#price

[sai-int]

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. 

[starboye]

neighbor!price who sees you get evicted from your apartment after failing to pay the rent on time, i guess being a waiter doesn't really pay that much huh

price taking notice to this offers to let you stay at his place, he'd gone most of the time anyways and it's really starting to get a little empty in here so you agree, moving your stuff in with his

you were a delight to be around, you kept the place homey and sweet, his favorite part of having you there was when he came home from deployment without you knowing and he walks in on you in just your underwear, watching your face flush red and rush to your room

and since price was mainly the one paying rent and letting you stay with him you basically took on the role of cleaning up around the house and cooking for him which warmed his heart and strained his pants

he couldn't help it really, after being alone for quite some time and now just getting a good looking birdie like you who was willing to be his house husband, he was desperate too keep you to himself

(idk im just obsessed with a divorced price who's lonely as hell)

[kiss4tell]

𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒, john price.

summary: john loves fucking you in the shower, pressing your body against the fogged-up glass as he takes you from behind. cw: shower sex, breeding kink, hair pulling, explicit language, established relationship. wc: 490 note: man, i'm just yanking everything out of my drafts today.

Steam clings to the air, thick and humid, curling around your bodies as hot water beats down against your skin. John’s hands are everywhere—gripping, kneading, claiming—his broad chest flush against your back, the wet heat of his breath fanning over your shoulder.

“Look at you,” he rasps, voice rough with want, pressing your body up against the slick glass of the shower door. His large hands slide up your sides, gliding over your soapy skin before settling on your tits, kneading them with slow, deliberate squeezes. “So fuckin’ perfect, love.”

You gasp as his teeth graze your shoulder, nipping at the damp skin before soothing it with a kiss. His grip in your hair tightens, tugging just enough to arch your back, pushing your ass out, giving him a better angle to align himself with your dripping cunt.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day,” he mutters, running his cock through your folds, teasing you, making you whimper. “Thinkin’ ‘bout fillin’ you up, making you mine all over again.”

A desperate moan catches in your throat as he finally pushes in, stretching you open with a slow, aching slide. He groans at the way you squeeze around him, his hands splaying over your stomach, pressing down as if he wants to feel the way he fits inside you.

“Fuck—” He draws back before snapping his hips forward, setting a brutal pace, the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoing in the tiled space. Your tits press up against the fogged-up glass with each thrust, your ass bouncing with every deep stroke, and John groans, gripping your hip with one hand while the other fists in your hair, keeping you right where he wants you.

“You gonna let me put a baby in you, sweetheart?” His voice is dark, wrecked, his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you, over and over. “Gonna keep you full of me?”

Your whimper is lost in the steam, in the sound of his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. The pleasure builds fast, coiling tight in your core, and he can feel it—knows you’re close by the way you tremble, by the way your walls flutter around him.

“That’s it, love,” he grits out, leaning in to nip at the shell of your ear, his pace never faltering. “Come on—give it to me.”

And you do—your body shatters around him, pleasure flooding through you in thick, blinding waves, your legs threatening to give out. He holds you up, fucking you through it, chasing his own high until he finally spills inside you with a deep, guttural groan, pressing his hips flush against yours as he fills you to the brim.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Instead, he stays there, breathing hard against your shoulder, his hands smoothing over your trembling stomach, as if imagining you swollen with his child.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl.”

