Price With His Big Bulky Arm Wrapped Around Your Throat, His Other Splayed Across Your Stomach, And Your

Everything changed when that pregnancy test read positive.

The day you fumbled into his office, bearing what you thought to be bad news, John's excited face threw you for a loop.

Wasn't he supposed to be upset? Tell you that he didn't want to have a kid with someone he didn't fully care about? Why was he crying? Why did he embrace you so tenderly?

"I'll be there for both of you, Dovie," Price reassures in the nook of your neck, arms caging you against his chest.

Take care of both of you.

Both?

"M-Mr. Price, with all due respect—"

Price cuts off your protests. He leads you out of his office. His large hand grips your waist more possessively. "Go rest your feet up in the lounge; I'll take care of everything." His lips press to the crown of your head, ushering you away gently at the reception entrance.

You were supposed to have one fun night, not to be locked in for the rest of your lives.

Your days of working at a desk were replaced with John's house. It was far from the bustling base you had grown used to. The space was warm and homey. Bits of memorabilia were scattered about. Medals adorned the walls, and old photos sat on the shelves.

John said you only have one job now: making yourself at home.

There was so much space that you didn't know where to start or even how to start! It's not like there was a plan for having your boss's child! So much was happening so fast it left you overwhelmed, sitting on his couch with nervous hands. "Mr. Price, I'm really not sure about all this; I mean... what we did was a big mistake, right?"

From upstairs, you hear John laugh. He's been up there all morning, fixing the nursery for your child. He wanted to create a special room for them, saying that his kid deserves nothing but the best. Heavy footsteps announce his presence as he closes the distance between you. Calloused fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look into his ocean eyes. "You don't want this?"

His touch has you melting, words dying on your lips as you get lost in those eyes. God, why did he look at you that way? Churning like laundry, your gut writhes. A violent spin cycle grips your innards, knotting and wrenching them mercilessly. "I never—I never said that; I just think we're taking things too fast, don't you?" The half-hearted mumble escapes your lips, unconvincing even to yourself.

John's expression shifts; his eyebrow raises in slight scrutiny. "If you believed that, you wouldn't be here."

He's right.

"I do-"

He cuts in swiftly, voice firm. "You don't."

John's grasp tightens on your chin. He leans in, eyes intense. Your heart races. His lips brush yours. The kiss—chaste yet electric. A moment suspended in time. Emotions flood through you both, unspoken but palpable. "You have me. Whatever you want is yours, all you have to do is say the word."

John waits, poised for your word. His eyes betray a craving—silent, deep, and raw.

He belongs to you. He's all yours.

Your lips purse in a line, lip caught between your teeth.

Anything you want?

"I don't like the color of the nursey..."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

P1

❥ I wasn't originally gonna do a part 2 but... I really like this one, next fic will be longer, possibly fluff and smut maybe who knows ❥

John Price × fem!reader

The only purpose of this post is to appreaciate titties

One thing John Price loves are your breast. He doesn't care about size, if they're perky or not, just boobs. It makes him happy. It's like a switch in his brain.

He's sad? Boobs. He's stressed? Boobs. He's tired? Boobs. He's arguing with you? Show your titties, he will shut up and worship the ground you walk on.

John Price just needs a pair of tits, a nice cigar and some whiskey to have a perfect life.

It think his breeding kink gets stronger when he realizes that your breast will swell with milk and probaly grow a cup size or two.

Expect him to paw at your body the whole time. Just feeling the soft skin, the squish, your cute baby bumb, more squish and your curves (more squish)

Bravo 6

Price: It has 5 bedrooms, three bathrooms, full basement with laundry room, but it has room for making a couple more bedrooms and a bathroom.

Price: Was thinking of using this bedroom as a guest bedroom for now.

Price: The other bigger ones for the kids someday.

Price: An open kitchen, very big, a little bare for now.

Price: This is my office.

Price: This would be your space. You can do anything you want with it.

Price: A reading room, a gaming room, art room...

Y/N: What?

Price: In the back there's a greenhouse and a big garden. Do you like gardening or just having flowers around?

Price: I can arrange someone to come every so often to take care of the yard.

Y/N: Wait...

Price: Let me walk you through it, you'll love it.

Price: I can build a gazebo riiiight there. What do you think?

Y/N: John, enough.

Price: (tilts head confused)

Y/N: This is literally our first date.

Price: (shaking his head) None of that.

