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peachesofteal · 2 months

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Simple Math / Part Ten

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Masturbation, dirty (self) talk, brief daddy kink. This fic contains mature themes. Domestic violence. Grooming. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Nurse!reader. Kissing. Lots of dialogue. Bun considers making a friend. Penny is cute. Flirting. Touching. Comfort. Bun refers to herself as "heavy". Simon is Simon. POV switch. Dinner date.

“I’m Philip.”

The handsome brunette smiles, grabbing onto your hand. You blink, trying to understand, trying to make it make sense, when he prompts you with a teasing grin. “This is the part where you tell me your name, sweet thing.”

Oh. You stumble over it, tongue tied into a million knots, sweat from the Texas sun beating down your back, sweat slicking your shirt to your skin.

He’s still holding your hand, and you’re standing there with wide, doe eyes, shell shocked.

He’s… so handsome. And older. Older, and handsome. Polished type, with good teeth and good hair. He looks like he just stepped off the golf course.

Why is he talking to you?

He glances down at your drink.

“You even old enough to be drinkin’ that?”

“I-“ You’re terrible at lying, and like he can read it on your face, he chuckles.

“You live around here?”

“I go to Rice.”

“A bit young for college, aren’t you?”

“I just turned eighteen!” You’ve heard it a million times. You’re too young to understand something, or know something, or do something. You don’t get the way the world works yet. You’re not an adult.

He holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I bet you’re one of the really smart girls that make all us men look like Neanderthals.” Your face heats.

“N-no. I just… I graduated early. I’m not a know it all.” You defend yourself, desperate to create distance from the usual stereotype, the way most people see you. The way boys see you.

Too smart. Face buried in a book. Awkward and stiff. Uncool.

He traces you from head to toe, appreciative gaze grazing over the swell of your hips, the generous curve of your ass. “I didn’t think you were. Too mature for that, I bet.” He croons, and your knees go weak.

“Y-yeah. A lot of people say I’m really mature.”

Two things compete for your attention when you open your eyes.

One: there is a soft, lovely song playing downstairs, something spring-like and sweet, vibrant without being too loud.

Two: the house smells like pancakes.

You check your phone, shocked to see you’ve slept for yet another 12 hours. There’s a text from Nia, and a text from your boss.

>You have a lot of time accrued. Take as much as you need.

That settles that, you guess.

There are also text messages in the group chat, one from Simon, and one from Johnny, coming in only a few minutes ago.

Simon: >Penny gets pancakes on Saturday mornings. They’ll be plenty, come down and eat when you’re ready.

Johnny: >I’m missing all the good stuff.

You stretch, cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes, spreading your limbs as far as you can without pushing it too much. You’re sore, uncomfortably so, and still exhausted, but if you stay in bed any longer, you’ll rot.

In the kitchen, Simon holds Penny and a mixing bowl, alternating hands to get a whisk through the batter while humming to his daughter on her hip.

You stop dead in your tracks.

He’s… he’s not wearing the mask.

You stare at his face, his whole, naked face for the first time, taking in the broad jaw, every shiny white scar, and his (twice, if you had to guess) healed broken nose. He’s handsome, differently from Johnny but no less striking, and you can’t look away, stunned by his raw, depthless and rugged beauty. Penny’s leg has kicked up the hem of his shirt, exposing his midsection, and the flash of skin there feels like a scandal, something you shouldn’t be seeing but cannot get enough of. He looks nothing like you expected and yet… everything you hoped for.

“Morning.” Pen tucks her face into his chest shyly, peeking out from the corner of her eye, curious and cute. “Can you say good morning to bunny?” He bounces her a little, and she giggles.

"Bunny." She says quietly, and Simon laughs.

“That’s right. Good job.” After a second of silence, you try to ask him about the missing mask, but the question gets confused on your tongue, and what comes out instead is clumsy and stunted.

“Your mask.” You cringe, immediately. It’s the first thing that slips loose, insensitive, and uncouth. “I uh, I’m sorry, I’m just… surprised?” you falter, and makes it worse. You think about trying to run back upstairs, hightailing it for the hills when he smiles, and points to the empty stool at the kitchen counter with a batter covered whisk.

“Sit.” There’s already a stack piled high, plain, and ones with big, juicy blueberries. Your favorite.

“So, pancakes every Saturday?”

“Mhmm.” He settles Penny in her highchair to your left, and pulls an already cooled pancake from the stack, cutting it up into little, tiny pieces with a child’s knife and fork. “Pen and her Da,” he pads some butter across the top of his handiwork, grabbing her sippy cup and filling it with milk. “Have pancakes every Saturday when he’s home. It’s their favorite. Right?” He points at her, “your favorite?” and taps his middle finger to his chin, others outward, straight up. “Your favorite?” Signing?

“Are you teaching her sign?”

“Trying to. Pen’s birth mum is deaf. It’s important to us, that she’s able to connect with her when the time comes. Plus, my hearing is shot. So is Johnny’s. It’s a great way for her to communicate with us.” He strokes some fingers through her curls, and she doesn’t even look up, too busy shoveling as much pancake into her mouth as she can. You have a million questions now, curiosities bubbling to the surface, about Pen’s mum, about her life, about how she came to be their child. All too rude, and too invasive to ask. “Or, to use when she’s feeling sassy and can’t find the words. That happens, too.”

“She’s what…sixteen months?” You watch her intently, unable to not smile when she cheeses at her dad with a mouthful of food, even though your tender skin stings with the movement.

“Yeah. Top percentiles in a lot of things for her age. Said her first word before she was one.” He’s rich with pride, a deep well of love shining in his eyes, and you force your own down to the plate, stifling the ache bleeding from your heart.

“Of course she is.” Penny holds pieces of sticky, syrupy pancake with both hands, attacking them with vigor, smearing her cheeks purple with the squished blueberries.

You need to eat something, but your brain is buzzing, unnatural discomfort stretching long in the back of your mind.

What’re you doing? Sitting here eating pancakes like everything is normal? Like everything’s okay?

Everything is not okay.

You drift, back to your apartment, back the venom of Phillip, the hands around your neck, the twist of your shoulder, back slamming into the wall. You can still feel him, still hear him, these memories like all the others, your body beaten on the floor, mind nearly broken. Trying to shift away from the hot end of a cigarette, screaming for help, running through a-

A hand covers yours.

He coaxes the fork from your fingers, metal vibrating within flesh.

“I think… I think I should go back to bed.” You whisper.

“Are you tired?”

“No… yeah. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to run away, you know.” He flips a pancake onto your plate from the stack. “Just because you were somewhere else for a little bit.” Your cheeks burn. “We’ve got a pretty nice couch in the living room though, if you want some time alone and don’t feel too keen on the stairs.” Saturday morning pancakes and curling up on the couch? It sounds so nice, so normal, and must show on your face, because he chuckles. “Help yourself. You might have to share the TV though, in a bit. We watch baby Einstein on Saturdays, and she’ll need some entertaining for a minute while I get ready.” Your lips twist, an entire hearth lighting up in the bottom of your heart.

“Alright.”

Baby Einstein is as enthralling as you thought it would be, though Penny disagrees. She stares at the screen, wide eyed, open mouthed, sippy cup long forgotten, and even Simon struggles to get her attention after returning from getting dressed.

You force your eyes away from the strain of his thighs in blue jeans.

“We’re goin’ down to the hospital.” He tells you, pulling her upward over the back of the couch and rubbing his nose through her curls. It’s still… weird, to see his whole face. To clearly watch his expressions, sublime bliss pushing his mouth upward whenever he looks at his daughter. “Want to come?”

“I can’t, not if I’m taking time off. It… looks bad to admin. I can probably go in at night but, during the day is just a recipe for disaster.”

“Of course.” He looks around, for what you don’t know, shoulders tensing, then relaxing. “Well, you’ve got the remote. And my number. Are you… going to be, okay? Alone?”

Say yes.

You can’t. All you can do… is nod.

“Okay well if you’re not. Just call.” You nod again, getting to your feet. Once you’re standing, you’re out of place, flailing in their living room, about to be here alone, with your memories, your poisoned mind.

What’re you doing? You’ve ruined everything. Broken all your rules.

“We can stay.” Simon steps close, hand grazing the middle of your back, and you shake your head.

“No, no- I… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t-“

“Yes, I do.” Your voice shakes, and you slam your eyes shut. You can’t do this. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m putting you in danger, and I… I’m putting myself in danger and I’m being so- so stupid, Simon.” His gaze is heavy, serious, and he steps around you, sliding Penny into her bounce seat, turning it to face baby Einstein.

“Listen to me.” As he returns, he reaches, carefully pulling you close, close enough you’re nearly in his chest, timing the rise and fall of his diaphragm. “We are safe, you are safe, sweetheart. ‘m not going to let anything happen to you, or Penny, or any of us. Alright?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Tell me.” You almost laugh, but something comes over you instead, something delirious and desperate. You lean into him, letting him hold you, hand smoothing over the back of your head. “You can tell me. You can trust us. We’ll take care of you.”

God, you want to. You want to so bad it aches, burns a ravenous fire in your heart. You want tell him, let them in. Tell them everything.

“Bun.” He murmurs, bringing you back, a finger under your chin.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s… it’s too much.”

“It’s alright.” He soothes, but doesn’t pull away, and you’re drawn in like a magnet, rising to the balls of your feet, stuck in a trance, luring you closer.

