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bi-writes · 23 days ago

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What do we think about price x young!Wife reader who is kept away from the team (for obvious reasons) and when she is on base to bring some important files to his office, world collide

I think it would be really cute if she gets mistaken for a recruit

he's not moving fast enough for you.

you roll your window down even more, sticking your head out, and you slide your sunglasses down your nose so you can meet eyes with the muppet standing guard at the gates.

"repeat that for me?"

"you're not on the list," the man repeats. he narrows his eyes at you. "all guest personnel must be approved before they enter. i don't make the rules, but i do enforce them."

you raise a brow. your manicured finger slides down the steering wheel, tracing the leather of it, and you let out a deep breath before laughing humorlessly.

"okay. i need you to get on your stupid radio and get captain john price on there. then, you're going to tell him who exactly is waiting here, and then after he informs you that you will let me through, i'm going to make sure you spend the next two weeks scrubbing fucking toilets." you sit back in your seat. you don't mean to be rude or mean, you're usually very kind and very considerate, but you are about to blow the roof off of your patience after the day you've had, and you just want to drop john's things off and go.

the guard scoffs, picking up his radio. he rolls his eyes at you before he goes back into his little office. after a few minutes, he comes back out. his eyes are on the floor, and he comes up to your window and gives you back your id. you toss it into your purse, and he clears his throat nervously.

"i-i'm so...i-i'm so sorry, mrs. price, i--"

"save it."

you put your car in drive and step on it. the purr of your pretty german car leaves the guard in the dust, and you park haphazard, taking up two spots, but you just grab your purse and john's papers and turn the car off anyways.

you're mrs. john fucking price. you'll park how you please, and they can get over it.

you're dressed more casually. you're wearing dark green cargo pants, a white t-shirt, sneakers, and one of john's army-green jackets. when you see yourself in the reflection of a window, you realize you kind of dressed appropriately for the setting, without even meaning to.

you open the door to the building john texted you about, and you walk in with your sunglasses still on. there's a lot of desks around, offices, an ugly mess of couches around a tv that a bunch of recruits are playing team fortress 2 at. they're whooping and yelling, but you pay them no mind as you follow a sign towards the office number john gave you.

you bump right into a big chest. you stumble backwards, scoffing, and you pull your sunglasses off as you tip your head back and glare up. there's some big, giant bear-man standing in your way, and he isn't moving.

"excuse me," you say firmly. "do we have a problem?"

the big dude tilts his head to the side, like he's sizing you up (which is stupid, since he's probably bigger than anyone). he's wearing a DIY skull mask, something messily sewed and painted with thick fingers, and you really want this halloween-enthusiast to get the fuck out of your way so you can leave as soon as possible.

"we? i don't got a problem."

his voice is deep. all gravel, very low, and his tone is very condescending. you may be smaller than him, but your teeth are sharper.

you're sure of that.

"but you've got one," he continues, narrowing his eyes. "those nails aren't regulation."

"excuse me?"

"you heard me."

"i did, but you must be fucking out of your mind if you think i answer to you."

"listen 'ere," the man spits. "i'm a fuckin' lieutenant, and y'r gonna talk t'me like i'm one before i have y'r arse--"

"get out of my way!" you snap at him. "as far as i'm concerned, i outrank every single idiot in this entire fucking building. i don't care if you're a sergeant, a lieutenant, i don't care if you're fucking royalty! move, or i'll make you, so help me god."

"simon."

at the sound, the bear turns around, stepping aside. when peek around his arm, you see your husband, arms crossed over his chest casually as he leans against the wall. he's got a relaxed smile on his face, boonie hat tipped back a little.

"well, this isn't how i wanted you two to meet," john chuckles.

"what, you know this meathead?" you scoff, and the lieutenant, simon, snarls like a dog at your response.

"simon, this is my wife."

simon steps back from you as if you'll sting him. he swallows, his face relaxing under the mask, and you glare at him. you don't expect an apology from someone like him, but you guess the way he reverts his eyes from you is the equivalent of it. you don't think a man like him ever feels out of place or threatened.

"love, this is my lieutenant."

"the lieutenant."

"quite right."

you let out a harsh breath through your nose. you don't say anything more to simon, just give him your back as you walk past him towards your husband. you don't say anything more to simon; he's saved your husband's life before, so he can be let off easy.

this time at least.

when you lift your hand to give john some papers, simon zeroes in on the giant rock on your left hand, the several carat diamond that sits there.

fuck.

"next time you need something from home, i'm gonna need the red carpet rolled out for me, understand me, john?" you tell him. john smiles, crow's feet deepening, and you narrow your eyes. "say you understand me, john."

"mhm. i understand."

"i don't mean just making sure my name is on some list, i mean an escort and a voss water. in the glass bottle."

"of course, sweetheart."

he bends to kiss you, and you let him. you put a hand under his jaw, thumbing at his beard, and the hat covers the way he lets his tongue slip out and into your mouth. if you didn't have an audience, the taste of tobacco on his tongue would be enough for you to kneel and suck his cock, but he's busy, and you have a hair appointment to get to.

you pull away slowly, touching his bottom lip.

"you better be home in time for dinner," you say. "seven. don't be late."

"won't be late."

his baby blues are so bright, even in the awful fluorescent light. you kiss him again, cupping the back of his neck, and when you pull away, you put your mouth to his ear.

"your office? got ten minutes?"

"no, sweetheart," he murmurs. "don't have it."

"john..." you grip the sides of his tact vest, pouting. "please? please?"

john sighs, shaking his head. he kisses your forehead before nodding behind you, to his lieutenant that still won't leave.

"walk her out, simon. make sure she leaves alright."

"olright."

simon opens your car door for you, and when you get in, you shove your seatbelt into place, angrily starting the car up again. you're having a bad day, and you're horny now.

"goodbye, lieutenant," you say smartly. "by the way, there's some smartass at the front that i told would have to scrub toilets. i trust that you can carry that out for me."

"'ow long?"

"told him two weeks, but i think a day will do just fine."

"'n why's tha'?"

"well, i'm not mad at him anymore, but i'm still a price. and price's follow through on their threats, lieutenant."

you put your sunglasses on, and the window goes back up. simon watches with rapt attention as you pull out with a rev of the engine, and when he glares at you, you smile, raising your hand to flip him off.

the big diamond on your hand blinds him as you drive off.

#captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #price thoughts

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hederasgarden · 2 months ago

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The Price of Survival (2)

Summary: Rescued by a stranger from a dangerous situation, you quickly find yourself thrust into an even more perilous one, forced to depend on him for protection in a world where survival means trusting no one. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 2.4K Rating: 18+ only, mature themes. Modern zombie AU, references to attempted SA, overall dark/gritty themes. Not all themes will be tagged. A/N: Thank you to @ryebecca and @aninnai for looking this over! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Part 1 ♡ Gladiator Masterlist

You follow behind Lucius, tethered to him by the short length of rope he holds. His steps are steady, his pace unhurried despite the darkness, but you can’t help checking over your shoulder. There hasn’t been a hint of the undead for hours, and the silence only makes you more uneasy.

As you turn to glance behind you once more, your toe catches on a rock, and you stumble. But Lucius is quick, his hand steadying you before you can fall. It happens again moments later, and without a word, he closes the distance, slipping his hand between your arm and side to pull you closer. You keep your gaze fixed ahead, your fear coiling tighter with every step.

Now that the rush of adrenaline and fear has settled into a steady pulse of terror, the sting in your wrists grows unbearable. The skin is tight, itching as the blood dries. Your shoulders ache from the strain of your bound arms while your side throbs, bruised from your fall. Your feet feel almost numb from the cold water.

A hundred questions press against your tongue, but Lucius hasn’t spoken a word since he tied you up so you swallow them all. You know where he’s taking you, back to the settlement the other men mentioned. It’s not hard to guess what’s waiting ahead, and the thought makes your stomach twist. You think about running again even though you know it’s futile. Lucius has shown you what he’s capable of.

You’re tired, your legs unsteady as you force yourself to keep moving. After a minute or two, the dense forest begins to thin, and the darkness lifts slightly to reveal a clearing ahead. A massive wooden wall looms in front of you, so high that you have to tilt your head back to see the top. Lucius steps forward, his voice cutting through the still air as he calls out to someone on the wall. A figure appears on top, a man with an arrow notched in his bow. He stares down at you, surprised by your presence.

“That’s a strange looking deer,” he calls down, watching you with a curious, open smile.

Lucius exhales sharply, irritation creeping into his tone. “Viggo and the others are bringing the game back. Open the gate.”

The man shakes his head, muttering something you can’t hear and then calls over his shoulder for the gate to be opened. You glance nervously behind you, the words Lucius and the man trade feeling painfully loud. Lucius seems to sense your unease, glancing back into the dark woods.

“There are no undead near the settlement,” he says. “We cull them when they get too close to make sure their numbers don’t grow too great.”

An opening appears in the wall, a door so small that you and Lucius must duck to pass through it. You can’t help but wonder how much longer the safety of this settlement will last or how long the culling will keep the dead at bay. There were rumors of places like this, outposts that managed to carve out some semblance of peace. But every one your group found had been abandoned, overrun by the undead, or collapsed under the weight of its own people.

As you enter, the man from the wall slides down a thick length of rope, his movements swift and practiced. He’s dressed in worn fatigues and lands with a muted thud. His eyes scan you briefly before settling on Lucius.

“Macrinus will want to see her. He’s in the canteen.”

Lucius nods sharply and roughly jerks you forward.

Torches line the path, their flickering flames casting a soft glow that illuminates the way ahead. You pass a dozen small cabins, each spaced evenly apart. There’s no sign of life as Lucius leads you forward, the stillness around you thick and unsettling. It’s only when you reach a large wooden lodge, standing apart from the row of smaller cabins on the other side, that Lucius finally slows. To your shock, artificial light spills out through the wide windows that line the front of the building. The sight is jarring, electricity was something you never thought you'd see again.

The porch creaks under your combined weight when you both climb the steps. Lucius pushes open a heavy set of double doors, and you’re hit with a rush of warm air and the rich scent of food. Your stomach growls painfully and your mouth salivates in response. The three long tables that dominate the center of the room are full of men, women, and a few small children. The murmur of their voices rises and falls in conversation, punctuated by the quiet clink of cutlery. No one notices you enter but as Lucius takes you deeper into the room, the chatter slowly begins to cease.

It doesn’t escape your notice that there are nearly twice as many men as women here. The few women present watch you carefully, their expressions hard to define. You catch the eye of a woman seated near you. She rubs her swollen belly and exchanges a look with the woman beside her who subtly shakes her head, some silent warning passing between them.

Lucius comes to a stop before a small table set off to the side, where an older, strikingly beautiful blonde woman sits beside a bald man. She watches Lucius intently, the only sign of any emotion you see is the subtle tightening of her jaw. The man beside her seems oblivious to your presence, casually rifling through a bowl of fruit, his fingers moving leisurely from one piece to the next. Though there’s nothing overtly threatening about him, your heartbeat picks up when he looks at you.

