CW: 18+ MDNI, neighbour!price x reader - dividers -> @/cafekitsune
You find out John Price doesn’t play around when it comes to catching up on sleep while he’s on leave.
Struggling to bring in a heavy package one morning, you’re startled by your neighbour emerging from his unit huffing and puffing tiredly about noise in nothing but a simple pair of low hanging pyjama bottoms.
You’re concerned you’re going to get an earful when he wordlessly hoists the box up, uncaring about the way it tugs at his waistband to expose a dusting of hair and noticeable veins. Leaving your delivery just inside your door, he turns to look at you through squinted eyes, and your cheeks heat up when you realize you’ve been caught watching it bob under the loose fabric.
In your defence, he cuts quite the hypnotic figure from the side.
“Thank you, John-“ you try- only to be interrupted by a thick arm hooking around your neck; the other reaching behind him to close your door with just a tad too much force. His free hand lowers to scratch at his belly, prompting a loud yawn as a thick palm dips lower, giving himself a little squeeze. With a content hum rolling around in his chest, he pulls you into his apartment.
“Too early.” He grumbles as he flops onto his well-worn couch, half asleep and tugging you with him. Like a strangler fig, he rolls onto his side and cages you against the cushions, his legs tangling around yours and his cock unmistakably fattening against your belly.
Consistently tossing a polite little ‘good morning’ to your scary neighbour when you cross paths on your way out of the house, and every single time you’re rewarded with no more than a noncommittal grunt passing his notched lips or a level stare and a flick of his cigarette, something making it clear he’s not all too pleased with the social interaction.
One day, you decide you’re pestering him too much and just stop.
Walking past him with your head low, he has the audacity to whistle at you like he's calling for a pet- and it works.
He looks inconvenienced, his gaze accusing you of something along the lines of ‘-how dare you disturb the morning routine you've gotten me accustomed to.’ and indeed you did, making him feel surprisingly unsettled- another one of the tethering anchor points he relies on snapping and flying away within seconds, regardless of how inconsequential a gesture it had seemed to you.
“You forgetting something?” he grumbled in a tone that would surely leave someone else wondering if you owe the dubious-looking man with a balaclava hitched up over his nose an unresolved debt.
Being mortified that your teen brother’s online gaming buddy is a man in his late thirties when it comes up that they wanna meet for a convention to attend some panels relating to their current favourite game.
Getting on the headset (much to your brother’s horror) and giving him an earful about the whole situation when the man on the other end offers in his low Scottish timbre to buy you a ticket to the con. He’s happy to pay for the hotel, transportation, meals, the whole lot— You pause and think about it… That’s not the worst idea, you’ve taken him to other events. This could work.
Cut to the convention and he’s making desperate passes at you anytime you’re alone, constantly has a hand on you ‘-so a’dinnae lose ye’’, and is more than happy to shell out on merch for your brother just to see your quiet smile when he gets all excited.
Somehow the two of you end up alone way past midnight, two halls down in Johnny’s hotel room with the big man babbling on into your neck about how he saw you in the corner of some family gathering photos that got sent his way and decided he couldn’t live without you in his life.
Universe where you get little glimpses of your soulmate and what they’re doing throughout the day, their point of view, a shared link, the whole package.
And of course, you can feel when you’re in each other’s heads.
Your partner had the courtesy to tell you his name when he finally got over the invasion of privacy, and it was a courtesy you didn’t extend back after seeing the world through his eyes for the first time.
He didn’t mind it though, it was good you were wary.
The start of your connection with Simon had been unpleasant to say the least—there was a brief stint where you were certain he was a serial killer.
You’re still not entirely sure reality is that far off.
Needless to say, it’s not uncommon to be greeted by his more… unsavoury escapades, and you were well aware leaking anything you saw would most likely end with you at the receiving of said activities.
Recently though, he’s taken delight in jacking off while you’re forced to watch, you had never told him your name, but somehow it’s spilling from his lips as he fucks his fist and every time you see just how big his cock is, you’re thankful for whatever space is between you.
