate’s wife gave him, the cementing proposition that had him make his mind on the next step.

He introduced you to his bulls, bringing them outside of their stalls and letting them roam the fenced pasture beside yours, watching you lay under the sun and ears flick away a buzzing bug. They’ve seen other hybrids before, women especially, but have never shown any interest in of them. He feared he’d have to introduce you to another farmer’s hybrid (Price wanted to take thing into his own hands, but he didn’t know how you’d take it to his advances) if you didn’t catch their attention, bringing in a stranger to breed you.

Fortunately, they were quick to scent you out, seemingly riled up and pumping out more seed since he bought you, restlessly wandering in circles in their stalls to sate the need to get to you as fast as they could. Their eyes gleaming with arousal and nostrils flared to sniff you out, stalking to the edge of their pen, the metal unflinching to their harsh grip on the fence. They looked starved - possessed - with how eager they were to cross the barrier, hollering at you and trying to coax you towards their side of Price’s land.

Soap and König looked the most out of it, slumped over with deluded perversion of need and hunger, arms reaching for your seated figure, staring at the group of bulls with wide eyes. Nikto wasn’t any better, both he, Krueger and Ghost glaring down at you with vicious and burning eyes, lost in their minds of dark desires and corrupted dreams. Gaz and Horangi were softer, more hesitant to spook you, but they were as restless as the rest of their housemates. You were none the wiser, gazing at them with your pretty, doe eyes, meeting their eyes with innocent and a cute smile, always ready to please others.

Perhaps he should’ve acquainted you all before.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny

[skyrigel]

Something bout' Simon being shy and awakard around you and especially not no.1 fan of coffee and cafes, so ofcourse it fell upon Soap to drag him practically while he sulked and brooded, his frown was glaring through his masked face but that was until you stood up from behind the counter, a smile plastered to your face and the way your eyes crinkled oh, Simon wasn't the one for bells ringing and soft music in the background but in that moment he knew what the chaos was all about because damn, he was such a goner, your smile was the most beautiful thing about you, and the twinkle of your eyes and the flutter of your lashes and the scrunching of your neck and...wait—fuck..you were looking at him—oh no, fuck.

“....Sir, What would like to order ?” you said, tilting your head and was it... Simon wasn't blushing or was he ? It was evident with the way Soap groaned next to him that the question has been repeated.

“Oh, he loves chocolate muffin! And—”Soap clicked his tongue, poking Ghost on his arm and un freezing him from the fucking goddamn awakening, because it surely felt like that, his heart never quite paced as it was now and let alone the heat that crept up his whole face, he wasn't about to say anything about the tug down his navel, such effect you had on him, just by the blaze of your eyes and a sprinkle of your smile.

“ —Cappuccino with the heart on !” for a fact, He didn't like coffee and let alone the heart but Simon realised how nothing mattered as long as it made you smile.

“ Thankyou, Please take a seat.” Your eyes flickered to the big man, only his eyes visible that never left yours.

~~~

“ Was that a pathetic attempt at flirting?” John propped on his elbow, nursing his banana pie, a very eccentric taste of his.

“What ?” Simon made no effort to tear his gaze off you while you catered to another customer.

“ fuck, you are staring ! Stop staring bastard.”

“ Drink your bloody coffee.” Simon reluctantly turned to his smirking cheeky face, John pushed forward the Cappuccino cup with a heart that you had served moments ago, resulting a very awakard Simon who knocked off a plate when his fingers brushed yours. Pathetic, yes.

“ So...you like her ?” John shaked his head in a sloppy way. A smile crossed his face, enough to make him bite his lips, he glanced back at you, happily taking out pineapple pastry.

“That's missus you're talking bout'.”

Masterlist

[jarofstyles]

Use Your Head

Hi my love bugs!! Part two to Migraine is here. I'm sorry it took me a bit to edit. Last half of the original one shot but I am already planning/ have written a few patreon exclusive extensions for them. Enjoy!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 260+ exclusive writings

WC- 11.2k

Warnings- mentions of alcoholism/addiction, anxiety, prior bullying, smut, biting, soft dom!Harry, unprotected sex, creampie, slight moment of choking

Over the following weeks, Harry made a conscious effort to change how he interacted with Y/N. No more constant teasing, no more overly loud jokes to try and capture her attention. No more being straight up obnoxious. 

Instead, he found himself bringing her coffee on days he knew she was fighting a migraine, asking genuinely about her day, and going out of his way to make her life a little bit easier. It wasn’t just the guilt of it that was the driving force. Y/N was so lovely, so sweet. He’d been stupid to think that just because she was quiet that she was being judgmental or that she didn’t like him- because if he’d bothered to sit and listen to the whispers she did let out, he’d have been as enamored as he was now, months ago. And that was saying something considering how his crush had festered.

 Oddly enough, he had shared bits of his life with her that he usually kept private. It was something his therapist said was a defense mechanism for him, using humor to get people to like him but also succeed without opening up- but Y/N seemed to genuinely listen. She remembered stuff he said about his childhood dog or the fact cilantro tasted like soap to him. And to his surprise, she started opening up too - albeit cautiously. Her quiet demeanor made their late-night office chat sessions when they had to finish projects more special somehow, each small exchange feeling earned rather than forced.

It had started with her coffee order- iced mocha when she was drinking for enjoyment but an americano was ideal when she was approaching a headache for optimal caffeine. Then it ventured into the little fun facts that had him keeping a mental log of the obscure things he picked up along the way. 

She was really good at using chopsticks, she kept a tea kettle in her office and tea bags- including the ones he’d gotten her- which she would let him have if he asked.  She had a pet rabbit at home named Mocha, in honor of her favorite drink. She went to bed at exactly midnight (or tried to when her sleeping issue didn’t bug her) every night. She preferred the shape of anatomical hearts over the standard ones used for Valentine’s Day. She had an extensive TBR (he found out it meant To Be Read from google later) but she kept falling for sales and she was a sucker for a good romance so she had books in piles all over her place. All the things he learned were kept up in his head as precious information to use to make her feel more seen, more comfortable. 

So when she had mentioned having trouble falling asleep the last few days, he had taken it upon himself to grab her something his mum recommended. “It’s called sleepy time tea? S’got the cute bear on the box, so it must be decent.” He sat across from her in the break room, sliding the box across the table to her. “My mum used to deal with insomnia and she liked this one a lot. It may not fix everything but it helps make you drowsy.”

The woman glanced down at the tea box, a small smile tugging at her lips as she took in the cute bear illustration. She picked up the box, examining it further to see the ingredients before meeting Harry's gaze. "Your mum has good taste." She remarked, her voice soft but genuinely appreciative. Y/N tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a gesture Harry was starting to recognize as a sign she was a little flustered. It usually followed something he did for her. "I'll give it a try tonight. Hopefully, it helps me sleep better than counting sheep."

“Mhm.. I hope so too. I don’t mean to keep throwing gifts and stuff at you, but I remembered you saying you were frustrated by it and figured I’d ask someone who’s dealt with that stuff before.” (Harry slept like a log,so he wasn’t much help.) He tapped his fingers against his thigh in a slightly anxious pattern. It wasn’t like he was going crazy- he mainly got her coffee or in this case, tea, but the last thing he wanted to do was make it seem like he was buying her friendship. “Did you submit your part of the project yet?”