[johnprice-asks]

guys

makarovs a gayboy

First thing you see after you zoom in is how you die

How you dying 👀

[codnasties]

boobjob w/price 🚬 (🌽 link)

price has shitty hips, they hurt like a bitch in the worst moment possible. that makes him mad, because there are times in which he can't fuck you properly. and not only is he angry about being unable to fulfill your needs and give you pleasure properly, he's also angry about not being able to feel your insides as much as he would like to.

thankfully, everything has a solution. he gets to finger and eat you out more and plays with your boobs his fair share. he started putting his mouth in places that he hadn't touched before his hips started playing one on him. and price is also getting more handjobs and blowjobs, so he ain't complainig.

but the best one, which he had not experienced before, was getting a boobjob. the felling of his dick pressed right in the valley of your tits. boobs pushed together by your hands, giving him not only extra pleasure but also an amazing visual. and don't get him started on the top of your aureolas poking out of your shit with all the movement.

he normally lover cumming anywere in your body, painting both inisde and outside with his seed. he's squirted his realease in your tits before, but this time... this time there seems to be more quantity and john looks like he's enjoying it more than normal.

he isn't complaining that much about not being able to fuck you because of his hips anymore.

[soapcloth]

Price calling you precious in a mean and insulting way.

[mactavishenjoyer]

Price, looking at a report: "hmmm..."

Nikolai:"you have been looking at that shirtless picture of Gaz for 20 minutes, just ask him on a date."

Price:"I'M ASSESSING HIS INJURIES!"

[johnprice-asks]

im not even gonna lie that looks like me irl but i have brown hair and my abs are more toned

Hello, Mrs. Laswell

[urluv69]

It was just a small gathering with Price and a few of the men he had worked with throughout the years. The host being a general whose wife had recently had a baby. Of course this meant the wifes were all over the cute little thing.

Especially you

Price had never really seen you around children let alone babies before. But the smile on your lips any time one of the toddlers waddling around brought you their toy and the laugh you would let out when they ran back to their mamas. The little coos you would let out when the little new born baby girl started crying.

It took ages with all the mothers doting over the little baby before you finally got your chance to hold her.

Price sat, beer clutched in one hand and a cigar between two fingers in the other. He was chatting away with his mates when you came over with the brightest smile he had ever seen grace your beautiful face.

You sat down on his lap with your shoulder to his chest as you cradled the baby. You didn’t even spare a glance at anyone. You cooed and smiled sweetly at the adorable giggling baby in your arms.

Price though-

His eyes were on you

Right then, in that very moment, he could see you holding your little baby girl. She would have your vibrant eyes and his curly brown hair. Her smile would curve just the same as yours when Price would tell you a joke no one else laughed at. She would be strong willed and a natural leader born and raised to be an independent and intelligent woman.

Your son would be making a mess in the playroom with his legos and toy military cars that Price had bought. He would be a fighter but kind at heart just like you are when you think no one is watching. A softy really. But it only made him stronger. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind but cared more about how his words affected those around him.

And then

Just as he could see the White House and picket fence

You looked up at him. Your gaze meeting his with a smile brighter than the sun. No words needed to be said. In just that second he knew you were thinking the same thing.

That diamond ring on your finger wasn’t there for the looks.

You were his. His to have a family with. His to love and cherish and treat like a princess. And he was just as much yours. His knees would hit the floor even if the ache in his back would hate him for it in the morning.

All it took was for you to say the words.

-not proof read

-should I do a pt2?

[zombiec4ke]

Before I knew you

soap x reader

CW: canon-typical violence, blood, probably ooc, torture, dark stuff ig idk

summary: your family..friends..lover..all seem set on you being the mole..oh what a shock is to come…

part 1- part 2-

10 hours ago, you were laughing and arguing with Soap about what the right name for a pop (just simply juice, as he called it) right before the mission.

now you were tied to a cheap plastic chair in the stingy integration room for war criminals, you fumbled with the rope that was digging in your skin before your head gets forcefully snapped up by the hands of your captain, The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room were unforgiving, making your eyes squint. The room was cold, and the silence was broken only by the frantic hammering of your heart.

you opened your mouth to speak, your eyes frantically scanning the room where you once were the one asking the questions not answering… "Look," you pleaded, "Someone's setting me up! I would never…"

TAWP

Ghost, who seemed to come from the shadow punched you right in the nose your eyes going blurry and the soft trickle of blood to run down your lip..

at first you didn't even register the pain just a warm buzz but then the pain was roaring…it was a searing sensation that spread through your face. You tried to speak again, but your nose was throbbing too much for you to form words.

