Bar Owner Price Getting Hit On By Some Woman Who’s Not Reader Pleaaaaase 🙏 (fluffy Or Smutty Idk)(both

oh to be called princess by this logan howlett…

purposefully teasing price when the bars busyyy🫣 bending over the tables at the bar insisting that you’re just trying to scrub a stubborn spot on the table. maybe leaning too close against the bar and the customers can’t help but stare. And John is pissed at them, not his baby of course. Wearing a little Henley with a lace cami and the tiniest skirt aahahhhhh

oh my gosh im absolutely feral over this, love this request sm help me im short circuiting—

🍓| warnings: slightly suggestive and smutty, fem!sugar baby reader, sugar daddy!bar owner price, he’s in is 40s and reader is 21, LAARGE age gap cause it’s my fav thing, lolie.

you are the subbiest bunny to daddy!price, a blushing, obedient good girl that shies away from every single glance, word and action of his — he’s so dominant and authoritative, you get like putty in his hands :(( but every once in a while, you decide to use your innocence against him.

the bar’s veery busy, swarming with people and huddled with costumers, you and price haven’t even had time to be loveydovey yet :,(

wearing the new cutest little Henley shirt, with lace cami and a lil ribbon in the middle, and the tiniest, shortest skirt in your wardrobe, you serve drink after drink, walking carefully to prevent yourself from tripping on your heels.

price looks at you from the counter, leaning over it and keeping his eyes steady on you, as if he was studying the target’s every move on the field — he notices the way you bend over the few empty seats, slightly lifting a heeled foot up as you try and scrub a beer stain on the surface, and his eyes can’t help but fall on you bottom, the way it’s barely covered by the material, and it always happens to face towards his direction.

his hand grips the glass hard, the veins of his hand bulging at how tight he’s holding it, and he has to contain himself because if he breaks it, you’ll have more work to do.

or when you lean over the bar, too close to the costumers for his liking. He knows you’re an innocent, good girl, you’d never play around with fake flirting with others, because you find it immature and unfair. But you’re so damn sweet and polite — gosh, always smiling nicely at costumers and casually chatting with them, they’re naturally drawn to you, the sunshine of the bar.

when you lean closer to hear their order over the loud 70’s rock music, their eyes wander, and price wished he could hold them by their collar and escort them outside, kicking them out just for looking at you a way he didn’t approve.

oh, but you notice the effect you have on him, it makes you blush, giggle girlishly to yourself, the way he stands like a hawk, shamelessly staring at you while he seeps his drink — knowing you’re his, and he has you all to himself.

you often pretend to stumble on your own, while carrying a light tray, just as you walk past by so he can wrap his arm around your waist and catch you, helping you balance yourself. “ooopsie, sorry, sir” you blink sweetly, smiling at him and strolling away towards the table, his eyes fixed on that damn mini skirt that he doesn’t know wether to love or hate.

when he finally decides to take a seat on a stool, a tactical seat to keep a keen eye on the entire room, facing the crowdy tables, you decide to play a lil game — you need your notebook that’s laying next to him, so why not bend over his lap, stretching to grab it, giving him a full close up view of your butt?

but he’s had enough. He grabs you harshly by the waist, tugging close until you almost trip for real this time, and find yourself plopped onto his lap.

“im done with your little games, sweetheart, quit playing” he mutters against your ear, lowly, deeply and roughly “practically begging daddy to take you, mmh, doll? you’re having fun?”

you shiver at the threatening voice, and you look at him innocently, but before you can say anything, he gives your hips a warning squeeze. “stop teasing me or you’ll end up being spanked here, on the counter, and you know I’ll do it.”

dilf old man!john price accidentally turns off his cigar by pressing it against the palm of that prick who claims to have accidentally brushed his hand against your butt by mistake, but ‘didn’t mean to’.

you squeal like a startled bunny when you feel something against your skirt, and turn around with doe, worried eyes — a pair of hands shoot upwards, and you’re met with the not so earnest apologetic expression of a guy you don’t know, who blurts a “sorry, miss, didn’t meant to, bumped into you by accident”

you quickly shake your head, giving him a polite smile, kind, well mannered. too kind for your own good, never wanting to cause trouble “it’s alright, don’t worry”

but john sees and knows everything concerning you, he’s attentive of your surroundings, needs to be always on alert for his sweet, little bunny girl. and he knows that prick didn’t touch you by mistake.

the moment you turn around and shift away, busy sipping on your strawberry matcha like the epitome of innocence, john moves to stand behind that guy.

his hiss of pain falls on deaf ears when john brushes next to him, almost as imperceptible as the slight flick of john’s wrist, imprinting a cigar burn into that guy’s hand. he instantly withdraws his hand, blurting out thick curses as gray ash burns around a red mark on his skin.

