Oh What I Would GIVE For Price To Pick Me Up At An Airport Bar

Oh what I would GIVE for price to pick me up at an airport bar 😮‍💨🥺💗

I flew the first time to the US and the machine had technical issues so we started 3 hours late, I missed my connection flight, so jow I am in DC in a hotel (provided by the airline thank god) and all I can think of is how price sitting at some random airport hotel at bar and piking me up. He could. Others not so much xD

i know this took a second to get to, i hope your trip went well and you're at your destination/home safely!!!

"flight delayed?" a voice says next to you at the airport bar, pulling your attention away from your phone. there's a man leaning on the counter right next to you, tall and handsome with powder blue eyes and the most ridiculous facial hair you've seen in a while. it still works for him, somehow.

"mmm, kind of. first flight got delayed enough that i missed my connecting, and now i'm just waiting for the airline to get a hotel room situated until my flight tomorrow." you say with a frustrated wrinkle of your nose.

"the future of your evening is in the hands of an airline? condolences. may i sit with you while you wait for your fate to be decided, then?" he asks. what a gentleman, anyone else would've just sat themselves down.

"sure, yeah." you say, and he grins at you as he settles onto the barstool next to you and holds out his hand.

"john." you shake his hand, it's huge and calloused and warm, and it's so instantly comforting to have your hand in his that you almost forget to let go of it.

"nice to meet you. are you in the same boat, then?" you ask as you sip your drink, something sweet and delicious with an abv high enough to take the sting out of being stranded at an airport. john flags down the bartender and orders a drink (whiskey on the rocks) before responding.

"similar boat." he says with a tight smile, and he does not make any sort of move to expand on that. you're not gonna push, it's not that important. he's just a nice smile in an airport bar, you don't need details, really.

"what a mess, sorry that's happening to you." you sigh as the bartender sets john's drink down.

"oh, i'll be alright. i've got a room waiting for me, i just don't fancy turning in yet. not when there's still such lovely company to talk to." he raises his glass and nods to you before taking a sip. it's hard not to feel bashful about a large, handsome stranger sweet talking you like that.

"i dunno about lovely-" you start.

"i do. perfectly lovely, just look at you." john says as he gently brushes some of your hair away from your face. you can't help but lean into the brush of his fingertips a little.

"that ok?" he asks quietly, with expectant eyes. you just nod, and he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip, his eyes never leaving yours. "how about that?"

you nod wordlessly again, heart racing in your chest, and he smiles at you, eyes crinkling in the corners as he sips his drink. the combination of exhaustion and the thrill of a hot stranger paying attention to you like this is impairing your judgement even more than your drink, it'd seem. normally you'd never let a stranger do something like that, but for some reason it's acceptable when john does it. more than acceptable, it's fucking hot, actually. he looks at you a moment, seemingly studying you before he tosses back the rest of his drink and leans into your space.

"cards on the table, i saw you as i was headed to catch a cab and i just thought it would be such a waste if i didn't at least stop and try to get you to come back to my hotel with me. no offense taken if you don't, but i really, really would prefer to spend my evening in the company of a pretty girl." he says in a low tone as he wraps his arm around your ample waist, and holy shit. holy fucking shit. nobody's ever spoken to you quite like that before, especially not an attractive stranger. you can't help but glance behind you for some other, prettier girl that he might be talking to. there's no one.

"what? me?" you whisper incredulously, which only makes him chuckle. it's a nice sound, like he thinks it's cute that you're confused. he nods and hums his assent.

"mhm. we'll go to my room, do as little or as much as you want, and you can spend the night. in the morning i'll get breakfast brought up and pay for your uber back to the airport. you can fight with the airline to reimburse you for your wasted time later, instead of waiting for them to give you a bed."

"that's a very... practical proposition." you laugh, and he joins you.

"i really, really want you to say yes." he admits with a chuckle, and something inside of you tells you he means it. he's attracted to you, and wants to act on it. holy fucking shit, the worst part of your trip is quickly becoming the best part. you toss back what's left of your drink and flag down the bartender to close your tab.

"ok. yes." you smile at him, and it earns you a full-handed squeeze to your hip. you sign the receipt in front of you as john stands to lead you out. "out of curiosity, what made you pick me tonight?"

"love me a girl with a big, bouncy..." he pauses, and leans back, blatantly staring at your big ass. "...personality."

you throw your head back and laugh, taking his elbow as he waggles his eyebrows at you and leads you to the exit. the night's still young, but you can tell this is going to be the best layover ever.

