#on site mixed concrete

[thethamesconcrete]

Custom Concrete Mixing at Your Location

Experience convenience and precision with our on-site concrete mixed service. We bring the mixer to you, ensuring your concrete is tailored to your needs right where you need it. Say goodbye to delays and transportation hassles - contact us now for seamless concrete solutions!

Key Features:

On-site concrete mixing for ultimate convenience Customized concrete tailored to your specific requirements Elimination of transportation hassles and delays Precision and accuracy in every batch

#on site mixed concrete #accelerator concrete #construction #concrete mix #concretesupplier

[todoinke]

Ensuring Quality in Cement Construction: Inspection and Testing

In the construction industry, cement serves as the backbone of structural integrity, providing the foundation upon which buildings and infrastructure stand. However, the efficacy and durability of these structures heavily depend on the quality of the cement used. With numerous options available in the market, it's imperative to understand the importance of inspection and testing to ensure that only the best cement is employed for construction projects.

When it comes to selecting the best cement in India, the discerning builder or contractor seeks not only reliability but also consistency in quality. Among the myriad choices available, one brand consistently stands out for its excellence – JSW Cement. Renowned for its superior quality and performance, JSW Cement has established itself as the no. 1 cement in India, trusted by professionals across the construction industry.

Quality Assurance Through Inspection and Testing

Before delving into the specifics of JSW Cement, it's essential to underscore the significance of inspection and testing in cement procurement. The process of ensuring quality begins right from the procurement stage, where cement undergoes rigorous inspection to assess its conformity to relevant standards and specifications.

Key aspects evaluated during inspection include chemical composition, particle size distribution, fineness, compressive strength, and setting time. Additionally, visual inspection of the cement's colour and consistency aids in identifying any anomalies that may affect its performance.

Following inspection, thorough testing is conducted to validate the cement's quality and suitability for the intended application. Testing procedures encompass both physical and chemical analyses, with tests such as compressive strength testing, consistency testing, and soundness testing being integral to the assessment process.

Selecting the Best Cement: Why JSW Cement Stands Out

In the quest for the best cement in India, JSW Cement emerges as a frontrunner, distinguished by its unwavering commitment to quality and innovation. With a comprehensive range of cement products catering to diverse construction needs, JSW Cement epitomizes excellence in the industry.

Buy white cement from JSW Cement, and you'll experience firsthand the unparalleled quality that sets it apart from the competition. Renowned for its purity and brightness, white cement from JSW Cement is coveted for architectural and decorative applications, delivering pristine aesthetics coupled with exceptional performance.

As the leading producer of ordinary Portland cement, JSW Cement ensures uncompromising quality across its product portfolio. Engineered to deliver superior strength, durability, and consistency, ordinary Portland cement from JSW Cement is the preferred choice for a wide array of construction projects, ranging from residential buildings to infrastructural developments.

JSW Cement: A Testament to Quality and Excellence

JSW Cement exemplifies the epitome of quality and excellence in the cement industry. With a steadfast commitment to innovation and customer satisfaction, JSW Cement continues to set benchmarks for quality assurance and performance, earning the trust and accolades of industry professionals nationwide.

In your pursuit of the best cement in India, look no further than JSW Cement for unparalleled quality, reliability, and performance. Whether you're embarking on a residential construction project or undertaking large-scale infrastructure development, JSW Cement stands ready to surpass your expectations and elevate the standards of cement construction.

Incorporating JSW Cement into your construction endeavors isn't just a choice; it's a testament to your commitment to quality and enduring excellence. Trust JSW Cement for all your cement needs, and experience the difference that superior quality makes in cement construction.

Ensure quality in your construction projects with JSW Cement – the benchmark of excellence in the cement industry.