"Oh ye shut the fuck up" The voice, thickest you've ever heard Johnny's scottish accent, ripped through the room like a gunshot.

Your head snapped backwards nose throbbing it the process to see Soap Standing just outside the door, his face a mask of rage you'd never seen directed at you before. You flinched back, but the chair surprisingly stayed upright

"Johnny! Please- you ought to believe me-..we were with each other before and after the mission!" you pleaded but Soap did nothing but shook his head as he walked painfully slow to wear you were tied..bent down..and spit on your face which was already caked with blood

You gagged, desperately wanting to wipe the fluid off your face, but the more you moved your hands, the deeper the ropes cut into your wrists.

"You're a damn liar," Johnny hissed, standing back up, his fists clenched at his sides ready to strangle you…

The look in his eyes was fierce, a mixture of hurt and a terrifying amount of betrayal. You had seen him angry before… hell, you had been the target of his playful teasing more times than you could count, but this was different. This was a cold, disgusted man, clouded by fear and anger, and you knew, in that moment, you'd lost him.

"I could kill ya"

He took a step forward, and you braced yourself. This wasn't a threat, you realized as your heart lurched in your stomach… it was a promise. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, and suffocating. You closed your eyes, trying to control your ragged breaths. This couldn't be happening. Not to you. Not by them.

Price's voice cut through the tension clapping a hand on the feral man's shoulder "Johnny. Enough." Soap froze, his hands still clenched. He didn't look back at Price right away just staring at you, before turning his head with a scoff

Price gestured to Ghost, whom was behind him standing, waiting like some sort of dog before he stepped forward his movements precise and deliberate. He produced a pair of pliers. Your eyes widened, and a whimper escaped your lips. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real.

"We have evidence," Price said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Intel that was leaked, information only you could have known."

"It's not true!" you choked out, desperate. "I swear! Ask me anything! Test me!"

Ghost ignored your plea. He gripped your arm, The pliers shined under the harsh lights. You squeezed your eyes shut, your body rigid with fear.

"Where's the contact?" Price demanded, his voice cold. "Who are you working for?"

"I…I don't know!" you sobbed, the words catching in your throat. Your world was collapsing. Your friends, your family, your lover – all turning against you. It felt like a nightmare, one you couldn't wake up from.

The cold metal of the pliers touched your fingernail. You flinched, every nerve in your body screaming in protest.

"Last chance," Price said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Tell us the truth."

CRACK

The pressure increased, a searing pain shooting through your hand. A scream tore from your throat, raw and loud..it pierced through the room, you wouldn't surprised if you could hear it on the other side of the base

"I SWEAR-" you gasped, your vision blurring. The pain was the worse thing you ever felt…But even as you sobbed, screamed, nearly threw up Ghost's grip never ended.

another scream ripped from your throat as your thumbnail gave way.

The world swam. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the blood, the spit. Your entire hand throbbed, a burning, pulsing agony. The smell of blood filled your broken nose which fueled your tears.

"Next?" Price's voice was monotone, even his warm British accent seemed to be scared of him since it was non-existent when he spoke

Ghost didn't hesitate. The pliers moved to the next finger. The cycle of pain, denial, and screams repeated. Each tear of the flesh, each broken nail, was a hammer blow to your sanity. You screamed until your voice was raw, until your lungs burned. You begged, you pleaded, you swore on everything you held dear, but they didn't stop.