“careful where you put your hands,” john’s voice sounds deep, rough in a lethal way, menacing and rough. he barely leans towards the guy’s ear, standing tall and intimidating, the double entendre of his words clear. if he’s not careful he might get more than a simple cigar burn.

your blog is so cuuute!! hop hop hop!! it makes me think of price absolutely loving to have his hands on you at any given moment you two are together because he is all rough and hard edges so you're like his little bunny stress ball he can squish squish squish <3

ohhh my goshhh yesss his hands are on you all the time, calloused from his heavy labor in the military, used to holding and carrying heavy weapons and rifles — they’re thick, large, heavy and hairy over the wrists, and you love his fingers, rough and warm and often ringed

he’s always groping you though ;(<3 squeezing your chin, pinching your cheek, when you’re sitting on his lap, his hands are always trialing up and down your inner thighs, massaging the skin and squeezing it like his personal stress bunny ball ;( under your skirt, tracing a path from your thigh all the way down to your knee, and then back up again — he does it so casually, a firm, lazy, non sexual reminder of his dominance over you, or to relax with something soft and squishy.

when he walks past you, he always slides his arm around your waist and hip, giving you a gentle squeeze before strolling away to wherever he’s headed to, or when someone calls for him, he puts his large hands on your waist, bending his arms and softly moving you to the side, muttering a “be right back, love”

bunnies love being pet on their cheeks and on their butts. same goes for you. you love when he holds your red, blushing warm cheeks with both his hands, feeling every scar and skin texture of his healed wounds against your face as he squeezes them together, the cold metal of his rings almost leaving his print on your skin “look at my sweet, good girl..”

when you’re working behind the bar and he walks by, he always lands a delicate smack on your butt, making you joint and blush, glaring at him “daddy! hey!”

“what? am i not allowed to touch my bunny?”

you’re his personal squishy toy.

“stop that, a costumer might come in” you quickly try to regain composure, rummaging back with the cups to make sure every glass is neatly placed, your long hair covering the way your cheeks are burning bright and red. “angel, i own this place, i can do whatever i want with my little girl if i want to”

or let’s say you’re reading your lovely books on his lap while he’s working on some military top secret paperwork, one hand is busy writing down and the other one is on your legs, swinging on his sides — he just needs to have his hands on you aaaall the time, brushing your hair, caressing it, squishing your waist, your hips, because he’s so tough and grumpy and rough around the edges and you’re just so malleable and soft like a stuffie :(

reader + price somehow run into her family/ parents? Maybe they come to the bar or something but it’s awkward because her dad’s wondering why his daughter is with someone his age. better yet he’s her SUGAR DADDY. ormaybe it’s for Christmas/ new years. idk.

let’s just say you’ve moved abroad, as an exchange student working part time at the local bar of your sugar daddy, military captain, boss, john price, and you’ve never, ever told a soul about your relationship. The chance of anyone finding out is highly impossible, but what if your parents decide to surprise you for Christmas day and visit you at the bar?

you’ve been excited about Christmas, practically pleading john to let you decor the bar with cute, christmasy decorations. He didn’t care that much, wasn’t necessarily happy about seeing glittery ribbons everywhere, but he couldn’t say no to you, his little girl.

“what about a little mistletoe, daddy? we could hang it on the front door, so when couples come here they can kiss,” you beamed at the idea, looking up at him with gleaming, happy eyes while holding a box full of Christmas ornaments.

his brow perks up, a half, lazy smirk making his mustache twitch “we’re not hanging a mistletoe in my bar, doll”

you pout, placing the box down on the counter “why not? they’re so cute, and they’re elegant, delicate, it’ll blend in with the walls colors.”

john smirks at your whiny tone, and with a swift motion, he slips his arm around your waist, pushing you closer to him. He wraps his arm tight around your lower back, pressing your body against his “don’t need the mistletoe to kiss my girl whenever I want, doll”

you bite your lip to hide a little giggle, but he hungrily captures it with his mouth, crashing his lips against yours. Your back arches, and he leans closer to you, mouth devouring yours like a Christmas dinner, tongue delving deep and forcefully.

then you hear it. That familiar voice, engraved in your memory for years, you’d recognize it everywhere. You freeze, body tensing completely, and your head shifts to the side, as if struck by a lighting.

your parents are here.

at the bar, in the city.

you quickly push yourself away from john, trying to regain some composure. Your cheeks are completely on fire, and you hide your hand behind your back to try and subtly tug down at the hem of your skirt.

“dad,” you say, your voice holding all the mixing emotions, surprise, stupor and disbelief upon seeing them for the first time after months. You wish you could hide under a table. “mom, what are you doing here?”

but your father’s eyes are stuck on john — they fleck around the evident signs of symmetry, the thin wrinkles behind his eyes, the blooming gray on his dark hair and beard, recognizing what he saw in the mirror everyday himself.

the realization that his daughter was kissing a man his age, that could be her own father, stuck on him like a shot of cold, freezing water. For what he knows, they could’ve been colleagues. Childhood friends, even.

