I hate Knowing That If john Price clicked His Tongue At Me As If i were A Stray Cat, I Would Get

Teared 🩹🩸

🪖👱🏻‍♂️🪝💀👻🔪 (if you know you know)

Happy Halloween !!!🎃

Block people who make bad faith posts about trans women's struggles by saying trans men do not struggle.

Block people who post on trans men's vents by suggesting they don't suffer as profoundly as their sisters.

Block people who try to make you turn against the women and others who make up our family.

Do not allow yourself to become bitter and jealous, protect yourself and you will be protecting our community.

'you wouldn't pirate a-' i would steal anything from any company. anything in the world. i dont even want it i just hate you

Do we know how Price came to his hat?

How about Nik gave it to him shortly after they met, because young Price got horribly sunburned on his face and neck, the translucent (and at that time not yet so freckly) fucker. He kept it every since. It's practical! It's only because it's practical, you see. No other reason.

Nik POV: That's my ha- nevermind, I'll never get it back (insert budding feelings accompanied by possessive pride that Price wears some of his)

Fuuuck, I love this so much. I usually have the cigar habit as something Nik gave him, but this is equally as delicious.

Maybe they were conducting an op in the middle east somewhere. It was a dry heat out in the desert so Price didn't notice it as much. He was used to the clammy, uncomfortable heat we get in the UK. To him, that's heat, the kind that makes you soak through your shirt at the back, under your arms, under your damn tits.

The dry desert crept up on him and while he absolutely recognised the importance of maintaining himself properly so that he didn't jeopardise their mission, he had been single-mindedly focused on everyone and everything else besides. He didn't realise he was dehydrated until he started getting dizzy while looking over a map with Mac and Nik.

Mac took one look at him and grunted. "When's the last time ye took a pish?"

Price couldn't fuckin' remember, could he? He looked at his captain stupidly, dry mouth sticky and cloying.

"Fer fuck sake, g'wan back tae the tent, ye dafty. If ah see ye out here before ye've sunk a litre, ah'll skelp ye. Nik, get him outta my sight."

So, Nik walked Price back to the tent they were storing a few crates worth of explosives in and sat him down with a Camelbak full of cold water. Once Price started drinking, he couldn't stop, it was possibly the best thing he had ever tasted in his bloody life. It didn't matter that half of it sloshed down his stubbled chin onto his shirt.

"Ah, ah, take it easy, lieutenant," Nik said, placing one of his big hands over Price's wrist. "You will make yourself sick." He smiled big, unabashed, and Price looked at himself in those mirrored aviators with a faint scowl. It was unreasonable how good-lookin' Nik was in a backwards khaki patrol cap and sunglasses. Shouldn't Russians burn in the heat? They were fifty percent snow, weren't they?

"'m fine," Price sniffed, always a little defensive around Nikolai, and now feeling extra sensitive after getting bollocked in front of him.

He hated that Nik made him feel his age. Twenty-three was young for a lieutenant but it was never usually a problem. People saw his scores, his records, his medals even now, and they forgot his age. But Nik had a way of reminding Price that, while he was looking up swearwords in the French dictionary at school to try and impress Tracy from class 9B2, Nik was already flying Sukhois and learning fifty ways to kill a man.

Nik nodded and they sat in silence for a while. Price's eyes wandered to the tent flap, and he was returning to the map in his mind when Nik's fingers, cool from where they had been holding the water bottle, touched his ears. They felt like shards of ice. "Ah, wossat fer, ya muppet?" He grumbled.

Nik's grin grew a little wider. "Your ears have burned, and the back of your neck."

"Fuck sake, I put factor fifty on this mornin'..." Price traced his fingers from his ear down his neck. The burning stopped at the line of his shemagh, which had offered some protection, even soaked in sweat.

"Da, but you are... hmm, svyetlokozshee, uh.." Nik's eyes flicked back and forth as if reading from an internal dictionary, "ah, fair-skinned."

It was damn impressive how he did that. His file had said eight languages. English was number eight. Mac had said something about mensa international having a file on Nik too. Too intelligent to be slumming it in the desert with the SAS, and yet here he was.

The way Nik said fair-skinned sounded far too fond and Price's skin would be blushing if it wasn't already red. He decided not to examine the reaction too closely. Price touched his ears gingerly, and scrunched his nose. "Great."