at one point they left you there with your head hung low and your body shook…

you didn't know when they came back..a day? an hour? 30 minutes??? You lost track of time after your right hand was stripped of its nails… The interrogation room had become your own personal hell. Days bled into nights, marked only by the cycle of pain and the hollow silence that followed. Your body was a canvas of bruises, cuts, and raw wounds. Your right hand was a picture frame of shattered bones and bruises. Each breath was a struggle against the pain and the terror that gnawed at your sanity. They came and went, only three figures, Gaz was still in medbay...If he had been told of your 'betrayal' you did know. each face a blur of accusation. Price, ever the captain, remained the unwavering force, Ghost, his movements fast but painfully slow... and Soap... your Johnny. He was the worst. The door creaks open, and your head slowly raises to see Soap. He's carrying the bucket, and something in your chest twists. You don't want to be afraid of him. You shouldn't be afraid of him. He should be here, holding your hand, not this... Today, he'd chosen rocks. He picked up a medium-sized stone, its rough surface catching the harsh glare of the lights. He examined it, his jaw tight, his eyes blank of any warmth. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he hurled it at you. to your surprise and his...it missed, earning a dry chuckle from you sending you doubling over in a coughing fit " You always did have a bad aim" you rasped out, your voice a broken whisper. The sound of your voice echoed in the silence. Earning a glare from Soap "Aye, well, let's see if you're still laughing after this, lassie." His words sent a shiver down your spine. You watched, eyes wide and glassy, as he reached down to the bucket grabbing a bigger one and hurling it at you... time seemed to slow and before you got a chance to scream you get interpreted by the sound of fast boots and yelp of someone "T-THEY AREN'T THE MOLE" Gaz pants and Soap's head snaps towards you but its hard to stop a rock when its already moving... The rock collided with your face with sickening crunch, and darkness consumed you.

~~~~

A/N: MHAHWHAHHWHWH!! cough anywho!! This is my longest thing I ever wrote!! :D over 2k words!! YIPPPEEE

can you tell I like cliffhangers…??

I really gotta stop adding them…

but I can never end a chapter/part without them!!

see you in the next part!!

~~~~~

[imagine-notnatural]

This is set to be after the events of this post, sorry about the out of order posting

Anyways! More on Janitor! Readers (mis)adventures!

When you first arrived on base Michael thought he’d be stuck with a stick in the mud. And for sometime he wasn’t wrong. You went out of your way to avoid too many interactions with him and everyone else really, keeping quiet, letting conversations die, purposely avoiding tasks that required working with him, etc. You were coverless book and your title was incredibly boring so he wasn’t even going to try to crack you open. He didn’t even think the two of you would end up getting along.

But all it took was a graveyard shift, some cereal bars,and him telling you the order in which he poured his cereal for you to decide that you’d die on your hill and disagree with him for the two of you to become friends.(Later inseparable)

Back to now.

It wasn’t often a job called for both of you to work together. So when you’d received the call on your radio to meet with Mikey, you knew you’d be waking up the next day completely sore.

You’d been giving a task that would require the both of you. You were asked to clear out one of the buildings before some of the mechanics had to use it the next day. Michael was practically beaming when he entered the break room to find you reading the board for your charge.

“(Name)! You ready for backbreaking labor?!”

“Born ready, Big-Mike. Brought us snacks and everything,” you gesture to the inside of your olive green jumpsuit. Which is filled packets of pretzels, gummies, and protein bars. You held a couple cold drinks in your hand.

“Ugh! Yes! Do you need a house husband? I could be one if you’re going to be ”

“Not my type. I need my men to have more meat on them-“

“Nope- don’t like this- Let’s go!” He quickly stud up to grab a kart and headed towards the door. You chuckled and followed after him

“I noticed you have a couple pins on your bag when you came in today, did you start to collect them?” Michael asked, pushing forward the cart.

“I did actually. I found one on the street the other day, and when I went to go buy groceries from the farmers market today there was someone with a pop-up. I ended up getting a Perry the Platypus and Doctor Doofenshmirtz pin set and a pin that says ‘Ticket to Pound Town’ I'm planning to give as a gag gift-”

"Isn't that beastiality?" Michael asked with a grimace on his face.

"I can't stress this enough, Mikey, it's two separate ones and one is a gift."

