#lumberjack!price

[thedevillovesflowers]

“John?”

What are you hiding?

[konigsblog]

hi orla!!! ive been absolutely o b s es s e d with lumberjack!price but oh my god I just want some sweet, soft moments with him. he’s the perfect pillow. Early morning cuddles with him, slotting yourself underneath his chin and pressing your face into his chest, snuggling and comforted by each others breathing. he has this little rumbling snore that gently shakes your cheek that’s pressed to his chest. legs wrapped around each other, unable to tell whose is whose and where who begins and ends where. It does stop him from stealing all the blankets he can, though.

- ♟️

mm', i need it so badly :( he's basically a human furnace, always boiling hot and warm like a hot water bottle!! cuddled into him with his burly arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close while resting his eyes. your fingertips trailing up his neck to his bearded jaw, feeling his other hand ruffle your hair and cup the crown of your neck with a soft grip. the blankets once wrapped around you now at your feet, tangled between your intertwined legs, one trapped beneath his and his hairy forearms rubbing against your back.

your cheek rested against his shoulder, rolling onto his chest as you whimper from your sleepy haze. his body moves slighty, gripping you tighter as his snores pick up in volume, kissing the tip of his nose while he snores deeply :( the cold, misty clouds peaking through the window, a winter morning with the sky still murky and dark. you know by 5am he'll be awake and away to cut some wood around the village, putting on his snow boots and thick jacket while you'd prepare dinner in advance :(

but, for now, you embrace in eachothers warmth, safe and coddled as the rain hits and taps against the glass. hoping for an extra hour or two with him in bed, in the safety of his arms.

[celenawrites]

almost 500 words into the Lumberjack Price fic

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

As requested by anon, a few screencaps of Vincent Price in Brigham Young (1940) - the wood chopping scene. The movie quality is pretty terrible, so I did the best I could!

[yeyinde]

“Price is three days away from a much-deserved retirement to the mountains and sitting on his hands to keep from snatching up the pretty conservation officer who moons at him whenever he passes by.”

even in someone else’s fanfiction he still makes me insane, like sorry if i moaned thinking about him in those beige ass wildlife officer uniforms

this was an (unsubtle) ref to my first Alpha/Omega fic with him because i love a shared universe lmao

those beige ass uniforms are so hot, ngl. esp at Yellowstone when they wear them w blue jeans. hnnnnggg. delicious.

but when i wrote it (esp Ghost), i was imagining them in our Parks Canada uniform (which isn't too dissimilar, really!! just a bit more green/blue) because i just think they'd both look so good in it. and also. vests.

yum. and the "summer" version of this is shorts and a polo. so. you know. even better.

[marmaladevibez]

playing through TPOF and man... i hate mason. not because of his character, not because of anything else but because of his fucking secret achievement, making me want to commit murder

anyways ren is my beloved and I watched mason die with glee once i got the ending. sucks to suck, suck my weenie mason <33333

[konigsblog]

you guys already know what im thinking... 🎀🎀

the NEED to rub my cunny against his hairy stomach, to coat him in my slick and cum while he guides my hips and slaps my ass whenever i slow down my pace, being all mean to me and degrading!!! :((((((((

Been seeing a lot of lumberjack!price stuff lately, and decided to give my take on it!

[oceantornadoo]

ch 1 of the wrong john: masterlist | next

john price x f!reader (johnny's twin)

--

You figure one whiskey in the fancy bar across from your hotel can’t hurt.

Johnny put you up in a nice hotel, considerate with all the travel and logistics it took to get here. Two days of your PTO gone, an almost-argument with the gate agent who lost your luggage, chasing down an AirTag with said luggage, and a very uncomfortable taxi ride. But it was fine. It was for Johnny.

Johnny: the brother, the twin, you hadn’t seen face-to-face in over a year. The one who got in a screaming match with your Catholic family last Christmas over who he can love. Nevermind the sacrifices he makes for the safety of the world, it’s where he puts his dick that matters to them. You told him it was bullshit and thus remained the only family member he contacts. You were worried for a second that he’d group you in with them, would sever your holy twin connection for it, but you should have remembered who you were thinking about. If anything, you’d do that to Johnny before he did it to you, a fact you both pretended did not exist. That scrappy self-awareness that somehow only you had been born with, mistaking protection with isolation. So when he said he had a slow week, said he had a partner (a boyfriend!) he wanted you to meet, you couldn’t say no. That was as good as siding with your family.

