#mouse price

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price celebrates his 75th birthday with a special guest...RATIGAN!

[moongreenlight]

Ex Husband!Price who still comes over and shovels your driveway every time it snows. But then you feel bad because he comes into the mud room every fifteen minutes to warm up so when he’s done you insist he stays for a hot meal.

But then he helps clean up. Does the dishes and shoos you away when you tell him he really doesn’t need to do all that.

Even worse if you have kids!! They’re thrilled that dad is around so they beg you to let him stay to watch a movie or play a few rounds of their video game. Of course you say yes. Who are you to take him away from the kids?

But then it’s late and he’s wound up carrying the kids up to their beds and tucking them in because they’d already fallen asleep on the couch. You say your goodbyes and honestly it’s a little bittersweet because it’s been such a surprisingly good evening.

But when he tries to leave the driveway’s already gotten all snowy again and you’d hate to be worrying about him driving home in these conditions so you offer him a spot on the couch swearing it’s only for tonight.

But then you get to talking about schedules and the kids sports they’re signing up to play and he winds up walking you to your room so you can just finish your thought about how the two of you should split the costs for the sports your kids are doing in the spring.

But once you’re in your bedroom you remember that you’ve been meaning to ask him about something on your computer so you leave him with your laptop while you get changed.

But then oh noooo he comes into the closet to ask you for a password and catches you pulling on the top of your pajamas. You’re mortified. He says it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

Somewhere in between deciding if you’ll drive to or pick up from practice on Thursdays, his hands start to wander. Resting over your sex from over a pair of flannel pajama pants. Usually, you’d tell him off. Monologue about how this isn’t how things work because it complicated things and you both need to set boundaries. But tonight you don’t.

Maybe it’s because you had two heavy-handed pours of your favorite wine with dinner. Maybe it was seeing him with your kids again. Maybe it had just been too long since you’d felt anything other than a cheap bullet vibrator.

So you let him slip his hand down your pants.

But it’s a bit jarring to feel his wedding band still on his finger.

[angel5ofp0rn]

Young!Price x f!younger!reader

where u and ExHusband!Price first meet 🤭

TW (?) age gap. legal (21&30-something), but still an age gap

got a lil lazy at the end; just a dash of secks

“Jus’ one more.” You giggle to your friends, making your way through the crowd and over to the bar.

Another one more.

The bartender shakes his head when you approach.

For the fourth time.

“What’ll it be this time, kid?”

“Dunno,” You shrug animatedly. You giggle again, your cheeks warm from the alcohol. “How about…”

You turn to one of the men sitting at the bar.

“What’re you drinking?” You point a manicured finger at a tall, balaclava-wearing man with dark eyes.

He glances towards you for just a moment before looking straight ahead again, mumbling a “whiskey” under his breath.

“Eww.” You scrunch your nose. “No, not that.”

You lean over a bit, hands on the bar, looking past the scary masked man and to the man next to him.

The… gorgeous, blue eyed, clean shaven man next to him.

“What’re- whoa.” Your eyes widen for a moment. “You’re, like… whoa.”

The man exhales a small, slightly amused chortle.

“Would you, like, ‘scuse us?” You ask the scarier man.

He stares you down for a moment.

You blink, waiting for him to move.

“F’r fuck’s sake…” The big guy grumbles, standing up from the barstool and disappearing somewhere in the bar.

You happily hop onto the stool once he’s gone.

You extend your arm to the gorgeous man, your tipsiness making you more fearless than usual.

“Hi. It’s m’birthday.”

“Is it, now?” His smooth, English voice drawls out as he shakes your hand.

“Mhm!” You nod, your grin growing.

The man nods, seemingly amused with your young, drunk self.

“Are you, like, an army guy or something?” You ask, glancing up and down at him in his fatigues.

He snorts.

“I am an army guy or something.” He confirms. “John Price.”

“John Price…” You tilt your head to the side, your long hair falling over your exposed shoulder in that tiny going out top you decided to wear.

“Price is cute. Y/N Price sounds good, right?” You ask aloud, not really to anyone in particular.

“Already planning on taking my last name, are you?” He raises his eyebrows at you, entertained by all of this.

Women come up to him all the time. Can’t really go anywhere without a few flirting with him, batting their eyelashes, playing coy about how badly they want to fuck a man in uniform.

But they’re never this bold.

Usually not this young, either.

You’re a good ten years younger than him, at least; the hell do you want with him?

“Y’know,” You continue, ignoring his question. “You have the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

He smirks.

“Y/N!” Your girl friend calls out, waving you over to her from across the room. “Let’s go dance!”

“Oh!” You grab John’s bicep. “I love dancing. Come dance with us!”

John shakes his head, dismissing the idea.

“Don’t dance.” He takes a swig of his beer. “But, eh… Kyle here-“ He pats the shoulder of another, younger, man on the right side of him. “-Kyle likes to dance. Don’t ya, Gaz?”

“I don’ wanna dance with him.” You shake your head with a frown.

“He’s a handsome young lad.” John continues talking up his buddy as if he’s a car salesman trying to sell you the Buick. “Why don’t you-“

You cut him off, rolling your eyes as if that was the dumbest suggestion you’ve ever heard.

“What’f I dance with Kyle and he r’lly likes me?” You slur a bit.

Kyle grins.

John snorts.

“Then he likes ya.”

“No!” You groan.

Drunken you really resembles a fussy toddler.

“I don’ want Kyle’s babies, I want your babies.”

John laughs.

Kyle chokes on his drink.

“You wanna have my babies, eh?”

“Uh-huh.” You nod confidently. “I wan’ a hundred blue-eyed babies tha’ look Just. Like. You.” You poke his chest in sync with the last three words.

John raises his eyebrow at that, taking another sip of his beer.

Your friends pull you to the dance floor by your arm.

You stumble off with them, looking back at John Price and what’s-his-name.

The men don't even glance back at you once you're gone.

They just laugh it off and continue chatting.

But you? You're not giving up that easily.

You let yourself be distracted for a while; dancing, shots, bathroom selfies, whatever.

But when you see John standing up from the bar, slapping some cash down for the bartender and heading towards the exit; you follow.

"John!" You grin, arms outstretched for a hug once you meet him in the parking lot.

"Christ, you're persistent, aren't ya?" John rubs his hand over his jaw.

Your arms hook around his neck, stumbling into him. He places his hands on your waist, steadying you so you don't completely fall.

“Can’t help it,” you sigh. “I go after what I want.”

You tilt your head back to see those crystal blues that made you talk to him in the first place.

John takes a step back, gently disentangling himself from your embrace. His expression is a mix of amusement and something else…

Perhaps a hint of concern.

That’s fair; you’ve just drunkenly followed a strange man outside at night.

"You're a bit too young for me, sweetheart," he says softly. "I think you should go back inside and enjoy the rest of your birthday with your friends."

"But I like you," you protest, your arms crossing over your chest.

He sighs, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I appreciate the sentiment, love, but it's best if you forget about me. I'm not the right guy for ya."

Your lower lip juts out. A proper pout.

“Ah, c’mon. Don’t give me that.” John chortles, crossing his own arms over his chest now. “Look, this isn’t what you want. Tomorrow mornin’… you’re gonna wake up without a single thought of me in your pretty li’l head.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask, missing the point completely.

John looks as if he could laugh, but he doesn’t.

“I do.” John nods curtly. “I think you’re fuckin’ beautiful… but you’ve had too much to drink, haven’t you? Why don’t you let me get you an Uber, at least. Make sure ya get some safe ‘n sound.”

You reluctantly accept his offer, standing by his side as the two of you wait for your rides.

Ride.

Because you might as well share one, right?

And once you get to your place, he might as well walk you up.

You’d just be plain rude if you didn’t invite him in; he’d be a jerk if he didn’t accept the invitation.

Sure, he’ll help you remove your heels, but then he really should get going.

But then your hand touches his face when his head is near your knees.

He looks up. You rub your thumb over his jaw.

“Look-“

“‘m jus’ looking at you.”

He really, really should get going.

“Stay with me.” You beg.

“I can’t stay with you, love. I’ve gotta go now.”