“Oh okay...You know, one of my favorite Doofenshmirtz quotes is the one where he goes ‘It all began on the day of my actual birth, both of my parents failed to show up’”

“Mine’s where he goes ‘If I had a nickel every time I was doomed by a puppet, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot. But it's weird that it happened twice, right?”,”

Michael chuckled, “ I like that one too.”

The two of you continue to chatter on as you make your way to building.

You grab your keys as you arrive at the hangar. Once You'd unlocked and opened the door, you proceeded to turn around to help Michael lift the cart over the door's frame and get it inside. Just as you entered the threshold, you couldn't help the shiver the went down your spine.

"What is it?" Michael questioned, seeing as you'd twitched as you enter the building.

"Nothing, I think I'm just cold." You answered, trying to shake off the unease.

"Come on, if you go high and I go low, we'll probably finish faster."

The two of you nodded in agreement and went your separate ways. Michael grabbing a ladder and you clearing out miscellaneous tools and machinery.

"You should set that stuff outside, if you get the main door up a lil' you'll be able to set it out there." Michael called from the latter.

You took a glance at the front where the hangar's main entrance was, that shouldn't be that hard, you thought to yourself. You let Michael know you'd be right back as you walked over to the side of the door with the lock. You moved through the random assortment of boxes and

You stood frozen, staring down at the creature at your feet. Praying to whatever could hear to keep you from this fate. Alas you were left to fend for your own.

“Michael.”

…

“Michael”

Its antenna twitched innocently. Its beady little eyes shimmered under the the light. Its sleek black grey body reflected light as though it’d been polished.

“Michael! Mike- MICHAEL!”

“(Name)?”

. The beam of light from the overhead fixture seemed to follow it like a stage light follows its cast as it began to scurry, it could almost hear the sound of Tchaikovsky’s Swan lake beginning to play in the background-

“MICHAEL GET OVER HERE!” You jumped back, too frightened to turn around and give it your back. Michael rushed to you, his expression panicked then it turned disapproving as he saw what caused this reaction out of you

Feeling the earth beneath it tremble, it took to the skies

“IT’S FLYING MICHAEL- MICHAEL- AHHH! WHY IS IT FLYING?!”

“(Name), stop running! It’s just a-” the tables turned when it changed direction and headed for him,

“ah- AH WHAT THE-?!”

He quickly turned to the defense, swatting the air frantically. Michael’s words soon turned into incoherent screams as he missed the bug horrendously each time. However, he did not miss the fact that you had left him to deal with the roach on his own.

In tempo with the song in its head, it gracefully dodged every swat, not letting the giant deter it. It’s wings whirred in the air. Its trajectory decided.

“(NAME)! (NAME) hELP ME!” Michael screamed as he turned around to run,

“MIKEY RUN- MIKE, OH MY- MICHAEL I CAN’T-,” You were heaving heavily in a well lit area near the doorway.

“COME THIS WAY!” You cried out, rushing to the door and pushing it open,

The screech that left Michaels body was borderline inhuman as he ducked under the flying creature to get to the exit. He could feel the blood pumping into every muscle in his body worked in unison to get him out of there.

It felt like movie scene, Michael sprinting to the door as the flying cockroach speedily flew after him. You watched in terror as it followed after Michael, having whipped around once he’d managed to get past it.

You watched as Michael ran with all his might towards the door. You readied yourself behind the door.

You’d have to close it after him to save the both of you.

Michael dove through the door, yelling as he did“ CLOSEITCLOSEIT-“

“CLOSE IT!!”

You slammed the door shut once he’d passed through. The buzzing noise made by the flapping of its wings dulled by the thick metal door,

You put your back to the door and watched as Michael rolled over and lifted himself on his elbows, his eyes wide as they met with yours

You stared at each other for what felt like hours but in reality was only seconds

He was the first to crack, Michaels fearful expression had morphed into one of disbelief, then he began with his stifled laugh, and you, not able to not react, began to bite back a smile, then your heavy breath started sounding like laughing. You tried avoiding each others gazes but when you inevitably saw each others faces you couldn’t hold it together any longer.