“Lucius, my boy,” he greets, leaning back and spreading his arms wide. “You’ve brought us a new guest.”

The man beside you nods, his tone neutral. “Macrinus.”

Macrinus chuckles, unbothered by the cool greeting he receives. He rounds the table and approaches you. “Come now, is the rope really necessary?” he asks, glancing at Lucius.

Lucius unties your arms, and the older man steps closer, his smile widening as he studies you with a calculating, almost predatory interest. It’s not the crude desire you felt from those men in the woods, no, it’s something far worse. It makes you feel small and insignificant, like an insect under a microscope. You rub your aching forearms, forcing yourself not to retreat. With Lucius standing so close, his shoulder brushing yours with every breath, you feel hemmed in.

“It’s been a while since we’ve found any survivors,” Macrinus says before introducing himself and the woman beside him as his wife, Lucilla. “You must be hungry,” he continues. “Come, let's feed you, and then perhaps we can get you some clean clothes. We have hot water for a shower, too.”

There’s something unsettling about the warm, friendly demeanor of the man in front of you. The veneer of his kindness feels thin in light of Lucius’s tense silence and the behavior of the women. There’s a trap here but you’re uncertain of what will spring it.

"Am I...a prisoner?" you ask hesitantly.

Macrinus laughs, shaking his head. “Heavens no, but we must be careful about who we take into our settlement." He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as if he's sharing a secret just for you. "Lucius is just the cautious sort," he adds.

Cautious. You think about the way Lucius killed those men in the woods to protect you, his brutal efficiency. You stare back at Macrinus, unsure what to say. He sighs and leans back on the table, crossing one foot over the other.

“You are free to leave if you wish but I hope you’ll hear me out. If you’re not satisfied you can go,” he promised solemnly.

“Please, sit with us,” Lucilla says with a gracious smile. “If Lucius brought you to us, you must be special.”

“Very special,” Macrinus echos.

You glance at Lucius but find him staring straight ahead. For a brief moment, his gaze sweeps to Lucilla before quickly shifting away.

“Some food for our guest please,” Macrinus commands.

He snaps his fingers at a young man sitting nearby who springs into action. Lucius pulls out a wooden chair, his touch gentle as he guides you to sit. When he takes the seat beside you, Macrinus spares him a brief, displeased look.

“We’ve set a place for you with your men. You should join them.”

“I’ll eat here, with my mother,” Lucius responds.

You take in the newly revealed information with a surprised blink, looking between both pairs of blue eyes, their expressions carefully neutral, unreadable. Lucius takes a steaming bowl of soup from the young boy and places it in front of you, accompanied by a small piece of bread. You hesitate for a moment, fingers hovering over the food. The bread is soft, its yeasty scent warm and inviting, a comfort you haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

Your stomach growls, reminding you just how hungry you are, though a sharp edge of nausea lingers. You take a bite, savoring the warmth that spreads through your belly. The stew is rich, hearty, and full of flavor. It’s been so long since you’ve had something like this, something that feels real and sustaining. It tastes like before.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink rapidly, willing them back.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through out there,” Macrinus says, shaking his head. “The hardships you must have endured. It’s a miracle you found us.”

He pats the back of your hand, but this time you can't help the involuntary flinch that passes through your body. Too many hands have touched you tonight, unfamiliar and heavy with intent. The thought of another hand on you churns your stomach.

“Our rules here are simple. Everyone contributes to keeping the settlement running. If you stay, we’ll find you a suitable job based on your skill set,” he continues, popping a strawberry into his mouth. “We work hard here and in return you’ll never go hungry or cold.”

As you and Lucius eat, Macrinus explains the rules, most of them simple and easy to follow. By the time he finishes, your spoon scrapes against the bottom of the bowl, the last of the soup gone. You feel uncomfortably full, a heaviness settling in your stomach.

“There is one last rule.” He pauses, leaning closer and Lucius stiffens beside you. “We don’t allow unattached women in the settlement.”

Your brow furrows. You look from him to Lucius and his mother but their expressions offer no clarity.

“I-I don’t understand.”

“It’s not anything personal,” he says. “It’s for the safety of the settlement. Women, unattached women…well, things can get complicated. Tensions can rise. Things...happen.”

Macrinus leans back, casually draping an arm over the back of Lucilla’s chair. His hand brushes lightly over her shoulder, a gesture that might have seemed comforting if not for the sharp, unsteady breath she takes in response. A faint shudder ripples through her, as if his touch stirs something deep within, something unsettling. She clears her throat and beside you Lucius’s fingers tighten around his spoon, his knuckles turning white.

“There were incidents when Macrinus first founded the settlement. Violence, discord. It almost didn’t survive.” She pauses, her eyes flicking briefly to her son, then back to you. “The rule was put in place after that, to keep things...stable.”

The spoon in your hand slips from your fingers, clattering against the bottom of your empty bowl. For a moment, you feel numb, frozen in place as the weight of their words sinks in. Unattached. The word echoes in your mind, a cold realization dawning. You remember the cryptic conversation between Lucius and Viggo earlier, the undercurrent of something unspoken that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“If you decide to stay, you’ll be given time to decide the right match for yourself,” Macrinus assures you. “And if, at the end of that time, you don’t feel this works for you, you’re welcome to leave.”

You swallow hard, struggling to keep the rising tide of horror from breaking free. Now that the truth is finally clear, you understand exactly what it was Lucius had tried to warn you about.

Macrinus stands smoothly, his voice rising above the conversation of the room. “Everyone in this settlement is here because they chose to be.” You don’t need to turn around to know every eye in the room is fixed on your table, waiting for your reaction. “Plenty of others have taken their chances outside. The choice is yours.”

What kind of choice was that? You want to ask, but the words die in your throat. Outside these walls, there’s nothing left but death and suffering. You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but the grief you haven’t even had time to process crashes over you like a wave. The handful of people you could rely on in this shattered world are gone, taken from you only hours ago. You are utterly alone now. The only thing you know for sure is that it’s not freedom that Macrinus offers.

You don’t even realize you’re standing until the sharp clatter of your upturned chair jolts you back to reality. Your progress is abruptly halted by Lucius, his hand closing around your wrist. His touch burns and a soft, pained sound escapes your lips. When you look up at him, you see that his gaze is fixed, not on you, but on his mother.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Lucilla murmurs softly, her voice sweet as she rises from her chair. She brushes her hand lightly over Macrinus' arm and watches him through her lashes. “Let me help her get settled for the night.”

Macrinus stares at her for a moment before he gives a small nod. Lucius releases your wrist as his mother rounds the table.

“Come,” she encourages you, offering you her hand. When you hesitate, her expression grows more brittle. “Please.”

After a brief moment, you place your hand in hers, allowing yourself to be gently pulled to her side. She leads you back the way you came, her steps slow and deliberate, guiding you past the row of tables and the silent onlookers. As Lucilla ushers you into the cool night, the door closing softly behind you, you catch one last glimpse of Lucius. He stands motionless, his hands hanging loosely while his eyes burn bright with a storm of emotions you can’t decipher.

#lucius verus #lucius verus x reader #lucius verus x you #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #The Price of Survival #paul mescal

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angel5ofp0rn · 9 months ago

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♡ part eleven ♡

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

You have been re-married to your former ex-husband John Price for a few days now. Because, at the end of the day, John is a gentleman and would be damned if he were to have a child out of wedlock.

He’s at the grill on your back porch, beer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. A few of his SAS buddies, who came for the small re-marriage ceremony and are leaving tomorrow, are chatting with John while you greet the parents of your children’s friends for your youngest’s birthday party.

“Another little John, huh?” Kyle, one of John’s SAS buddies, nods towards your barely-visible baby bump and takes a sip of his beer.

“Another little John.” You confirm with a grin and rub a hand over your bump that is mostly concealed with your sundress.

“Gonna keep trying until one of ‘em finally looks like you?” He matches your grin.

“That, or until John gets his own personal football team. Whichever comes first.” You joke. Kyle just shakes his head with a chortle.

You look back towards the porch, watching John expertly handle the grill. He catches your eye and gives you a wink, making your heart flutter despite the years and the complications.

"How’ve you been holding up, then?" Kyle asks, a bit more seriously now, his eyes searching yours. “Heard you just found out about Nadia and Theo a few months ago.”

You smile softly, looking out over the yard where the kids are playing, laughter and shouts filling the air.

"It's been... an adjustment. But we're making it work."

Kyle nods, his expression understanding. “‘Course. You two’ve always had something special, haven’t you?��

Before you can respond, a small hand tugs at Kyle’s pant leg. You look down to see your oldest, wide-eyed and bouncing with excitement. "Uncle Kyle, can you play socc- I mean, football with us?"

Kyle grins, setting his beer down on a nearby picnic table. "Sure thing, champ. Let's show these old folks how it's done."

You laugh as Kyle and your oldest head off further in the yard, the other children tow. As you watch them play, you notice Matt walking through the gate with his daughter.

A small knot forms in your stomach as the man approaches, a polite smile on his face. "Hey there," he greets, his eyes flicking to John at the grill before settling back on you.

"Hey, Matt," you reply, trying to keep your tone light. "I'm glad you and Emma could make it."

His daughter, Emma, runs off to join the other kids, and Matt stands there awkwardly for a moment. "How’ve you been?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"Good," you say, nodding, blushing. "Things have been good."

John, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, wraps an arm around your waist, the other still holding a beer. "Mark," he says with a nod, his tone neutral. "Good to see you."

“You too, John," Matt replies with a smile. He’s not phased by the purposely incorrect name, or at least he’s not showing it.

You nudge John with your elbow and he covers his smirk by taking a swig of his beer.

Matt eventually joins some of the other parents in watching their children play football or jump around in the bouncy house.

“Why do you have to be such a jerk?” You glance up at John.

“What?” He gives you an unconvincingly innocent look.

You roll your eyes and grab the nearly empty lemonade pitcher from the table. You take in inside to refill it, leaving John outside with everyone else.

You hear the sliding glass door open while you’re slicing fresh lemons to put into the pitcher. John appears behind you, his hands finding your hips and pulling you into him. His facial hair tickles your neck as he presses a few kisses there.

“C’mon, love. Y’r not upset with me ‘cause of Mitch, are ya?” He murmurs.

“His name is Matt.” You correct, still focusing on the lemonade. “I just don’t know why you have to act like that. His daughter is one of Gabriel’s best friends, I see him all the time at school pick up and at soccer practice. It’s already awkward because of that date we went on; I don’t want it to be even worse every time we see each-“

You gasp when you feel John lifting the skirt of your dress up your thighs.

He hooks his index finger around your thong, moving it to the side for access. “Ya still have feelings f’r him? Hm?”