He pulls the covers over you, brushes the hair away from your face, he has you text your friends to let them know you’re okay, and he’s gone…

…until the next morning, when he knocks on your door bright and early because, wouldn’t you know it, he accidentally took your phone home and he’s here to return it.

(He totally didn’t pocket it so he’d have an excuse to see you again.)

Since you’re both awake and have no plans, you might as well go to breakfast, right?

“I’m not going anywhere.” You groan, rubbing your puffy eyes.

“Go on. Get showered.” He sits on your sofa, hands folded behind his head. “I’ll wait.”

You didn’t even make it to breakfast.

Ended up having him pull over behind some trees along the way, straddling him in the driver’s seat, bouncing on his thick cock while he murmured praises about how well you’re taking him.

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[thefuzzhead]

Be sure to reblog and spread this to get the most widely agreed decision.

[brokenpieces-72]

Hi, I was thinking how cool it would be for the team to have a 3-4 foot nothing mouse as an infiltrator and informant. who can sneak in by squishing themselves flat like real mice through the smallest cracks, steal information and not get caught. Thanks, and I love your work ^^.

Omg I adore this idea it is adorable! Yes! I'm just imagining the reader, squishing themselves against the ground but their legs are just kicking up the dirt behind them as they wedge themselves under a door that should not even fit their skull, lol. Also, this takes place before Spirit's time or a different time all together. I couldn't think of a way to include her in it.

Click

TW: past trauma, mentions of prison, mentions of ruining people's lives, shitty bosses, criminal history, let me know if any changes are needed.

"Is this contract negotiable?" You asked, sitting across from Laswell. She'd slid the contract over to you for a job, promising you the basic amenities and a hefty cash reward for your participation in an infiltration mission. You would be a key player in an infiltration mission to collect data from a cartel, something you were very good at. The information was pretty basic stuff like bio-chemical research files, shipping manifests, buyer lists, etc.

"What are you asking for?" Kate asked.

"Reduced sentence." You said, sliding the contract back to her. Kate took it back, glancing at you. "I've served 10 years already, for following orders. I want to walk around freely after this."

Laswell didn't show it but she was surprised by your statement. You'd plead guilty during your trial, and chose your words carefully when you spoke. If you wanted your freedom she could arrange it. You would be tracked for a while, but you knew that already. In a place like this, your size was weakness, something plenty of other inmates could take advantage of.

"I'll see to it personally." Kate told you, gathering her things. You gave her a curt nod.

You didn't need basic training, but the overgrown lizard with the missing wing wanted to give you an assessment. You didn't argue, you could give him attitude once you'd warmed up to the others. Your contract required compliance on your end. While you didn't have to like it, you weren't about to start drama. Just get your work done, complete the contract, and get your tracking bracelet. Thankfully you passed the assessment with little issues. You returned to Price for your orders and then you see Alejandro. Fuck.

You have to dig your nails into your palms when you see the spots on his arms. You know those spots, and try to avoid them. And of course the colonel noticed your discomfort with his presence. Didn't comment on it though. Price dismissed you to shower, and settle in. A laptop had been put in your room for you to look over what information they had so far for the mission. You knew what you were going to do with the laptop right away.

Holy shit, you forgot how much you missed warm water and privacy like this. It felt so good to get all of your dirt and sweat off, scratching at your scalp to get out all the grime and grease that had built up. You had to brush your hair out in the shower because of how knotted it was, but it was worth it. If anyone had an opinion on how long your shower was, they kept it to themselves. Coming back to your room in a warm hoodie and wet hair was marvellous feeling. You felt much more refreshed. When you saw the laptop, you put your date with your bed on hold. The sooner the job was done, the sooner you could shower as much as you want.

The cartel location was pretty simple set up. There were blueprints of the building along with edits for renovations. Everything you'd requested for the mission was available, including any reciepts they could get a hold of for the renovations. Tech was higher end but not exactly the most secure, it would take time to make an attack plan for it. You'd want to get a drone out so you could see how many guards were on security at a time, especially if there is an event going on, because security would be tighter. There were some aerial photos that you could get closer looks at, eyeing the vehicles that weren't military make. Odds were mods had been added, like bullet-proof glass or compartments for weapons.

Everything you could find or didn't find was scratched into a notebook. The advantage with writing things down instead of typing, was how easy it was to keep it to yourself and destroy it if you needed to. You probably spent a better portion of the day working on your notes and plans. By the time you had most of your wrok done, your lip was a little numb from chewing at it. Your eyes watered from staring at the screen, realizing just how dark it had gotten in your room. What time was it? Evening at least. Shit, you hoped there was still some food for you at the messhall.

You left your room, yawning, wishing you had taken a nap before getting to work. After poking your head into the hall, you quietly slipped out of your room to find the mess hall. When you turned the first corner though you nearly had a heart attack. Kyle unintantionally scared the shit out of you. You had to cover your mouth so you didn't yell in surprise. Did you hear someone coming? Yes. But not someone with big wings.

"You good?" He askeed. You nodded needing a minute for your heart to settle.

"Yeah... sorry." You said. "Was looking for the mess hall."

"I'm on my way there, I can show you." Kyle told you, waiting for you to give him the okay to show you. You nodded and gestured for him to lead on.

"So what do we call you? The Cap'n gave us your name but I figured you had a nickname or something." Kyle said, walking with you. Great, he likely knew you had a record as well. Certainly didn't seem bothered by it though.

"Mouse. Or Click." You answered. "Super original I know."

Kyle told you about the other nicknames of the team. You couldn't help but notice he seemed fairly casual with you, while keeping to himself. As soon as you figured out what he was doing you cracked a small smile. Kyle noticed.

"Did I say something?" He asked. Oh shit, he saw that. Awkward.

"No no, just... old training kicking in." You admitted.

"How so?" Kyle asked. You were hoping "old training" wouldn't come with follow ups. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable, if you wanted any mission to go right you needed trust from both sides. Kyle was taking the first steps, and you wanted to catch up. If you kept it to yourself it could make him uneasy, or dig into your file deeper. If you told him it could make him more cautious.

"I learned speech patterns to go with my informant training." You explained.

"Figured." Kyle said. "So what have I given away?"

The question is phrased in a way that sounds lighthearted, but you get the feeling he's both testing you and wishing he'd been more careful about talking to you. The more open and forward you are the better it would be later on. "How much of a dressing down do you want?"

Kyle shrugged. May as well give him the fullset. "You told me everyone's name and nickname, while giving me one thing to focus on for each of them in terms of appearance. Instead of telling me what hybrid they are you described their more human aspects. You're attempting to make me feel comfortable with them by providing me with friendlier terms to refer to them. Instead of focusing on what makes them different you mention the things they have the most in common which is their humanity. In summary you're sizing me up - no pun intended - while wanting me to be more relaxed and comfortable with the rest of you."

"Yep." Kyle said simply. You gave him a double take. Was that a test?! Kyle just shook his head smirking. Not the usual response but you appreciated how he took it.

"Can I be informal about this meeting?" You asked Price.

"You have the floor use it as you see fit." Price said. Oh boy, this would be a trip.

"Okay, first and foremost, there is more than one target. You have a server room that I'm not even sure could be called that, and there's a main office holding both written files and a computer. Second, this place has gone through more renovations than I can count. There are plenty of ways in, but each one has something either blocking it or guarding it, which will take more than a smile to get in."

"More than lockpicking as well?" Rudy asked.

"Or breaking down the door, not saying brute force and ignorance isn't an option, but I don't recommend the latter." You added. Simon was looking over the map you had spread out.

"Where are the targets?" He requested. You marked them and they were some distance apart. The server room was in the general center, with the main office being further from the entrance. "You have a main one?"

"I was going to ask about that." You said. "How much data do you want?"

"All of it." Price answered simply. You thought so.

"Server would get you plenty of files but they'll likely be encrypted, office would get you their main computer which could also be locked pretty tight, and the option of hard copies, but that's if they have hard copies." You explained quickly. Getting everything would be an option it was more how much they wanted to break stuff.

"All of it." Price repeated.

