Let Me Make This Clear, God Moves Mountains! I Don’t Care How Big The Mountain Is, Just Pray & Have

Levi looks so young the last time we see him. Rounded cheeks, his usual exhausted expression gone. Instead his eyes are wide, his expression almost one of childlike excitement, matching those of the kids scattered around his chair. His wings have faded and with them the weight of the world is finally off his shoulders. He finally gets to live life on his own terms.

sugar daddy bar!owner john price x sugar baby!waitress series

🥀 |warnings: +18, laaargw age gap (reader is 21 and price is in his 40s), fem!reader, sugar daddy/baby relationship mentioned, not smut but suggestive.

price thought a doll like you deserved a grown, strong old man like him to treat you like a princess — spoil you rotten, wrap you up in bubble wrap and take care of you. You didn’t need to work, get your pretty hands sore and tired from pouring drinks all the time. he’d give you all the money you needed to pay off your college and to get all the pink, girly things you liked so much, ribbons and all. You just needed to sit cutely on his lap, to be his, and he’d give you the whole world. He was in his 40’s, you had only recently turned 21, a flower on the prime of her blossoming youth, who could give an old, worn out man like him some sugar.

that’s why he offered you to be his sugar baby. that offer, made you flush on the spot — he was so confident and composed, unfazed by his own words. The moment he saw redness spread over you cheeks, he knew he had you. His mustache twitched, his salt and pepper beard stretched as he wore an amused, lazy smile. you were always so obedient and compliant to him, always chirping a “yes sir” to anything he’d ask or tell you to do, a sweet, young, too young lil thing, eager to earn his praise, to feel those goosebumps trail down your skin when he muttered a gruff, deep “good girl”, you’d be the perfect submissive, you’d have it in you to be trained already, even in your innocence and inexperience..

..but, you’d initially declined his offer, because “I want to earn that money, sir, and I’d feel bad if you just..gave it to me like that”

oh, how honest, naive, innocent and pure you were. He admired that about you, but you could see it in his eyes, the way he cocked his thick, dark brown brow upward, that he didn’t believe you’d cling onto those words for long. He knew you were just too shy to accept, but you wanted to. You wanted to be his pretty, little girl. and he was right, as always. One particular night, you’d found a moment to lean your arms against the wooden counter and just breath. You’d been studying all morning, head buried in your notes, and when you got to the bar, you found dozens of soon to be drunk men ready to order alcohol and ask you to bring them ashtrays.

you wanted nothing more than go back home, snuggle in your pink, soft blankets and read your so loved books — it had just been a draining day, you enjoyed your job, but to be honest with yourself, the thing you liked the most was feeling john’s attention and eyes on you during your whole shift and maybe you could finally have someone provide for you.

so, that’s how you found yourself in front of his office door, hesitating lightly while millions of tiny butterflies flew around in your chest, your cheeks as red and warm as ripe strawberries under the summer sun.

knock, knock.

he’d recognized that knock. A feeble, light thud against wood. That couldn’t possibly have been Simon, whose hand could make the whole door shatter down with a single knock, nor Soap’s — bloody hell, that man never bothered to knock at all, he’d just break in.

so he wasn’t surprised to see you, standing meekly in front of his large, wooden desk, the hem of your skirt hugging your milky, bare thighs, your fingers fidgeting together and your eyes looking down at his sitting stance, shy and timid.

“what is it, doll? need ol’ price?” his voice was so rough, so husky, you wondered how it would sound from between your thighs, or from behind you, while his large palm pulled your hair to make you arch against him.

you blinked once, gathering courage to ask for what you’d secretly been daydreaming about, your boss, old enough to be your father, aging like the finest wine, showing you things you’d never ever experienced.

“about your offer, sir” your cheeks were burning, flaming up, “if I accept, can I still come here and help you around?”