He meets your halfway.

And then-

He’s kissing you, plush lips on yours, pancakes and fresh laundry and stained-glass windows of sanctuary on his tongue.

You’re standing in the sun, in the trance of another spell.

It’s a mouthful of butterscotch and maple. Sweet, delicious breakfast in bed, lazy Saturday mornings and whispered, tender words. It’s life unlike your own, a home, the promise of a love not fractioned, chipped away, or strangled… but multiplied, magnified. His touch is painfully gentle, slow and easy, encouraging you to follow his lead, carefully constructing a tiny universe to disappear to, where shadow cannot touch. A fantasy, cocoon of stars, ambrosial and sacrosanct, an escape from the hell nipping at your heels, the hell chasing you through your dreaming and waking hours.

The anxious hum radiating through every cell in your body flatlines.

The girl in the mirror weeps.

Everything goes silent. Your breathing slows. Your hands fall to the side, listless and stunned.

Penny grunts. The moment shatters.

You can only stare with wide, terrified eyes.

“Johnny.” It’s the first word out of your mouth, the only thing you can conjure. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m sorry.” Johnny. Johnny’s not here. How can he kiss you when his partner isn’t here? His heart will be broken, you’re destroying their family, you’re-

“I kissed you, bunny. Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Simon hums, still holding your face. “Johnny’s okay. He’ll be a bit jealous he didn’t get one too, but he won’t be upset.”

“How?” the question squeaks, and he takes your hand, tugging you towards the couch, settling you back into the cushions, easily guiding you with deft hands. He's so careful, so gentle, the touch of a man who raises a daughter, who loves his partner, adroit and nimble, anticipating movement before it happens.

“After Penny goes down tonight, let’s have a drink. Or some late dinner. We can talk, and I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can. How’s that sound?” He strokes a thumb across the apple of your cheek. Talking can’t hurt, can it?

“O-okay. Yeah.” You try to shrug, pain lancing through your shoulder, and you try to smother your wince. He frowns.

“I want you to get some rest today.” A small grin creeps across your face.

“You always tell people what to do?” He nods, solemn.

“It’s my job. Takin’ care of you lot is an added bonus.” He breezes by the grouping of you with his family, like it’s a normal thing, rubbing circles in your palm. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

“I can-“

“I’m here. Let me help.” You don’t say anything at first. Can’t say anything, can’t formulate a response that encompasses everything you’re thinking and feeling, stuck on the mile high wall that is your fear and denial, afraid to jump. Afraid to fall.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask you to respond, He just… settles you, cautiously arranging the pillows to support your injuries, lets you sit there atop the wall, staring down at the ground where they wait. Patiently. He rubs your back and your good shoulder until you’re drifting away in heady, hazy dream world, unable to stir when he slips free, tucking the blankets in around you, and pressing another long, lingering kiss to your brow.

You wake in a panic to the doorbell ringing. Your heart races, and you’re up off the couch, tucked around a corner of the hall, hiding, in a blink, even though your shoulder and neck scream at the sudden change of position.

Breathe. You’re losing it. Philip wouldn’t ring a doorbell.

The door clicks open.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice echoes to where you’re still curled around the hallway, back pressed flat, eyes closed. “Hello? Anyone home?” Who is that?

You peek, like a child. Peering around to see a familiar woman with grocery bags in her hands, depositing them on the kitchen counter.

She spots you immediately.

“Hi!” She’s grinning, pretty and bright, pulling a carton of milk from a brown paper bag and putting it in the fridge. “I’m Lou. Sorry, did I scare you? I tried to ‘announce’ myself.” She makes bunny ears with her fingers before and after the word announce, with half of an eye roll. “John’s always telling me I have to when I come over. Can’t be giving anyone surprises, and I knew you were here. Just wasn’t sure if you’d be up for visitors. Sorry if I gave you a fright.”

“No, I…” you trail off, readjusting, giving her your name. She nods and smiles again. “I remember you. In front of the elevator that day.”

“Yeah, that was me.” She’s earnest in her focus, beaming at you, almost like she’s excited.

“You look a little different out of your cute scrubs.” That gives you a small laugh, and you smile honestly at her, flattered.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Oh no, you’re not. I was just… I’m fine.” She pulls a flat of eggs free and stacks them next to a colorful pile of produce.

“I do the store runs for Simon right now. It’s too much, with Johnny in hospital and taking care of Pen. We’ve been trying to lighten his load.” Guilt twists. And here you are, adding onto it.

“That’s very nice of you.” She waves it off.

“They’ve kept my husband alive a million times over. It’s the least I can do.”

“Right… they… work together?”

“Simon is semi-retired but yeah. They’re in a global task force. It’s the four of them. Have you met Kyle yet?”

“Oh, yeah. At the hospital one day.”

“Best guy, really.” Her clothes swish, warm and sweet aura practically glowing.

“Yeah, he was really nice.” She rests her hands on her hips and looks you over.

“You okay?” This woman is direct. She's got a no nonsense approach, and through intense, there's true ardor in her, passion and care.

“Yeah, I’m just… still recovering.” You don’t know what she knows, not sure what they’ve told her or John, so you’re not sure how much, or what even, to say.

“Simon told us, about you being mugged. I’m so sorry, it’s just awful.” She’s sincere in her sympathy, big brown eyes sad and considerate.

“It’s okay, thank you. I’m okay.”

“If you need anything, I’m always around. Or if you want to talk to another girl that isn’t a toddler.” It’s an olive branch of friendship, you realize, or the beginnings of, and you’re startled, considering it, wondering if it would be so bad… to have a friend.

“Thank you.” She gives you her number, and you tap it in, shooting her a text with your name.

“You should sit.”

“I can help with these.”

“No, no. No offense, but you look half asleep. I’ve got it.” You laugh even though it hurts, awkward half shrug with good shoulder, and agree.

“Yeah, I’m still recovering. It’s been slow.”

“I’m sure.” You sit at the counter, watching her organize the fridge with scary efficiency. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. Just had to drop these off.”

“Oh, you’re fine.” It’s nice. You’re nice. She feels safe, the proximity to Simon and Johnny naturally leading you to feel comfortable, knowing she’s welcomed by them, she’s a part of their life. It makes you feel more at ease, and you try to convey it without getting tangled up in awkward words.

You don’t know how. Not really sure how to make genuine friends anymore, so you just sit there and watch, listening to her talk, enjoying how she rambles a little bit, laughing at herself.

When she says goodbye at the door, she promises to text you the next time she’s coming by, so you’re not surprised, and you linger there, watching her go, wondering if it’s real, surprisingly mourning the loss of companionship already.

“Johnny misses you.” The ice in Simon’s rocks glass clinks together as he sips his bourbon, corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smirk. “Not too fond of his new nurse, I’m afraid. Think he’s spoiled now.”

“How is he?” You’re on the edge of your seat for an update, but not wanting to pry too much. It’s a delicate line, one where you don’t know on which side to stand.

“Good. Wrist fracture is nearly healed, so he’ll be able to start on crutches soon. Once he does, he’ll be doing physical therapy for most of his day, and ready to come home. Should be soon.” He really smiles now, and you mirror it, unable to deny the infectious bloom of happiness spreading from him to you.

“And his liver?”

“No complications. Grafts for his burn are in great shape. Hip is the trickiest part.”

“Yeah, they take a lot longer to heal, but I’m sure he’ll do a great job of it, just like everything else.”

“Thanks to you.” You sip your wine, citrusy peach and passionfruit coating your tongue. It’s a nice bottle, and you were surprised when Simon brought it home, bag of takeaway in one arm, Penny in the other.

“No.” Your cheeks heat. “I was just there. You guys did the hard work.”

“Wouldn’t have made it without you though. Think I would’ve lost it. Him too.”

“You would’ve been fine.” You brush it off, and he shakes his head.

“You’re too modest.” He drains his pour, uncapping the bottle on the coffee table between you and refilling it halfway. Glass on glass chimes, and you sink deeper into the couch, relaxing, tucking your knees up until you’re half curled into a ball, wine glass cradled between your palms.

“So…”

“I told you; you can ask me whatever you like.” You knew this was the case, but hesitance is still brimming in your heart, uneasy feelings festering beneath your skin, burning question shoving to the surface.

“Did you tell Johnny we kissed?”

“I did.”

“Was he upset?”

“Only because he feels like he’s missing out. I told him we’d make it up to him.” Fire enflames your skin. We?

“And by we you mean… us. Together. Like… the three of us.”

“I do.” The girl in the mirror screams. She doesn’t understand, why you continue to act against her better judgement. Why you’re entertaining something so, so dangerous, something so stupid.

“Simon, I… I can’t.”

“You keep saying that but look where you are, bun.” He motions to the table, takeaway cartons scattered across the top, half empty bottle of wine, his bourbon, and a baby monitor. It looks like a nice night in, a simple, sweet life, not even close to being your own.

Still, the girl in mirror combats. Still.

“This isn’t… this isn’t a thing it’s just… we’re hanging out. I’m not going to be here forever, I’m looking for a place and I-“ His face changes, flicker of shadow fading across his brow before being chased away by the sunlight in his eyes. You thought he'd be easier to read, without the mask, imagined you'd be able to place his expressions but you're just as confused and lost as ever.

“Slow down. There’s no need to look for a place to live.”

