FRED STOP ONCE AGAIN YOU SWAG IS TO STRONG YOU BALD HEAD SHINES TO MUCH , THEY ARE GONA KILL YOU

She’s a Tiger [Tony Montana x Reader 18+ Smut] Oneshot.

Read on AO3.

18+, explicit smut oneshot.

“I like to look at what’s mine, baby.” / “You want it that badly and rough, huh?”

Loyalty, money and trust are the only three principles Tony's revered since the attempt on his life at his estate and his divorce with Elvira. Meeting you amidst his new business deals, what you and Tony have had with one another behind closed doors is anything but innocent. Tony wanted you the moment he saw you and decided nothing would get in his way. Being able to spend as much time as you wanted with Tony while on business, both of your sexual desires matched into a three year sexual relationship with Tony's intention to go further with you. As the new owner of The Babylon Club, you've never shied away from a good time and as Tony's made excuses to come and see you time and time again, tonight he takes you back to your estate and gives you a rough night in that you've been begging for.

[WARNINGS]: Drinking/alcohol consumption / Wine play / Mentions of drugs / Heavy touching and teasing / Dirty talk / Rough sex / Spanking / Rough face and hair grabbing / Rough oral sex / Rimming / Slapping / Orgasm edging / Spit play / Fingering.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: My first Tony Montana x Reader (smut 😛) oneshot is finally here!! I promise you all it was well worth the wait. 🥵 The smut in this fic revolves around rough smut, so please make sure you check out the warnings. 🙏🏻 If you know my writing style, you know I can't stand reading "Y/N" or "reader", so the reader in this oneshot is named Celeste. ✨ Multi-chapter fic coming when...!? We'll have to see! 👀 All I have to say is until then, enjoy one smutty night in with rough Tony in bed sharing a bottle of wine. 🥴🔥

[ Babylon Club, 1:00 AM ]

Tony’s no stranger to the Babylon Club and its flashing lights, crowds of sweaty people dancing, pop and techno music blaring over the speakers while exotic cocktails and bottles of wine easily costing somebody’s monthly paycheque are served by the dozen.

Sights such as cocktail waitresses talking up customers at the front of the bar, patrons snorting cocaine off their credit cards in the bathrooms, bouncers keeping watch, and hookups in the corner are just the ordinary as Tony and Manny remain surrounded by the carefree and upbeat aura of the Babylon Club.

That’s the way it’s been for you just as it has for anyone else. The Babylon Club makes you millions a month; a truth Tony, Manny, and your father both know.

What your father doesn’t know is that you’ve been fucking his favorite Miami drug lord almost as long as the two have known one another and worked with each other. 

Tony hit his own private jackpot with Manny knowing he couldn’t even get a share of the big money working for street rats like Frank Lopez. 

Playing it big and making it big as Tony’s new motto after he and Manny singlehandedly took down every one of Sosa’s assassins sent to his estate which in itself sent out a dangerous method to anyone who had their eyes on Tony Montana.

Tony Montana isn’t a threat to be taken lightly. Tony Montana isn’t to be fucked with. Tony Montana isn’t your average Joe smuggling powder out on the street and neither is anybody acquainted with him. Tony Montana is the man with the money and the power—two traits your father valued in a business partner.

Born and raised in Miami, Florida coming from money and knowing money, your father owns every major hotel, casino, and resort in the entire state with a monopoly over the tourism industry. 

Being an only child and his only daughter, you’ve always been one to manage and help out in your line of the family business now working with Montana Management Company to launder drug money and sell cocaine in Miami. 

Tony’s now been under this business for three years with mutual trust and liking for your father—getting along with him and especially you on a personal level whether it's business talks or simply sharing a drink at the club. The big life has paid off for both Tony and Manny indefinitely.

As your own investment and as a birthday present, your father bought the Babylon Club and registered it under your name three years ago, even when Frank and Elvira were regular patrons at the time.

Tony and Manny have always been entitled to free drinks and service at the Babylon, but Tony’s never shied away from giving luxurious tips knowing just to who the club belongs.

When your father decided to meet with Tony and discuss the opportunity to do business with him for the first time three years ago, that was also the day you met Tony for yourself.

~

[ 3 Years Ago ]

“In all honesty,” your father glanced down at the endless array of numbers printed over a financial statement before he shook his head. “These numbers mean nothing to me. Your name is enough.”

“Who told ya first?” Tony took a puff of his Cuban cigar, completely and utterly relaxed in front of your father as compared to the formal and upright sitting Manny to his side. “That cockroach Sosa or Lopez?”

“Lopez, to be honest with you.” Your father chuckled and set the paper down. “Sosa choked on his own blood before I could even get a word out of him.”

“So now you know.” Manny gave a grin, “that says enough for us. What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Your father repeated with a small scoff as he raised his cocktail glass up to his lips. “I think you’re either a smart businessman or a dead businessman, so,” taking a large sip, your father set his drink back down. “I’m gonna take advantage of what those two bastards lost out on.”

Just then, you knocked on the door of your father’s office lightly enough to be heard but not to interrupt his conversation—carrying a suitcase in your free hand.

“Ah, come in.” Your father’s attention peaked, expecting you. “There she is now.”

You turned the doorknob and pushed open the door, aware you were a little over five minutes late to the meeting but only because of what you were carrying with you.

Tony turned his head towards the door in surprise, expecting no further company, especially from a “she”, whereas Manny kept his attention focused on the banking statements scattered over your father’s office desk.

You knew your father had been meeting with two new businessmen today and you were one of the first to see them escorted inside with security. 

You neither knew the businessmen’s names nor saw their faces properly but if it’s one thing that caught your eye and almost caused you to do a doubletake as you came to approach your father, it was locking eyes with Tony Montana.

From the moment that you had walked in carrying the suitcase close to you, the man with the short cut, choppy hair and pinstripe blue suit worn with a carefreeness to reveal the gold necklaces over a peek of his chest hair, had caught your attention instantly.

Feeling a tingle of arousal from the quick attraction, you forced your eyes off of Tony as quickly as you had put them on him and walked up to your father with the suitcase. “Everything’s all settled, dad.”

‘Dad?’ Tony thought to himself and let his greedy eyes dart over every inch of your body in the flowing, white summer dress that hugged over your curves.

“Ah, perfect. Thanks, darling.” Your father gave you a warm smile, gesturing to the middle of his table. “Please set it down here—I wanna show our newest partners what they’ve been itching for since they got here.”

While Manny politely looked up to acknowledge your presence now in the room, Tony was all the more amused to see his newest and wealthiest business partner had a daughter just as cunning as him and a part of the business. 

“Tony, Manny,” your father looked back at the two, beginning to introduce them to you. “This is my daughter. You’ll see she’s no different from you and me in our little operation. She owns the Babylon Club under our family name. Honey,” your father first pointed at Manny, “Manny Ribera,” then to Tony, whom you couldn’t help but catch his gaze over you, “and Tony Montana.”

“Mm, nice to meet you.” Purposefully, you extended your hand out to Manny to shake his first.

“Nice to meet you too.” Manny gave you his signature, charming smile.

“Babylon Club, huh?” Tony didn’t bother with introductions as he firmly shook your hand. “Think I’ve seen you there a few times before.”

Curiosity sparks in your eyes. “Haven’t seen you around before, Mr. Montana.”

“I’ll come ‘round more often then,” Tony smirked, causing your father and Manny to chuckle as you both began to pull your hands back from each other. 

Although you could pinpoint the exact moment you found yourself attracted to this Tony Montana figure as when you first walked into your father’s office, it was another thing entirely to feel his firm hand squeezing over yours and knowing just who you were meeting.

“I look forward to it then.” You told him.

The scent of Tony’s expensive cologne hit you first, and the gold adorning his collarbones, the unbuttoned dress shirt Tony was wearing and the look of confident boldness over his expression only confirmed how sexy you found this man. Even with Tony’s entrance to your father’s manor, you could tell he carried himself like he took no shit from anybody and owned the place. 

