John Who Fucks You Raw For The First Time.

Thinking again about neighbor!Price and his sweet little bird down the street…(kind of a pt 2 to this)

Out on another of his walks, that have only increased in frequency since you moved in, he sees his pretty bird huffing as she tries to shove a massive box through her front door. He would have to talk with you about that. He had given you his number for this specific reason.

Jogging up behind you, he offers a greeting before putting his hands on either side of you. Pushing himself up close so he trapped you between the box and himself.

“Okay dove, on three,” he says, so casually, like his beefy arms aren’t completely distracting you.

Clearing your throat, you nod and give a big push when he counts to three. It only takes three more heaves before you two have the box sitting just inside the house.

“So what’s this love?” John asks, eyeing the box. Searching for any clues — typical military man.

“New dresser,” you chirp back to him happily, shutting the front door behind you. “Comes in like a million pieces though, so I will be putting it together after lunch!”

John nods as he continues to study the box. Thrumming his fingers on his chin, he hums before turning to you.

“I’ll build it for you,” he says, so firm, like it was already decided.

“Oh no John-” you begin to protest, but he holds a hand up. Silencing you.

Good girl, he thought to himself. So obedient.

“Now now, I don’t want to hear none o’ it,” he smirks confidently at you, relishing a bit in the small blush on your cheeks. “How about you just make me some of that lunch too?”

You nervously tuck some hair behind your ear, a small nod as you look up at him.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” you smile sweetly, before turning to head to your pantry.

You bend over into it, John absolutely eyeing your perfect ass. Pulling out a small tool box and handing it to him.

“I hope everything you need is in there,” you blush, a bit sheepish at how unprepared you must seem to him.

He took the toolbox from you, ensuring he brushed his fingers along yours, “I’ll make do with what you got, sweetheart.”

With a smile and a nod of his head he started to drag the box back to your bedroom. Not even bothering to wonder how he knew which was yours. It’s not like you told him when he helped move you in.

After a bit, you appear in the doorway, “Knock, knock,” falling cheerfully from your lips. “Oh my goodness, you’re nearly done already!”

You move quickly past your bed to where he was tightening on one of the last few knobs. Smiling over at him as you run your hand along the top.

“Thank you so much John,” you smile widely, before shaking your head, “oh, um, I have lunch ready!”

He smiles at your demure and soft nature, nodding as he finishes tightening the last nail. Wiping his hands on his jeans as he stands from his kneeled position.

“You are absolutely welcome dove,” he purrs, stepping closer. He lifts a hand, brushing back the same strand of hair as you did earlier.

“You know what they say about building furniture for someone, love?” He asks, letting his hand move, his knuckles brushing over your cheek. His palm opening for your face to settle into it. You stare up at him, almost mystified, “It implies that one day we will share it,” he smirks down at you.

(Is the ending inspired by new girl? Yes. If you caught that do I love you? Also yes. 🫶🏼)

old dog / new tricks

Your boyfriend John Price is older, more mature, and more experienced. This isn't his first shot at a committed relationship—but this time, he's doing it right.

John Price x f!reader. Age gap. Older man/younger woman. Daddy kink. Daddy issues. Divorced Price. Tags to be updated as needed.

second time around plumber old wounds

Thinking about reader who secretly pined for the rugged, bearded older man who frequented the gym.

You got more motivated to work out—just for the chance to see him. Every time you went, you made sure to claim the treadmill right in front of him, your heart pounding in sync with his rhythmic breaths.

The sound of his panting as he ran sent a thrill down your spine, igniting a delicious fantasy. You imagined him chasing after you, his gaze locked onto your form. Heat simmered in your core at the thought of glancing back, only to find him utterly focused. The thought got your feet moving quick.

Unbeknownst to you, he had a similar thought in mind as he started sprinting on the treadmill behind you.

Captain John Price in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 14/??

