You're Sick For This Pinterest

(john price x reader who basically manifests him into her life)

It all started with a pie.

A blackberry pie, to be exact. One that you’d spent a good part of the morning perfecting- balancing the sweetness and tartness with the precision of a master alchemist concocting a love potion. You were almost convinced that this particular pie might finally be the answer to your mother’s prayers: an offering so mouthwatering that it would distract her from once again insisting you marry that insufferably dull miller’s son, Thomas.

You had just placed it on the windowsill to cool, the aroma curling through the cottage like a siren’s song, when your mother barged in, cheeks flushed with determination. “I’ve invited Thomas for supper.” She announced, as if she was a witch summoning a dark spirit.

You almost dropped the teapot. “Mother, no.”

“Mother, yes. Darling, you’re not getting any younger.” She clasped her hands like a pious martyr, staring heavenward as if appealing for divine assistance. “Why, you are practically ancient now. Do you know how many children I had at your age? Three! And you- still unmarried. People are talking.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but that’s when inspiration struck. Perhaps it was the sweetness of the pie that made your thoughts reckless, or perhaps the desperation of avoiding Thomas’s endless ramblings about grain prices, and so you straightened your spine. “… But I already have a suitor.”

Your mother paused, mouth pursed like she’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon. “You what?”

“Yes.” You adjusted your apron with all the gravitas of a queen revealing her long-lost heir, except you were revealing a beloved. “He’s a soldier. Off fighting bravely in the war. Captain… John Price.” You plucked the name from thin air, thinking it sounded stalwart, military-ish and utterly believable.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “And why haven’t I heard of this… Captain before?”

“Well, we didn’t want to make a fuss. You know how people talk.”

Her suspicion melted, replaced with gleaming hope. “A soldier, you say? A captain?”

“Yes,” you continued, your voice growing bolder. Let ir never be said that you did not inherit some of your father’s love for theatrics. “He writes to me. Beautiful letters, whenever he has the chance to, and I always reply. I’ll… I’ll show you one!”

That’s how you found yourself hunched over your rickety desk that night, ink staining your fingers, spinning an epic tale of love and longing so good you justknew Shakespeare was probably rolling in his grave

Dear Captain John Price,

My heart is but a lonely swallow without you. The days stretch long and tiresome in your absence, but I hold steadfast, knowing that one day you will return to me- my brave, rugged soldier.

Yours, faithfully.

You took great care in writing the letter, wanting it to look as if it had been penned by a devoted girl waiting patiently for her beloved captain. Before folding it, you pressed a dried flower between the pages and lightly scented the paper with a dab of your favorite perfume, the fragrance soft and sweet, leaving no doubt that the writer was a gentle, affectionate soul and not an absolutely insane woman tricking her parents. You even tied it with a delicate ribbon, imagining how any soldier would feel cherished to receive such a letter.

To your utter (non)surprise, it worked. Your mother clutched the letter to her chest with a tearful sigh, whispering something about true love. And from that moment on, Captain John Price became your imaginary lover, a sturdy bulwark against matchmaking attempts.

And so, the years passed, and John Price became a part of your life. You wrote letters to him whenever the pressure to marry reached critical mass, each one a little more elaborate than the last. You even took to carrying one of his supposed letters (which you also wrote yourself) in your apron pocket, just in case anyone questioned your devotion.

You never expected, however, for the Captain himself to show up at your doorstep.

It was a crisp autumn evening when the knock came. You barely registered it, too busy trying to salvage the stew that was steadfastly refusing to thicken. When the knock came again, louder and more insistent, you huffed and flung open the door, still clutching your wooden spoon like a weapon and a mighty glare on your face.

There stood a man. A mountain of a man, truthfully. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a commanding presence that seemed to make the very air hold its breath. His face was framed by a well-groomed beard, his eyes a piercing blue beneath a well-worn cap. And clutched in his large hand was a bundle of letters- scarily familiar letters, actually.

His mouth curved into a slow, wolfish grin. “Well, love. You’ve got some explainin’ to do.”

You froze, spoon hovering mid-air. “You- how- who are you?”

He chuckled, the sound more than a little smug. “Name’s Captain John Price. You might recognize me from your rather… heartfelt correspondence.” He held up one of the letters, the familiar scrawl of your handwriting a stark betrayal.

Your stomach dropped. “…Coincidence.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he drawled, stepping inside as if he owned the place. “Imagine my surprise when your letters kept landing in my hands. At first, I thought it was just some lonely girl scribbling fantasies. But the boys kept handin’ them to me- said they lifted spirits, readin’ how you were waitin’ for me.”