“You can call me Tony.” Tony grazed his tongue over his lips and wet them without taking his eyes off of you. “What do you call yourself?”

Tony’s eyes must have admired every inch of your body from your clothes to your eyes, the shape of your breasts, your thighs, your ass down to the natural posture your body was in. 

Seeing and knowing for himself that you were just as confident as he is in your words and actions—that you weren’t a nobody—turned Tony on even more. 

The Babylon Club would now just be an excuse for Tony to drop by with or without Manny to see you time and time again, and that was an advantage Tony wouldn’t be giving up. 

The gold over Tony’s slender fingers glistened underneath the bright lights in your father’s office and emphasized all the more that Tony was clearly giving it away to you right away that he was attracted to you.

Manny already felt the second-hand embarrassment from how Tony was coming off to you with his facial expression alone—something he would tease Tony about later without a doubt.

After telling Tony your name, you took your seat next to your father across from Tony and Manny. 

It was then that your father gestured back to the suitcase you had brought in and his security approached from the other end of the room to open it up in front of Tony and Manny.

The suitcase popped open to reveal three million dollars in cash, neatly stacked and organized inside. 

Your father rose from his seat with an amused look over his eyes as he picked up a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from it and gave it a wave. “Three million is nothing, this is daily cash. This is the very least of what we’ll all be making a day.”

“That’s all I wanna see, man.” Tony grinned and put his cigar loosely in the corner of his mouth. “I like that.”

“We’ll make a boatload more then.” Your father laughed, tossing the stack in his hand to Tony who immediately caught it midair. “So then you know my answer to both of you is crystal clear today.”

“That is is,” Manny said with a smile. “We’re partners?”

“Without a doubt, we’re partners.” Your father sealed the deal by shaking hands with Tony Montana and Manny Ribera that day three years ago.

Having become official business partners, you knew to yourself back then that this was the first time you’d seen and gotten to know Tony Montana, but it certainly wouldn’t be your last—especially if your own desire could help it.

~

[ Present Day, 1985, Babylon Club ]

She’s on Fire blasts through the speakers of the Babylon Club, bringing nothing but the familiar sight of sweaty crowds drunk on cocktails and grinding up against one another through dance moves.

Tony and Manny sit in their back, private booth specially reserved for their every visit, smoking a cigar over five hundred dollars worth of 1964, vintage red wine. 

Tony remains just as distracted as Manny, now used to the loud blaring music above him as he puffs his cigar and gazes off towards the dancefloor. 

Already enjoying the luxury, familiarity, and comfort the Babylon Club has to offer, Tony wouldn’t want to spend the rest of his Friday evening after a full day of business everywhere else—but it’s your presence in the nightclub and only that which Tony gives a shit about.

Tony’s night is coming to an end but only with you, knowing he’s to pick you up tonight and return you to your father’s estate while he’s still away on business in Las Vegas for the time being.

Manny relaxes his muscles against the leather seats of the booth, letting out a relieved sigh and staring at his fingers clasped around his glass of wine. “Man, thought my fingers were gonna fall off today man. Count, count, count…”

“Get used to it.” Tony reverts his gaze to Manny. “You countin’ the big bucks now.”

“We got machines to do that for us, man.” Manny chuckles, sipping his wine. “They count that shit, then you make us count it twice.”

“The boss like his money exact.” Tony’s cigar loosely rests in the corner of his mouth. “And so do I.”

“Yeah?” Manny exhales, swallowing down his wine. “How much we takin’ home tonight, eh?”

“Ten.” Tony inches his wineglass closer to him over the table. “Each.”

“Shiiiiiit,” Manny grins, unable to hide his enthusiasm through his body language. “Damn right, baby. Oh, I could get used to this. Beats washin’ dishes any day for me.”

“Let the world think we still doing that.” Tony takes a long drag of his cigar. “I ain’t hungry anymore.”

“Got a million reasons to make mama proud now.” Manny holds up his wineglass, “and that girl of yours, eh?”

“My girl,” Tony repeats, a little stunned by Manny’s suggestive comment knowing he’s referring to you, but it’s only then that Tony easily discerns you out of the crowd of other girls you dance by.

Sitting upright in his seat, Tony locks eyes with the way your hips sway back and forth to the beat of the music. 

Carefree and lost within the music’s rhythm, you dance in a group with others, solely focused on enjoying yourself and unaware Tony’s eyes are on you from afar.

Ignoring the flashy sequin dresses of the girls dancing next to you and with you, Tony keeps his eyes focused only on you—drowning out the rest of his surroundings.

Manny’s already rambling on about buying a new sportscar he’s had his eyes on for the last little while, but as Tony’s greedy eyes wander over your body, all he sees and wants to see is that skin-tight, little black dress hugging every curve of your body.

The mini dress you’re wearing tonight has a lace-up feature on both sides that you’ve tied up to tighten your dress further over your thighs—revealing a sexy peek of skin through the laces with your back entirely exposed from the halter top style dress.

Wearing fishnet socks and finishing off your look for tonight with a pair of shiny black pumps, a surge of arousal hits Tony as he gets a perfect view of you dancing from where he and Manny sit.

Tony knows he’s to be taking you home tonight, but all he wants to do is relax back and watch you dance before him all night; it’s no surprise to Tony yet again how sexy he finds you.

Still ignoring Manny whose under the impression Tony’s actually listening to him, Tony watches you throw your head back in laughter, spinning around in a dance.

Tony’s eyes immediately land on your ass just as his imagination wanders to how he’d approach you on the dancefloor; his cigar in the corner of his mouth as he grinds up against your body in dance and gives your ass a firm squeeze.

From the peek of skin showing through the laced-up sides of your dress, Tony already wants to slip his fingers through and teasingly feel at you. 

Tony knows he’d have to fight the urge to pull off the ties and strip you down, but if anything he could do so once you both leave the Babylon together. 

After all, both you and Tony know it wouldn’t be the first time he’s stripped you and down and fucked you—especially in the back of Tony’s car when he was far too impatient and horny to bother driving you home or to his place first.

“Ay—” Manny nudges Tony, realizing only a few minutes onto his sportscar ramble that Tony may not even be listening in the first place. “You listening to me, man?”

“Yeah.” Tony clears his throat, still sounding distracted as his eyes haven’t left you. 

“Oh yeah?” Manny shifts in his seat, taking a sip of his wine. “Then what I say, man?”

“I don’t know.” Tony mumbles, continuing to watch you dance. “Some bullshit about another car or some shit.”

“Oh man, you ain’t listening at all.” Manny groans out in annoyance. “What—Oh. Ohhhhh, man…” A playful grin spreads over Manny’s lips as he finds just where Tony’s eyes firmly remain—onto you over the dancefloor. “Okay now, I see what you’re up to.” 

Tony doesn’t answer Manny, almost ignoring him outright as he lets his eyes continue to wander over the shape of your thighs and ass. 

“You keep lookin’ at Celeste like that and she’s gonna see you creepin’ her, man.” Manny nudges Tony again with his elbow. 

“Shut up, man.” Tony elbows Manny back. “I’m not creepin’ her. You know we gotta take her home tonight, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Manny taps his fingers against the back of the wine bottle. “And when we gonna do that?”

Tony forces his eyes off of you for the first time in several minutes to glance over at Manny and the wine. “Now. You go get the car, park in the front. I gonna get her then we head out.”

“Alright, alright.” Manny grunts, stretching out his arms. “I’m taking this too, though.” He snatches up the wine bottle.

“You leaving the rest for Celeste.” Manny points a finger at the wine bottle clutched in Manny’s hand. “You drank too much of that shit.”

“I will, I will.” Manny laughs. “I’mma just put it in the car so you won’t forget. All you do is stare at her anyway, man.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’mma go down to her.” Tony puts out his cigar, setting it down over the table before rising out of his seat at the same time as Manny.

