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thundersoothers · 5 months ago

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john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man. inclusivity warning: reader gets picked up by Price and carried over his shoulder

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him.

“Shhh!! You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.”

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of. The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants. He has one sock on with a hole in the toe. You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway.

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here. Damn lock… can never— oh, shit. Heh. Wrong key.”

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in.

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely. He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila. You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off.

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside. I bet you’re so cold, all naked. Here, you can go in my dress, is that better? Fu—ow! Don’t bite my tit, Jesus! Sharp teeth…”

Price suddenly feels much more awake. He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer.

“This damn door… ah! There we go.”

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered).

“Remember, we have to be quiet. My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up. He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.”

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit. And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet.

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad. He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me. He’ll understand. I had to. I just had to!”

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark.

“Stay there, don’t move, okay? Stay, yeah? You know that, don’t you? Mummy will teach you if not. Just stay right there. Lemme get these damn heels off…”

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“

Bang!

You groan loudly.

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug. You have one heel on. The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over. Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched.

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan. “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.”

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad.

“You hurt?” he asks. “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little. “I’ll just sleep here.”

He laughs softly. “Come on, none of that.”

“It’s so comfortable. I’ll just—“

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement. You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you. You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view.

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second.

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“Right.” He crosses his arms, looking you over. “Who were you talking to just now?”

“No one,” you say quickly. “Myself.”

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.”

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry. “No. You’re gonna be mad.”

“Just show me.”

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

He sighs. “I won’t be mad.” You give him a look. He sighs again. You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy. “Promise. Now show me.”

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest. “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay? No biting, please. Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay? Can you do that? Yes? Okay.”

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement. Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband.

It’s a puppy.

It’s quiet.

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes. He barks up at John, high pitched. A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth.

It’s still quiet.

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John. “You said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he says again. “It’s just… dirty.”

You gasp. “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog. You pull him to your chest. “He’s just a little mangey, you see. But that’s okay. It can be fixed. You know—they have medicine for that. Or lotion, or whatever it is. He’s very nice, John, I swear. I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow! That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.”

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you. Yep. You’re fucking wasted.

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.” You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you. “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy. Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you? Yes, you can.” You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says.

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering.

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied. You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better.

Of course it’s this. What else could it have been?

A puppy.

A puppy!

“Oh, hello, there.”

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road.

“What are you doing here, all alone? Come here, love, I won’t hurt you. Come on, puppy, come to me. Yeahhh, there we go. Oh, look at you. You’re so cute. You’re all mangey, though. Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.”

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind. He wags his tail and nips at your fingers.

“Where’s your mummy? You shouldn’t be out here all alone. No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you? I don’t want to leave you. I’m not sure what to do.”

He barks at you, high pitched.

You nod at him seriously. “Oh, yes, good point.” He barks again. “Mhm. Yes, yes. I thought so, too. Exactly right.”

He runs in a circle around you.

“What are you, a month? You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone. Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.” (He’s wagging his tail.)

“It’s so cold.” (It’s summer.)

“Maybe you can come home with me?” (Your husband would be so mad.)

“Yes,” you decide. “You’ll come home with me.” (Your husband is going to be so mad.)

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life.

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price. I’m from around here. I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much. It’s very cute, but that's mostly because I decorated it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away. See that big tree there? That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home. I’m not great with street names, so I go by landmarks.” He barks. “Yes, yes, you get it.”

“Anyway. So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John. I love him very much. You’ll like him, too,” you tell the dog seriously. "He’s very likable. I like lots of things about him, puppy. Actually," you say, "I like everything about him.”

“He says I can’t have a dog, though. He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in. What do you think, puppy? Should we do that? I think we should do that. We’ll have to be very quiet, though. Very quiet.”

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a military Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug.

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.”

“By Notting Street?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Notting Str—I dunno. Maybe? I just know the big tree. The one with all the branches.”

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly. “Right.”

“But he was there all alone so I took him home. I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little. And he’s very cute, look at his little ears? And his little feet? His toes are soooo small. His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark. Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“You heard? Oh. I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

He smiles at you. “I know.”

You smile back.

“Give me the dog.”

You frown. “No.”

“The dog, please.”

“No.” You hold him tighter. “You’ll take him from me.”

“Well,” he says, “yes.”

You sigh heavily. “Be gentle.” You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him.

A puppy.

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully.

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“But…” You trail off and he looks back down at you. You’re starting to tear up.

“Oh—love, don’t cry.”

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…”

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.”

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’)

“Really?!” you gasp.

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause. For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really? Oh, thank you so much! Puppy, did you hear that? Daddy said yes! See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember? He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“

“The dog can’t understand you.”

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor. “How are you handsome even from this angle?” You frown deeper. “Stupid face,” you mutter.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s get you up.”

“I’m so comfortable.”

“Hand.” He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you. He crooks his long, thick fingers at you. “Now.”

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his.

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder.

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal. “Hey!!”

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand.

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him.

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You grin. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest.

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed. “I’m so lucky. I don’t know how I got so lucky. And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too. You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world. He’s so good to us.”

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says. “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.”

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue.

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him. He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him. “Hush now. Your Mummy is asleep.” He shakes his head and sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog. “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you), throws a fluffy towel onto the ground (also for you), and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.”

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 02.17.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

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#john price #john price x reader #call of duty #call of duty imagine #cod imagine #john price smut #well wait I guess not #for once #lux.writes #lux.price #john price fic #john price drabble #call of duty fic #I haven't done tags in forever what else do I do #call of duty smut #price #price.wife #price cod

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koenigsdossier · 2 days ago

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Accidents

You and König are both omegas, but your heat cycles have never been an issue as you both took heat suppressants. It was a requirement in the military. Everyone had to take heat or rut suppressants to avoid any messy situations, and so you could be battle ready. But König had been so focused and stressed out about his upcoming mission that he had completely forgotten about taking his pills.

+18 NSFW, Omega König, König with vagina, grinding, marking, Omega reader, reader has vagina but no pronouns mentioned

You had woken up to a very hot and very sweaty König as he clung to your sleeping body, grinding his extremely slick cunt against your thigh. His sweatpants were completely soaked in his slick, the fabric doing nothing to separate you two. You were glad you decided to wear shorts to bed. Not that it really mattered, König's soaked cunt seemed to flood the bed with slick.

"K-König?" You called out to him in a shaky voice. Your eyes had fluttered open a while ago, but your sleepy brain couldn't catch up to what was happening. All you knew was that König was on you and grinding his swollen cunt across your thigh. König whined out your name, your ears able to hear the weak and wobbly sound he had to his voice.

"I-I'm sorry... Didn't mean to wake you... I... It hurts... It's too hot and it hurts... I'm sorry..." He cried to you, the moonlight that poured through the curtains catching his tears. You felt your sleepy mind wake up instantly at his words as it connected the dots. König's body was burning up, and he was saying it hurts as he rolled his hips down against your thigh. He was in heat.