"Okay," You sighed. "If you look at the papers there's maps and times for the guard's rotations, which aren't the most consistent, but are close enough, during events and meetings they put in the effort to cover up a bit more. Their vehicles are no exception, those illegal tints are probably hiding radios, and hidden compartments."

"The van is modded too?" Kyle asked, looking at the photos you'd gotten from the drone. Sketchy white van parked out front.

"Spoilers." You told him. "But yes... and no. The cartel gets businesses to come in and work on their stuff under the table, all of it is done in cash and off record, but it's not always the same person. Before Kyle said anything that would be the first way in but that would get civilians involved."

The team didn't want to get innocent people involved, even if they were doing sketchy business. The team examined the work you'd put together. There were plenty of scribbled notes, photos, and maps to go over but Price could see through all your work.

"Do you have any other suggestions?" He asked you.

"Sadly, no. I wasn't exactly the planner when it came to these things. One thing I can tell you that is close to a suggestion, is that the place's security system is like a smart home. System sends a signal anytime someone interacts with it. If someone is taken off or put on the system, ping. Door unlocked or locked, ping. Car leaves the premises, ping."

"Windows?" Soap asked.

"It's a way in, but a way to be seen as well. I get most of your guys are bulletproof to a degree, but I'm not." You explained. They could cover you, that wasn't a massive issue.

"Could we take out the guards, replace them?" Alejandro asked.

"Theoretically yes, it would require them to leave the premises and a car jacking." You explained. Less violence required, and you were starting to map some more things out in your head.

"That will work, but then how do we reach the targets?" Price asked. Ghsot and Rodolfo could get through easily enough and unlock the doors from the other side. Price and Gaz would be able to hide among the guards as easily with their wings, so they could provide recon and a distraction while the rest broke in. Meanwhile you would get into the computer and servers directly, retrieving the target. There was one problem though. How would you get in? Your ears could be stuffed into a ski mask with some discomfort and your tail could go around your midsection under your clothes, but...

"One problem... I'm a little short for stormtrooper." You mentioned. You didn't like it, but they found a way.

Night before the mission you were curled up in the rec room with your notebook. You were journaling. It was the one thing you could do when you were incarcerated, and your therapist recommended it. One mission and you would be able to walk outside again. Felt good to write about it. Your ears twitched hearing someone walk in.

"Looks like there's a creature stirring." Soap said, joining you. You rolled your eyes, but gave him a friendly enough smile. You sat in silence for a moment before Soap decided now was a perfect time to get personal with you. "What were you in for?"

"It's in my file." You answered.

"Didn't bother reading it. I prefer the source, more accurate." He replied. You looked over your journal and tucked up knees at him. It wasn't to catch you off guard, or anything, he wanted to hear your side.

"Hacked into National Security." You said, finishing the sentence you were on before closing your journal.

"That all?" He asked.

"I was... ordered to. I broke in, obtained files on suspoected war criminals, my commanding officer gave me the okay, said he'd gotten a warrant and everything. Tried arguing with him, and... he convinced me it was for the best. We were catching criminals, terrorists. Well he never got the warrant, and the next thing I know I'm on trial, hearing how many people I hurt through my actions." You said.

"What about your superior?" Soap asked. You felt something boiling inside of you. The night he'd come to see you to warn you about the trial, you thought he would defend you. You retold your side to him, despite him knowing it. His final words to you stung. In the end it was your hand on the trigger.

"Haven't seen him." You said, shrugging. "Got plenty of tats in prison though."

"Really?" Soap asked, giving in to the subject change. He'd only seen the one star on your neck. YOu set you journal aside, and pulled up your hoodie and shirt to show your ribs and some beautiful inked works. "Is that recent?"

"The snake is yeah." You said. You're pretty sure the reason the hybrids were more comfortable around you was because of your small size. As a mouse you're less of a threat, but you have a criminal record. Soap wasn't put off by it, none of them were. You'd heard things about the 141, some of the skeletons they might have in their closet. You assumed there was little room to throw stones in the glass house. "Tomorrow is gonna suck."

"Why? The plan is solid." Soap said. Yeah for him maybe, not for you. Maybe that was why he was being friendly, so you wouldn't get back at him for roughing you up. You gave him a look, and he failed to hide his grin. "It's a solid plan."

Oh yeah yeah, solid FUCKing plan Soap. Laugh it up. He was snickering about it when everything was being planned out too. Were you laughing about it too? Yes, but it was a bit of reluctant laugh, like when you know you've lost a bet and have to get drenched by a water balloon.

"Permission to speak freely?" You asked Alejandro who was ziptying your hands behind your back. Something about him having to kneel down to do so was forcing Soap to hide his face. God he was a fucking child sometimes. Kyle was doing the same, but it was more towards Soap and his childish humour.

"Always." Alejandro said.

"Thanks." You said. "Hey Soap? Fuck off."

"Aye. Remember who's dragging in you in there." Soap said.

"Aye, remember who can make you sketchy dating profiles." You reminded him. Soap put his hands up in surrender. Alejandro was nice enough to help you get on the edge of the open truck before applying zipties to legs. "The leg ones necessary?"

"Yep." Alejandro said simply. He finished up and stood up straight. Rudy put the bag over your head, as you got yourself to awkwardly roll into the trunk. Before shutting the door you heard Ghost.

"Comfortable?" He asked. Not really, you were stuck laying on your arms but being on your stomach wouldn't be any better. You were able to nod under the hood, and give out a muffled, good. Then the trunk closed.

Didn't take long for you to figure out why they put leg ties on you. As soon as they arrived, and pulled you out of the trunk, you got hoisted on to a shoulder. You don't know who it was but they maintained the cover, with no signs of laughter.

You kept quiet, letting them carry you inside. You heard Alejandro talking to someone. You couldn't make out the words, he was speaking Spanish. There was some back and forth and you think you hear the word ninos. Other guy probably thought you were a kid. You started moving again, and held back a sigh of relief.

A door was opened, and two things were put in your hands as you were laid on the floor. You were given a pat down, the equipment under your hoodie was ignored. The door was closed and locked. Your shoulder was starting to feel sore again, only having short relief from the car ride. You continued to wait patiently. You've waited ten years to see the world again, what was a few more minutes? You felt something nudge you and you knew it was go time.

You sat up, and carefully opened the blade. You got the zipties on your wrists cut and then moved to your leg-SHIT! That fucking smarts... okay legs ties were off. Should've shaken the bag off first. You checked the damage real quick. You'd cut your hand, enough to cause bleeding but not deep enough to warrant stitches. You looked at the thing that nudged you, a cadejo, who showed some concern for your injury.

"Go, I'll be fine." You ordered quietly. then you put the ear piece in. Immediately Rudy asked if you were okay, and if you needed anything. You assured them you were okay but would need an extra minute. The hood was the best option, so you cut some pieces of it of with the knife. They were tucked against the wound, and then you got your gloves on. It was going to hurt as you looked up at the vent shaft above you. They'd put you in a storage closet, classy. Thankfully the vent grate wasn't bolted. You could hear the team going over other parts of the plan while you focused on your own.

One hop up, and you were able to get the ve-dang it. Okay come on. Come on! Get the right gri-there you go! You got the grate off and set it aside. For anyone else your size, the shaft would be tight. You were a mouse hybrid. You could squeeze into plenty of small places. The vent was no exception. You got low to ground, shifting your feet for the right stance, and then sprung upwards.

You got your hands into the shaft and on to the edge of the tunnel. With some small swinging of your legs, you hoisted yourself further inside, getting the rest of your body in. As you shuffled along, poking your head around to check for any risks you continued to listen to the team. They were making their way to finding the security cameras, intending to watch over you so no one would suspect anything. Ghost was making his way to the server room where you were headed while Rudy was lingering by the main office.

Thankfully there weren't many issues, once you got to the server room, but your hand was starting to sting. Shit, you could feel the blood sticking to your glove. Once you reached the server room you tried testing your hand, applying some pressure. Yeah you were going to need some help getting down, otherwise you might just hurt yourself more. You touched your earpiece.

"Ghost I'm at the server room, what's your location?" You asked, keeping your voice down.

"On my way still. Security cams have been secured, you're clear to engage." Ghost informed you.