The meeting was tomorrow (“1000 sharp, m'eudail. Come t’ base an’ we’ll show ye around. Yer gonna love Simon, ‘es all claws like you.”) For the oddest reason, you were nervous. It wasn’t like Johnny needed his family’s approval, if anything, you needed to meet the approval of his found family. The one he created when he left, the one he was slowly opening to you like a secret garden. One sense of a parasite and the gate would be locked forever. He never said as much, too happy-go-lucky for that, but you could sense the protectiveness behind his words during glitchy monthly phone calls. “Price, Gaz, an’ there’s the L.T. Calls himself Ghost but ‘es more bark tha’ bite. You’ll see, m'eudail.” And so you ordered a whiskey to quell the nerves.

“Miss, a drink for you.” The bartender placed a gin and tonic down that was certainly not what you ordered. “I’m sorry, I wanted a whiskey? You can take this back, I haven’t touched it, I swear.” He shook his head, reaching down to grab a whiskey glass. “‘S from the gentleman on the corner. Told me to say our gin is better than our whiskey, which I disagree with, but whatever pays the tips.” He placed a glass of whiskey (on the rocks) in front of you. “Both are on the house, courtesy of your admirer. Let me know if ya need anything or he bothers you.” You nodded your thanks, glancing around for this mystery man. The bar wasn’t too packed but with a game of football on, there were more single men than not.

Finally, you felt a pair of eyes on you, sticking to the back of your head like honey. You turn and there he is, icy blue eyes and a lumberjack look, bearded in flannel. He’s broad and he knows it, carrying himself with the grace of self-confidence. To add to it, he’s sitting alone in a back corner table, perfect view of all exits (like how Johnny told you to look for one tipsy night eons ago.) When you catch his eyes, he raises a glass, giving you a glimpse of hands you want to examine. Are they soft or worn? What about his beard? You promised yourself a drink to settle you nerves, a bubble bath and lights out before 11, but he’s throwing a wrench into your plans. It feels like foreshadowing, to what you don’t know.

“Bit rude to tell the bartender you don’t like his whiskey. Doesn’t give a good first impression.” Somehow, your feet took you over to his table without your permission. You’re standing while he’s sitting and somehow you’re still tilting your head to meet his eyes. They’re darker than they were on first glance, swimming with something that sends a shiver down your spine. You purposefully take a sip of whiskey, your gin and tonic abandoned at the bar, to will that feeling away.

“Jus’ givin’ some advice to a pretty traveler. Can’t have y’ thinkin’ this part of London has no drinks f’ a woman like you.” You find a gray hair in his beard and track it to the curve of his lips as he speaks, taking in the small details you couldn’t see from the bar. Like the way his eyes crinkle in a world-weary manner or the gruffness of his tone, like he’s used to giving orders rather than initiating conversation. It’s your new mission to unpeel the layers of this man tonight.

“And how did you know I’m a traveler? Could be a local for all you know.” He snorts, and in any other man, the arrogance would put you off, but it’s somehow attractive on him. “Well, sweetheart, everyone’s payin’ attention t’ Arsenal playin’ an’ y’ve barely given ‘em a glance. And any local worth their salt knows the whiskey here is watered down an’ grimy.” You take a sip of your drink, again, to prove a point, biting back a grimace at the taste. You can’t let him win.

“Does that make you a local?” Gracefully, he ignores how you could barely swallow down the last drop in your cup. Instead of answering, he signals the bartender for two gin and tonics, then gestures at you to sit in the other seat at his table. His silent command, and consequential dismal of your question, pulls at a string in your belly you didn’t know existed. Perhaps it’s the whiskey.