You shake your head ‘no’, setting the knife and lemon down on the cutting board. John hums as if he’s considering your answer.

You hear his belt coming undone. Then his zipper.

“Saw how flustered and red you got when he was talkin’ to you…” John mumbles, his hardness pressing up against your entrance. “Can’t have that, now, can we?”

You slowly shake your head again.

John’s head pushes past your lips and he sinks into you slowly, wanting you to feel every inch pushing deeper inside of you.

“Y’think he could make you feel like this?” John whispers, his breath hitting the back of your neck. “Think he’d know exactly how you like it? Hm?”

“N-no,” You shake your head again. Your hands ball up into fists as you try not to moan too loudly. “John, the party-“

“It can wait.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

John reaches a hand around to stimulate your throbbing clit with his middle finger while your walls tighten around his thick member.

“All mine,” John grunts as he thrusts deep into your tight little pussy. “I don’ care if I have to fuck you in front of him to make it clear.”

You both come within a few minutes. Your eyes roll back, you can hear your heart beating in your ears.

“Uncle Si? Is my mummy getting the cake?” You hear your youngest ask outside. Your eyes widen for a moment and you almost push John off of you, but Simon casually redirects the birthday girl away from the house and back into the yard.

John finally pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants. He adjusts your dress for you, gives your ass a slap and takes the pitcher.

“Go get y’rself cleaned up, lovey. We’ll do the cake when you get back.” He presses a kiss to your temple and heads outside.

You stand in the kitchen, dizzy and blushing…

And triumphant, because your little plan to make John jealous worked.

A little drama never hurt.

•••

You lean down to press a kiss to your oldest’s head from where he’s fast asleep, lying on top of Kyle on the living room sofa.

“Little man partied hard.” Kyle grins. You offer to take him up to bed so Kyle could relax more comfortably, but he waved you away. He said something about how he couldn’t let you carry anything, let alone a five year old, while pregnant.

You just shrug and head upstairs. Simon is on his third or fourth bedtime story, and your youngest is trying her hardest to hold her eyes open.

“Goodnight, birthday girl.” You press a kiss to her head.

“Mummy, you forgot uncle Si.” Your now three year old yawns and rubs her eyes with her little fist.

“Goodnight, Simon.” You grin, then press a kiss to the top of his head as well. Your daughter burst into giggles.

“g‘night,” Simon mumbled shyly. “Now, li’l miss. This is our last book, got it?” He warned your toddler in his fake-stern tone.

You finally get to your room and immediately walk to the master bathroom. John’s already in the shower and hasn’t noticed you walking in.

You’re quick to undress and toss the clothes into the hamper before stepping into the shower behind your ex husband.

You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him close to yourself.

John doesn’t even flinch- he never does. He just continues washing his hair as if you’d been here the whole time.

“Kids asleep?” He asks casually, turning to wrap you up in his own arms.

“Kyle’s got Gabe, Simon has Lins.” You confirm as you let your eyes close, resting your head against John’s bare chest.

“And who has you?” John asks with a lazy smile. He begins to wash your hair for you without you asking, as if it was just natural for him to care for you.

“You have me.” You murmur, still hugging him. “‘m all yours.”

“That’s wha’ I wanted to hear.” John has his hands on either side of your head. He tilts it back just enough for him to give you a proper kiss on the lips before going back to washing you.

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on-a-lucky-tide · 1 month ago

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can i request some price/ghost fluff if you have the time? (and if simon is capable of relaxing enough for that) tr53for532tr sorry my kitty stepped on the keyboard. he says hi

Your wish is my command, sir.

Price and Ghost do a late night Asda run.

cw: humour, kisses.

Price slumped back in his office chair and blinked slowly at the ceiling. A dull ache had settled in his shoulders and behind his eyes from too many hours spent slumped at this bloody desk. He slapped a hand onto his phone and flipped it over enough to glance at the time. 10.30pm.

He should hit the sack, but his brain was still chugging like a runaway diesel engine, too overcooked to do anymore work but too active to sleep. That left sex or exercise to burn it out.

Price opened WhatsApp and tapped Simon's picture, thumb drifting between y for 'you up?' and g for 'gym?' His stomach offered a solution when it gave a mutinous growl, and instead he typed, 'The Asda?'

The message had barely whooped before Simon's typing... flicked up at the bottom. '5 mins' was the response. Price grabbed his jacket and car keys before heading out to the car park. By the time Simon flopped into the passenger seat, baseball cap pulled low, hood up and cloth mask in place, the Landie had managed to choke out some heat.

"Finished?" Simon asked.

"Not even close," Price responded morosely.

"Me either. S'gonna be an all nighter."

They were both up late finishing reports. Garrick was on leave in London and MacTavish had hit the town with some of the other squaddies. There was a time in his life when Price might have joined them, but the thought of getting rat-arsed with a bunch of lads in their mid-twenties filled him with an kind of exhausted dread. He'd drink them under the table, but his hangover would last three days while they would hop out of bed like spring chickens the next morning.

Simon fiddled with the radio until he found a channel belting out some generic classic rock and slumped back in the seat, eyes closed. Price let him doze as he picked up the A road that would carry them out to the twenty-four hour supermarket on the outskirts of town. He only jerked awake again when they parked up, handbrake ratcheting up with an audible grind.

They skipped the trolley and grabbed a basket each as they walked through the foyer. The security guard eyed them from behind his podium, offering a Price a nod when he made eye contact. They'd done this little night time trip so often that they let Simon's masked, hooded face slide. Price touched the inside of Simon's elbow, a brief reassurance that he was nearby, and they both stood on the inside of the gates, staring at the leftover meal deal sandwiches.

Price wasn't sure when the supermarket run had become a staple of their odd arrangement. He reckoned it came from the shared experience of hiding out in the local Morrie's as a teenager. When it was cold outside but going home wasn't an option, a young man in trackies could waste many an hour mooching around the aisles of a supermarket, inspecting shit he never intended to buy, just... browsing to while away the time and put off facing the clusterfuck that awaited back at his gaff.

They were putting off their reports and finding that old comfort now, drifting in between the refrigerators and stacked shelves to prod at packets and inspect price tags. Simon made a beeline for the rotisserie chickens, grabbing himself one of the last from the shelf before wandering off towards the bakery. Price pondered for a bit, plucking a bag of Doritos from the end of an aisle, and paused near the drinks to inspect the expensive cordials.

After about fifteen minutes of aimless wandering, Price headed for the books. There was a new Lee Child he'd had his eye on, and the blurbs on the back of romance novels amused him. It was just as he had picked up a saucy looking number to chuckle at that a looming figure appeared at his shoulder.

"Filfy slag," the shadow said.

Price felt his ears redden despite his huff. "Jus' checkin' out what the girls are inta these days."

"Bullshit," Simon grunted. "Gonna tell Johnny."

"No you fockin' ain't, or Johnny finds out about Minsk."

Simon's eyes narrowed suddenly and Price's eyebrows perked up in challenge. The stand off lasted only about ten seconds before Simon drifted away, leaving Price to place the book back on the shelf in favour of the novel he'd actually been looking for. Barely twenty seconds later, a nerf gun bullet clocked him in the side of the head.

"Oi, ya muppet." Price glowered to his left hand slapping against his stinging ear, and saw Simon smirking back... well, his bloody eyes were smirking anyway, the remains of the nerf gun's box on the shelf. "Ya gotta buy it now."

"S'fine, I'll find a use for it." Simon dumped the nerf gun in his basket and they headed into the "home' aisle. Price stopped by the candles, overlooking the cheaper options that smelled of the kind of chemicals Kortac used to poison them in favour of a brand called Chesapeake Bay. The last one he'd bought had worked wonders. Simon grunted at his side. "Wossis for?"

"You stink up my room when you kip in it, sweaty bollocks."

"Charmin'."

"You asked," Price murmured, picking one off the shelf called 'Peace and Tranquility'. Truth was they helped Simon sleep without him even realising, and they were one of the few brands that didn't trigger one of Price's migraines.

"What about this one? 'Love and passion'." Simon uncapped the orange candle to give it a whiff through his mask, and then thrust it under Price's nose.

Price sniffed and then shook his head. "'m I not passionate enough for you?"

"Hm, for twenty quid, yeah, fink you are."

Price thumped him on the shoulder and chucked 'Peace and Tranquility' into his basket. They weaved through a few more aisles, bypassing the laundry detergent and toilet roll, and ended up near the drinks again. Simon stopped by the protein powder and Price glanced at the shot of coke-flavoured pre-workout he plucked from the shelf. "That shit'll rot your guts," Price said as he grabbed a handful of gel sachets.

"Save it, old man. S'fer Johnny." Simon dropped a handful in the basket on top of his white chocolate chip cookies, rotisserie chicken, raspberry Relentless, nerf gun and king-sized bar of Dairy Milk. There were some new cotton pants in there as well, Price noted. Simon saw him looking. "You keep stealin' my shit."

"I ain't stole your bloody pants, Simon."

Simon lifted an eyebrow and before Price could stop him, he grabbed Price's belt and yanked the waistband of his jeans far enough away from his lower belly to reveal that he was, in fact, wearing a pair of Simon's boxers. "You were sayin'..."

"Shouldn't leave them on my floor then," Price grumbled, smacking Simon's hand away just as a bright lime green fleeced employee rolled down the aisle with a stacked cage of coca cola boxes. "C'mon, you done? We need to be headin' back."

"Yeah. I'm done."

Simon still grabbed a bag of blue Doritos from the end of the aisle as they walked past, and Price grabbed some pre-packed Deli ham for when he had a hankering for some protein. He had a snowball's chance in hell of getting a single bite of the rotisserie chicken in Simon's basket.

They rang up on the same till and Price tapped his card, ignoring the way that Simon twitched from foot to foot until he saw him digging at the cuticle on his thumb with his forefinger. "Stop," Price said softly, touch lingering just long enough on Simon's wrist to still his hand. "S'nothin. Bit of choccy and bloody chicken."

Simon grunted and Price watched those dark eyes waver over the basket. "Thanks," he said, finally.

"Welcome. Not quite a Michelin star meal, but maybe next time."

"Dunno. The cookies are pretty decent."

Price grinned, only to blink rapidly when Simon's fingers smoothed through his beard to squeeze his cheeks. Feeling his smile. Price let himself have a moment of tenderness, tilting his face into Simon's palm for the lightest of kisses before he grabbed their bags and headed for the door.

He left Simon to slump into the passenger seat while he went to pay off the parking. They'd overstayed their half an hour courtesy parking by fannying around for too long, avoiding work. When he climbed into the front seat, Simon had cracked open the cookies and had pulled down his mask to eat one, content that his face was disguised by the dark. He tilted the pack towards Price without looking away from the windscreen, and Price slid one out. "Fuck me, Simon Riley sharing food..."