Manny steps out of the booth holding the bottle of wine like it’s his firstborn child while he manages to awkwardly get through the sweaty crowds before him.

Tony thinks you haven’t seen him yet or at least you won’t while he’s approaching the dancefloor with just how packed and crowded it is, but you’ve already spotted him from the corner of your eye since he’d been sitting and drinking with Manny earlier on in the evening.

Even with the flashing lights strobing through the dimly light nightclub and the fast rhythm of loud music playing from the overhead speakers, it only takes you another quick glance up to see Tony now making his way towards you.

Without breaking your own dancing pace, you continue to swerve your hips and dance, enjoying yourself with everyone else around you.

Tony’s awkward half shuffle half dance through the crowd causes an amused smile to break over your face as you giggle, already locking eyes with him.

Without a word said to each other, you move from side to side over to Tony and press your back against his chest, teasing him by grinding against his body as you dance.

The surge of arousal Tony’s become all too familiar with in your presence spikes through Tony again, turned on to no avail by the way you dance and how sexy Tony finds your confidence coming off you.

“Is the night ending so soon?” You reach your hand back, caressing Tony’s face behind your shoulder. 

“Only if you want it to be.” Tony grins, dancing with you. 

You twirl around over your heel, facing him directly. “Mhmm, and when exactly did you get here?”

“Didn’t notice?” Tony raises a brow, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“How could I?” You move in closer to him, running a hand through your hair. “You’ve seen what I’ve been doing all night, haven’t you?”

“I noticed you alright.” Tony’s eyes flicker from your breasts back up to your eyes. “Just like everyone in this room too.”

“They can watch if they want. I don’t care what they think.” You chuckle quietly, pressing your hips up to Tony’s. 

“Yeah, I came here ‘bout thirty minutes ago before I saw you dancin’ like this.” Tony gestures to your waist. “Got you a little treat for tonight—you like your red wine, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You hold your arms up, continuing to dance. “If that bottle will last with Manny. Where is he, anyway?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout Manny, baby. He out to get the car.” Tony places both hands over your hips, giving them a light squeeze.

“Baby?” You blush, already feeling a swarm of butterflies beginning to accompany your reaction.

“That’s what you are,” Tony says in your ear over the music, “always been. You like it when I call you that?”

“You know I do.” Your face flushes red as you clutch onto Tony’s shoulders. “You gonna tease me in here all night like that or take me home?”

“Depends.” Tony smirks, “I can keep Manny waiting a while longer, you know. When you dancin’ like this,” he bites his lip, holding himself back from slipping his fingers underneath the lacing detail of your dress, “gonna have me waitin’ all night.”

“Mhmm, I’m not stupid you know.” You let out a laugh, placing your hands over top of Tony’s on your hips. “I’ve seen you looking at me all night, Tony.”

“Good.” Tony’s eyes meet with yours. “I like to look at what’s mine, baby.”

‘Fuck...’ It’s all Tony needs to say to have your arousal matching his in an instant in front of everyone.

You feel Tony’s hand squeezing over your ass harshly. “And like this, why not?” His hands begin to feel the material of your dress. “Look at you—got a nice body, perfect thighs, ass, tits.”

“Yeah? What are you gonna do with it?” You challenge back teasingly.

“What am I gonna do with it?” Tony repeats, raising both of his brows. There’s that playful look shining in his eyes again. “I’mma take you home like I was told to do. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

“Fine by me.” You smirk, letting Tony guide you away from the dancefloor by your hips. “If Manny’s driving us home, I won’t even be looking at you twice in the car.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Tony grins playfully, moving past crowds with you. “Manny can be a nosy fuck when he wanna be.” You laugh out at Tony’s comment as he continues, “oh yeah, I love the guy to death. He like my brother, but he gonna shove this up both of our asses if he finds out. Better he don’t know nothin’. Not now.” 

“Always.” You hold back a giggle as you and Tony finally reach the lobby of the club. 

“So my girl gonna pretend she don’t wanna touch me but,” Tony’s eyes dart over yours as he wets his lips, “you get home with me anytime and you act like you haven’t been fucked in a year.”

“Tony!” You whine, nudging him out of reaction to his provocative comment.

“It’s true, don’t lie.” Tony nudges you back with his elbow as you both approach the exit out of the club.

From the very moment you take the first step out and distance yourself from Tony, a moody and irritated “someone-interrupted-my-evening-out-and-is-making-me-go-home” look twists over your expression.

Manny’s already pulled out his convertible in front of the club, resting his arm against the front seat and eagerly looking up at you and Tony; not the least bit surprised as to how annoyed you appear.

“Hey!” Manny takes his other hand off the steering wheel, waving at you both to grab your attention. “How was your night, Celeste?”

“Just fine.” You huff, approaching the back seat. “Ended a little too early though, don’t you think?” You briefly exchange a glance with Tony, knowing, in reality, you want nothing more than for him to take you back home already. 

“Ah, yeah. Sorry about that.” Manny smiles back at you sheepishly. “Gotta do as boss says, you know. You look beautiful tonight, by the way.”

“You say it to my sister first, now to the boss's girl?” Tony raises a brow at Manny, getting into the passenger seat next to him.

You hold back a smile as Manny lets out a laugh, shrugging his shoulders. “I got my eyes on one girl, just my Gina.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony rolls his eyes, relaxing in his seat. “Get that straight.”

“No harsh feelings, right Tony?” Manny jokes back.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony brushes him off, hearing you giggle behind him. “Just drive before I rearrange your jaw bones, okay? Okay.”

Manny chuckles, shaking his head as he starts up his car and begins to pull out of the vicinity of the Babylon Club careful to avoid the swarm of taxis and limousines hounding one another for VIP parking spots.

“What ya think, Celeste?” Manny taps his fingers over the steering wheel, driving out onto the street. “You like the car?”

“Yeah.” Your eyes wander over the red, leather seats and detailing. “Yours, huh?”

“Yep, one of them.” Manny proudly claims. “You seen Tony’s new ride?”

“How she gonna see what I didn’t buy, man?” Tony rests his head back against the headrest. “Sportscar is upcoming. I’m getting it customized, not buying that boring factory shit.”

“Of course you are.” Manny points out. 

“Another one, Tony?” You raise your brows, unaware he’s beginning to build such a collection for himself.

“Oh yeah.” Tony grins, turning his head back to face you. “Because I can, you know? That’s why. That’s the beauty of all this.” Tony begins to gesture and pat around the interior of Manny’s car. “Boss told me what’s the point of cash if you ain’t gonna spend it like this?”

“I don’t know, man.” Manny lets out a laugh. “Maybe our cars ain’t good enough. You know that Elvira always say she won’t be ‘caught dead’ in our cars.”

Elvira’s name sparks your interest instantly as you sit up in your seat. “Elvira Hancock?”

“Fuck Elvira, man.” Tony spits out, growing irritated almost immediately. “She ain’t like nothing.”

“So the great Tony Montana couldn’t even impress her, huh?” You rest your chin over your fist, amused by Tony’s reaction just by the mention of Elvira’s name. 

“Frank wasn’t just balls deep in her pussy. In her mind too.” Tony gestures to the side of his head as Manny snickers. “I ain’t ever impressed that woman. I got the big mansion, but she ain’ like me.”

“Maybe that’s better.” Manny points out. “Never hook up with the boss’ girl, that’s the main rule.”

Hiding your growing smirk behind your hand, you exchange a glance with Tony who winks at you. That’s definitely always been the case between the two of you—without a doubt.

A brief moment of silence follows before Tony slouches back in his seat and clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah. Boss’ girl. Especially one that don’t wanna be seen with you, right? She say shit like ‘you got off a banana boat, man’.”

Manny can’t help but burst out laughing, gesturing over to you. “At least when we take the boss’ daughter to dinner she doesn’t snort her own supply just to keep a conversation up, huh?”

“Damn.” You mumble in astonishment. “What the hell was up with that?”

