#price husband

[awkward-fink]

Finding them sleeping...

John Price

„John, dinner is ready.... John!” You stand at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the rail as you call for your husband upstairs. John had come home from a month-long mission just three days ago and he had done nothing but sleep and eat and lounge around, watching you, recharging his batteries. This morning, he had kissed your temple, one big hand palming the back of your neck lovingly the other grabbing the cheek of your ass possessively and had whispered into your ear, breath tickling the shell of your ear, that he would conquer the only foe living in this house. The one that hid away from open eyes and bred in the shadows, duplicating every time you turn around and become aware of the looming fight again.

Paperwork.

You hadn’t seen your noble knight and battler of paperwork since you brought him a small platter of snacks around midday, having concerned yourself with household chores and doing the dishes, going shopping (because that ravenous man had eaten you out of everything you had stored in the fridge, and even the cupboards).

So now, hours later, after not even hearing a peep from the man you call your husband, you decide to climb up the stairs again, to follow the old wooden hallway to the office right at the end, which’s door was slightly ajar.

“John? Are you alright? Did you hear me?” You speak up again, slowly pushing open the heavy oaken door, the angles creaking as you do. “John? Jo – oh.” You have to bite your lip as your eyes fall onto the big and burly man with slight greying hair at his temples.

John was still here, was still at his work desk. But that was where the picture you remembered from this midday differed from now. Instead of slightly leaning over the desk and rummaging through papers, one hand holding up his chin and head John was now entirely slumped over the surface of his desk, his hand still holding his pen while his other had dropped down, hidden from your sight. His cheek was smushed against the last paper he had worked on, ink stains in blue and red decorating his cheek and even the ridge of his nose. His eyes were firmly closed, his lips parted invitingly if not for the very small strand of drool at the edge of his mouth.

Your poor husband was asleep.

Dead asleep, like a stone, like the DEAD asleep. Just like the first three nights after you both came back from your two-week long honeymoon.

But you couldn’t leave him like that, his neck and back would surely be killing him tomorrow. So, you step closer, loudly, the floorboards creaking underneath your socked feet. (You had tried to touch him once, exactly once, when he was unaware and couldn’t hear you walking closer. He had been so sorry afterwards, coming back quick to himself, but he still had punched you hard and grabbed your arm to put you down. You knew your man, knew his work and the problems coming with it.)

“John… come one, hubby. Its me, wake up for me?” you murmur gently, slowly reaching out with your foot to tap his leg, poised to let jump back if you needed to. But it seemed as you didn’t, as your husbands’ eyes slowly opened, his nose crinkling. With a groan his body started to move, joints cracking and his muscles tense from sleeping in such a weird position.

“Love?” he muttered, his voice low and gravely from sleep, his eyes slowly focusing on you as he leans back in his chair. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing is wrong. I called you for dinner.” “Dinner? But you were just in to… Oh.”

You nod. “Yeah, you fell asleep. Maybe you should go to bed, hubby. You clearly need a bit more time to relax and sleep before you jump into the next fight again.” Instead of talking to you, he hums, a jaw breaking yawn following.

“Come to bed, Dinner is ready but its just in the oven to stay warm, it will be there later on.” “… come with me? Sleep better with you.”

“Always Love. Always.”

[rocktheholygrail]

Hugh Dancy + accidentally being called Will

bonus:

[stupidcopper]

hannibal season 2 summary

[djarincore]

Simon will never admit Price is an idiot… to his face. But, when he sees you, the sweet thing formerly known as Mrs. Price, the word tastes bitter on his tongue.

He, and everyone else, knows you're still desperately in love with each other. The gentle smiles and longing eyes the two of you wear when the other isn't looking makes Simon sick, if he is being honest.

How could Price lose a woman like you? Simon asked himself that when he first met you and continued to do so for a long time after.

And when Simon finally manages to convince you to move on, he 'accidentally' sends a video of you moaning his name beneath him to Price. Just to show him what he lost

[deunmiu-dessie]

okay, you guys can't tell me that husband john price isn't a domestic man, a soft domestic man who absolutely adores the domestic life. he gives off that energy, like i can imagine him going home to his cute little wife, hugging and kissing on her and cooking with her in the kitchen. john who hosts cook-outs often on the patio (with a beer in hand) to invite over the team and a few of your girl friends. i mean, ya'll can't see price waking you up with a cup of coffee or tea?? kissing you on the temple when you wrap your arms around him from behind when he's cooking breakfast?! this man literally builds things for you to make cooking, cleaning, or anything else you do around the house, easier. john will literally stand outside the bathroom with a notepad in hand to write down the grocery list with you (🧍🏻‍♂️). john also loves wrapping you in his arms and swaying with you when you play music. john will always pull you onto his lap when the two of you sit on the porch to watch the rain. he's so soft for you and you guys! he watches you, it's an intense, love-filled gaze. he notices everything about you. this man doesn't know what he'd do without you, probably be lost tbh.

connected with this post!

