"Illicit Affairs"
F!Reader x Captain Price
CW: NSFW content, angst, age-gap, hurtful language, Afab!reader.
Distinctions: "///" and italics are used for flashbacks.
WC: 3493 words.
P.s: I'm not a writer! This is my first attempt at writing a long completed one-shot with a smut scene, so any feedback is more than welcome!
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"For you, I would ruin myself
A million little times."
2 missed calls.
In the dead of night is when he calls. Soft whispers and long pauses as if a slight raise of the voice would make this real. Normal. Nothing with John Price is normal. You knew that since the moment you met him in that gloomy bar almost a year ago. It beckoned patrons in and then sucked them into a depression for the rest of the evening with bad drinks and rude staff.
Not the type of establishment for a young woman in her mid-twenties to stumble upon however your recent breakup ensured a long night filled with bad decisions and a clouded judgment to both the place and the company. Only if you knew how a drunken night and a soft whispered 'okay' would alter your life from that day on.
You remember every single detail like you're reliving the same memory every time your phone rings and you see the usual name pop up on your screen, making your heart ache. It wasn't the way he courted you that night. No, John was never good with words or romantic gestures.
He was sitting at the end of the bar, crouched over his drink while staring at his half-finished whiskey with tired eyes. You'd think someone as handsome as him would draw the attention of many at first, but it was obvious that the last thing he wanted was just that. His demeanour was unwelcoming, never spearing a single glance at anyone but the alcohol, his melancholy transparent to unwanted company.
You can't really single out what it was that made you sit down on the stool next to him that night. You remember reading about how Greek mythology described sirens. How seduction was tied back to them, enchanting sailors with their melodious voices only to drag them down at sea to drown. That's exactly how it felt when he turned to look at you, eyes locked in a shared understanding. You knew exactly where you'd end up that night from the second you ordered your first drink.
/ / /
"What can I get you to drink?" The bartender asked, his smile polite but not quite friendly.
"A cosmo, please." Your attempt at not looking at the stranger next to you failed as your eyes trailed to him for a quick second. He wasn't bothered with your presence next to him, his gaze not leaving his drink as if it would get stolen. You weren't expecting much anyway. Maybe your mood on the inside was equally displaying on the outside.
"That would be 8,50." The drink is placed in front of you while you take out your wallet from your purse. You feel bad for yourself tomorrow as it seems that it's gonna be a long night of you doing this motion.
"Put the lady's drinks on my tab." Of course he'd sound like that. Gruff and husky. Little did you know that this voice that you hear for the first time would be the core of agony and bliss in your life.
The conversation shared between the two of you wasn't long. It wasn't a scene out of a rom-com where the two love interests would talk for hours, not noticing the pass of time as they discover that they're made for one another. All it took was 45 minutes of long pauses and blatant flirtatious remarks, tailored perfectly so as not to reveal much about him.
The question is, if you could go back in time to prevent this, perhaps if technology was advanced enough so you could slap yourself, would you still follow him out of that bar? Or would you save yourself countless sleepless nights of crying in your pillow because no matter what you do, you can never be enough. You already know the answer.
"My car is parked close." He mumbled, bringing the glass back to his lips, finishing it with one sip before titling his head to look at you, his eyes locked onto yours, there was a deep, obvious hunger within them yet searching for any signs of hesitation. It was crystal clear to both of you how this night would end.
"Okay." The soft tone in your voice, in contrast to your improper thoughts, led his lips to gently curl at the corners of his mouth, nets of barely visible wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. Any doubts clouding your mind now entirely vanished to the sight in front of you. Not many words followed next. Only hand on your lower waist, guiding you through the semi-empty parking lot.
During those 45 minutes of conversation and thoughts running wild, your intuition was correct. He was exactly what you needed. The limited space of the car didn’t matter at all. Not when you were manhandled against the steering wheel, with his lips against your neck as his fingers were gripping tightly on your hips, guiding them up and down onto his.