“if you accepted,” he almost didn’t even let you finish, eyes already darkening at the thought, a wave of desire rushing through his weary, battle scattered heart, “you could do whatever you wanted, angel, you’d just have to say please”

bruhhhhh your daddy!price writing is literally healing my wounds. its sooooo goood im addicted 🙏🏿🥹

I really want you all to be my friends stop you make me blush 😞😞 im currently in bed half sick with a flu and I feel bad cause I can’t go to church, im glad that I can make you all happy though babies <333

please be careful sugar can get addictive! eheh

-bunny🐇 in thighs and ribbons

judging from your blog i think you'd love fairy milk! but that's unfair of me, i'm the total opposite of you and i love fairy milk.

i love everything milky, soft and with vanilla <33 you’re absolutely right because if i were a drink, i’d be fairy milk or strawberry milkshake, i also love love love chamomile tea </3 omgosh you’ve just given me an idea like daddy price making me soothing warm fairymilk before going to bed with a lot of whipped cream ૮꒰ིྀ˶> <˶꒱ིྀა ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒

scary dog privilege with your old, gruff and scary sugar daddy!john price?

given you’re always a well mannered girl, you never cause conflicts, but if something were to happen with someone and you wanted to take advantage of your daddy being scary, old, intimidating and huge to just defend you?

maybe at the bar, a rude costumer not even lifting their eyes from the table as they ordered something else from you, without acknowledging your presence or saying hi, politely.

”another beer with ice,”

you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt, and tilted your head, speaking with your usual polite and sweet voice. “im sorry?” “another beer, at my table” same tone, same words, not even a smile.

clearly you hadn’t heard that wrong — your expression softened, and you lowered your notebook, looking like an upset bunny who’d just gotten offended,

you were always so sweet and kind with everyone, and john often tried to teach you that not everyone would always reciprocate your kindness, he wanted to warn you about mean, rude people who would upset his little girl :(

but you always got sad, not understanding why people couldn’t just be nice.

“no, sir, excuse me, i was waiting for you to say please, you could at least look at me you know..”

he frowned, narrowing his eyes like you’d said the most incoherent thing in the world, and gave you an ironic look “it’s your job to serve me a drink, dear”

you blinked your eyes, dumbfounded, hoping he’d understand what you were gently trying to say, keeping a low tone of voice “yes, and as a human being, your job is to be polite and kind? where are your manners?”

“little lady, what’s your problem? im paying you, you’re not giving me a gift, little girl”

“yet kindness is free,” you were undeterred, crossing your arms over your blouse and giving him an exasperated look, tilting your hip.

he shifted on his chair, crossing his legs together and throwing his arm behind the chair’s head. “let me speak with the manager, then”

“oh, you can speak directly to my boss, if you’d like” you shrugged, aware of how that situation would end up, and strolled down to john’s usual private table, walking calmly and quietly.

once in front of him, you leaned forward and pressed your hands flat against the wooden table’s surface, stretching your arms, wearing the most innocent and docile look “daddy,”

john turned his attention towards you, his half empty glass of whiskey trapped between his firm, thick fingers “there’s the love of my life, what is it, doll face?”

you leaned closer to him, tilting your head slightly, practically almost bending over his seat “a costumer wants to talk to you, he’s gonna complain about me because i wouldn’t serve him unless he asked politely,”

you blinked your dollish, doe eyes at him, so big and round and innocent they told him ‘take my defense and then fuck me, please’, a little pout making you push out your bottom lip.

”does he now…” john muttered under his breath, his warm eyes slowly taking in every inch of your figure, your lacy thigh highs and uniform skirt — he lifted is glass to let the liquid trail down his throat with a swift, fast seep, before setting it down “aight, doll, daddy’ll take care of it, princess, don’t worry”

he gripped the armrest of his chair, pushing himself up to a standing position, but you quickly reached for him and gently grabbed him by the sleeve