"I'm gonna need you inside." You admitted.

"Need medical?" He asked.

"I might." You said. Ghost picked up his pace a little, keeping an eye out for anyone else. Once he reached the server room, he stood, doing a scan of the hall and ensuring he wouldn't be noticed befor slipping inside, through his own shadow. You were still waiting above the room, carefully removing the grate and pulling it up into the shaft with you.

"Where are you?" Ghost asked. You saw a figure moving below you.

"Still in the shaft." You admitted. The figure looked up and saw you.

"Stop fucking around and get down." Ghost hissed at you.

"Needed a spotter." You told him, cautious slipping down and dangling by your good hand. Something wrapped around your leg, and you realize Ghost is keeping a grip on you with some shadow manipulation. Once your feet were on the ground, you got to work while Ghost got a first aid kit that was thankfully hanging on the wall. You started typing away on your laptop, after retrieving it from the bag under your hoodie. You had a program put together already that would duplicate items, making identical replicas of the files as if they were never accessed or touched.

Once you got the right cords hooked up to your laptop, you let the program play out. Thankfully you could get quite a few files from the servers alone. It meant some impatient waiting, but Ghost had a way to pass the time. Cleaning your wound properly and getting some proper bandages. You set your laptop aside while Ghost set himself on the floor. You held out your hand for him and hissed at the stinging of the alcohol.

"Do me a favour when you get back." Ghost said, wrapping the guaze around your hand. Simon was surprisingly gentle when it came to patch ups. "The coward that put you in jail, make sure he pays up."

"Laswell told me she was looking into it. Don't worry." You assured him. Ghost had his commanding officer fuck him over too, but he'd had it a lot worse. You flexed your hand a bit to test the wrappings before Ghost applied tape.

"Soap to Ghost." Soap was heard in both your ear pieces. Ghost packed the kit up quickly, getting Soap to continue. "There's a guard approaching, west side."

"Company?" He asked.

"Find cover." Soap said confirming. You looked at the program still running. Unplugging it would mess up the files, you know that. Ghost could hide no problems there, but you were a different story. Seeing your panic, Ghost ordered you to get on top of the server towers. You looked at your laptop, but he hissed for you to leave it. Yep you weren't going to argue with him. Ghost instead hid beside the tower closest to the door, while you waited on the tower. You kept glancing down to see if the program had finished yet. Almost. Come on, come on, come o-the door opened and you pressed yourself against the top of the tower as much as you could.

The guard walked in casually, likely a routine check-up, make sure no one was fucking around on duty, literally and figuratively. The door slowly closed behind the guard while you held your breath. You know Ghost isn't gonna kill em, if he does it will raise alarms if anyone finds him. Knocked out, it could be from anything. Ghost readies himself, shifting his weight to go in for a headlock. Then the guard stops and starts patting his pockets. Holy shit there was no fucking way. The guard turned and freaking left?!

"Click, where are we at with the files." Ghost asked as soon as the door shut behind the guard. You glanced down again.

"Done." You whispered with excitement. Okay, one down, one more to go.

"The guard is leaving, you need to move." You heard Alejandro say. Didn't need to tell you twice. You hopped down from the tower, and unplugged your laptop, stashing it away quickly. Ghost left the room the same way he came in. Once you had you gloves back on you got back to vent. You moved quickly knowing it the guard could return again, even with Ghost out there lingering. The office was a much longer way to go, with plenty more vents along the way. You overheard some muffled conversations, casual stuff from guards and other cartel members.

"Click hold up." You heard over the comms. You stopped, looking through the vent grate. You had a tracker pinging your location through the shafts, so the team knew where you were for each room. You noticed a group of people chatting, all masked. Your small size, meant less weight so no issue with making too much noise. You could hear Soap's irritation over comms.

"Soap, status?" Ghost requested.

"There's someone else in the office, talking to the leader. They're chatting and friendly by the looks of it."

"You need a distraction?" Gaz offered. He and Price had been pretty quiet throughout the mission thus far.

"Alejandro?" Soap asked.

"In position." He said. After a confirmation from Price you start to hear a loud ruckus. The men below look around confused, unsure of what they were hearing. Then you hear Alejandro barking orders at them in Spanish and they start moving. You needed to move to. Rudy would have to make himself scarce, so you would only have Soap as your eyes through the walls. You're a little ways from the main office when you hear a noise in your earpiece followed by Soap cursing again.

"Soap status?" Ghost asked, more concern in his voice.

"Shift change." He said quietly. Okay now you had to move faster and you scurried through to office, overhearing a commotion from Soap, likely dealing with his shift change. Get in and get out, the commotion will pull the leader away. Rudy confirmed it. Except the leader's guest was still in there, with Rudy guarding the door. You saw them once you reached the office, and saw him sitting casually at the desk, as if he were just waiting for his boss to return so they could keep up their friendly chat.

You kept an eye on him, waiting for the commotion on Soap's end to finish. The extra occupant was an unplanned variable. There was no back-up plan aside from the distraction. Damn it this made things more complicated. "We have a John Smith in the office."

Soap stopped whatever he was doing with the guard and returned to cameras. He saw the extra variable. You had to wait for orders, and heard him talking to Simon about what they could do to get rid of the guy. Killing him would be the easiest but it's harder to cover up as opposed to a quiet infiltration. Your ears flattened, as you let yourself relax in the tight space for a moment. You arms were getting sore from holding yourself up. Mad props to the soldiers who could do it under long stretches of dirt and mud.

John Smith got up from his chair and started to walk around the room. You reported it, and heard Soap, Ghost and now Alejandro debating what they could do. Then the stranger turned, letting you get a good look at his face. Your ees widen, and you cover your mouth to keep yourself from gasping. No, there was.... no. That fucking bastard.

"I don't recognize him." Alejandro said.

"I... I do." You said, trying to control your emotions. The soft white noise of the comms was deafening as you remembered the night at your apartment, when he came to see you. You thought he came to be friendly, but you were naive. Thinking you were doing the right thing.

"Click, we need a name." Ghost said, having to repeat himself. You gave his name and his rank. The team realized your connection to him immediately.

"Permission to engage?" You asked. Price needed a moment to think about it.

"Can you keep control?" He asked.

"Affirm."

"Engage, you do not have execute authority." Price ordered.

That's all you needed, as you got the vent grate off. You waited for him to come into view, being sure he could hear the noise. As soon as he was in view, the grate was angled and aimed. You forced it down as hard as you could and hit him in the head, making him stumble back and fall against the desk. You didn't know it but the noise form outside the office caused Rudy whip around. He'd heard the order but didn't know what you'd done.

You dropped down with ease, landing in a crouch while your old boss groaned. When you stand you keep an eye on him, pulling up your face mask. You heard Rudy ask if you wanted help. No you could handle this. Once again you plugged in your laptop to the main computer and ran the program. While that was running, you went back to your boss, who was slowly getting back up, and hit him in the stomach, getting him keel over. That was a mistake.

Your former boss is bigger than you, by a couple of feet. Keeling over he was able to grab you, and drag you with him to ground, pinning you down on your stomach. "Hey there mouse. Long time no see."

Of course he recognized you. You had been the shortest on your old team, and the only hybrid. He thought it would disarm you, but you freed your arm and elbowed him in the face, hard. Once he rolled off of you, you were much faster, climbing on top of him. His mistake was not wearing any armour. Jail time taught you some tactics as well. A quick comm to Rudy and you grabbed between your former boss's legs. You grabbed hard, fingers curved in. The look on hos face was so worth it.

Did he try to knock you off? Yep, but any attempts vanished when Rudy sent in the cadejos at your request. Both stood over him growling. When he tried to cry out, you covered his mouth. His pained muffled groans however would have left plenty of questions if there weren't visuals to back it up.

"Anybody have some questions for this guy? He's an informant working with a cartel after all. Not undercover either." You asked. They didn't admit it, but anyone seeing you on the cameras was wincing a little at yur methods.

"Is he a client of the cartel?" Price asked, unable to see what exactly was going on.

"Are you a client?" You asked him, uncovering his mouth.