“honey, we thought we’d surprise you for Christmas, see how you’ve been doing” your mom is the first to break the ice, but her own disbelief in evident in the way she lets her eyes wander between you and john, who’s still standing behind you, the perfect example of self composure, discipline, being unfazed.

“you’ve flown all the way to the city?” you ask, shame making your words heavy on your tongue. You love your parents, but coming without any forewarn has led to an unpleasant situation.

“wanted to see how it was doing at work, since it’s the holidays, and you live here all alone,” your dad speaks up, a voice that could cut through stone. John held his gaze confidently, knowing if there was a single man he had to at least pretend to show respect to, it was your father.

“but, you didn’t tell me” you mumble softly, and finally walk closer to them.

“it was a surprise” your mom says, pretending not to be affected by the sight of a man older than her, that had his arm wrapped around her young little daughter and was kissing her. She is, but she is good at hiding her emotions.

“w-well, I’m happy to see you, I was gonna call you on Christmas Day,” you shyly peek behind you, gesturing nervously towards John, your heart pounding in your chest. “this is my, uhm, my boss, john”

john strolls closer, walking past through and standing in front of your dad — he’s taller than your father, more muscular and broader, but the closeness in age is evident. John was probably even a bit older than your own father.

“Mr,” he acknowledges your dad, a short, military style greeting that doesn’t seem to please him. “it’s a pleasure”

you know him well enough to recognize that smug, cocky and arrogant tone behind his words, that half grin that hides behind his thick beard. No one could ever make john feel uncomfortable, not even seeing his unconventionally too young sugar baby’s father, with a look that threatens to kill him.

maybe they could become friends, and that way, you could officially be living the ‘dad’s friend’ trope with your sugar daddy. He’s ready to have the ‘your daughter calls me daddy too’ conversation, gosh, if he knew the things he’s done to you, how he’s been treating his little girl, how angrier would your dad look right now?

husband!john and bunny!reader in the kitchen making dinner together n reader forgets an ingredient needed for dessert but he says it’s ok bc he can always have reader for dessert or something ahhhh૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝<꒱ྀིა !!

god bless u n have a good day <3

GOD BLESS YOU TOO BBY thank u this is so sugar daddy!price after they finally get married, this kind of reqs is my favorite one sniff ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝> ̫<⸝⸝꒱ྀི১!!

strawberry tiramisu was the original plan, you’d bought everything you needed, or so you thought, it was your favorite dessert, light, pretty, sweet and absolutely pink, and what made making it even more special was john standing next to you, his broad shoulders and muscular figure almost too tall to fit under the kitchen hood. The sleeves of his buttoned up shirt were rolled up, revealing his thick, hairy and muscular arms flexing with every movement, bulging as he was cutting some greens (he’d never let his pretty soft girl hold a knife)

you hummed lightly as you gathered all the ingredients on the counter, throwing the tiniest strawberry of the package into your mouth, savoring the sugary taste, but as you put down a plate full of ladyfingers, you realized you’d forgotten an important ingredient — your chewing stopped, and your eyes softened, disappointedly “oh, noo come ooon…” “what’s wrong, doll?”

“I’ve forgotten about the mascarpone, we only have whipped cream at home, can’t make the tiramisu without that..” you mumbled, swallowing down the rest of that strawberry mouthful.

john, ever the calm presence, glanced over from where he was chopping vegetables. He let out a low, deep chuckle, amused by your cuteness upon seeing your soft, upset frown. He placed the knife carefully down, making sure it laid away from you, and wiped his hands on the dishtowel.

he placed his hands on both sides of your waist, picking you up with a swift push. Sitting you on top of the counter, he slipped between your legs and looked down at you with a look of both tenderness and hunger, teasingly. “‘s fine, princess, guess i’ll have you for dessert, mmh? the sweetest thing I can have,”

you blushed at his rough, husky tone, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks — his hands gently caressed the curves of your hips, but you pouted, the taste of strawberry still lingering on your lips and making you long for that forgotten key ingredient, “im serious, daddy, I wanted to make you strawberry tiramisu,”

“and I’m even more serious, bunny,” he leaned over, his voice lowering even more, and his arms stretched on both sides of your waist, gripping the edge of the counter you sat on, “have my sugary treat right here, don’t I, doll? ‘s just hard to wait after dinner, knowing how good you taste, angel”

Let me make this clear, God moves mountains! I don’t care how big the mountain is, just pray & have faith!

how daddy!john price sees me

levi's grunts, reblog if you agree