Price: What's your ring size?

please hear me out- do you see the vision of laswelll scolding price because he's too dumb to let go of one of the rare good things in his life? i just need a man like john price to fight for me (for his love) back 😩

Don’t Be an Idiot, John.

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Synopsis: After pushing you away, convinced you deserved better, he finds himself on the receiving end of a well-earned lecture from Kate Laswell. And for once, he listens. Because if there’s one fight he can’t afford to lose—it’s the one for you.

Warnings: Angst, emotional conflict, second chances, Price being stubborn, but ultimately a soft, devoted idiot.

Laswell had seen John Price survive war zones, outmaneuver enemies, and command respect from the deadliest soldiers on the planet.

But right now?

Right now, he was just a complete idiot.

She sat across from him in a dimly lit café, arms crossed, staring him down like a disappointed mother. The silence between them was sharp, cutting through the hum of quiet conversation and clinking mugs. Price, on the other hand, sat there looking like a man being read his last rites—tired, grim, and entirely too stubborn for his own good.

“So, let me get this straight,” Laswell started, voice dangerously calm. “You had someone—a good someone—who cared about you, made your life better, and for some inexplicable reason, you let them go?”

Price exhaled slowly, rubbing his fingers along the rim of his coffee cup. “Wasn’t that simple, Kate.”

“No, John. It was that simple,” she snapped. “And you made it complicated.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when he was already haunted by the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t just a soldier, but a man worth loving.

Laswell leaned forward, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “You can sit there and tell me all the bullshit reasons you convinced yourself it wouldn’t work, but let me remind you of something—people like us don’t get a lot of second chances, John. And when we do, we don’t waste them.”

Price let out a slow sigh, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “She deserves better,” he muttered, like the words hurt to say out loud. “I’m not exactly… an easy man to be with.”

Laswell rolled her eyes so hard Price thought she might strain something. “For fuck’s sake, John. She chose you. Despite the missions, despite the scars, despite the fact that you probably smell like cigars and gun oil half the time.” She jabbed a finger at him. “And instead of fighting for it, for her, you pushed her away. Because what? You were scared?”

Price didn’t answer. Because maybe—just maybe—that was the truth of it.

Laswell exhaled, shaking her head. “I’ve seen good men lose everything to this job, John. I’ve seen them come home to empty houses, to regrets they can never fix.” Her voice softened, just a fraction. “Don’t be one of them.”

Price looked down at his hands, his mind a battlefield of memories.

The way you had always welcomed him home with that tired, knowing smile.

The way your fingers traced over his scars without fear, without pity.

The way you had kissed him—really kissed him—like he was something more than just a soldier, something worth coming home to.

And then he remembered the hurt in your eyes when he had let you go.

Laswell’s voice cut through his thoughts one last time.

“If you love her, fix it. Because if you don’t, John…” She leaned back, shaking her head. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Price sat there for a long moment, staring at his coffee like it might have the answers.

Then, without another word, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.

Because fuck being an idiot.

He wasn’t about to lose you—not without a fight.

The city hummed around him—cars passing, distant voices in the night—but none of it mattered.

Not when the only thing he cared about was you.

He hesitated for half a second before knocking, hard enough to make sure you heard, but not so much that you’d think it was an emergency. Though, in a way, maybe it was.

Seconds passed.

Then—soft footsteps. A pause. And finally, the door cracked open.

And there you were.

Hair a little messy from sleep, wearing one of those oversized sweaters he always liked seeing on you. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him, surprised—hesitant.

“John?” your voice was cautious, uncertain. “What are you doing here?”

Price exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

“I fucked up.” The words were gruff, unpolished. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly, like you weren’t sure if you had heard him right.

He ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself. “Kate gave me a proper bollocking,” he admitted, almost like a grumble, and you couldn’t help the tiny twitch of your lips at that. “Told me I was an idiot. She was right.”

You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest. “John… you ended things. You made that choice.”

“I did.” His voice was firm, resolute. “And I was wrong.”

Silence stretched between you. You wanted to be angry. You had been angry. But standing here, with him looking at you like you were the only thing in the damn world that mattered…

It made it hard.

“You deserve better,” he continued, quieter this time. “I thought walking away was the right thing to do. Thought I was saving you from a life of waiting, worrying—” He let out a sharp exhale. “But I was just a coward.”

Your heart clenched at that. Because damn him, you knew how much it took for John Price to admit fear.

“I don’t need saving, John,” you said, voice steady. “I just needed you.”