“Nah, ‘v been around. Been in London for work a while an’ hav’ learned about whiskey choices the hard way. And you? Not from ‘ere, can tell by the accent.” You write that down in your imaginary notebook, hoping a whiskey enthusiast doesn’t equal a reliance on alcohol. You’re fast to determine red flags, especially with strangers. “From Scotland but haven’t been home in a while so the accent’s a bit over the place. What’s your work?”

He takes a sip of the newly arrived gin and tonic, savoring the taste with his tongue. It darts out to catch a drop the edge of his lip and you’re hit with visions of where else he could put it. God, you don’t even know his name yet. “Security consultant. Protectin’ whatever they pay me to protect. An’ you?” It’s a lie. His eyes don’t stray from your face but your bullshit-o-meter is ringing somewhere. You let him have it, deciding a lie for a lie is the best way to go.

“I’m interviewing with a company around here, so I’m currently in between jobs. But I trade in corporate bullshit.” He chuckles, smooth and low like good whiskey, and it’s enough that you forgive the lie, letting it gather dust in the back of your mind. “My name’s John, sweetheart. An’ yours?” You murmur it sweet and slow, fluttering your lashes to lock in the deal. It’s near 10 now, and you don’t want to be yawning when you meet Johnny tomorrow. You have a feeling the man in front of you could keep you up all night if you let him.

John pulls your chair into his until your thighs are slotted in between each other like puzzle pieces. “Got any plans tonight?” You shake your head no, pressing your leg into his own. The harsh denim of his jeans scrapes against your well-worn ones, reminding you of how rugged he seems. You want to see how untamed he can be, and your panties dampen at the thought.

“Well, John,” you overemphasize the last syllable of his name to make sure he’s paying attention. “My hotel is across the street if you need to expand your London knowledge. Really give you that local aura.” His thumb grazes your knee, stroking against the grain pattern. “Sounds good t’ me, sweetheart. Let’s give it a go.”

–

Few thoughts:

m'eudail - my darling, my dear

The base is on the outskirts of London but the hotel is in the city because I said so.

I don’t know anything about London football, Arsenal was the first team that showed up. Thanks google

This was all build up but the next chapter will have some smut! 

This is more for a plot based audience so here’s my AO3 if you’d like to subscribe

Comment if you want to be tagged 🙂

[the-californicationist]

Ursa Major

Lumberjack John Price, retired British Army captain, owns and operates 5,000 acres of selective harvesting land for his logging company. Unfortunately, you work for an environmental firm as a consultant, and it’s your job to tell him he has to stop logging at once since his harvest is encroaching on rare bear habitats. But, something’s not quite right about the bears, or about these lumberjacks, and you’re determined to get to the bottom of it.

Bear Price is here! Hope y'all enjoy it. Make sure to subscribe on AO3 or check back here for (hopefully) weekly updates.

Huge thanks to my alpha reader, @vampirekilmerfic for sticking with me through the planning stages, and to my faithful betas, @gemmahale and @eclecticgrimlin 🩷 Love y'all so much.

Another long fic, here we go!

[konigsblog]

tw: rape. 🍻

farm girl-reader who loves to visit the village after harvesting some vegetables, getting perved on by john price, who works in the pub down the road, which you regularly visit. :3

constantly trying to lure you into an alleyway, his bulbous and fat dick aching and soaking wet with pre as anticipation and lust rushes through his muscular, broad body, as he encourages you to walk with him...

you poor thing, you end up bent over, getting fucked relentlessly and raped by an older gentleman, someone you thought you could trust – or, drunk in his little cottage with the fireplace crackling, pouring alcohol down your throat whilst his fingers search places they shouldn't be. :(

[sunlitsunflowers]

Reading this curled up under a blanket with the biggest smile on my face!!! This is so cute!!! I love how you write Bucky and his joy, it's infectious!!!💛💛💛

𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 | 𝐉.𝐁.𝐁

Pairing დ  Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Word Count დ  1.0k Warnings დ  Swearing, pet names, Bucky is passionate, tooth rotting fluff Author’s Note დ I died from the cuteness, ngl. Event დ  @rookthorne's Fright Night | Masterlist

Sturdy Roots, Strong Hearts Masterlist

You had always had the biggest Halloween and spooky spirit – every fall was a haven for you, and this year, you had the opportunity to harness the ultimate joy of surprising James when he came home after a long day. His reaction, however, left you speechless and stunned; wishing for every season to become fall. 