“W-what?” The wine has made you a little slow, a little sleepy, and you blink through the stupor.

“You’re still healing, sweetheart, and I know you're scared. I’ve known since the first day you stepped into Johnny’s room.”

“No.” You shake your head. Pain fizzles, numbed by alcohol, and your head swims.

“I know you weren’t mugged.” How? “I know you’re running from someone.” Oh god. The urge to get to your feet and bolt washes over you like a wave.

“I- I’m not.” The lie is bare-boned, pathetically unconvincing, and you know it. He knows it too; you can tell by the look on his face.

“You’re not ready to tell me, that’s fine. I’m patient. But you won’t be going anywhere if I don’t know you’re safe. And right now, to me, it doesn’t seem like you’re safe.” The pale yellow of your wine shines in the low lights of the living room, and you get lost in it, swirling around in his words, trying to put them together and pick them apart, desperate to understand what he means.

“Are you… are you saying you won’t let me leave?” You gulp. It’s a ridiculous conclusion, but the first one you jump to.

And in that, you know you’re giving too much away.

His face softens, and he reaches, pulling your free hand into his own, petting some sort of sequence into your skin.

“Of course not, sweetheart. I’d never, ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But I do want you to stay, here with us. Where we can keep you safe, take care of you.”

“I don’t need-“

“I know you don’t. I know you take care of yourself just fine.” The indignant roar in the back of your mind settles. “But I’d love an opportunity to do it instead.”

“Simon…”

“Did you know the cells in our body hold onto trauma? They carry imprints of traumatic events. It can change your biology, the way you function.” He squeezes your hand. “It’s hard to realize… that it’s not normal, the way you might be, the way you think, or do things, when you’re carrying the physical memory of terrible things.” He’s not talking about you. There’s a fleeting flash of sadness in his eyes, ghosts circling the drain around his irises, and your heart aches. “We can help you. I don’t know who you’re hiding from, but I can guess what they’ve done- look at me.” You force your eyes back to him, and he cups your cheek. “You do not have to be afraid here. You are safe with me, with us. I know you don’t believe it, and I’ll tell you as many times you need, but it will never not be true. We can help you.”

“You don’t know… you don’t know what you’re saying.” Your denial is steadfast. They cannot possibly understand.

A small seed of light blooms under darkness. It’s the sun, struggling to break free, trying to drag you into its warm, golden rays. It tugs and tugs, clawing towards you, illuminating the path forward.

The words come out before the girl in the mirror can stop them.

“You don’t know him. He’s sick and… powerful. He’s a monster but he’s smart, has connections, has ways of doing things that… I don’t even know. He’d kill you.” You clap your hand over your mouth in shock, surprised at yourself. It’s the most you’ve said about Philip in years.

You expect pushback. Expect Simon to flinch, or cower, or have good sense… a rational reaction to being told someone might try to hurt him.

He smiles instead, settling back on his side of the couch.

“I’d just have to get to him first, then.” Is he… is he? Simon watches you, reaches into your brains to peer inside, rooting around in your head. The way he looks at you, like he knows everything you’re feeling, can see what you're thinking, makes you shiver, makes you feel like you’re a tiny mouse in the shadow of a mountain. He sighs. “Give us a chance.”

“A chance?”

“A chance, to know you. Let us in, let us try. Stay here, with us, spend time with me and Johnny and Pen. No strings attached. If you decide it’s not for you… we’ll understand.”

No strings attached.

You could pick up and leave if you wanted. If you had to.

What’re you doing?

“How does it work? Would we all…” you trail off, confused.

“Date?” Simon finishes gently. “Yes.”

“So, you guys are… bi?” He chuckles.

“Yes, sweetheart. We’re bi.”

“Is this… a thing? Something you guys do?”

“We’ve never taken another partner before, no.” Your eyes widen. “You’re our first.” You don’t know why, but knowing is exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. You’re their first.

He’s talking about it like it’s already happened.

Fatigue settles in around you, thick fog of it draping over your shoulders and clouding your head.

“I… I don’t know.” You stifle a yawn. “I need to think.” He abandons his perch for one next to you, pulling your wine glass free and setting it on the table.

“Tired?” His fingers sweep over your cheek, skin warming under his touch.

“Mhmm.” You mumble, sleepily. Your head is very heavy, suddenly, hard to hold up.

“Alright.” He stands, bending to slide an arm under your knees, the other supporting your back in one fluid movement.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, grabbing onto him as he rises, lifting you into his chest at full height. Panic floods your nervous system, fevered tone pitching into a plea. “Put me down! I’m too heavy. Please, I’m too heavy, you can’t-“

“I’ve lifted a car off a teammate before.” He tells you, the thick of his body beneath your ear vibrating. “And I’ve dug Johnny out of a collapsed concrete wall. I’m made to pick things up, bunny. Heavy or not.” He holds you right there, all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the guest room, before settling you back on your feet, big hands around your waist for balance. Your back is to his chest now, and his nose drifts across the top of your head, slow path of his fingers stroking down your hip. “Alright?” He asks, and you nod, throat too dry to speak.

He squeezes. You stifle a gasp, resist the urge to press your thighs together.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched, since anyone has handled you with reverence, with affection. You almost don’t recognize it.

His hand drifts, slipping between your thigh and cheek. “This okay?” He murmurs, and you manage a rough yes, word sticky and thick in your throat. Yes. Yes, don’t stop. A fingertip strokes along the crease there, back and forth, before trailing upward. He takes as much of your flesh in his palm as he can, squeezing again, caressing, mouth skimming along your neck.

“Oh.” you breathe. The room is warm, barely lit by the bedside lamp, and you burn in the dark, sensations sparking alive that have long laid dormant.

The girl in the mirror curses you.

“Need help getting to bed?”

“N-no.” Yes! “I’m… fine.” His lips touch your cheek, then your ear, breath blowing over you, firm, solid warm mass at your back exhaling shakily.

“Get some sleep.” He steps away, but not before he swings, slowly, softly, into the pillow plush of your ass. It’s a gentle tap, but the fire between your legs roars. “Goodnight, bun.”

“G-goodnight.”

Simon's got his sweatpants and boxers off before he's even fully in the bathroom, running right into the shower, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock as the water flicks on. It's not hot enough, but he doesn't even notice, cock heavy in his grip, tip already smeared wet with pre-come.

"Fuck, bunny." He grits, trying to stay quiet but unable to hold his tongue.

He's awful, for this. Awful for doing this after you've had such an emotional night. Awful for touching you when you're still healing, awful for grabbing a handful of your ass and imagining sliding his dick through the space between those cheeks. He can't stop, strokes himself long, squeezing the base and pulling up and back as he imagines you on all fours, perfect globe perked up in the air for him, his cock sinking into your soaking wet pussy as you moan. He knows you would make the prettiest sounds for them, sweet gasps and cries, bouncing on Johnny's cock in his lap.

"Hop like a bunny." He'd coo, and you'd whine, riding Johnny as Simon coached you until you were so close, almost there on the edge. "Show daddy how bad you want to come, little bunny."

He jerks himself harder, eyes closed, imagining the ripple of your flesh, the way you'd bounce so perfectly, how Johnny would be gripping your hips with his head tipped back, throat exposed for Simon to nip and suck a mark into.

His bunny. His boy.

His toes curl. Water streams down his back, slicking his skin, forearm burning with each stroke, imagination running wild as he gets closer and closer, thinking about you and Johnny and him together, finally, your legs spread wide in front of their faces, perfect pussy on display. He can almost hear the way you'd whisper their names, and it blinds him, fills his head with white light. He knows you're beautiful when you come, as beautiful as you are when you let your guard down and give him a real smile, as beautiful as you are everyday, so pretty and perfect, kind, even as a ghost. He imagines it, pictures it, the sight of his and Johnny's come leaking out of your hole, fingers shoving it back inside, marking you as theirs.

He comes with your name on his lips, a strangled whisper, painting the tile with himself.

He falls asleep with a new addition in their bed, on top of Johny's t shirt and the baby monitor... there's now a long sleeved tee, plucked from your dirty laundry this morning as he was getting ready to leave. It smells like you, something he wishes he could bottle, and he holds it close, tied in tandem with Johnny's, curled in his arms on top of the pillow.

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x soap #if you saw my technical difficulty earlier no you didn't!

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charliemwrites · 4 months

Text

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #oddly wholesome for a mafia au #mafia!au #mafia boss price #assistant reader

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magical-grrrl-mavis · 4 months

Text

There have been 82 Doctors at this point!

Keep reading line because the list is so damn long.

Main Continuum

(In order of appearance)

Classic Who

First Doctor (William Hartnell 1963 – 1966, Richard Hurdnall 1983, David Bradley 2017, 2022)

Second Doctor (Patrick Troughton 1966 – 1969)

Third Doctor (John Pertwee 1970 – 1974)

Fourth Doctor (Tom Baker 1974 – 1981)

Fifth Doctor (Peter Davidson 1981 – 1984)

Sixth Doctor (Colin Baker 1984 – 1986)

Seventh Doctor (Sylvester McCoy 1987 – 1989)

Eighth Doctor (Paul McGann 1996 movie)

Nu Who

Ninth Doctor (Christopher Eccleston 2005)

Tenth Doctor (David Tennant 2005 – 2010)

Eleventh Doctor (Matt Smith 2010 – 2013)

The War Doctor (John Hurt 2013)

Twelfth Doctor (Peter Capaldi 2013 – 2017)

Thirteenth Doctor (Jodie Whittaker 2017 – 2022)

Fourteenth Doctor (David Tennant 2023)

Fifteenth Doctor (Ncutu Gatwa 2023 - ?)