"When the reports are done," Simon said dryly, wiping the crumbs from his lips. They both stared into the dark car park, the only noise was the rustle of plastic and the crunch of biscuit. Price finished his and opened his mouth to say something only to have it covered by Simon's. The kiss took him by surprise, the taste of sweet chocolate carried on Simon's tongue, tinging the crowns of his teeth, one big hand curling behind Price's head to keep him there as Simon took what he wanted; a deep, possessive kiss that made Price feel hot and tight under his clothes. When Simon drew away, he peppered a few more light kisses against Price's damp lips.

"What was that for?" Price asked, voice croaking and breathless.

"I don't need a reason," Simon replied. "Yer mine, ain't ya? So I get to kiss ya. And you get to buy me chicken."

Price was glad the dark hid the flush in his face. "Yeah, guess so."

Simon grunted. "L'ess go 'ome. Sooner we get those fockin' reports written, sooner I can shag ya brains out."

Price chuckled as he coaxed the Landie to life. Suddenly, he had all the motivation in the world to get those damn things finished.

#captain john price #simon ghost riley #ghostprice #two lads dossin around in the Asda

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stargirlygirl · 1 month ago

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their omega

જ⁀➴ chapter one: good purchase

alpha! bakugou, kirishima, denki, sero x omega!fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — angst, hurt/comfort, you get dropped off to your new home, smau + fic, 1.7k words

m.list

a/n: '🌽⭐️s' gc from denki's pov

fic underneath smau

You open the passenger door of the dealer’s car, looking out at the beautiful house that you will soon call home. Not willingly of course. The dealer grunts at you to get out of the car, and you obey. Your skin is like porcelain it’s so flawless and delicate looking. That is of the skin revealed by your basic dress. The dress that is worn by all of the omegas when they’re taken to their new ‘home’. But beneath that dress was bruised skin and aching muscles.

You shut the door beside you and do your best to remain expressionless as you walk to the black-coloured gate. It slides open, revealing a blond man. He looks sheepish and you can smell him from where you are. His scent is overwhelming. Something sharp, tangy, citrusy even. It makes you gulp.

He comes over to you both and shakes the dealer’s hand.

“Hey,” he says, drawing his hand back. He turns to look at you, his golden eyes focused on your own. He holds your gaze, making you whine. At the high-pitched sound, he chuckles nervously and looks back at the dealer.

“So,” he starts. “Do I need to sign anything or?” The dealer nods and pulls out the contract. The contract signing your life away to this alpha. You notice how agitated the blond seems, tapping his foot as he reads over the agreement.

“Didn’t I sign this last night?” he asks with a creased brow.

The dealer replies, “That was for the buying price and handling fees. This is the terms and conditions of your purchase.” The blond nods and signs the paper, officially taking ownership of you. The thought, the sight has you crying out internally. You want to scream and run; escape. It doesn’t matter if you get caught later, you have to try now.

You gulp and start looking around with wide, frenzied eyes. You notice the neighbourhood isn’t busy. You have no idea where you are, of course. You are fairly new to Japan, and then you happened to get kidnapped and well… Even if you run for it right now, there’s no way you can make it down the street before the dealer drags you back here.

“You’ve made a fine choice, Mr Kaminari,” the dealer grins. He shakes the blond’s hand again before giving him his copy of the contract. The dealer then turns to you and says, “You.” He grabs your elbow tight and pulls you into his side. You yelp out in pain. Your eyes are even wider than before as you stare at the blond before you. He watches this interaction with a frown.

The dealer whispers in your ear, “Be good. Just like we practised, yea?”

The blond clears his throat and says, “She’s mine now, so you can back off.” The dealer lets go of you and leaves. As you watch his car drive away, the man in front of you stares at you. His eyes trail over you, taking in how god-awful that dress looks on you. Maybe it’s their marketing scheme, he thinks. Present wrapped so terribly you gotta tear it off immediately.

He laughs nervously as he says, “So…” You gaze back at him, expecting him to grab you and force you into his house just like all the other girls told you the alphas would once you were sold off. He has such sweet features, you think. Most alphas had sharp features, but he looked very boyish even though he would have been what? 25? 26?

“Do you, uh, wanna come in?” He finally says. You nod falsely. You want nothing more than to NOT go inside that house but you don’t have a choice. He owns you now.

You two walk through the gate and up to the house. You stay behind him, watching him carefully before looking at the exterior. The garden is overgrown but the house up ahead is quite nice. Minimalistic yet stylish.

Your quads cry out as you walk up the few steps to the front door. He opens the door and the scent inside washes over you. Like a riptide, it drags you under until you’re surrounded. And you realise it’s not just his scent but a mixture of them. You’re silently praying to the lords as you take a step inside that he had friends over last night or something. The last thing you want is to be owned by an alpha, let alone be shared between alphas.

You’re choking back tears as you take off your shoes, following the blond’s lead. You can hear the thump of footsteps drawing closer, confirming your suspicions. You gulp and look up at the blond with big, glassy eyes. And he looks back at you dumbfounded.

Your gaze flickers to the red-haired man who walks down the entrance hall towards you two. He’s tall and is wearing an apron with the words ‘MAN APRON’ on his chest. He smells earthy, you note. As he comes to the edge of the main level, the blond turns back to look at him.

The blond whines, “I told you to look presentable.”

The red-haired man laughs and says, “Like you look any better.” The blond grumbles as the other man chuckles.

“So,” the redhead says as he looks at you. “Where’re your bags?” You choke back a sob and you shake your head. You don’t think you’ll be able to stop yourself from breaking down if you speak. His short brows furrow as he stares at you. He gazes back to the blond and says, “Where the fuck are her bags?”

The blond exclaims, “Oh shit! I think the dealer drove off with them. Hang on—” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll call him now.” The redhead groans.

“No!” You cry out. Their attention snaps to you, both staring at you with wide eyes. You gulp and say, “You don’t need to do that. I-I don’t have any-any bags.” You got real quiet at the end there as your thin control over your emotions ceases to exist. All of it comes rushing forward at once and swallows you whole. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you look down at your bare feet. You sniffle and wipe your nose with your hand.

Someone clears their throat and you look up, catching the end of a glance between the two men. The redhead looks at you and motions you forward with his arm. You obey, stepping onto the platform. You sniffle as you slip on a pair of way too big house slippers.

He wraps a muscular arm around your shoulders and guides you into the house. He says softly, “I’m sorry. This must be very frightening for you, huh?” He rubs your shoulder as you walk. You keep sniffling and cry into your hands, paying zero attention to where you’re going.

He continues, “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you some water?” You rub your eyes with your hand and look down at the table and cushions. You nod and sit down on the first cushion, placing your elbows on the table and sobbing into your hands.

You feel a warm hand on your back and you flinch. You look up and see the blond kneeling next to you. His gaze is gentle, and his full lips are in a pout. You return to crying into your hands. Your shoulders tremble as your chest heaves from your sadness. You’re too focused on the fear and anxiety wracking through you to notice the red-haired man place a glass of water in front of you.

As you cry, the two alphas stare at each other and mouth their confusion. The redhead points to you while the blond while the blond shrugs. You stay like this for a bit, just getting out all of the feelings you have locked up deep within for the past month.

Once your sobs become quieter and trail off into jolty sniffles, you look up and reach for the glass of water. You gulp down the entire thing in one go before going to wipe your eyes with your hands. You whimper as a large hand catches your wrists. You see the redhead looking at you, gaze soft as he holds your hands.

He shakes his head at you before nodding to the tissue box the blond is holding. The redhead grabs one and starts dabbing your cheeks and eyes with it. His touch is careful and light like he’s afraid of breaking you. Like you’re so delicate, he doesn’t want to leave a mark behind if he’s too harsh.

The gesture has you on edge. A gesture so sweet and caring that has you second-guessing your impression of him. You were expecting them to tell you to shut up once you start crying, not be so patient and attentive. Did you misjudge him? Both of them? Or was this all an act to gain your trust and then breed you against your will?

Such thoughts trigger more sobs from you. The redhead lets go of your hands as you pull them back and return to your former position to cry.

The blond leans over to the redhead and whispers, “I think you made it worse.”

The redhead scowls at him. He stares the blond down before eventually sighing and saying low, “You should give up your room then so she can have some privacy.”

The blond scoffs. He whisper-shouts, “As if! Why don’t you give up your room, manliest man?” The redhead frowns at this but thinks it over. If it would get you to stop crying… But maybe it would make it worse since it smelled of him so strongly.

You sniffle particularly loudly and shift back, wiping your eyes with your arm. Your voice is heavy with sadness as you choke out, “Wh-where’s t-the bath-bathroom?” The alphas look at each other before the blond helps you stand up and leads you down the hall. He slides open the door and gestures for you to enter. You scramble inside, and he shuts it behind you.

You jump up onto the edge of the sink and sit there, crying and crying for what feels like forever.

taglist - @qyuin @nervoussangel

#bnha x reader #bnha omegaverse #★’s works #denki x reader #kirishima x reader #bakugou x you #sero hanta x you

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franabz · 6 months ago

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★ Task Force 141 Band AU (PILOT)

(my asks are open for whoever has questions or is interested in the concept!! feel free to slide in)

Soap would be the drummer, and a damn wild one at that. He was never really good at singing and has a tendency to hide away in his garage to slam away on his drum set like the gates of hell were opening up. He usually performs without a shirt due to how sweaty and overheated he gets while performing, simply personal preference. Like Price, he is also a massive enjoyer of mosh pits and sometimes begins playing even harder as he watches the crowd dance around and head-bang like a pile of fish. He loved it.

Gaz would be the bassist/background vocalist, always keeping on rhythm and adding that extra flair to each song that it just needed. He has a very nice singing voice, but is way too stage shy to be the lead vocalist, though many fans wonder how he could be so scared with the sultry voice of a godsend. Despite his shy demeanor on stage he is very upbeat and enthusiastic with each note played, whether it be head bobbing or full on hopping around stage like a lunatic when he is in the zone.

Price would be the manager and rhythm guitarist, easily the most experienced of the bunch. He is the one that organized the idea of a band and gets the group gigs and whatnot. On stage he is pretty laid back and reserved, though he does get very into the music. He also isn't very good of a singer due to constant voice cracks or flat notes because of his smoker lungs, something he refuses to quit despite best efforts. Despite his reserved demeanor, he absolutely loves it when mosh pits start, often tossing guitar picks into the crowd and watching the audience roar in shouting and cheers.

Ghost would be the lead guitarist and vocalist, though not very interactive with the fans. He has a deep and gruff baritone voice, one that makes the ladies swoon at just the mere thought, though he quickly learned to not pay any mind to it. When in the zone, he's an absolute beast. Fingers flying across the fretboard like it was the last song on earth, sometimes so hard his fingers would start bleeding all over his guitar; though he doesn't seem to care. Nobody had ever seen his face, which furthermore adds to the mystery of the masked guitarist.