More Than Temporary

Valentine’s Day Special

pairing: John Price x Shy!Introvert!Reader

synopsis: You never expected John Price to be anything more than a fleeting moment in your life—something warm but temporary, a quiet dream you’d wake from eventually. But when he overhears your fears of being nothing more than a passing phase, he decides to prove you wrong—starting with Valentine’s Day.

warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, insecurity, self-doubt, Price being the most patient and loving man alive, lots of soft domestic moments, implied intimacy, Valentine’s Day romance

word count: 1943

a/n: This one’s for all my fellow overthinkers, especially when it comes to love. Happy Valentine’s Day!

You’d always been the kind of person who preferred the background.

Quiet corners, neatly organized files, the soft hum of printers, the faint shuffle of papers—that was your comfort zone. Military administration suited you well. You blended seamlessly into the routine: processing reports, organizing schedules, ensuring the logistics of war ran smoothly from behind a desk. People came and went, their names etched into documents you processed, their faces blurring together over time.

Except for him.

Captain John Price wasn’t just another name on a file. He was larger than life—commanding, confident, with that deep voice and sharp eyes that seemed to see right through people. The first time you met him, you’d barely managed to string together a coherent sentence, your voice soft and tentative as you handed him a report.

And he’d smiled.

Not just polite or dismissive, but warm. Like you were the only person in the room.

It didn’t take long after that. Glances turned into small conversations, small conversations turned into lingering moments, and those moments eventually unraveled into stolen nights tangled in sheets, his touch burning into your skin like you were something precious.

But you knew better.

Someone like him—charming, confident, respected—didn’t settle for someone like you. This was temporary. A distraction. A phase he’d forget once something—or someone—better came along.

You’d accepted it.

Until he overheard you.

It was a few days before Valentine’s Day when you found yourself tucked away in a quiet corner of the base’s small café, a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. The soft hum of conversation and the faint clatter of dishes filled the background, but your mind was far too occupied.

Your friend, Mia, sat across from you, stirring her coffee absentmindedly as she studied your face. You’d been fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater, avoiding her gaze, clearly lost in thought.

Mia finally broke the silence, her brow arched with curiosity. “Alright, spill. You’ve been weird all week. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the mug. “It’s nothing.”

She snorted. “Yeah, because ‘nothing’ always makes people look like they’ve been overthinking their entire existence. Come on, talk to me.”

You sighed, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot before leaning in slightly. “It’s… Price.”

Mia’s eyes lit up with interest. “Captain Price? The Captain Price you’ve been hooking up with for, what, two months now?”

Your face flushed, and you tried to shush her, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Keep it down!”

She grinned, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Sorry, sorry. So… what about him?”

You fiddled with the rim of your cup, trying to find the right words. “I just… I don’t know what this is. Between us.”

Mia tilted her head. “What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious? You’ve been spending time together, he’s always looking at you like you hung the damn moon—”

“That’s just it,” you interrupted, frustration creeping into your voice. “I don’t think this is… anything. Not really. I mean, look at him. He’s—he’s John Price. He’s confident, respected, he could have anyone he wants. And then there’s me. I’m just—” you waved your hand vaguely, “—me.”

Mia frowned, leaning forward. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. Why would you think that?”

You swallowed hard, staring into your tea as if it held the answers. “Because I’m temporary. This… whatever we’re doing, it’s just a phase for him. Maybe it’s convenient, maybe it’s casual, but it’s not… permanent. He’s probably going to get bored eventually, and I’ll just—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I’ll get hurt if I let myself believe it’s more than it is.”

Mia was quiet for a moment, her expression softening. Then she reached across the table, placing her hand gently over yours.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you’re wrong?”

You blinked at her, caught off guard.

She continued, her voice gentle but firm. “You see yourself one way, but that doesn’t mean that’s how he sees you. Just because you think you’re temporary doesn’t mean he does. Have you ever asked him how he feels?”

Your stomach twisted. “No. I don’t want to put him in an awkward position.”