Pre - Memory Doctors

(Timeless child my beloathed)

Morbius Doctors (Robert Holmes, Graeme Harper, Douglas Camfield, Philip Hinchcliffe, Christopher Baker, Robert Banks Stewart, George Gallaccio and Christopher Barry 1976)

The Other (Sylvester McCoy, 1990)

The Fugitive Doctor (Jo Martin 2020)

The Timeless Child(ren) (TBA, Grace Nettle, Leo Tang, Jac Jones, TBA, Jesse Deyi 2020)

Brendan (Evan McCabe 2020)

Possible Future Doctors

(italicized parts of names are the title of that Doctor's first appearance, if I can't find a better name)

Father of Time (No Actor, 1987)

"Merlin" or The Battlefield Doctor (No actor, 1991)

The Army of Shadows Doctor (No actor, 1991)

"Fred" (No actor, 1993)

The Relic (no actor 1997, 2002)

The Storytelling Doctor (Tom Baker 1999)

The Web of Caves Future Doctor (Mark Gatiss, 1999)

The Blue Angel Future Doctor (No Actor, 1999)

The Curator 1 (Tom Baker, 2013)

The Curator 2 (Collin Baker, 2022)

Pseudo-Doctors

The Watcher (Adrian Gibbs 1981)

The Valyard (Michael Jayston 1986)

The Obverse Eight Doctor (No actor, 1999)

The Metacrisis Doctor (David Tennant 2008)

The DoctorDonna (Catherine Tait 2008)

The Dream Lord (Tony Jones 2010)

The Ganger Doctor (Matt Smith 2011)

The Spriggan (David Tennant 2022)

Alternate Realities

Dalek Films

Dr. Who (Peter Cushing 1965, 1966)

The Inferno Universe

The Leader (Jack Kine, 1970)

Doctor Who and the Daleks in Seven Keys to Doomsday

The Doctor (Trevor Martin 1974)

Previous Doctor (Nocholas Briggs 2008)

The Lenny Henry Show

The Seventh Doctor (Lenny Henry 1986)

What If?

The Eighth Doctor (No actor, 1997)

The Infinity Doctors

The Infinity Doctor (No actor, 1998)

The Curse of Fatal Death

The Doctor (Rowan Atkinsen 1999)

The Quite Handsom Doctor (Richard E Grant 1999)

The Shy Doctor (Jim Briadbent 1999)

The Handsom Doctor (Hugh Grant 1999)

The Female Doctor (Joanna Lumley 1999)

The Chronicles of Doctor Who?

The Doctor (no actor, 2000)

Klein's Story

Johann Schmidt (Paul McGann, 2010)

Father Time

The Emperor (No actor, 2001)

Scream of the Shalka

The 9th Doctor (Richard E Grant 2003)

Doctor Who Unbound

The Doctor (Geoffrey Bayldon 2003)

The Unbound Doctor (David Warner 2003)

The Heartless Doctor (David Collings 2003)

The New Heartless Doctor (Ian Brooker 2003)

Martin Bannister (Derek Jacobi 2003)

The Victorious Valyard (Michael Jayston 2003)

The Previous Doctor (Nicholas Briggs 2003)

The Exile Doctor (Arabella Weir 2003)

The Warrior (Collin Baker 2022)

Gallifrey - Disassembled

Lord Burner (Collin Baker 2011)

Gallifrey - Regenerators

Commentater Theta Sigma (Collin Baker, 2011)

False Negative

The Doctor (No actor, 2017)

The People Made of Smoke

The Sixth Doctor (Dan Starkey, 2020)

Unspecified Doctors

Yeah sometimes they just say "The Doctor" and don't bother specifying...

The Cabinet of Light Doctor (No Actor, 2003)

The Dalek Factor Doctor (No actor, 2004)

#doctor who #dr. who #the doctor #the war doctor #the fugitive doctor #the valyard #the morbius doctors

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philhoffman · 8 months

Text

"Katniss, Peeta! This is Plutarch Heavensbee, Head Gamemaker."

#for tumblr user plutarchheavensbee of course 😌😘#francis lawrence stop moving the camera DAMN #gorgeous gorgeous shot of course but think of the poor gif makers next time!#the hunger games #catching fire #philip seymour hoffman #psh #*#speaking of gorgeous gorgeous. plutarch in the dancing scene one of my favorite phil shots of all time. he never looked so handsome #idk how it took me until mockingjay to fall in love with him when that scene is RIGHT THERE!

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grandmaster-anne · 11 months

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3 March 1948 Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, at Boys' Boxing Tournament finals at Albert Hall in London

#so handsome #i'm so 😍😍😍#prince philip #duke of edinburgh #my gifs #queue

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teresalace · 9 months

Text

🐸 Prince Naveen x Female Reader (NSFW) 🚩 (smut)

💃Happy marital life after the wedding~

▪︎Words: 2110

▪︎Warnings: Teasing, Cunninglingus, Naveen going down on reader on the dinnertable.