"You're a rat bitch." He said. You squeezed, and admittedly, enjoyed his pained expression.

"Yeah I am, but that's not the fucking question." You told him. "Are you a client? Yes or no?"

"N-no." He managed. You loosened your grip.

"Why are you here then? Serve them with a warrant to check their liquor cabinet?" You asked, jerking your head towards the glass of alcohol on the desk.

"To keep your ass in check." He said. You squeezed again.

"You never needed to keep my ass in check. Try again!" You said.

"A business deal." He said quickly. You loosened and he sighed with some relief.

"See it'll hurt less if you do answer me nicely. Also keep in mind, we're in the very room containing documents that can easily disprove your statements." You said.

"Information... for product." He said. "Get off of me."

You stayed on top of him, because you wanted to do so much worse to him. In this moment you had the high ground, both physically and morally. You wanted to twist.

"Click, how long until you have the data?" Rudy asked. By now he'd probably seen what was going on. You needed to focus. Besides, now you had proof of his guilt and an extra reason to walk free after. You twisted your body and made out only a few seconds left on the screen. Your former boss tried to take advantage of your vulnerable state, but you were faster, punching him in the throat. Then you put your hands together into a fist and slammed down on his stomach, lifting your legs to bring more momentum with your weight. Yeah he wasn't going to get up any time soon.

Once you got off of him, you got to the other side of the desk, turning your laptop around to face you. Data completed. "Just need some hard copies."

"We're out of time Click, take what you have." Price said. Damn it, you got caught up in your personal drama. The cadejos vanished, returning to their vessel. As you watched them leave, your attention attached itself to some papers on the desk. A contract, with signatures. You took out your phone and started taking photos, as many as you could in between a rushed packing job. You even opened a desk drawer and took photos of the inside before putting the laptop in it's bag. Okay now it was time to go.

"I need an evac." You said.

"Rodolfo." Alejandro said. All he needed to say. Rudy came in and you put your hands up in surrender. The same routine as when it started, except he left your legs alone. Your buff went over your eyes and you were led out of the room. Your old boss was still on the ground groaning. Rudy took one look at him before turning and dragging you out of the room. You didn't see much of what happened after that.

Once you returned to base, you thanked Rudy for his help. Too much longer and Rudy might have passed out, you knew it was a risk. His only request was that on the off chance the two of you worked together, you warn him if you do something like that. You could agree to that.

As for the data you collected, it was enough to get the cartel taken down, and put plenty of people behind bars. You contract could also put your old superior away, and reopen the investigation into the crimes you'd committed. Until then you were permitted to remain on base, working through the intel you'd collected. Your assistance had been a great asset.

One day you get pulled into Price's office where he commends you on a job well done, especially when it had been so personal. Unfortunately, that was your one flaw, in your opinion. You made and took things personally. It was why you put on a sarcastic attitude from time to time.

"Yeah well, I had the motive of a hefty paycheck." You told him, cracking your back oulling your knee to your chest and resting your chin on it. It wasn't the real reason, but Price didn't call your bluff. That smug look you gave him was growing on him, ever so slightly.

"About that..." Price started. Your ears flattened, and your body straightened. What the fuck, you signed a contract! You should be getting paid. Price smirked at your insulted expression. "You're still getting paid, and a substantial amount."

"But?" you asked. Yeah there had to be more. No way there wasn't.

"You have a great skillset, you have a strong mentality, your abilities prove that you're a great asset, and you get along well with the rest of the men. That being said, I can't recruit you because of your criminal record. Laswell was adamant."

You fidgeted in the chair, listening intently to what he had to say. The captain slid a piece of paper across his desk. You took it and looked it over. "I could use someone like you on my team though."

Freelance work. The paper was another contract, for Price to have the ability to call on you should he need your services. It was tempting. The risk involved...

"I think I'd be better off giving you my number." You admitted. "I'm sorry Cap. Military and politics aren't the best for me. Learned that some time ago."

Price could've told you everything that was in that contract, how it ensured your immunity if charges were ever laid, the high prices they were willing to pay, and your freedom to turn down work. You'd already been screwed over hard by the system. Would the contract let you do what you did best? Yep. But it forced you to make judgment calls, ones that went wrong in the past. Price understands your concerns.

"Let me know when it changes." He said. You could agree to that.

You reclined in your chair with your headset and your feet on your desk. A video was playing in your ears, while you were gaming with the controller in your lap. After a long day you deserved some time to yourself. Your lamp was on to keep your eyes from watering, while your laptop ran through some programming and codes. You set the controller aside, to take another bite of your take out. You get two notifications on your phone which you check. The first is from your ankle bracelet having an issue. You contact the officer in charge of you, informing him that you're not doing anything and the bracelet is having problems.

The second is from a familiar name. You smiled, and called him. "Hello new phone, who dis?"

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @0wosugarmommymedic0wo @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @lolyouranelf

[mousedotjpeg]

cw: explicit smut, johnny being a perv, mentions of reader and price being parental figures but not in a weird way, praise kink, price is mushy gushy but also rough, idek what else to put its just johnny perving on price and wife thats it thats the drabble

Sergeant John "Soap" Mactavish had seen the absolute worst of the world in his years working in the army. Things no human should ever have to witness; scenes so grotesque, heart-wrenching, and downright deplorable that they could only be conjured by hell.

But this? Not even the purest form of bleach would cleanse this from his eyes, nor the sweet freedom of death enough to erase this from his soul. Price, his beloved captain and father figure, and you, the wife of said captain, who just happened to be 141’s sweet little medic, going at it like catholic fucking rabbits in your empty office. All he had wanted was an extra dosage of melatonin following a rough mission, but the scene laid out in front of him would serve to keep him awake and squirming the remainder of the night.

But... the way his superior's hands so gently cupped your cheek and ran through your tousled locks - a direct contrast to his brutal thrusts that bounced you across your consultation table - had his boots glued to the linoleum floor. How long had it been since Soap had indulged in the touch of another? Even longer, the last time he muttered anything along the lines of what filth the captain cooed into your ear.

Shit, it was bad enough seeing the woman he looks up to as practically a mother get defiled by his hypothetical father, so why, why, could he feel himself getting hard in his pants? With bated breath, Johnny ignored the screaming bastard in his mind telling him to run like his ass caught fire and leant ever so slightly more into the doorway, enabling him to hear more of the filth his comrades were indulging in.

His sensitive ears first caught on to the wet 'schmick' of John's hips connecting with yours, then the heavenly sound of your sweet, sweet whimpers and moans. He ignored the moral questions his eavesdropping - no, perving - raised, and reached his hand around to the front of his pants, hand cautiously cupping himself.

"Fuck, honey, takin' it all so fuckin' well f' me," John groaned, panting into your ear.

"Jus' need one more from you, darlin' and I'll give it to you, yeah? Fill you up just like you need, finally get you fuckin' full of my babies." He babbles, clearly close to finishing himself, only holding off to feel the tight squeeze of your warmth milking him for everything he's worth one last time. You only whine out a weak "yes," far too fucked out to give any sophisticated answer, though it's clearly plenty for both your husband and the sneaky voyeur listening in.

Soap bites into his free fist, muffled a choked groan as he reaches into his pants, running along the length of himself to teasingly rub his thumb against his tip. It's easy to imagine himself in his captain's place, losing himself in the ecstasy of your sweet little cunt, all his for the taking. He's embarrassingly sensitive as he begins stroking himself in earnest, wishing for a moment that he could freely fuck his fist outside of the confines of his cargos.

"Fuck!" Johnny stills for a moment following the obscenity John shouts, then quickly gets right back to his rhythm, finding his Captain enjoying every second of your orgasm. Johnny himself bites back a pitiful sob as he imagines how tight your cunt must be in that moment, enough to make a stoney man such as Price break in your arms.

"Shit, shit, shitshitshit, honey, you feel so fuckin' good, baby, such a good little wife f' me, gonna fuckin pump my fuckin' babies into this delectable little cunt a' yours, yeah, baby? How's that sound? I'll have you barefoot 'nd pregnant f' me in no fuckin' time, honey." Price rambles, utterly pussy drunk as he rapidly approaches his high. His thrusts stutter only to press himself as deep as possible into you, which in turn roughly shoves you up the table, then he's grunting low in his throat, pressing his cold nose to your jaw and releasing all of himself into your abused heat.