The electric feel of his length inside your walls, blending with the intensity of being full to nearly a breaking point, sent your body trembling with pleasure. Something primal in your stomach twisted at the thought of being so effortlessly pliable to him. You were drunk on him and couldn't get enough.
An hour later, the windows were still foggy from humidity, a soft tune playing on the radio accompanying the comfortable silence between the two of you.
"I just realized.." a soft chuckle escaped your lips mid sentence, shaking your head sightly at the silliness of the situation whilst your fingers were fixing the state of your mini skirt.
"I don't even know your name." In other similar situations where you found yourself with a lonely stranger to spend the night, you never cared for their names. It was meaningless, you'd forget them anyway.
"John."
/ / /
The first piece of information about his life came unintended after three weeks, and so did the first disappointment. Before he dropped you off at your place the first time, you made an agreement. The chemistry was undeniably there. The weight was taken off from your shoulders even for an hour. An hour you'd both like to repeat, and so it was set. He'd call you whenever he was done with his hectic schedule, you'd meet him at the usual bar and then back to his car.
It was clear from both of you that these clandestine meetings would be physical, discreet, and nothing more. The heart doesn't listen though, does it?
/ / /
The night sky was aglow with bright city lights. The pale crescent moon shone like a silvery claw in the night sky and under it two liars finding comfort in each other, acting like it's nothing. Once again, you find yourself in the passenger seat of his car, trying to catch your breath from his touch while he lits up a cigar.
This time, he didn't bother putting on his shirt, and you can't help but stare. The way the moonlight paints his pale skin, eyes closed before exhaling the smoke towards the sky through the half-opened window. It's a nasty habit, the permanent smell of tobacco on his clothes, his breath, your skin..and yet you crave it whenever he doesn't call.
"Hey, uh, do you have any water with you?" It's only natural for you to be thirsty after another night with him. You always remind yourself to carry a bottle in your purse but always forget from the anticipation to see him.
"I think there's an unopened bottle in the backseat." He mumbled without taking his eyes off the night sky. With one knee on the seat, you turn your body around to reach for the bottle, but something else next to it steals your attention. A military jacket.
"I didn't know you were in the military." How would you know? He never shares any personal information. It's the invisible veil ensuring that your agreement won't change.
"I never told you." Right. His tone is different, though, not as stern as other times when he turned down any attempts from you to get to know him. Maybe it's time for you to test the waters.
"I have a question for you, and it's quite serious." Though you try your best to sound sincere, the tone of your voice immediately gives you away as you turn to face him, hugging your knees as your feet touch the leather seat of his car. You know it bothers him, but he never says anything.
"Oh no, what is it?" He matches your playful attitude, turning his head away from the moon so he can stare at you instead. It shouldn't mean anything that he threw his cigar outside without finishing it, and yet you can't help but wonder if it's a way to show you that you have his undivided attention. That he cares to listen, even if the question following is silly.
"What's your favourite colour?" You finally ask, seizing the moment to get a genuine reaction from him, no walls or guards up, and you do. It starts with a deep sigh and a disapproving shake of the head before a soft chuckle escapes his freshly kissed lips. In that moment, a scary thought creeped into your mind. If you could hear this sound for the rest of your days, you wouldn't mind at all.
The drive to your house felt different this time. More promising. Someone might call you deluded for even daring to think that getting two answers out of him means that it's a step closer to his heart, but you have to try.
The engine of the car stopping snaps you out of your thoughts, fingers touching the handle of the door nervously without the intent to actually open it. Try.
"Hey, um, so I was thinking, perhaps if you're free this week, uh-" What a mess of nerves. You don't even have to turn to look at him to feel his gaze on you, and suddenly, your skin is on fire. "We could go for a coffee? Maybe?" You blurt out, trying hard to ignore your heart trying to burst out your chest.
A shattering silence followed, making you want to exit the vehicle without saying a word, crawl into your bed, and pretend it never happened. It was the next part that felt like someone ripped out your anxious heart and tore it into pieces. A simple..