His jaw flexed, and for a second, you saw it—the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes flickered with something raw.

“I love you,” he said, simple, honest. “And if you’ll let me… I want to fix this.”

Your breath hitched. “And if I don’t?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, like the thought alone was unbearable. “Then I’ll leave you alone.” A pause. “But I won’t stop loving you.”

Damn him.

You looked at him, at the man who had fought wars and won battles—but was standing in front of you now, waiting, hoping. Fighting for you.

You took a slow step forward, then another. Until you were close enough to feel the warmth of him, to see the slight tension in his posture as he waited for your answer.

Then, softly, you murmured, “You’re an idiot, John Price.”

A beat.

Then his hand lifted, warm and familiar against your cheek. “I know.”

And when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his—when he let out a shaky breath, pulling you closer, like he wasn’t about to let go again—

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap

John Price and a younger reader, but one who didn’t mind that he couldn’t always give her what she wanted. One who found it endearing when he stressed over how he wasn’t performing, and was content with pleasing herself most days.

That didn't mean that he didn’t know what he was doing, or that he was anything less than satisfactory in general. In fact, it made sense — he ruined you so badly after sessions where he really got at it, essentially spearing you in two and leaving you a babbling, aching mess, that you often couldn’t stand for days afterwards, let alone have another round.

So instead of going at it like feral creatures every other minute, which was how Price assumed his subordinates did by the way they gazed at you with hungry, lust-filled eyes, you’d have sparing nights of pleasure, but you’d always make them count.

And that was just how the two of you liked it.

Had imagine giving the old man and his abilities some love without immediately resorting to his teammates <33 (not that im complaining id take any of them)

John Price is a muncher.

And that is a fact.

Old Man!Price on the other hand is a devourer.

This man has got so much practice under his belt that he has no reason to boast about his sex life and skill to anyone. So when you decide to give him a chance seemingly bored with the recurring playboys that you're dated coupled with your inclination for older men, Price didn't seem like a bad option.

Sure he's given up trying to dye his hair, letting the grey strands sprout from his head and beard, and he's developed a pudgy body that puts he's once muscular physique and brute strength to shame but he makes that all up with his skill.

Old habits die hard, and John's thirst to satisfy a willing vunt has never really been satiated in his life time. And your obedient cunt makes his addiction ten times worse than it was.

You'll be squealing under him, begging, pleading for a break but his hold on you never lets up.

John will simply chuckle, stuff his nose into your sopping, warm pussy, inhaling the scent like it was a god-mandated order only for him to go back to lapping at your cunt like the bastard he is.

He won't let go, not until he's had his fill.

CW: 18+ MDNI, loan shark!price x reader part 1, fem!reader, afab!reader, noncon elements, manipulative price, implied violence (not reader), petting, almost(?) fingering - 3K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune massive thank you to @pricetagged for keeping me sane writing this

“Mr. Price-” you spoke up, fingers massaging into your temples. 

“Said you can call me John, Sweetheart.” the man interjected with a serious look. 

He was currently hanging your entire life over your head and he knew it, you most certainly were not going to call him by his first name. Noticing your reluctance, he shrugged and leaned back into your dining room chair.

“Look, I’ve been as kind as a man like me ought to be. Don’t know how much longer I can shoulder the loss, and I don't know how much longer you-” He sent a condescending look of concern your way, a hand fishing into his pocket. “-can take the fees. I’m playing the good guy here, y’gotta pay up, lovie.” 

“No smoking inside.” you warned, voice less confident than you would have liked it to be.

His hand paused in his coat before slipping out and up in a sign of surrender.

There was a buzzing silence between the two of you, only interrupted by the occasional tick of your kitchen clock. It was hard to meet his gaze, eyes rooted downwards towards your table under the weight of your rising debt to one of the most notorious men in the city.

“Right then.” he huffed, palms coming down to rest on the table before twitching upwards. “So?” 

“Give me another month to pull something together.” you spoke, wincing when you caught the way his eyebrows quirked in surprise. “-Please?”

There was no telling a man like John Price what would be happening. He was the shot caller, the unequivocal card dealer, it was only by some higher grace that he let your ill manners slip. 

He grumbled for a moment before looking up. “I respect what you’ve got going on in the shop, I do. Lovely place, good atmosphere—we’re both the entrepreneurial type, so to say I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for you-” the thought that he’d lump your small shop in with his exploitative business made your stomach turn. “-but this is a bit much, yeah? Let’s give it up, sweetheart.” 