"You must look after yourself, lieutenant. You are the most valuable asset here." Nik dropped his pack from his shoulder and began rummaging through. He pulled out a roll of khaki and shoved it into Price's hands. When Price unrolled it, he puffed a laugh.

"A boonie hat, you jossin' me?"

Nik looked at him blankly.

"Oh, uh... Takin' the piss, as in, I'm gonna look like a twat if I wear this."

Nik rolled his shoulders in an 'eh' shrug that made Price want to shove the hat in his mouth. "You will look like a twat if you faint in the heat and the captain has to carry you out under fire."

Price licked the salt from his lips, fixing Nik with a long stare, hating the fact that he was right more than he hated the boonie hat. "Fair," he said, finally. He unrolled it, flattened out the brim, and shoved it on his head, picking up the water bottle for another long drink.

Nik watched him, eyes invisible behind his aviators, but Price was sure he was... admiring. Just felt it. Nik always looked at him in ways like that. Fuck knows why. "Wot?" Price asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist.

"Hm, just... an echo of tomorrow."

"You are bloody odd, Nik."

"Da," Nik conceded, slapping his knees before he rolled to his feet. "I will tell the captain you are almost ready. Two hundred and fifty more millilitres to go, such a good boy."

A shiver of something not entirely unpleasant ran down Price's spine, and he growled. "Just for that I'm gonna tip it on the floor."

"No, you will not." Nik didn't even look back as he walked out of the tent.

Price scowled, flashed his middle finger at Nik's back, and drank the last quarter of a litre as petulantly as he could muster. "Fuckin' wanker..."

TRUNCATED DECACHORON

SPREAD THIS ALL OVER TUMBLR FOR NO REASON

i hate to be that girl again but i'm not gonna care if that "141 + konig - gaz" is from today or 2023. i'm blocking you and everybody who liked and reblog it.

your can’t get it up piece STOPPPP THE WORMS IN MY BRAIN ARE GOING FERAL HELP! i have noooo clue what this is called or if it’s an official thing but i loveeee when a guy cums too quickly, can’t get it up, is so pent up they’re blushing blubbering etc and all of these are such older boyfriend simon like he is old and sometimes his body doesn’t work the way he wants it to. i love it like yesss blush and get all embarrassed because you just came in your pants simply because we were making out or because you came as soon as you put your cock in and thrusted like twice…yum!

JESUS idk what it’s called either but it drives me fucking batty 🫶🏼

there’s this line older bf!simon walks with you of either feeling like a dirty old man or a fucking teenager- often there’s no in between.

when he’s got you on your back and you’re looking up at him with those starry eyes like he hung the fucking moon and you’re biting on the tip of your finger as you fucking giggle for him.

“mmm si, you’re so fucking handsome”

and you’re dragging a hand up his abs and pushing your hips closer to him as he’s trying to clear his mind enough to sink just the tip in.

fucking focus, stupid git.

it’s no use when you’re touching him like that and you sound so fucking sweet and your eyes are crossing when he’s only just notched in the head of his cock.

done for.

you’re tight- practically choking him on entry and it’s all falling to pieces. strangled moan breaking out his chest as his hips are stuttering and he’s flooded you with cum.

you gasp, fingers moving to spread yourself a little to watch the way it spills out of you. the blush is already creeping up simon’s neck and he’s burying his face in your chest.

“m’so fuckin’ sorry, sweet’art”

rubbing his back and gently cooing in his ear, you’re pulling him on top of you to let him curl into your side.

“sorry f’what? thinking that highly of me?”

he feels like a fucking loser with this pretty little thing, he should be able to fuck you within an inch of your life. and he can! he does!

but not all the time.

not when you’ve been perched in his lap kissing on him for the better part of an hour and your hips roll into his when his hands move just right.

the little noises you make when the meeting of your thighs move over the hard line of his cock, simon’s head is fucking spinning.

he wants to tell you he needs a breather, he knows you’d understand but he also doesn’t want you to move. he doesn’t want to take a hand off you.

but when you’re leaning back and pulling your shirt over your head, taking his hands and placing them right on your chest- he’s done for.

simon’s hips lift off the couch and there’s a breathy little whimper and he doesn’t even know where the fuck it came from. but he’s cumming.

and he’s cumming hard.

he’s embarrassed, feeling like if anyone else knew that’d just happened- he’d probably have to kill them.

not you though, not you who looks at him with that heady little smile and starts kissing up the column of his throat.