The air was warm and filled with the aromas of a freshly cooked dinner. Wood cracked and burned in the fireplace as you sat on the couch, legs tucked under you with a blanket on your lap. It was late in the afternoon and Bucky was due home any minute now – Sam had called him on site for just a favour that ended up taking up the whole of his day. 

You weren’t mad, though. In the time that Bucky had spent on site, you had elected to have some Halloween fun with Sarge and Koda – both of which were cuddled on the couch next to you. Sarge’s head rested on your thigh, and Koda’s head was propped up on Sarge’s back. 

It would have been peaceful. No different than any other night that you spent reading or relaxing, if it weren’t for your stifled giggles. 

Sarge – looking as broody as he always did – was indifferent to the small hat that had black horns sticking up and out from between his ears. Or the red vest with two wings sprouting from his shoulders. A red, pointed tail was sewn onto the end of it and it laid curled next to his own fluffy (and still) tail. 

Behind Sarge, Koda stirred, blinking and huffing as she woke up from her nap. The orange hat she wore had a green stump, perfectly resembling a pumpkin top. Her brown, fluffy body was covered in an orange vest, striped with a darker hued orange to give the illusion of a round pumpkin. She stared at you with her soft, dark eyes, and you smiled. “You’re so adorable, baby girl.” 

Tires crunched over gravel outside and then light flooded the living room of the cabin – Bucky’s truck had just pulled in. Your heart skipped a beat as you struggled to move under the weight of a still slumbering Sarge. “He’s home–daddy’s home, wake up, Sarge.” 

Both dogs sprung to life and ambled to the front door just as the engine of the truck cut out, and the thud of the driver’s door closing sounded. It was music to your ears after such a long day. The dogs yipped and jumped over one another in their excitement. “Down, down, settle–here,” you said, rushing to open the door. “Go on.”

“Hey, love,” Bucky called from the stone path to the front door, but he was looking towards his truck as the alarm chirped. He was still wearing his red plaid jacket and light denim jeans, though they were covered in wood dust, and the bun he had thrown his hair up in that morning before he left was gone, instead, his long hair flowed down his neck and over the collar of his shirt. 

You sighed softly as you watched him shove his truck keys in his back pocket. “I’m so sorry I was gone so long, sweetheart. I tried gettin’ away but you know Sam. And then fuckin’ Steve, I swear to- What the–?” He stopped by the flower bed, his widening eyes downcast towards the dogs that were jumping up at him for attention. 

“Welcome home, babe,” you said, cocking out a hip to lean against the porch rail. “I made dinner–you hungry?”

Bucky stared up at you, slack jawed. “What did you do to them?”

“The dogs?” you asked, arching a brow. “I got them ready for Halloween, James.”

“Halloween,” he repeated as he glanced back down again. “You- When did you get these coats? And the hats?”

“Wands helped me.” The wood beneath your feet creaked as you stepped down onto the path. Sarge and Koda paid no mind to you as you neared – their attention entirely captivated by Bucky. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Slowly, Bucky looked back up at you, then back at the dogs that jumped up his legs. Suddenly, he dropped his work bag and fell to his knees, a wide smile on his face that made his nose scrunch and eyes squint. “They are more than adorable,” he cooed, holding Koda’s face in his callused hands. He kissed her nose then hugged Sarge. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, baby? I would’a picked up some pumpkins or somethin’!”

You watched, amused, when Bucky’s bright eyes widened just as they always did when he had an idea, or a plan. “We need a photoshoot–get your camera!”

“Babe, wait,” you called, laughing as Bucky sprang to his feet and ran inside, presumably to look for your camera. “I can go get some pumpkins tomorrow.”

“No!” Bucky’s yell was muffled, like he was on the other side of the cabin. “We gotta do it now, just look at ‘em.” He popped his head around the door and you laughed – he looked just like his dogs when they were excited about something, a treat or a toy. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just adorable.” Bucky blushed and bounded down the steps. “Do you want to take photos now, or wait for tomorrow–when I get the pumpkins?”