Your face twisted into a sharp grimace, but that was all you could do—what right did you have to tell the man whose money you were living off of to get out of your house? Even worse, you hated that he had a point; you were so tired of your lackluster sales and mounting bills, but-

“I’m not the only owner, I-I can’t just make decisions like that.” you reasoned.

He looked incredibly unimpressed, nostrils flaring with a dissatisfied huff. “Right, your business partner.” 

“H-he-”

“If it’s what you want, m’sure he’ll understand,” Mr. Price hummed, eyes narrowing. “I think you’ll find my men and I can be quite persuasive.” 

Registering your cautious demeanor, his lips curled upwards.

“Where is the bloke anyway?” John asked in faux-disinterest, disapproval blooming from his tone. “Always sends you to talk to the big mean lender. S’not right.” 

He shook his head and sighed.

“-Seen this play out before, love. He’s throwing you under the bus.” 

Your mouth shut, hard set into a frown—you knew he was right. Your business partner was most likely enjoying his morning in peace knowing it was your apartment above the building—your life about to be uprooted if it all went tits-up. It was hard not to feel played.

Mr. Price’s gaze glimmered in recognition, and slowly, like a languid predator, he was leaning across the table with a large hand over your own. 

You studied the sparse dusting of translucent hair on his fingers, the trimmed nails at the ends of his stocky fingers, his nice, expensive-looking watch—anything not to meet his eyes. 

“S’not worth it,” he urged softly. “spreading yourself thin like this.” he paused to think. “My advice? Liquidate, I'm sure you and I can work something out in the long term.”

You swallowed, throat feeling impossibly dry as you focused on the twitch of his thumb.

“I’ll think about it.” 

“I don’t want to be the bad guy, but business is business, sweetheart—I’m offering you a hand, it’s in your best interest to take it.” he spoke, palm patting over your digits before withdrawing into his pocket. There was a deep breath drawn in through his lips. “Right, I’ll be off then—Unless you want me over for lunch?” 

He chuckled deeply in solus as he stood, reminding you of a proud and awful beast. “Maybe another time then, love.” 

Ideally not.

-

The shop had closed on another unnoteworthy day, only serving to further hammer in Mr. Price’s point. With defeated footfall on the stairs up to your flat, you nearly slipped, shocked by a fist beating on the front door frantically. You slowly turned around, heart pounding from the sound.

“-Christ! Let me in!” Ewan, your business partner cried out from the other side of the threshold.

You hurried to the door; pushed aside as soon as the lock had released.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you scolded over the shop door’s welcome chime. You were met without response while the man darted for the till. “What are you-”

“Not now,” he growled. “we need to get out of here.” 

Studying him closer, you realized one of his arms had been held up by a makeshift sling, tucked neatly beneath his quilted coat.

“W-what are you talking about?”

He paused, looking up. 

Your eyes widened when the light from the street outside washed over his face. 

“What happened to you?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” he snarled, freshly dried blood crusting at the movement. His head dipped down as he popped open the till. “Price and his dogs want our heads.” 

“I just spoke to him this morning-” 

“Things change—may have pushed our luck a little too far. We’ve got to get out of town.” 

You frowned “I-I can’t just-” 

“Suit yourself.” he snapped, voice dropping to a mumble while his fingers grabbed at whatever they could, stuffing it into his coat pocket haphazardly. “-Sitting duck.”

“Wait—that's our money.” you balked, watching the empty register drawer shut. He offered you a bloody, tight-lipped smile as he sped past you towards the door; in and out like a typhoon.

“Good luck.”

You were stuck where you stood when the door swung shut, absolutely beside yourself in shock as you watched his figure disappear from view into the night. Looking around your shop, it was just as it had been when you closed up, but the knowledge that you were sitting on an empty till, all alone with the looming threat of a less-than-savory money lender finding out you were back to square one for your upcoming payment was not kind as it crashed into you. 

After a sobering moment, you hobbled over to the point of sales, turning the drawer’s lock tentatively. Of course, the tray was as empty as the day you had bought it, save for a spare coin roll shoved into the side. You stared down at the dark plastic, hand clumsily digging into your pocket for your phone. Swiping at the device, you paused, debating for a moment over whether or not to open the banking app; you already knew what you’d see if you did.

Confirming your fears, the log showed a hefty transaction at the branch earlier that day. The account had been emptied right before the banks closed. 