When your link abruptly stops, there’s a small part of you that hopes that the unpleasant man is dead somewhere in a deep, deep hole—It’s much better than the alternative; You know for a fact that the connection halts when your partner is in your vicinity.
You have a terrible, creeping feeling it’s the latter.
CW: 18+ MDNI, loan shark!price x reader part 1, fem!reader, afab!reader, noncon elements, manipulative price, implied violence (not reader), petting, almost(?) fingering - 3K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune
massive thank you to @pricetagged for keeping me sane writing this
“Mr. Price-” you spoke up, fingers massaging into your temples.
“Said you can call me John, Sweetheart.” the man interjected with a serious look.
He was currently hanging your entire life over your head and he knew it, you most certainly were not going to call him by his first name. Noticing your reluctance, he shrugged and leaned back into your dining room chair.
“Look, I’ve been as kind as a man like me ought to be. Don’t know how much longer I can shoulder the loss, and I don't know how much longer you-” He sent a condescending look of concern your way, a hand fishing into his pocket. “-can take the fees. I’m playing the good guy here, y’gotta pay up, lovie.”
“No smoking inside.” you warned, voice less confident than you would have liked it to be.
His hand paused in his coat before slipping out and up in a sign of surrender.
There was a buzzing silence between the two of you, only interrupted by the occasional tick of your kitchen clock. It was hard to meet his gaze, eyes rooted downwards towards your table under the weight of your rising debt to one of the most notorious men in the city.
“Right then.” he huffed, palms coming down to rest on the table before twitching upwards. “So?”
“Give me another month to pull something together.” you spoke, wincing when you caught the way his eyebrows quirked in surprise. “-Please?”
There was no telling a man like John Price what would be happening. He was the shot caller, the unequivocal card dealer, it was only by some higher grace that he let your ill manners slip.
He grumbled for a moment before looking up. “I respect what you’ve got going on in the shop, I do. Lovely place, good atmosphere—we’re both the entrepreneurial type, so to say I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for you-” the thought that he’d lump your small shop in with his exploitative business made your stomach turn. “-but this is a bit much, yeah? Let’s give it up, sweetheart.”
Your face twisted into a sharp grimace, but that was all you could do—what right did you have to tell the man whose money you were living off of to get out of your house? Even worse, you hated that he had a point; you were so tired of your lackluster sales and mounting bills, but-
“I’m not the only owner, I-I can’t just make decisions like that.” you reasoned.
He looked incredibly unimpressed, nostrils flaring with a dissatisfied huff. “Right, your business partner.”
“H-he-”
“If it’s what you want, m’sure he’ll understand,” Mr. Price hummed, eyes narrowing. “I think you’ll find my men and I can be quite persuasive.”
Registering your cautious demeanor, his lips curled upwards.
“Where is the bloke anyway?” John asked in faux-disinterest, disapproval blooming from his tone. “Always sends you to talk to the big mean lender. S’not right.”
He shook his head and sighed.
“-Seen this play out before, love. He’s throwing you under the bus.”
Your mouth shut, hard set into a frown—you knew he was right. Your business partner was most likely enjoying his morning in peace knowing it was your apartment above the building—your life about to be uprooted if it all went tits-up. It was hard not to feel played.
Mr. Price’s gaze glimmered in recognition, and slowly, like a languid predator, he was leaning across the table with a large hand over your own.
You studied the sparse dusting of translucent hair on his fingers, the trimmed nails at the ends of his stocky fingers, his nice, expensive-looking watch—anything not to meet his eyes.
“S’not worth it,” he urged softly. “spreading yourself thin like this.” he paused to think. “My advice? Liquidate, I'm sure you and I can work something out in the long term.”
You swallowed, throat feeling impossibly dry as you focused on the twitch of his thumb.
“I’ll think about it.”
“I don’t want to be the bad guy, but business is business, sweetheart—I’m offering you a hand, it’s in your best interest to take it.” he spoke, palm patting over your digits before withdrawing into his pocket. There was a deep breath drawn in through his lips. “Right, I’ll be off then—Unless you want me over for lunch?”
