Young!Price x f!younger!reader
where u and ExHusband!Price first meet 🤭
TW (?) age gap. legal (21&30-something), but still an age gap
got a lil lazy at the end; just a dash of secks
“Jus’ one more.” You giggle to your friends, making your way through the crowd and over to the bar.
Another one more.
The bartender shakes his head when you approach.
For the fourth time.
“What’ll it be this time, kid?”
“Dunno,” You shrug animatedly. You giggle again, your cheeks warm from the alcohol. “How about…”
You turn to one of the men sitting at the bar.
“What’re you drinking?” You point a manicured finger at a tall, balaclava-wearing man with dark eyes.
He glances towards you for just a moment before looking straight ahead again, mumbling a “whiskey” under his breath.
“Eww.” You scrunch your nose. “No, not that.”
You lean over a bit, hands on the bar, looking past the scary masked man and to the man next to him.
The… gorgeous, blue eyed, clean shaven man next to him.
“What’re- whoa.” Your eyes widen for a moment. “You’re, like… whoa.”
The man exhales a small, slightly amused chortle.
“Would you, like, ‘scuse us?” You ask the scarier man.
He stares you down for a moment.
You blink, waiting for him to move.
“F’r fuck’s sake…” The big guy grumbles, standing up from the barstool and disappearing somewhere in the bar.
You happily hop onto the stool once he’s gone.
You extend your arm to the gorgeous man, your tipsiness making you more fearless than usual.
“Hi. It’s m’birthday.”
“Is it, now?” His smooth, English voice drawls out as he shakes your hand.
“Mhm!” You nod, your grin growing.
The man nods, seemingly amused with your young, drunk self.
“Are you, like, an army guy or something?” You ask, glancing up and down at him in his fatigues.
He snorts.
“I am an army guy or something.” He confirms. “John Price.”
“John Price…” You tilt your head to the side, your long hair falling over your exposed shoulder in that tiny going out top you decided to wear.
“Price is cute. Y/N Price sounds good, right?” You ask aloud, not really to anyone in particular.
“Already planning on taking my last name, are you?” He raises his eyebrows at you, entertained by all of this.
Women come up to him all the time. Can’t really go anywhere without a few flirting with him, batting their eyelashes, playing coy about how badly they want to fuck a man in uniform.
But they’re never this bold.
Usually not this young, either.
You’re a good ten years younger than him, at least; the hell do you want with him?
“Y’know,” You continue, ignoring his question. “You have the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”
He smirks.
“Y/N!” Your girl friend calls out, waving you over to her from across the room. “Let’s go dance!”
“Oh!” You grab John’s bicep. “I love dancing. Come dance with us!”
John shakes his head, dismissing the idea.
“Don’t dance.” He takes a swig of his beer. “But, eh… Kyle here-“ He pats the shoulder of another, younger, man on the right side of him. “-Kyle likes to dance. Don’t ya, Gaz?”
“I don’ wanna dance with him.” You shake your head with a frown.
“He’s a handsome young lad.” John continues talking up his buddy as if he’s a car salesman trying to sell you the Buick. “Why don’t you-“
You cut him off, rolling your eyes as if that was the dumbest suggestion you’ve ever heard.
“What’f I dance with Kyle and he r’lly likes me?” You slur a bit.
Kyle grins.
John snorts.
“Then he likes ya.”
“No!” You groan.
Drunken you really resembles a fussy toddler.
“I don’ want Kyle’s babies, I want your babies.”
John laughs.
Kyle chokes on his drink.
“You wanna have my babies, eh?”
“Uh-huh.” You nod confidently. “I wan’ a hundred blue-eyed babies tha’ look Just. Like. You.” You poke his chest in synch with the last three words.
John raises his eyebrow at that, taking another sip of his beer.
Your friends pull you to the dance floor by your arm.
You stumble off with them, looking back at John Price and what’s-his-name.
The men don't even glance back at you once you're gone.
They just laugh it off and continue chatting.
But you? You're not giving up that easily.
You let yourself be distracted for a while; dancing, shots, bathroom selfies, whatever.
But when you see John standing up from the bar, slapping some cash down for the bartender and heading towards the exit; you follow.
"John!" You grin, arms outstretched for a hug once you meet him in the parking lot.
"Christ, you're persistent, aren't ya?" John rubs his hand over his jaw.
Your arms hook around his neck, stumbling into him. He places his hands on your waist, steadying you so you don't completely fall.
“Can’t help it,” you sigh. “I go after what I want.”
You tilt your head back to see those crystal blues that made you talk to him in the first place.
John takes a step back, gently disentangling himself from your embrace. His expression is a mix of amusement and something else…
Perhaps a hint of concern.
That’s fair; you’ve just drunkenly followed a strange man outside at night.
"You're a bit too young for me, sweetheart," he says softly. "I think you should go back inside and enjoy the rest of your birthday with your friends."
"But I like you," you protest, your arms crossing over your chest.
He sighs, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I appreciate the sentiment, love, but it's best if you forget about me. I'm not the right guy for ya."
Your lower lip juts out. A proper pout.
“Ah, c’mon. Don’t give me that.” John chortles, crossing his own arms over his chest now. “Look, this isn’t what you want. Tomorrow mornin’… you’re gonna wake up without a single thought of me in your pretty li’l head.”
“You think I’m pretty?” You ask, missing the point completely.
John looks as if he could laugh, but he doesn’t.
“I do.” John nods curtly. “I think you’re fuckin’ beautiful… but you’ve had too much to drink, haven’t you? Why don’t you let me get you an Uber, at least. Make sure ya get some safe ‘n sound.”
You reluctantly accept his offer, standing by his side as the two of you wait for your rides.
Ride.
Because you might as well share one, right?
And once you get to your place, he might as well walk you up.
You’d just be plain rude if you didn’t invite him in; he’d be a jerk if he didn’t accept the invitation.
Sure, he’ll help you remove your heels, but then he really should get going.
But then your hand touches his face when his head is near your knees.
He looks up. You rub your thumb over his jaw.
“Look-“
“‘m jus’ looking at you.”
He really, really should get going.
“Stay with me.” You beg.
“I can’t stay with you, love. I’ve gotta go now.”
He pulls the covers over you, brushes the hair away from your face, he has you text your friends to let them know you’re okay, and he’s gone…
…until the next morning, when he knocks on your door bright and early because, wouldn’t you know it, he accidentally took your phone home and he’s here to return it.
(He totally didn’t pocket it so he’d have an excuse to see you again.)
Since you’re both awake and have no plans, you might as well go to breakfast, right?
“I’m not going anywhere.” You groan, rubbing your puffy eyes.
“Go on. Get showered.” He sits on your sofa, hands folded behind his head. “I’ll wait.”
You didn’t even make it to breakfast.
Ended up having him pull over behind some trees along the way, straddling him in the driver’s seat, bouncing on his thick cock while he murmured praises about how well you’re taking him.
444 notes
·
View notes