[machveil]

but Price knows a set of teeth marks when he sees them.

His spouse does the same damn thing to him. He knows

Love it when boys are personal chew toys

Roommate!Simon Riley post - yup, yup, yup! he has first hand experience from his spouse😌✨

Husband!Price that knows Simon doesn’t have a pet at home— well, he wouldn’t blame him for calling you that. Price has his own ‘critter’ at home, a pretty ring on their finger and waiting for him. you’re just as bad as Simon’s roommate, maybe a little worse knowing Price is all yours. as soon as Price saw those idents on Simon’s skin he thought of you

Husband!Price doesn’t have bite marks littering his arms though, he changes facing his locker so the boys don’t get an eyeful. pretty red marks scattered around his inner thighs and chest, a couple hickeys scattered around his collarbone. he wouldn’t have it any other way, but the 141 doesn’t need to see them - not that they’d say anything, they’ve silently acknowledged the red streaks lining Price’s upper back

[bunny-jpeg]

my woman

capt. john price

cw: ex husband!price, jealousy, possessive behaviour, breeding, dark-ish themes, baby trapping, dark!john, proceed with caution!!

bunny says: happy birthday to me <3

you couldn't take it anymore. the stress of his job, the lonely nights, the distance was all too much for you. it broke you honestly, you couldn't be that woman for him. the idea of him coming home in a box made you overwhelmed at times.

price understood, he didn't even try to push against the divorce. but that didn't mean that he left you alone. if anything he pushed himself further into your life. that charming smile and those blue eyes, his hearty laugh and his rumble of a voice.

"c'mon, love. who's been over?" he said while standing at your front door. he stood a good head over you, he was broad as well. his eyes were cold as he asked again, "who's been over, lovie?"

you swallowed, "my sister she came over to see how i was doin'. plus, we're not married anymore, i can have whoever i want over."

price looked at you, "i pay for this place, technically i can decide who comes in and who leaves." he brushed past you and walked into the flat. hands in his jeans as he looked around.

you knew you couldn't physically kick him out, it was like an ant pushing a boulder! you stayed far back from him with your arms crossed, "john, get out."

he peeked into the kitchen before he walked in and said, "don't think so, love. i have to make sure that my girl is behavin'." he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk, "oat milk drinker, now?"

your throat tightened, "i had a friend over."

price looked at the carton, "must've been over a lot, or used a lot of milk." he shook the carton, "almost empty."

your stomach flipped. after your divorce you had met a lovely man who worked stable hours and had a winning smile. but price didn't need to know that.

"you bringin' men into my home, fuckin' them on sheets i bought. you whorin' yourself out now, love?" his voice was laced with venom as he put the carton down, "everything you are, i made. from your rank when you were servin' to the home you live in." he got closer to you.

you swallowed, "john, leave."

"no, no." he closed the gap between you two. he took you by the wrists and leaned in, "no woman of mine is gonna be a cheap fuckin' slag."

"i'm not your woman, your girl or your wife."

"then maybe i didn't fight hard enough to keep ya."

your stomach flipped once more. there was something about price that broke your resolve. even after all the pain and heartbreak, he was your husband. so when he kissed you, you didn't push him away.

he picked you up with relative ease, you wrapped your legs around his waist on instinct for fear that he'd drop you. he put you down with a bit of force onto the recliner he loved so.

your face felt heated as you were about to let your ex-husband fuck you.

"my girl on my chair." he chuckled. he remembered the nights where he'd have a beer and watch the football game while you were in between his legs like an obedient little puppy.

he watched you strip of your clothes, his larger hands helped you as you struggled to get out of your sweatpants. poor girl, always needs a mans help. price knew that your limp dicked new man couldn't help the way he could.

he loved the sight of your nude, all the curves and dips. the wetness of your cunt that gleamed in the light of the room. he got his cock out of his jeans and stroked it.

"remember this, love?" he smiled down at you, "i know you're pretty familiar with it." he chuckled, you spread your legs for him like a good wife. he reached over with his free hand and ruffled your hair.