“Both.” He shrugged and looked down at his dogs. “They deserve that–do it every day, if you could. You’re so good at it, sweetheart.”

“Flattery will get you somewhere,” you teased, and you grabbed the camera from his hands. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Let’s take some before it gets too dark and then you can help me plan tomorrow’s shoot.”

Bucky grinned, a beautiful sight, and before he could change his expression, you snapped a photo. “For my personal collection.”

“You can take as many as you want, Clover,” he promised earnestly. “So long as I get to see your pretty face light up while you do it. Fuck, I love you.” You blinked at his words, unable to take them in, and then Bucky kissed you on the cheek before he ran off with the two costumed pooches in tow. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Your fingers brushed where his lips had connected, and your heart bloomed with warmth. If you got to experience his joy just from taking photographs – you decided then and there that you would never put your camera down. “Coming!”

↠  𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ↞

[celenawrites]

lumberjack!price (who used to be ex military) rescues you, an injured traveller, when he goes to the woods one day to cut wood.

he finds you, buried in a thick layer of snow and injured with a twisted ankle and some cracked ribs and so out of it due to the pain and the freezing weather and as a good Samaritan, he hauls you away bridal style back to his cabin near the woods, isolated from society - the perfect place for him to spend his retirement while chopping woods, hunting for food, etc.

lumberjack!price who contacts his doctor friends and tends to your wounds, dressing your fragile skin with alcohol wipes and sterilized gauze, cuz the nearest town is at least two hours away from here. he layers you up with the thickest blankets he has, tries his best to assist you into changing into a spare pair of clothes (his clothes that are too large on your frame) and he restraints himself from registering how pretty you look in his clothes despite how banged up you have been atm. he lays you down on the sofa and tends to the fireplace with the chopped wood he has, ensuring that you're warm and safe and miles away from experiencing anything close to hypothermia.

lumberjack!price who feels how smooth and soft and perfect your skin is, your body is under his calloused, scarred hands and how all he wants to do is protect you from anything that can pose as a danger to you.

lumberjack!price who keeps waking you up every two hours cuz he's afraid you have been concussed. he wakes you up and feeds you some medicines and home remedies, maybe he cooks you some warm food - creamy tomato soup, grilled sandwiches, maybe a bar of dark chocolate he had bought on his last town run for groceries and utilities. he keeps checking your temperature and blood pressure, worried sick about you and he vows to take you to the hospital first thing in the morning.

lumberjack!price who gets to know you while you recover and stay at his abode (he insisted, despite you trying to leave and get in touch with your trekking team). he learns about you, about the job you had, about how you decided to join a trek group in order to make more friends and to travel in your free time, about how the snow blizzard had made you all split up and somehow you ended up fainting in the cold, left for dead. luckily, he found you and you'd forever be grateful.

lumberjack!price who insists on doing everything for you, but you're just as stubborn as he is. you bake him mug cakes and cook him your ma's signature dishes, and you offer to clean the dishes after the meal but he gives you a look that almost makes you falter, but your family has instilled values of gratitude deep into your bones, so you protest anyway - making him settle for you drying the dishes he washes instead. the scene is domestic, and price realises that he likes your presence in his humble abode quite a lot.

lumberjack!price who feels his heart break a little whenever he sees you recover steadily. he wants you to get better, can barely handle the days when your pain gets the best of you - but he cannot make peace with the fact that you'd probably leave the moment you're given the 'OK' from the doctor.

lumberjack!price who always comes running in the middle of the night whenever you wake up screaming from a nightmare (replaying the day you got seperated from your friends, except there's no one to save you). he shushes you, holding you in his strong, muscled arms as he promises to always look out for you and kisses your forehead as he rocks you back to sleep, letting your head rest on his chest and fall asleep to the lullaby of his heart.

[ink-n-shadow]

Hi, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a bit of mountain men/ tribe 141 where they find the reader lost in their neck of the woods? Because if it's on their land, its fair game after all...

why does this scream lumberjack!141 for some reason??