"Yeah, finally got that done yesterday," The answer came with a small smile forming as she looked up from the tea box. "I actually managed to get through the presentation without forgetting any bullet points or stuttering this time." Placing the tea carefully in her bag, the corner of her lips curling up a bit more. Fucking adorable. "Thanks for checking in though. Most people don't care about these tiny details." The truth was, she found it sweet when he did. It showed he actually listened to her talking about work stress. "Want to grab lunch later?"

Harry's face lit up at her invitation, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I'd love that,"  He accepted easily, his voice warm and sincere. As if he would ever say no to that. "How about we go to that new sushi place down the street? I've been dying to try it out." Leaning back in his chair, he watched as she pulled up the menu on her phone. "My treat, of course. As a thank you for being so patient with me and my... previous behavior."

“Harry, you don’t have to keep making up for it. I believe you. We’re friends.” She sighed, tapping on top of the table. “You can let go of that guilt. Okay? You’ve proven yourself every day to me. As long as you don’t turn around and be a dick for no reason again, I’m fine. Really.”

A small laugh escaped him as he nodded, genuinely grateful for her understanding. It wasn’t something he probably deserved, but she was too good. "Alright, alright. No more guilt trips." He leaned forward on his desk, fingers drumming against the wood. "And I mean it, by the way. I'm truly not trying to buy your friendship with gifts. Though..." he pause. "If I wanted to treat a friend to sushi, would you say no?" The word 'friend' felt strange in his mouth now - almost too casual considering how much time they'd spent together lately.

She gave him a look, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t need you to treat me, H. Really.” It seemed like he did like to do it regardless but he’d be really sweet. As much as she didn’t need the extra things, the coffees or little treats he got her, it did make her feel appreciated- though she didn’t admit it too often because she knew he’d keep doing it.

"I know you don't need me to," he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "But I want to. And besides, it's not like I'm buying you a whole new wardrobe or anything." He stood up from his desk, walking around to stand in front of her. "Let me just spoil you a little bit, okay? It makes me happy to do nice things for you." He gave her a small, sincere smile, his eyes searching hers. "Please?"

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes but ultimately gave in to his puppy dog eyes. Those things were brutal. "Fine, fine," she conceded, crossing her arms over her chest. "But only because you look pathetic begging like that." 

Harry's face lit up with a triumphant grin. "See? Was that so hard?" He chuckled, ruffling her hair slightly before she could swat his hand away. "Alright, sushi it is then. My treat."

—-

Harry found himself more relaxed than usual during their lunch. He’d been dying to try it since he’d seen a review in the paper and there was no one else he’d rather eat with right now. Being around her felt exciting just as much as it was relaxing. She was so calm and sweet, making him feel at ease even though sometimes he felt like he was buzzing when she gave him her attention. 

Was this the shit he had been missing out on when he could have just spoken to her without acting out? He’d wasted a lot of time, but she was thankfully far more gracious than he would have expected her to be. They sat across from each other at a small table by the window, the sunlight creating a warm glow around them. The conversation flowed easily, no lulls. Y/N was by far the easiest person to talk to once she warmed up to you, and he was finding out the pleasures of getting closer to her every day. "You know," the man hummed, picking up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks, "the whole office is going to drinks tonight." He paused, studying her face. "Are you planning on..."

"Going?" She finished his question, laughing softly. "Probably. I don't go out much, so when they suggest it, I’ve been trying say yes." She picked up an egg roll, dipping it in soy sauce. "You?" She asked, meeting his gaze. He was struck by how pretty her eyes were, how they almost sparkled when she laughed. It was weird how beautiful she was. How people didn’t put their foot in their mouths like he had whenever he had been around her prior. It was distracting in the best of ways.  Damn it, he really liked her.

 "Yeah, I'll go," He said, pulling himself together. The last couple of times he had ditched mainly because he had been trying to catch up on some other stuff, but considering he knew for sure Y/N would be there? There was no way he wouldn’t. "The whole marketing team will be there. You too?"

"The whole marketing team," she confirmed, nodding her head. "Including Laura and Tom, who always end up drunk and arguing about whatever anyone wants to bring up." She took a sip of her iced strawberry açaí green tea, a small smile tugging at her lips at the memory of the last office outing where exactly that had happened. "And probably Jennifer from HR, who always tries to get everyone to play truth or dare like we’re still in school. I mean, considering she’s HR she has to know that would be a major violation. Sometimes I think she tries to get it to happen so she has something to do at work considering everything is usually relaxed." Y/N laughed softly, setting her chopsticks down. "Will you be there the whole time? Or will you bow out halfway through?" Sometimes Y/N got a little overstimulated from being out at places like that and she had to leave.

"I usually stay the whole time. You know me, supposed party animal." Harry shrugged his shoulder at the title.  She was like a different person when she wasn’t at the office. He was too, obviously, but it felt more dramatic when it came to her. "But actually I… I don’t drink.” His face shifted before he smiled again, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I'm the one who usually calls cabs at the end of the night when everyone is hammered." The words seemed casual enough as he picked up another piece of sushi, but there was something unsaid. 

“Oh!” She was somehow a little surprised at that. Something about Harry did give ‘party animal’ but it was mostly his extroverted nature. “I’m glad you still come out then. I can have a drink or two if I feel like it but it’s not really my thing, you know? I’m not a fan of the taste so I go for the fruity or sweet stuff.” She set her chopsticks down to give her tummy a break. The suggestion had been really good, actually. It may as well be added to her take out rotation. “It’s nice of you to do that for them, Har. Really.” She had tried not to pay him much mind in the past but the kindness wasn’t overlooked now.

"It's no big deal," He waved off her compliment, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He always did it without expecting anything in return, but hearing her say it made him feel a little warm inside. He liked that she was noticing these things now. “I um, I used to struggle with alcohol. Drinking too much. It was a nasty habit I picked up in uni and I didn’t realize how bad it was getting.” Clearing his throat, he looked down towards his plate. “S’been 5 years. It doesn’t bother me to see other people drink so it’s fine when I go out. But yeah it’s… S’a interesting dynamic.” He had no idea why he chose now to tell her that. It wasn’t something he ever really talked about at all, but… Y/N felt like a safe person.

"You're the first person at work who knows about that." He admitted quietly, stealing glances at her face to gauge her reaction. He'd spent months being an asshole around her, and now he was trusting her with this? Something vulnerable, genuinely real. Something he usually only shared with close friends or his therapist. "Most people assume I just don't drink because I'm some kind of saint." He managed a small laugh, but it was edged with something more vulnerable. "Though I’d appreciate it if you could keep that between us. I’ll take the party animal jokes over them knowing..."

“Harry, I would never.” She interrupted, reaching for his hand with concern on her face. “First of all, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You realized you had a problem and you did what you needed to do to better your life. That’s fucking amazing!” It was rare to hear her cuss but it felt like an appropriate time. “Addiction can happen to anyone at any time. But I can assure you there is no way in hell that I’d try and tell anyone your business. You trusting me enough to tell me that isn’t lost on me, okay?” Stroking her thumb over the top of his hand, she gave him a little smile.

"Damn." He laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing. He hadn't expected her to get it so quickly. Most people just made recovery sound like something that he should hide, like it was something dirty or shameful. She made it sound like any other condition. "You get it," He said slowly, his voice lower. "Like, really get it. You're not going to make a joke or something?" He wouldn’t have blamed her considering how he had treated her before. But Y/N would never. That was the difference. He had been a bit used to people reacting negatively.