"No." He mumbled, turning his face away from you, but this time it was you who was staring. His fingers were gripping tightly on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Was it hope or plain stupidity that made you go on, push a little harder to get a complete answer out of him. You promised to yourself to never fall into desperation for another man and yet there you were, embarrassing yourself for someone who only spares a few words and an hour on you, rejecting the thought of getting to know more than your body.
"No, as in you're not free or -"
"No as in I don't want to, Y/N." His voice was painfully uninterested, not breaking eye contact so his point would get across before he continued.
"This.." He lifted his index finger to point between the two of you "is exactly what we agreed upon. I pick you up, I fuck you and I drop you off. That's only what is ever going to be." You knew. It didn't hurt less to hear it in that manner.
"Don't ask more of me cause I can tell you right now, you're not going to get it." Right.
`You're an idiot.` You quietly murmur against your pillow, hugging it tightly as if it could wash away the embarrassment that made your stomach hurt. The only reply you managed to give him was a small nod before exiting his car.
Your dignity to tell him that you can't see him anymore was nowhere to be found as you kept answering his calls every single time.
/ / /
It's your fault. You made an agreement and you were solely the one breaking it. In your defence, you didn't know that he would alter everything. That not a day would pass without him occupying your brain constantly, like he was a permanent tattoo you were meant to carry forever. The days turned to months, 4 months specifically, the unchanging routine slowly taking away pieces of your heart waiting for it to shatter completely.
At that point in time came the next piece of information you got to know about him that made you wish you'd stop answering the phone.
/ / /
"I'll be gone for a few weeks." You don't like the feeling creeping inside of you, you have no right to feel it. He's not yours to keep, he's not yours to ask if he's gonna miss you or if he's gonna call.
"Oh?" It came out as a mumble from your mouth, trying to appear nonchalant but fooling no one.
"Mhm." Another cigar, another incomplete answer.
"Is it a work thing?" No matter how hard you try, your nervousness gives you away, fingers fidgeting, eyes staring out at the sky.
"Mission, in a different country." He finally admitted, before closing his eyes tightly. He wasn't meant to confess that much.
"When will you be back?" You never learn, do you?
"If- When I come back, I'll let you know." Though the tone of his voice was unchanged, ignoring the slip of the tongue in the beginning, it made your world stop spinning and your heart drop to your stomach. If.
/ / /
The first few nights after that you couldn't sleep. The realisation hit you harder that you expected. You were falling in love and it was eating you alive. You didn't know where he was, if he was okay, if he was alive, if he was coming back to you. You weren't his home, though. You were merely a weakly distraction that he could replace with ease, judging from how little of his heart he gives you.
Nonetheless, it doesn't change how you feel. And so you lay in bed every night, recalling all the small details he has given you, all his unnoticeable habits that mean so much to you, the way his lips feel against yours, how he kisses you with the force of a thousand crushing waves like he's drowning and you're the oxygen he needs, how you feel like one soul when he's holding you close, arms fondling your sides while he's buried deep inside you, leaving breathless whispers against your skin.
Exhausted, you wait for your phone to ring one more time, to know that he's safe, home. When it finally does, with tears glistening in your eyes, you think to yourself that, yes, this can be enough. Until the next time.
___________
"You take me so well love, fuck-" His head fell back against the headrest, eyes closed and breathing heavy, his hands gripping your thighs as you were sinking down on him.
You could barely focus on the movement, pulling up slowly then rolling your hips down, hot muscles strangling his length while contracting around him.
"John-" His name escaped your lips incoherently, like a desperate cry while panting against his shoulder, feeling every inch of him inside you.
"You're gonna be the death of me-" His fingers weaved through your hair, pulling on it slightly with one hand, leaving the other free to softly press your back against the steering wheel, exposing your breasts bouncing to the rhythm of your hips grinding against him. He couldn't wait to have this sight in front of him again, dreaming about your soft skin, the sounds you make when he bucks up his hips onto yours.