He chuckled deeply in solus as he stood, reminding you of a proud and awful beast. “Maybe another time then, love.”
Ideally not.
-
The shop had closed on another unnoteworthy day, only serving to further hammer in Mr. Price’s point. With defeated footfall on the stairs up to your flat, you nearly slipped, shocked by a fist beating on the front door frantically. You slowly turned around, heart pounding from the sound.
“-Christ! Let me in!” Ewan, your business partner cried out from the other side of the threshold.
You hurried to the door; pushed aside as soon as the lock had released.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you scolded over the shop door’s welcome chime. You were met without response while the man darted for the till. “What are you-”
“Not now,” he growled. “we need to get out of here.”
Studying him closer, you realized one of his arms had been held up by a makeshift sling, tucked neatly beneath his quilted coat.
“W-what are you talking about?”
He paused, looking up.
Your eyes widened when the light from the street outside washed over his face.
“What happened to you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” he snarled, freshly dried blood crusting at the movement. His head dipped down as he popped open the till. “Price and his dogs want our heads.”
“I just spoke to him this morning-”
“Things change—may have pushed our luck a little too far. We’ve got to get out of town.”
You frowned “I-I can’t just-”
“Suit yourself.” he snapped, voice dropping to a mumble while his fingers grabbed at whatever they could, stuffing it into his coat pocket haphazardly. “-Sitting duck.”
“Wait—that's our money.” you balked, watching the empty register drawer shut. He offered you a bloody, tight-lipped smile as he sped past you towards the door; in and out like a typhoon.
“Good luck.”
You were stuck where you stood when the door swung shut, absolutely beside yourself in shock as you watched his figure disappear from view into the night. Looking around your shop, it was just as it had been when you closed up, but the knowledge that you were sitting on an empty till, all alone with the looming threat of a less-than-savory money lender finding out you were back to square one for your upcoming payment was not kind as it crashed into you.
After a sobering moment, you hobbled over to the point of sales, turning the drawer’s lock tentatively. Of course, the tray was as empty as the day you had bought it, save for a spare coin roll shoved into the side. You stared down at the dark plastic, hand clumsily digging into your pocket for your phone. Swiping at the device, you paused, debating for a moment over whether or not to open the banking app; you already knew what you’d see if you did.
Confirming your fears, the log showed a hefty transaction at the branch earlier that day. The account had been emptied right before the banks closed.
You had nothing to give John Price.
It was all gone.
You stared at your feet while it sunk in. Slowly, you regained the ability to move, making your way over to the shop door and locking it back up before spinning on your heels. The trip upstairs was eerily silent as you slipped into your flat, legs wobbling as you ambled into your washroom and stepped under the hot stream from your showerhead. You let the water run over you for far longer than necessary, only stepping out onto the frigid tile once your fingers had pruned.
The dinner prep that followed had gone surprisingly smooth, serving as a vessel to pretend the foundation of your life wasn't crumbling away. You replayed comforting thoughts, words passing through your mind like a liferaft just out of reach– you knew Mr. Price, he always spoke gently to you, he would understand, he-
A fat tear fell onto the hand that braced you over the stove, watching the bubbling pasta through bleary eyes. With a shaking grip, you drained the water and slipped the noodles into your saucepan, stirring and sniffling lamely.
You made too much—you had nothing to give and you had made too much. Typical.
Sitting at your table, you ate in near-silence, listening to your clock’s soft ticking as you tried to ignore the afterburn image of Mr. Price across from you where he had sat that morning.
Your fork paused mid-air when the downstairs shop chime rang out.
Had Ewan come to his senses?
You closed your eyes and waited for him to call up to you.
The stark sound of heavy footfall bustling around the lower level was the first thing to alert you to the intrusion—too much noise for one man. Setting down your fork, you stared owlishly at the door to your flat as if it was the last line of defense between you and whatever was happening down there. Through the muffled commotion, you could faintly make out the creak of your stairs getting louder—closer, you watched helplessly as the knob slowly turned.