You spluttered, backing up as he prowled forward. “But- how did they-“

He shrugged, almost casual. “You put my name and rank on the letters. Found their way to me eventually. You’ve been rather… devoted, haven’t you?”

You sputtered. “Devoted? I was just- avoiding marriage!”

His eyes darkened, jaw tightening. “Didn’t stop me from thinking about it. About you. When I read how you longed for me- waited so faithfully- made a man think. Would’ve kept any other bastard from sniffin’ around, I’d hope.”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. “I didn’t think you were real!”

He leaned closer, the scent of tobacco and gunpowder curling around you like a trap. “Oh, I’m real, love. And now I’m here. Reckon you owe me a bit of hospitality after all those love letters, no?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a landed fish.

“Didn’t matter if you didn’t mean it, you still wrote it. Made me think of comin’ home to you, of claimin’ what’s mine.” His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek with surprising tenderness. “You made yourself mine. And now, I’ve come to collect.”

Before you can muster a protest, he leans down, capturing the corner of your lips in a kiss, your face frozen solid in shock. When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes your swollen lip.

“That clear enough for you, wife?”

John Price who definitely has a praise kink.

And i don’t mean praising you. Well, he does love to praise you, of course. But what really gets him going is when you praise him.

When your plushy thighs squeeze his head as he feasts on your pussy, your moans and whines only spurring him on. He can’t get over the sounds you make. But oh does he love it when you use your pretty words.

Telling him how good he’s doing. How much you love his skilled tongue swirling your clit. What a perfect man he is for you. It makes him nearly cum in his pants.

He loves missionary because it keeps your pretty mouth (and so your words) close to his ear so he wouldn’t miss a thing. The praises being sent straight to his eardrums (and his cock, of course).

He’d go round after round to hear you tell him how good he felt. How big he was. How he was the only man to ever make you cum like that. And how you would never love a man the way you loved him! :)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

i legit had to rewrite this 4 times cause tumblr was acting up. i’m thinking of writing a longer fic (maybe multiple chapters) about price but idk if anyone would read it okay bye<33

Okay so is this kinda inspired by my own wishfull thinking? Yes absolutely. Do I give a damn? Absolutely not. Warnings? Age gap (reader 23/John 35) / Reader lives at home / kinda rushed because I want it out of my system :)

Ever since covid you and your friend had a Tinder Night every two weeks, to help you with your never-ending singleness. And when she moved across the country to move in with her boyfriend, the Tinder Nights got digital. And by now you've also broadened your horizon to Hinge.

But one evening bored out of your mind by the selection of boys, your friend — plus her boyfriend who tries not to be invested but is failing very badly — and you decide to up the age to 30 to 40, for shits and gigs of course.

And after an evening of swiping and giggling about the creepy dudes who put their minimum age to at least 23, you kinda forget to put the age back to your five-year rule. Until you get a notification of Hinge a couple of nights later.

John has liked your photo! Match to continue the conversation.

You hesitate at first. From the small picture, the notif gives you you can see that the guy isn't 25 of something. Opening the app, you scroll through his profile.

He's... handsome. You're not going to deny that with short brown hair and a pretty mighty moustache and beard, he kinda gives you puppy vibes as his eyes radiate kindness.

His profile says he's 35 and in the army. Pretty tall too. And his prompts are pretty hilarious too. At least... you think so.

You send a screenshot to your friend of his answer to:

I'm totally obsessed with: Sleeping in a freshly washed bed.

You: Oh he's... like ADULT adult Your friend: That answer comes across as if he is going to give you tips about the airfryer

And against your better judgement... you match with him.

The conversation is awkward at first (from your side at least) but slowly and surely you start to warm up. His jokes are horrible and dad-jokey but make you smile anytime he sends them. He's the first person you text and the last one from whom you check if you have a message before going to sleep.

After a week he asks you out to dinner. He wants to meet you and see if you match each other in real life. And you agree.

So that Friday, after work, you get all dolled up and you ask your mother to drop you off so you can drink a cocktail or two and don't have to worry about driving.

When you walk into the restaurant your breath hitches. There he is, waiting patiently for you. He's wearing a simple white button-up with the sleeves rolled up his arms and dark slacks. Effortlessly handsome.

John rises from his seat when you approach and hugs you, a wide smile on his face. He pulls the chair out for you, like the gentleman he is, and asks about your day.