PRICE OMG THAT WOULD BE SO GOOD

guys should i write a toxic ex husband fic for könig or price which sounds better

bc honestly i want them both but i cant decide

thinking about your post about you anxiously bouncing your knee and that got me thinking of price and how he sees you (his wife) bouncing her knee and puts his warm hand on it to calm her down <33

well i feel so seen with this one omgmgmg.

i feel like it's something he does every time he notices you doing it. so it just becomes like an instant relief to the nerves coursing through your body.

the first time he noticed wasn't long after you started dating, normally you were hyperaware of your little anxious tics and tried to keep them at bay to avoid any questions. but, the first time you let it slip was when you were sitting in the passenger seat of his car, the two of you on your way to have him meet your parents. his eyes catching the movement of your leg from the corner of his eyes while he stayed focused on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel.

the thing with price though, as opposed to so many others, didn't ask what had you so worked up. he knew something was on your mind and he could figure it was having him meet his parents, so why ask the silly question he already knew the answer to? instead, one hand slipping away from the steering wheel and finding it's new spot on your thigh. the warmth of his palm passing through the fabric of your pants, it was almost like if he removed it his handprint would have been branded onto you. giving a soft squeeze, he moves it back and forth in a soothing manner and his eyes never leaving the road. no words spoken, but your eyes locked onto your thigh as you noticed the leg as a while has stopped bouncing and a chill releasing down from your neck as a weight lifts from your body.

and he does it every time he sees the leg bounce after that time. the only time he wasn't there to stop the bouncing is when you were sitting in the chair as your makeup and hair were getting done for your wedding. "you've got to stop bouncing. it's making your whole body slightly shake and i need to get the makeup done, love." the artist says sweetly, your let stopping for a brief moment before it starts again, but more subtly this time. and just before the makeup artists as you again, you glance at your phone quickly to see a message from price.

keep the leg still today. see you at the alter x

your leg instantly stilling at the message, a smile creeping onto your lips. glancing at the makeup artist, you apologize quietly before tilting your head up so she can continue to paint your face. the smile never leaving and the leg still as a statue.

50 Plus Size Y/N Prompts

When I was looking for an inspiration for a Nanami x chubby Y/N fic I realised that crushing majority of prompts and ideas are related exclusively to hurt/comfort or are drenched in extremely low self-esteem and lack of confidence. So, decided to put together my own list, covering a variety of situations from mundane and domestic to sensual and sexual. I based the ideas on my own experience as a fat person, so I'm aware they won't fit everyone, but I hope those can give you inspiration to explore in your creative work ❤ Of course, prompts are left to individual interpretation!

cw: some prompts are more gendered than the other, some are suggestive or addressing a strictly sexual situation

Leaving hickeys on thick thighs.

Wearing a bigger partner's clothes. Bonus: bigger partner is not the chubbier one—it's the chubbier partner. who gets to wear bigger clothes

Loving tummy kisses.

Lovingly or teasingly tracing fat rolls and love handles.

Nuzzling into soft chest or tummy for comfort.

Thick thighs save naps because they make the best lap pillow.

Fat person being picked up and/or carried around, no hassle, no protests of being too heavy, just sheer joy. Bonus: it's one of those crazy strong characters so they literally pick Y/N as if they were a doll.

Them being a personal heavy breast holder with built-in enthusiastic massage option.

Back massages because we all know that big chest weights way too much.

Ticklish kisses in the jaw area because they find the double chin cute.

Adoring to feel Y/N's weight in their lap.

Plus size lingerie. Them buying it for Y/N or Y/N showing off in it.

The way Y/N's chest/ass/thighs/tummy bounces during intimate times. It drives them crazy. Bonus: they're being ridden and enjoying every second of it.

Being in absolute awe of Y/N's figure.

Hugs from behind that do not necessarily end up with a full arm wrap but that's okay, one possibly can't envelop their whole universe.

Pulling Y/N closer so they can feel their big ass better.

Work out or a sport activity that's not related to weight loss or diet. Just enjoying active time together.

Finding it difficult to sleep without Y/N because they miss the body they can embrace and/or the warmth it gives.

Stimming or teasingly playing with Y/N's softer parts.

Foodie dates. Testing new places, taking tons of photos for their food instagram, feeding each other cute desserts, stealing the best pieces—or contrary, leaving them for their partner.

Y/N loves to eat and their love adores it because they have someone to enjoy their cooking.

Both them and Y/N love to cook and eat. A friendly rivalry over feeding the other better.

Tons of photos of Y/N and selfies with them. Every moment has to be caught on their camera. Bonus: they are a celebrity or social media persona & they love to show off with Y/N's photos.

Daily affirmations, soft words and touch related to body type, all those compliments and smooth lines.