The door opened a fraction, a thick hand curling around the side to brace it against the three thunderous knocks that echoed throughout the room.
“Come in.” you spoke up once your heartbeat had evened out, blinking as Mr. Price emerged from the dark stairway.
“Mmh, you’re here.” he stared down at you, a pleased rumble rolling around in his chest. “‘Course you didn’t skip town, smart. Good girl.”
He kicked his boots off and drifted through your kitchen; cabinets and drawers clattering behind you while he whistled breathily, dishing up some pasta as if you had made it for him—you do suppose he had every right to, though.
Your whole body tensed as a palm ghosted across your back. The plate was set down, and the chair beside you was tugged out from beneath the table.
Your eyes darted to his dish where it sat, steam trailing fragrantly. Mr. Price tucked in, humming lowly despite his tense demeanor.
“S’good, Love. eat up.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed your fork, gaze falling back to your dish as you picked at the food, appetite long gone. Once again, it was you, Mr. Price, and the sounds of your kitchen—an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu creeping in.
“Your money’s gone.” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.
He reached towards you, grabbing your napkin, and patting his mouth. “I know.” he scratched at his beard idly. “My boys are dealing with that.”
You paled, trying not to think about what would happen to your business partner as you watched Mr.Price fuss with his fork, leaning in to take another large bite; a nauseated feeling washing over you.
“What's going to happen to me?” you murmured, eyes downcast.
His fork clattered quietly against his plate as his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, thumb petting at your nape. “That’s what I'm here to sort out, sweetheart.”
Sort out. It was ugly, spoken as if you were just one of his assets. You nodded; compliance met with a soft, affirming squeeze.
“We can work something out.” his hand traveled downwards, grazing your arm before landing on the meat of your thigh. “I don’t have to be the bad guy.”
“Mr. Price..” you spoke after a sharp breath, tears threatening to well up.
You missed the way his eyes crinkled at your weepy tone, thumb brushing your thigh in comfort.
“I’ve had my eye on you, love—Would have never lent you as much as I did if I wasn't sweet on you. Thought maybe I’d be able to charm my way into your life but it seems like I only see you when you’re late on a payment.” he laughed hoarsely. A knee knocked into yours as he stood; his chair scraping beneath him. The floor creaked under bulk, two large hands coming to rub at your arms with hot breath and trimmed beard tickling at your ear. “-I’m a hopeless romantic, y’see.”
“Price!” a voice hollered up, causing the man to straighten with a low growl.
“What?” he barked, voice aimed downstairs.
“Trucks loaded up, gonna head back to the office, yeah? See if Simon needs any help retrieving the cash.”
His hands flexed around your shoulders. “Good, lock up behind yourself. I’ll be a bit.”
You froze, looking up to see the looming shadow of a man; profile distinct in the low light. He turned to you, offering a tight grin while a wayward hand trailed from your arm to your neck, caressing the skin as he exhaled deeply behind you, resting your head against his abdomen.
“It’s okay to give in, love.” he cooed. “Let me take care of it all.”
You had nearly folded when that little prey animal in your brain stiffened, hackles raising. You stood carefully, sidestepping his grasp.
“No, I-I… I couldn’t impose… It’s alright.” you silently begged for him to understand your polite refusal.
“S’not imposing,” he challenged, glaring down at you. “imposing would be the number of zeroes on the sum you owe me—now you care about my burden?”
“That’s-”
“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.” he laughed. “Now, sit back down.”
You complied, lowering back into the seat shamefully.
“Good.” he exhaled, crouching beside you with hands knotted together. “I always collect what’s owed, that’s one thing you need to understand.”
You nodded.
“-But I’m not opposed to shouldering burdens where personal interest is involved.” His eyes searched your own desperately, palms unfurling to rest back on your legs. “You understand what I'm saying, yeah? You’ll never pay it off alone, let me help. I could take care of you.”