Mia squeezed your hand. “You’re not a burden, you know. Maybe you should give him the chance to prove that.”

You nodded slowly, her words lingering in your mind long after the conversation ended.

What you didn’t know was that John had been standing just a few feet away, waiting for his coffee.

And he’d heard everything.

And that’s when he decided—Valentine’s Day wouldn’t just be another day.

It would be the day he proved you were wrong.

You woke up to warmth.

Not just from the soft morning sunlight spilling through the blinds, but from the solid, comforting presence of John Price wrapped around you. His arm was slung over your waist, his face nestled against the crook of your neck, his beard scratching gently at your skin.

You blinked, heart racing.

He was still here.

You shifted slightly, trying not to disturb him. But his grip tightened, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” His voice was thick with sleep, low and gravelly against your ear.

"I was gonna make coffee," you stammered softly.

"Coffee can wait," he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “Stay.”

So you stayed. Wrapped up in him, his fingertips tracing slow, idle circles on your skin, his breath warm against your neck. Time lost all meaning in the cocoon of his embrace.

Eventually, he did get up—to make breakfast.

You tried to protest, but he just kissed your forehead and said, “Let me take care of you today.”

The kitchen smelled of coffee and something buttery with a faint hint of burning. You padded in quietly, drawn by the soft clatter of dishes and John’s voice humming under his breath.

He stood at the stove, wearing nothing but sweatpants, the muscles in his back flexing as he flipped pancakes. A dishtowel hung over his shoulder, and he was concentrating so hard on not burning them that he didn’t notice you watching.

You leaned against the doorway, hiding a smile.

"Y’know," he said without turning around, "staring’s rude."

Your face flushed. "I wasn’t staring."

"Oh, sure you weren’t," he teased, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "C’mere.."

You crossed the room, and he reached out, tugging you gently by the waist until you were tucked against his side. He pressed a kiss to your temple before turning back to the pan, flipping the pancake with a little more flair this time.

“They’re a bit burnt,” he admitted sheepishly, plating them anyway.

"They’re perfect," you replied softly.

And they were.

After breakfast, he laced his fingers through yours, tugging you toward the door.

“C’mon, love. Let’s get some fresh air.”

The streets were dusted with remnants of snow, the cold biting just enough to make you tuck yourself a little closer to him. Not that he seemed to mind. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand as if he couldn’t help it, small circles of warmth seeping into your skin with every step.

The town was buzzing with Valentine’s Day energy—shop windows decorated with red ribbons, heart-shaped balloons, and couples wandering hand-in-hand. Normally, this much attention to romance might’ve made you feel awkward, but with John beside you, it felt… natural.

Further down the street, you stumbled upon a small bookshop with faded letters painted on the glass. Without thinking, you slowed your steps, eyeing the display of well-loved novels and dusty hardcovers stacked in the window.

“You wanna go in?” Price asked, already steering you gently toward the door.

Inside, the scent of old paper and worn leather filled the air, and you found yourself relaxing into the quiet comfort of the space. Price trailed behind you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you browsed through the shelves.

You picked up a book—a battered copy of a romance with a cracked spine—and flipped through the pages.

Price leaned over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “That one any good?”

You nodded, feeling a little self-conscious. "I… I’ve read it before."

"Then let’s get it," he said easily, plucking the book from your hands and heading to the register before you could protest.

After the bookstore, you found yourselves wandering into a quiet park. The pathways were lined with bare trees, their branches reaching like fingers toward the pale winter sky.

Price guided you toward an empty bench overlooking a small frozen pond, dusted with a thin layer of snow. You sat, the cold of the wooden seat seeping through your coat, but the warmth of his arm draping around your shoulders made it bearable.

He pulled you closer without a word, your head naturally finding its place against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear was grounding, soothing.

For a while, you sat in silence, watching a few kids in the distance throwing snowballs, their laughter echoing faintly.

Price shifted slightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. "Y’know, I never really cared much for Valentine’s Day."

You glanced up at him, curious. "No?"