"please, john." you moaned.

he chuckled, "impatient girl, bet ya touched yourself thinkin' of me and lied to your new man about it. bet ya told him that you were more than happy to suck his limp cock. nothin' like mine, eh?"

you looked at him, "there's nothing i could find or buy that felt like you."

he laughed, a full hearty laugh then met your gaze once more, "good." he said, "i'm glad i ruined that pussy of yours. because you're my wife and this is the only cock you'll need." then leaned over you and pushed his cock into you.

you choked out a gasp at the fullness you felt. you could feel it in your stomach. you gripped onto the armrests of the seat as you tried to regain the air in your lungs.

your pussy felt like heaven to him.

the sex was brutal, your sweaty back got stuck to the leather as he held your hips and battered your sweet cunt. he liked the idea that he ruined you for other men, that no one else could make you feel the way he did.

"do you see now." he said, "we're meant to be."

you looked away, "john, please." you felt the warmth pool in your gut. he took you by the jaw and pulled you into a kiss as he continued to move against you.

"you're my heart and soul, baby girl." his voice was low and erotic, "made just for me." he wanted to get it through to you that you were meant to be with him. arousal shot through him at the idea, the best way he could make sure that the two of you would be tied together.

it fueled him to push his cock as deep as it could go. his heavy balls hit against your ass as he fucked you without abandon. your sweet moans filled his head and he could feel his grey t-shirt grow hot with sweat.

he didn't worry, next round he'd get undressed fully. for now your sweet slick would ruin the denim of his jeans. he gazed at the expressions on your face as you closed your eyes.

"that's it."

"please, john. fuck, pull out." you whined.

"can't do that, love. you're keeping me in ya. you want this too. keep a little reminder on me in ya when you call that fuckin' prick of yours to break up."

"i'm not breaking up with him." you trembled in an attempt to gain some kind of control

he grabbed you by the hair and made you look at him. his chuckled lowly, "cute, love. but no, you're going to sit there with my cum in your cunt as you call that fuckin' prick to tell him to leave you alone. or better yet, you keep my cock nice and cozy inside ya when you call."

you swallowed and whimpered, "please, john."

he gave you a rough kiss on the cheek, his facial hair was scratchy against your soft, sweaty skin, "it's either that, or he won't be walkin' ever again. i'd suggest you take the more merciful option." he let go of your hair and quickened his pace.

you squeezed your eyes shut once more and it wasn't long before orgasm pulled you under. your slick cunt gripped his cock as the euphoria rushed through you.

price was pleased with himself as a pathetic noise left your lips. he gave a few more hearty thrusts before he finished. his noises were lower, darker and deeper than yours.

"good girl." he said, "lettin' your man do what needs to do to keep this together." he pushed strands of hair out of your face, his cock still hard in you, "see, you can listen. you can behave."

"john." you whined.

he patted your cheek lovingly, "shh, not now. let it happen." his voice was so calm and cool. the tonal whiplash made your head feel murky.

why did you leave him anyway?

he then grabbed you by the hair and brought you down onto the expensive carpet. he took off he shirt while you were on your shaky hands and knees. he knew your pulse was racing.

"don't worry baby girl." he said as he kissed your sweaty back, "just gotta go a few more times... until it takes."

-

while re-marriage wasn't common, being mrs. price was your rightful title. especially now that your little girl was born. price got you a nice house on a piece of land out in the country. you could raise your little family in peace.

"c'mon honey." you cooed at your toddler as she tried to stand on shaky legs, "go see daddy." there was such tenderness in your voice.

who would've thought a nice house and a cute little babe would've fixed ya right up!

price watched you try to teach your little girl how to walk on the grass. your hands held her smaller ones. price smiled at the rim of his teacup. for a moment he thought he lost you, but there's no worries now. you were his and next time he wouldn't let you leave. <3

[the-raindeer-king]

Simon and Price are the kind of guys that insist on paying for everything on a vacation. They're paying for the hotel, the rental car, food, any stupid knickknacks you want. If you even pull out your wallet, they're going to be all huffy. John will politely tell you not to worry about, he's got you covered. On the hand, Simon's taking your wallet from you, telling you that you don't need to spend your money, you've got him for that.

Johnny and Kyle don't mind splitting things with you. You pay for the hotel, he'll pay for the flights, dividing out the expenses so you've both got money for the actual trip. Johnny gets all lovey-dovey when you buy him things, jokes that you're spoiling him. But don't fret, he'll get you back later. Gaz gets all warm and fuzzy when you pay for dinner, staring at you with a lovestruck expression. He thinks it's so sweet, and it's just one more push towards finally pulling the ring out of his pocket.