JSW Cement reigns supreme as a beacon of quality and excellence. With its unwavering dedication to innovation, reliability, and customer satisfaction, JSW Cement has rightfully earned its status as the preferred choice for discerning professionals across the construction industry. Whether it's ordinary Portland cement or white cement, JSW Cement stands as a symbol of unparalleled quality, ensuring durability and performance that exceed expectations. Trust JSW Cement for your construction needs, and witness firsthand the transformative power of superior quality cement in shaping a robust and enduring built environment.

#ready mix concrete #cement #cement site test #what is portland cement #cement companies in india

[samledger14]

How Concrete Pumping Services Revolutionize Construction: A Deep Dive into Efficiency and Precision?

In the ever-evolving sphere of construction, the unwavering quest for innovations that can expedite building processes without compromising precision is evident. Concrete Express emerges as a trailblazer, offering state-of-the-art Pumping Services that are reshaping the construction industry. This cutting-edge approach significantly amplifies efficiency and precision, resulting in substantial time and resource savings. This article delves into the transformative impact of Concrete Pumping Services on construction, shedding light on how they elevate productivity and accuracy.

The Influence of Concrete Pumping Services

Concrete pumping services have emerged as a game-changer in the construction sector, utilizing specialized machinery to transfer concrete from the mixing site to precise locations within the construction area. This process offers a plethora of advantages, from diminishing manual labor to ensuring the precise placement of concrete. Let's unravel the mechanics of how these services operate.

Enhanced Operational Efficiency

The primary incentive for construction companies to adopt pumping services lies in the significant boost in efficiency compared to traditional methods like wheelbarrows, drum trucks, or cranes. Conventional approaches demand significant manual labor and can be time-intensive. In contrast, concrete pumps streamline the process by efficiently transporting concrete through a network of pipes and hoses.

By minimizing the need for manual labor, construction crews can refocus their attention on other critical tasks, ultimately expediting project timelines. Collaborating with industry leaders like Concrete Express ensures a well-coordinated and efficient operation, akin to a precisely choreographed performance.

Unmatched Precision

Precision is paramount in construction, influencing both structural integrity and aesthetics. Concrete pumps come equipped with precision controls that empower operators to direct the concrete flow with pinpoint accuracy. This precision ensures that the concrete is placed exactly where needed, reducing the likelihood of errors and rework. The result is a more robust and aesthetically pleasing structure, delivered within the stipulated timeframe.

Economical Resource Management

Effective resource management is a pivotal concern in construction projects. Concrete pumping services prove to be an economical choice, especially when compared to traditional methods that often result in concrete wastage and increased labor costs. These pumps are designed to minimize spillage and reduce the need for additional labor, optimizing resource utilization.

Utilizing modern equipment capable of pumping concrete over long distances and to elevated locations, companies like Concrete Express minimize the necessity for excessive labor. This results in substantial savings for construction projects, enhancing both efficiency and cost-effectiveness.

Versatility in Application

Concrete pumping services are not confined to specific types of construction. Whether for residential, commercial, or industrial projects, these services can adapt to various scenarios, accommodating both small-scale projects with limited spaces and large-scale constructions with challenging access points.

Concrete Express offers a variety of pump sizes and configurations, tailoring services to meet the specific needs of each project. This versatility ensures that concrete can be delivered precisely where needed, regardless of the scale or complexity of the construction.

Safety and Reduced Risk

Safety is paramount on construction sites, and traditional concrete delivery methods such as wheelbarrows or cranes can pose risks to the workforce. Concrete pumping services mitigate these risks by reducing the need for manual labor and minimizing the handling of heavy loads.

Furthermore, the precise placement of concrete by pumps reduces the chances of structural errors, minimizing the risk of costly rework. This leads to safer and more reliable construction processes, ultimately benefiting the bottom line of construction companies.

Final thoughts- Pumping is the Future of Construction

Pumping has revolutionized the construction industry, redefining the way we build our structures. They provide enhanced efficiency, unmatched precision, economical resource management, versatility in application, and a focus on safety. Concrete Express and similar companies are at the forefront of this revolution, offering innovative solutions that save time and resources while maintaining the highest level of quality.