He wasted no time wrapping his lips around your pert nipple, sucking slowly before trailing his fingers down to your clit, rubbing it in slow motions with the right amout pressure that sends you over the edge.
"Fuck-" You gasp loudly to the welcoming sensation, surging forward to press your lips onto his in a sloppy kiss. Your hands make their way to each side of his head as you press your chest against his, your nipples brushing up and down against his warm skin to match your hips, sliding down faster with each second.
"God, I missed this, missed you riding me so fucking good, love" He groaned against your lips, sending shivers down your spine as his hands held tightly onto your waist, thrusting you harder down his cock, so deep inside your walls that you can feel your slick coming out of your core.
"I missed you." You can't even process the words, they left your mouth before your brain could catch up, your hips snapping against his and the cry of his name filling the hot car, you orgasm pulsing in warm waves through your body.
This time he doesn't rush. He lets your body stay still, collapsed onto his with the only sound present being your breathless sighs. His hands are still on your waist, unmoving, holding you close against his chest while his forehead softly touches your shoulder.
"I missed you." You have to tell him. Even if you're not brave enough for anything other than a soft whisper, with eyes closed tightly awaiting for him to say something, even if it's something he'll blame on the high of the moment.
A few seconds passed in silence, his hands losing the soft grip he had against your waist. He won't get away with brushing your feelings aside again.
"Please, say something.." You plead in desperation, holding onto deluded hope that he feels something more, that he missed you too. With one swift move, he raised your hips enough so he can slip out of you with ease, carefully sitting you on the passenger seat.
"John?" It's pathetic, really. His name barely audible from your lips as a breathless whisper, begging for the bare minimum, as always.
"I'm not doing this, Y/N." He glanced at you for merely 2 seconds whilst fixing up his jeans.
"I- John, please-" You can feel your chest tighten with each second he's not looking at you, it was nauseating how he acted like this was beneath him. You barely notice the car moving, it was nearly midnight, and the night sky was picturesque. You've always savored every second from the ride back home, the moonlight travelling through the night to shine on both of you, a soft tune playing the radio.. Not this time.
"No! Dammit, Y/N! We had an agreement, if you're too immature to keep it then maybe we should stop." John raised his voice slightly out of frustration, this was a new experience for him, you can tell from the way he's gradually losing his calm composure.
"Tell me that you don't feel anything at all. That you never thought of me once when you were away. Tell me something for fucks sake!" You plead, digging your nails into your skin in an attempt to keep yourself from breaking down, unsuccessfully. The tears creeping in the corners of your eyes betrayed your pride.. This time you won't back down.
"You're acting like a child. I'm driving you home and we can forget about this." This time his gaze lingered on you longer, hands gripping tightly on the steering wheel, enough to create red lines on the palms that were holding you close moments earlier. This is what he does when it feels too much, blames your age like it's the answer to all the issues he fears to confront.
"No, we're fucking talking about this. Don't call me a child for not having a heart as cold as yours." All you want to do is use your words like fists and punch holes in his heart. To wake him up from this delirious state.
"What the hell do you want from me?! Roses and dinner dates?! You knew what you got yourself into from the first damn night so don't turn it around to blame me just because you're too desperate to be loved." He hissed bitterly, every word calculated to throw sharpened knives at your heart.
The pain felt like a hot, sharp knife, covered in salt, slicing through your skin again and again. Constant. Unending. Inescapable. You barely become aware of the car stopping in front of your house until he stopped the engine. It's time for you to pick up your pieces one more time. One last time.
"I'll call you when-"
"I'm not doing this anymore, John. I'm done." Except it doesn't matter how many times you'll say it, it will not erase the memory of him from your bones, from your body that has had him a thousand times and aches for him a thousand times more. It will not erase the memory of him engraved in your heart that he stomped on like it was one of his cigars.
"Then I'll stop calling."
And so he did.
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