nightsfeelheavenly

[nightsfeelheavenly]

*cracks knuckles and puts on two of a kind, workin' on a full house by garth brooks* time to speedwrite the first part of this price fic

[nightsfeelheavenly]

this is rapidly becoming a multi-parter why am i doing this to myself

damn now i really DO have to get my ass in gear with that price x insert fic

[nightsfeelheavenly]

damn now i really DO have to get my ass in gear with that price x insert fic

[nightsfeelheavenly]

prompt: reader is a large animal vet making a house call to a certain ex-SAS member's ranch.

-

It’s the first time you’ve been called out to this ranch. 

You’ve been to some others in the surrounding area—just last week you stopped by a ranch just half an hour away—but never this one. It’s far out of the way, almost tough to find—you miss the turnoff twice, each time forced to turn back around and squint to find the poorly marked dirt road leading to the ranch. Your shoulders only unclench when the ranch house finally crests over the horizon and you spot the horses milling around in the fenced-off enclosure. 

They must have had an in-house vet prior to calling you out. None of your colleagues remember ever visiting and the ranch is big enough to necessitate one. It sprawls across the landscape, acres upon acres. The kind of ranch that deals in thoroughbreds, horses that go on to graded stakes races. In the pen already, you can pick out Thoroughbreds and American Warmblood, the distinctive spotting of an Appaloosa, even a couple Hanoverians. 

There are men working around the ranch outside of the main enclosure that you park just a dozen or so yards away from, but something about the man standing by his lonesome with the horses makes you pause. 

A head taller than the rest, and built like a redwood. Bandana affixed around the lower half of his face, almost bandit-like. You shake those thoughts out of your head. You’re not here to pass judgement on people; you’re here for the horses. Whatever scars mar his face are hardly your concern (still, rugged, you think, a bit breathless even sitting in the front seat of your truck). 

When he turns in your direction, eyes locked on your truck and then locked on you when you pop into the back to grab your bag, your back straightens. Imperceptibly, yet still. Compelled to measure up somehow, to whatever standard he expects.

He strikes you as the man in charge. “Mister Riley?” you call out, shielding your eyes from the sun. 

He beckons you over with a gloved hand. Even from the distance, he leaves you unsure of yourself, quick to stumble when his stare starts to burn. 

“Doc,” Riley greets you when you’re close enough, and you fight back a shiver. His voice rumbles like thunder, like hooves pounding into the freshly tamped earth, into the dirt. 

“You called about a pregnant mare,” you remind him. 

The bag in front of your legs puts a bit of distance between the two of you, a needed buffer. Up close, he towers like sequoia, in fact, sleeves rolled up past his forearms, old tattoos on his left arm faded like beaten leather. He holds out a hand though, forcing you to take a step forward out of politeness and shake it. Your lips tighten at the touch of his skin. It’s weathered too, coarse palms and fingertips; there’s dirt caked around his nail beds, the kind that never comes out, the world’s indelible mark on the skin. 

He stares at you for a moment without speaking. There’s no helping the way you squirm under his gaze.

“The horse,” you remind him, cheeks hot.

“She’s in the stables; I’ll bring ya to her.”

You struggle to keep up with him, bag bumping against your leg as you haul ass after him. Big as he is, he moves quickly, fast on his feet—used to quick beasts, you know, probably used to anticipating their movements, always one step ahead. Your last shred of decency keeps you from staring at his ass the entire walk to the stables. 

Her coat is a rich coal colour, mane sun-bleached. Inky eyes peer back at you when Riley lets you into her stall. It’s cooler inside somehow, out of the inescapable glare of the sun; the sweat on the back of your neck stays wet under Riley’s eyes though, nervous rather than weather-born. 

She’s gorgeous though, the mare. Pretty as can be. Heavily pregnant too, you can see. Obviously well taken care of too, still decently muscled like she’s still been taken for walks and rides during her pregnancy. 

“She’s too far along now to ride,” he tells you when you remark on that, his voice carrying in the confined space. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it makes you perk up again, at attention, head whipping over your shoulder to look at him. 

“I can tell. A little over two months ‘till she delivers,” you say with a nod, looking down at the chart you have on her. “I can come back for her last deworming before she foals, if you want.”

He grunts, doesn’t answer. You take it as an affirmative. 

It doesn’t take you long to run through her check-up. A docile girl, you coo when she lets you touch her without any sign of aggression, sweet-tempered thing. It’s second nature after all, at this point in your life. 

Still, you find yourself watching Riley out of the corner of your eye, careful under his watchful gaze. Not that you usually aren’t, but still. Your movements feel intentional, precise. 

When he walks you out, you get a bit bolder in the sunlight. Freer to pester him with questions. 

“Did your last vet retire or something?” you ask, fishing for information. It’s probably none of your business, but you find yourself curious anyway. There are a few different vet practices operating in the area, so it’s always helpful to know who’s going to your competitors. 