You should have noticed the signs. His scent had been stronger all week. He couldn't sleep as he obsessed over the placement of the pillows and blankets on the bed, trying to make a nest but failing. He was sensitive to anything you did. He would almost start breaking out in tears if he felt like he was bothering you while his obsessive clinging. You put off his tells as stress from preparing for an important mission he was assigned to. You should have known better.

"Fuck, you're in heat. D-Did you not take your suppressant?" You tried to sit up to assess König better, but he was huge for an omega, and his clinging was weighing you down. It didn't help that your movements had caused his heat numbed mind to panic either.

"D-Don't move... Don't leave... Please, it hurts so bad... J-Just need to cum and I'll feel better..." He pleaded with you, stuffing his face in your neck as he tightened his hold on your waist. Even though you were an omega yourself, König was going to you like you were an alpha. He still sought out your scent as he nuzzled your scent glands, breathing you in heavy as he activated them. You placed a hand on the back of his head, holding onto his mask tightly as you sure he stayed pressed against you. The whine he let out and the small tears that fell onto you broke your heart a little. There's no telling the last time König's had a heat. He joined the military so early, and suppressants were a requirement. It's probably so overwhelming for him, your poor omega.

"König, baby, you're in heat. You need an alpha o-or something..." You whispered in his ear, hoping he could understand some of what you were saying through his heat haze. It seemed he did as he pushed his head even deeper into your neck somehow as his grip on you became bruising.

"N-No! No, alpha... Don't want an alpha, just you... Please just you..." König did not want anybody near him except for you. You had to admit, you didn't want anyone near König right now either. He was way too vulnerable right now, and the thought of anyone seeing him like this made your body burn with possession. It was early in the morning, and you doubted anybody was up anyway. Still, you had to push your instincts aside and try to convince König to let you get help.

"I can't knot you though... You need an alpha so they can knot you... I-I don't know what else to do..." You told him gently, your other hand rubbing circles on his back. You felt König's hips stutter and a high whine leave him at the mention of knotting. You thought his needy, omega mind would agree with you, but instead, he shook his head no against you.

"N-No... Don't care if you can't knot me... I don't want an alpha... I just want you... Please... Please don't go get an alpha..." As if you even could get up. König may be in heat and incredibly sensitive right now, but his strength still remained somehow. You let out a sigh, not knowing at all how to deal with König. He wasn't letting you up, and he refused to listen to any logic. Were all omegas like this?

"At least let me call Horangi, please. I need his advice." You kept your voice soft and gentle as you whispered to König. König's body shuddered at the mention of Horangi, his body tensing up before he let out a defeated whine. Horangi was an alpha, but he was also König's best friend. You watched as König reluctantly removed his head from your neck, eyes glossy and wet with tears.

"Only call him... Don't let him come over here..." You felt relief flood you as König agreed to let you call Horangi. Your hand on the back of his head moved to his front, gently grabbing the end of his mask and pulling it up. König wanted to protest his mask being pulled up, but some of the heat left him as the air hit his face. Your thumb caressed the side of König's face, making him feel a bit calmer as your skin touched his.

"I'll only call him, promise... How about you take off your pants and use my thigh while I call him? Does that sound good?" Your hand on König's back trailed down to his hip, rubbing the material of his sweatpants against his heated skin.

"Y-Yeah... That sounds good." You felt relief that König agreed with you. You didn’t want to have to mean or rough with König when he was like this. He was already sensitive and crying just from the heat and pain in his lower half. You didn't want to add more stress to him. You took your hand off of König's face and placed it on his waist, slowly sliding it down as your other hand curled around his waistband. Gently, you pulled König's sweatpants as far as they would go in his current position.

"Lift your hips for me, baby." You gently command König, your eyes flickering up at him. His face was already flushed red and had soft tear streaks trailing down his face. It broke your heart a little to see König in such a state. You're so used to seeing him so strong and able, not weak and vulnerable like this.

You felt his hands leave your waist, now placing them on each side of you to steady himself as he lifted his shaky hips.

"Good boy... You're doing so good... Such a good omega for me..." You gave König reassurance as you pulled his pants down to completely exposed his pussy. Your brows furrowed as you could see how his slick was sticking to his pants, a line of it keeping the two connected. You couldn't deny the sight made your own body start to fill with desire, but you had to stay focused. Especially when König let out a low whine and decided he couldn't hold himself up anymore. You let him lay on you, tilting your head up so he had complete access to your neck as he buried himself back in it. You let out a gasp when he placed his swollen cunt back on your leg. You could feel the throb he had to his pussy, how swollen his clit was, and how his leaky hole clenched around nothing. You could already tell how bad his condition was before, but feeling him skin to skin just solidified it. God, your poor baby.

You lifted your leg a bit, making sure your flesh stayed pressed against König as he began to grind against you again. It was slow but desperate, his cunt feeling too sensitive and overwhelmed for any sensation on it. But at the same time, his body needed stimulation so badly. He couldn't stop.

"Oh, it does hurt. I can feel it. I'm so sorry, baby. I'll try to make it better, I promise." You cooed to him as you ran your hands up his back, rubbing circles into him to try to soothe him some more. The whimper that left König due to your words tugged at your heartstrings. The instinct to make your omega feel better and take all his pain away was strong, even as an omega yourself. König was your boyfriend, the person you loved and cherished. It was only natural that you felt this way. You almost forgot all about calling Horangi for help.

Begrudgingly, you turned your head away from König, looking at your nightstand for your phone. It felt like pain shot through both of you when you took one hand off of König. Neither of you wanted less contact with each other, but you had to call Horangi. You doubted he was even awake at this time, but you still had to try. You yanked your phone off the charger, not caring if the action caused damage to it at the moment. You quickly dialed Horangi, hoping and pleading in your head that he would pick up.

"Why the hell are you calling at this time?" Horangi's voice fell from your phone after one too many rings.

"König's in heat." König let out another whine, like he was confirming your sentence.

"What!? Umm fuck, okay... Do you want me to come over there?" Horangi's voice wasn't sluggish or irritated anymore. He seemed to be fully awake now. You could hear the rustling of bedsheets on his side.

"No, he doesn't want any alpha's near him at all. He only wants to be around me." You subconsciously pressed your hand down on König's back, making sure he stayed close to you. König pressed his face deeper into your neck in response, his grinding getting a bit faster as he inhaled your sweet scent deeply.

"Is he fucking stupid? You can't knot him. He needs an alpha. That'll be the fastest way to get him some relief." Horangi couldn't help his harsh words. He was woken up and immediately told his best friend was in heat since the first time in forever. You knew this, but it still didn't stop the anger in you from flaring up. You didn’t even notice how König whined at the change in your scent.

"I know that! But he's being stubborn about this, and I don't want to stress him out more. He's in pain- König..." You were interrupted by König pressing kisses to your neck, directly on your scent glands. He was trying to calm you down, to get that fully sweet scent back that he needed. It was calming you down but also making the heat pool at your belly more.

"He won't be in pain if an alpha knots him... Just mark him and make him cum for now. I'll do some research and call you back. You owe me." Horangi hung up before you could respond, but he gave you sound advice. You could mark König and ease his heat's desires just a bit. It wouldn't stay and be permanent like an alpha's, but it would work for now.