😭💕 Wrote this two weeks ago, I'm getting more comfortable with smut writing. Hope y'all enjoy! This is my second instalment of the 'Disney x reader' series 😁 first was Prince Philip. Please enjoy!

~~~~

Cooking is a part of your love language, anything to do with taking good care of your loved ones never tires you out.

Firmly handling a long wooden spoon, you swirled through a bubbling pot of gumbo, nice and slow in the thick stew. The rich meaty mixed vegetables flavor filled the entire kitchen, every breath you'd take in would be a delicious meal as you hummed a jazz tune to yourself.

Even from afar, there was a lovely shine on your slightly sweaty skin casted down from the golden crystal lights fixed to the ceiling. Popping your hips out to every few beats of the boiling pot you continuously stirred. Oh, you couldn't wait to eat right after your husband comes back from his music band, dinner always tasted better with a loved one.

. . .

Click.

Right on time, you heard the soft thud of the front door knob opening and a faint scuffle of shoes being taken off. At that familiar sound, a happy tingly feeling rose from your stomach, not just because you were starting to feel a little peckish but you were looking forward to seeing someone...

A pair of muffled footsteps led towards the kitchen and gave you a lovely surprise.

Hearing a low melodic whistle from behind, you instantly smile and throw back a glance over your shoulder. "Oh you're absolutely glowing, my evangeline. Glowing!" Naveen said enthusiastically, leaning his side against the doorway, his sparkling teeth and wide smile never failing to lift the tiredness within you from a good day's work, his princely presence alone cheering your spirits.

Your lips spread into a loving warm smile as a chuckle rose out of you. "Why thank you, Naveen, you're looking more handsome than usual." And goodness gracious he really was, wearing sleek long pants with that favourite white polo shirt of his, the sleeved clumsily rolled up at the elbows and revealing his firm arms crossed over each other. Emphasizing the muscles there, like he was barely containing himself from springing his arms around you.

"Of course, of course. It is both a burden and a treat to be as unbelievably handsome as I am~" He eagerly ran a hand through his luscious hair and kept it behind his head, posing unashamedly for your eyes. Never failing to reel chuckles and laughter out of you, anytime and any day.

“Uh huh, right. It must be so hard for you, baby.”

He nodded in an exaggerating fashion. "It IS very hard to have a beautiful person such as yourself by my side…” His eyes shut as he loudly breathed in the air, pausing dramatically. “Mmmmm, it smells delicious… Absolutely divine." His eyes reopened and stayed on you like a target, hardly sparing a glance to your side where the stew you cooked was. "Why don't we get comfortable and…”

“-And miss out on dinner? Naveen, we best keep our stomachs full before anything else.” You lightly said, a scolding tone as you shook your head for good measure at his teasing expression.

Putting down the wooden spoon on a plate, you heard a deep, almost mischievous chuckle.

"Oh, I know a way to get full…"

As if he couldn't wait any longer, Naveen gleefully leapt and wrapped his strong arms around you, lifting you off your feet with little effort as you yelped being brought out of the kitchen, his grip slightly crushing your breasts and you grumbled when your toes barely grazed the ground.

Like a floating water lily unable to move as easily against rippling water, you felt like you were floating as he carried you onto the dining table.

"Naveen–" Before any protest could come out of your mouth, his lips mashed into yours and sent your body an explosion of tingles to course through.

Not wanting to fall, you had your hands propped behind you on the table surface and continued the harmonic kiss as his warm firm hands fondled the fleshiness of your thighs for his own pleasure. Inching higher and higher towards your hips, massaging gently as his hands dipped underneath the elastics of your underwear and tugged downwards.

Any and all protest disappeared from your mind when a breeze flowed by as your underwear was gone, and you heard a slip of fabric followed by an undone belt falling to the floor.

"I've been looking forward to this meal, princess." His mouth latched to the sensitive nub, with little pressure at first while his fingers rubbed and probed around your vulva in lazy circles to get you worked up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer for better pleasure.

And it was working.

Round and round your labia, working up a slow rhythm that build up a delicious heat in your tightening core, but his chuckles added a cherry on top vibration onto that

It didn't take long with the help of his fingertips, like the skilled musician that he is, played you like a fiddle to spur on your release, your tensed thighs relaxing around his head, an audible sigh of relief letting out from you.

Wow…

"So, how was it, (Name)?"

A slightly sweatier Naveen smirked sweetly up at you, breathing a little heavier, his long tongue running over his glistening wet lips in a smug fashion as if he was savoring your taste and to get a reaction out of you.

You wheezed out an answer with a dazed smile, weakly rolling your eyes at his display, trying to glance down to his handsome face in a pearly sheen from the sweat.

"Very… Very satisfied."

That would be enough for a long while until the next time you'll make love with him.

"Then I'm about to do it again," his happy response was swift like his readied tongue when he dove back down in between your thighs, to your dripping entrance, continuing his expert strokes and rapid flicks on your vulva.

Hardly appearing to be exhausted though you were sure his jaw would've been sore and aching now as his flicking tongue twisted and turned in so many different angles you never knew was possible, worked another explosive orgasm out of you.

Your curling toes, calves tensed as he never stopped his tired tongue from lapping up your juices.

"Ah. I-I already came," half-mewls kept slipping from your lips. "You can rest," you breathed hard and heavy and called out to the head deep in-between your thighs, your fingers interlaced with his dark locks of hair tugging a little to get his attention. "Naveen!"

"I'll stop once you've begged for more~" Now that isn’t fair, that logic of his never helps you at all and he knows that! What a greedy prince.

"Please, don't give me more," you gasped at his sped up tonguing, like adding firewood to a burning furnace. He kept firing you up.

"Naveen! I won't kiss you today if you don't take a break," you grumbled a warning, sweating like rain, meaning every word you said.

Hearing you, he paused, cool puffs of breath closely fanning over your slit and making you twitch but giving you a chance to take in a proper deep breath.

"Fine by me, princess– I'll just kiss your other lips, they look more lonely." The pounding in your chest intensified as your hands clenched onto the table edge, mentally you weren't prepared for his determination in peppering you in ravenous affection.

His tongue resumed drawing all over your intimates, specially licking up any essence of your obvious arousal glistening under the chandelier lights like a pearl.

"From my glorious time being a frog, I have learned to never underestimate what nature can teach you." He added before lowering his entire face down, your hips involuntarily jolting at feeling the sudden pleasures multiplying the second his lips began to kiss your very clit, no doubt swollen from his previous workings.

Almost making you feel jealous of your own…. Self.

Then came his tongue. Oh gosh, his tongue!

It penetrated your stickiness, lava hot, made you squirm involuntarily on the edge of the dinner table. Twisting and turning inside of you skillfully, inch by inch, scissoring you while his fingers prodded around your labia teasingly like he didn't know what to do.

Pleasurable torture is the only way you could describe it as you breathed in through gritted teeth, eyes barely focusing on the chandelier above, your shaky hand pulling onto a tuff of his hair gently.

Every time you even tried to move away from his tongue, his other hand slipped around your waist and secured you in place while his silken tongue kept dancing along your inner walls, his soft lips brushing against your lower ones.

He was french kissing you in another way, gosh. And you were so weak to him.

Finally, your whole body froze and shuddered as you climaxed, locking Naveen's face against your slick for a few seconds until your limbs slackened.

A quiet gasp for air came from below you before a small burst of laughter came.

Both of you needed a moment to breathe deeply, your face flushed in a light sheen of sweat, which was laughable in comparison to Naveen's overly pleased smirk as he rose to his feet, his chest equally as heaving as yours.

Another comfortable moment passed by.

I… really appreciated it. You didn't have to do this so soon, Naveen…" You caressed his cheek, your thumb gently rubbing his cheekbone, watching the warm dark skin turn shades darker beneath... And your wetness shining around his mouth.

He smiled in full satisfaction and leaned into your touch, his blushing never gets old, you knew he really was a sucker for compliments especially from you. "But I really enjoyed it, thank you, honey."

"Oh believe me, it was my pleasure, darling." Yeah you believed him, a certain hard poke at your thigh from below his waistband reminded you that it's going to be your turn to satisfy him.

"Well, It's about time I give you a reward," you smiled wide teasingly, slowly unbuttoning your shirt underneath the apron, his eyes sparkled, you could almost hear his anticipating excitement, following every inch of exposed skin before your apron blocked him. "But first, dinner. I made some good o' gumbo, and we should eat it while it's piping hot." You said smoothly, pushing yourself off the table and stabilizing on wobbly legs.

Naveen laughed out hard and rubbed his belly, joking. "I think I've already eaten plenty—" Oh the gull on this man.

"—Oh no you don't, fun comes later, I will not let you be with an empty stomach no matter how 'full' you say you are. Now come on, honey." You gently cut him off with reddened cheeks, shaking your head in disapproval at him. "There will be no skipping dinner while I'm here, not on my watch."

He jokingly rolled his eyes when you placed a hand on his hard chest and lightly pushed him for you so you'd be able to get unstuck between him and the dinning table.

Smiling, he let you push him to the side as you sauntered into the kitchen, him naturally following you to provide some help in bringing out the plates and utensils to the table. Teamwork always sped things up.

Using two hand towels to grab the hot handles of the still boiling pot, you heaved it onto a pre-prepared thick cloth on the dining table. Naveen already set up the soup bowls for both you and him, large plates and tall glasses for water. All that's left was to bring out the fluffy rice and dinner would be served at last.

Out of nowhere, your husband nervously blurted out as you were about to sit down. "I love you, my princess, I adore you." His glimmering eyes seemed to stare straight into your soul and captured your love all over again.

You paused mid-way and smiled lovingly, "I'd say the same in a heartbeat if I wasn't starving, but I do too. I love you, Naveen."

And just like that, both you and him leaned in over the dining table and kissed briefly... Which turns into one long smooch, leading to three then the loud rumbling of his stomach interrupted the moment right on cue. He sheepishly grinned, "guess I'd better eat before loving."

"My stomach agrees," you giggled, the powerful smell of the gumbo stew making your mouth salivate, and you weren't the only one, looking at Naveen eyeing the soup across from you.

Dinner that evening was a lovely overflow of laughter, praises, conversations and much later a lot of fun loving.

#disney x reader #teresalace #prince naveen #smut scenarios #writing #smutty #x reader #male x reader #disney smut #the princess and the frog #Disney Prince x reader #female reader #Smut #Male Disney #X you #x female reader #Male x female reader #prince naveen x reader #Prince Naveen x female reader

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roosterforme · 10 months

Text