[a-b-riddle]

CW: CNC. Degradation. Oral (m receiving). Bondage. p in v penetration.

Husband John Price who finds out one of the dirty little books you’ve been reading has men in masks. Who peeks over your shoulder to see your TikTok FYP essentially overrun by men in masks.

Husband John Price who gets an idea.

Husband John Price who tells you he has a surprise but you need to wait for him on the bed like a good girl. Who takes his time restraining you leaving your legs spread. The treasure between your thighs exposed. Already dripping for him.

Husband John Price who leaves you for a few moments to come back in nothing but a Ghostface mask. He hears you whisper a string of curses. Can see through the black mesh and that you’re trying to rub your legs together. Trying to get some friction.

Ghostface Price who straddles himself on your stomach to play with your nipples, rubbing, pinching, pulling until you’re a whimpering mess.

Ghostface Price who laugh as you try to take his cock in your mouth only to slap it against your cheek. Rubbing it on your face until you are begging for him to fuck your mouth.

Ghostface Price who fucks your mouth. His thrusts growing quicker at the sounds of your gagging. Pushing his cock down your throat, asking if you’re ready to tap out. Not planning on stopping until you do. But you don’t.

Ghostface Price who nearly comes at the sound of you begging him to fuck you. Crying that you need his cock inside your pussy. Harshly gripping your face until your lips pucker pathetically. Instructing you that if you want him to stop, you’re to say red. But if you want him to keep going, you need to beg him to let you go. He wants you to struggle.

Ghostface Price who rubs his cock on your face as you beg him not to hurt you. To please just let you go. Your spit ruining your eye makeup.

Ghostface Price who puts you in a mating press and fucks you until you’re a blubbering mess. Squealing and squirming as he takes one hand to rub your clit up and down with his thumb. Throwing his head back as you tighten around him.

Ghostface Price who cums at the sound of you screaming yes yes yes as your own orgasm consumes you.

Husband John Price who takes off the masks. Who is quick to untie you and pull you into his arms. Your head pressed against his chest.

Husband John Price who helps you wipe the spit from your face in the shower.

Husband John Price who snuggles you close. Placing the mask in his bedside table, where it’ll sit until next time.

[angel5ofp0rn]

Price asking Gaz and Soap how to get his ex-wife to reply to his text. They both jokingly tell him to send a dick pic.

He tells them to piss off but after they leave, he closes his office door, sits at his desk and stares at the phone for awhile.

Couldn’t hurt. It’s not like it’s something she hasn’t seen before.

He undoes his belt, lowers his pants and boxer briefs just a bit. He pulls out his thick cock and gives it a few tugs.

The photo shows off his toned (but growing softer) abdomen as well as his cock in his hand.

She calls him immediately to cuss him out about sending stuff like that to her…

They end up having phone sex.

[rocktheholygrail]

Scott Thompson (Jimmy Price) talking about Hannigram

[will-graham-coded]

[deunmiu-dessie-sideblog]

john price is a loving man. john price is also a man who loves holding you in his arms, fight me if i'm wrong. since he's usually away from home for weeks, even months at a time, whenever he comes home; he drops to his knees and buries his face in ur tummy to hug u, all while ur hands run through the soft tufts of his hair.

john price, even after fucking u like an animal in heat, thick cock bruising ur cervix, and having his skilled tongue pull orgasm after orgasm from u, is a touchy man. he pulls u into his chest and asks softly about the things that have happened since he's been gone, thick fingers brushing through ur hair. he's particularly fond of ur newfound dislike for the next-door neighbor.

[connected to this post!]

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) john price recounts a few moments. [ cockwarming, size kink, breeding, etc ]

john price, swears that he will never grow tired of seeing you like this. of you, his pretty girl, sprawled beneath him and so ready to give to him, too trusting— always so innocent; yet ever so willing to spread your plush thighs and offer up yourself to him like the good little sacrificial lamb that you are. and, god, john had you right where he wanted you; too hooked on his cock to deny him when he bowed you over and used your body like a toy; but your lips pouty— voice whiny, and pleading for him when you realize he hadn't filled your sweet pussy with his cum in a couple of days.