You let go of your phone, letting it fall beside you as you returned your full attention back to König. He was licking at your neck now, absorbing every bit of scent that poured out of you. The feeling of his tongue made shivers run down your spine to your own cunt.

"K-König, want me to mark you?" You spoke lowly to König, your hands now on his shoulder blades as you massaged the muscles gently.

König’s tongue stopped mid lick, his hips stuttering and his body tensing up as he registered your words. He pulled his head away from your neck and looked down at you. His eyes were already pleading with you as a whimper left his lips. He pressed his aching cunt down on your on thigh even more desperately as he began to grind rapidly. It seemed just the thought of you marking him was enough for him, to bring him closer to relief.

"Y-Yes! Please... Please do... Please... W-Want your mark so badly..." König whined out each word in a desperate plea. You moved a hand further up him, cupping the back of his neck and forcing him down against you again.

"I'll give it to you, don't worry... You can mark me afterward..." You whispered to him, your lips brushing against his neck, making his hips stutter in anticipation. You took a second to breathe in König's scent as it poured from his scent glands. It felt like you were drowning in König. His scent was already taking up the room, but you've haven't had the chance to take it in fully yet. You couldn't help the moan that rumbled in your throat as his scent took over all your senses.

"My omega smells so good... Such a perfect scent..." You whispered against him before placing a kiss on his scent gland. You were rewarded with König's hips stuttering and a beautiful whine falling from his mouth, one from pleasure and not pain this time.

You wasted no time in biting down on König. You opened your mouth and licked one stripe over his neck before biting down harshly on him. You couldn't go soft with this. It had to feel like an alpha was marking him, claiming him as their own forever. You felt his body tense up against yours, his hips freezing in their desperate pace as the sensation of being marked filled him.

"Y-Yours... I'm yours... All yours..." König moaned out, soft tears falling from his eyes as the sensation took over him. In his omega brain, it really felt like an alpha was marking him. It felt so good to have your teeth sink into him. You could feel the throbbing in his cunt get harsher and leaking more slick onto your plush thigh.

"That's right... All mine, my omega... My beautiful, perfect omega..." You confirmed against his neck before sinking your teeth back into him. König let out a soft sob, tears blurring his vision and falling from his face as your teeth felt so good biting into him. He bucked his hips sloppily against you, his cunt feeling much more sensitive but also so desperate for release. You moved the hand still on his shoulder blades down to his hip, helping him rut his slick pussy down on your thigh. You flexed the muscles in your thigh, providing a more firm surface for his clit to rub against. Everything you were providing for König made him rut against you faster as he chased after the sweet promise of relief.

You wanted to offer more words of encouragement, but you figured keeping your teeth on his hot flesh was helping him out more. You kept your thigh as still and steady as possible for König. Your hand on his hip gripped onto him tighter, making him keep up his pace. You began to lightly suck on the flesh you had between your teeth, making sure there would be a mark left on König.

"D-Don't stop... Please don't stop... G-Gonna cum... Please..." König pleaded with you, panting and moaning out each word. You wouldn't be able to stop König from cumming if you even tried. His warning was entirely too late as he suddenly tensed up completely, and his mouth hung open. You could feel how his swollen clit twitch and throb on your leg as he came. His hole fluttered around nothing as slick and cum poured out of him. Your bedsheets and mattress were definitely ruined and tainted with König. Not that you were complaining.

König continued to buck against you, milking out every last drop his sensitive cunt had to offer. You could hear how he was crying softly from oversensitivity as he quickly became overwhelmed but unable to stop his hips from rutting weakly against you. You let go of his neck, placing a soft kiss over the mark that was already forming before you spoke up.

"König, stop moving. You're gonna overwhelm yourself. Here..." You kept that same gentle tone with him you've been using as you used the hand on his neck to push his head back down into your neck. His tears wet your skin as he inhaled your scent again, making him calm down from his release. But he was still moving his hips, still whining and crying from the oversensitivity his body was experiencing.

"Stop moving and mark me." You pressed your hand down harder on his neck to make his lips pressed against you, encouraging him to mark you. It worked too as something seemed to snap in his foggy brain and bit gently at your skin. You let out a satisfied hum and moved your hands back on his back again, rubbing those soft circles against him. Slowly but surely, he stopped moving his hips down against you. All his attention went into marking you, the need to claim you planted in his mind heavily.

"There you go... Good boy... Just relax and claim me... I'm yours..." You cooed at him, getting a whine in response as he bit harder at your flesh. His heat seemed satisfied for now, his body relaxing against you as he put his claim over you. You didn’t know how long he would stay like this, though. It was going to be a long week for the both of you. Your poor, poor omega.

#I was going to write more but it was getting long #I'll most likely write more on omegaverse König #mine #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #call of duty smut #omegaverse #cod omegaverse #Omega König #Omega Konig

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tacticalprincess · 10 months ago

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you say you want a clingy man until you can’t even use the restroom without könig’s burly figure trailing behind you, hovering with his arms crossed and blinking blearily while he waits for you to be finished so you can go back to cuddling. there’s no silently sneaking out of bed with him because he feels your lack of presence like a missing limb.

… or until he’s poking the soft pudge of your cheek with his hard, leaky tip while you’re doing work on your computer or on the phone because it’s been 5 minutes and he’s horny and attention starved. look, maus, even his dick misses you. doesn’t stop annoying you until you give him the affection he craves </3

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devil-in-hiding · 9 months ago

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virgin!reader getting ready to make your usual escape to living room when you hear Simon’s heavy grunt from the other side of the wall

only to pause when you don’t hear a responding feminine moan

Just Simon’s heavy breathing, almost like a growl and you feel heat pool in your stomach, thighs clenching when you hear a guttural “Oh fuck-“

The image of Simon, spread out on his bed, boxers around his thighs and one rough hand stroking his aching cock has a breathy whine slipping past your lips, which you quickly try to cover up by slapping a hand over your mouth

He’s vocal, something you never would have guessed. Groans and punched out little grunts float between the walls, and with each new noise you clench down around nothing, pillow pressed between your thighs as you rock your hips, trying to smother your little whines with your hand

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #simon ghost riley

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fawnistry · 1 day ago

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ᥫ᭡ dead dove: do not eat.

content warnings: non-con, stalking, forced submission, size difference, physical restraint, bodily betrayal, rough unprotected sex, degradation, size kink.

▷ preview: könig has been watching you for months—your routines, your fears, your lonely nights. he’s a ghost in the shadows, a towering presence you only catch glimpses of… until he decides he’s done waiting.one night, he breaks in, his massive frame filling your doorway, and makes it clear: you belong to him now. his hands are too big to escape, his body too strong to fight. and the worst part? your traitorous body responds to him.

the creak of your door wakes you—too slow, too late. the air shifts, heavy with the weight of him. könig. you’ve seen glimpses before, flashes of a shadow too large to be human, but now he’s here, filling the doorway, his breath a low rasp in the dark.