Overwhelmed, you turned away; the grip on your thighs tightening in response as he braced himself, standing up. A warm hand cradled your cheek as he drew your gaze upwards, free hand looping around your back and lifting you to stand against him like a marionette.
“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffled as his big palm had begun to rub circles into your back.
He shushed you. “-It’s okay, love. I can handle it, It’ll be okay.”
You nodded, turning and rubbing your face into his shirt as he comforted you. The entire situation was a disorienting experience. Had you done something so wrong to get here?– had it been a crime to want to live a gentle and quiet life in your shop?
It was hard to care much for your sense of conviction when the root of your problem looked more like a finely woven cradle; what did it matter if you were to bend the knee to your devil’s appeal at this point?
Still, it felt as if you were teetering on the edge of a cliff.
“I’m scared.” your lips settled for, hiccuping the words into his chest.
He hummed thoughtfully, the noise buzzing around the walls of your head as his thick arms hooked around your neck, pulling you in deeper—a trap set without any fuss.
“It’s okay for you to be scared,” he pressed a kiss to your crown. “There’s no way anyone was getting out of those rates you agreed to, love. Let me help you.”
You stiffened, head raising slowly to look at him. He smiled down at you.
“You definitely won’t be taking care of our finances, yeah?” John joked, letting out a deep, phlegmy laugh before he pecked your nose, pulling you back into his chest and rumbling against your head. “Enough nonsense. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
It was all so domestic—like he hadn’t just shown you his rows of jagged, shark-like teeth.
His grip relented as he patted your bum. “Go on and get into bed, let me clean up dinner.”
-
So you did, brushing your teeth and feeling incredibly confused as to why you were readily complying. What truly got to you was how tender it felt—had you been so oblivious to his vying interest? You had just assumed he was a rare good-natured lender; though, you suppose neither of these had been true.
John Price was not a good man; although it was a recent revelation in the grand scheme of things, you knew this as a fact now. The other fact of the matter was that it seemed you were most likely the real collateral in the vulturine deal. Had he been playing the long game?
You could hear John floating around in the other room as you pulled an old shirt over your head to sleep in—the kitchen faucet running as you slipped into your bed. It all felt so wrong.
Your eyes shot open when the bedroom’s aged floor creaked, deer-like paralysis keeping you snapshot-still as the ring of his belt buckle filled the static air. Was he—The rickety bed dipped behind you under John’s added weight, bedframe crying out with every shift of his body that came with tucking himself against you; achy grunts blowing out from his lips.
“Not as limber as I used to be.” he laughed modestly. “Still gets the job done though, I reckon.”
He breathed for a moment before his nose dipped into the hair at your nape, sniffling around.
“-Better than I imagined.” he grumbled contently.
Thick hands dipped under your shirt, massaging at the skin momentarily before slipping into your panties, tugging them out of the way.
“Mr. Price.” you winced, feeling his cold hand on the sensitive skin.
his hands paused as the large man thought for a moment.
“Mrs. Price…” he chuckled after a beat, the hairs on your neck standing up in response. “-See? You don’t like it much, either. Now, what’s my name, love?”
“John.” you mumbled quietly, eyes darting around through the dark of your room.
“Mmh. good girl.” he hummed, hand cupping your cunt and thumbing at it absentmindedly. “Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow, yeah?”
Can you imagine being in a rough place when a friend of a friend of a friend manages to rope you into scam calling?
And when your first target ever is John Price?
He knows something is up instantly. He knows you don’t work for a bank, not with the way your voice shakes and tumbles over your script- but he lets you think he believes you, lets you give him the runaround, even throws you one of the gift cards you’ve been told to ask for. It’s not too bad when he gets to listen to your cute voice for the duration of the call, guiding him through the steps.
Slowly and without your knowledge, he gathers information on you and the office you’re calling from- taps into your camera too. He watches you fuss and frown as he begins to mess up small tasks, then when you’re trying to get him back on track, he drops your full legal name.
The line falls silent.
“That’s you, isn’t it love?”