You had nothing to give John Price.

It was all gone.

You stared at your feet while it sunk in. Slowly, you regained the ability to move, making your way over to the shop door and locking it back up before spinning on your heels. The trip upstairs was eerily silent as you slipped into your flat, legs wobbling as you ambled into your washroom and stepped under the hot stream from your showerhead. You let the water run over you for far longer than necessary, only stepping out onto the frigid tile once your fingers had pruned. 

The dinner prep that followed had gone surprisingly smooth, serving as a vessel to pretend the foundation of your life wasn't crumbling away. You replayed comforting thoughts, words passing through your mind like a liferaft just out of reach– you knew Mr. Price, he always spoke gently to you, he would understand, he-

A fat tear fell onto the hand that braced you over the stove, watching the bubbling pasta through bleary eyes. With a shaking grip, you drained the water and slipped the noodles into your saucepan, stirring and sniffling lamely.

You made too much—you had nothing to give and you had made too much. Typical.

Sitting at your table, you ate in near-silence, listening to your clock’s soft ticking as you tried to ignore the afterburn image of Mr. Price across from you where he had sat that morning.

Your fork paused mid-air when the downstairs shop chime rang out. 

Had Ewan come to his senses? 

You closed your eyes and waited for him to call up to you. 

The stark sound of heavy footfall bustling around the lower level was the first thing to alert you to the intrusion—too much noise for one man. Setting down your fork, you stared owlishly at the door to your flat as if it was the last line of defense between you and whatever was happening down there. Through the muffled commotion, you could faintly make out the creak of your stairs getting louder—closer, you watched helplessly as the knob slowly turned.

The door opened a fraction, a thick hand curling around the side to brace it against the three thunderous knocks that echoed throughout the room.

“Come in.” you spoke up once your heartbeat had evened out, blinking as Mr. Price emerged from the dark stairway.

“Mmh, you’re here.” he stared down at you, a pleased rumble rolling around in his chest. “‘Course you didn’t skip town, smart. Good girl.”

He kicked his boots off and drifted through your kitchen; cabinets and drawers clattering behind you while he whistled breathily, dishing up some pasta as if you had made it for him—you do suppose he had every right to, though. 

Your whole body tensed as a palm ghosted across your back. The plate was set down, and the chair beside you was tugged out from beneath the table. 

Your eyes darted to his dish where it sat, steam trailing fragrantly. Mr. Price tucked in, humming lowly despite his tense demeanor. 

“S’good, Love. eat up.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed your fork, gaze falling back to your dish as you picked at the food, appetite long gone. Once again, it was you, Mr. Price, and the sounds of your kitchen—an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu creeping in. 

“Your money’s gone.” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.

He reached towards you, grabbing your napkin, and patting his mouth. “I know.” he scratched at his beard idly. “My boys are dealing with that.” 

You paled, trying not to think about what would happen to your business partner as you watched Mr.Price fuss with his fork, leaning in to take another large bite; a nauseated feeling washing over you. 

“What's going to happen to me?” you murmured, eyes downcast. 

His fork clattered quietly against his plate as his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, thumb petting at your nape. “That’s what I'm here to sort out, sweetheart.” 

Sort out. It was ugly, spoken as if you were just one of his assets. You nodded; compliance met with a soft, affirming squeeze. 

“We can work something out.” his hand traveled downwards, grazing your arm before landing on the meat of your thigh. “I don’t have to be the bad guy.” 

“Mr. Price..” you spoke after a sharp breath, tears threatening to well up. 

You missed the way his eyes crinkled at your weepy tone, thumb brushing your thigh in comfort. 

“I’ve had my eye on you, love—Would have never lent you as much as I did if I wasn't sweet on you. Thought maybe I’d be able to charm my way into your life but it seems like I only see you when you’re late on a payment.” he laughed hoarsely. A knee knocked into yours as he stood; his chair scraping beneath him. The floor creaked under bulk, two large hands coming to rub at your arms with hot breath and trimmed beard tickling at your ear. “-I’m a hopeless romantic, y’see.” 

“Price!” a voice hollered up, causing the man to straighten with a low growl. 

“What?” he barked, voice aimed downstairs.

“Trucks loaded up, gonna head back to the office, yeah? See if Simon needs any help retrieving the cash.” 

His hands flexed around your shoulders. “Good, lock up behind yourself. I’ll be a bit.”