He shook his head, his thumb grazing your shoulder. "Felt like a load of commercial nonsense. But today…" His gaze softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at you. "Feels different."

Your heart clenched, warmth blooming in your chest despite the winter chill.

"Because of me?" you whispered, half teasing, half terrified of the answer.

His response was immediate. “Because of you.”

You tucked your face into his chest, hiding the smile that you couldn’t fight even if you wanted to.

By the time you got home, the anxiety had faded—replaced with something warm but terrifying.

Because he still hadn’t left.

You curled up together on the couch for a while, his fingers threading lazily through your hair, his thumb tracing circles against your skin. The day slipped into evening, the sky painted in soft shades of pink and orange.

That’s when he disappeared into the kitchen again.

You peeked in after a while, finding him standing at the stove, humming softly under his breath as he stirred a pot of sauce. The table was set—candles, wine glasses, even a small bouquet of flowers.

When did he…?

You swallowed thickly. “John…”

He turned, wiping his hands on a towel. “Sit down, love.”

After dinner, he pulled out a small box.

You blinked. “What’s that?”

"A gift." He set it in front of you, his fingers lingering on yours.

You hesitated, then opened it.

Inside was a delicate necklace—a simple chain with a small pendant shaped like a compass.

“I figured,” he said quietly, “it’d remind you where you belong.”

Your throat tightened. "John, I—"

He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“I heard what you said,” he murmured. "About being temporary. About me not settling for someone like you."

Your face flushed, embarrassment flooding your chest.

“But here’s the thing,” he continued softly, leaning closer. “I don’t want temporary. Not with you. I don’t care how shy you are, or how much you try to fade into the background. Because every time I walk into a room, you’re all I see."

Your breath hitched.

"So," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, "let me be your man. Not for now. For as long as you’ll have me."

Your heart ached with the weight of it.

So you answered the only way you knew how.

You kissed him—soft, deep, sure.

Because John Price didn’t settle.

He chose.

And he chose you.

Blowjobs with Old Man!Price 🧚‍♀️

John’s still tense when he sinks into the armchair, legs spread, eyes locked on your every movement. The way you sink onto your knees wearing nothing at all with a coy smile plastered across your lip, crawling up to him and placing yourself in between Price’s legs, the epitome of sacrilegious being. The original sin.

He doesn't say anything. Just rests a hand on his thigh and jerks his chin toward the floor.

You already know what John wants even though he hesitates.

Eyes never leave one another. There’s a low rumble of approval in his chest when you settle, hands sliding up his thighs.

“Birdie, it’s quite alright,” he murmurs, voice like thunder rumbling just beneath the surface, his lust concealed behind a false wall of sincerity.

“But, my love,” you fiddle with the drawstring of his pants, “isn’t this where I belong, on my knees for you?” Your voice ringing salaciously sweet in John’s ears.

Slowly and deliberately, you reach for his waistband, and he raises his hips just enough to allow you to pull his boxers down. Under your touch, his cock, soft and heavy, twitches ever so slightly. John hisses through his teeth as you bend in and brush your lips against the tip.

He's not hard. You don’t care.

You love him in this way. susceptible. True. In a manner that he won't say out loud, he needs you.

Your tongue flicks over the head first languidly, warm, deliberate. Wrapping your deliciously pouty lips around him, mouth soft and open as you begin to work him with reverence.

No rush. No tricks. Just pressure, devotion, want.

John’s hand finds your hair, not forcing, just grounding himself, fingers flexing with each pass of your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groans, voice hoarse. “Look at you…”

You hum around him, taking more as he hardens in your mouth, slowly, stubbornly, but surely. Satisfaction bubbles in you when the weight of John’s cock grows on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, swirl your tongue beneath the shaft, and his hips twitch, a low growl escaping his chest.

“Such a pretty little girl you are,” he grits out, eyes locked on your lips. “Letting an old bastard like me fuck that sweet mouth of yours”

You pull off with a wet pop, spit trailing down your chin, and look up at him, wide-eyed.