At the same moment, Johnny's tossing his head back, ruining his own pants with his filth. His teeth nearly draw blood as they press sharply into his fist, though it does nothing to slow or ease Soap's ecstasy as his cock twitches in his grip and spurts out every last drop of cum in his heavy balls. He has half the mind to quiet his breathing, at last letting off his fist, leaning against the wall.

Pulling his hand from his boxers, he wipes it lazily on his cargos, daring one last risky glance into the room that holds his captain and medic, only to find one cheeky John fucking Price staring right back at him.

finally getting back into writing. i have no idea if this even makes any fuckin sense >:'c also i wasnt sure if i should tag it as a soap x reader, since he's not technically with the reader? but i went ahead and did, so just lmk if it shouldnt and ill fix it c:

~ mouse

[giovanacarol]

Oh Ratigan

[rhymeswithfart]

Click for full view, more huevember and random drawings

If you see this, please also look here:

Noor is an injured Palestinian woman who urgently needs an operation. Her campaign is vetted here by 90ghost, a Palestinian blogger and vetter who promotes campaigns he trusts. Low on funds, €15,661 / 60k ≈ 26% . Please share her campaign and donate

[kedreeva]

Anyone keeping rodents or rabbits or parrots in the market for some mulberry chews?

We had to take down two mulberry trees in the bird pens today in order to allow for redoing the overhead netting and repair of a support post, so I have a TON of fresh, organic, pesticide-and-fertilizer-free mulberry wood I can dry and bake for chews right now. The wood is sweet-smelling and on the softer side, and it tends to shred instead of chipping like apple wood. My mice and rats loved shredding out pieces and putting it into their nests. Wood will be cut, air-dried in the house, and baked.

Safe wood for at least rats, mice, rabbits, chinchillas, and guinea pigs to chew and safe for parrots EXCEPT possibly neophema species (diuretic effects were noted in just this species when consuming leaves, but play it safe).

[verdantcreek]

141 gaming night.. they, um, have their own ways of enjoying things

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

I thought I recognized that look...

[browsethestacks]

Vincent Price

Art by...

1) Richard Pace

2) Basil Gogos

3) Jeremy Haun

4) Dave Acosta

5) Charles Burns

6) Zach Bellissimo

7) Zach Bellissimo

8) The Great Mouse Detective

9) Francesco Francavilla

10) Roger Stine

[bchargoissketches]

Here’s Vincent Price and Professor Ratigan from Disney’s “The Great Mouse Detective” — this is for all of your VP fans and GMD fans out there!! Including @edzidolka!

You gotta love Vincent Price (R.I.P.) as he’s one of the greatest Horror actors but also one of the greatest voice actors ever as he famously played Ratigan 🐀which, according to Price, is one of his favorite roles he ever played. I’ve been watching his movies as I was drawing him and his little mini ratty self, lol! 😂 😂

Original post:

Instagram

Cara

X

Artfol

Artstation

BlueSky

[stareiiez]

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 --- four

simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.

content : dark?? ghost. fingering. orgasming. voyeurism. modern settings. mentions of stalking. gore. death. gun violence. graphic descriptions of gore. torture. obsession. drinking. sex. female genitals. unhealthy attachments. violence. blood. implied death. blood. smut in later chapters. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult cis female reader. MDNI. 3.8k words. proof read to the best of my tired eyes.

note: another late night update <3 if you're triggered by death/ torture pls don't read! if you do, don't say i didnt warn you! as always, reblogs, comments, and notes are loved and appreciated!!!!

To say soundproofing a basement was a blessing for Simon was a blessing is a severe understatement. Without it, the patrons who were upstairs drinking and being merry in crude ways would be able to hear the gut-wrenching screams and manly grunts over the pain-filled noises that were caused by several weapons of torture and destruction. His favorite had been the cheese grater. A little corny, sure, but god did it do the job to make a man piss himself like a little bitch when it was dragged up the valley of his tender throat. The meaty thwack of blunt force meeting wet skin echoes in the darkened basement. Musty air and traces of liquor tingle upon a twice-broken nose. Bloody knuckles wreak havoc upon the blistered and fileted skin of poor Graves. It's been like this for nearly an hour, the need for releasing pent-up steam and broiling over anger made Simon pull out the big guns and turn the pretty boy into nothing but a bloody sack of crying meat.

Graves was unrecognizable. Both of his once beautiful blue eyes, that you stared at so dreamy-like, were swollen shut. Puffy and purple turning with threats of black eyes and bloodshot irises. Cigarette burns, stab wounds, cuts, and barely forming bruises were littering the bare upper body of the poor suffering sap Simon was torturing half to death. Kidnapping and planned manslaughter were not in his plans tonight, far from it. His plans were innocent. He wanted to watch you and your nightly routine, memorize your little rituals before bed. He wanted to see what you would look like when you were dreaming so peacefully under his watchful eyes that would be at your bedside. He wanted to know what your sheets smelled like, felt like under his rough palms, and get the first touch of pure warmth that radiated off your little body while it was oblivious to his touch.

Now Graves just had to come over on the night Simon planned to. How unfortunate. Truly. If he was any better mate he would apologize for every scream and plea that tumbled out of that broken jaw that once purred into your ear in front of Simon's eyes. It didn't have to be like this, but he had a point to make. He tells himself this when his broad back turns, grabbing at an already stained towel painted red with thick ruby ichor. You were his girl. His pretty baby should be fingered by him and him only. This was only an example for every other son of a bitch you decided that was better to fuck than Simon Riley himself.

"She never even told me she had a boyfriend." cried Graves when he was still pure and fresh-skinned. His eyes flicked down to the dull butcher knife that Simon had been tossing up and down lazily; brown eyes watching the frustration and unease that crept on the other man's face underneath the bleached bone mask of his. "Wouldn't even have thought to touch her, unless she wanted it, and she did want it." Wrong set of words. Yikes.

Rusted metal meets the muscle of Graves' right thigh in one effortless swing of Simon, buried to the hilt. Dark cherry starts to bubble around the plastic handle. Strong metal and even stronger cries of the pretty boy. His head throws back with a growl and a colorful string of curses. Not a very Southern gentlemanly thing of him to do. Very different from the southern hospitality Graves was giving you before Simon got his hands on him. Overly whitened teeth bare out between a grimace and snarl given to the brit. All bark and very little bite. Cute. He'd have fun with this. He always had fun with this type of work, it's why his group always gave him the nitty gritty bloody work. Their hands would be a little cleaner than his, and he could enjoy watching even the toughest get unnerved when they caught the sick glint in Simon's eyes when he brought out new ' toys ' to try out.

Now Graves was on the receiving end of that sick look. Emotionless eyes but smiling lips that peeled a bit too wide under the suffocating balaclava that covered his head and mouth. Bottomless dark pools of his irises reflected the mess of carved-away fatty tissue and the sharp ends of broken bones stretching past the elasticity of human skin. A dead man's masterpiece. Picasso eat your fucking heart out.

The saving grace was the end of a smoking barrel that pressed to Grave's forehead. Hot iron and metal singed away at damp baby hairs and smoothed away the wrinkles of distraught so cruelly. Simon was growing bored of this torture now, he was wasting too much time here messing with a man who had one foot in the grave and the other trying to wedge itself in the doorway of life. He had to make a call and see if his pretty girl was distraught enough for a comforting hand or two to reel her into the snare of his adoration.

"Have we learned our lesson for the evenin' then, mate?" Simon's dark timber of a voice growled into the stale air. The end of his gun prodded at glistening skin for an answer almost immediately. He doesn't have all night.

Grave's jaws couldn't click together enough to help form the bleeding nub of a tongue to form a coherent enough answer to please him. That tongue was cut off with a clean swipe of Simon's blade when Graves still had his energy and was making threats about getting out of there and getting his men to show the Brit how torture worked; then maybe he'd celebrate by fucking 'his' girl all in memorium for his tries. Shame that tongue had to go, he preferred the curses and slew of half-baked 'go to hell's ' Graves let bolster out in the first thirty minutes down here.