The group was going through a dry spot in their gigs and decided it was time to find a new addition to the band; you.

Price decided to take the band to a local bar that was currently hosting a bands night, the perfect opportunity to find potential candidates to fill the secondary background vocals position. Everyone was on board with the idea of a new member, being enthusiastic about it if anything. But not Ghost.

"They'll all be shite." He'd repeat like a broken record, as if that would do anything to change Price's mind.

Now here they are, seated in a secluded part of the bar and scoping out the crowds like hawks, the soft intermission instrumentals and the dimmed yellow lights mixed with the lingering scent of alcohol and cigarettes filling the musky air.

Soap came back from the bar with four shots, setting the glasses onto the sticky wooden table and sliding into the booth beside Ghost, a small smirk across his lips.

"Figured ye needed some liquid courage b'fore tae bands c'me out." The Scotsman chuckled over the overlapping noise of crowded patrons, raising a hand to give Ghost a firm pat on the shoulder, one of which caused him to grumble something inaudible under his balaclava.

"Ts' all useless." Ghost grunted, raising the edge of his balaclava briefly to take a sip of his lukewarm bourbon, curling his lip in disgust. "You ever stop complainin', Si?" Price huffed, placing a cigar between his lips and lighting the other end with a cheep lighter, the thick smoke pooling from his lips and wafting into the air. "Jus' being realistic." He jeered, watching as the lights of the pub began to dim and the stage-lights brightened, illuminating the stage. A stage manager emerged from behind the wings and gently tapped the top of the microphone before clearing his throat and addressing the audience.

"Good 'fternoon everyone! I hope you are all havin' a good night!" The man spoke, his voice quickly followed by an uproar of applause and cheering. Gaz laughed lightly at the enthusiasm; mainly from the piss drunk bar patrons. "To start off this night, let's all give a warm welcome to the first band of the night, Woodland!" As he added that final segment, the audience roared even louder as the stage manager handed off the microphone to the lead vocalist of the band, a girl by the stage name Vixen.

As the band started loading on stage, Price was vigilantly scanning each member for potential candidates, already mentally rehearsing what he would say as a proposition to whoever he deemed fit for an invite. Ghost sat in his booth with a quiet scowl across his face, though it was mostly hidden by his balaclava. Everyone seemed the same as the rest; too cocky for their own damn good. He scoffed and leaned back in his seat, folding strong arms over his broad chest and reached for his shot glass, before pausing briefly, a flicker of interest crossing over his gaze as one member in specific crossed the stage and grabbed their microphone; you.

This was about to get interesting.

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melhyan · 2 months ago

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cmncisspnandmore · 10 months ago

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Coming home to you; Part 4

Parinings: Captain John Price X Wife! Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.1k

New to the series? Catch up here: Part 3

You sigh as you slide off Captain's back, your boots hitting the ground with a loud thud. It was a far drop off Captain, with how large he was. You pat the side of his neck as you grab the reins guiding him over to the fence.

This was the second section of fence that had been broken in a month. You let go ofC Captain's reins, and he goes to graze in the grass next to you. A soft breeze blows your hair into your face as you crouch down next to the broken wire fence. You carefully pick up one of the thick wires and inspect it.

It was cut, not broken by some animal, the break was too clean for it to have snapped under the pressure. Someone had cut your fence, but who? You lived in the middle of nowhere, there was nothing but acres of empty land around you. Most of which was owned by you and the neighbor down the road. You were the only two houses on this side of the road. Your neighbors across the street, the Rosens, owned most of the land over on their side.

There have been a few instances over the last few years that people have wandered onto your property thinking it was hunting ground. There was a lot of wildlife that lived in the woods behind your fenced pastures. But in the past year or so you hadn't had much of an issue thanks to the signage you had put up with your neighbor. You carefully put the cut wire down, your eyes trailing along the fence.

One of the posts was uprooted, it is now laying on the ground. That was going to be a pain to fix. If there was one thing you hated about fixing fences was digging in the fence posts. The posts themselves were almost as big as you, and they weighed a lot. You sigh, turning back towards the large Shire horse as he grazes. His large brown eyes look towards you as he lifts his head. Grass stuck out of his mouth as he took a few steps towards you. His black and white muzzle coming to bump into your arm.

“Someone’s messing with our fences… Do you know anything about that?” You ask him, as you pet his neck. Captain finishes chewing his grass before he tosses his head up and down, his top lip pulled up in a smile.

“Oh really? Do you?” You smile at his antics, a soft huff coming from him as your fingers stroke his nose. “Silly old thing, if only you could talk.”

You spend a few more moments petting Captain, before you glance over your shoulder at the fence post again. With a heavy sigh you pull your phone from your back pocket and dial John.

“Hello?” His gruff voice answers on the second ring.

“Hi,” you smile into the phone.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, you can hear shuffling in the background.

“Yeah, I mean, no. I don't know,” you sigh, “the fence in the back pasture was cut. And one of the posts is down.”

“Cut?” he asks, “are you sure it was cut?”

Running a hand through your hair you sigh, “Yeah I'm sure, can you come out and help me fix it?”

“Yeah, give me a few moments to get the gates open, and everything we need to fix it in the truck.”

“Okay, i’ll see you when you get here,” you hang up the phone, sliding it into your back pocket. “Looks like we’ll be out here for a while, let's get that tack off you.” Captain seems to understand, as he lowers his head so you can easily remove his bridle. You carefully lay his saddle and the rest of his tack over a portion of the fence and take a seat in the tall grass. It only takes Captain a few moments to notice you're sitting in the grass before he comes over. His large hooves stopped a few feet from you. Glancing up you smile at the huge animal, as he leans his head down and nudges you hard with his head.

“Oh I'm sorry, did I not invite you to sit with me?” You smile as the large animal maneuvers himself to kay in the grass next to you. He lays on his side,his large head resting on your thigh as you stroke your fingers through his slightly tangled mane. The Captain's mane was long and black, the strands thick and coarse in between your fingers. As the sun warms your skin you, take some time to plait his mane into intricate 4 and 5 strand braids. Weaving in small yellow flowers that were around you. Captain although hard headed at times, wanted nothing more than to please you. He enjoyed laying the fields with you, letting you pet him and do as you pleased. He was tolerant of you grooming him, and he often fell asleep as you braided his mane, or brushed him.

As you tie off the end of your last plait, the rumbling of a truck coming from behind you. The noise causes Captain to stand, getting to his feet as his large ears turn in the direction of the sound. He steps in front of you, putting his large body between you and the truck. As the truck comes closer you move to stand next to Captain as he lets out a whinny.

“Easy boy, it’s just John,” you soothe him, as he stamps his hooves into the ground.

The dark gray truck pulls to a stop next to the broken fence line. The door slamming shut as your husband walks around the front. As soon as Captain sees him, he visibly relaxes.

“See i told you, silly horse,” You pat his neck as you walk away from him. Captain returns to grazing as you walk up to your husband. His boonie hat pulled down to shield his eyes from the sun. “Hi love,” you smile as you stand in front of your husband.

“Hello Beautiful,” he smiles, his large hands coming to rest on your waist as he gently tugs you towards him. Your hands lay softly on his chest, the warmth of his chest seeping through his shirt. Through the thin material of his shirt you could feel his muscles flexing, as he leant down to press a kiss to your hair. “Care to show me the broken wire?” He smiles down at you.

“It's over here,” you step away, walking over to the cut fencing. John takes a moment. Bending down to inspect the wire, after a moment he stands, brushing his hands on his pants.

“You’re right, it was definitely cut, and that post was pulled from the ground,” he points over to the fallen post. “I don't know why someone would cut the fence… It’s clearly posted that this is private land not hunting grounds. And even the last time we found someone hunting on the land they left the fences very well alone.”

“I'm not sure, but we need to get that fixed before we let the animals back here. The last thing we need is to find that the sheep have wandered off, or that Captain and Rookie have taken themselves for a hack by themselves,” you sigh, walking over the bed of the truck and grabbing the thick work gloves from the back. You also grab the post hole digger from the back of the truck, as John cuts the broken wire from the other post.

After he throws the cut wire into the back of the truck he grabs the post hole digger from you. “I can dig the hole if you want to attach new wire to the fence post that's still in the ground over there.” He smiles at you as he hauls the heavy piece of equipment over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“Oh, how cute, you thought I was going to dig the hole?’ You smile cheekily at your husband. John doesn't reply, he just shakes his head as he walks over to redig the fence post hole.

You pull on a pair of thick work gloves and carefully go about fastening the wire to the standing fence post. The sun beats down on both you and John as you work in comfortable silence. It only takes him 20 minutes to dig the new hole and place the post, where it would've taken you almost an hour. As you twist the wire around itself to fasten it to the post John comes over. His shadow falls over you as he watches you finish twisting it together.

“You’re better at fastening the wire than I am. The damn stuff just makes me mad, I don't have the patience for such tasks anymore,” he grumbles. You look up over your shoulder, the sun glaring from being John makes him more shadow than actual features.

“Did you lose all your patience in your old age?” You tease.

“I lost it when they assigned Soap to my task force,” he smiles as he shakes his head.

“Well, there had to be someone other than me adding to your grey hairs,” you smirk.

“Darling no one gives me more grey hair than you,” John laughs, as he crouches down next to you. You finish tying off the wire and reach over, your hand coming to rest on his cheek.

“It just adds to your charm, you should really be thanking me, if i'm being honest.”

“Oh? I should be thanking you for aging me?” He raises a brow.

“One hundred percent, gives you that whole sexy older man vibe. You know this younger generation are all about going for older men. The more mature males, the sophisticated ones, the ones who probably know their way around a woman.”

“And do i?” He asks, standing to his full height, his hand catching yours as he pulls you up with him.

“Do you what?” You look up at him.

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, “know my way around a woman.”

A shiver runs through your body, the hair on your arms standing up as his hands circle your waist, pulling you flush against his front. A blush creeping up your neck and painting your cheeks. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, seeping into your skin like, settling into your bones. “You definitely know your way around a woman,” you breathe.

“Good answer,” he smiles down at you, his hand coming up to brush along your cheek. “Look at you, all flustered over a simple conversation.”

You roll your eyes at him, stepping out of his arms, “what can I say? It’s all the grey hair.”

John smiles, shaking his head as he wipes his hands on his jeans. He walks over to the rest of the supplies and piles them into the truck, making sure to secure the bed.

Captain walks over, his nose bumping into your shoulder, a soft nicker for your attention. You turn towards the horse, petting the sides of his face, brushing some stray grass from his muzzle. He tosses his head up, his lip curling upward in a smile as John walks towards you.

“Nice smile, Captain,” John laughs at the large animal, pulling a peppermint from his pocket. He holds it out on his flat palm, as Captain eats it from his hand. The loud crunching of the mint between his teeth filled the quiet.