Incorporating Concrete Pumping Services into your construction projects is a strategic move that not only accelerates the construction process but also sets a higher standard for precision and safety. With the demand for faster, safer, and more cost-effective construction methods on the rise, these services are poised to play an increasingly vital role in shaping the future of the industry.

Embrace the future of construction with Concrete Express and experience the transformation of your projects into efficient, precise, and cost-effective masterpieces. Contact us now and say goodbye to the limitations of traditional concrete delivery methods and step into a new era of construction innovation.

To learn more about how you can revolutionize your construction projects, contact us today. The future of construction is here, and it starts with Pumping Services.

#concrete #pumping #building #concrete pads #architecture #on site mixing #business

[anarchistcommunism]

On the night of November 13th we set fire to 6 Ernst Concrete trucks at 553 Seaboard Industrial Drive. Ernst is pouring the foundation for Cop City. This site, like so many others, is completely unguarded. Front-pouring cement mixing trucks have large rear engine compartments which can be accessed without opening any doors. We placed incendiary devices and kindling near the engine block, the fuel tank behind it, and the double rear tires. We encourage further experimentation with incindiary placement. There was a time when contractors were afraid to take on this project. If we can make the cost of the contract greater than the profit, they will drop it. Sneaking around at night is fun and burning shit is cool.

#cop city

[maaarine]

Mystery of why Roman buildings have survived so long has been unraveled, scientists say (Katie Hunt, CNN, Jan 06 2023)

“Roman concrete, in many cases, has proven to be longer-lasting than its modern equivalent, which can deteriorate within decades.

Now, scientists behind a new study say they have uncovered the mystery ingredient that allowed the Romans to make their construction material so durable and build elaborate structures in challenging places such as docks, sewers and earthquake zones.

The study team, including researchers from the United States, Italy and Switzerland, analyzed 2,000-year-old concrete samples that were taken from a city wall at the archaeological site of Privernum, in central Italy, and are similar in composition to other concrete found throughout the Roman Empire.

They found that white chunks in the concrete, referred to as lime clasts, gave the concrete the ability to heal cracks that formed over time.

The white chunks previously had been overlooked as evidence of sloppy mixing or poor-quality raw material.

"For me, it was really difficult to believe that ancient Roman (engineers) would not do a good job because they really made careful effort when choosing and processing materials," said study author Admir Masic, an associate professor of civil and environmental engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. (…)

Additional analysis of the concrete showed that the lime clasts formed at extreme temperatures expected from the use of quicklime, and "hot mixing" was key to the concrete's durable nature.

"The benefits of hot mixing are twofold," Masic said in a news release.

"First, when the overall concrete is heated to high temperatures, it allows chemistries that are not possible if you only used slaked lime, producing high-temperature-associated compounds that would not otherwise form.

Second, this increased temperature significantly reduces curing and setting times since all the reactions are accelerated, allowing for much faster construction."

To investigate whether the lime clasts were responsible for Roman concrete's apparent ability to repair itself, the team conducted an experiment.

They made two samples of concrete, one following Roman formulations and the other made to modern standards, and deliberately cracked them.

After two weeks, water could not flow through the concrete made with a Roman recipe, whereas it passed right through the chunk of concrete made without quicklime.

Their findings suggest that the lime clasts can dissolve into cracks and recrystallize after exposure to water, healing cracks created by weathering before they spread.

The researchers said this self-healing potential could pave the way to producing more long-lasting, and thus more sustainable, modern concrete.

Such a move would reduce concrete's carbon footprint, which accounts for up to 8% of global greenhouse gas emissions, according to the study.

For many years, researchers had thought that volcanic ash from the area of Pozzuoli, on the Bay of Naples, was what made Roman concrete so strong.

This kind of ash was transported across the vast Roman empire to be used in construction, and was described as a key ingredient for concrete in accounts by architects and historians at the time.