“I only want you,” you whisper. “Let me show you.”

That’s all he needs.

“Then show me,” John says darkly, tightening his grip in your hair. “Show me that you’re mine.”

You take him in again, deeper now, letting him hit the back of your throat. He groans low, his thighs flexing beneath your hands, his other fist tightening on the armrest.

You work him like he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted in your mouth and in this moment, he is. The taste of him, the sound of his breath going ragged, the heat in his gaze as he watches your lips slide down to the base.

“Good girl,” he growls, breathing harder. “My good, sweet girl. Gonna come down that throat, yeah? Gonna swallow every drop for me.”

You moan in response, the sound vibrating through his cock, and with a few rough, needy thrusts of his hips, he falls apart — groaning low, like it hurts to feel that good, spilling hot and thick into your mouth.

You don’t pull back.

You take it all. Every. Single. Drop.

And when it’s done, when he’s panting, spent, eyes glassy with affection and heat, he leans forward and cups your face in his hand.

“God help me,” he murmurs. “You could ruin me like this.”

You smile, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Already have.”

What if for dads bsf, he comes on a family trip to the beach with you and your father.

You in your bikini, the sneaked glances when your dad isn't looking. MAYBE have him apply sunscreen on you!

dadsbf!old man john price in his late 40s n young, innocent sweet fem!reader who’s 21

you’ve always been a mountain lover, sunny countryside and green lavish trees filled you with the warmest joy, but just like he would any other summer, your dad has forced you to come to the beach with him, stating that ‘vitamin d is important’, but what convinced you is that you can just lay down, read your book and sip chill cold cocacola in peace, especially since your dads best friend john price is coming with you

laying happily under the cozy shadow of a colorful umbrella, heart shaped glasses and a book in your hand, your reading is cradled by the gentle hum of the wind moving through the waves, but you find it hard to focus on the lines on the paper as your eyes keep moving towards him — his muscular, buff, hairy chest is wet, burly and decorated with a few scars, his dark, graying hair and beard kissed by the sun as he shook his head, thin drops of water falling over the sand.

you take a shaky breath, feeling your cheeks grow warm and red, brighter than the sun, and quickly look away, blushing hard and feeling bad for staring so much — but gosh, he’s the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, so bulky and mature, aged in the most handsome way.

you toss over the towel, shifting position and continuing reading, already too caught up in the book to notice the looming and lurching shadow above you, that covered the sun rays — you tilt your head, and there he is, bundle of muscles, thick beard and intimidating, pure masculine energy.

“enjoying your book, love?” he asks playfully, his voice rough and low, quirking his brow as he let his eyes travel down your figure, shamelessly staring over your legs and adorable, vintage style bikin, all frills and ribbons — he sets his warm eyes back on your face, “what are you reading, Lolita?”

your cheeks are burning like flames, and you feel like you’re steaming with the hot air around you “m not, sir,”

he only laughs, a short, deep chuckle, before he tilts his head towards the water behind him “not gonna take a swim, doll?”

“dont think so, haven’t put on sunscreen yet..” you nibble on your bottom lip, head elsewhere, before you reach out to heap your bottle of coke “was waiting for someone to help me open this, can you help me sir, please?”

you give him big, doe eyes, your puffy lips parted slightly as your dolly features look up at him with such a tender, innocent look he needs to ignore how uncomfortable and suddenly tight his wet shorts feel.

“of course, doll face,” he takes it from your hands, opens it with a tiny, effortless twist of his large hand and hands it over to you, giving you a slight wink — you flame up under his gaze, and quickly bring the bottle up to your lips, mumbling a shy “thank you, sir”

the first sip is the best one, cold and frizzy bubbles running down your throat as you savor them — you let your eyes mindlessly set on him as you drink, almost choking with the coke when you notice how his own sharp ones are stuck on your lips wrapped around the bottle.

you swallow, placing the bottle down — your dad is swimming cluelessly back in the sea, near the limit of the string of buoys marking the swimming area, out of sight and of reach.