"you knew i was coming," he murmurs, voice like gravel. "you left the door unlocked."

you didn’t. but he doesn’t care.

his hand clamps over your mouth before you can scream, fingers so big they nearly cover your entire face. "shh. no one’s coming for you." his other hand pins your wrist to the bed, his thumb alone thicker than two of your fingers. "look at you. so small. you can’t even wrap your fingers around my wrist, angel."

you try. it’s pathetic. your fingertips don’t even meet.

he laughs, low and dark, and then he’s flipping you onto your stomach, his weight crushing you into the mattress. you gasp, lungs fighting for air, but he just leans down, lips brushing your ear. "you belong to me now. you’ve known it for months. i’ve watched you. waited."

his knee forces your legs apart, and you whimper, thrashing—but he’s too strong, too big. his hand slides between your thighs, fingers pressing where you’re already shamefully wet. "see?" he growls. "your body knows. it wants me."

you shake your head, but he doesn’t care. his fingers push inside, stretching you too fast, too much. you sob, but he just shushes you, crooning like you’re something fragile. "so tight. gonna ruin you."

then he’s flipping you again, dragging you to the edge of the bed, his hands spanning your waist like he could snap you in half. his cock is thick, angry red, and your stomach drops. you’ll never take it.

"please—"

"no." he grips your hips, yanking you forward. "you’ll learn to love the way i ruin you."

he doesn’t go slow. the stretch burns, tears at you, and you scream, but he swallows it with a kiss, brutal and possessive. "mine," he snarls against your lips. "all mine."

you sob, but your hips jerk, betraying you. he groans, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he fucks you deeper, harder, until you’re nothing but a trembling mess beneath him.

"good girl," he murmurs, thumb pressing against your clit. "take it. take all of me."

you do. and when he comes, filling you up, you hate yourself for the way your body clenches around him, greedy.

he collapses over you, crushing you into the mattress, his breath hot on your neck. "next time," he whispers, "you’ll beg for it."

but little did he know that you already are.

#cod smut #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #call of duty x you #call of duty x y/n #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #konig smut #konig x reader smut #konig fic

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laceyfaeryy · 1 month ago

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MDNI 18+

simon would fuck like a wild feral animal the moment he comes back from a long mission. i’d like to think he’d fuck you in a headlock, his strong arm holding your head as your body shook from his harsh thrusts. the main reason for this is because he had full control, where you would be completely at his mercy, taking his fat cock as he splits your small cunt in half. after a long couple of months there was nothing more that simon wanted to do than to lose himself in your small warm cunt. whilst fucking you in a headlock ur allowed him to snuggle into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent that he missed so damn much, whilst leaving wet sloppy kisses on your neck, gently whispering about how much he missed you. all the training from the military allowed him to have a strong stamina, his thrusts never faltering once as he was determined to full up your cunt. “missed you so much sweetheart, you’re gonna let me fill that little cunt if yours yeah?” he wouldn’t stop until you were dripping with his cum, to the point where he was convinced that your stomach was slightly swelling from it alone.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #cod simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost x female reader #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost imagine #ghost smut #cod #call of duty smut #cod x reader

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girlfromflor · 2 days ago

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😫😫😫baby trapping might be john's trope for me now

icky!older!john baby trapping younger!reader

the air’s thick, stifling, reeking of sweat and his cologne as john looms over you. his bulk cages you on the creaky mattress, all scarred muscle and coarse hair, a beast who’s too old for you but doesn’t care. his eyes glint with something sick, obsessive, as he ruts into you, slow and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of his cock dragging inside you. you’re his pretty little thing, too young, too soft for a man like him, but that’s what makes it sweeter. you’re his to ruin.

“fuckin’ hell, pet,” he rasps, voice like chewed gravel, his beard scraping your neck as he buries his face there, licking the salt off your skin. “this cunt’s mine, yeah? made to take me.” his thrusts are punishing, possessive, his thick fingers digging into your hips so hard you’ll bruise. he wants marks. proof.

you whimper, clawing at his back, and he chuckles, dark and nasty. “that’s it, squirm for me,” he mutters, grinding deeper, his pubes rough against your clit. “gonna fill you up, make you drip with me. gonna breed you, love. no fuckin’ choice.” his words are vile, dripping with intent, and his gaze is unhinged, like he’s already picturing you swollen, trapped by him forever.

he’s been planning this, you realize, as his hand slides to your belly, pressing down. “gonna keep you here,” he growls, thrusting harder, his cock pulsing inside you. “my kid in you, my ring on your finger. you’re not leavin’ me, ever.” it’s not a promise but more so a threat. his other hand grips your throat, just tight enough to make you dizzy, to remind you who owns you.

you’re too gone to fight, pleasure and fear tangling as he fucks you raw, relentless. “say it,” he snarls, teeth grazing your ear. “say you’re mine.” you choke out the words, and he groans, filthy, his release flooding you as he holds you down, making sure it sticks. “good girl,” he pants, still hard, still hungry. “gonna do this every night ‘til it takes.”

he doesn’t move, stays buried in you, his weight pinning you as his eyes burn into yours. “you’re mine, sweetheart, and you know i won’t share.”

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stargirlstabber · 7 months ago

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imagine könig, the big man he is, slamming his massive dick in and out of you, not caring if it 'doesn't fit'. he will make it fit. he will. he'll manhandle you into various positions, the ones he wants to fuck you in that moment. you'll probably start crying by the time he chases his second release or when he decides to fill both of your tight holes and pushes a dildo or a plug into you. or maybe a vibrator. it really depends on his mood and how good you've been for him. squirming away won't help if he's balls deep into your sloppy cunt, the grip his massive hands have on you holds you like you're a doll to him. which you are.

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sai-int · 3 months ago

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TICKET TO PLAY | john price

Sheriff Price has a habit of pulling you over, and you have a habit of seeing how far you can push him. It’s a game you've been playing for years—a harmless one, until he gives you exactly what you’ve been asking for.

⤿ based on this | [ AO3 ]

18+ AU, fem!reader, small town vibes, porn with minimal plot, smut, oral (m receiving), dom!john (back and forth between hard and soft), bratty—sort of pathetic reader, fingering, squirting, public sex, smidge of voyeurism, size kink if you really read the fine print, implied slight age gap [ 6.6k words ]

You weren’t going that fast.

Maybe nudging 35 in a 25, but the road was empty—just you and the soft, golden light of a July evening slipping into dusk. The cicadas hummed their lazy symphony, crickets chirping in harmony, while the air carried the scent of fresh-cut grass and summer warmth. It was the kind of night that wrapped around you like a blanket, slow and sweet, the kind that made you want to roll the windows down and let the world drift by.

But then the sirens sliced through the calm, sharp and jarring, shattering the stillness. Red and blue lights flashed in your rearview, splashing the road ahead in a chaotic swirl of color. Your hands tightened on the wheel, that familiar knot twisting in your gut. You didn’t even need to check the mirror to know who it was.

Sheriff John Price.

The small-town Sheriff (asshole) that had a sixth sense for catching you when you weren’t even doing anything wrong. The guy who’d written you up for a rolling stop at an empty intersection, or a right on red at 2 a.m. when the streets were dead silent. Sure, maybe you were five over on a straight stretch of road, but come on—did he really have nothing better to do than hassle you over that? It was starting to feel like he was just looking for excuses to pull you over.