First he began quiet, so did you. Then you couldn’t help yourself as you got louder, you tried covering your mouth but no avail. Seeing how you failed to keep it together, Michael laughed harder, then you did too.

It continued like that until you were both hysterical.

There was a lot of pointing at each other and keeling over while laughing so hard you couldn’t form coherent words.

“Aw fuck, HAH-, dude how are we gonna get shit done?” Michael wheezed out, finally sitting up. He dusted his elbows off and extended a hand.

“I don’t know but I’m not going back in there unless that’s shits gone,” You grabbed it and hauled him up, “I thought being scared of insects was ‘sTuPid’? Looked like you were just as scared as I was- if not more,”

“(Name), mate, it was flying at me,” he quickly defended, “it was coming straight for me! Of course it scared me!”

“Yeah but when I SAID-“

“YEAH YOU KNOW WHAT?! YEAH BECAUSE WHEN YOU SAID-“

As the two of you began your bickering, you both failed to notice the hulking figure that’d been watching the pair of you losing your minds for the last five minutes . Though who can blame you when his moniker is literally Ghost. It’s implied, I fear.

The pair of you were plenty distracted in your arguing. It wasn’t like he purposely had walked out of the building knowing he’d find the janitors seemingly fighting for their lives. it just happened. And now he was going to take note of it, but leave.

It was this motion that finally caught your attentions’. You paused in the middle of your argument with Michael. He quickly noticed and turned around to follow your gaze. When he saw who you saw, he quickly thought of a solution your problem.

You both turned back at each other, as Ghost’s broad back turned to face you and slowly began shrinking into the distance.

“ you know him, go, Ask him-“

“No I don’t?! I’m not asking him shit-“ you quickly denied

Michael grabbed you by the arm and whipped you around to face him, “ Then are you gonna do it?!” He glared,

“FfffAWK NO”

“WELL ME EITHER, so you go ask that big scary man to deal with it, nOW! HURRY! Before he goes!” He forced you in his direction. You stopped and turned around, you both had a silent battle of wills, your faces your weapons.

When Michael saw you weren’t budging, he merely grabbed the door knob and pointed at you then the door.

You wouldn’t, your face said

Oh yes I would, his seemed to reply

You glared at him before you turned around and began to jog to catch up to the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant- Sir! Lieutenant Riley! Wait-“

You had just turned the corner when you nearly bumped into the man.

As always you couldn’t see much of his face, baklava and what not. But you could see his eyes when he turned around and look down at you, he had a quirked eyebrow for a brief moment when he turned around

“What?” As if his figure wasn’t intimidating enough, that deep voice of his and the heaviness of his gaze on you surely were when your nerves were practically fried.

“Hi, Hello, good evening, uh, okay… I’d… if you have the time…there this- and I’ll-“

His eyebrows furrowed and you could explode right then and there

“ Wait okay,” you sighed, your hand squeezing the bridge of your nose, you dragged that same hand down your face before continuing,

“We don’t really know each other, I know this, you know this, but I need a favor-” your hands clapped together nervously, “ I restock y’all’s rec room in two days so whatever you want or need, I can get it for you, and if not that-“

For a moment he stood there just watching you squirm. Watching the way your face changed and how you continued to rattle on. You’re a fidgety speaker when nervous, just as Johnny had said. Your hands moving to accentuate your words or tug at the fabric of your jumpsuit. At this very second, one hand pointed a finger at him

“ and I’d say you at the very least owe me for the two times you scared the absolute shit out if me-“

He hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out starting at you until your hands handed on either side of your hips

“So you in or out?”

You started at each other for a few seconds before Simon nodded,

You mentally dropped to your knees in gratitude before thanking him quickly and having him follow you to the old hangar where Michael was pacing out side the door.