He'll settle for a silent answer then. Broken bones popped socket arms and kneecaps would just have to be an affirmative' yes sir ' to Simon. If Dead men can't come crawling back out of their half-dug graves to come to eat some pussy; then mangled ruined bodies of desperate mutts of men can fuck to save their fading souls from descending into the depths of hell.

Thumb cocking back the hammer of his sidearm, pointer finger pressing a little bit too eagerly. The kickback of gunpowder and fire didn't make Simon miss the satisfying spray of pink brain matter, hot blood, and tiny pieces of flying skull shrapnel painting the grungey floor behind Graves.

A mess of gory artistry the man behind the painting would just have to miss being cleaned up and taken out back to be thrown away in a dumpster where all other trash goes to rot away in a marked landfill. The gun of his was tossed next to Grave's bound cooling corpse. He'll get an earful about doing this during working hours of the bar, but he would be damned if he didn't get to release his demons onto Graves before it was too late and his anger chilled to a icy tundra in his chest.

Another cup of coffee, perhaps your fourth of the night cools in your palms again. The caffeine does little to soothe the growing migraine that pounds behind your eye sockets with every microsecond your patience wanes into threads. Angry hornets fester inside your skull, and a jack rabbit's heart inside your chest. Your night is taking years off your life, you can feel it with every monotonous droning of the same questions one of the cops repeats every ten minutes or so. It feels like you're getting nowhere, running on a hamster wheel that'll lead to nowhere and you getting winded in the process. The police make you feel stupid. The moment two cop cars arrived at your residence to investigate the lack of evidence they found from your supposed potential serial killer. They condescended and ridiculed every detail you gave them till your face ran blue and the air in your lungs was nearly gone.

The bloody handprint that was smeared on the greenhouse's wall was already washed away; more than likely absorbed into the greedy grass like a man sucking down water after being in the desert for months. Other than the scratched ' S ' on your porch step there was little to believe you and your cracked-out story. They thought you called just for attention, just to waste gas that was paid for too high taxes. It's been like this for two hours now, repetitive questions and police pulling only yours and Graves' prints off your things and his abandoned truck that was sitting in your drive. Their idiotic conclusion? He was simply lost in the ever-expansive woods. Lost among the shrubbery and shadows, a victim to the unusually cruel predatory gazes of wildlife that watched his every move; ready to strike him down and feast like royalty till their bellies almost popped.

"What did the sheriff make the call on for tonight?"

The cop, who had been interrogating you, turned to address another policeman who was examining your small living room with boredom written all over his young features.

Before the way too young-looking man could answer, an older British voice called out "Why don't you ask 'im yourself, deputy?" The smell of strong cigar smoke suddenly started to assault your senses.

An older gentleman, with ashy brown hair and a thick jungle of facial hair, strode into your home. One of his hands supported the straps of his bulletproof vest, the other held the burning cigar that stunk up the small interior of your home in a matter of seconds. A plume of smoke exhaled out of his nostrils when his beady eyes swept over your kitchenette till they landed on your inquisitive expression. He pressed his cigar to his full lips for another inhale as if he had all the time in the world to stink up your home and trigger your body to sneeze at such an offending smell. "Sorry, sir. " The deputy uttered apologetically, eyes dropping low in embarrassment he was intimidated by such a commanding presence of his superior.

With another exhale of thick grey smoke that makes your nose wrinkle the sheriff approaches you. His right hand extended out for you to shake while he introduced himself to you as if his last name wasn't sewn so neatly into the black fabric of his uniform. "Officer, or sheriff John Price. I don't think we've met." His glove was rough against your skin, but his grasp was gentle while he shook your hand. His free hand plucked the cigar from his lips, teeth leaving bite marks over the damp end he had been sucking on. " Boys couldn't find anything here, miss except for disturbed gravel and prints from the wet grass out back. We can't pull anything significant off those marks, unfortunately. Could have just been a bad attempt of some break-in just to scare a young woman and her guy friend."

Your eyebrows creased, hand slipping out his light hold quickly. Angry hornets in your skull turned into a full-on battalion of those large Asian wasps that had excellent memory. They were banging around against hard bone, buzzing so loud and pissed that they threatened to burst out of your ears and sting every single cop here. Especially Price, they'd sting him right on his stupid gruff face. "But whoever was here, didn't steal anything they just left --"

"The flower behind, yes. The lads at the lab will run it to see if there's any DNA on the stem or even petals. Any clothing fibers or hair strands will be alerted to us right away, but there's nothing we can do. You know how rowdy teens these days are, they'd do anything to scare the grown adults into a heart attack for fun." Price quipped, finishing your sentence.

Your eyes rolled, frustration growing rampant like a disease over your face. An infection that Sherriff Price wasn't so susceptible to being a victim of. One bushy brow rose at your childish irritation from the denial he and his men had rubbed into your face time and time again. "Rowdy teens just don't make a grown-ass man disappear without a trace. Rowdy teens aren't capable of breaking cleanly into my home and not stealing anything of value." Your voice raised, brows pitching up and causing frown lines to crack along your smooth features.

"And rowdy teens don't scare the fuck out of me and make me want to look over my shoulder from now on after tonight. There's someone out there who is taunting me, and I want him or she or them to leave me alone." You're standing by this point. Chair kicked out behind you, your hands slammed down onto your table. Hot black caffeine spills over the dark marble of your dining room table. You're glaring daggers into the older man's eyes and he gobbles it all up without even a reaction to your worked-up outburst. He's not afraid of little girls screaming and trying to embarrass him, he's dealt with all of this before. Not this scenario, but high and haughty women who thought they were number one.

Price blinks, takes a step back silently, and turns his head to address another policeman loitering around; unsure what to do. "Have one of the guys do a stake out for twenty-four hours around her home, if anything is outta place you call me right away." Then he turns his gaze back to you, smiles that forced smile one makes when they're uncomfortable. Eyes crinkled with a lack of warmth that only manages to irk you further than comfort you. Temporary support does little to quell the ball of a bundle of nerves that is your nervous system right now.

"Have a good night, miss." Price dismisses himself. That awful cigar of his shoved back into his mouth and steps back out the front door. His men follow that were lingering inside your space, all except for the deputy that had been interrogating you. That's supposed to be your rough and rugged surveillance system for the next twenty-four hours until you can justify scraping enough money aside to get your surveillance just for this place.

Price exhales a continuous cloud of smokey grey into the night air. His head tipped back enough to trace out a few major constellations in the sky with curiosity, all while the other two cop cars that were parked out front drove off nonchalantly.

Bright teeth, stained slightly yellow from tobacco clamp further into the cigar's end while he fishes out of his many pockets a cell phone. Pretty outdated, the screen is cracked and the little processor moves at a snail's pace. A real piece of shit technology that holds a few private numbers that aren't saved under any typical name.

His gloved thumb jams against the screen a few times on one of those particular contacts and he holds the cell to his ear whilst unlocking the driver's side of his car and climbing inside. Cigar stamped out into the ever-growing ashes of his ashtray, he taps his fingers against the steering wheel in wait. The line rings once, twice, and on the third ring the call is picked up and a deeper British voice answers in a grunt of a ' hello ' to Price.

"You've got one hell of a firecracker there, Riley." Price cracks out, tone joking. "You've worked the little bird up into a tizzy, she seemed ready to jump 'cross the table for me."

The other voice only gives out a scoff, a monotone 'really?' . Price can only picture the hint of a cruel smile curling on the ends of Simon's lips now. "Boys' are none the wiser, I'll tell 'em it was just a bad prank gone wrong. The station will be none the wiser. Poor blokes." He chuffs. The engine of his car starts, and he reverses out of the drive. The silhouettes of his deputy and you awkwardly standing in your living room window bring another good-humored huff out of his ash-riddled lungs. "Don't make me bury your girl under missing person reports if you're too rough with 'er." Price mutters low over the line. Simon only scoffs on the receiving end, like he'd never hurt his precious girl. He'd be damned if you were taken from him by his own hands.