“Nope. No need for jokes.” She didn’t even think about that. “We don’t even have to keep talking about it if you don’t want to. That information is safe with me. I don’t need anything else from it. We can just move on and talk about it another time, okay?” Squeezing his larger hand with her own, all she wanted to do was make him comfortable. They’d have to head back to work soon and she didn't want the conversation to get cut off if they got deeper into it, but she really appreciated him opening up. Never would she have thought that. Then again, even after the last few weeks of getting closer, there was still so much to him that she didn’t know.

Harry nodded, giving her hand a grateful squeeze back before reluctantly letting go as they both stood to throw out their trash. "Thanks." he said softly, meeting her gaze. "Seriously. That means a lot." As they walked back towards the office, he couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading through his chest as their hands brushed each others every so often. She had handled that revelation with such compassion and grace, without any of the judgment he'd feared.

 It was yet another reason why he was slowly falling for her, despite his best efforts not to.

———

The usual crowd was filling up the bar - coworkers laughing loudly, ordering rounds of shots. Y/N sat at a high-top table with a few of the infamous marketing team members, sipping her second drink- another Diet Coke, as he had heard her order. Across the table, Laura and Tom were already getting heated in their friendly argument about the rightful winner of the Grammy’s. Meanwhile, Harry leaned against the bar, ordering water for himself and checking his phone occasionally, but mostly keeping an eye on Y/N.

 It was hard to keep his eyes off of her at all, especially after she had taken her blazer off and showed her arms in the tank top she’d had underneath it. So distracting, in fact, that he’d barely noticed someone from accounting, a blonde named Michelle he’d talked to a few times, saddled up next to him. "Hey Harry."

Michelle batted her eyelashes at him, ordering herself a vodka cranberry from the bartender before turning her attention back to Harry. "You're looking pretty bored standing here by yourself," She remarked, leaning against the bar next to him. "Why don't you come sit with us?" Her hand gestured towards a group of her friends from accounting, who were laughing and drinking nearby. Harry, however, barely spared her a glance before responding politely, "Nah, I'm good here. Thank you for the offer though."

"Come on, you're usually the life of the party. Don't tell me you're just going to stand here all night." Michelle persisted, adjusting her top slightly. Normally, that kind of fljrting could worked - but the way she had said it put him off. Besides, all Harry could focus on was Y/N laughing with her team members across the room. "Look, I actually need to... Excuse me." He mumbled, excusing himself from Michelle before she could protest. Finding his way back to Y/N, he leaned down to whisper her ear. It was closer than he usually got to her and he tried not to let that get him distracted. “Please help me. Michelle’s been bothering me the last few times n’I really don’t want t’be wrapped up in all of that.”

As he spoke into her ear, Y/N could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, sending shivers down her back that she quickly ignored. Hopefully he wouldn’t be able to notice any of the chills on her arms. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating up close, the sweetened spice making it hard to focus on the task at hand - helping him avoid Michelle. "Uh sure- What do you need help with?" She asked, turning her head to look up at him, their faces inches apart. He looked so frustrated, and for some reason, seeing him like that made her stomach flutter.

His eyes locked with hers, he saw a flicker of something in her eyes that made his stomach drop - was it just the light, or was she actually looking at him like that? He pushed the thought aside, focusing on his problem. "Can you come t’the bar and lean into me or something?" He asked quietly. "So Michelle gets the hint that I’m not interested?" He needed a buffer, and Y/N being up close to him would probably do the trick. "Please?" He added, using his puppy dog eyes to his advantage.

Y/N obliged, standing up from her seat and following Harry to the bar. As they stood side by side, she leaned into his arm slightly, making it look like they were engaged in a conversation. Michelle, noticing it quite quickly, sauntered back over to the bar, looking miffed. "Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?" She asked, trying to insert herself between them. Harry wrapped his arm around Y/N’s waist lightly, pulling her closer. "Not really the best time. M’in the middle of something.”

Y/N could take a hint, looping her arm around him in turn, leaning her face against his shirt. Giving a light smile, as a response to the woman who seemed weirdly annoyed that a man that had nothing to do with her was so close to another woman. “We’re gonna leave soon, so maybe you guys can talk another day.” It wasn’t exactly catty, but it was an insinuation that they’d be leaving together. 

Michelle could put things together and make up her own mind. They could deal with that gossip later.

Michelle's face dropped, clearly not expecting such a casual display of familiarity between them. Harry felt Y/N's head resting on his chest and almost lost his breath for a second - it felt more natural than it should have. Her slight weight against him made his arm circle around her waist more securely, and he tried to focus on maintaining his composure instead of how good she smelled right now. "Yeah..." He said to Michelle, letting the word trail off as if he couldn't even be bothered with her now. "I'll catch you later."

As they stood there, Y/N's hand found its way to his back, her fingers running over the fabric of his blazer and then his dress shirt underneath. It was a simple, casual gesture, but it sent a jolt of warmth through Harry's entire body. He felt like he was melting, his arm around her waist tightening slightly as he tried to subtly pull her closer. Her hand felt so small and warm against his back, and he found himself leaning down slightly to nuzzle his face into her hair, breathing in her scent. “S’this okay with you?” He was double checking for her assurance. “Don’t want you to feel like you have t’make yourself uncomfortable for me.”

Michelle had walked away and Y/N didn’t feel the need to pull away. As nerve wracking as it was, she tried to push them off as she had felt him relax into her. He was sweet, he really was. This was the Harry under all the layers of peacocking and jokes. The type of man she actually really had begun to like.  “I’m okay.” Tilting her head up to meet his eyes, she gave him a shy smile. “Are you okay?”

"Yeah. M’great, actually." He responded softly, watching her face. God, she was so pretty. Here she was making his stomach flip with one small smile. "You know what would make this a little more believable?" He asked quietly, his voice lower than before. He was testing the waters, really. He had no idea if she'd go along with this. "If I put my hands here." He demonstrated slowly, spreading his hands over her lower back. “S’that good?”

As his hands found their way to her lower back, Y/N could feel the tingling spreading across her stomach and up her chest. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching, trying to gauge his expression. His hands felt big and protective on her back, making her feel small and safe. She didn't pull away, instead, she found herself leaning into his touch slightly. "Yeah, that’s... It’s nice." The reply was whispered, hoping he didn’t catch the slight quiver in her breath.

Harry watched closely as she swallowed hard, her eyes flicking down to his mouth briefly. Truthfully he was an idiot for thinking doing this would have no effect on him - here she was making his body react like he was a teenager again. It hadn’t been thought through- that didn’t mean he would stop, though. His thumbs moved slightly, massaging her lower back lightly. He saw her eyes close softly, almost like she was enjoying it.

Unable to resist the temptation, Harry leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing her ear. "You're doing great," he murmured, his voice a low, soft rumble. He couldn't help but notice how perfectly she fit against him, like she was meant to be there. His hands shifted slightly, pulling her a fraction closer. "Michelle's long gone now, but..." He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. "D’you think we pretend for just a little longer?"

"Mhm," she hummed softly. It was hard not to show that she was borderline giddy at the suggestion. Her hand pressed more firmly against his back, hooking her fingers in his belt loops showing she had no plans to move away anytime soon. Instead, she leaned her head to rest back against his chest. 