You froze, looking up to see the looming shadow of a man; profile distinct in the low light. He turned to you, offering a tight grin while a wayward hand trailed from your arm to your neck, caressing the skin as he exhaled deeply behind you, resting your head against his abdomen. 

“It’s okay to give in, love.” he cooed. “Let me take care of it all.” 

You had nearly folded when that little prey animal in your brain stiffened, hackles raising. You stood carefully, sidestepping his grasp.

“No, I-I… I couldn’t impose… It’s alright.” you silently begged for him to understand your polite refusal.

“S’not imposing,” he challenged, glaring down at you. “imposing would be the number of zeroes on the sum you owe me—now you care about my burden?”

“That’s-”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.” he laughed. “Now, sit back down.”

You complied, lowering back into the seat shamefully.

“Good.” he exhaled, crouching beside you with hands knotted together. “I always collect what’s owed, that’s one thing you need to understand.” 

You nodded.

“-But I’m not opposed to shouldering burdens where personal interest is involved.” His eyes searched your own desperately, palms unfurling to rest back on your legs. “You understand what I'm saying, yeah? You’ll never pay it off alone, let me help. I could take care of you.”

Overwhelmed, you turned away; the grip on your thighs tightening in response as he braced himself, standing up. A warm hand cradled your cheek as he drew your gaze upwards, free hand looping around your back and lifting you to stand against him like a marionette. 

“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffled as his big palm had begun to rub circles into your back. 

He shushed you. “-It’s okay, love. I can handle it, It’ll be okay.”

You nodded, turning and rubbing your face into his shirt as he comforted you. The entire situation was a disorienting experience. Had you done something so wrong to get here?– had it been a crime to want to live a gentle and quiet life in your shop? 

It was hard to care much for your sense of conviction when the root of your problem looked more like a finely woven cradle; what did it matter if you were to bend the knee to your devil’s appeal at this point? 

Still, it felt as if you were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

“I’m scared.” your lips settled for, hiccuping the words into his chest. 

He hummed thoughtfully, the noise buzzing around the walls of your head as his thick arms hooked around your neck, pulling you in deeper—a trap set without any fuss. 

“It’s okay for you to be scared,” he pressed a kiss to your crown. “There’s no way anyone was getting out of those rates you agreed to, love. Let me help you.”

You stiffened, head raising slowly to look at him. He smiled down at you.

“You definitely won’t be taking care of our finances, yeah?” John joked, letting out a deep, phlegmy laugh before he pecked your nose, pulling you back into his chest and rumbling against your head. “Enough nonsense. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

It was all so domestic—like he hadn’t just shown you his rows of jagged, shark-like teeth. 

His grip relented as he patted your bum. “Go on and get into bed, let me clean up dinner.”

-

So you did, brushing your teeth and feeling incredibly confused as to why you were readily complying. What truly got to you was how tender it felt—had you been so oblivious to his vying interest? You had just assumed he was a rare good-natured lender; though, you suppose neither of these had been true.

John Price was not a good man; although it was a recent revelation in the grand scheme of things, you knew this as a fact now. The other fact of the matter was that it seemed you were most likely the real collateral in the vulturine deal. Had he been playing the long game?

You could hear John floating around in the other room as you pulled an old shirt over your head to sleep in—the kitchen faucet running as you slipped into your bed. It all felt so wrong. 

Your eyes shot open when the bedroom’s aged floor creaked, deer-like paralysis keeping you snapshot-still as the ring of his belt buckle filled the static air. Was he—The rickety bed dipped behind you under John’s added weight, bedframe crying out with every shift of his body that came with tucking himself against you; achy grunts blowing out from his lips.

“Not as limber as I used to be.” he laughed modestly. “Still gets the job done though, I reckon.” 

He breathed for a moment before his nose dipped into the hair at your nape, sniffling around. 

“-Better than I imagined.” he grumbled contently.

Thick hands dipped under your shirt, massaging at the skin momentarily before slipping into your panties, tugging them out of the way. 

“Mr. Price.” you winced, feeling his cold hand on the sensitive skin.

his hands paused as the large man thought for a moment.

“Mrs. Price…” he chuckled after a beat, the hairs on your neck standing up in response. “-See? You don’t like it much, either. Now, what’s my name, love?”

“John.” you mumbled quietly, eyes darting around through the dark of your room.

“Mmh. good girl.” he hummed, hand cupping your cunt and thumbing at it absentmindedly. “Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow, yeah?” 

Never misses, even in style