The University of Sugar | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You take Bradley to a work happy hour, but nothing about it makes him happy, since your boss is clearly flirting with you. Was that man blind? Could he not see your engagement ring? Bradley was ready to fuck some sense into you. And you were so willing to let him.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! This was written for a request. Banner by @mak-32

Check my profile for my masterlist

Bradley was exhausted. He'd had such a long week, stayed on base late almost every day. He was ready to get undressed, take you to bed, and pass out for at least twelve hours. But when he unlocked his front door and walked into the living room, you were standing there in a cute little dress, all made up. Maybe he could squeeze in a quickie before he passed out.

"You look like you're ready for me to take you to bed," he said with a smirk as he started to untie his boots. But then he remembered something that you had said... about... a happy hour? Fuck.

"You need to get changed. I don't want to be late," you told him, checking the time on your phone while he groaned. Now he remembered. He promised you weeks ago that he'd go to the happy hour with your coworkers from the math department at San Diego State University. But right now, he was dying to get in bed and stay there.

"Sugar," he whined, "Baby, I'm exhausted. Can't we just stay home?"

"No!" Now you didn't look pleased at all as he made his way closer to you. "Go get changed, Beer Boy."

He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you snug against him. "Come on, Baby," he crooned. "Doesn't our bed sound better than happy hour? I promise I'll make you cum. Twice."

You kissed him and smirked devilishly. "I'll hold you to that. After we get back from happy hour."

"Fuck," he groaned releasing you and heading to the bedroom to get changed. There was no way he was getting out of this one. He was going to have to chat with your coworkers all night. A bunch of boring math nerds. Because there was no way there was more than one hot, interesting math nerd at your school. You were an anomaly. You'd cornered that market.

Plus, Bradley just knew he was going to feel like an idiot all night. You were smarter than anyone he knew, and it would be like a bunch of clones of you walking around sounding extremely intelligent. He didn't even know what he was going to talk about.

"Ready?" you asked with a smile when he reemerged from the bedroom. You took him by the hand and led him out to the driveway. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone."

---------------------------

It was worse than Bradley thought it would be. Apparently the median age of college math professors was eighty. He held tight to his bottle of beer while you introduced him to way too many people whose names he would never remember. He tried to smile, but he had to stifle a few yawns while he followed you around the small auditorium on your campus.

Everyone knew you. Everyone liked you. Everyone wanted to talk to you. Which was all fine and dandy until Bradley got cornered in conversation with Professor Rosenthal while an extremely handsome man walked up to you and gave you a lingering hug.

"Who the hell is that?" Bradley asked, completely cutting off Professor Rosenthal.

"Oh," he sputtered, turning to see where Bradley was looking. "Oh, that's Professor Philip Harding. The department dean."

Bradley's brain was buzzing now as he watched Professor Philip Harding put his hand on your lower back while you laughed. You had mentioned him before. Many times. You told Bradley that you frequently ate lunch with Phil on the benches outside your building next to the rose garden. Bradley was the one who lovingly packed those lunches for you.

He watched as you slowly took a step out of Phil's reach. "That's a good girl, Sugar," he muttered, now completely ignoring Professor Rosenthal.

But Phil closed the gap and was already next to you again. Was this guy blind? Or just stupid? Did he not see the engagement ring on your finger? Could he not comprehend that you were in a relationship?

"Fuck," Bradley growled, glaring at him as he set his empty bottle down and tore across the room. Phil was tall, dark and handsome, and Bradley knew you liked that kind of thing. Plus, if he was the department dean, he was probably as smart as you were.

Jealousy pulsed beneath his skin as he came up behind you and wrapped his hand around your perfect hip. "Hey, Sugar," he rasped, leaning down to kiss your neck. He loved the way you melted into his touch, but Bradley kept his eyes on Phil who cleared his throat loudly.

"Hello," Phil said, looking at Bradley with a thoroughly unimpressed expression. But he could just fuck right off, because Bradley wasn't impressed either. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Philip Harding."

You smiled up at Bradley. "Phil is the department dean. And his office is next to mine." Then you turned to Phil, and Bradley had to watch his gaze dip down to your chest as you said, "Phil, this is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"Her fiancé" Bradley added, rather too loudly.

Phil just smirked at him. "Ah, yes. I believe I've heard mention of you before. You work on submarines or something?"

Bradley clenched and unclenched his fist. "I'm an aviator," be ground out. "A pilot. I fly an F/A-18."

"Right," Phil replied cooly before turning back to you and asking you a question about your calculus lecture. And then Bradley had to stand there and listen to you laugh while he felt like a complete idiot.

After a few moments of listening to Phil's annoying voice, Bradley pulled you a little closer and said, "Please excuse us," effectively cutting off the conversation and luring you back toward the refreshment table.

"What's wrong?" you asked. "You're acting so weird."

Bradley's eyes bugged out. "I'm acting so weird? Sugar, what the fuck, Baby? That guy is flirting with you right in front of me."

"No, he's not," you replied with an eye roll. "He's always like that."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he growled. "Because it does not. In fact it makes me feel worse."

"He's harmless, Beer Boy. I eat lunch with him all the time."

Bradley managed to speak through clenched teeth. "The way you described him, I pictured a geriatric nerd with a receding hairline and fucking dentures!"

You burst into laughter, planting your hand on his chest as you cackled and gasped for hair.

"He's not old at all!" Bradley complained.

"No," you said, trying to reel in your laughter. "I think he's forty."

"He's handsome!"

"So are you." Your hand slid up to the back of Bradley's neck as you grinned at him.

"He wants to fuck you!"

"So do you," you replied calmly. "You're jealous."

Bradley took a few deep breaths. He would never, ever admit to that out loud. "He touched you," Bradley growled. He didn't even care if he was causing a scene right now. You were going to be his wife, and he would be damned if Phil didn't leave here tonight knowing damn well where he ranked with you.

"I told him to stop," you said sincerely. "I don't think he'll do it again."

"He better fucking not."

You leaned up and kissed Bradley's chin. "I can't believe you're jealous of him. You have no reason to be." You searched his face and sighed, that needy little sound you made when you were ready to go. "I love you. And you look so hot right now."

Bradley's cock twitched for you, and he pulled you snug up against him so you could feel that he was hard. You moaned softly, and Bradley glanced over to see that Phil was looking this way.

"Let's go fuck in your office," Bradley told you, possibly loud enough for someone to hear. And then he kissed you hard, slipping his tongue into your mouth until you were pulling him toward the door.

"I don't know what's gotten into you tonight," you whispered, ducking your head as you led him out into the hallway. "But I'm not mad about it."

Bradley followed you down the hall to your office as you clicked along in your high heels. He was very familiar with this room, and when you unlocked the door, he pushed you inside but not before he noticed Phil was also in the hallway.

Bradley winked at the other man before he slammed the door shut behind him. You had a smug, needy look on your face as the fluorescent lights started to warm up and brighten the small room.

"You're mine, Sugar," he stated simply, caging you in against your desk. "And next time you eat lunch with Phil, I want you to think about this," he whispered, reaching down so his hand was underneath your dress, grabbing the back of your thigh and making you break out in goosebumps. "And this."

You moaned softly as he gently pressed his lips to yours in the sweetest kiss. "Bradley," you whined as his hand slid up to the front of your underwear. "I thought you were exhausted from work."

"I got my second wind," he promised, leading his gentle kisses along your jaw and to your ear. "Now pull your underwear down, bend over, and tell me how hard you want it."

The strangled noise you made had him laughing before he sucked on your neck. But sure enough, you started yanking down your own underwear, and then you turned your back to him.

You looked up at him over your shoulder, smiling sweetly as you said, "Hard."

Bradley was working on his own button and zipper as quickly as he could. "That's my sweet Sugar," he crooned, and you bent over your desk, moaning his name. He carefully pulled your dress up so your ass was beautifully on display for him. His cock was gliding through your wet pussy as he gently kicked your legs a little further apart.

You wobbled a bit on your high heels as Bradley ran his big palm along your ass, cupping and squeezing you. "Bradley," you gasped, wiggling yourself back against his hand.

"You want it hard, Sugar? First, you need to promise me that if that asshole Philip Harding ever touches you again, you tell me immediately." Bradley knew his tone was a little rough, and when you met his eyes over your shoulder, you nodded.

"Okay." Your voice was soft, just like your skin beneath his palm. Bradley squeezed you before spanking you one time. "Bradley!" you screeched, biting your lip and moaning.

"Promise me," he demanded. "He never touches your lower back or any other part of your body ever again." His fingers skimmed up along that exact spot on your back.

"I promise!" you groaned, still pressing back against him. Bradley thrust into you, hoping like hell that Phil was still out in the hallway. He wouldn't mind one bit if the department dean heard everything he was doing to you. And if your current volume was any indication, then perhaps everyone else in the small auditorium would be able to hear you, too.

"You wanted it hard," he grunted, absolutely slamming into you. "You're mine. Gonna be my wife."

"Yes!" you screeched, grabbing along the top of your desk, trying to hang on as he fucked you. Bradley ran his hand along the spot where he spanked you feeling the warmth there.

"You're smart, Sugar," he praised, slipping his hand around to your clit and bending so his front was pressed to your back. "Now tell me who you belong to."

"You!" Your voice sounded a little hoarse, and he could hear it quiver as his fingertips spanked your clit.

He growled next to your ear as he alternated between tapping and rubbing. "Say my name."

"Bradley!"

"Good girl," he praised, pinching your clit until you screamed. And then he spanked your pussy through your orgasm, tapping just hard enough that your legs started shaking.

"Fuck," you groaned, the single syllable loud and drawn out as Bradley took you by both hips and fucked you so hard, you were whimpering.

"Mmm," he hummed, palming your ass. "I'd love to cum all over your pretty face right now, but you'll get that when we get home. I'll spread it all around. Mess up your makeup and let you lick my fingers clean."

"Bradley, please?" you begged, but he spanked your ass and shook his head, fucking your harder as he got close. "On my face!"

"No. You insisted we come to happy hour, and it's already going to be obvious what we did without my cum all over you, Professor Sugar."

"I love it when you call me that," you crooned, clearly enjoying this entire interlude. "Now fuck me until you come."

It didn't take long after that. He came inside your tight pussy, painting it up and chanting your name. His hands were tight on your hips, and as soon as he withdrew, Bradley knelt down behind you. He kissed along your ass and your thighs as you tried to stand upright on your unsteady legs.

"Easy," he crooned, watching his cum drip out of you as he eased your cute underwear back up your legs. You spun to face him as he pulled your dress down. Your hair and makeup were a mess, your lips were a little puffy, and you couldn't stand up straight. You looked down at him, still kneeling before you. "I love you," he promised as you let your hands rest on his shoulders.