The way her body fit against his was doing things to him - things he shouldn't be thinking about right now. Like about how she smelled so good it was making him feel antsy to inhale her scent. 

"How long d'you need?" She asked, her voice soft but steady. A small smile played on her lips as she felt his heartbeat against her ear.

"Just... five more minutes, maybe." He murmured, his voice hoarse. He didn't want to let her go, not yet. Not when she felt this good in his arms. "And then... maybe we could go somewhere quieter? Talk, if you want?" He suggested, his hand slowly sliding up her back and down to her hip. Harry was playing with fire, he knew that, but he couldn't help himself. Not when she was being so sweet, so willing to do this with him. 

“Yeah. You can drive me back to my place. Or yours.” It was a decision in a while that she was going to let him  read into however he wanted. Y/N was welcoming any bit of what could happen. If it was to truly talk somewhere else, or… more. She would be open to it.

The words had him almost losing his breath, his body tightening slightly. He wasn’t sure what he’d imagined her response to be, but it certainly hadn't expected her to suggest that. "So if I said... let me take you home to mine' - you wouldn't have a problem with that?" He asked slowly, his thumbs moving back and forth on Harry lower back possessively. He was trying to read between the lines. Was she being friendly, or was she being flirtatious? Christ, he hoped it was the latter.

“No. No problem with that.” In any other circumstances, she’d be embarrassed with how breathy her voice sounded as she replied to him. His voice was deep and soft just for her, making her feel the heat pooling in her tummy. “You can take me home, Harry.”

His pulse quickened, hope surging through him at her breathy confirmation. He swallowed hard, letting it hit him with how much he wanted this. Wanted her. "Alright then," the answer was spoken, his voice thick with restrained desire. "Let's get out of here."

———-

The drive to his place was silent but tense, filled with unspoken words and heavy glances. As soon as they pulled into his driveway, Harry turned off the engine and looked at Y/N, his eyes searching hers for any bit of apprehension- but he found none. She seemed at peace, if not a little bit happy about the situation, and he wasn’t about to waste any time. Getting out of the car, he walked around to her side, and opened her door for her - a gentlemanly habit he'd picked up and kept up. He led the way to his house, unlocking the door and stepping inside, closing it behind them.

“Did you really want to talk?” Y/N asked, peering up at him from her lashes as she took a step towards him. The foyer of his house was dimly lit, but she could see how intently he was staring at her. “Or did you bring me home to do something else?”

"I had some things I wanted to say, yeah." he admitted quietly, his voice deeper than she had heard it before, similar to how he’d spoken at the bar. There was an edge to it, one that made her feel… exhilarated. "But right now..." His hand found her waist naturally, pulling her into him. "I think there's something else I want more." He paused, his thumb moving in small circles on her hip.

“Yeah?” She whispered back, allowing herself to lean into him. “And what is that?”

"You." The words whispered were cut off before she could respond, pressing his lips against hers in a soft, gentle kiss. It started slow, almost questioning- as if he was waiting for her to pull away. Giving her the chance to do so. But when she didn't, when she leaned into it instead, his free arm snaked around her to pull her even closer. The kiss deepened, becoming a little more desperate as he felt her against him. His fingers tightened on her hip, his other hand coming up to cup her cheek, tilting her head slightly to kiss her more thoroughly.

Y/N melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him back just as needy. A small noise escaped the back of her throat, one that he swallowed with his mouth greedily. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly as she felt him groan against her lips.

Her fingers in his hair made him feel like he may lose it a little bit. Everything about Y/N called to him, but her knowing what to do without ever being told spurred him on further. Deepening the kiss further, he traced her bottom lip with his tongue and bit back a second groan at what he found. She tasted fucking perfect - sweet and subtle, like honey and peppermint, a tiny hint of her sticky soda from the bar. His own personal new favorite flavor. 

 One hand slid down her back to palm over her ass while the other cradled her face, keeping her exactly where he wanted her, practicing that control he liked to keep. He could feel her heart racing against his chest, matching his own heartbeat- But when she let out the soft whimper against his lips as it seemed like he may pull back, pressing herself closer against him instead?  Harry thought he might lose his mind.

Harry pushed her carefully backwards, taking her with him until she hit the wall. Breaking the kiss, he started to trail his lips down her neck, sucking and nipping gently at her wherever he could reach. "You taste so sweet." He murmured against her skin. "I want t’kiss you everywhere." It punctuated his words with a particularly hard suck on her neck, knowing it would leave a mark- wanting it to leave one- as his hips pressed against hers, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him.

She gasped, head tilting back to give him better access. Hands fisted in his shirt, she tugged him closer as she felt the hard evidence of his arousal press against her stomach. "Harry," she whimpered, voice shaky. "Bite me." The words were out before she could even think about them, a demand rather than a request. She wanted his mark, wanted evidence that this really happened. Even if it was just for tonight- though she wanted more than just once. “Please? Jus’ a little bit. I want to feel your teeth on my neck.” Her hips rocked forward slightly, seeking friction.

The growl that rumbled in his chest at her words was primal, sending a shiver through her body. "Fuck, you're perfect." Harry murmured before grazing his teeth against her sensitive skin and sinking them into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He bit down hard, not with the goal of breaking the skin but applying enough pressure that she would definitely have a mark in the morning- just as she requested.

She cried out, arching her back to give him more access as he bit down. He could feel her nails digging into his back through his shirt, pulling him closer as if she was afraid he might stop. "More." Y/N begged, panting heavily. "Harder." What she wanted was  the ache, wanted the reminder on her skin that he was really here, really doing this. "Harry, please..." She whimpered, turning her head to try and pull him into biting her again. "Again."

“I’ve got t’be careful, sweetheart.” He cooed against her skin, nipping underneath the mark he had left. “Do you like the pain, hm? Or do you like the marks?”

Y/N moaned, trying to tilt her head further to give him better access to her neck. "Both," she breathed out shakily, her body tensing as he nipped underneath the mark. "I like the pain because it hurts so good, and I like the marks because they remind me... they remind me you were really here, doing this, not just in my head." She was rambling, but she couldn't seem to shut up as he kept marking her up. "Can you give me another one?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, you can have another one." He crooned, biting down on the same spot on the other side, applying a little more pressure this time. There was doubt in his mind that he could really say no to her, not when she asked him with that tone, those eyes, and the taste of her on his tongue.  He could feel her trembling against him, hear the desperate whimpering sounds she was making. He loved it, loved how responsive she was to him, how easily he could reduce her to a shaking mess. 

"Fuck, look at you..." He murmured, pulling back slightly to admire his handiwork. Sure enough, there were two perfect bite marks on either side of her neck. She looked claimed, marked - and Christ, it turned him on more than anything else. Before she could react, he grabbed her chin, tilting her face up for another kiss. This one was rougher, more urgent than before, his tongue plunging into her mouth. One hand slid down her waist while the other tangled in her hair.

His fingers gripped her hair taut, holding her in place as he kissed her like he was starving for it, for her. His other hand squeezed her ass almost too tightly as he ground himself against her, conveying his mounting desperation without words. Each nip and suck at her lips sent jolts straight to his cock, making him impossibly harder, if that was even possible. He swallowed every whimper and moan greedily, addicted to her sounds.