When he caught sight of the lieutenant walking after you, his face visibly brightened. “ You’re the best!” He whispered shouted at you as you neared,

You had half a mind to flip him off but decided against it. You continued to the door, and turned ‘round to ensure the giant had followed after you.

The big guy is impossibly quiet, you’d thought to yourself on your walk over. And now that you stopped at the door you’d realized you hadn’t heard a single step of his.

“It’s inside, we just need you to kill it-“

“Sir, if you happen on any others fell free to get those two while you’re at it.” Michael added, his hands balled into the pockets of his jacket.

“You shut up,” you pointed an angry finger at him before turning back to Ghost with a pleading smile, “ but also what he said,”

You could’ve sworn you’d heard an amused huff come from the giant.

He opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

You and Michael waited silently beside the door. It was less than a minute before a sudden THWACK, made the two of you jump. Then it was followed by another, and then another, and following that another. It continued like this for five minutes; there was a sound of equipment being moved when a final THWACK was heard.

Ghost stepped outside with a folded up cardboard in his hand, you whipped around at the fight sight of a dismembered leg on it.

“It’s done,” was all he said when he shut the door behind him. “Get on with it,”

Michael was the first to thank him, nearing the door and opening it to look inside. Ghost grunted in reply and walked past him, not that Michael minded, too caught up in the massacre left begging to notice.

Simon dropped the cardboard on the ground before nearing you. At the sound of it, you turned around to face him, purposely not looking to his feet and instead focusing on his face.

“Thank you sir, really,” your eyes met his “ Any thoughts on how I can repay the favor?”

“ Wait and see NyQuil”

You visibly and viscerally cringed at the name,

“Yes sir, thank you sir,”

He huffed out a silent chuckle and began walking off.

Right then Michael poked out his head from the building, his face expressed awe,

“Ay mate you’ve gotta get in here- HEYWHAT THE-“

The rock you don’t remember picking up flew in his direction and dinged the metal of the building, only missing his dumb stupid face because he’d ducked back inside the building in time

“ I fucking told you not to call that shit! Now people are actually fucking calling me-“

“It’s COOL!” Michael yelled back

“No ITS NOT”

you throw a couple more pebbles before finally giving up. Despite your impeccable aim, it was no use if the bastard used the door as his shield.

You finally neared the door and pulled on it, you were met with resistance,

“ Mike open this door right now,”

“ so you can pelt me? No thank you,”

“ I won’t, I don’t even have anything in my hands,”

“ you’re lying,”

“ I’m not,”

“On our friendship you’re not?”

“Mhmm, on our friendship.”

The door creaked open. Michael’s body language unsure as he revealed himself to you. He quickly turned his eyes from your face to your hands, a sigh of relief escaped him when he saw them empty.

“ in all due respect, it’sa sick nickname”

“No it’s not. Shut up before I stone you to death, Mikey”

He smiled and moved out of the way, showing you in

“ yeah yeah just get to work scaredy cat,”

[daydreamsareallineed]

I hit gold 😌😭

Today I give you the visual of the 141’s pampered basement bunny (who honestly wasnt 100% against being kidnapped to begin with) snuggling in their nest of blankets, pillows, stuffed animals, and hoodies from the boys, wearing just a pair of fluffy socks, a sweater, and underwear, clinging to their favorite stuffie and dozing off while the boys play with their hair after a long hard mission. Tomorrow? Who knows

oooo.

little basement bunny who didn't fight back all that much, held still after being told to once, who didn't even need to be gagged because they weren't screaming. only a little shy when the boys stripped them down, asking so sweetly to at least keep your underwear for a bit until they were less shy - how could the boys say no to those big, pretty eyes?

now theyre in their big cage, stuffed amimals, blankets and pillows surrounding them, fairy lights so they can read the books n magazines the boys give them, all comfy and snuggled up until one of the guys comes down to them, opening the cage door and sitting on the edge with them in his lap, cuddling and playing with their hair to relax, all while the little bunny dozes off, drooling on his shirt