At this point, you figured you were practically on a first-name basis. Hell, you were probably the most frequent flyer on his ticket roster. But that was the trade-off for living in a town where the sheriff knew everyone’s business—and apparently, yours most of all.

You eased the rickety old Nissan Skyline to a crawl, tires screeching softly as you pulled onto the shoulder and shifted into park. Your fingers moved on autopilot, fishing the registration out of the center console before he even asked. If John Price had one talent, it was knowing where you were before you did—and you’d learned the hard way to keep things within arm’s reach.

The music blared for a second longer before you killed the volume, the sudden silence pressing down on the summer night like a weight. You rolled down the window, letting the warm, sticky air flood the cabin, thick with the scent of grass and distant rain. Leaning back in your seat, one hand resting lazily on the wheel, you waited. Same old song and dance.

First came the slam of his cruiser door, sharp and final, like he was already annoyed at the prospect of dealing with you. Then the crunch of his boots on the asphalt—slow, deliberate, each step dragging out the inevitable. It was almost comical, the way he took his time, like he wasn’t the one who’d flipped on the lights and sirens.

The window hissed as it rolled down, the sound jarring in the quiet, and before you could stop yourself, a smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. You didn’t bother hiding it this time. If you were walking away thirty dollars lighter, you might as well make it entertaining.

"Evenin’, John," you drawl, letting the words hang in the air with a playful edge that makes his jaw tighten.

He leans in, his arms braced against the window frame like he owns the whole damn road. His face is all sharp lines and shadows in the fading light, the faint scent of cigarettes and worn leather wrapping around you, mingling with the heavy, humid air of the summer night.

“Don’t call me John,” he grumbles, his voice rougher than usual, like gravel under tires.

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a grin. “Why not?” you tease, letting your fingers trail lazily along the steering wheel. “Thought we were friends, John.” You bat your lashes, adding a pout for good measure, laying it on thick just to see how far you can push him this time

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. His eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he leans in closer, his presence crowding you. “We aren’t ‘friends,’” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “You know why I pulled you over?”

It’s not really a question—it’s a challenge, and you can’t help but rise to it. You tilt your head, letting your gaze linger on him, your smirk widening. “Hmm… maybe ‘cause you’re a sucker for a pretty car?” you suggest, your tone dripping with sarcasm, sweet enough to sting.

John’s lips press into a thin line, but the subtle shift in his posture tells you everything you need to know. His gaze is unrelenting, sharp enough to cut through the cool facade you’re trying so hard to maintain. Internally, he’s fighting not to laugh—you can see it in the way his shoulders tense, like he’s holding back a cackle.

“If this—” he steps back, his eyes sweeping over the exterior of your car with deliberate slowness before landing back on you, “—is your idea of a ‘pretty car,’ I might have to issue you a ticket for driving without glasses.”

You lean back in your seat, arms crossing over your chest, your mouth hanging open in mock offense. Just because Fergie was old didn’t mean she was ugly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an ass?”

He stands there for a moment, just watching you, his expression unreadable. It’s like he’s weighing how much more of this he’s willing to put up with. Finally, he tilts his head, his voice dry as dust. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a brat?”

“Touché.”

You two had been here before. Over and over again. Ever since you’d come back home from college, he’d been hot on your trail—always showing up at the worst possible moments, right when you thought you might’ve gotten away with it.

This was your town. You’d grown up here, knew every road, every corner, every face. It was small, sure, but it was yours. And then John Price showed up. Sparkling, brand new hot-shot sheriff, fresh off the Mayflower. Sworn in by all the touch-starved wives and swooned over by every teenage girl in a fifty-mile radius. Ever since he’d arrived, it was like Elvis all over again

You figured he didn’t have the right to boss the locals around like he owned the place. No shiny badge or gun on his hip was going to earn him any respect from you. This wasn’t some big city where the badge meant everything. Out here? You could be just as stubborn as he was.

Still, he had a knack for showing up when you least expected it, always lurking in the background, keeping an eye on you for reasons you couldn’t quite figure out. No one could explain it, but there he was, always hovering like you were some kind of problem. But you never did anything wrong. Not really.

“I bet you 50 bucks there’s about five disgruntled teens smoking pot under the high school bleachers as we speak,” you say, leaning back in your seat with a grin tugging at your lips. “Surely, they deserve your devotion and attention more than little ol’ me.”

He pauses, clearly weighing your words, and you can see the flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I don’t want your money,” he mutters, his tone dry but with a hint of amusement—and something else you can’t quite place. “Besides, I doubt you’ve got 50 dollars to spare, considering how often you’re in the precinct paying off tickets.” He leans in just a little, his gaze sharp, like he’s daring you to argue.

You shrug, playing the part, even though you know he’s right. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’re wasting your time with me. I’m practically a model citizen. Those kids under the bleachers, though? They could be causing all kinds of trouble.”

You give him a sidelong glance, letting the playful challenge hang in the air between you. “I’m just trying to help you out here, Sheriff.”

Your tone is sweet—too sweet—and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out whether you’re messing with him or just being your usual self.

He takes a slow breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. His hand pinches the bridge of his nose before he exhales, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Oh, I’m sure you are,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Big help, givin’ me that advice.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “What can I say, Sheriff? Someone’s gotta make your job worthwhile.”

For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of you. The air grows heavy, charged with something you can’t quite name, and the silence stretches taut between you. But then the faint hum of a car engine cuts through the stillness, tires rolling past on the asphalt—a sharp reminder that you’re not alone out here.

“Step out of the car.” His voice is calm, steady, but there’s a flicker of something darker beneath the surface, a low undercurrent that sends a shiver down your spine.

Your jaw tightens, anger flaring hot and sudden in your chest. He’s never asked you to step out of the car before, and the demand catches you off guard. You can’t afford to be arrested—not with a shift at the diner at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning, not with the way your life is already balanced on a knife’s edge. The thought of cuffs, of being hauled into the precinct, makes your stomach churn.

But you don’t move. Not yet. Instead, you meet his gaze, your own sharp and defiant, and for a heartbeat, the two of you are locked in a silent standoff.

You don’t say a word, just reach down to unclick your seatbelt with an indignant sigh, movements slow—like dragging out the inevitable might change the outcome. The latch pops, the sound too loud in the quiet, and you open the door, letting the evening air rush in, cool against the heat prickling at your skin.

You step out, tugging your shorts down where they’ve ridden up, keeping your gaze on the ground, on the cracks in the pavement, anywhere but at him. You try to keep your breathing steady, try to act like this is just another bullshit stop, just another way for him to waste your time and break your wallet. But your heart’s already racing, faster than you want it to.

Then his hand is on your hip.

Firm. Unmoving. Not quite guiding, not quite restraining. Just there. A weight that lingers, like a silent reminder that he’s the one in control here, no matter how much you want to believe otherwise.

For a second, you freeze.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches you. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, charged with something you don’t want to name.

You swallow, still refusing to look at him. “Gonna write me a bullshit ticket, John?” Your voice is casual, flippant—too much so. You know it, and so does he.