To your surprise, this is the first date you truly enjoy. John is attentive and seems to really pay attention to you and what you say. He asks about you, your job, and your life. Of course, you do the same. he's a very interesting man and his job is just amazing. He explains he's a captain in the British Army but that he's on desk duty until his injury from his last deployment has healed. He can't say a lot about his job as a Captain, but what he tells you sounds all so brave.

Without even realising hours have passed and the restaurant staff is not so subtly urging you to pay and go home. You want to grab your purse to split the bill. But John gives you a stern look and pays instead.

"You really didn't need to do that", you say as he drives you home, feeling kinda guilty that he paid the bill.

John gives you the same look as before. "Darling, my mother raised me right. And she would give me a stern talking to if she knew I would let a lady pay on the first date."

"Fine", you huff, "but next time I pay!"

"Next time huh?" He gives you a cheeky smile.

You feel your face heat up and choose to say nothing, opting to look out of the window.

John stops in front of your house and gets out to open the car door for you. He walks you to the front door and you hesitate for a moment with the key in your hand.

"I would love to invite you in for tea but..."

He nods understanding. "But you have roommates that are probably asleep by now. I get it."

Pursing your lips, you embarrassingly scratch the back of your neck. "No... I still live with my parents."

John's eyes widen with shock for a second before he masks it. "Ah. I see."

This is it, you think, I've blown it.

"It's a bit too early to meet the parents, isn't it?", he jokes and you let out a sigh of relief. You nod in agreement, a smile forming on your face.

Standing up on your tippy toes, you press a kiss against John's cheek. His beard prickles your lips but you don't mind it.

"Thanks for tonight. And thanks you for driving me home", you smile softly. "Text me when you get home safely?"

John nods and you wait before entering your home until John's driven away. Once inside you sigh deeply.

How are you going to explain to your parents that you're dating a guy who's seriously twelve years older than you?!

second part

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.)

how I picture price’s body😩

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.”

John is so inordinately desperate to be back home after five months in God–knows–what–town within God–knows–what–country that he hasn't the time to take off his fingerless gloves before he fucks them into your sopping cunt, having just barged into the bedroom where you were coherently enjoying your book, now unable to recall what the last word you read was because the cloth over his palm is bullying your clit, his fingers are curling and tugging at your walls to get you to squirt for him so he has a better reason to put them in the wash, and you're whining and whimpering, just trying to figure out how he's been all this time.

"An– and did you manage to–" you choke on the words as his brutal fingers continue their crusade, hand plummeting beneath your panties, skull bumping the headboard enough to creak the bed like an old door– "eat plenty? Or do you want me to whip you up some– oh– oh– fuck– John!"

"I'm fed, lovie." He pants at the raw sight of your cunt split open from his fingers, noticing the way you can barely keep your eyes from rolling back, stomach binding and twisting as you audibly squirt over his palm, wincing at the fuzziness you feel in your bulged clit as his thrusts plateau.

"Let's focus on feedin' you, 'ey?" He leans to pinch a kiss from your pussy, the stunning girl she was for him, and relishes in your faux–drunken state as he palms the same hand he just used to shoot pleasure up your spine against his crotch to get himself throbbing and turgid for his beautiful wife.

"You gonna be good and throat my cock, sweet woman?”

| Masterlist |

I like to draw the captain a little shaggy

John Price x reader.

Cw. Age gap, smut, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PinV, afab reader.

a/n: this is my first time writing smut, so be easy on me. As always, asks are open. if you have something you want me to write, I would be happy to do that for you! Enjoy!

you were frustrated. tired of hookups, one night flings, guys that just called you up for a booty call and couldn't give a shit about anything else. yeah, at one point in time you were the same way, too obsessed with climbing the ranks in your job to want an actual relationship, but now you aren't.

you no longer have a want for something casual, you want to be consumed completely. you want someone to need you like air, to be utterly and entirely yours, and you theirs.

and you know exactly who can give you that.

he's sitting on his bed, back against the head board, reading a book quietly. he looks up when he sees you in the doorway, not even asking for permission to come in.

Captain John Price is.. surprised when you climb into his lap, your legs on either side of him and hands on his face, tilting his head down to meet yours. "lieutenant," he addresses softly, almost melting at your touch. "this is.. unexpected of you."

"I'm tired of the other soldiers, captain," you tell him. "tired of meaningless relationships."

"I have ten years on you, at least," he points out, his hands on the mattress, not touching you.