Masic said that both components are important, but lime was overlooked in the past.”

#article #science #environment

[pedge-page]

What about Joel having to spend a night away for work last minute and reader sulking about it when he gets home and blanking him? 🤣 Cue grovelling from Joel lol

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Late From Work

Notes: I must be too yeehaw American because I had to look up what "blanking" someone meant 😂. Anyway, I had so much fun writing this! Decided to make him late rather than spending a whole night away because lets be real, she'd be serving divorce papers for that.

Warnings: brief oral (f receiving) scene; jealous!Reader, Stubborn reader is BACK

18+ ONLY:

- - - -

He knows he fucked up too. Big time. 

When he said he’d be home at the latest by 7:00pm and it’s now 7:02 and he’s just getting in the truck leaving the site. And when his call goes to voicemail for the 3rd time, and then the fourth time tells him that the number is no longer valid (he’s been blocked), he knows he’s in Big-Fucking-Trouble.

Doesn’t want to call Tommy up for help to coax partially because he wants to fix this own his own, and partially to save Tommy from your wrath you most certainly will take out on him rather than your absent husband.

He grabbed a bouquet of flowers at the grocery store (he’s already in the doghouse so what’s another 5 minutes added to his sentence) and is currently speeding home, a solid 15mph over the limit. Tonight isn’t even anything special: you had both just come back from a lovely weekend trip on the coast and were just settling back in to your house. But when Joel doesn’t deliver on his word, isn’t home for pizza and Pepsi, and sitting behind you while rubbings your back and belly for a quiet movie night…

Well, he’s never been late since the start of your pregnancy. Doesn’t want to think what hellfire you’re going to spit at him the moment he walks in that door.

So here he is about to walk in that door. He takes a big breath, not feeling this anxious since the he proposed to you, and steps in.

He immediately makes contact with you: standing at the end of the hall, illuminated by the kitchen light with your extra extra large T shirt stretched over your belly and dangling loosely around your thighs, hands by your side, barefoot, despite how often he nags at you to wear socks around the house so your feet don’t get cold. He’s thankful to see you hadn’t packed a suitcase, trying to leave the house with a “my husband doesn’t love me” stunt again. 

You clearly had just been walking past when you heard the door, not even fully turning to him but just having your head directed to the entrance the second he walked in. You briefly note the flowers in his hands before your eyes quickly go back to his. He feints an apologetic smile, heart beating so hard. You’re soooo quiet. The calm before the storm.

He gulps hard. 

Instead, you turn forward once more and continue walking towards the living room without a word.

You have a hand on your back as you gently collapse onto the couch. 

“Baby,” he says meekly, voice all tiny yet determined.

You pull your legs up over a pillow and fold open your book.

He comes to kneel beside you, immediately kissing your shoulder.

You do nothing. 

“Baby,” he says more clearly. “I’m sorry, honey. I couldn’t beat the time.”

You flip a page, tilting your head to read the fascinating text on the page rather than listen to your poor husband on his knees for you.

His fights with the sleeve of your shirt. Would you at least look at him? He’s holding the flowers still in his hand, big puppy dog eyes trying their best to plea with you, and with his irresistible pouty lips that get him just about anything he wanted from you. But you only lend him a sigh, flipping yet another page.

So it’s gonna be like that.

"Please, angel. I was tryin' so hard to leave on time like I said. They got the concrete all mixed up and it needed to be set today, was tryin' to get out of there, just couldn't get it moving fast enough, I'm sorry baby I really sped over here fast I can to see ya, couldn't wait a second longer—"

“Oh!” You gasp suddenly.

He’s started, but nonetheless quick to be by you.

You check the clock on the wall and laugh. Time had gotten away from you too. You slam your book and hoist yourself up, on the other end of the couch to avoid his anxious hands fluttering to your aid. You brush past him and start your climb up the stairs.

Joel is right behind you, a bit of hope stirring in him. Its not until you’re walking through your bedroom door—and slamming it right in his face that he gets the message loud and clear.