“need me to put sunscreen on you, princess, can’t have your delicate skin get burned now,” he says it almost like a command, stating it like you don’t have a voice in the matter and that makes your heart flutter — he brings his authoritative, caring and dominating attitude everywhere he goes, even when he’s not working, he’s a soldier in control of his surroundings inside and outside of the field.

“don’t wanna bother you sir, but thank you, alright..” you just blink, carefully placing your book down next to you and laying on the sandy towel, practically giving and serving yourself to him. he almost grunts at the sight, you, so young, too young, sweet and modest in your bikini, always dainty and refined.

“never bother me, sweet girl, stay still for old price, good girl” he grips — yes, grips — the sunscreen hardly and bends over one knee, applying it on both hands before starting to smear it over your skin, your arms, your legs and then your thighs. you almost gasp at the contact, his hands have always looked calloused, rough and scarred, like sandpaper, but they feel so good, warm and large against your skin.

he remains silent as he lower his hands and gently squeezed your thighs, a silent request, which you immediately followed by parting your thighs to him, still laying on your back — his hands apply the sunscreen on your inner thighs, close to where you ache the most, where you want him, but your bashfulness prevents you from addressing this need.

his thick fingers distractedly brush over your clothed clit, making you let out a soft, tiny sound, that sounded like a strangled whine and a little sigh — his eyes shoot out, completely and utterly in control, but when he spreads more cream next to your needy spot, you involuntarily buck your hips against his hand, making him clench his jaw and mutter down a restrained, growly “careful, doll, be a good girl and don’t move, said stay still”

you swallow back your embarrassment, your cheeks red and bright, whole face on fire as he shifts his hands on your tummy, caressing it and smearing more white cream on your flat chest, between your tiny, small boobs that are raising and falling with every hard breath.

“feel good, doll?”

you nodded, unable to say anything, but you wanted him to kiss you, to just take you however he pleased “yessir”

“good, on your tummy f’me now, come on” he pats your leg, and you quickly turn around, closing your eyes when you feel his large hands on your back, applying your cream — you arch your back against his fingers, earning a deep, amused chuckle from him.

“look at you, love, stretching yourself like a bunny, huh?”

you nod again, but this time, your eyes shoot open when you feel his thick mustache and beard pressed against the skin of your shoulder, pressing a light, small and tickling kiss — he lowers his hand and playfully pats your bottom, caressing it before drifting back. “done, love, all nice and safe.”

you’re left like this, blushing and wide eyed, watching him take a sip from your bottle of coke, and you can’t help but let your romantic mind think this is an indirect kiss.

Captain John Price in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 09/??

cw: john price x f!reader - older man/younger girl; smut; smidge daddy kink; meet cute or smthn

thinking about being moderately creeped out when the waiter came your way and told you that your tab has actually been settled by that gentleman over there.

and you’re quite hesitant to look around and acknowledge the gentleman’s presence but your friends are whooping, making kissy faces and being so embarrassingly obvious at their own checking-out that you bit the bullet and turned around, dutifully ignoring the lump lodged in your throat—

oh.

well, that’s one good looking man, sure. kind of young for your taste though, if you’re being honest but if he’s treating you and your friends, then you guess that’s—

the man beside him turns, meets your gaze, and shoots you a sultry wink.

his scruff and his hair is a mess of salt and pepper, and he’s got crinkles around his eyes as he smiles, and he’s got tan skin like he just spent a summer in greece while you were honest to god killing yourself for your capstone as your graduation is coming close, and—

“yeah,” your friend laughs, all sleazy. “he’s your type, ain’t he? a fucking dilf.”

oh.

so that younger one is—

god, he’s almost twice your age then if that kid’s his son. what the fuck that’s—

“please shoot your shot before we lose this group-sugar daddy,” another one of your friends chirps and that forces an ugly snort your way but mr. dilf doesn’t even look turned off by the way his smile just grew and- oh god, he’s standing up and he’s moving close and—

“hey, sweetheart,” he says and honestly the british accent is just uncalled for.