He doesn’t answer right away, and that makes it worse.

Because the truth is, you’d rather he just do it. Write the damn ticket, hand you the fine, and send you on your merry way. That would be easy. It’d be normal.

But nothing about him has ever been easy. And this? Whatever this is? It sure as hell isn’t normal.

His fingers tighten—just slightly—but it’s enough. Enough for you to catch it, that flicker of something dark and barely restrained. His jaw tightens, his nostrils flare, and you realize he’s at his limit.

Like he’s weighing his options. Like he’s wondering if he should just give you the damn ticket and walk away.

You tilt your chin up, finally meeting his gaze, like a challenge. Would he?

His voice is tight when he finally speaks, low and strained, every word biting through the air.

"You think this is a game?"

You pause, letting the question linger as you ponder. Is it a game? Is that what this has always been? This back-and-forth, this constant chase—where you go about your life, minding your business, and he shows up, lurking, watching, like he’s got nothing better to do than make you his personal problem.

Would he really arrest you? Pin you against his cruiser and throw you in the back? Take you downtown like you’re some criminal? The thought sends a slow, involuntary shiver down your spine, but the more you think about it, the more ridiculous it sounds. If he was going to do it, it would’ve happened already.

He’s just a big softie. A stubborn, gruff, self-righteous pain in the ass who acts like he’s got the whole town in a chokehold but has spent too many years shadowing you for it to be a coincidence.

And deep down, you reckon he must have some sick, weird crush if the only way he can muster up the courage to see you is by stuffing a white slip of paper under your windshield wiper, like he can’t even be bothered to have a conversation without the safety of bureaucracy to hide behind.

You don’t even have to think about it anymore.

This is a game.

You keep your gaze steady, watching him. Watching the way he’s fighting to maintain that authority, to keep control. And through the harsh headlights from his car, it’s almost cute—the way his jaw tightens, the way his nostrils flare ever so slightly, the way his fingers twitch against your hip like he’s waging a war with himself. Like he thinks he can win.

But he can’t.

Not really.

His grip on you tightens, fingers pressing deeper, slipping beneath soft flesh to squeeze the bone. Like he’s trying to ground himself. Like he thinks if he just holds on tight enough, he can remind himself who’s in charge here.

But you see it—the shift in his expression, the cracks forming right in front of you. His eyes are darker now, narrowed with something he’s still pretending isn’t there, and his teeth grit like it physically pains him to keep standing here.

You just can’t resist.

You lean in just enough, close enough that your breath tickles his cheek, and with a slow, knowing smirk, you whisper, “You’ve been dying to get your hands on me, haven’t you, John?”

The words hang between you, sharp and saccharine, and for a moment, it’s like the world holds its breath.

His eyes go dark, that flicker of anger flashing through them like a warning. But it’s not just anger anymore. It’s something else, something raw. For a split second, you’re certain he’s off the deep end.

Before you can even blink, his hand moves. It’s fast, and suddenly, he’s grabbing you by the arm, yanking you toward him with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Get over here,” he growls.

The words are rough, guttural, scraping against his throat like he’s been holding them back for too long.

The next thing you know, he’s dragging you to the hood of his cruiser, his grip tight and bruising as his fingers wrap around your wrist, effortlessly dwarfing it. The cold metal of the hood bites against your skin as he shoves you down, bending you over the car.

And then he’s on you.

His chest is solid heat against your back, his weight pressing you into the hood like he’s making sure you stay there. Your breath catches, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements as you try to process just how quickly the shift between you has turned into this.

“Talk so fuckin’ much,” he mutters through clenched teeth, his voice a growl of frustration and something deeper, something rougher. His breath fans against your ear, hot and unsteady, sending a shiver down your spine.

One hand clamps over your wrists, holding them firm against the small of your back, while the other tangles in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose the vulnerable line of your throat.

The grip is possessive. Unforgiving, like he’s staking a claim.

“You think you can just keep pushing me? Keep fuckin’ with me like this, hmm?”

A soft whimper tumbles from your lips, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip, the rest of the sound dying in your throat. His hand pulls on your hair, making your neck arch back, and the sharp tug sends a jolt straight to your cunt. You try to choke back the reaction, but it’s impossible—the way he’s holding you, the way he’s pressing into you with every word, every move.

His body presses into yours, the intensity of it all making your pulse race. Despite everything, despite the situation, a shiver runs down your spine. You can tell he’s holding back by the way his teeth grit, the sharpness in his voice.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze from the side. “By the way John Jr’s more sprung than a rainy day in April, I’d say you like it,” he groans and you chuckle, “You do like it, don’t you, John?”

The words slip from your lips, taunting him, and you can feel the shift in his posture before he even moves. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling you back further, forcing you to arch your neck more as he leans in, his breath hot and heavy against your skin, each exhale brushing over you like a warning.

“Think you’ve got me figured out?” he growls, teeth grazing the curve of your ear, his words a promise and a threat all at once. “Since you’re so fuckin’ knowledgeable, tell me something…”

Your pulse quickens, the anticipation like the loaded gun in his waistband. “Tell you what?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost breathless, but your eyes never leave his.

“Tell me what I do t’dumb girls that don’t know how t’speak only when spoken to,” he murmurs, his grip shifting, pulling you in closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it impossible to ignore the growing bulge in his pants.

You can feel his cock twitch with interest in his jeans, and instinctively, you roll your hips back into his. The firm bulge presses against your pulsating cunt, offering just the smallest bit of reprieve from the ache in your clit and you can’t help but whimper. “You give them a ticket and send them on their way?”

“Nice try, love,” he says, the words dripping with disappointment, like he’s genuinely let down by your guess.

Before you can even react, his hand leaves your hair, and you hear the cold click of the cuffs snapping around your wrists.

You jerk against the restraint, but it’s useless. You turn to look up at him, but the look on his face—hands on his hips, blue eyes locked on you—makes you stop.

No smirk, no joke. Just intensity.

“Get on your knees,” he says, voice low, rough, without hesitation.

You bite your lip, the urge to snap back hitting you. But instead, you swallow it down and push yourself up, kneeling before him on the pavement. The roughness of it bites into your skin, the cuffs digging into your wrists, each pull reminding you of just how much control he has in this situation.

His boot taps lightly against your thigh, the sound sharp in the quiet air, a silent demand for your attention. You glance up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s a look that makes your pulse quicken, as if he can see right through you, into everything you’re trying to shovel deep..

“Sit,” he commands, the word simple, authoritative.

It takes you a second to realize what he means, but when his boot nudges against your clothed cunt, you get it.

You lift your hips slow, like you’re not sure but can’t help it, settling atop his boot. The sensation makes a shiver run up your spine. His fingers find your hair again, firm, enough to tilt your head back and make you look up at him.

“This’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it, dove?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, like he’s savoring the sight of you—knees to the ground, wrists bound, eyes wide as you stare up at him. He can’t help but palm himself at the sight.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, heat simmering in your cheeks with anticipation. “I’m not gonna beg,” you sneer, defiant like your cunt isn’t already drooling for him. The lie sits thick on your tongue, heavy enough to choke on.