“I dunno, man.” Tony throws his hands up in surrender. “I don’t give a shit no more.”

“Elvira really stormed off like they say she did?” You clear your throat. 

“Yeah,” Manny replies, no longer making a laughing matter out of it. “She went off to Balti—what was it?”

“Balty-more,” Tony tells him back.

“Balty? Baltimore, oh yeah! Yeah, Baltimore.” Manny repeats. 

“She got a new sugar daddy or somethin’, I guess.” Tony scoffs.

“And you two…?” You point your finger at Tony, expecting him to elaborate. “Divorced afterward?”

“What do you think, man?” Tony appears in no mood to answer any questions about it. “First thing she did was throw the papers in my face.”

“Someone sounds rather bitter.” You run a hand through your hair, tousling it.

“Confused.” Tony corrects you. “I give the woman everything and she don’t like it, don’t want it. Oh but you can get this, oh you see me dead in that car, I don’t go in no pools like that, I don’t eat this, I don’t like the wine you buy me. So what? She only want the powder. That’s crazy man. You can’t live like that.”

“Never get high on your own supply,” Manny quietly singsongs Frank Lopez’s advice to himself. “Yeah, man.”

Amused by how quickly both Tony and Manny’s tone has changed throughout the sudden shift of conversation touching Elvira’s name, you’re aware now that the playful, tough guy demeanor off Tony has faded into a serious and mellow, moody attitude.

You never met Elvira Hancock personally and didn’t feel the need to, but you’ve seen her in person in the past with Frank Lopez from your father’s business dealings with him.

Your father—just like Tony—never liked Frank much to begin with, but tolerated him for the sake of business and making money. It was never more than that, mostly unbeknownst to Frank himself, so it was nothing but a relief for your father and his business partners to hear Tony made short work of Frank and his men.

“Couldn’t have done a better job myself. That Tony—I told them, I said ‘don’t fuck with this guy’. Now I can’t say anything to the bastards at all, eh?”

The same reaction was warranted from your father and his men with Sosa’s death, but he was far more impressed with how Tony took down every single one of his men that clearly outnumbered Tony after they breached the Montana estate.

Without Sosa in the way and all of his operations falling into the hands of Tony and your father, there was no longer any heavy competition or talk about a monopoly starting to come onto the drug trade.

As a ‘thank you’ of sorts and a show of gratitude, your father personally paid for all of Tony’s expenses including the damage to his estate and belongings and provided replacements for Tony’s weaponry all out of his own pocket like a gift.

However, the bond between your father and Tony as both friends and business partners wasn’t bought or fueled by fear one may turn on the other. It’s built on trust and loyalty and is all the more exciting to you that your dirty little secret is that you’re fucking Tony on the regular without another soul knowing.

Still, Tony and you couldn’t be farther away from what “fuck buddies” are. Just as Tony has trust and loyalty to your father, he does for you.

Tony’s the only one who knows just what you like behind closed doors—how rough you love taking him in bed and how loud you can beg and whine for his cock.

“What does a woman who already got the whole world at her feet want from a guy like me. Huh?”

“Just your loyalty.”

Tony knew then without doing so much as even flirting with you that he liked you—that he wanted you for himself. 

After Sosa’s attempt on exacting revenge on Tony, almost losing Gina to gunfire and seeing the men he shared drinks with and counted cash with shooting at him relentlessly, Tony came out of that situation holding loyalty above all.

With the loyalty and trust you gave to Tony, he could never think of you just as a fling, something to fuck to pass the time let alone a “fuck buddy” and he’s made that clear to you time and time again, one way or another. 

Tony knows personally—and perhaps you don’t—but your father would more than likely approve and not mind Tony and you being in a relationship with one another. 

Your father sees Tony as a successful man of his word, his equal—not some half-brained goon working for him after all, so who's to say Tony won’t ask for his approval in the very near future?

The rest of the car ride home consists of small talk mostly between Tony and Manny, helping you keep up the “I’m-irritated-my-night-ended-early-thanks-to-Tony” attitude knowing how very curious Manny can be, piecing two and two together if he suspects some sexual chemistry going on between you and Tony.

Driving through the guarded gates after brief security clearance, Manny slows his car to a halt by the front entrance of your father’s estate before parking; still mesmerized by the grand splendor of the manor regardless of how many times Manny comes to visit.

Complete with custom-carved, marble fountains, three swimming pools, a private tennis court, and a garage for fourteen sports cars, the luxurious estate is a sight for sore eyes on its own just from the outside view.

Tony and you are both well aware your father still isn’t home—away on a business trip in Los Angeles for the next few days, and your estate remains heavily guarded. 

Manny on the other hand is still under the belief that your father is indeed home and occupied, hence why he requested Manny and Tony to pick you up from the Babylon.

Tony’s mansion isn’t far from yours in terms of size or distance; still in the same enclosed, private and hidden lots of Miami.

From the moment both of you step out of Manny’s car, your security by the front doors recognizes the three of you from afar.

Little glistening lights illuminate the walkway past the floral arrangements in the garden wrapping around the estate and leading up to the front doors. 

There’s a peaceful contrasting silence of crickets chirping and a warm summer breeze brushing up against you three from the loud, sweaty, and packed Babylon Club, marking the end of your night and the entrance into some much-needed “relaxation”.

“You gonna see the big boss, Tony?” Manny looks over at both of you. 

“Yeah, man.” Tony takes it from him with a nod. “Still got some business to do for tonight. I still got one of my cars parked here, I’mma drive home after.”

“Alright.” Manny accepts the lie, “call me if you need anything, and hey—Celeste—” Manny snaps his finger at you, “you too, you know?”

“For sure.” You chuckle quietly. “Thanks for the drive home, Manny.”

“Heh, no problem.” Manny grins, always boastful of his driving skills in the newest sports cars he can get his hands on. “Oh, and don’t forget this, yeah?” Manny reaches between the cushions of the car seats, pulling out the wine bottle he and Tony shared earlier tonight, and hands it to Tony. 

“You put that between the seats, man?” Tony knits his eyebrows in disgust and confusion.

“Yeah, why?” Manny pats the seats as you clasp a hand over your mouth to hold back your giggling. “I kept it nice and safe in case we hit a road bump, you know?”

“You better hope this shit ain’t broken, man.” Tony carefully examines the bottle in his hand before giving an accusing glare to Manny. “That’s five hundred bucks, if it smash in your car I was gonna make you lick it up.”

Manny and you burst out laughing as Tony rolls his eyes, shooing Manny off and dismissing him. “You just go say goodnight to Gina for me. You can’t fuck that up.”

“Yeah man, I will, no worries.” Manny starts up his car again, waving at the two of you. “Goodniiiight! I’mma see both of you tomorrow.”

“Night! Drive carefully!” You wave back as Tony shakes his head, heading straight for the estate instead. 

“This guy, man.” Tony looks over his shoulder the minute Manny begins to drive back towards the secured gate, now blasting loud pop music from his car’s radio. “Twenty-four seven party.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t offer to come to see ‘the boss man’ with you.” You smirk, approaching the front doors of the estate with Tony. 

“Oh, yeah.” Tony chuckles, “the one in Los Angeles for the next few days. Take it easy, huh baby?” Tony gives your ass a firm smack, grabbing it with one hand and giving the bottle of wine in his other hand a shake. “I gotta make excuses so he, believe me, you know? Not gonna say I’mma walk in here and fuck my girl tonight.”

Your face flushes red with blush as you slip off your heels by the foyer. “Who said anything about fucking?”

“Don’t tease me like that, baby.” Tony licks over his lips, holding up the wine. “I ain’t gonna do so until my girl gets to relax with me tonight.”

“You know I’d love to.” You smile wryly, eyeing the wine in his hand. 

“You got more of those guards up there?” Tony’s eyes dart up towards the spiral staircase leading to the second floor. 

“Mhmm, just a few.” You clasp off your earrings, looking up at the stairs. “They’re at the end of every hall, not much different from here.”