“The fence is all fixed so there shouldn't be any wandering animals, I have to head back to the house, i need to do some work in my office today,” John's hands rest on your shoulders as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

Turning your head you look up at him, a small smile on his lips, “Okay, i’ll follow. Could you take Captain's tack?”

John gives a subtle nod, “Need a boost up?”

“Yes please,” you smile, grabbing a handful of Captain's mane. John moves his hands to your waist and hoists you up onto Captain's back. As you settle onto his back, John's hand moves to your thigh, patting it gently.

“Hey Love?” You call as he starts walking back to the truck. He looks back at you over his shoulder, boonie hat blocking his eyes.

“Yes?”

“RACE YOU HOME!” You yell, giving Captain a kick in the side and the old Shire horse takes off. Your hands gripping chunks of his mane as his hooves pound into the ground. You look over your shoulder, John getting smaller in the distance as he throws Captains tack into the back of the truck and hurries to climb in. You laugh as Captain picks up speed, the sound of the truck turning over in the distance.

Taglist: @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 3 #john price #captain john price #price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x female reader #x reader #x female reader #cod #cod x reader #farmer!price x reader #farmer!price #series

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jisanvai · 6 months ago

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Comprehensive Guide to Automatic Sliding Gate Opener Prices: What You Need to Know

When it comes to enhancing the security and convenience of your property, an automatic sliding gate opener is an invaluable investment. With the ability to open and close gates smoothly and efficiently, these systems offer a blend of functionality and modern convenience. However, understanding the cost and features of these openers can be a bit overwhelming. This guide aims to break down the factors affecting the price of automatic sliding gate openers and help you make an informed decision.

1. Introduction to Automatic Sliding Gate Openers

Automatic sliding gate openers are designed to automate the process of opening and closing sliding gates. They use a motorized system to move the gate along a track, providing easy access without the need for manual operation. This technology is particularly useful for both residential and commercial properties, offering enhanced security, convenience, and aesthetic appeal.

2. Factors Influencing the Price of Automatic Sliding Gate Openers

a. Gate Size and Weight: The primary factor affecting the price of an automatic sliding gate opener is the size and weight of the gate it will operate. Larger and heavier gates require more powerful motors and robust mechanisms, which increase the cost. For instance, a gate that weighs up to 1,000 pounds might cost between $300 and $500 for a basic opener, whereas heavier gates can push the cost to over $1,000.

b. Motor Power and Type: The motor's power, measured in horsepower (HP), directly influences the price. Higher horsepower motors can handle heavier gates and provide more reliable performance. Typical openers range from 1/2 HP to 1 HP. A more powerful motor generally costs more, but it ensures better durability and efficiency.

c. Material and Build Quality: The build quality and materials used in the gate opener also affect the price. Openers made from high-quality, weather-resistant materials tend to be more expensive but offer better longevity and performance. Look for openers made with corrosion-resistant metals and durable plastic components for enhanced durability.

d. Features and Technology: Modern automatic sliding gate openers come with a range of features that can influence their cost. Basic models might include simple remote control operation, while more advanced systems offer features such as:

Keypad Entry: Allows access via a numeric code.

RFID Technology: Uses radio-frequency identification for keyless entry.

Battery Backup: Ensures operation during power outages.

Safety Sensors: Prevents the gate from closing on obstacles.

Smartphone Integration: Enables control through mobile apps.

Each of these features can add to the overall price of the opener.

e. Installation and Labor Costs: Installation costs can vary based on the complexity of the system and the region. Professional installation is recommended to ensure proper setup and operation, and these services can range from $200 to $500 or more, depending on the installation's complexity and your location.

f. Brand and Warranty: Reputable brands often charge a premium for their products due to their reliability and customer support. Additionally, a good warranty can add value by providing peace of mind and protection against defects and malfunctions. Extended warranties or service plans can also impact the overall cost.

3. Average Price Ranges

To give you a clearer picture, here’s a general breakdown of the price ranges you can expect for automatic sliding gate openers:

Basic Models: $300 to $500

These are suitable for lighter gates and offer essential features such as remote control operation.

Mid-Range Models: $500 to $800

These often come with additional features like safety sensors and battery backups, and can handle medium to heavy gates.

High-End Models: $800 to $1,500+

These are designed for heavy-duty gates and include advanced features such as smartphone integration, robust safety systems, and high-powered motors.

4. Choosing the Right Opener for Your Needs

When selecting an automatic sliding gate opener, consider the following:

Gate Specifications: Ensure the opener you choose is compatible with the size and weight of your gate.

Feature Requirements: Determine which features are essential for your needs and budget.

Installation Needs: Factor in installation costs and whether you need professional help.

Long-Term Costs: Consider the durability of the opener and potential maintenance costs.

5. Conclusion

Investing in an automatic sliding gate opener is a smart choice for enhancing your property’s security and convenience. By understanding the factors that influence the price and carefully evaluating your needs, you can make a well-informed decision that balances functionality, durability, and cost. Whether you opt for a basic model or a high-end system, the right gate opener will provide years of reliable service and added peace of mind.

#Automatic Sliding Gate Opener price #Automatic Sliding Gate

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luveline · 2 years ago

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Hi Jadey! For a request I always thought it would be a cute idea for Steve and r finding a wild animal in the wilderness or something in the zombie au! Like when Steve found a deer at the college’s gate! Idk, hope this inspires you!! 🥰

thank you for your request my love! steve zombie!au ♡ fem!reader, 1.2k

Your breath turns to fog before it's fully left your mouth. Steve turns to make sure you're okay over an icy slip of asphalt, your hands tightly bound for safety's sake, and not because you've spent the last few weeks kissing and not talking about it afterwards.

"It's not far," he says. He knows you know that, but this is his way of reassuring you without breaking the tough guy act, or something.

You're desperate for him to hold your hand, not only for the admission of affection it is (and that you so sorely crave), but your hands are ice without his to trap the heat. It's been cold lately, evidence of a crushing winter quickly coming and unavoidable. You've yet to see snow, but rain falls cold and the low temperatures paint the roads and overgrown lawns in frost. Steve has led you down miles of residential, a town not unlike your hometown passing you by one slippery step at a time.

Hand in hand, it doesn't break your heart as much as it could.

"I really want popcorn," you say.

"Yeah? Were you a buttery kinda girl, or sweet? Salted?"

"You sound like there's a right and wrong answer. What did you like?"

Steve hoists the heavy rifle he's carrying over one shoulder higher, the tip of it aligned against the back of his head. He doesn't know how to use it; he likely won't need to. The threat of it has been enough to scare off three different poachers in the last two weeks alone. Every time you manage to successfully defend yourselves, Steve relaxes an inch.

"I liked all three, but I liked sweet best," he says. Your footsteps crunch as you pop a curb and follow along a row of overgrown hedges heavy with bird berries. "You didn't answer. You always avoid answering when I ask you stuff like that."

You tell him exactly how you like your popcorn to appease him. He smiles in victory, but something stays lingering in the back of your head.

"I don't avoid answering."

"Yesterday I asked if you wanted the old spice stick or the teen spirit and you shrugged."

"I thought you were trying to tell me I smelled like sweat."

"No, just… you said teen spirit smells like the candy you used to get from Haven, and I didn't want to remind you about it being gone."

"Everything reminds me." You're living in the end times. No use pretending things are normal, but you'll indulge him if that's what he wants. "Ask me something and I'll tell you a straight answer."

Steve hums. His cheeks are pink in the cold, the very tip of his nose tinted blue. "Do I only get one answer?"

"You can have two at a price."

You flirt on impulse, cringe away from yourself upon realisation. Why would you say that? you ask yourself worriedly, train of thought suddenly quashed when Steve pulls your hand toward his hip. He slides his ratty sneaker between yours, lips set.

"What, there's a price?" he asks quietly. "How long has that been in place? I would've tried paying it before."

You push his chest without any real intent. "Don't, Steve."

"Don't what?"

"I was just kidding, you don't have to…"

"I know you were kidding, but I want to." Steve smiles at you with teeth. "Brushed extra this morning. Bet I still taste of Arctic Fresh."

You tip your head back, but you get nervous the moment before he leans in. Steve closes his eyes while yours stay open, leaning in slowly. His hand presses flat to your coat.

Steve kisses like a sweetheart, all gentle and careful, lips lightly chapped where they press against the seam of yours. Rougher as your lips part, like even the hint of you inspires desperation. A kiss from Steve can make your whole week, and that's a testament to how surprised you have to be to pull away before you actually get one.

"Steve–" You cut yourself short, looking over his shoulder in shock.

He whips to the side. You grab his hand, as if to say, Hey, it's okay. You're not in any danger, just…

"We must be close to the zoo," he says.

There, in the middle of the street stands an animal you've never seen before. It has a deep brown body with short, striped legs. It's about the size of a show pony, you'd guess, though it doesn't look as volatile. For a moment you think it might be a zebra.

"It's an okapi."

You wrap your arm around his, eyes on the animal as it gathers a cud of stringy grass. "What's an okapi?" you ask.

"I don't know how to explain it, they…" He fades off as the okapi trots further inward. "We saw them at Garfield Park before it closed when I was a kid. They're not giraffes, but they kinda look like them, huh?"

You and Steve have come across a number of animals. Rabid dogs starving for food, cats that were surprisingly friendly. Rabbits, squirrels, fish to catch for smokey dinners when you're hungry like you are today. But never anything you'd see at the Fort Wayne zoo.

"What do you think it looks like?" Steve whispers.

"It has a giraffe's head and a zebra body. Or a bison."

"And you gave me that one for free."

You laugh and the okapi spooks, turning its head to your huddle. Steve stands in front of you protectively. The okapi only watches you watching her with small black eyes.

"What do we do?" you ask. "I don't want to scare her away."

"She's a wild animal. She's not going to stay if we move, and we can't stay here and freeze." Steve squeezes your hand, his voice nearly inaudible. "Sorry. Maybe we can go around her, honey."

You blink. Honey. That's me. He's calling me honey.

The okapi head shoots up as a rustling crack sounds from a hundred feet behind you, sprinting away. One second she's nosing at grass cracked asphalt, the next she's out of view.

You stand shell-shocked together staring at the space where she'd been.

Steve thumbs the strap of the rifle. "It's weird," he says quietly. "We've been eating scraps and I didn't even think about trying to shoot her."

"Oh." You look at his face, the soft hollows of his eyes and his strong nose. "I didn't think about it either."

"Stupid of me," he murmurs.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. "I don't think it's stupid, Steve. Something else."

He turns his lips to yours and steals a proper one. There isn't much Arctic Fresh left behind, but it's a really nice kiss regardless. Warming, velvety soft.

He pulls his lips from yours to rest his nose against your cheek. "Do I still get to ask a question?" he asks.

You'd tell him whatever it is he wanted to know. You're just so excited that he wants to know it in the first place.