“he wasn’t mean, sir, he just didn’t want to say please and you know how much that upsets me..please don’t get angry at him” the way you furrowed your brows together was so adorable price had to physically restrain himself from just picking you up and throw you over his buff shoulders

but he gave you a little frown, lifting his hand to pinch your chin affectionately, grabbing it in between his forefinger and thumb “how many times have i told you you’re always too nice, love? people are gonna take advantage of that, doll”

you straightened your back, locking your hands together behind your back and lifted your chin, letting him squeeze your it again “but that’s why I have you to come rescue me, daddy…”

he let out a deep chuckle, briefly shaking his head before he let go of your chin with a last, little squeeze “these blokes can’t even let this poor old man rest in peace, how can someone be rude to such a sweet girl, they really like pissing me off huh? got the nerve to disrespect my girl”

and with that, he walked past you, towards the guy who’d just been too busy to ask you nicely, or say a simple ‘please’’ — but john had promised he’d never let anyone mistreat his polite girl’s manners, especially inside his own bar.

after hours at the bar with quiet/soft music + really fluffy slow dance with price. like they’re both just staring at each other with heart eyes ugh.

please listen to a song from the 80s while reading this lil one shot, i was listening to lady in red whilst writing, but any romantic song about love would set the perfect atmosphere…im gonna sob cause i love this old man

everyone’s gone home, it’s only you and price there, tables clean, soft, lovesick songs from the 80’s playing on the background.

“oh, I love this song” you murmur softly, taking off your high heels and setting them on a stool. John has packed the money and turned down all the lights, aside from the tiny one on the back of the bar — the room is now covered in a gold feeble glow, the dark brown of the wooden floor and tables unable to catch it and reflect it.

you’re an avid 80s music listener, john was pleasantly surprised and impressed upon discovering that your favorite songs were hits from his time, especially during the first proper date, when you showed him your playlist and it was completely filled with songs as old as him. “guess you like everything that’s old and vintage, mmh?”

“went pretty hard during my old days,” he says, walking over to you, his gaze flickering to your bare stockings “all the couples dedicated it to each other”

“so sweet, my parents have it on their wedding tape” you smile to yourself, remembering all the times you’d sit on the floor and replay in on the tv as a little girl (well, littler than now, at least)

“who knows doll, maybe I was a guest that day and attended their celebration” he joked, like he always did regarding your evident large too large age gap.

“very funny, sir,” you reply with a soft tug of your brows, “you were probably a lieutenant, busy charming civilian girls”

“was busy saving the country, you mean, little lady” he retorts, filling the space of your hips with his hands and pulling you in. You had john promise you that when closing, the radio would be the last thing to be turned off, just to create a cozy, dreamy atmosphere in the dimly lit space.

“when are you gonna ask me to marry you, daddy?”

john almost stumbles on in own tracks. His arm securely slides further around your lower back, pulls you closer to him until he envelopes your tiny waist completely, a hungry expression that you usually only see when he’s laying you somewhere, spreading your thighs to accommodate him, when your whines echo softly to him, and replace the sounds of gunfire,

when he gazes his scarred fingers against your skin like a soldier crossing a landmine, when you feel soft on his hands, not heavy like his rifle.

or when he throws kisses like grenades into the trenches of your mouth.

“you wanna marry this old war dog, angel?” he mumbles lowly, his gaze softening into an half lidded expression, heavy with such an intense warmth and desire that you feel your knees weaken like vanilla pudding. “be wed to an old bastard in the army?”

“do you want to?” with the softest, most innocent voice, you bestow your doe, big doll eyes upon him, he doesn’t feel deserving of such a sight. “love me properly before God?”

“He already knows how I feel about you, princess” he mutters back, voice thickened with a rough edge, so deep and husky it almost sounds like a whisper that should belong to nightly affairs.

“mmh, but He’d want you to prove it,” you tickle his beard with your breath and your delicate voice, bottom lip trapped underneath your teeth — your pupils heart shaped, pouring out all the love you feel for him, you literally feel like one of those animated cartoon characters when they’re in love, heart beating out of their chest and eyes the color of and shape of big hearts.

your hand flattens on his chest, as he gently cradles you to the song’s rhythm, your feet standing on his boots, so that with every step, he takes you with him.