Reminding Y/N to eat because no, the "fat supply" won't make up for a good meal, they have to eat regularly.

Gender affirmation when the fat body type sometimes can make it difficult for Y/N.

The shared celebration of gender euphoria when Y/N finally finds a way to nicely flatten and shape the chest. 

Choosing Y/N because they are fat. Them being into bigger people and actively choosing them over people with different body types.

Seeing Y/N naked for the first time and going absolutely crazy about it.

Tracing and kissing stretch marks.

Yoga pants effect. The curves just look so good in them.

Looking together for a good supporting bra.

Loving when Y/N is wearing a crop top.

Encouraging Y/N to wear more close-fit clothes Bonus: there is absolutely no perverted reason behind it;)

Supporting Y/N through weight gain or weight loss.

Enjoying a beach date. Every body is a good beach body if it has a cute beach wear on!

Scratching/washing Y/N's back because sometimes it's just hard to reach that stubborn spot.

Muscular body type partner x fat Y/N. Big partners solidarity!

Discussing together a new tattoo idea. Choosing the best placing for it. Bonus: it's a tattoo composed to fit nicely with fat rolls or stretch marks.

Helping Y/N shave the back of their legs or any other hard to reach part of their body.

Insisting on keeping Y/N's thighs close to their head during oral sex.

Treating rash/burn caused by friction between thighs, bra or other piece of clothing.

Shibari or harness on a plus size body.

Picking up the self ironic negative talk and turning it into something positive

Being proud of Y/N, showing them off whenever there's an opportunity.

Y/N posing them for a photo, painting or a sculpture. Bonus: Y/N is their muse.

Warming hands between Y/N's thighs. Bonus: maybe their cheeks or ears feel cold too ;)

Them wearing Y/N's shirt for comfort. Bonus: it's not a typical over-sized comfort piece of clothing but a perfect fit. They still insist on wearing it.

Hand and bite marks on ass and hips. Bonus: loving aftercare.

Doodling/painting on Y/N's body: thighs, arms, ass… Bonus: it's a part of a spicy play.

Please, reblog and/or credit, when you use (but don't @ me!). The divider made by @/saradika.

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prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 2. (part 1 here)

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The urge sits right under his skin.

It’s a month out from hibernation, the torpor not quite sunk in all the way just yet. Plenty of time still to stockpile supplies, train the new rangers before his leave of absence, and chop all the firewood needed for the winter months. Plenty of time on the surface, that is—with only a month left to go, John quietly acknowledges to himself that maybe he bit off more than he could chew this time around. 

It’s exhausting work though. The new batch of recruits are fresh-faced, hardly experienced enough yet to last the season without him, but he hadn’t had much choice with Gaz taking the year off to go back to school. He’s been regularly putting in sixty to seventy hour weeks, hardly leaving him any time to cook or clean or prep for hibernation. Time goes by in a flash. He hasn’t even done a quarter of the repairs around the house that he’d wanted to finish before slipping into the winter torpor.

Hard to figure it out. He’s been putting it off without a real reason, getting lost in the forest for long swaths of time, trudging through the new snow up high in the mountains. Hardly ever in his bear form, conscious of not totally giving over to the animal, but occasionally he can’t help slipping into like tumbling down a snowbank, just losing his footing for a moment and sliding, sliding, sliding until hours have passed and he finally hears his own chuffs and feels branches crack under the weight of his paws.

He winces when he turns back, bones creaking and cracking back into place. 

John has been smelling something around town for weeks now, something sweet and delicate like sap over a branch, but work has left him too busy to start anything. Instead he stops by the grocers every other day, where the scent is strongest, to pick up miscellaneous items. Canned soup here, steaks there. He stockpiles canned and tinned goods in his den, preparing for the long winter when he’s lulled into sleep for extended periods of time, but every time he enters his den, it feels oddly bereft. Empty. Missing something.

The month or so before hibernation always leaves him feeling groggy and laconic; it makes his eyes go half-lidded and his speech descend into grunts and one-worded answers. He spends so many weeks hoarding food and blankets and firewood for the brief moments when he wakes that he can’t stop himself from eyeing even the pretty cashier like another thing to hoard.

He holds himself back, but just.

John wakes up on the couch after a particularly rough shift, groggy and out of sorts. Flecks of sleep stuck in the corners of his eyes still. He’d run into another bear (a real one) on the trail hassling a couple hikers during his shift and it’d taken a couple stressful minutes to gently guide the hikers away before dealing with the bear himself. It’s easier to deal with them in his bear skin, but he generally avoids shifting in the month leading up to hibernation for a reason. It settles him deeper into his bear, draws the sleep closer.