"Ask me anything," you say.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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jack-kellys · 9 months ago

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hiya fizz!! can I request davey + forgetting to eat for the bad things happen bingo? idk it just feels so Him yk

bonus points if there's javey involved asw (maybe with the anger born of worry trope idk)

tyy :))

hey theeere kit of course! one box per fic, though, making it harder for myself >:)

ao3 series here, and request a trope from these here!

The chillier breezes and shifting leaves of autumn came quicker than David could have planned. Not like he can plan seasons, of course, but he hadn’t had time to factor in what autumn meant to his, shall he say.. outside responsibilities.

School, for one, had picked up once September finished- assignments were piling enough and David left home that morning with Les with arithmetic still to complete. It occupied his lunch period, pencil messily scratching across the page to finish it before his next class.

And after school he’s at the circulation gate, waiting for the evening edition with a couple of the boys. Sometimes Sarah accompanies him when she can get out of the house, and especially since their folks don’t permit Les to sell anymore (much to the now ten-year-old’s chagrin), but today isn’t one of those days. It’s solely David, tapping his foot.

“He’s late,” he mutters out, not to anyone in particular.

“Who, Jack?” Racer asks, perking up. That’s true, but not what David meant.

“Wiesel,” David sighs. “Folks are expecting us on the streets in only a few minutes, right?”

“Cool it,” Racer chuckles. “Ain’t a thing. We got better things to be pissed at him about.”

“I’m not- pissed,” David frowns, shoulders bunching a little. He stops tapping his foot. Race gives him an exaggerated nod, eyes widened, and David rolls his own. Finally the gate opens and when David turns away from the window with his fifty papers in hand, Jack appears in front of him with some kind of smile on his face.

“You’re also late,” David says, and Jack only smiles wider. “You selling?”

“Ain’t I always,” Jack smirks, patting his bag- less than his usual, David thinks. “I got a request.”

David’s lips quirk, following Jack when he begins to walk them away from the circulation center. “What kind, exactly?”

“A good one, promise,” Jack replies, setting his hand on Davey’s shoulder, likely to steer him toward whatever odd adventure Jack’s planned. “It’s startin’ to get colder, you know, and Klopp can only buy so much for us. It’s up to us older fellas to pick up the slack. New socks, new gloves, extra fabric to stuff clothes with.”

That’s reasonable in terms of necessity, but not in the way that matters most. David turns his head toward Jack. “How did you get the money for that?”

Jack smiles again, wide, eyes narrowed in amusement or pride.

“Easy,” he states. “I didn’t. Now c’mon.”

For all of the legends and stories David has heard, he’s never seen Jack’s thieving skills in action. There are lots of things he’s swiped over the years, apparently, that simply hadn’t made it to his rap sheet- and most were far more impressive than food and clothing. So while David doesn’t exactly like it, he makes conversation with a shop clerk while Jack slithers into the store behind him. The bottom line is that they can’t afford it, and the kids at the lodge need it, and that has to outweigh the moral consequences of it all.

David’s normally a talkative person. Not a good talker, maybe–definitely a better one now–but he can keep going, and going. He’s leaning on the counter, having linked his english class to the price of wool going up somehow, and he feels his brain start to…slide, almost. It feels distracted, but not by anything he can tell, and his gaze falls to the counter as it does. Maybe he’s just tired, but he has to keep talking so Jack can get–

“Hey. Hey. Kid, you alright?”

David’s head snaps up with a quick inhale at the clerk’s voice, blinking a few times to sort out his vision. He’d been really intent on that counter.

“Uh, yes, yeah,” he nods quickly. “Just fine, ah- sorry, what was I talking about..?”

“You ain’t been talking for nearly a minute,” the clerk replies, “what- HEY!”

That can only mean one thing. David can hear the door open, and before it can close, he’s running outside.

“Thought you said you were good at this!” David yells, catching up to Jack. His paper bag is filled, and his shirt must be stuffed- he’s gripping his sleeves like random objects might start pooling out from them.

“I am when my partner ain’t suddenly go dead silent!” Jack retorts, glancing behind them. He picks up his pace, and painstakingly, David does the same, a pit forming in his stomach.

His expression slackens. More than a pit- something like a hurricane, swirling his insides in circles, over and over.

“Jack,” he tries, but his voice doesn’t carry this time. He’s way more out of breath than he should be. “Jack. We need to- I need to stop.”

His partner’s head swivels at that, expression incredulous. “Dave, we-”

Jack blinks, eyes widening suddenly, and he nods vigorously. Ask and David shall receive, apparently…

In a moment, Jack’s hands are on him, as if he knew David was inches from stumbling. He practically shoves David into an alley, the change in direction jostling his brain. His legs are keeping up, but his brain can’t seem to, and every time he blinks they’re an extra five feet ahead of where they only just were.

Finally, Jack stops, and so does David, breathing hard. Spots are entering his vision, and he tries to blink them away, grabbing onto a railing at the bottom of a fire escape to steady himself.

“Shit, Dee,” he hears Jack hiss, and his fingers fall away from the railing as he’s guided and then sat against the wall. In front of him are Jack’s big, blurred, midnight-dark eyes, his eyebrows creased with concern. Light dapples parts of his face from above, landing on his pink-brown cheeks. He must’ve set David under the stairs. “Davey- Davey, hey, what’s goin’ on? What happened?”

Jack pats his cheek suddenly as he speaks, jerking David back to an attention he hadn’t realized he’d left.

“I just… can’t. Run. Ri’now,” David supplies, blinking at the other.

“Yeah I got that,” Jack almost chuckles, gaze still filled with worry His hand finds David’s forehead. “Are you sick?”

David shakes his head slowly, leaning into Jack’s palm. “Had to do math, during lunch.”

This somehow confounds Jack more, eyebrows scrunching, before he nods.

“Davey,” Jack sighs. “You gotta eat during lunch, okay? Gotta do that, or you’re gonna black out mid-sprint.”

“I blacked out after,” David corrects. The corrects again- “I didn’t black out.”

Jack nods in what David assumes is mock-understanding, before the boy shifts closer, pressing a quick kiss to David’s temple. Then he leans back, sitting on his knees and watching David for a moment. He can feel himself smile slightly, and Jack mirrors it meltily, before David snorts as the other tries to quickly wipe it off his face.

“Stay there,” Jack orders, standing himself up. “I’m gonna go grab you somethin’, alright? Then we’ll head back.”

David nods, leaning his head back against the brick behind him and resting his eyes. There’s no movement in front of him.

“Stop staring and get me some food, Kelly,” he hums.

“I–” Jack huffs. There’s a pause. “On it.”

#anyway!! hope u enjoy !!#newsies #davey jacobs #david jacobs #newsies fanfic #jack kelly #fizz writes #fizz answers #javey #javid #newsies fic #newsies the musical #rizz does bthb!#i like that it kept my indentations…. tab key my beloved #jk i hopped on desktop and theyre gone

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butchkaramazov · 1 year ago

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they say the world will end in a whisper, a moan, a murmur, an apology. my world ended one scream at a time. the scream of copper on my tongue and glass sliding into my ribcage and blood on the plastic and nails digging into my fist and the silent, silent scream of my breath. they say the world will end and all will be holy, and all will return to god and be free. they never mentioned the part where blood stains your fingers and there’s orange juice on your lips right where she rubbed it off your chin with a finger holier than god’s. and he opens the gates to heaven and reaches to rub the sin off of my bloodstained hands and he speaks to me through the flashing lights and he tells me i am holy, i’m holy i’m holy i’m holy—and for a moment i believe it— but then i feel the glass still lodged in my ribcage and the phlegm in my throat and the dried blood on my cheek and i smile. i never take his hand. * i’m lying somewhere blue and green and red and black and the screeches of angels still hums in my ears— this is the price to pay for sinning, for loving, for sinning, for loving, for sinning for sinning for sinning for sinning for sinning and for not taking god’s hand when he rubbed the crime off of my hands forsaking the giver of life, the giver of everything that lived, everything that breathed— but then—before i lived, i loved. it’s funny to think of life when you’re lying on a hospital bed and you can’t hear your heartbeat and you feel it hammering in your chest— hammering against that shard of glass lodged in my ribcage hammering against the flowers growing on my bones— and there’s fingers—claws—feeling my pulse and it’s fading and they’re screaming and it’s fading and they’re laughing and it’s fading and they’re smiling and it’s fading and i’m smiling— you’re holding the gate to somewhere, and it’s somewhere red and black and bloody and i can feel its hot breath on my cheek but you take my bloodstained hands in yours and you kiss my knuckles and god watches as you kiss my sins away— and the angels are screaming and god is screaming and they tell me i’m unholy i’m unholy i’m unholy a sinner a sinner a sinner but you take this sinner’s hands and you call them yours and you reach for my cheek and your fingertips brush against my lips and you’re calling and god’s calling and i can feel the apple i’d stolen stuck in the corner of my throat and he’s clawing at me, be mine, be holy, be holy, be holy be holy be holy but your hands reach for mine, yet again— and what is heaven to me if not your shaky breath on my neck and your trembling hand on my cheek— and i look between god’s white hand and your broken fingers— and i take yours. there’s something in those fingers, twisted by something stronger than godhood—and yet willing to call this sinner’s hands their own. there’s something in those fingers, reaching for mine, that divinity kneels to. and when i look up, god is on his knees.

—ahana

#my poetry :3 #i wrote this when i was 12 i think yeah

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penig · 7 months ago

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So we're having a rough summer and I haven't been talking about it because why brood but it's different when you talk about people being nice. So, thumbnail sketch:

We finally (as I've been wanting to do for years) got an estimate on getting the house rewired (pretty sure some of the original wiring installed in 1910 is in use) and partially replumbed (can't use the shower tub because the iron pipes are too clogged), and the paperwork for the loan took forever, and then a high wind came along (on my birthday) and dropped a dead redbud tree on our porch and a large branch on our car, which was totaled, and we had to buy a new (used) car and get a tree service to come out and take care of the fallen wood and trim the trees so no more wood falls, but the cost to take care of the big branch and woodpecker damaged tree in the back yard was more than we could afford with the car business, but that could wait a few months assuming no more high winds come along; and the loan comes through and we get the car squared away and the tree service is scheduled to come and we're starting to breathe again -

And I spy somebody putting what I recognize as a code violation notice on the front gate so I open the door and come out to tell her that if this is about the redbud tree on the porch we've already scheduled the work and she says: "It's everything on the lot. Cut it down to 12 inches. You have ten days" So I point out that most of the tall stuff is legal garden plants that should not be pruned in August, that it's two years since I've been physically capable of doing yardwork of any kind, that the work she's demanding is impossible in that time frame and oh yes, it's August, in Texas, with triple digit temperatures predicted for the foreseeable future and it could very well kill me to try. She thought there might be a local program to help me (No; they're all for structural work) and wouldn't budge. So that was like being shoved back underwater when we'd almost crawled out on shore.