He smirks—slow like he’s amused, but there’s something else there, like he’s already decided how he’ll play with you.

“That’s cute,” his fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head back just a little further. Your lips part on instinct, a quiet, pained mewl slipping out before you can stop it.

“but you will,” he hums with a smile so saccharine, it makes you want to smack it off his face. His free hand reaches for his belt, fumbling with the leather as he pulls it out of the buckle. You can feel your body buzzing with anticipation, the tension building in every nerve of your body. Everything in your mind is screaming at you, telling you how wrong this is, how this can’t happen. But deep down, you know he’s right. This has been a long time coming.

But fuck, he’s a literal cop, the Sheriff. This has to fall under some public indecency law.

But despite everything, despite all the warnings your mind throws at you, the pull is stronger, too real to ignore. And you can’t stop yourself from leaning into it.

He peels down the zipper of his blue slacks and the sound echoes in your ears. You’re on your knees on the shoulder of a road, the last vestiges of daylight fading, and God help you, your mouth waters when you see the outline of his solid cock through his boxers.

He doesn't break eye contact, his other hand still tight in your hair, daring you to even try to look away. The recklessness, the sheer audacity of him whipping out his cock in the middle of a traffic stop. It’s all so palpable, like a stack of weights on your chest. He tugs down his boxers in one fluid movement, his cock springing free, and you can’t help but try to back away at the sight.

He's massive in every sense of the word. Dark curls trail from his navel to the base of him, thick but neatly kept. His cock hangs low and heavy between his legs, thick and long with a few veins and just the softest blush of pink at his tip. There’s no way you can take him all, let alone in your mouth.

He could see the shift in your eyes, the sudden apprehension in your demeanor, and the hand in your hair loosened. He trailed his fingers from your scalp to your cheek, his thumb wandering to the plump flesh of your parted lips.

“You can say no, dove. I won’t hold it against you,” he says softly, giving you an out. His blue eyes soften as they meet yours, and you know he wouldn’t force you. But the way the hard leather of his boot presses through your shorts, firm against your clit, has you fighting the urge to grind against him. You want—No, need him. Badly.

You bow your head to meet his cock, tongue darting out, hungrily swiping up the drop of precum dangling from his tip. He automatically groans and his hands find their way back to your scalp, feeding his cock into your mouth. Your lips tighten around him immediately, suckling as he presses in and stretches you out.

“Fuck— that’s it, love, so fuckin’ tight,” he babbles as he watches his length disappear in your mouth over and over. His eyes flutter shut as he tips his head back—he knew if he looked at you any longer he’d blow his load too soon. Your tongue is just so hot. He hadn’t expected it to be ice, but God you were sweltering. He nestled himself in the back of your throat so nicely, tickling and toying with your gag reflex each time you bobbed your head. You coat his length with slick spit, the sounds of your gags subconsciously making him push your head down even further.

You focus on steady breaths through your nose as his grip tightens. Your hands strain against the cuffs, aching to touch, to feel, to at least stroke where your mouth can’t reach. So pretty like this, he thinks. The way you look up at him, defiant yet desperate. The way your breath catches and your throat flutters around his mushroomed tip.

It drives him crazy—how much he wants to break that control, to make you lose it completely. His groans only spur you on further, your tongue moving with purpose, tracing the prominent vein along his underside.

Your hips jerk against his boot as spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, knees grinding into the asphalt, but you barely notice the sting. All you can think about is the way it makes heat pool in your cunt—sends sparks up your spine.

You can’t help it—your hips keep moving, grinding against his boot, the rough leather driving you wild, and you’re sure you’re leaving a wet spot. The friction is delicious, and you’re so lost in it that you almost miss when he speaks.

“Look at you,” he says, smirking despite how badly he needs to cum. “Can’t even help yourself, can you? Just a needy little mutt, humpin’ my boot.”

His hand tugs your strands, not rough but firm, just enough to make you gasp. “Just need your pretty pussy touched, that right?” he tuts softly, pulling you off him, a thin strand of saliva connecting your glistening lips to the tip of his cock. “On your feet, come on.” He guides you up, your legs shaky and chest heaving but his grip steadies you. “There you go, sweetheart.”

The sky’s a deep blue now, the sun long gone, the cruiser’s headlights casting faint shadows. He shoves you back against the hood, the metal cool against the backs of your thighs. His hands are on you immediately, rough and demanding, squeezing your thighs, your tits, like he’s marking his territory.

You bite your lip, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s useless. His fingers dig into your flesh, and your hips jerk instinctively, craving more. “So quiet now, hm?” he hums, his face centimeters from yours. “What happened to that smart little mouth of yours?”

The way he switches from caring to being so dominant, it makes your head spin. You glare at him, but he doesn’t care. His hand slides under the waistband of your shorts, fingers dancing over your soaked panties, and you can’t stop the way your hips roll into his hand, desperate for any touch he’ll give. “All this for me, sweet girl?” he mutters, middle finger slowly circling your sensitive clit, “All wound up, yeah? Need me to set you straight?”

“Fuck—,” you whine, your hips bucking into his hand, you can feel his breath against your lips as he chuckles. He deftly pulls your panties to the side, groaning when his fingers slide through your folds. His lips find your neck and he mouths at the sensitive patch of skin above your pulse, sucking a dark, red splotch into your skin as if you’re his.

You instinctively toss your head back, letting him lick hot, wet stripes from your clavicle to your jaw. He slips a single finger into you and your cunt squelches embarrassingly.

“Feels so good, John—,” you whine into the evening breeze as he pumps his finger in you, curling to hit your g-spot with precision you’ve never experienced. He smiles against your skin before enveloping your lips with his.

It’s hungry, messy, and desperate. His tongue crowds your mouth trying to drink you whole, like he’s been parched, waiting for you to quench his thirst since he first met you. He swallows your whines and pleas for more as he works you open, grinning when he slips in his ring finger alongside the middle and you gasp.

It’s a pathetic attempt, really, to kiss him back—to try to match his fervor. He has you at his mercy and you’re near collapsing into him as he finger fucks you, low heat pooling in your belly as the coil tightens, as you claw at the hood of the car, wishing the cuffs weren’t there—wishing you could claw at him instead.

“Feel you gettin’ all tight ‘round me, dove. Gonna cum? Gonna soak my fingers, doll?” He questions against your lips. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, sucking him in and keeping them there. So greedy, he thinks.

You nod vehemently, biting your lip so you don’t scream—or sob, you aren’t sure how to feel—into the air. He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit, and that’s all you need to finally break. You near black out when you cum, sparks shooting up your spine and making your vision go black for a moment, his fingers lazily working you through your orgasm as your legs shake and your walls damn near break his fingers.

“That’s my girl, knew you could do it,” he hums against your temple, wiping away tears you hadn’t known fallen.

You hadn’t cum that hard in your life. Not by yourself, and most certainly not by any of the lame frat boys you fucked in your college days.

But John isn’t in a frat.

And he certainly isn’t just a boy.