“Good.” Tony continues staring at the second floor, getting a good look for himself. “Then they won’t be all up hearin’ you in your room.” His gaze directs back down to the wine bottle in his hand. 

“What’s wrong with taking it right here?” A playful mood sets through you as you gesture Tony towards the living room.

“Sittin’ thirty feet away from each other in that big ass room?” Tony grins back at you. “What I gotta do to be close to you, baby?”

You let out a small laugh, “we’ve got privacy, of course. I’ll take you upstairs if you really want.”

“You do that then.” Tony follows you from behind as you lead him off towards the staircase. 

“Eager much?” You glance over your shoulder at Tony, sliding your hand up the railing.

“Eager?” Tony repeats, knowing damn well what you mean as you come near your bedroom. “Just get in that room—I’mma tell you what eager is.”

“Tony,” you giggle, pushing open your bedroom door and feeling Tony push you in with his hand over your ass.

“Gonna have to wait.” Tony’s quick to kick the door back shut with his ankle and set the wine bottle aside over top of your dresser. “You c’mere.” In an instant, Tony grabs your hips and causes you to squeal out in excitement, pulling your ass against the erection in his dress trousers. “What’s this, huh?”

“Tony,” you groan, feeling his cock brushing up against your ass and feeling almost embarrassed at how quickly he’s got you aroused.

“You see these?” Tony breathes hotly over your neck, tugging on the strings over the side of your dress. “You know, I been wanting to rip these off you since tonight. You lookin’ this sexy—” He gives the strings another pull before slapping your ass again.

“More than welcome to do it now,” you moan back in response. “Push it, already.”

“Push it, huh?” Tony grabs your arm, spinning you around to face him before tilting your chin up roughly to face him. “You tellin’ me to what to do, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you graze your tongue against your bottom lip, “stop pretending like Manny’s still here and push it already.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony roughly grabs your face, giving it a shake. “I’ll fuckin’ push it, baby. I’ll push it.” 

You let out a half squeal, half gasp as Tony shoves you onto your bed, prompting you to immediately begin to strip off your skin-tight dress. “You want it that badly and rough, huh?”

“Don’t fuckin’ remind me.” Just as quickly, Tony kneels on top of your bed and hovers over top of you, yanking and pulling at the fabric of your dress to get you undressed as quickly as possible. “You don’t know—” Tony hungrily kisses up your neck, much too impatient and frantic with his movements. “How fucking sexy you are.”

“Tony,” a soft moan escapes your lips as you tilt your head up to let Tony kiss you further; letting your hands wander through his choppy hair. “F-fuck.”

“Want to do this to you—” Tony’s kisses grow more demanding and sloppy as he pulls your dress off your chest and down by your waist. “All fuckin’ night. You know that?”

“Yes, baby. Yes,” you whimper, already feeling your nipples harden from Tony’s fingers brushing up against them and the cool air of your bedroom. 

“Fuck this,” Tony throws the dress off your thighs and tosses it to the floor like a rag, shrugging off his own suit jacket next. “Not even wearin’ a bra, huh?”

“Just how you like it,” you tease, squeezing your breasts together.

“Don’t fuckin’ tease me, baby.” Tony grabs your face again with one hand, sharing a wet, full-mouthed kiss with you.

Your eyes flutter shut instantly as you part your lips open to feel Tony’s tongue dominating yours; his kiss is deep, greedy, and almost bruising with power behind it. 

It’s not the first time your lips have ached for more after Tony’s kiss, reddened and glistening with his spit.

“S-so much for the wine,” you breathe shakily as Tony breaks the kiss.

Tony unbuckles his leather belt, tossing it over to the pile of his and your clothes upon the bedroom floor. “You know I wouldn’t forget the wine, baby.” Tony gives both of your breasts a firm slap, “I’ll drink it off your fuckin’ tits if I have to.”

“Uh, fuck!” You cry out in pleasure, watching as Tony begins to fully undress before you. 

“Get undressed, but keep these on.” Tony pulls at your stockings. 

“Mm, yes sir.” Only left in your fishnet stockings and a dainty pair of black, lace panties beneath him, you hook your fingers into the waistband of your panties and slip them off your ankles. “I’ve only got one wineglass in here, you know?”

“That’s gonna be enough, believe me.” Tony’s cock springs free from his briefs before he throws those off as well, pumping his thick eight inches in one hand before momentarily getting off the bed to reach for the wine.

‘Oh fuck. Fuck.’ Deep, tugging arousal builds in the pit of your stomach from the sight of Tony naked before you, let alone the feeling of your pussy having its own heartbeat from seeing his size again like it’s the first time.

Tony’s eyes dart across your room before spotting the single wine glass over your makeup table. 

“We’re gonna share a glass together, huh?” You rub down your thighs, beginning to spread open your legs.

“Think I have a much better idea than that, baby.” Tony licks over his lips, watching your pussy lips spread open—dewy from the wetness of your arousal. Tony holds the bottle of red wine in one and the wineglass in the other, keeping his eyes over your naked body and approaching the bed again. “Not gonna make me repeat myself tonight, right baby?”

“Never.” Your breath hitches as you watch Tony kneel down on the bed. “I’ll do anything you want, you know that.”

“I do,” Tony smirks wryly, gesturing to you with the wine bottle. “Get on those hands and knees—ass up, face down, baby.”

You gladly do as Tony demands, arching your back and blushing furiously knowing Tony’s got a perfect view of your ass and pussy from the doggy-style position you’re in. 

Keeping your face pressed down onto the pillow in front of you, your eyes peek to the side to see Tony placing the wine glass and the bottle onto your nightstand—redirecting his attention to you now.

“Mmhmm,” Tony cups your ass with both hands, squeezing and touching you.

“Ooh,” you let out a soft whimper, aroused by the feeling of Tony’s cool, gold rings against your skin. “Tony…”

“This ass belongs to me.” Tony gives your ass cheek a harsh slap, taking you by surprise. “Doesn’t it? Huh?”

“Mmm, yes!” You cry out, feeling Tony’s firm hands roughly fondling and squeezing your ass. “Yes, sir—” your words are muffled out from speaking against the pillow.

“This ass,” Tony hooks his fingers into the holes of your fishnet stocks, tearing a hole in them right over your ass and pussy with hardly any effort. “Is mine.” Tony spanks your other ass cheek even harder than he did to the other the first time. “Don’t move, baby.”

“M-mhmm.” You nod shakily against the pillow, keeping your legs spread open and your ass and back arched up in the air. 

Tony takes the wineglass off of the end table, spreading your ass with one hand before inching the stem of the glass in-between both of your ass cheeks so it’s tucked in without risk of falling out. “Yeah, look at that…”

Gasping quietly in surprise from feeling the glass being held between your ass cheeks, you look over your shoulder to see Tony giving the wineglass a few more nudges to nestle it between your ass.

“Said we was gonna share the wine.” Tony snatches the bottle of red wine off the end table next, popping the loosely put top off before moving the bottle towards your mouth. “You want a taste, baby? That good, red wine?”

“Mhmm,” nodding, you take a shaky sip of the wine straight from the bottle but only get a little bit to swallow before Tony pulls the bottle back.

“Now we can share. Get a real fuckin’ taste.” Tony begins to not only pour the wine all over your ass and torn fishnet stockings but into the wineglass between your ass as well.

“Yeah, baby. Look at that.” With Tony pouring the glass aimlessly and chuckling to himself as he makes a mess, you shiver from the cold, crimson liquor dripping all down your ass, soaking into your stockings with a majority of the wine landing into the wineglass. 

“Tony!” You whine, covered in wine and still looking back at him over your shoulder as Tony lets the empty wine bottle roll onto the other side of the bed.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Keeping the wineglass firmly pressed between your ass, Tony grabs your ass cheeks with both hands again and begins to lick up the wine over your skin.