But we put out a call to our friends, and people came over Saturday and did miracles, and almost every day this week somebody has come over (in addition to the people putting holes in our walls and ceilings and arguing over how to run the wires and occasionally turning pale at what they find) to help me in the mornings before the third digit kicked in. We did not, of course prune any of the poor heat stressed legal plants, but great inroads were made on the rest of it, and one friend even cut up the big branch in the back yard and the tree service people hauled it off, along with a collapsed picnic table which they told me, when they quoted the price for this small secondary job, that they would not take.

This morning I could barely move. I'm getting a lot of pain in the good leg as well as the bad leg, and in my back, plus I was just weak with heat and tiredness, and for the first time in almost a year I decided I'd better break out the cane again, at least to take the stairs and walk in the yard to discuss with the friend who came today, the last day before the inspection, where best to put his effort (because it was plain to both of us that I wasn't lifting a finger) in order to convince the inspector that we really had done the best we could and to let the stuff we couldn't get to slide until fall and spring.

And I guess one of the workmen noticed the cane, and noticed that the handrail on the upper staircase had pulled out of the wall on one end (it had been anchored to the sheetrock, not the wall proper; the other end was anchored in paneling and was fine; this happened a couple of months ago and we had bigger worries), and just - fixed it. Because it's certainly fixed now. As is typical in Texas most of the workmen are people I can't even talk to because my Spanish is as bad as their English, so it's not as if we've made friends with them. And I didn't see it done, nor did the foreman know who did it when I brought it up and asked him to thank whoever it was, so it wasn't somebody looking to make points. They just saw a chance to do a small simple thing to benefit a total stranger, and did it.

The point here being that two people - whoever called in the code complaint (seriously, that should be illegal in August, at least for yard code with no clear and present danger) and the city employee who wouldn't listen to reason - went out of their way to force me to focus on the least pressing problem facing us right now at the expense of my own well-being. But they are far, far outnumbered by the people who have gone out of their way to help us, just because we needed help.

So, suck it, cynicism!

#personal #non-sims

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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

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Hiiiiiiiiiiii this is hellfirehottie420 here to drool about argyle. Maybe you could write something where he’s a protective soft dom and you’re both just big Simps for each other and you’re passenger princess while he sells to a few people and then y’all hang out the the elder Hawkins crew? 🥺🥺🥺

But literally I’ll ready anything you write so do whatever you want with it angel

Welcome to the Argyle Simps Club, @hellfirehottie420 💚 we've been waiting for you.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), oral (m!receiving), dom/sub dynamics, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, babes), mentions of drug use/dealing, slight dacryphilia if you squint, use of "good girl"

WC: 1.6k

“Hey, baby,” Argyle says, kissing you sweetly as you slide into the passenger seat of his van. “How was work?”

You sigh, leaning back on the headrest, and look over at him. “I mean, y’know how it is,” you tell him as you stifle a yawn, “the flowers are great; the customers are brutal.” You sit up a bit straighter, resting your hand on his. “Some woman came in, super pissed off, because the bouquet she bought last week wilted, and demanded a refund. I literally had to explain to a grown-ass woman that flowers die.”

Your boyfriend laughs, pressing his lips to your cheek, and you feel yourself smiling despite your stressful day. “Pretty sure the same lady came into Surfer Boy today, too. She ate three slices of pizza and then complained that they had the wrong toppings.”

“Sounds like her,” you wryly agree. “Anyway, I just wanna get home and cuddle up, watch a movie, maybe smoke a little bit.” You bat your eyelashes and twirl a lock of his long raven hair, a move you know he can’t resist.

“You read my mind, amor,” Argyle says. “I just have to do a quick deal, and then you have me all to yourself.”

You jut out your lower lip in a pout. “But I want all of you now,” you whine, not even attempting to hide the double entendre.

Argyle leans in, voice low and raspy in your ear. “You’re being a brat.” The words send shivers down your spine, and you reflexively squeeze your thighs together. “I’m gonna remember that later.”

A whimper escapes you, and you watch as the corners of his mouth twitch into a proud smirk. He knows the effect he has on you, and he’s not afraid to lean into it. His left hand grips the steering wheel, and his right hand lands on your upper thigh, fingertips gently digging into their plush. He leans back in his seat, more than happy to feel you squirm at the barest touch.

He pulls into the public pool’s parking lot, reaches across the console like you’re not even there, and grabs a baggie from the glove compartment. “I’ll be right back,” he mumbles. “Be a good girl and stay right here, mmkay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you manage, and he slams the van door shut and jogs off.

You fiddle with the radio, flipping back and forth between the Top 40 station and Argyle’s usual ska. When both are only playing commercials, you snap the music off and let your mind wander.

What’s my punishment gonna be this time? Maybe I can weasel my way out of it if I give him a sexy surprise.

Where is he, anyway?

His deals usually take 30 seconds, especially with established clients. He’d been dealing to this lifeguard for the whole summer, so it shouldn’t take this long.

Just as you’re about to get out and start looking for him—punishment be damned—he walks back through the gate, looking irritated.

“Baby?” you say when he gets back to the van. “What happened?”

Argyle flings his door open before climbing in and angrily yanking it shut. “Fuckin’ idiot, trying to tell me that I charged him less last week,” he grumbles, starting the engine and accelerating back onto the main road. “I was like, ‘nah, bro, this is the same price as it’s been the whole summer,’ but he kept fuckin’ insisting that I was ripping him off.”

Your boyfriend rarely gets pissed off, so seeing him so distressed catches you off-guard. “Are you okay? Did he—he didn’t hurt you, right?”

Argyle scoffs, shaking his head. “He’s too much of a punk for that.” He pulls up to a red light, sitting up a bit straighter, and continues. “He was like, ‘didn’t get enough tips today, Pizza Boy? Gotta upsell this trash pot?’”

“What’d you do?”

He shrugs. “Sold it to him for what he wanted, then told him to find a new dealer. But now I gotta dip into my own funds to cover the difference,” he groans, slamming a fist against the wheel.

You pause, considering your options to get him back to his typical happy-go-lucky self. You could continue talking to him about it, or…

At the next red light, you toy with the elastic waistband of his neon pants, sliding your hand down his boxers. He hisses at the sudden contact.

“P-Princesa, what’re you—” But you interrupt his question by wrapping your hand around his cock; it’s already half-hard. Slowly stroking him, you glide your thumb over the bead of pre-cum at his tip, using it to help your languid motions.

“I can feel you growing in my hand,” you murmur. “Wonder what it would feel like in my mouth.” With that, you free his length from its confinement, leaning down and taking him between your parted lips. Your tongue swirls around the head, making him buck his hips slightly.

“Thassit, baby,” Argyle grunts, lazily grabbing at the back of your head. “You know exactly how to make me feel better. Always such a good girl f’me.”

You nod as best as you can with his cock still in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks and opening your throat to take him deeper.

“Don’t stop till we get back home,” he orders, struggling to stay focused on the road. “Even if I cum, just swallow an’ keep going.”

You don’t answer him directly; instead, you use your hand to tend to the parts you can’t reach with your mouth. He sighs in contentment.

“Sh-shit, ‘s like all my problems disappear when you suck me off,” he muses, stretching his legs as much as he can. “Hit the fuckin’ jackpot with you, baby.” In response, you remove your hand from his shaft and take as much of him in your mouth as you can. The van veers slightly into the next lane, and Argyle lets out a guttural, wanton moan as he pulls over to the shoulder. You’re caught off-guard when he nudges you upwards, and his cock slips from your lips with a wet pop.

“Wasn’t done,” you whine, leaning back down to continue, but he shakes his head. Beads of sweat make his hair stick to his forehead.

“Ride me, Princesa,” Argyle groans, helping you onto his lap. You tug his pants down slightly, revealing more of his thick, muscular thighs. He bunches your skirt up around your waist, clumsily pushing your panties to the side as he runs his hard cock through your wet folds. Knowing that he hasn’t fully prepped you yet, he slowly eases you down onto his length. “Take your time, baby,” he coos, putting his big hands on your hips as you get comfortable. “You’ll get there; you can take all of me. ‘S no rush, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you manage, wincing slightly as he stretches you. You’ve been together for ages, but you’re still pleasantly surprised at the way he feels inside you. “‘M good now. J-Just…help me move?”

His hands grip your hips tighter, helping you rock back and forth. You drape your arms over his broad shoulders, throwing your head back as he hits your sweet spot over and over. “You’re doing such a good job,” he praises, stretching up to kiss you deeply. “My pretty girl, riding me so nice. Making me feel so–fucking–good.” He snaps his hips upwards, quickening the pace and thrusting you full-throttle towards your own orgasm.

“Gonna cum,” you choke out, tears pooling in your eyes at the sensation of him filling you completely.

Argyle smirks, cocking his head slightly. “Gotta ask first, pretty girl. You know you’re not supposed to cum without permission.”

Frustrated, you cry out, “Please, please let me cum. ‘M s’close, please.” You sound so pathetic, so needy. It’s exactly what he wants.

“Cum for me,” he relinquishes, pressing a thumb to your clit and making quick but deliberate circles. “Cum all over my cock.” The overstimulation has you doing exactly what he says, and the coil in your belly snaps as you ride out your high. He’s spilling into you seconds later, sputtering and swearing.

The two of you stay connected for a few moments, catching your breath and kissing each other. “I gotta move you now, Princesa,” Argyle finally says, and you mewl as he helps you off of his softening cock. A mixture of your releases trickles down your thigh, and he scoops it up with two fingers and brings it to your lips. You accept it, earning yourself another good girl.

The rest of the short ride home is spent in a delicious post-sex haze. You’re so fucked out that you barely register the old, beat-up El Camino in the driveway.

“Shit!” Argyle slams his hands against the steering wheel, jolting you from your daze. “I totally forgot that I told Byers we’d go see a movie tonight.” Sure enough, Jonathan is sitting on the front stoop, smoking a joint. When he spots the Surfer Boy Pizza van, he snuffs it out and walks over.

“Hey, man…and lady,” he laughs, running his fingers through his overgrown shaggy hair. “Dude, we still on for tonight, or do you have, uh, other plans?” he adds, taking in both of your disheveled appearances.

Argyle gives a sheepish grin. “Raincheck? I’ll buy the popcorn, I swear.”

Jonathan just chuckles again, fishing his keys from his pocket. “Nah, man, it’s cool. Will was dying to see it anyway, so I’ll just take him.” He unlocks his car, throwing over his shoulder, “You kids have fun…but not too much fun!”

“Baby,” you start, kissing Argyle’s cheek happily, “you coulda gone to the movies with him. I wouldn’t mind.”

“‘S cool,” he replies, giving you a smug grin. “Besides, I still owe you your punishment for being such a little brat earlier, don’t I?”

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