"Jus' keep an eye on her when I can't. " His voice rumbles like thunder in Price's ear, then hangs up the call with a sullen click.

Price sighs, tossing the backup cell in his passenger seat. His dark eyes focus on the lonely road back into the city. His radio in the car is buzzing with life of officer chatter, but he's not paying much attention. He's got to figure out how to stuff this darker piece of work underneath a rug without leaving wrinkles of his involvement behind. The old man was never one for the double life. A charming foreigner passed for a white-collared American who was there for the people at every righteous beck and call of his name. Then a grimy soldier for the kind of men that worked on setting the bastards that cops or other forces of power were too busy or pussy to end the right way; with a bullet in the head and their name smeared in blood as a warning for other bastards to behave or else.

A kind of work he did far before the ' never do no wrong' persona of his was adopted onto him. Now juggling both for one of his boys? Someone that he even dared to be considered as close as family to him? What had he gotten himself into, all for the sake of some weird iteration of what Simon called infatuation and obsession for a pretty little thing he only saw for one night and wouldn't stop planning on when to see her next. Price wanted to call him crazy when Simon opened his mouth and asked if he could do him a favor. Lie. Lie and cover his white English ass as much as he could just till Simon could convince his new obsession to think about him in the same way he thought about her. Convincing was putting it lightly, but Price didn't second guess or even ask. He knew what it was like when the parasitic love bug decided to rear its ugly head and bite you clear on the ass when it wanted to. Back when he was a younger man, back in his prime he had a sweetie. Soft and curvy, supple and sweet under his lips and to his heart. A fond memory he likes to include when he thinks about family from time to time. Something of his past he's left behind for a new rendition of a family that was strong men, sweat, blood, near-death experiences, and bonding over strong liquor after their work.

Anything for them, he supposes while he turns the car towards the station for the biggest sack of shit he could regurgitate out of his aging vocal cords and lets it spill in sticky white lies to doe-eyed men and women who wouldn't think twice to clean record Sheriff John Price.

"If you need anything, here's a walkie. Can't give out personal cells to citizens, but I'll be in range for us to talk." Deputy Dipshit tells you when the loud slam of car doors and the starting of engines signal the squad's retreat along with the Sheriff's.

You frown down at the cold chunk of plastic that was pressed into your smooth palm by the male. You feel immature even to be using this thing. But you don't argue, or say how stupid it is not just to use cell phones for this one dire situation. You accept the stupid walkie with little dignity that was now washed away by telling the police what exactly you and Graves were doing before he was attacked and taken away.

The walkie is tossed onto your neatly made mattress, weariness makes your eyes droop and your hands rub at your face. At least you're alone now, your crappy watchdog is settled inside his vehicle, protected by his sidearm and tazer. Your feet blindly patter against the dark cherry oak of your bedroom floor a ragged breath of exhaustion leaks out of your lungs like a deflating balloon. You pray to whatever gods or goddesses up there in the cosmos, watching over every single little thing with sadistic eyes, that they are protecting Graves. You could never stomach the fact that somehow you managed to get him killed for even touching you or being in your presence. You're not that special or even have that much power to illicit someone to commit manslaughter just because they were jealous or overprotective.

That's something from a fucked up dark romance novel that has mentally ill women squirting over the tall morally grey character that would do anything for their love interest.

Your phone screen buzzes from your bedside table, the obnoxious vibrations and chirpy ringtone of ' Kim Possibles ' phone ringtone blares into the short-lived silence and the even shorter prayer you were making for a man you barely even knew.

" Give me a break!" you groan out between clenched teeth that temporarily bore in a snarl to your lit-up screen. You shouldn't act like that, what if it was your friends reaching out to check in on you? They knew Graves was coming over to visit you and to ' catch up ' in more ways than one, maybe this was them poking their noses into your business and wondering how good Graves managed to fuck you silly five ways from Sunday. If only.

Another deflated-like balloon sigh and you snatch up your phone to see who texted you. Yet as much as you would kill for the spam of messages that would spew from Izzy and Veronica about how well-endowed and lickable Graves was in all his glory, it was far from their girlish text messages. An unknown number glared up at you. The notification on your locked phone screen, which was a picture of you and your childhood dog in your old home smiling at the camera, showed that the random number had texted you.

"Guess the police actually can text you, who knew." You mumbled under your breath, your tone still acidic on your tongue while you unlocked your phone and tapped on your message app to open the chat and read the text without even hesitating to check over the number thoroughly.

"Hello there, pretty girl." the text read.

[mousedotjpeg]

cw: price being a cutie patootie for his wife, tooth rotting fluff

John Price was quite certain that, of all the moments he's shared with you, this had to be one of his most treasurable. Each and every time the weather forecast predicted storms, from gale-force winds to a gentle Sunday shower, his sweet little wife insisted upon starting a pot of coffee and building a little nest in the nook of the windowsill; the spot he had built especially for you.

Without fail - not counting the times he was away from deployment - you'd always have a hot cup of coffee awaiting his arrival, and a warm pair of arms to fall into, surrounded by blankets and pillows. More often than not, you'd both end up foregoing the comforts of your own bed in order to bask in each other's arms, squished together against the window.

"Honey?" Stepping into your shared home, coat damp from the rainfall, John softly calls out to you. Just as he expected (and found himself looking forward to the whole drive home) the Wizard of Oz was playing at a low volume on the living room TV, blankets pulled from open cabinets, and your shared nest already neatly fluffed up with pillows and the aforementioned throws.

"Welcome home, handsome." You coo, catching him slightly off guard as you pad over from the kitchen. Immediately beginning to help him shed his soaked layers, you press a gentle kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then finally on his lips. "Your coffee is on the counter. Go put some warm clothes on." You instruct, before giving him another chaste kiss.

Price groans appreciatively into your lips, hand giving your waist a soft squeeze before he's off to the bedroom, rushing to get changed into boxers and a loose-fitting crewneck sweater. Upon his return, you were precariously balancing two very full mugs, shuffling over from the kitchen to the living room. He's taking them from you with a chuckle, pressing sweet little pecks on your temple and forehead, then motioning for you to walk ahead to the windowsill.

Setting them down gently in the little square hole carved out by the window, (another handy little thing John insisted the builders add) John's quick to crawl onto the padded wood, making himself comfortable.

"C'mere, darling." He calls, voice gruff as he finally relaxes into the copious amounts of blankets surrounding him. The harsh wind and rain create a juxtaposing lullaby, his eyes already droopy by the time you're settling into his eager arms. With a contented smile, you drape yourself over your husband, the chill of the room quickly being chased off by his warm embrace. Turning so your back is to his chest, (so you could still see your favorite movie play out) you take a moment to fully appreciate the loving warmth radiating from your husband.

"You're like a space heater, y'know?" You murmur, words muffled against his chest.

"That so, love?" He responds, a breathy chuckle to his words. John is met with only a brief nod, then he's gathering you up further into his arms, squeezing your smaller body tightly against his.

"The main reason I married you, actually." You tease, meaning only a slight bit of it.

"And here I was, thinking it was jus' for John Junior." He concludes.

"Oh God..don't... don't call it that."

"Sorry, love. My cock. Thought it was all for my cock."

"Not sure that's any better, John."

"Mmph."

You giggle softly against him, prompting John to smile broadly into your hair. Shit, how he fucking loves that sound - he'd do anything just to hear it.

"Reckon it'll flood, dear?" He prompts after several minutes of silence, only to be met with the very same thing. John precariously tilts his head back, only to find you dozing off, cheek smushed oh so preciously against him. Reclining his head back onto his pillow, it only takes a few more moments of watching the little rain drops race to the bottom of the glass, and the captain's out like a light bulb, snoring loudly into your ear.

cute lil shitty drabble cause it's "raining fucking hard" down here in texas, and mouse loves rain. anyways, i feel like this one turned out like poopoo doodoo. next one will probably be Nik or Rudy. ~ mouse

[tanked-up]

Price: What’s your reason to get up in the mornings

Soap: I like spending time with ye’ people

Ghost: I wanna check if my mouse trap worked

Soap: Accidentally stepped on it, LT…

Ghost muttering: It worked…