"I know, Beer Boy," you whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. "I love you, too. And I love when we fuck in my office or the study rooms on campus. It's kind of our thing."

Bradley stood and kissed you softly. "Academia really suits me. I went to the University of Sugar."

You bit your lip and giggled as he led you toward the door. He took your left hand in his and spun your pretty engagement around on your finger as you made your way back to the happy hour. When Phil exited the men's bathroom a few doors down from your office and wouldn't make eye contact, Bradley smirked.

"You were loud as hell," Bradley informed you just before rejoining the group. "And you look so fucking dissheveled, I can't wait to bust a nut on your face later."

"Beer Boy!" you gasped, following him with wide eyes as Bradley made his way back to Professor Rosenthal with a fresh drink. He had accomplished what he set out to do, and now Phil would think twice before he touched you again.

"So sorry we got interrupted before," Bradley said to the older man. "What were we talking about?" Then he listened to Professor Rosenthal talk about the politics of the math department, his upcoming retirement and his hip replacement. And all the while, you kept eyeing Bradley with a very satisfied look on your face.

----------------------------

"Okay, Beer Boy," you muttered to yourself, sitting on a bench in the rose garden next to your building on campus. You were unpacking the lunch Bradley had made for you, which included a note with huge handwriting.

Sugar, Can't wait to get my hands all over you later. Love, Beer Boy

You snorted and tucked the note into your pocket. This is what he did now. Every day since he met Phil, Bradley wrote you a dirty lunchbox note. The first note last week had been about how Bradley wanted to fuck you in the Bronco when he picked you up from campus. And sure enough, he had done just that, in the parking lot behind the student union building.

Of course Bradley knew what he was doing, because Phil had accidentally seen that note. And he hadn't eaten lunch with you since then. But now you were waiting for your new lunch pal, Professor Rosenthal.

"You win, Beer Boy," you whispered, texting him a photo of the note along with a little message from you.

I want your lips and tongue, too.

You smirked and ate the lunch he packed you, excited to get home later. Excited to marry Bradley. Excited for everything.

----------------------

Love checking in with Beer Boy and Sugar from time to time! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

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prettybean · 6 months

Text

TEASING COD BOYS (+18)

prompt: you like to tease them

* probably I will continue the konig one 🫥

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

Ghost

He has an angry expression on his face and appears prepared to kill anyone who crosses his path. Your panties were revealed by your dress riding up slightly. He knew you were doing it on purpose. With his hands, he grasps your hips, adjusts your clothing, and pushes you towards him. “You better behave, you don't want me to fuck you in front of everyone, do you want it?”

Soap

He's too sweet to get mad at you, but as soon as he sees how you're trying to show him your breasts, you see the bulge in his pants. Bite his lips, before looking around, making sure no one was watching. He brings his hands together and squeezes your tits together. A moan leaves your lips and someone turns in your direction, making you blush. “See love? better not to tease."

Price

During a business meeting, you came up with the idea to gently massage his thigh from behind the table. He glanced at you with a slight blush on his face, and continued to give her soldiers a detailed explanation of the next mission. Your hand moved upwards, touching his bulge, causing the captain to gasp.

He will ensure that everyone hears your moans from his room at the end of the meeting, fucking you hard to release his tension.

Gaz

He can't sit still. Your legs opening slightly while you were talking to his friends made him go crazy. Immediately after your hands caressed your own thighs, he quickly stomped his foot on the floor. Kyle's almost threatening look is immediately noticed by your friend, leading them to decide that it's best to leave. “You were doing it on purpose huh?” You look at him with a teasing smile. “You can only open those legs if my face is between them”.

Graves

He was completing his paperwork and conversing with his colleagues about upcoming enemy actions. Your hands rubbed over his shoulders while he sat. Your weak grinding against Philip was unnoticed by him due to his attentiveness. Or at least you thought so.

He grabbed your wrist and made you sit on him, holding onto your hip with his other hand and causing you to ride his leg in front of everyone. “Do you enjoy playing, huh? I want to have fun too then."

Alejandro

You were just a rookie and he helped you with your weekly training, along with all the other freshmen. “You should go down with your back”.

You followed his advice by arching your back and raising your ass in the air. “Oh Dios mío” you heard him say softly, as you continued to show your ambiguous position. “Okay, let's take a break,” Alejandro said, trying to hide his bulge.

König

He don’t talk to you much, well, he don’t talk at all, which was why you loved teasing him in every possible way. Every time you walked up to him and whispered something dirty to him, you were delighted to see his immediate reaction: he awkwardly walked away and insulted you in German.

Today was one of those days, you leaned close to his ear “I bet you have a huge cock, I mean, I hope so” This was too much for him, he grabbed your wrists with one hand, pushing you against the wall. “Why don't you find out?”

Keegan

You go out for a drink together, order two cold beers and start talking about your day. Keegan seemed focused on his story, but all you could think about was how handsome he was. you poured more beer into the glass, before bringing it to your mouth. You sucked on the top of the bottle, running your tongue against it.

Keegan's speech suddenly stops.

“Fuck, next time you do this I'll make sure my cock is in your mouth.”

#cod #konig cod #cod x reader #konig smut #keegan x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #konig x reader #alejandro smut #alejandro x reader #gaz cod #gaz x reader #phillip graves #soap x reader #soap smut

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royally-obsessed · 2 years

Text

Italian film star Gianna Maria Canale curtsies as she is presented to Princess Margaret at the gala premiere of Neapolitan Fantasy, marking the opening of the Italian Film Festival at the Tivoli Cinema. In background are the Duke of Edinburgh and Queen Elizabeth II (partially obscured by Miss Canale), and Manlio Brosio, Italy's ambassador to London.

#LOOK AT PHILIP #he is so handsome #prince philip #duke of edinburgh #queen elizabeth ii #princess margaret

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shadowlali · 8 months

Note

Hii, I love the way you write and was wondering if you could do Philip Graves enemies to lovers to yk what 🤪

the investigator

COD - Phillip Graves x fem!reader

[18+] wc: ~ 3.1k summary: Commander Graves gets help from an investigator. masterlist

warnings: NSFW, implied age gap, Graves being then nice, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex, some proofreading, no use of Y/N nor too many details on reader’s appearance a/n: thank you for this request anon! i really tried my best on this, writing enemies to lovers was definitely a nice challenge. hopefully f!reader is okay! also, if anyone sends in a request, my writing tends to be around ~2k+ but i can try (keyword: try) to make them shorter :)

You’re a nuisance to him. Intelligent, resourceful, rude, beautiful. You manage to captivate everyone’s attention whenever you step foot onto the Shadow Company base. You’re kind, too. Always smiling and talking with the other soldiers, showing genuine interest in their conversations.

Until you eventually have to face him. Your demeanor changes, the smile drops from your face and forced formalities leave your lips. Everytime you say “Commander” or “Sir”, Phillip can swear on his life that you’re being sarcastic, a tiny smirk always present on your lips. Phillip hates the effect you had on him. It would be so much easier to write off your existence from his mind, but the way you look and the pull of your hypnotic voice reels him in.

Only in moments like these, when outside help for the Shadow Company is absolutely necessary do you receive the call. You’re an entrepreneur of sorts. Your main talents being investigative and tech work. Shadow Company is one of your least favorite clients, especially since Commander Phillip Graves is always present in the meetings. You aren’t used to speaking to CEOs or Commanders, usually the mission leaders will reach out and take point from there.

Phillip Graves is handsome with a voice like warm honey, able to dazzle and woo anyone who speaks to him. His soldiers are loyal to their leader, Phillip, having earned their respect. Despite this, he irritates you. The way he speaks to you is as if he’s speaking to a child, ignoring the countless accomplishments in your work. You also don’t like the feelings he stirs up.

You were a little dazed the first time you met Commander Phillip Graves, his tactical pants and shirt stretched over his body emphasizing every ripple of hard muscle. It was the look he gave, the one you’d seen many times before as someone young in this industry. Doubt.

“How old are you?” Was the first thing out of his mouth after introductions.

“I’m–”

Phillip interrupted you,“ You haven’t been doing this for long, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. But I’ve had much success in my work. I’m confident enough that I can find whatever you need.”

Phillip hummed, turning to look at his second in command.

Your smile dropped, annoyed at this point at having woken up early and gone against your code of getting into cars with unknown men. Blackout, thick glasses had been placed over your eyes as you approached the base to prevent you from knowing exactly where they were located. They sought after you for your services, not the other way around. Therefore, you were a little offended at the comments and insinuations made by Commander Graves.

“If you don’t believe me, that’s okay. You can find someone else to do it. Who can take me back to my apartment?” You asked, slowly stepping towards the black SUV that had picked you up.

Phillip’s head whipped towards you, stunned at your tone of voice. Never in his years as Commander and CEO had anyone disrespected him, much less in the presence of his top men. He opened his mouth, ready to let you know exactly who was in charge and who gave orders around here before his second-in-command cut him off.

“What he means by that is we are just a little surprised that someone so young can do this job. We’re a little on edge but we’d like for you to provide us some intel.”

You decided to stay, they agreed to your going rate and you didn’t need to speak to Graves for the rest of your time there. He’d pass by the conference room temporarily given to you and give a short glance before looking away. It only took you four days to find everything they needed, the intel legit and his men left impressed by your work. Graves congratulated your work, his body stiff as if he still couldn’t believe it.

You felt smug at being able to prove him wrong, the newly deposited six-figures in your bank account making you especially happy. They didn’t provide you with company secrets, but you knew how desperate the situation was for them to have reached out. Shadow Company reached out a few more times after the first, always willing to pay whatever price for your skills.

Currently, you sit across from Commander Phillip Graves in his office, having been rushed in here the moment you exited the SUV. He’d been sitting at his desk, eyebrows scrunched in concentration when you walked in. Graves looks up, his eyes doing a quick sweep over your body. You choose to ignore the warm feeling it gives you and sit down at one of the empty chairs in front of him. Phillip tries to even out his breathing, having enough on his plate already to be distracted by your pretty face.

Graves runs a hand through his hair before speaking, “I’m… I’m glad you're here. This is urgent.”