no— john could never grow tired of the way your body becomes slick with the flowery scent of your sweat that blends dizzyingly with your faded perfume, as he uses your eager pussy as a mere cock warmer. you, his pretty wife— are entirely naked and restless in his lap, your delicate back pressed against his flannel-covered chest while he does monotonous paperwork, disregarding you fully. but, unable to stop himself from pinching your cute, pebbled nipples when you attempt to shakily grind down on his length; desperate to feel the blunt tip of him, kiss your g-spot. but he can't blame you too much, you’re his greedy, cock hungry wife after all.

john can never grow tired of seeing your skin, so soft and supple compared to his rough, battle-worn flesh, flush with heat as he presses your face further into the pillow, muscular meaty arm curving around your fatty hips to perch your ass higher. in awe as your pussy weeps to have his thick, heavy cock sink inside of silky, gummy walls; clenching and drooling. you’re pleading, and oh so pretty with your wide doe eyes and tear-stained cheeks. you part your thick thighs further and sway your hips temptingly, juices dripping like sugared dew onto the sheets. john can smell the sweet, musky aroma of your cunt and wants nothing more than to taste you on his tongue, like a man starved of food and water— he wants to devour you whole until there's nothing left but a pile of twitching flesh. john price is a man starved.

yes— john could never forget the sight of your legs, trembling and buckling underneath his weight as he bullies his thick cock into your swollen, much too small, leaking cunt. your sticky pussy clamping down on his bulbous tip like a firey vice, your voice, saccharine sweet and slurred with pleas is like a muted babble in his ears as he settles his heavy cock inside you, his chest rumbling in a contented deep groan as you go limp beneath him; pretty eyes rolled and body twitching cutely. your hand presses against his hairy abdomen, the muscle that was once there now covered in a thin layer of fat. you whimper and push against him, garbling that; “s’too much!” when only half his cock is buried inside you.

price who's absolutely enthralled by how loud you mewl and keen as he runs one of his large hands over the expanse of your ass, gripping the perky globe and tugging to get a glimpse of your winking asshole. he groans low in his throat at the sight, it’s deep and gravelly, and it sends your body trembling beneath him, while his other hand comes up to spread your other cheek to get a better view. john’s cock grows heavy in his jeans when you whine softly, your body flushing with the warmth of embarrassment. he gets harder at just the sight of you attempting to wiggle your way out of his grip. one of his hands, rough from working, lands sharply on your inner thigh in a warning. “none of that, sweetheart, hm?”

john could never grow tired of teasing you as he leans forward, cock inadvertently plunging impossibly deeper into you, your tender walls attempting to adjust to his thickness. the drag of him inside punches the air from your lungs, but he’s sweet when he kisses the corner of your pouty, spit-slick lips, his grizzled beard scratchy. “g’nna put a baby in you, wanna see you swollen, sweetheart. y’d like that, hm?” he smacks your ass, which bounces so diligently into him when you nod, bleary-eyed and completely drunk off his cock, saliva pooling down your cheeks as he punches sharp moans from your parted lips with every thrust. “tha’s m’good girl.”

[hidingwhere]

Price who is dating a very feminine person; you. He doesn’t mind- of course he doesn’t. In fact, you’ve embraced your femininity even more since dating him.

He watches you some nights after your everything showers, gently placing face masks and eye masks on while he leans on the bathroom counter next to you, occasionally pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. He wears a smile while observing you do more skincare, pick a pair of pink pyjamas before going straight back to the bathroom to put cream in your hair and exfoliate your lips with some pink-sugary concoction.

In shops, you make him smell-test different body moisturisers you’re considering on buying. Different perfumes, body wash, etc. Then he gets the luxury of smelling them on you after entering the bedroom from the shower. He buries his face in your neck, humming contently as he smells vanilla, pomegranate, the lot.

He pays for it all, no debate involved. He pays for new clothes you want, pays for your nails to be done. You’ve protested time and time again but he’s already swiped his card before you get the chance to swipe yours.

At Christmas, most decorations are pink and Price wouldn’t have it any other way. His house sparkles with life and serenity now that you live in it. He gets the decorations down for you from the loft, strings up lights on the ceiling and ensembles the big tree for you. You give him a thank you kiss in return and hug him tightly as he steps down from the small ladder.

Afterwards, you force him to rest on the sofa while you decorate the tree and ask his opinion if the decor is too close together or too far apart. Then throughout the evening you make little treats such as cookies dazzled with pink icing and snowflake sprinkles that he tastes-tests for you.

[pricetagged]

Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Masterlist l Previous l Next

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you. 

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/