"Fuck, darling." Harry whispered against her lips as he pulled back to let her breath. His hand slipped into her trousers to get a better handful of her, feeling her hum at the intrusion. All he needed was her warmth, the feel of her on his skin. He could die happy like that, most likely. 

Letting his fingers play with the edge of her panties, he knew he was in some sort of dream. After months of crushing on her, even when he had been failing, he’d dreamt of this. "You're killing me here." His breathing became heavier as he squeezed the soft flesh of her ass, pulling her harder against him. One hand kept her hair tight while the other dipped lower, almost slipping beneath the fabric but pausing uncertainly. "Can I..." he trailed off, waiting for her permission before actually sliding beneath, his voice rough with need. "Can I touch you, baby?"

Y/N let out a shaky breath, nodding almost frantically against his lips. "Yes, please." The reply was a shaking whisper, her heart racing wildly like a little hummingbird. "I want your hands on me, Harry. Anywhere, everywhere." She was so turned on, so desperate for his touch that she couldn't even think straight. His hesitation had only added to her desire, making her want him even more. "Just... please, touch me," she begged, her hips rolling against his in encouragement. "I need it."

"God, you're killing me." He growled softly, picking her up easily by her thighs. Realistically, he had been waiting for this day for ages and he wasn’t going to take her in his foyer- regardless of how badly he was tempted to. Y/N deserved a proper fuck, which included being in his bed. Somewhere she was meant to be. Hopefully one day they’d do it out here, but today was not that day. 

Thankfully there was no protest from his little dove, her legs wrapping around him automatically as he lifted her up, allowing him to walk them towards his bedroom without breaking the kiss. He couldn't get enough of her lips, her taste, anything that had to do with her. Greedy, he was so fucking greedy for anything he could get from her. 

Kicking his door open, he wasted little time dropping her onto his mattress softly, listening to her sweet giggle as she bounced on it. Watching hungrily as her shirt rode up slightly, the deposits of her body revealing more of her stomach. "Off." He ordered softly, unbuttoning his own shirt slowly. "Take your top off." Harry wanted it off. He needed to see her.

She sat up slightly, unbuttoning her blouse slowly, revealing the plain white camisole underneath that had been a layer under the sleeveless top. His eyes were locked onto her hands, watching intently as she revealed more and more of her silky skin. "Now the cami." He urged, his voice dropping lower as he unbuckled his belt, his mind desperate to see the heaven underneath.  His unbuttoned shirt tossed haphazardly onto the floor, revealing his tattooed torso. "I want it all off, sweetheart. Don’t want a lick of fabric between you and my hands."

Her hands moved slowly, deliberately, savoring the attention. She lifted the bottom of her camisole, slowly letting it peel off of her body to reveal her bare chest. Her breath hitched as she looked up at Harry, seeing that intensity in his eyes. He was staring at her like she was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen, and it made her feel powerful, desired. Never in her life had she imagined that Harry of all people would be the one to make her feel that way. She let the man stare as he pleased, letting her hair fall off her shoulders from where she had it up as she sat there, completely bare from the waist up.

“Fuck me.” He groaned, hands itching to touch. Holy shit. He had almost lost it. Her body was insane - full breasts with pretty nipples that hardened under his gaze. He had the  urge to taste them, suck on them until she let out the pretty noises he’d gotten hints of - but he didn't move. Harry wanted to see all of her first. "Off, all of it. Told you. Need t’see all of you." He ordered again softly, his voice hoarse with restraint. He watched as she shimmied out of her pants slowly, revealing black lace panties underneath. "Baby," His voice was slightly breathless as she kicked the fabric off, letting it fall in a pile beside his bed. "I think… that you're trying to kill me."

The sight of Y/N naked in his bed almost knocked the breath clean out of him. Here was this incredibly sexy woman, somebody he'd fantasized about for months, laid out before him like a goddamn dream. The soft curves of her body, the smooth planes of her skin, those pretty tits moving in time with her slightly labored breath—it was almost too much. His cock was rock hard, straining against his zipper, aching to be buried inside her. “You are the most gorgeous little thing.” He murmured, undoing the button of his trousers as he stepped closer to her form. “I knew you would look good in my bed, but fucks sake, Kitten.” He reached for her face, tilting her chin up. “Think you were made t’be here.”

As he reached for her face Y/N shifted her mouth, catching his thumb between her soft lips and sucking on it gently. The feeling of her mouth wrapped around his thumb, the subtle tug as she sucked, was incredibly intimate and distracting. Harry's eyes rolled back slightly, a low groan escaping his throat as he stared down at her.

As Y/N sucked his thumb with increasing pressure, her other hand deftly moved to his zipper, tugging it down slowly. The sensation of her hot mouth contrasted deliciously with the cool air hitting his exposed skin. He couldn't help but shudder, his hips rocking involuntarily as his aching erection sprang free. "Holy fuck." he gasped, watching her through hooded eyes. She maintained eye contact, her tongue swirling around his thumb teasingly as her fingers brushed lightly over his straining cock.

He wanted those full lips wrapped around him so badly he ached. He wanted to feel her warm breath against his stomach, the gentle suction around the tip of his cock, the way she looked up at him with those big eyes. "Enough of my thumb. We both know what it is y’really want." He growled, his voice thick as he gently pulled her thumb out of her mouth, smearing her lipstick with the saliva coating his digit as he dragged it over her lip. 

"Think it’s time for you to wrap those pretty lips around something else now." Letting his trousers fall to the floor along with his briefs in one go was exactly what he needed. Hissing slightly, he grabbed his painfully hard dick in his hand and swiped the leaking slit with his spit and lipstick coated thumb, watching her eyes as they took in every motion. “See what you did t’me? Been doin’ this to me for ages, sweet girl.” He mumbled, guiding his cock towards her swollen lips. "Do you want to suck on it

like you were sucking my thumb?"

Y/N looked up at him with those big, doe eyes, her lipstick slightly smudged from the drag of his thumb. She could feel the warm, heavy weight of him in her hand as she wrapped her fingers around his base tentatively. She could already taste the saltiness on her thumb where she had swiped the bead of moisture from his tip. "Can I?" she whispered, parting her lips slightly, inviting him in. "Like this?"

"Fuck yes," he breathed out intensely, watching as those perfect lips parted. His hand moved to the back of her head gently, not pushing, but guiding. "Just like that. Nice n’slow for me." He wanted to savor the moment she took him in for the first time, make sure it felt good for both of them. Her small hand wrapped around his base felt amazing, but he needed more.

Y/N stuck her tongue out slightly, swiping over the tip of his length. He watched hungrily as she gathered the bead of liquid there, tasting him carefully. "Mhm," she hummed softly, wrapping her lips around her teeth to hide her smile. It wasn’t something he had expected but he found it incredibly sexy - she was savoring his taste. Her pink tongue peeked out again, licking over the head like a sweet, swirling around the sensitive underside. Surely it was something he should have expected, but it made him shiver slightly, his hips jerking involuntarily. “Shit. You’re a sweet little thing everywhere, aren’t you darlin’?”

His dirty words made her stomach flutter and her core clench. She liked them too much, especially when they were laced with that deep voice. She dragged the flat of her tongue slowly down his length from base to tip. Taking her time with him was exactly what she wanted. Weeks of getting to know each other, the quiet attraction building until it was too loud to ignore, this had been on her mind more than she could admit yet. His stomach contracted sharply as she did it again slowly, watching him through her lashes. Y/N was putting on a show. 