He shakes his head. “Friend of mine went to school for this—been with me as long as I’ve had the ranch. He got hitched a couple weeks ago though.”

“Moving away?” you guess.

“Opening up a practice,” he corrects, making you frown. That’s worse, at least for you. “On his honeymoon this month though, so he gave me your name.”

“My boss’ name, you mean.”

“That’s right,” he says, and you realize that he’s walked you all the way to your car, half-pinning you to the door of your truck. Just close enough that a new layer of sweat breaks out on the back of your neck. You have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. “Don’t know if I caught yours, little filly.”

Now that makes you stutter over your name, confidence finally failing you. When he hums like he’s caught your name in his head now, mapped it to you with his sharp eyes, you feel yourself swallow reflexively. 

“Not like you’ll need it for long,” you tease, trying to gain back some semblance of control. “Just until your friend gets back and sets up his practice, at least.”

“Not sure about that. Might find some use for you yet,” Riley says, close enough now that you can tell he smells of hay and silage, peppery when you breathe in too heavily. 

And you breathe too heavily. Hard not to when he crowds you up against the truck, hand laying flat on the roof, boxing you in. You wonder if any of the ranch hands are looking over at the two of you, curious. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, head empty. Mouth dry enough now that it hurts a bit to swallow. 

His brown eyes glint in the sun. Honey gold under the light. “I can think of a few reasons to keep you around.”

[nightsfeelheavenly]

i am back! finally! i took a big break so apologies to anyone who expected content

[nightsfeelheavenly]

so real

staring at a list of horse breeds like oh I could hyperfixate on this

[nightsfeelheavenly]

Arthur is pretty strong dude and I believe he was often used as the gang's go-to strong man.

[nightsfeelheavenly]

today my bf and i were talking about visiting my home for the holidays and i was (sadly) wondering aloud if i should cut my hair and our kid was like "why would you cut your hair??? your hair is cool" and not knowing how to explain it to him i said "my family doesnt think boys should have long hair" to which he went silent, wordlessly pulled out his phone and then swiftly held it out with a picture of keeanu reeves on his phone

[nightsfeelheavenly]

tell a friend to tell a friend…. she’s BAAACK

[nightsfeelheavenly]

not gonna be reachable for a week or so, y’all have fun~

[nightsfeelheavenly]

Love the thought of being called Price’s work wife :)) Being at functions and someone calls you it, and since Price is already a few drinks in he doesn't think before his hand is on your hip and pulling you flush against him.

"Couldn't live without this little love right here. Gonna start calling her Mrs. Price any day now."

Tucked into his arm, you're blushing and living for the whole moment when it gets infinitely, gloriously better- his hand slips off your hips and grabs your ass. Just a gentle squeeze, and suddenly Price tears himself away.

"I'm so sorry love, that was too far. I got carried away."

All you can do is smile demurely at him, rejoin him in his personal space.

"It's okay, Mr. Price. What else are work wives for?"

[nightsfeelheavenly]

Johnny brings you breakfast in bed, only for you both to completely forget about it, because he decided that he'd wake you up with his mouth on you. And actually. That's his breakfast now, right there, between your legs. So he doesn't really care how hungry you are. He's going to eat first.

He tells you how much he missed you, how hard this particular deployment was on his body, what a toll it's taken on him, as he leaves angry red marks on your tits, biting and nipping and being a complete menace about having his hands and lips all over your body.

He drives you to work, finally, but doesn't let you go with a pat without planting the sweetest kiss he can on your lips. And when you're about to pull away, he puts his hand in your hair. Holds you there, against his lips and smirks. Y'er gonna blow me in my car when I pick y'up tonight, aren't ya hen?

[nightsfeelheavenly]

writing just 1000 words a day has actually been such a good little exercise. it doesn't take very much effort at all, just a couple hours in the evening, and it means by the end of every week i have basically 7000 words done. this is soooo much more sustainable than trying to write like 4k or 5k in a single day.

[nightsfeelheavenly]

I play around with the C.AI in my free time to pass the time and when I have no one else to talk to, am a loner, But I never use it to make work, that to me just feels lazy,

i find it way more egregious to use for fics because that honestly feels like lightly coded plagiarism to me, but i would rly encourage you to just post on tumblr !!!

you might think it's hard to like, get an audience and make friends but honestly half the time i just post stupid random thoughts here, not even big long fics, and people REALLY want to talk to you. if you add tags, comment on other people's stuff, send asks, and put yourself out there, there are lots of people that want to make new friends! i have an ask box that never stops filling up bc people just wanna talk about their ideas.

[nightsfeelheavenly]

kieran duffy. my favorite character kieran duffy.

[nightsfeelheavenly]

you could reverse soap n ghost in both of these and it would still work tbh

[nightsfeelheavenly]

thinking about ghost silently letting you squeeze his hand as tight as physically possible on a plane because you’re nervous to fly