He’s full of cuts and bruises, his side covered in a barely healed, particularly nasty gash, the flesh knitting itself together slowly. His stomach growls. He hadn’t had a chance to cook himself any supper when he got home before collapsing on the couch—had barely eaten lunch as well. That’s part and parcel of his way of life; even during the summer, the days had been long, extending well into the twilight hours. 

And bears need food. John burns calories faster than most, an enormous amount of energy expended when shifting into his other form. He’s a familiar face at every restaurant, grocery store, and market in town for a reason, even if that reason isn’t widely known. In the summer, there was at least some time during the day to gorge himself on berries or fish from a nearby stream, but the berries and fish have long disappeared with the coming of winter. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—hunger dominates his mind during the months leading up to winter—but it’s somehow caught him off guard this year. 

His head perks up when the doorbell rings. 

It doesn’t ring again, but he can hear someone on the other side of his front door, shifting from foot to foot. John isn’t expecting anyone and doesn’t remember inviting anyone over, but he gets up anyway to answer the door. 

There’s a pretty little thing waiting for him on his front porch with a bowl of stew and homemade sourdough bread. He recognizes her from the grocery store, the sweet smelling thing always looking over at him from the till. 

“Sorry to trouble you,” she says, peeking around him. Probably trying to be inconspicuous. 

It slots something in his chest into the right place. He shifts slightly to let her peer over his shoulder into the empty house; no wife or kids scurrying behind him. It eases some of the tension in her shoulders.

“No trouble,” John says. “What’s got you on my doorstep after hours bringing over supper?”

She’s exquisitely shy, almost nervous when she steps from foot to foot before holding the food out closer to him. He takes it, if only to avoid watching her strain. In his hands, it smells entirely too good; makes his mouth water. His bear huffs in his head. John can’t remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal. Certainly not since well before his mother passed. 

“You seemed like—I saw you come home. You looked dead on your feet, so I thought…well, I’d already made soup, so it wasn’t much trouble.”

“You saw me come home?” he repeats.

“Oh, I, uh—I live next door.”

“That so?”

She flushes prettily, just the slightest deepening of the colour over her cheekbones. “Yeah. Six months now. Moved in just before the summer. Anyway, I, well…sorry if you were in the middle of supper, I wasn’t sure if—I heard from Kate that you’ve been busy, so I thought you might appreciate not having to cook.”

“That’s mighty kind of you,” he says. There’s a pause where neither of them say anything. “Can I—I have, uh, a bowl in the kitchen if you want—”

She holds up her hands at that, taking a step back. “Oh no, sorry, I don’t want to…I don’t mean to intrude. I just thought I’d…you know…friendly neighbour and all.”

“It’s no trouble, really. Come inside.”

“No, I—I really have to get going,” she insists, finally turning away from him and descending back down the stairs. “Enjoy your supper!”

He watches her turn and scurry off back to her house, glancing down back once only to give a little start when she catches him still watching her. His nose twitches when he notices that even with the tupperware stacked in his hands, the distinct sweetness that had been hovering outside his door gradually dissipates in his neighbour’s absence. 

His bear rumbles inside his chest. 

In the mountains, he ruminates on his neighbour’s small kindness. It builds in his chest like a slow burning fire when he stands in the brisk cold and stares down into the valley below. The snow squeaks under his boots on the hike back down. The ache of hunger echoes through him again; he thinks of tupperware offered to him in two soft hands. Next time, he’ll invite her in. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when she comes by again not a few days later, this time bringing along with her a pan filled with berry cobbler, tinfoil crinkling under her fingers when she hands him the entire pan. The next day, she stops by with a jar of homemade apple cider. 

It takes awhile for John to coax her inside. She brushes off his invitations to join him for supper for days before he notices the cracks in her resolve. She lingers on the porch for longer than she should, body oriented towards his house even when she says that she has to go. John considers for all of a few seconds just dragging her inside, but there’s something immensely rewarding in reeling her in slowly. A slow hunt and the promise of a meal so decadent that it leaves his tongue heavy in his mouth.

When she finally concedes, his blood roars hot, the beast in his chest thickly nuzzled under his skin, satisfied. 

She’s skittish in his house. Hardly stays for more than ten minutes the first time he succeeds in getting her in. Just long enough to take a couple bites out of the gingerbread loaf that she’d brought over and he’d cut a few slices off before retracing her steps back to the front door. John holds back the instinctive urge to follow her and trap her in with a hand flat on the door when she tries to open it. It’s better to earn her trust. 