“Ohhhh,” a moan escapes your mouth as you’re back to keeping your head firmly placed against the pillow. “Fuck, fuck…”

“I got it everywhere…for a reason,” Tony pants, letting his tongue slobber up the wine over your ass and thighs. “Mmm, taste so fuckin’ good. And ya got an ass like that…” Tony smacks both of your ass cheeks, letting more wine drip onto your legs and the bed before he yanks the wineglass out from between your ass.

“Ah!” You giggle breathily, clenching down on the bed sheets with both hands as you glance back over your shoulder again to see Tony taking a messy gulp of the wine before exhaling deeply.

“Come here, slut.” Gritting his teeth, Tony yanks a fistful of your hair back and raises the wine glass to your lips, spilling a bit down your chest before letting you drink up the rest. “Take a sip, huh?”

“I want—” You part open your lips, excited for a taste yourself but end up spilling the majority of it down your breasts.

“Someone’s a little too excited.” Tony chuckles breathily, giving you a rough, full-mouthed kiss over the mouth that could almost bruise you before he lets go of both the empty wine glass in his hand and your hair. 

“Tonyyyyy,” you whine, moaning as loud as ever as Tony moves back behind you, now quick to spread your ass cheeks open again before slicking his tongue in between.

“Ohhhhh, my God!” You throw your head back in surprise and moan loudly feeling Tony’s warm, wet tongue circling over your asshole and back down to your pussy.

“Fuck—” Humming against your clit, Tony drools and spits all over both your ass and pussy—licking every inch of you hungrily as if it’s his last meal. “—yes! YES!”

Demanding, rough, and feverish, Tony grips your hips to press your ass onto his face; his own spit dribbling down his chin from eating the hell out of you. “Mm!”

Waves of pleasure soar through you, causing your knees to tingle and feel weak from how Tony’s tongue focuses on flickering over your clit. “M-more, more, please, yes, more!”

You can neither stop yourself from moaning nor continuing to push your hips back against his face—obsessed with how greedy Tony is when it comes to teasing and pleasing you.

With the way Tony keeps a perfect rhythm and pace over your clit, it only takes you a few minutes throughout your filthy moans to feel your toes and fingers clenching from the intense orgasm approaching you.

“Tony! Tony!” You plead out, rolling your eyes back in pleasure. “G-gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!”

Tony is barely holding himself back while sloppily eating you out. Determined to make you cum over his tongue, Tony’s cock remains rock hard and pulsating—desperate to be inside you so much that it’s almost uncomfortable to him.

Spurts of precum already begin to dribble down Tony’s tip and shaft from hearing you moan and groan about how good Tony’s making you feel again and again.

Obsessed with the way Tony’s tongue licks and suckles over both of your holes, you attempt to keep your moaning quiet by muffling your voice against the pillow, but you can hardly remain still in the doggy-style position while Tony’s tongue is easing its way inside your pussy.

Tony doesn’t relent, beginning to slick his index finger inside of you two—impressed by how wet your pussy has become mixed with his spit. 

“Ahhhh, fuck, yes! C-cumming, I’m cumming—” Unable to hold back any longer, your orgasm breaks through and instantly rocks over every inch of your body in erotic ecstasy as Tony continues finger fucking you throughout it. 

Before you can even process what just happened or even act out in shock towards it, Tony’s eyes widen in amusement and he grins—keeping his head angled under your pussy as you squirt over his chin and neck in orgasm.

“That’s fuckin’ perfect, baby.” Tony smacks your pussy with the palm of his hand, giving your pussy lips a shake to get more of your squirt and cum out while swallowing everything in his mouth and on his lips. 

“T-Tony, Tony,” struggling to keep your back arched with the energy drained out of you from such an intense, heavenly orgasm, you squeal again to feel Tony dipping two fingers inside of your pussy, getting a string of your cum between them.

“Taste, baby.” Tony grips your neck, pulling you back before smearing your cum over your lips and then easing his fingers inside your mouth. “See how fuckin’ good you taste. Squirt in my mouth like that.”

“Oh fuck—” You let out another moan as Tony roughly grips your throat and forces you to flip over. 

“Spread yourself open.” Pinning your back down onto the bed, Tony grabs both of your ankles and stretches them back towards your shoulders. “Yeah baby, like that.”

Clutching onto your ankles and holding them up by your head in as much as you can stretch and spread yourself wide open for Tony, your face flushes red in humiliation and arousal. “Please…”

“Yeah,” Tony chuckles breathily, spreading your pussy lips open with both hands. “Look at that pussy, huh?” Tony rolls his tongue in his mouth before letting a wad of spit land over your clit.

You gasp out softly in surprise, watching as Tony rubs his spit in with the palm of his hand all over the wet folds of your pussy, and with his free hand, he pumps all thick, eight inches of his cock.

“Give me,” you whine, inhaling sharply as Tony doesn’t waste time teasing you further and slicks his cock over the folds of your pussy.

“Not gonna have to ask me twice,” Tony grunts, obsessed with how warm and wet your pussy feels against his shaft. “Fuck…”

The oversensitivity on your clit from your first orgasm causes you to squirm underneath Tony, whining quietly and feeling as if you’re about to sink into the bed from embarrassment at the way Tony looks pleased down at your pussy.

“You’re a tiger,” Tony breathes, positioning his cock to your entrance. “You know that?”

The impressive length of his cock alone causes the butterflies swarming in your stomach to knot up in excitement, wanting Tony to push every single inch of him inside you until you’re filled to the brim with his cock and begging for more.

Giggling out of breath, you feel Tony’s precum dripping over your entrance hole, easily mixing in with your wetness. 

Tony positions his hips as if he’s about to thrust in, but purposefully delays to tease you. Instead, Tony’s hands trail up to your breasts, giving them a squeeze with both hands.

“Gonna get you even more wet for me, baby.” Tony lets his fingers toy over your hardened, sensitive nipples—rubbing them between his forefingers and hearing you moan back in response.

Tony leans his head down to kiss both of your nipples sloppily, causing you to whimper and tug on his hair. 

Now more than ever, you can’t stop yourself from fantasizing about bouncing over Tony’s cock—wanting him badly as ever through all of this teasing.

Obsessed with the feeling of Tony’s firm, large hands gripping over the sides of your throat, your hot skin feels cool relief from the gold rings over Tony’s finger and his silver chain bracelet as he begins to apply pressure.

“Got ya, baby.” Tony now has you right where he wants you and how he wants you—fully under his dominance and control, spread open and ready to be mercilessly fucked all night.

Breathing heavily and locking eyes with Tony, you’ve absolutely no desire to fight back or resist. All your mind tells you is how desperately you want to get fucking railed by this man as hard as he wants to take you for however long he wants to pound your pussy.

“You’re mine, ain’t that right, baby?” Tony gives your face a smack, demanding a quick answer. “Ain’t that right?”

“Y-yes, Tonyyyyyy—ohhh!” You cry out in pleasure as you feel Tony’s cock entering your pussy, one thick inch at a time to fill you in.

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes.” Tony hisses under his breath, watching his cock penetrate you. “You like that baby, huh? That big cock going inside that tight pussy?”

All you can let out are filthy moans in response; your momentary shyness with Tony is replaced by a burst of sexual confidence. 

“Ooh,” Tony grunts as he stretches and fills your pussy completely. “Keep those nice legs up for me, baby.”

“Uhhhh,” groaning loudly, you feel a slight burning sensation from Tony’s thickness inside of you before it's replaced by nothing but pure pleasure; his cock beginning to thrust back and forth. “F-fuck me, Tony. Fuck me!”

“You’ll let me do anything I want?” Tony pants, clutching onto your inner thighs and picking up his pace fucking you. “Huh?”

“A-anything you want,” you nod frantically with a moan. “God, your cock feels so good.”

“That’s what I like to hear, baby.” Tony plants a full-mouthed, sloppy kiss over your mouth as he continues thrusting deeply and roughly.

