(thinking of dragon john price wanting your chubby self as an addition to his hoard 😩)
The first time John Price walks into your café, it’s because he needs something strong to shake the weariness from his old bones. The bell above the door chimes, and the warmth of roasted beans and sugar wraps around him like a comfort he didn’t know he needed.
You’re behind the counter, moving with easy confidence, soft hands making quick work of a steaming pitcher of milk. There’s a warmth in your smile when you greet him, eyes bright, cheeks plush and inviting. Something in his chest tightens- something ancient, something hungry.
He doesn’t speak at first, just rumbles out his order in that low, gravelly timbre of his, but he watches you. The way your hands move, steady and capable. The way your curves shift as you reach for a cup, the fabric of your uniform stretching over the swell of your stomach, your hips. You’re soft. Lush. And suddenly, John forgets what it was he came in for beyond you.
The coffee you place in front of him is perfect. He barely tastes it.
After that, he starts coming in more often.
At first, it’s under the excuse of needing a pick-me-up before work, but then it becomes something else entirely. A routine. A habit. A hoarding. He brings trinkets sometimes- small things, barely noticeable at first. A shiny coin from some distant country, left on the counter as a tip. A sleek, carved wooden bracelet he insists on you wearing. A packet of specialty tea, even though this is a coffee shop, because he thought you might like it. And you do, the smile you give him always so pretty, so soft, like most humans are, except none of them is you.
It’s instinct, this need to gift, to gather, to keep.
And when other men linger too long at the counter, when they smile at you just a little too wide, John bristles. His shoulders square, big wings soreading ever so slightly, the scales along his tail sharpening. He makes himself big, more than he already is, and lets his presence fill the space until they think better of their flirting and take their coffee to go.
He doesn’t like them looking at what’s his.
Not yet, not officially- but he’s working on that.
Because you don’t know it yet, his sweet barista, but John has already made up his mind. You belong with him, with them. In his hoard, where he can keep you warm and safe, where he and his men can adore you properly.
You just haven’t figured it out yet.