𝜗𝜚 cw: slightly dark!141 (minors—DNI), just mountain men doing mountain things, idk where this went either

like please just imagine they have this successful lumbering business in the middle of the mountains, multiple simple cabins scattered throughout 200 acres of forest and surrounding a lumbering complex that they all work out of. it’s a simple life for them: wake up, eat whatever breakfast gaz makes for all of them, go to the lumbering complex to process the ginormous trunks ghost chopped down yesterday, chop down some more trees, send them off to a distributor, and repeat.

so when soap is lumbering through the trees one day with his axe balanced over the back of his neck, he almost can’t believe his eyes when he sees a pretty little thing like you, cheeks caked in tears and covered in dirt and grime. he can’t help the way he shamefully rakes his eyes down your sweat-slicked body as you blubber softly about how you had been on a hike, had taken a wrong turn and somehow got lost in the middle of the mountains.

but there’s no need to worry now, bunny. you’re more than welcome to come back to the cabins with him. there’s hot food and clean cloths. maybe price will let you use the phone to call for rescue.

maybe the four for them will decide to keep you after all.

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price - Brigham Young (1940)

[yeyinde]

PRAIRIE WOLF | masterlist

John tucks his hand over your nape, pulling you into the warm bracket of his neck where his pulse beats steady under your forehead. Firm. Strong. All heat.

"I'll protect you," he rasps, chest rumbling under the swell of your belly. The growl—brassbound, ferric: a promise and a threat—glues to his words. Sinking deep. "Both of you, Coyote. Always."

And despite everything that tries to convince you otherwise, you believe him.

[OR: in an attempt to run from your abusive ex, you find yourself crashing into the arms of John Price, a man determined to keep you, and your unborn baby, safe. at all costs. but you're not the only one with secrets or scars.]

18+. past abuse (emotional, physical, mental). sexual trauma. unplanned pregnancy. childhood abuse. healing. eventual smut. protective John Price. gruff lumberjack Price and the stray he picks up. eventual Dom!Price (more in essence than act). divorced!John Price. implied child death (not reader's baby). age gap. grief. cultural differences. set in the early 90s. nonlinear narrative. Reader has an unconventional nickname (plot-important). Reader has a backstory. tags will be added as the series progresses.

AO3. MOODBOARD.

prologue part one | hinterland part two | moose meat part three | mîscacâkanis part four | salt cure part five | teeth and claws part six | pack epilogue

[ceilidho]

The fact that I've been thinking about bear shifter Price religiously ever since you posted him. Thinking about how thick he would be, all broad shoulders and huge biceps with thick chest hair on his gorgeous pectorals. About how in the fall he would gain weight and be so warm, soft, and so cuddly as the hibernation season sets in. You would run into him less and less, but the bear sightings in the park go up as the days get shorter and colder.

Thinking of him in a flannel and a beanie holding his morning coffee and watching as you stroll right past him, paying him no attention, as he waits until night time to grab you and have his way with you in his cave. Large hands, strong and cushioned body working your form into the harsh stone of the cave floor as he rams into you.

Thinking of his actual house (non cave moment) that feels like a log cabin and is filled with luxurious fur blankets and has a huge wood burning stove in the living room. Thinking of him lumberjacking away in the woods and coming to find him sweaty and sexy sitting on his porch admiring the view of the evergreen forest around him.

Its almost fall and I need him to be able to move into the season properly

anon u should've just made this a post and tagged me so i could reblog it bc this is brilliant. ooohhhh you tickled something good inside my brain like im curling up at the thought of this price.

wait I'm also thinking of something else. bear shifter!Price two months out from hibernation season and he hasn't started stockpiling food or blankets in his cabin just yet and the urge is starting to get to him. itching under his skin. 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.

he starts showing up at your house at odd hours. you're fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. when he's done, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loads his tools back in the car and drives off.

the next day he's raking the leaves in your lawn. then showing up at the grocers when you're picking up produce, helps you carry all your bags to the car. also adds a weird amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don't need pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet. then he pays for the whole order.

it takes him awhile before he realizes that he's slowly turning your house into his den.