"want me to go?" you lean back, ready to swing your legs off his mattress.

before you can move any more, his hands fly out and grab you, pulling you back onto his lap - closer this time. "don't you dare," he growls, "don't even think about it. you are staying right here." his hands hold your hips, gentle yet firm, his eyes fixed on your lips. "you know how long I've wanted this? since I saw your pretty face, these pretty fucking pink lips.."

he lowers his lips to your neck, right under your jaw. his breath is warm against your skin and the feeling of his teeth against your pulse point makes you shiver. your hands grip his shoulders tighter, your nails leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin.

"so pretty," he murmurs into your skin, licking from your collarbone to your ear, one quick, wet lick that makes you whimper.

his breath catches in his throat when he feels you grinding down against him, his grip on your hips tighten. "fuck. you're a goddess," he raises his hips up, returning the favor. "you want this, pretty baby? hm? because I'm only doing this if you're serious about this meaning something. I don't play around. if we do this, I'm yours. completely yours."

"mine," you whisper, catching his lips with yours. you intertwine your fingers in his hair, tugging softly as he eases you onto your back. he hums appreciatively, running his hands up the front of your shirt. his calloused, large fingers spread out, pressing down on your stomach.

you sigh at the feeling of his touch on your skin, fire blooming within you.

"gonna worship you," he promises, reaching around to undo your bra in a swift motion, pulling it and your shirt off. his eyes focus on your bare chest, swallowing. "gonna show you how a real man treats a woman like you, a goddess like you. just lay back, goddess, relax and enjoy it. let me do the hard work, yeah?"

you nod your head, "please."

as his mouth plays with your nipple, you realize how right you were. you wanted to be consumed by someone, and you chose the right man to do so.

he trails open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, "if at any point you want me to stop, tell me. as much as I love seeing you like this, princess, I want you to enjoy this as much as I do."

smiling, you nod. your heart swells at seeing how important your comfort is to him, and you regret not doing this since you first saw him.

"words, princess."

"okay."

"good girl," he pulls down your pants, slowly, teasingly. john price whistles when he sees the wet spot on your underwear. he kisses up your thigh, switching to the other, his hot breath ghosting over your pussy and you shiver.

"don't.. don't tease me."

he laughs softly, "patience, my goddess." he bites the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down with his teeth, his eyes locked onto yours. he only breaks eye contact to look at your wet pussy, groaning softly. "god, you're fucking gorgeous. absolutely stunning. please, let me have a taste of you," he begs, "tell me I can eat your pussy, tell me you want to come on my tongue."

you moan softly at his words, nodding your head almost desperately, "please, john."

john wastes no time burying his head between your legs, licking slowly from your entrance to your clit. he flattens his tongue against your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm. his grip on your legs tighten, holding your legs apart wider. "ah ah ah, my queen. you're staying here until I'm full. relax and enjoy."

with that, he plunges back in, working his tongue and mouth in beautiful, pleasure-inducing motions that have you making soft noises you didn't even know you could make. your hands tangle in his hair and you buck your hips, begging him for more. it isn't long before you come, hard and wreaking, your eyes rolling back into your skull.

he eats you out through your orgasm, until it's passed and he's locked up every drop of your cum. then he pulls himself up and kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. softly, you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.

smoothly and quickly, he sheds his clothes, already pumping his throbbing erection. "last chance to back out, princess."

"fuck me," you respond, pulling him back down into another kiss.

you gasp as you feel his tip against your entrance, burying your face in his neck as he slowly guides himself inside of you. he groans into your ear, kissing your head as he massages your the undersides of your thighs. "so fucking tight.. perfect for me."

"feels so good, john," you moan.

experimentally, he rolls his hips. you dig your nails into his back, urging him on. the room fills with the sound of your moans and his groans, the scent of sex and the squeak of his bed as he thrust into you, his pace quickening the longer he's inside of you.

you beg and plead and gasp and moan and he swallows them with passionate kisses. He rest his forehead against yours, "fuck.. you feel so good. chocking my cock like that, you close, my goddess?"

"yes, yes, yes, john. please, john, please, 'm so close.."

"come for me, my queen," he sucks at your neck and you cry out, plummeting over the edge.

his thrust become more sloppy and desperate as he approaches his own release, shooting hit waves of his cum deep inside of you. he moans, holding you tightly against him as he rides out his own orgasm.

afterwards, he leaves to grab a rag, coming back and cleaning you up. he murmurs sweet words against you skin, how good you were for him, how beautiful you looked, how he can't wait to do that again.

he lays down on his side and pulls you against his chest, "you've got me wrapped around your finger. I'm all yours, princess."

you nuzzle into his chest, "and I'm yours."

after a while, you fall asleep in your arms, fucked out and all of your wishes fulfilled.

john price and shy reader 🙂‍↕️😵‍💫🥹