“is that what you want, a ring on your little finger? everyone calling you lady price? marry your fuckin’ sugar daddy?”

and he can feel how you shiver against him at the thought, thin sparks of excitement running down your lower back and shooting against his palm.

each note of the song seems to pull you closer, a quiet conversation between your hearts. His hand, steady yet tender, rests on the small of your back, guiding you with a slow, deliberate grace as the other one takes ahold of your own, too large and big compared to your hand.

john presses a kiss on your knuckles, his beard tickling the pearly, milky skin. Pretty hands, never had to carry a deadly weapon, never will.

“I can see myself fit the unconventionally too young wife pretty well , sir..a savior of the country marrying his sugar baby, I can also see that on the news” you giggle against him, resting your cheek on his hard, muscular chest.

he’s got a old body, you’ve got a old, romantic soul, he wants you all to himself, and since you are already his in every way possible, it wouldn’t hurt him or his pocket to just slip a ring on your finger.

have two dbf!john price reqs im currently working on, can’t wait to post them, in the meantime, i neeed to write more stuff about him :( send your bunny more dbf old dilf price reqs or ideas please 🍰🐰

hi my lovee, reader receiving flowers and assuming they’re from price? He gets home and is LIVID

hiii my dear babyyy </3 im in love with this request wanna scream kick my feet giggle girlishly

💐| lil fluff, sugar daddy!john price x sugar baby fem!reader, laaarge age gap, john is in his mid 40s n reader is 21,

it wasn’t your fault :( due to your upcoming exams, you told john that couldn’t go to the bar, hence why you’ve been home all day, studying, what you didn’t expect though, was to find a postman ringing at the door, holding the cutest flower bouquet for you.

your eyes instantly softened at the sight, immediately thinking about john, who’d often make sure to send you flowers when he was away in deployment, or when he couldn’t see you for a long time, getting them delivered to the house.

your cheeks turned the same pink of the flowers, and you quickly thanked the mailman, taking the bouquet from his hands and holding it close to your nose to inhale the fresh, sweet fragrance. 🏷️ | for the sweetest girl in town,

the softest giggle bubbled from your throat, and you quickly ran to the kitchen, filling an empty glass with water to place the flowers into.

and a few hours later, when john came back from the bar just to check on you, see if you needed anything, you practically jumped at him

“thank you for the flowers, daddy, they’re so pretty” you smiled at him, and it seemed like the sun itself had revealed its rays, your warm, blushing cheeks and doe eyes revealing your bashfulness as you stood on your tippy toes and planted a kiss on his mouth, pressing your lips against his.

john just blinked at you, cluelessly, as he returned the kiss, remaining still — his buff, marble crafted body as rigid as a statue “what flowers, doll?”

you plopped back down and tilted your head, smiling in compliance — “the ones you’ve sent me today, sir, i love them, you always remember pink flowers are my favorite”

but that didn’t clear his mind not even a bit — he was sure he hadn’t sent you any flowers today, and it couldn’t even have been one of those monthly bouquet subscription plans he’d signed up for when he was deployed and far away, occupied with long missions, because in that case he would’ve received an email.

so who was the fool that dared to send his girl flowers? to their home?

as if something had switched inside of him, you could see his jaw clenching, muscles flexing in a way that reminded you of a grizzly bear that tried to tame his temper — a shadow of annoyance crossed his eyes as he spoke, “I haven’t sent them, doll”

your smiles faltered briefly, thinking he must’ve been joking, wanted to keep the surprise effect, but when he moved closer to the table, scrutinizing the bouquet like a challenge, a wave of embarrassment flooded over you.