“hi,” you reply after being jabbed on your side.

his scruff dances as his humour bloats. he nods his head to the group and turns back at you.

fuck, yeah okay so— “thanks for that, by the way. you didn’t have to.”

he shrugs. “i wanted to. ‘sides, all that money ought to be spent on a pretty thing, don’t you think?”

pretty thing — does he mean you?

that…

that honestly does it for you.

your cheeks tingle with warmth as shyness creeps in. you feel yourself slowly clamming up, still so painfully unused to being the point of attraction. no one has ever liked you above your friends, but there he is, so suave and beautiful in his tan and charming in an honestly concerning way as he pours all his attention to you. not them but you.

“do you want to, uh, go somewhere? show me around or something?”

he huffs a fond laugh and offers his hand — big and callused, with a scar drawn across his whole palm — and says, “thought you’ll never ask.”

he pulls you up. “name’s john.” he tips his head back to his table, one that’s now bar of the other patron. “that was my son, lucas.”

you didn’t even notice that john’s hand has left your own until you felt it on the small of your back.

“and what about you?”

“huh?” you ask, trying to focus on not tripping on your feet.

“what shall i call you, sweetheart?”

“oh,” you say, blinking, before muttering your name.

john hums something deep in the base of his throat.

“beautiful.”

and, somehow, you know that he doesn’t just mean your name but he means you.

.

(it ends with you on his hotel bed, speared open by his cock. you’ve never been this wet before, walls all loose and squelching as he fucks it even deeper, punching the head into the pucker of your cervix.

john is all quiet grunts, animalistic as he devours you.

jesus, this man couldn’t truly be almost twice your age — how the fuck is he moving this way?

he fills you up to the point of tears, and fills you up even more, pushing and pressing in until he’s all snug in you, his pelvis flushed to yours. you feel so full. so stuffed that you couldn’t even moan right, raspy breaths all that could puff out of you.

“s’good!” you hiccup, sobbing, twitching at the drag of his cock as john pulls out only to choke on your own voice when he fucks in.

“jo-hnnn, s’good! s’good!”

“yeah?” he grunts, scruff tickling the shell of your ear. “y’feel so good ‘round me, darling. tight like a vice. christ, has no one ever fucked you open? stretched you out good?”

you shake your head, whining because no. no one’s fucked you this way. no one’s filled you this way. and if they did, everything’s been overwritten by john.

and his thick fingers and wide palms and his fat cock, fucking in, in, in.

“oh, darlin’,” he croons, his skin slapping against your own. “don’t worry, then, love. daddy’s going t’fix you up, ‘kay? daddy’s going t’make you feel so good, i promise.”

daddy—

fuck.

fuck.)

dbf!price who buys you pretty little skirts, knowing how much you love them, just so you can wear them at family dinners that he’s invited to.

dbf!price who rubs at your clit under the table, gently pinching your thighs because you’ve gotten so good at controlling your reactions and he enjoys seeing you jump a little

dbf!price who likes flustering you, asking if you have a boyfriend. his eyes blazing with amusement as you stutter out a ‘no’.

his finger sinking into you in a slow, shallow thrust. and right before you’re about to cum, his finger leaves your wet cunt :(((

dbf!price who after dinner offers to drive you to a friends house, knowing the two of you are going to end up fucking in his car.

stuffing you full of his cock as he tells you how naughty you are. and how good girls don’t fuck men twice their age :(((

dbf!price who laughs at how wet you are, spanking you softly as you writhe against him.

“what would your parents say if they saw you like this, hm?”

dbf!price who uses the excuse that your dads always out of town to check up on you. fucking you in every flat surface of your home and when he comes over he likes to remind you how many times he made you cum there.

i need him :((