There’s a smile audible in his voice as you sputter with wide eyes, processing what’s happening.
“Don’t hang up-“ he orders and you comply, you can tell it wouldn’t end well if you did. “Not nice to scam old men, you hard on cash?”
You lower your voice so no one else in the room can hear. “Yes, sir.”
He’s grateful for your honesty, but he’d much rather hear a phrase like that while you’re bouncing on his lap.
“I don’t like being taken for a fool, but I’m a nice man.” His tone is self important. “Tell me- do you like this job? Do you feel good when you successfully scam other old folk?”
Through the webcam, you look about ready to cry as your head bows down into the cheap office cubicle. “S-sir, you- th-this was my first day.”
“-Shh, it’s okay love.” He coos “you’re not in trouble.”
You sniffle quietly.
“-But you do owe me back what you’ve taken. I’m not a man you steal from.”
You pale, he had sent you a pretty hefty amount- but it had already gone to the person running the operation. “I-I don’t- I can’t-“
“We can work something out.” He hums as his eyes flit over your home address on the screen in front of him, readjusting in his seat. “-Like I said, I’m a nice man. Now, go home and be good for me, have to send in some reports on your esteemed employer. I have your personal number, love. I’ll be in touch.”
Catching Soap taking pics of you in an airport terminal...
You try to ignore it. Maybe he was taking a picture of the airport in general, maybe it was a selfie- either way, you’re not about to confront a man that looks like bootcamp and protein powder incarnate in the case that he is.
Once boarded, you find yourself beside a kind-looking older woman that lets you have the window seat, the prior incident readily forgotten as you settle in. A flight attendant crouches beside her, but you pay it no mind, too busy prepping your in-flight comforts to watch on while the woman gathers her belongings and vacates the seat.
You lean back, waiting for take-off.
"-here you are, Sergeant- once again, we're deeply sorry about the seating mix-up with your partner- a-and thank you for your service, we hope you'll continue to fly with us."
That snaps you out of your thoughts.
Looking up, you find the man from earlier staring down at you with a pleased grin. After a beat, his head swings back around to the flight attendant.
"Dinnae worry 'bout tha'- just glad it got sorted."
He tosses his carry-on overhead, arms bulging with the movement before he plops himself down into the seat beside you, an exasperated grunt passing his lips. He lifts the seperating arm rest, thick legs spreading out so your thighs touch.
"-um?"
He clicks his tongue and jerks his knee into yours. "Saw ye' looking at me in the terminal, would be a shame t'leave ye' be, aye?"
CW: 18+ MDNI, ghoap x reader - dividers -> @/cafekitsune
Can’t stop thinking about having to listen to the two bearish tenants in the apartment next door fucking nasty style whenever they’re home.
Every time you’ve passed them outside they’ve been nice enough- well, the one you’ve properly met is, but whenever he stops you to chat, you can’t help but vividly recall the way he fucks his big, brooding partner like a man starved each night.
Sadly, it’s hard to find the words to ask an imposing guy like him if he can go have sex in a hotel or something, unable to find a polite way to tell him that he sounds like an elk in heat when he fucks- so you don’t. The expectant glint in his eyes told you that even if you did manage to bring it up, it would only spur him on.
The distinct and audible shuffle of moving furniture one morning as you slip on your coat to head out for work makes you hopeful they’ve decided to relocate, and as your thoughts drift later throughout your tedious shift you find yourself praying for someone nice and quiet to occupy the vacant spot; your work-addled brain dreaming up possible new tenants and their imaginary backstories. It’s nice.
After a tiring day you’re more than ready to fall into the first peaceful sleep you’ve had in months, however, to your horror, you find out they’ve moved their bed into the room directly across from your own, Their headboard knocking into the thin wall behind you with a brutish vigour you had previously thought impossible for them to top.
Covering your ears with your pillow and rolling onto your side doesn’t do much to stop the low yearn pooling in your gut when your bed is being rhythmically shaken by their momentum- nor does the shocking sound of your name being spilled out messily in between their own.