[kiss4tell]

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓, john price.

summary: john was proud to show off his younger wife at the military ball—until he caught too many wandering eyes on what belonged to him. cw: jealous/possessive sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, manhandling, clothed sex, explicit language, established relationship. wc: 615 note: gonna start revamping my profile and making a better masterlist soon :3

John should’ve known better than to bring you here looking like that—his pretty little wife, younger, softer than the stiff-ass officers and their cold wives. You were stunning, wrapped up all sweet in that dress he picked out for you, hair done just the way he liked, lipstick making your pout look all the more kissable.

His girl. His fucking wife. And they had the nerve to look at you like you were something they could have.

It was supposed to be a nice night. Dinner, drinks, a few conversations with old colleagues. But all he could focus on were the hungry stares, the way those bastards eyed you from across the ballroom, the way one of them even had the fucking nerve to touch your arm when he walked by.

You weren’t doing anything wrong—just standing at his side, smiling, being your sweet, polite self. But it didn’t matter. He needed to remind you, remind them, who you belonged to.

That’s how you ended up here, in the damn parking lot, shoved into the backseat of his car, your cheek pressed against the cool leather as he fucked you hard enough to shake the whole vehicle.

“Wanted to fuckin’ show you off,” he growled, voice a low rasp, his uniform still perfectly in place, save for his belt hanging loose and his cock buried deep inside you. “And you—” His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you steady as he drove into you again. Deeper. “You just had to be a fuckin’ doll, didn’t you? Smilin’ at ‘em, lookin’ so goddamn sweet—”

“J-John—” Your voice was a breathy gasp, your fingers dragging against the fogged-up window as he yanked you back onto his cock, his thick length sliding against the mess he’d already made of you.

“What?” he snapped, yanking your dress higher up your back, watching the way your ass jiggled with every deep, punishing thrust. Fuck, he loved that. “Somethin’ you need, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, arching back against him, hips rolling, meeting each stroke like you needed it just as much as he did.

“That’s right,” he murmured, one hand leaving your hip to press firm against your lower belly, right there, where he could feel the way he stretched you. “This cock’s yours. No one else. And this—” His palm slid lower, fingers dipping between your thighs, rubbing messy, desperate circles against your swollen clit. “This mine, yeah?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, rough and possessive, as he watched your legs tremble, your body squeezing down around him.

“Then come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “Show me.”

You shattered around him with a cry, your entire body clenching, spasming as he fucked you through it, your thighs sticky with the mess of it.

“Christ,” he groaned, hips stuttering, his grip bruising as he buried himself deep, spilling into you with a low, wrecked moan.

The only sounds left were the ragged breaths filling the small space, the occasional creak of leather as he slumped over you, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along the nape of your neck.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then, a slow, satisfied chuckle rumbled against your shoulder.

“Still think bringin’ me here was a good idea?” you mumbled, voice breathless, teasing.

John smirked, smoothing a warm palm over your ass before tugging your dress back down, adjusting his belt with one hand while the other traced slow, affectionate circles against your thigh.

“Maybe,” he mused, pressing a lingering kiss to your bare shoulder. “Long as you keep your pretty ass in my lap the rest of the night.”

[thatoneautisticshark]

Ghost owns a drink bottle

This is the drink bottle.

His original bottle got lost on a mission, so the team got him a new one, they all conspired to buy him that one. And he uses it.

Originally he said, well he wasn't just going to waste it. And who cares what design is on it, if it holds water it works.

He kept it up for about a week, before it became. "Don't touch it, my team got me it"

When Johnny inevitably blows up his drink bottle, Gaz buys him this.

To match Ghost, and Johnny adores that bottle.

Within two months Gaz has this tumbler

And Price had this

Prices is always full of whisky.

And the team of some of the most dangerous men?

Has matching hello kitty bottles.

[johnprice-asks]

You can breed me

im going to impolitely say no