The woman wanted to drive him crazy, wanted him to bend to her and feel as much as she had.

Harry was losing his mind. His hips were rocking gently, trying to encourage her down further each time she swiped her tongue down. She was torturing him slowly, deliberately - he could see the mischievous glint in her eye behind her lashes. He could feel his orgasm beginning to roll over just from her tongue lathing over him - but she hadn’t even taken him in her mouth yet. "Tease." The groan was loaded as he scraped her hair into his hand, pulling her back up to the tip. “C’mon, sweetheart. Suck on me a bit. Rub your little clit while y’do it. Get yourself wet f’me.”

She let out a shaky breath at his command, slipping one hand between her legs. Her fingers found her clit easily, already swollen and sensitive from all the teasing and tension they had between them. While she circled herself slowly, she opened her mouth wider, letting the tip of his length slide between her lips.  Moaning softly, vibrations pulsing around him as she slowly worked herself with her fingers. 

She was beautiful - eyes closed, lipstick smudged, fingers busy between her legs while she took his cock into that perfect mouth.

Harry knew she was getting wetter just from the sounds she was making around his length as she suckled gently, her fingers busily rubbing herself beneath his watchful eye. The slick sounds of her cunt against fingers, he knew she had to be dripping for him. He wanted to be inside that cunt so badly it hurt, but watching her pleasure herself while she took him into her perfect lips slowly was a blessing he had never anticipated getting the honor of experiencing. The feel of her soft, hot little mouth wrapped up around him, a sensation he had been gagging for. "Deeper, kitten. Y’can take some more while you rub that clit, yeah?” He encouraged hoarsely, his hand carding through her hair.

Y/N hummed around him, taking him deeper. His tip hit the back of her throat and she swallowed slightly around him, making him hiss sharply as she gagged a little. “Shit, baby. Are you alright?” His hand held her cheek, wiping the tear that had spilled accidentally from her gagging. “Didn’t mean t’do that. M’sorry, precious.”

 “I’m okay. Just didn’t anticipate it.” She reassured him, pulling back slightly to catch her breath. A devastatingly beautiful and filthy smile was painted on her slightly swollen lips before she pursed them, wetting him with her saliva and taking him back in. Mindful of his size, she relaxed her jaw and her throat as much as she could, letting him slide further back. Her fingers moved faster between her legs, swirling around her sensitive pearl.

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuck your fingers, Kitten. Get yourself open a bit for me. Need to be in that cunt soon.” He pleaded, eyes rolling back as his tip hit the back of her throat. The noise she let out was filthy, downright nasty, but she didn’t attempt to pull back. She stayed there with her throat spasming around his cock, breathing heavily through her nose. “Oh, for fucks sake… my girl.” He muttered in awe, mouth hanging open. “Should’ve known y’would be a filthy fuck. So quiet and sweet… Read all those dirty books, don’t you?”

"Mhm..." Y/N hummed around him intentionally, pulling back slowly before taking him deep again. Her fingers moved faster, sliding inside herself, stretching herself ready for him. He was big and she knew it was good to get herself ready, but part of her wanted to feel the stretch. She pulled back completely, leaving a trail of saliva along his shaft. “But you like that I’m dirty.”

"I fucking love it." He groaned, feeling his dick pulse as it hit the back of her throat one last time. At this rate he’d be spilling in her mouth sooner rather than later, but they both needed more than that. "Love that you're so quiet and sweet on the outside but a whole different person on the inside." He pulled her head back further, his cock slipping out of her mouth with a wet pop. "Now, get on the bed and spread those legs for me. Need to see that cunt before I fuck it." He demanded, his voice rough as the words tumbled out. "Want you to show me how wet you are for me, sweetheart." His voice was rough, heavy with lust as he gripped his dick in his hand and stroked it using her spit as he watched her get up back onto his bed, laying back in the duvet. "Spread those thighs nice n’wide. Want to see if you're ready for my cock." Harry wanted to taste her pussy, wanted to watch her fingers disappear inside that tight hole. 

He wanted to devour her.

Y/N listened, throwing one leg over the other slowly, spreading herself open for him just as he asked. Using two fingers, she circled her clit slowly, letting her head fall back slightly with a small moan. He watched every movement, feeling  himself pulse in his hand as she slid two fingers inside herself easily, working herself open with a muffled whimper. His mouth watered - she was wet, so fucking wet and all for him.  There was no way in hell that he was going to be inside of her and not keep her. None. 

His jaw tightened as she added another finger, stretching herself wider. The view was his favorite, watching her free hand knead her tits and arching her back as she fucked those fingers in- the lewd sound of her wet cunt making him swallow back his groan. Holy shit.

Her fingers slipped out with a wet sound and she brought them to her lips, sucking her arousal off with a needy whimper. "Please, Harry. Fuck me already." She begged, her hips lifting off the bed restlessly. "Been waiting for this for so long. Need your cock." Her head tilted back and she licked her lips, staring up at him with fuck-me eyes. "Stop teasing and just fuck me already." The desperation in her voice was clear, pussy throbbing and empty, craving him.

It wasn’t at all something anyone would expect from her, let alone Harry. She was so quiet at work, kept to herself, gave her shy little smiles- and here she was. Laying on his comforter, thighs spread as she exposed her cunt to him with the taste of herself on her own tongue, begging for his cock. It was a very quick lesson he was learning- when Y/N asked him for something, he was most likely going to give it to her.

"You're a little minx, Y’know that?" He growled, running his cock through the mess she’d made of herself before lining himself up with her entrance. "This isn't going t’be slow or sweet, sweetheart. We’ll have to save that for another time. You want me t’fuck you?" Pressing the head into her hole, he watched as her back arched off the bed ever so slightly with her hand reaching for his wrist. “S’alright, baby.” Harry softened his tone.” M’just teasing. I’m giving it to you. Just lay there and look pretty. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Pushing forward slowly, he let himself fill her inch by inch. Finally. Feeling the spasms of her cunt as he rocked his hips in, getting nice and snug as he got all the way inside of her, he couldn’t deny himself the moan that left his lips. The heaven that was her cunt wrapped around him had his body feeling hot, each roll of his body feeling her tighten up around him.

"Baby, fuck." He hissed as she wiggled slightly beneath him, her inner muscles clamping down around him experimentally. "Stop that. Don’t want t’cum too quickly." He warned hoarsely, watching her body as he filled her up. The stretch of her pussy around the girth of his cock, lips clinging to him as he pulled out and pushed back in was fucking lethal. There had been effort to slowly work her up to it, but he needed to fuck her harder. Wanted to hear the little gasps and moans coming from her beautiful mouth. "Goddamn. You're tight, baby, So fuckin’ good." He grit his teeth as she flexed again, his hips bucking forward suddenly, watching her tits bounce slightly with the force.

He kept snapping his hips forward, filling her up over and over again, the wet sounds of her taking him filling the room. Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist as she tried to pull him deeper, her nails clawing at his chest as she whimpered and whined beneath him, breathing heavily as Harry talked lowly to her. "You like it rough, sweetheart. Can feel it. Got you dripping on this cock…" He growled, his hands going to her thighs and pushing them up and back, opening her up wider as he drove into her again and again. "Like being manhandled, bitten… what else?"