“fuck, si- you sound so fucking sexy when you cum for me”

but when he’s feeling like a dirty old man, already getting on at himself for not being young enough for you. then his cock goes soft on him and he actually might break something.

you don’t even look bothered, when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed feeling sorry for himself and you’re wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

nuzzling your face in the crown of his head, pressing kisses to his scalp as you bring a hand down to stroke it soft.

“that feel good?”

simon’s chest stutters as he breathes out an affirmative, sinking back into your chest as your other hand comes to play with his balls.

“you’ve had a long week, yeah?”

and he remembers that yeah, he has actually. maybe his body isn’t giving up, maybe he isn’t the worst man to ever walk the planet, maybe- just maybe he does deserve you.

so he lets himself relax into you as your teeth gently scrape the shell of his ear while you stroke him. never firming, but still making that heat thunder away in his stomach.

“let me take care of you, like you always do f’me”

Controversial opinion but I think John Price would be terrible at comforting you.

He's a doer. He sees something that needs fixing and he does it. He hates feeling useless, hates feeling powerless, especially when it comes to the people he cares about. From the second he realises  there's something wrong (which is instantly, he's scarily good at reading people) he's all questions. What happened, who did it, why did they do it...he needs all the details, love. He'll sort it, don't you worry.

You have to remind him that he can't murder your boss, or your shitty friends, or the guy who made you spill coffee on your favourite shirt and then yelled at you for it.

(And no, he can't rough them up - "even a little!" - or give them a "warning")

And if he can't fix it himself, he'll resort to giving you orders - this is what you'll do next time, or here's why there won't be a next time, because you're cutting them off immediately. They're no good for you, and you deserve better. You need to understand your worth, you need to stand up for yourself, you need to you need to you need to - 

If you weren't already, you'd be in tears by this point,  yelling at him to just stop and listen. You don't need advice. You don't need anything fixing. You just need someone to listen to you and comfort you - you just need your partner. 

He's stunned into silence. He's never really considered that you might just need him. Soft words and gentle touches were never something he was afforded himself, so he learned to show his care through his actions, by providing for you and caring for you and doing anything, big or small, that could make your life easier. The idea that he could care for you by doing...nothing? By just being there? It was a foreign concept to him.

That being said, once you've gotten it into his head that he doesn't have to do anything, you just need him...his hugs are unbeatable. He will pull you onto his lap and completely envelop you with his arms, draping your favourite blanket over you and rubbing your back gently. If he can't fix the world for you, then he can at least distract you from it, to remind you that in his arms nothing will ever hurt you. That to him, you are the most important thing, and he needs to tell you that with words rather than actions.

He may be terrible at comfort, but with John Price you'll never doubt that you're loved.

I’m sorry but Kyle “Gaz” Garrick in THESE

my depression has led me down this road so…

c/w: stepdad!john x lowselfesteem!reader, step-cest, dead dove, slight mention of reader taking a prescribed medication for unspecified medical condition

john and his ‘loser’ step-daughter, who’s riddled with a winning combination of mommy and daddy issues. john steps up as much as he can to fill the gaps left by your deadbeat dad but your mother digs her claws in deep to rip that warm feeling away from you whenever she can

you’re a sweet thing, haven’t really found your path in life yet. no further education because you’re ‘not really passionate about anything, I guess’. no job, no close friends and no boyfriend, not even a first date

your mother makes no attempts to hide her disappointment in you, shoving your medications to the back of the cabinet when she catches john looking in curiosity. so he tries his hardest to keep her out the house. busy with work, and spa trips, weekends away with her friends. far away so she can’t bother you…

poor thing who just needs a loving, guiding hand. and john is more than happy to provide that. more than happy to pay your way for you. you’re a good girl despite what your mother says. always washing his clothes for him, giving him a portion of whatever you cook yourself, a kiss on his cheek every time you head off to bed

your mother doesn’t like he offers his jacket to you instead of her, that sickly-sweet ‘she’s shivering, love. look at her’ every time. or the way you sleep in his old t-shirts from his recruitment days. you hear them argue about it every once in a while, before your mum storms out and like clockwork, john comes into your room and asks if you want to have a movie night with him

your mum doesn’t need to know how you snuggle up to him on his lap, drooling into his neck when you doze off after the third movie. or the way he sits next to you for a while after he’s carried you off to bed, stroking your hair and thinking about you’ll thrive when it’s just you and him <3