He slides a thin folder across the desk before he begins to speak, “This is the profile we have on –”

“I’m sorry, this is it? Four pages? I thought you had more on this guy?”

“I thought you were able to find anyone and anything? Isn’t that your whole business model? With the money I’m paying you, you should be grateful I have more than just his name,” Graves snaps.

“For a company who prides themselves on being the best PMC out there because of how they ‘get shit done’ it's concerning that your staff has only four pages on him after months of research and tracking.”

Phillip stares at you, once again remembering why he finds you so insolent. You quickly scan the pages while completely disregarding him. Shadow Company has been tracking a suspect for months, ready to intercept the moment he tried to sell his merchandise. Using finger quotes to speak to a Commander is unacceptable, and only someone like you would do that. He decides to continue, ignoring your words.

“Like I was saying, this is what we have so far. We believe he might’ve been tipped off about our surveillance. He’s dangerous and we need to find him quickly.”

“I’ll see what I can find, I have some contacts who I can reach out to. I’ll be honest, I need about a week –”

“You have 4 days.”

You give him an annoyed glance before standing up and saying “yes sir.” You’re then led to the same conference room as before and get to work. A few of the employees on the mission check in on you periodically, providing you with any extra information they find.

You reach out to your contacts and have some good leads on where this guy is. Graves comes in on the second day, a few minutes after you arrive from the on-site room they provided. You decide to offer an olive branch.

“Good morning, sir. Did you want a recap of what I’ve found so far?”

He says nothing, pulling out a chair opposite of yours. Your eyes are going to get stuck in the back of your head with the amount of times you’ve rolled them whenever in his presence.

He fixes you with a stare,“ You know I looked into your other contracts, everyone says what a ‘pleasure’ you are to work with.”

You lift an eyebrow with his statement, trying not to laugh at his use of finger quotes which is probably punishment for your actions yesterday. You can’t help yourself, you like pushing his buttons.

“You spent time researching me instead of, oh I don’t know, trying to find the guy your people lost?”

Phillip watches you type away at your laptop, his mind reeling with a million thoughts, none of them focused on the suspect. He tries not to concentrate on how good you smell or how much he likes the mischievous twinkle in your eyes whenever you look at him. Phillip stands up, not liking the direction of his thoughts. You’re here to do a job, and the less time he spends with you, the better.

“Focus on the job, I want my money’s worth.”

It takes you 3 days to find him, and you’re damn proud of it. The suspect had been laying low on a small boat off the coast and the Shadows were able to pose as buyers to intercept him. You stand in Graves’ office as his second-in-command once again thanks you for your efforts before leaving you two alone. Your bags are packed and a car is waiting for you on the ground floor. Phillip stands and rounds the corner from his desk. He has a pensive look on his face when he addresses you.

“You should have received the deposit to your bank account by now.”

“About that –”

“Let me finish.” He pauses before taking a deep breath, “It was a few more than your going rate. It's my way of apologizing for how I’ve treated you.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. You thought the extra money had been a thank you for completing the job early, not for an apology.

“This job, this industry it… It takes a toll on you. That's not an excuse for how often I doubted you. You shouldn’t be spoken to in that way, whether you complete a job or not.”

The look in Graves’ eyes seems sincere. You’re used to working with demanding people, it’s just a fact of life. Yet, it isn’t often when people like him apologize.

“I forget that everyone is just trying to make it in this world and you don’t need some old guy making it harder for you. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, ”You’re not that old. And… I accept your apology.”

Phillip never thought he’d get turned on by the sound of your laugh, but it happens. His pants tighten once he hears the melodic tone of your laugh and the sight of your genuine smile directed towards him. He smiles, stretching out his hand to shake yours. You suck in a shaky breath, his eyes are bright and the fangs at the edge of his smile give you impure thoughts. His hand is warm and firm against your own. You feel tingles shoot up your arm as he gently shakes it.

“I guess I should go now.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand, moving his thumb across your knuckles.

“Yea, you probably should.”

You’re not sure who lunges first. One moment you’re both an appropriate distance apart, the next his hands have pulled you in at the waist while your hands tug at his soft hair, his lips pressed against your own. Graves’ gives hungry kisses, biting or tugging at your lips.

He moans when you give a hard tug on his hair, digging his hands into your lower back. Graves turns you both around while never breaking the kiss, clumsily walking you towards his desk. He unbuttons your jeans and pushes them down along with your soaked panties, pushing your hands away as you try to unbuckle his belt.

“No, not yet,” he says while breaking this kiss.

You kick off your shoes and shimmy the rest of the way out of your bottoms. Graves grabs the end of your shirt and drags it over your head. Your bra follows soon after and you’re left completely naked in his office. He steps back to admire you, a hand dragging from your collarbones down to pinch each nipple, then to your clenched tummy until he drags a finger up and down your wet seam.

“Sit on the desk,” he orders.

“Yes, Commander.”

He groans as you sit on the desk and spread your legs, palming the hard bulge in his pants. Graves steps between your open thighs and pushes lightly at your chest. You get the hint and lie flat on your back.

He kneels down and runs the tip of his tongue from your swollen clit to your slick opening. Graves’ hands are firm on your thighs to keep them open as he starts with strong strokes of his tongue against your seam. You grip the edge of the desk, whines falling from your lips.

“So wet and sweet for your Commander, right baby? Seems like the only way to shut you up is by licking this pretty pussy.”

Graves slips a finger in your opening while latching onto your sensitive button. Phillip can’t believe how velvety and soft you are around his fingers. Your walls pulse with each thrust of his fingers, feeling each squeeze travel to his hard cock.

Phillip wants to be gentle with you, he wants to learn and explore every inch of your body with his tongue, hands, and eyes. He wants to know what makes those pretty whimpers escape your throat, what makes you nice and creamy for him. Your hips can’t stop twisting against his tongue and fingers. Graves laughs against your pussy.

“Needy girl, aren’t you.”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

Phillip makes his tongue rigid and attacks your clit with harsh licks. He loves how quick you are to grip and pull his hair. The noises throughout the office are obscene, his moans mingling with yours along with the wet squelch of his fingers in your pussy. Graves uses his free hand to move your grip from his hair, leaning back to take a look at the gorgeous sight before him.

He stops the thrusts of his fingers to land slaps on your swollen, glistening pussy. You yelp from the sting, each slap landing directly on your clit. He plunges his fingers back in, finding the spongy spot inside of you with a curl of his two fingers.

“Come on baby, give your Commander what he wants.”

You can’t take it anymore. Your back arches on the desk and your mouth falls open in a scream. Your vision goes blurry, the hot pleasure beginning in your core until it spreads throughout your entire body. Your tummy clenches from the orgasm and you squeeze down on his fingers.

Phillip lets out a husky moan while licking your clit as your walls flutter around the thrust of his fingers, the taste of your slick etching into his mind. He slows his movements and finally stops, letting your thighs close from the overstimulation. Phillip stands and brings his fingers up to his mouth to suck off your juices from his fingers.

“So sweet for such a rude girl.”

Phillip drags his pants down, only moving his briefs to rest below his heavy balls. He removed\s his shirt and throws it to the closest chair. Phillip wants to feel your naked skin on his own. He hooks your leg around his waist and slaps your ass to get your attention again. You lie on the desk with your eyes half closed, trying to regain your senses and feeling in your limp body.

Graves drags the tip of his hard cock up and down your wet pussy. He can’t resist thrusting against your wet folds, your pussy opening for him like flower petals. You feel extremely empty at that moment. You want Graves to fill you up and stretch you. Your hips move in small circles, feeling the underside of his cock slide against your heat.

“Please Commander, please, please. I want you inside of me.”

Phillip hums, ”I don’t know. You’ve been so naughty all this time. Do bad girls who disrespect their Commander deserve this?” He takes that moment to plunge only the tip in before dragging it out to spread your folds.

You’re close to tears at this point, your nails digging into his hard back trying to push him into you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you babble, ”just please fuck me, Commander.”

You have nothing to apologize for, Phillip just wants to tease you and have you begging for his cock. He takes that moment to push in the thick tip and give a deep plunge inside. You’re hot and creamy and soft and all around him, Phillip almost collapsing from the pleasure. You’re left speechless for the first time in your life, your mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you feel stretched to your limit.

Phillip slowly slides out and watches your inner lips grip his cock, your body not wanting him to leave. He slowly pushes in and out to familiarize himself with your tight heat. You begin to drag your nails up and down his lower back as Graves moves a hand to grip your thigh and another to roughly squeeze your tit.

“How’s that baby? You like it?”

“So good, sir. So fucking good.”

You can barely form a thought, but manage to whimper out a response. His thrusts speed up, sweet words falling from his lips with each squeeze and pulse of your pussy. Graves calls you a naughty girl or tells you how exquisite you feel around him. He leans over to place kisses along your forehead, nose, cheeks, and lips. You suck and bite his bottom lip when one particular thrust hits your g-spot perfectly.

Phillip wants more. He speeds up his thrusts and moves your thigh with both hands to plunge in deeper. The new position makes you see stars. He manages to thrust into the hilt and drag his tip against the spongy spot inside of you with each slide. Phillip can feel his orgasm approaching. His thrusts become sloppy and his grip on your thigh becomes tighter.

“Nothing to say to me now, huh?”

You really don’t. Your mind is only focused on how full you are and how you never want it to end. Phillip turns to look down and fixes his gaze on his cock hammering into your swollen pussy. He begins swiping his thumb over your clit, wanting to give you one more orgasm as he quickly nears his own.

Once again you feel an orgasm wash over you and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Phillip gives another thrust and his heavy balls pulse as he shoots thick ropes of cum inside your already stuffed pussy. His breath stutters in his throat and he grips your thighs. Graves collapses on top of you, his hips continuing with short, rough movements.

Both of your bodies are slick with perspiration. You stroke light fingers along his back and through his hair as you both regain control of your breathing. He peppers kisses along your neck and up to your lips.

“Guess I should let the driver know it’ll be a while until you leave, right?”

You let out a soft giggle, ”I think that’ll be a good idea, Commander.”

“Call me Phillip.”

You reach to caress the muscles on his chest as he slowly stands to full height again, moaning as he hardens in you again.

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