You roll your eyes back in pleasure, feeling the room get ten degrees hotter to you from how Tony angles his cock downward to hit your weak spots as he fucks you.

As Tony begins to suckle and kiss your neck roughly, you pick up on the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the smell of sex in the room.

Tony’s cock twitches in your body, pulsating with so much arousal that all he wants to do is pound you mercilessly all night; your body has never cried out this desperately for him to fuck you.

Tony gives one of your breasts a slap, watching them jiggle in front of him. “I m-make you feel good, huh?” An aggressive, demanding Tony is more than welcome fucking every one of his desires into you on your bed. 

“Yes!” You whine, shakily watching his cock slick into your pussy with ease.

“You take my cock in like a slut, you know that?” Tony speeds up, even more, his cock now rapidly slamming in and out of you with no intention to ever slow back down.

“Fuck!” You pant as you feel Tony’s lips pulling over the skin on your neck, leaving a reddened hickie and only heightening your pleasure.

Just from the way Tony’s body is pressed up to yours as he fucks you and the sight of Tony’s hips gyrating to yours sparks a fire of sexual frustration and desire into you like none other.

‘He knows exactly where to touch me, to make me like this…’

As Tony’s kisses trail upward, growing sloppier until he’s practically licking up your neck and to your jawline, you both join in another needy kiss with tongue.

You can feel Tony’s tongue battling for dominance over yours, suckling over it any chance he gets and meeting your moans into his mouth for a response. 

“Your father—” Tony parts from the kiss as a string of spit from both of your mouths splits. “—doesn’t know I’m fucking his daughter like this huh?” 

As you whimper and whine about from sensation after sensation, Tony keeps both of his firm hands pressed onto your hips and lets you eagerly take his cock in again and again with little to no effort on his part.

Now with a hand going up to grip your throat again, Tony leans down to your ear and fully angles his thrusting downward to reach your G-spot.

 “I want you so much, baby,” Tony breathes hotly over your neck. “Fuck…” The pressure he keeps down onto your hip subsides as Tony’s fingers now move down to play with your soaked clit at a quickened pace.

You let out a raspy moan and buck your hips up in response to the sudden, almost about to scream out from how good it feels to have Tony’s fingers rubbing quickly over your clit.

The expression on your face twists to pure delirium as your orgasm approaches you steadily. 

All you can hear is Tony breathing down against your lips saying, “I’m making you my little whore.”

“Tony, oh fuck!” Your legs begin to quiver up above your sides and you begin to struggle to maintain a hold on your ankles.

Each moan you give out is louder than the last, but it’s a surprise when Tony suddenly slicks his cock out of your pussy and taps it roughly over your reddened, throbbing clit.

“Don’t wanna make you cum just yet, huh?” Tony gives your face another slap—not enough to sting or leave a mark but enough for some pain knowing how much you love it.

His tongue hungrily grazes over your top and bottom lips before his hands squeeze over yours on your ankles, insisting you keep yourself spread in this position.

Your clit is almost swollen with arousal, begging to be touched and stimulated so much that your orgasm is desperate to be released even as Tony just teases you.

“Oooh, baby, music to my ears.” Tony chuckles breathily, letting his cock soaked in your juices slide over your clit once more just to hear the sloshing sound of the folds of your pussy parting.

Tony doesn’t waste any more time in teasing you—knowing you’re about to cum and if anything, you’ll do so on his cock only. 

Tony jerks his hips down and roughly thrusts into you without warning, making you scream from how good his cock feels filling you up all over again.

“You’re mine,” Tony growls in a low voice, “mine.” 

Tony exhales shakily, gritting his teeth as he presses his hips in further, completely filling you to the brim with his cock stretching open your tightness. 

“Ohhhh, I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum!” You squeal, arching your hips to Tony’s. “Oh, God!” It takes every bit of willpower in you not to scream out again and again from the euphoric sensations Tony draws out of you.

Tony forces his own orgasm back, refusing to cum in you just yet but the way your pussy clenches and contracts around his cock tempts him to do otherwise.

Tony coaxes your orgasm out of you first; the sight of him now with beads of sweat over his forehead sticking to his hair as he’s fixated on fucking you until you cum is more than enough to have you give in.

There’s an insatiable lust and craving you and Tony have for one another that releases through your second orgasm as you cum over his cock—shrieking out through your moans. “Yesssss!”

“I wanna fuck you—” Tony squeezes your thighs so harshly he digs his fingernails into your skin before slapping them as hard as he can. “—all the fuckin’ time.” 

Your mascara and eyeliner smear off your eyes and drip onto your cheeks from tearing up—it’s not due to pain or being overwhelmed, but from how good you’re being fucked and how intense your orgasm spilling out of you is.

Tony never slows his pace, obsessed with feeling your pussy still humming around his cock from the aftermath of your orgasm. “You fuck so good, baby.”

With Tony fucking the ever-living life out of you by the second, you desperately beg and whine for him to touch you over and over again—slapping and smacking your breasts, pussy, and thighs. 

Tony continues pounding into your soaked pussy like a wild animal, growing far more aggressive knowing how badly you like it rough with him. 

Barely able to form out a coherent sentence, your trembling hands threaten to loosen from holding up your ankles, and the soreness your legs feel from being spread open for so long even adds to your pleasure.

“Fuck!” Tony pounds into you, causing the springs in your mattress to squeak from fucking you like a ragdoll.

Tony’s more than well aware of how you roll your hips back at him weakly, still desperate for each and every thrust inside of you. 

Tony grins down at your pussy lazily, loving the way your creamy cum drips off his cock while he continues to pummel inside of you. “T-tight fucking pussy.”

You curl your toes in response, using the last bit of energy inside of you to clutch onto your ankles as your third orgasm begins to build in your pelvis.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” Tony squeezes your face, forcing you to face him directly.

Doing as he says, your eyes widen as Tony spits in your mouth. You swallow instantly, giggling breathily. “Y-yes!”

“Good girl,” Tony praises you, caressing the side of your cheek.

Your third orgasm building inside of you now is growing increasingly insistent and almost pleasurably painful. 

This time as Tony can tell you’re about to cum, he has no plans on drawing it out of you for long so he can take you by surprise again.

“Fuck, oh my God!” The tip of Tony’s cock hits your G-Spot and causes you to moan out so loud your hands let go of your ankles as your climax unwinds.

This time your orgasm hits you from all sides, unraveling in your gut and squirting over Tony’s cock and lower waist uncontrollably. 

“Mm!” Tony keeps your body firmly pinned to the bed, edging his own orgasm for as long as he can through yours.

It’s definitely not the first time you’ve squirted over Tony’s cock and with the way a final whine escapes your lips as Tony shoots his cum deep inside of your pussy, you revel in the sensation of feeling spurt after hot spurt of his seed in you.

Tony jerks his head back, letting out the loudest, deep moan you’ve heard from him as his cock twitches inside of you. “Yeah, baby—that’s it.”

Over a dozen spurts of thick cum inside of you later, a devilish smirk crosses Tony’s lips as he pops his cock out of you like nothing happened.

“Oh!” You whimper, quick to clutch onto your lower pelvis from the sudden feeling of fullness coming out of you.

“Fuck, yeah, baby. Look at that.” Tony spreads open your pussy lips, watching eagerly as a loud of his cum oozes out of you. 

“Tony,” you lick over your lips weakly. “G-gonna get me pregnant?”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about baby names all night,” he grins before giving you a wet kiss.

“You and me both,” you giggle weakly, clutching onto his shoulders. “Surely you’re not done with me.”

“You know how I fuck you well then.” Tony pulls your hair to move you off the bed. “I ain’t gonna be finished with you all night, baby. See this?” He pumps his still-hard cock, “gonna fuckin’ suck on it, aren’t you?”

“Mm, yes, I will.” You grin up at Tony as he practically drags you down to your knees off the bed.

“Fucking suck and don’t make me wait.” Tony taps the tip of his cum covered cock over your lips. “I wanna fuck that pretty mouth of yours, baby.”