"Yes... yes, just like that- I like all of it." She gasped, her voice breaking slightly as he nailed particularly deep. He was definitely the biggest of the dicks she had ever taken and while she had thought it would be a struggle to fit it, Harry hadn’t hesitated in making her take it in the way she needed. Making her feel this full was a rarity and she wanted to feel it tomorrow, feel it everyday. The memory of his cock deep inside of her and his hands gripping her tight needed to be refreshed often and plenty. 

"Harder. I can take it, I promise." She whimpered, her nails digging into his arms, leaving crescent marks. Her hips met his thrusts eagerly, showing she was taking exactly what she wanted. "Talk to me. Love your voice so much." The girl breathed out, her face flushed with the pleasure he was so willing to give her. "Tell me how good I feel."

"You're taking it so well, baby." He cooed, angling his hips differently and hitting a spot inside her so perfectly she let out a choked noise. "Your little cunt is squeezing me so goddamn tight, like it's trying to milk every drop of cum from me." If she wanted dirty, he’d give her dirty. His filthy words echoed in the room as he kept fucked into her, watching her tits bounce before meeting her eyes. 

"Bet you'd let me fuck this needy hole anytime I wanted, hm?” Hooking her thighs over his arms, he looked down to watch her cunt swallowing him up. It was unreal to see it in person, in real time. It wasn’t just a dream. Y/N was in his bed, taking him inside of her- and she was loving it. “Bend y’over your own desk, turn the lights off and shove those scraps do fabric y’call panties into your mouth to keep you quiet. No one would bother us, think you’ve got a headache but… You’d really be taking my cock.”

It was absolutely something she had thought about, especially the last week. Y/N had her own fantasies and he had plucked that one from her head and spoke it out loud. If she wasn’t getting railed it would probably freak her out, how he had somehow read her mind- but it felt too good to think about anything but him inside of her. "You’d really do that? Fuck me on my desk?" She panted, her fingers playing with her hard nipples as he watched. “You said I-I’m the filthy one but you’re just as…just as bad.”

"You’re not answering my question." He chuckled darkly, snapping his hips up sharply and stealing her breath. "If I lifted that skirt up and bent you over your desk… Sunk my cock in this pretty hole. Would you take it?" He growled deceptively soft, his voice getting deeper. "Spread your legs wide, like you’re doing for me right now, and let me pound you while you keep quiet… Make you drip with my cum all damn day? S’that something my pretty little kitten wants t’do for me?" He knew he was dirty, knew he was an asshole - but the mental image of doing exactly what he described had him leaking inside of her.

She threw her head back slightly with a small moan, "Yes, god yes..." She whimpered softly, her mind going crazy with the thought. "You could shove your hand over my mouth while you do it..." Her body tightened around him as the fantasy felt more real. He’d been so polite their whole newfound friendship. Maybe a dirty joke or two to make her roll her eyes. Y/N knew he could be dirty, had a feeling he could fuck, but having it in real life was so different than she had imagined. It was better. "You could pull my hair while you pound me from behind... You could..." She broke off with a gasp as he hit something deep inside her that had her seeing stars.

“I could what, baby?” He crooned, feeling the droplet of sweat slowly drip down the side of his face. This was by far better than any workout he’d had recently. His workout of choice, if he had one. The poor comforter was a goner and he knew it, but there was little care about anything other than getting her to cum around his cock. “S’getting hard to talk now, mm? Taking that cock so deep… Thinking about all those filthy things. M’gonna make sure you get fucked at your desk- Gonna make sure you get whatever fuck you want. But I want to feel you cum for me.” Lowering herself, he adjusted so her legs could wrap back around his hips as he got close to her face. “You‘re so good for me. Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.” That was no lie. “Been dying to get my hands on you since the very first day, and now m’not going to take them off.”

"Harry..." She whined softly, her body feeling hot and sweaty. Her thighs were slick with her juices mixed with his spit - he had spread them open and spat right onto her hole before pushing back inside. Y/N was getting close, just like he wanted. He had her legs spread wide again, watching every snap of his hips and how her pussy swallowed him. His deep voice was making her brain mushy. "Kiss me- Please?" She whimpered, dragging her nails up his back to hold the hair at his nape.

"Anything you want, baby." His lips crashed down onto hers, swallowing her whimper as he continued pounding into her. The kiss wasn't sweet or gentle - it was hungry and demanding, reflecting exactly how he was fucking her. Having her where he’d wanted her was borderline overwhelming. Finally having her, being able to taste her, feel her everywhere… That was a dream. Y/N was the dream.

 His tongue pushed into her mouth as he hit that perfect spot inside her again and again, pulling back to coax her into it. "C’mon baby. Can feel you so close t’cumming... you're right there.” The croon was heavy against her lips, feeling how she was moving against him, how she clenched around him. It was everything he’d needed. “Gonna fill this dirty little cunt of yours..." His hand moved between them and found her clit, pressing down firmly as he swiped in circles. “S’that okay, baby? Can I fill this pussy up?” His voice broke slightly, kissing her over and over between the words.

She kissed him back frantically, her arms wrapping around his neck as she squirmed with him rubbing her clit. It was too much, his dick hitting that spot, his fingers on her clit, the deep rasp of his voice as he asked if he could fill her up. It was a wet dream, but she knew she wasn’t asleep with how full she felt. Their bodies were damp with sweat, her thighs and his shaft covered in her slick, the throb she felt between her legs- there was no way any dream could make her feel this good. 

"Yes, yes, yes- give it to me. Give it all to me- you’re making me cum." She cried out against his mouth, her body seizing up as her orgasm hit her hard. “Oh my god, m’cumming. I’m cumming, you’re making me cum-“ The frantic words were cut off with a high pitched whine. Her cunt clamped down on his cock as she came, the wet sounds of him fucking her through her orgasm filling the room. "Har- fuck." The garbled moan escaped her as she took it, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

"Good girl, baby…" He praised softly, his voice muffled against her mouth as he kept pounding into her convulsing cunt. "You took it so well… Knew you would, my beautiful fuckin’ girl. Been waiting so long to have you, needed you since I met you." He moaned back, his hot breath washing over her face as he kept his cock filling her, in and out, getting her full over and over. “Soaking that cock… Don’t think I can last.” The feel of how slippery and hot her cunt was, feeling her trying to suck him in deeper, it was too much. He couldn’t hold on much longer.

"Cum inside me, please..." She begged softly, a cooed whisper as she felt him still fucking into her. Sensitivity made her shiver but she didn’t want it to stop- it oddly enough felt good, the little twitches of pleasure. "Fill me up, Harry. I want it all... I want you to cum so bad." She wrapped her arms tighter around him, holding him close as she felt him start to shake. "Give it to me. Let go... I’ve got you."

"You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me." His voice was thick with need, the way she held him close being the final straw. It was unlike what he’d experienced before. Being held that way, coaxed, her soft lips pressing against his sticky skin as she got them as close as possible, it was a new level of intimate he’d never expected from a first time with someone- but it was Y/N. Everything about her was soft and silky, comfort. The sweetest girl with his bite marks on her throat and her legs wrapped tight around his hips, pulling him in deep.