“what do you mean? you always send me flowers, sir..” you spoke meekly, not wanting to fuel the already heavy discomfort you could feel in the air.

john had been through a lot, he’d faced terrorists, had fought the horrors of battles and wars, but nothing had ever spurred that boiling feeling of anger within his chest that was slowly coming to surface now, roughening the edge of his growly tone “not today, sweetheart”

his fingers touched the little envelope tucked around the bouquet’s stem, “a secret admirer, eh?”

his voice was low, teasing in a way that felt both playful and possessive way — he was a grown, confident, adult man, he knew you were all his, and yet, the sight of another man's gesture, especially one so thoughtful, unraveled something inside him, a possessiveness and jealousy that boiled within him.

that jealousy didn’t come from insecurity, but from a certainty of a man who knew what he had and what he wanted to keep for himself, being the seasoned and confident leader he was, he mastered control over any situation with outmost quiet assertiveness.

he didn’t lash out or yell, oh no, he simply looked down with a dry, dark stare “who the fuck sends flowers to a taken girl?”

you opened your mouth and closed it right after, your cheeks blooming red, and walked closer to him, looking at the flowers differently now, since the note didn’t have a name on it. “I supposed they were from you, sir, as usual..”

“no, angel, some bloke thought he could try and win my girl,” he chuckled, a deep, short, chilling laugh that screamed silent anger. “foolish kid, could use some military training in his life and learn how to fookin’ know his limits”

his mustache twitched, like it always did when he tried and keep his anger in check, and he turned towards you, who’d already begun to play with your hair nervously, eyes narrowing worriedly.

“didnt know sir, im sorry, i genuinely thought they were from you..”

you were like a calming, comforting balm to him, poor sweet girl, you were just so innocent and naive :( but whoever had sent them, hadnt left a signature, which now left you wondering how could have possibly been.

he held your chin with his whole hand, lifting it up towards his face, and planted a forceful, heavy kiss on your mouth, feeling you squirm against him when he bit on your bottom lip, “not mad at you, doll, i know you did,”

when he pulled away, he grabbed your chin with his fingers, squeezing softly as he looked down at you with darkened, half lidded eyes — it had probably been a kid from college, and he didn’t feel threatened by that at all, just pissed.

“hes just giving me more things to do with my line of work, princess, just wait until I find out who that bastard is, gonna send him something special,”

you shivered at the silent threat behind his words, his thick British accent lowering to a dangerous tone, a growly and lethal edge to it,

”i can send them back if you want-“

“oh nono, love, know you’d feel bad, let me take care of it, princesses don’t get their hands dirty, their daddies do”

Do you think John would be the type to wake up with the deep husky, still half asleep type of voice?

oh my goodness gracious absolutely YES

his voice gets even deeper upon waking up, rough and different from the usual confident, commanding tone he carries — it rambles through his chest like the awakening of a earthquake, its coarse, husky and drowsy.

“Mornin’, love,”

oh my gosh, it’s such a warm sound, it sends a flame right through your belly and paints your cheeks red, first thing in the morning.

and when his heavy arm is draped across your waist, caressing your spine with thick, scarred fingers, rasping out your name in that voice?

you definitely cannot fight the urge to slip away from the soft duvets and climb on top of him, both legs swinging on his sides — and that’s the first sun he sees upon waking up, your smile and gentle doe eyes, warmer than any sunlight.

“good morning daddy, did you miss me while you were asleep?” you giggle, playfully, both hands lightly caressing his muscular and hairy torso (dad body dad body dad body)

“yeah doll, was fightin’ the sleep monster to let me see my little bunny,” he chuckles, warmly and deeply.

his voice should be illegal, you always try and tell him that smoking so much is bad for his health, but those cigars have shaped his voice in the most alluring way ever — even his british accent gets thicker, more pronounced, coarse, lethal, it could cut the air around you.

“should try and read my books out loud to me…” you tilt your head, and a glimmer of confident amusement twinkles in his eyes, at the sight of your red, warm cheeks.

“blushing already, sweet thing?”

he sounds like a grizzly bear.

(˶˃ᆺ˂˶) ໒꒰ྀི ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ ꒱ྀིა

Dbf!john is soooooo father figure by George Michael

૮꒰ྀི ⸝⸝․․⸝⸝ ྀི꒱ა oh yes angel you get me!! old man dbf!john price is sooo father figure coded! I <3 this song 𐙚݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

“That's all you wanted Something special, someone sacred In your life Just for one moment To be warm and naked At my side,

I will be your father figure Put your tiny hand in mine I will be your preacher teacher Anything you have in mind”