His interest just goes up and up as she continues feeding him throughout the week. Perfect mate keeping his belly full, keeping him nourished after a hard day’s work. She keeps him company on the couch when he invites her over on the weekend, dragging her little socked feet over the carpet and snuggling up on the other side of the couch like he might reach out and grab her. He might.

Part of John can’t believe that he’s been living beside this girl for going on six months and never scented her before. It permeates his house now, baked into the walls and carpet. He wishes sometimes she’d stop by and use his bed for a nap, if only so that he could come home to a bed smelling of her; he’d wrap a firm hand around his cock with the scent of her under his nose and tug himself off with his face pressed to his pillow, imagining her trapped under him, the plush pillows of her ass turned up to let him rut between her thighs. 

Her feeding him and spending time with him is confusing though. It confuses his bear, who associates all those things with mate. It’s nature to want to keep the thing feeding him. 

So he can’t help the way his bear expects her now. When he wakes up in his bed without a smaller body tucked away in his arms, it leaves him foul-tempered, short with his men. Picking up groceries becomes more difficult than ever when he instinctively beelines to her when he walks through the automatic doors, pleasure coiling in his chest at the sight of her staring wide-eyed at him. Always a bit shy, even as it slowly melts from her like old snow. Timidity from a season ago, still frosted over but shrinking. 

He doesn’t stop himself from dragging her into his lap before passing out on the couch after a long day at work, leaving her befuddled and uncertain. His arms don’t let her up though; they keep her pinned to his chest until he wakes back up an hour later, nuzzling the bristles of his beard over the soft skin of her neck and dragging a big palm up the inside of her thigh, seeking out the warmth between her legs even half-asleep.

His hand pauses its upward trajectory when she shifts. He’s slow to come back to consciousness, but far slower to move his hand. Mate, his bear rumbles in his chest when his fingers dig into the clutch of her thighs and John hears her muffle a yip. She should be soft and pliable for him, should let him drag his hand up into the space between her legs that she’s kept hot and tender for his touch. 

John lets her pretend at sleep until he finally moves his hand away, moving to sit up and leaving her curled up on the couch. He goes off to the kitchen to put on the kettle and comes back to find her awake, stammering out an apology for falling asleep. 

“None of that,” he grumbles, setting two mugs down on the coffee table. He sits beside her before she gets the bright idea to get up and leave. 

“Sorry, I didn’t plan on staying this long. I should get back—”

“Someone waiting for you at home?” John interrupts, curt despite himself. 

The idea of her going home to someone instantly aggravates him. Even knowing for a fact that there isn’t a man living in her house doesn’t tamp down the anger. He’s scented the exterior of her house once or twice; John would’ve caught the smell of another man by now if there had ever been one living in her house. He’s held off marking her house with come or piss, but that might have to change if she keeps dangling the possibility of there being another man over his head.

It’s his fault for not marketing her yet. The trees in the mountains have been marked up over the years that he’s lived in this town, deep gouges in the bark marking the forest as his territory, but he hasn’t yet rubbed his scent into his mate’s skin. It’s his fault she’s still acting like an unattached sow. 

She hesitates; risks lying to him. He can see it plain on her face. “…No.”

His face softens, eyebrows pulling together sympathetically. “I’m not such bad company, am I? Stay for a little longer—all that food’s gonna go to waste otherwise.”

“I—I guess I can.”

“Brilliant. Drink your tea, honey.”

She picks up her mug and sips it quietly while John shifts her feet into his lap and digs his thumbs into her right sole. He shushes her when she jolts and tries to sit up, digging this thumb harder into the arch of her foot. 

“Enough of that. Back down,” he scolds.

“You, but you shouldn’t—you don’t have to do that,” she stammers, trying to pull her foot away and moaning inadvertently when he digs into a sore spot. Her hand clamps down on her mouth.

“Don’t give me that, aren’t you on your feet all day? And then baking for me after a long shift? It’s the least I can do, honey.”

She’s reluctant at first, but then squeaks again he rubs his thumb over the ball of her foot. Hardly able to deny the truth. It isn’t long until her little squeaks and moans start coming out unbidden, exhaustion opening her up. He can smell her sex leaking if he breathes in deep enough. 

“Promise to stay here and wait until I fix up supper?” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. 

She hums, eyes having slid shut. Without even really moving her lips, she mumbles, “Promise.”

“Good girl.”

Sleep warm, she finally settles into his house like she belongs, like she’ll be spending the long winter here as well. Her scent is as imbued in the couch as his. It’s cinnamon sweet. 

“Why do you even…buy so much food if you aren’t gonna use it?” she asks, drowsy enough that even if he were to respond, there’s a chance she wouldn’t hear it. “You hibernating or something?”

John smiles. “Something like that.”