 "Fuck... I'm cumming baby" He groaned thickly, burying himself to the hilt as hot streams of his load filled her. The pleasure nearly made him feel delirious. Heart beating out of his chest, hand curled up in the comforter as his body stayed as close to her as possible. "Oh fuck.” He slurred, grinding into her. “Feel that? Feel my cum flooding your pussy, sweet girl?" The pulses of his cock as he finished made her whine, eyes fluttering as she sought out his mouth to kiss. When his hips stilled, he made sure to keep himself deep, wanting every drop inside her. "S'alright if this is my new favorite place to cum... between those pretty thighs?"

He nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing her in as she nodded with a tired giggle. She was wrapped around him completely, like a vine, running her fingers up and down his spine and her lips finding him when he pulled up from her neck. He let out a happy sound as she pressed kisses to his face before he caught her lips again, humming against them. His body was heavy on top of hers, his softening length still nestled deep inside her warmth. His kisses were gentle and slow, his hands carding through her hair as he held her face close to his, needing to feel her breath against his face. "Love how you smell… like that peppermint tea y’always drink… and me." He murmured softly against her lips.

She released a soft giggle against his lips, feeling the ticklish slide of his stubble against her cheek. "Now you smell like me too, big guy." Her fingers played with the short hairs at the nape of his neck as she gazed up at him, wrapped around him like a koala.  “But you said some stuff…” She raised an eyebrow as he pulled his face back to look at her. “You had a big crush on me?” Her tone was teasing, a little giddy from the knowledge. “You told me that before but it hits different when you’re balls deep.”

He groaned softly, shaking his head at her teasing as he rolled his hips lazily, feeling how her walls clenched around him. "Smartass." Though he grumbled, there was a fond smile tugging at his mouth. "Yeah well, you had me chasing you for months, sweetheart. Little did you know, every time you told me to go away or that I was being obnoxious, my brain was a constant loop of 'fuck, she's gorgeous.'" He tapped her nose playfully. "So yeah, I had a crush. Have one. But m’not gonna ask you to be my girlfriend properly in this way so… Just know you’re mine, and m’gonna ask you in a far more romantic way for the proper title."

Y/n giggled again, feeling completely giddy and light - post-sex afterglow mixed with knowing he'd pined after her for so long. "Is it weird that you being such a weirdo turns me on?" She admitted with a laugh, running her fingers through his damp hair again.  “You better ask properly...That’s what I deserve." The tone was playful, but there was a dreamy look in her eyes as she thought about what romantic Harry might be like. The woman had vast knowledge of annoying Harry, Office Harry, and Friend Harry… but boyfriend Harry? Well, that made her giddy to think about. "If you ask nicely..." The hum was soft as she lightly pinched his cheek. “I may just say yes.”

“That’s my goal, cause I’m already planning on it.” That had always been his goal, even if he had completely fucked it up and had to start from scratch. Building them up was worth it, though. Having her so close, hearing her giggles, feeling her body warmth? All of that was priceless. “Gonna stock up on all your headache stuff here, too. Make sure you’ve got a stash. Have to make sure you’re taken care of always…” His lips split into another grin. “Even if I’m the cause of your headache.”

[goatgoesmbe]

Ghoap x f!reader silly idea

where you are a civilian working for Konni. so.. even thought you were harmless, you're still their enemy.

Ghost supervising everything from afar with a sniper, while Soap was the one sent to approach you.

The lieutenant scanned the surrounding through the scope before speaking to the comm "All clear, take her out Johnny"

In which Soap responded with a nod before- sliding into your view with a flirty smile.

And Ghost couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Fancy a drink, bonnie?" he asked casually when you looked up at him with confusion.

"Johnny, what the fuck" Ghost whispered harshly through the comm.

"You said take her out, i am followin' yer order, sir" he responded cheekily as his gaze stayed on your face.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

High-Value Target

Pairing: Task force 141 x Soldier!Reader

The briefing room was buzzing with anticipation.

Task Force 141 rarely got new blood, and even when they did, it was usually some solid operator with passable skills—not the kind of legend they were about to meet. The dossier on the table was immaculate. Flawless mission execution, unrivaled hand-to-hand combat skills, top of her class in advanced recon and assassination. Even Ghost, who barely gave out praise, muttered a low, “Bloody hell.” when he skimmed through the stats.

Soap whistled, flipping through the pages. “Whoever this guy is, he’s a machine.”

“More like a ghost,” Gaz added. “Been attached to multiple high-profile operations, all with near-perfect outcomes.” He glanced at Price. “How the hell did we even land them?”

Price smirked, arms crossed. “Favors. Strings pulled. And a bit of luck.”

The door to the room opened, and all eyes flicked up—ready to meet the highly anticipated new operator.

And then she walked in.

Silence.

Ghost leaned back slightly in his chair. Soap sat up straighter. Gaz blinked like he’d been hit with a flashbang.

The guy they had all been hyping up? Not a guy at all.

She was American, too. That was the second shock.

She stood confidently, expression unreadable as her gaze swept the room, taking in each of them like she was assessing a threat. Her movements were deliberate, controlled, the kind of presence that told them all she was just as deadly as her file made her out to be.

Soap was the first to recover. “You’re… not what I was expectin’.”

She arched a brow. “What were you expecting?”

“Someone less… eh, distracting.” His grin was pure mischief.

Gaz scoffed. “He means someone ugly.”

Her lips curled slightly, but she didn’t entertain the joke. “Disappointed?”

“Far from it,” Ghost murmured.

Price cleared his throat, stepping forward. “You’re a long way from home, Sergeant.”

She turned her attention to him, offering a sharp salute. “Not the first time, sir.”

Price gave a nod of approval before the rest of the team jumped in.

“So, what do we call you?” Gaz asked. “Your file just has your last name.”

Soap rubbed his chin, eyeing her with a smirk. “I’m thinkin’… Yankee.”

Groans echoed around the table.

“That’s terrible.” Gaz shook his head.

“You’re terrible.”

“She’s from America, aye? It fits.”

She rolled her eyes. “Call me whatever you want, just don’t get in my way.”

Soap grinned. “Oh, I like her.”

Before anyone could throw out another nickname, Ghost leaned back in his seat and drawled, “Ace.”

A pause.

Gaz nodded. “That’s actually decent.”

Soap pouted but relented. “Alright, alright. Ace it is.”

The banter continued—multiple offers for drinks, jokes about whether she was single, and Soap loudly declaring that Ghost had competition for brooding dominance. It took Price stepping in to get them back in line.

“Enough,” he barked, glaring at his men. “You’re soldiers, not a damn welcome committee.”

A few chuckles. No real apologies.

Then, to her surprise, Price turned to her. “Ace, with me.”

She followed him out of the room, a bit curious as to why he wanted a private word. The second the door shut, he let out a slow breath and gave her a look she couldn’t quite read.

“You alright with all that?”

She smirked. “I’ve handled worse.”

“I don’t doubt it.” His gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened, voice dropping to something lower, quieter. “I’d tell you to ignore their flirting, but…” He exhaled. “That’d be hypocritical of me.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “…Sir?”

His jaw flexed, then a slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.

“Dinner. My treat.”

She tilted her head, considering him. “Is this an order?”

Price chuckled. “No, Ace. It’s an invitation.”

For the first time, she was the one caught off guard.