You eagerly attempt to catch Tony’s cock in your mouth without using your hands and instantly surprise Tony with how you push your head in to take him into your throat.

“You’re gonna choke on my cum down that throat,” Tony keeps a steady hand over the back of your head to guide you on his cock.

As you sloppily begin to suck over Tony’s shaft, he bucks his hips forwards in response and moans. “Fuck, just like that.” 

The sight of your head bobbing back and forth over Tony’s cock like a hungry whore is one he’d gladly want to see night after night if he could help it.

Tony can’t hold back his own moans, letting his hands roam through your hair and pull back the loose, messy strands from your face. 

It’s only after then that he begins to thrust into your mouth to make you take more of his cock deeper down your throat, gritting his teeth. “Choke on it—dirty fucking whore.”

Insistently face fucking you, you gargle and gag over Tony’s cock as you slobber over it in a messy blowjob.

You clasp your hands around Tony’s girth, pumping his cock and giving him a handjob while you suck him off as fast as you can take him in and out of your mouth again.

Tony’s eyes remain half opened, his lips parted to let out low groans as he feels his second orgasm steadily approaching with your wet, warm mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock.

“You like having your mouth used, don’t you?” Tony watches as you drool all over his shaft, letting your spit drip off of him in wads before it lands on the floor. 

Sucking, slurping, jerking him off—it’s Tony’s hips beginning to twitch while he thrusts into your mouth that signals he’s about to hit the peak of his next orgasm.

Looking up at Tony with an innocent gaze in your eyes, you keep eye contact with him and moan against his cock; just as equally flustered and sweaty as Tony.

More of your spit trickles down Tony’s cock and sticks to his pubic hair—this time with no chance for Tony to edge himself into another intense orgasm he already knows is coming.

Without warning or showing he’s right about to cum, Tony cums in your mouth—surprising you, but only lets two spurts of cum down your throat before he pulls his cock right out of your mouth. “Fuck, yes!”

“See that?” Gasping out for air and swallowing down the cum in your mouth, Tony yanks your hair downward and lets the next six spurts of his hot cum land all over your face. “Yeah, baby. That’s right… No other man gonna do this to you like me.”

“Mm,” you lick off any cum near your mouth and chin, trying to catch some on your tongue as Tony finishes. “A-anytime, baby.”

“You know what that makes you?” Tony grunts, trailing cum off your cheeks with his thumb and back into your mouth.

“M-mhmm?” You suck on Tony’s thumb, licking off the cum and looking into his eyes.

“Mine,” Tony gives your face a playful slap, smirking. “Mine, baby, mine.”

With that, Tony pulls his finger out of your mouth, licking off your spit from it before roughly cupping your face with both hands and kissing you right down on the mouth.

Tony knows now he’s going to pin you up against the wall next and fuck you until both of you can’t take anymore or the sun begins to rise—whichever one comes first. Your heavily anticipated fuck session with Mr. Montana has yet to come to an end for tonight.

Daniel making Lando squidgy and giggly I'll never get over it

Magickal Properties of Trees

Acacia: purity, air, and used in initiations, psychic workings, and protection.

Alder: resurrection, rebirth, and fire.

Almond: divination, clairvoyance, wisdom, money, loans, business.

Apple: healing, prosperity, love, peace, happiness and perpetual youth.

Apricot: love

Ash: healing, protection and sea magic

Aspen: Used for phyllomancy (divination by leaf rustling) and for protection.

Birch: new beginnings and births, protection, fertility, purifications and blessings.

Cedar: purification, prosperity, and longevity, spirituality, self control.

Coconut: purity, chastity, healing

Cypress: easing losses, healing, past life workings, and protection. Represents earth.

Elder: healing, love, protection, and prosperity.

Elm: female powers, protection.

Eucalyptus: healing

Fig: fertility, strength, energy, health

Fir: youth, vitality, prosperity magic.

Hawthorn: female sexuality, cleansing, marriage, love and protection.

Hazel: fertility, divination, marriage, protection, reconciliation.

Holly: protection

Juniper: protection, cleansing

Lemon: divination, healing, chastity, neutrality

Linden: Used for prophesies and protection.

Maple: Used for love and divination.

Oak: Used for healing, strength, protection, masculinity and for fertility magic. Represents fire.

Mulberry: knowledge, divination, wisdom, the will

Olive: peace, fruitfulness, security, money, marriage, fidelity

Orange: love, marriage

Palm: Used for male fertility, strength, and virility.

Pine: Symbolizes immortality and represents earth. Pine cones represent fertility. Used for purification, health, fortune, fertility, and prosperity.

Rowan: Used for protection, healing, and strength. Represents fire.

Willow: Represents water. Used in moon, wishing magic, healing, protection, enchantments, and easy delivery of babies.

Tip Jar

Bang bang

I hit the ground.

He lighted his cigarette and looked at me.

“Ya want sum?” he said to me. I nodded and he leisurely passed it to me.

I sighed as I smoked it. “I’ve never felt like this before.” I said.

“How so?”

“Seasons change you know? I change. I’m not the same. I never thought I’d start smoking cigarettes.”

He looked at me and took the cigarette outta my hand. “What do you mean exactly?”

Staring at the parking lot, I explained: “You know that I did weed and that shit but never nicotine. My father did it all the fucking time. Man was so crazy for it that whenever we’d tell him to quit smoking he would make empty promises. Hated him for that. Lied to us for all his life. And that’s how it brought me to hate nicotine.” looking back at him, I see him already staring at me. “Now, I smoke it once in a while. Should I be ashamed?”

He got a long hit and then answered: “Nah, doll. Look. When I was five, I used to stay at my pops and I knew that he always had a gun somewhere hidden in the house. Every Sunday I’d hear bangs coming from the backyard. In the morning I’d see dry blood in the yard. This went on for three years. None stop. And I never questioned my father’s decisions. But oh, how did I hate him for making them. Guess we all went through sumthin that traumatized us.”

I stared at him and hesitantly asked him “Do you still hear the bangs?”

He sadly smirked and looked up to the sky while responding to me with: “I hear Bang Bang every Sunday night. And I wake up scared to find dried blood in the backyard.”

I curiously asked: “Didn’t you even have the urge to ask him why he did that?”

“Of course I did, doll. I knew I’d get a beating because of it so I shut my mouth, forced my eyes closed and pushed myself to sleep with the bangs.”

I slowly slid to him and hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Wood. Why did you have to go through all that at such a young age?”

“One of us should suffer in this life babe. And God said it was my turn. Gotta accept it doll. Now don’t get sad because of me” He tilted his head down to take a look at me and he saw the tears that were shedding from my eyes. I sadly looked back at him and said: “You’re my baby boy. I love you. With my whole heart.”

“I love you Doll.”

Emily Brontë, from "Wuthering Heights," originally published in 1847

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

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

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

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

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That should be it.

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have tougher targets to tackle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kid–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

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

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

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

“No!” You blurt.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, ma’am.” 

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

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Okay, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You squeak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gta v fans be like HOLLLYY FUCKKK

i am fucking crazy

No but why is the Norris family so cute??? Lando is such a mommy's and daddies boy and Adam is just #1 Lando fan page right now. It's adorable 😭

I think the Norris fam is just super loving and tactile and partly what I can only guess is a result of what Adam and Cisca were brought up in. I can't say too much on the Belgian side but even just seeing Lando with his grandparents at Silverstone, the way they looked at him, his grandma holding his hands and ignoring the fist bump to kiss him on the cheek

It's so obvious that that household is so filled with love and that's an environment Lando grew up in and it's so lovely seeing how he doesn't shy away from it

His mum or dad wants to hug him and kiss him but there's cameras and people around? Doesn't matter, he's there, accepting the affection, soaking it up like a little sponge and it settles him

I will never ever ever get over the way he hugs his dad in particular, it's always pushing his face into Adam's neck and holding close and it makes me very 🥺