He gently slips his hand out of your pants, bringing his fingers up to his lips before popping them into his mouth. The way his eyes flutter shut, eyebrows pulling together softly as he groans at the taste of you on his tongue, it’s all fucking sinful. You watch him, mesmerized as he pulls the glistening digits out of his mouth with a pop.

He dips his head to yours, kissing you again, but much softer this time, less hungry, more savoring. You can taste the subtle tang of your own juices on his tongue, and you’d be a liar if you said it didn’t turn you on further.

John subtly tugs your shorts and panties down, the fabric whispering against your skin. He fishes for a small key in his pocket, before using them on the cuffs. They open, releasing your raw wrists with a near-silent snick. You feel the moment the cuffs fall away, and your hands move as if drawn by an invisible force, reaching for him, clutching at his jaw, pulling him closer with urgency. Your fingers roam his shoulders, his neck, tracing the hard lines of his body as he spreads your legs, tossing your discarded shorts aside. He settles between them, lazily pumping his cock with his free hand.

“You want this, love?” he whispers against your lips.

You nod almost imperceptibly before crashing your lips back to his, like you just can’t get enough.

He kisses you back like a magnet, but just as quickly, he pulls away again.

“Words,” he says sternly.

You huff, ever the impatient brat. “Put your fucking cock in me or I swear to God, I'll get in my car and drive right out of here.”

“That right?” he scoffs, "You gonna drive off?" He brings his angry red tip to your sodden folds, teasing your sensitive clit with each brush, making you jolt, “You want t’act like a brat,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Then we can do this the hard way.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. “Unless,” he murmurs, ghosting the head of his cock into your hole, “you'd like to ask nicely.”

You bite your lip as you watch him tease you, fighting a groan at the way your cunt squelches and stretches around just his tip.

“She’s so greedy, already tryin’ to suck me in,” he coos, “don’t want to deprive her, now do we?”

You whine as he notches just the head in. He pauses, waiting for you to speak before he moves any further. You open your mouth and your voice just breaks as you leak and drip around him and onto the hood of the car.

“Please, John, Please, I need you—Please, I’ll be so good,” You break and claw at his shoulders and back, desperate to pull him closer to you, to have you flush against him, chest to chest and full of his cock.

“See how gorgeous you sound when you’re nice? See where that gets you, love?” He coos as he inches his cock into you. Your walls are already fluttering, still all worked up from your last orgasm. He has to fight the urge to cum right then and there, gritting his teeth as his grip tightens on your thighs, fingers dimpling the fat as he spears you open.

You’re slack jawed, eyes glassy as he bottoms out. You’ve never been so full and stretched in your life. You can feel him in every orifice of your body, you feel him in the pits of your stomach, in the hollows of your lungs, in the cavern of your throat. His tip nudges against your cervix and all you can manage is a strangled sob.

“Oh none of that, lovie, none of that,” he hums, pecking your lips and wiping the tears from your eyes with the pads of his thumbs.

“Gonna fuck you real nice,” the thumb he used to wipe your tears away travels south, finding your clit and drawing soft, slow circles that have you gushing and relaxing around him, “Just be a good pet and take it.”

You nod as he cradles your head in his hand. He gently moves his hips, inching his cock out of your cunt before sliding back in, squeezing the air out of you like a fucking balloon.

Gasps fall from your lips with each stroke, not entirely from discomfort, but from the sheer intensity of the feeling. He repeats the motion, a slow, deliberate push and pull that sends shivers down your spine. He keeps his thumb on your clit steady, making your legs shake, a burning heat already blossoming low in your belly. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his clothed frame as you try to anchor yourself against the rising tide of sensation.

He continues, his movements becoming more insistent, more demanding. Each thrust is deeper, faster, steady plaps from where his hips repeatedly meet yours. He knocks the breath out of you, each stroke forcing a soft mewl from your lips, your body trembling with anticipation. The world narrows, focusing on the rhythmic movements of his hips, the feel of his skin against yours, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling with his.

He leans, his lips brushing against your own. “That's it, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Take it all.”

His words ignite a fire within you, a raw, primal need that surges through your veins. You arch your back, meeting his thrusts with a ferocity that surprises even yourself. His pace quickens, his movements becoming more urgent, more erratic, and you know he’s getting close. The burning in your abdomen intensifies, spreading outwards, and throughout your body.

His name falls from your lips in a litany—John, John, John, john—a prayer, both a plea and a demand as his cock plows into you with staggering precision. Your cunt clenches around him, milking every ounce of pleasure from each stroke. He groans, cursing as his grip tightens on your hips, until you wail, toes curling and clawing at his back, your voice hoarse as you squirt all over him. He continues to move, his rhythm relentless, until he too reaches his peak, groaning as his body shudders, as he spurts hot ropes of cum deep inside your cunt.

You’re breathless, spent, your limbs heavy and relaxed. The dampness of sweat cooled on your skin, a pleasant contrast to the lingering heat between your legs. The world slowly comes back into focus and a soft smile plays on your lips as you trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips.

“That was…” you murmur, your voice still rough.

He nuzzles your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “A lot,” he finishes for you, his voice low.

You hum in agreement, tightening your grip on his jaw just slightly. You don't need to say more. The silence that settles between you is comfortable. He shifts slightly, and it reminds you he's still there, sheathed inside you.

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his body against yours, a comforting heat that seeps into your skin. Every nerve ending still fires, buzzing with aftershocks.

Slowly, he inches out of you. It feels weird to not be full of him, a sudden emptiness that makes you instinctively clench. He's out, and the cool air against your skin is a stark reminder of the reality of the situation. Of the fact that you’re literally on the side of the road. John reaches for your discarded clothes, picking them up with a casualness that borders on audacious.

He starts with your panties, briefly bending down in front of you as you step into them. He pulls them up your legs, snapping the elastic against your hip. “Sheriff’s discretion,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with amusement as he fastens your shorts too. “Wouldn't want you getting a ticket for indecent exposure.” Fucking knew it.

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “You were just as indecent as I was, if I recall.”

He shrugs as he tugs up his own pants, a picture of nonchalant authority. “Evidence suggests otherwise, doll,” he counters, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “I'm the one writing the tickets.” He finishes buttoning your shorts, his fingers lingering against your skin.

The world sways for a moment, your legs still a little shaky. He steadies you, his arm around your waist. He walks you back to your car, the silence between you comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. He stops just short of the driver's side door, his hand resting comfortably on your back.

“Drive safe,” he says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it.

You nod, your eyes meeting his. You stand on your tip toes and kiss him, a soft, lingering peck on his lips that’s got him feeling like a teenager again.. He responds in kind, other hand moving to cup your cheek. Judging by how he holds you close, he’s reluctant to pull away.

But he does, and he turns and walks back to his cruiser. Eventually, You watch his car fade away, a strange mix of emotions swirling within you. Then, with a deep breath, you turn and get into your car. The door shuts and you just exhale, replaying everything that just happened.

You reach to crank the keys sitting in the ignition and your eyes fall on a small white rectangle tucked under the windshield wiper. You get back out of the car and pull it free.

It's a ticket. For speeding.

Asshole.

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