Perhaps he earned a night on the couch to pray your forgiveness. After finding a suitable vase for the roses, he puffs up his pillow, his back killing him (though he’d never say it aloud while you’re waddling around with a whole 'nother being in your belly for the last few months) and crashes down on the sofa.

He just makes out the light go off under the door in the bedroom before he too is closing his eyes.

Tomorrow brings a new day, and he’s gonna spend every second satisfying his wife. He’s deserves his stay on the couch tonight.

-

He did NOT deserve this bullshit.

It’s been 3 fucking days since he came home late.

3 days of waking up early, trying to kiss his beautiful wife and baby momma with sweet affirmations and praises, which you dodge and continue about your stubborn ignoring-test. He spent all morning cooking every single food you’d craved since your pregnancy started—waffles, French toast, cinnamon pancakes, toast with special mixed fruit jam you can only get at a grocery store an hour away, scrambled, over easy, poached, hard boiled eggs. All arranged so beautifully on the table, even going as far to put the napkins on the left, after you screeched at him a few months ago for haphazardly having them on either the right or left, and never with the fork consistently on top.

He thought he’d learned his lesson, thought he made more than enough up to you, but no. You breeze right by, making a cup of tea, and go back upstairs to your closed door.

Your sadistic mind had given him false hope when you hadn’t locked the door on him on night number two. He slept in his bed, but you had made a clear parry by slotting between the two of you the infernal pregnancy pillow that Joel had kept in storage since you “Much preferred your husband’s plushy belly and soothing rubs.” 

Fat chance tonight.

Every minute he wasn’t telling you how beautiful you are, how amazing you are, how lucky he is, he spends groveling with please forgive me, I’m so sorry, I’m such a worm.

None of it sways you any differently. 

By day 4, he’s given up the sweet talk and grand gestures. Goes for a “think like her” kind of mental approach. 

He tries to bribe you—either making you a Pepsi float, or even bringing home the famous Hot Fudge Cookie Dough Chocolate Gooey Fantasy Milkshake with EXTRA Rainbow sprinkles. But even as he temptingly waves in front of your little wiggly nose, you don’t acknowledge him.

He makes a big show to sigh heavily in defeat, leaving it on the kitchen table alone and trotting helplessly upstairs for a shower.

Less than 7 minutes later he’s come back down to see if you’d given in yet, maybe even telling him what a fantastic husband he is while shoveling your face with ice cream and admitting you were being dramatic. 

Instead, you’re still sitting on the couch, exactly as he left you. Of course, the milkshake cup is completely empty, sucked clean of its gooeyness, and there’s a little splotch of chocolate sauce lingering on your chin you had failed to wipe clean. 

A start, he thinks.

Still though, you don’t pay him any mind, scrolling on your phone with tight lips.  

He wonders how long you could go on with this game.  

It’s honestly a fucking terrible miracle—not even since before you were pregnant had you gone this long shutting the fuck up. But now its horrifyingly eerie, like a curse has fallen upon him and he’s doing everything he can to break it, to bring back your nagging and bitching and whining and crying because it would be so much more relaxing than this new kind of psychotic hell you’ve subjected him to.

He starts getting a little more involved: playing with your body, touching you softly with gentle strokes along your thighs and belly. You hadn’t flinched away, or tried moving to another spot on the couch. 

Which confirmed one thing to him: your horniness and lack of physical attention from your husband due to your stubborn mind was losing your mental battle to hold out against him.

So Joel doesn’t say anything either as he moves his lips over your breasts, down your swollen belly and kissing his babygirl in your bump. He mumbles, “Mommy is awfully mad at Daddy, think I can cheer her up?” 

The baby kicks as if in agreement. His gaze glances up briefly to see if you’re listening.

Your eyes catch and yours quickly dart away, leaning back and pretending to yawn. He snickers before continuing his hot trail of open mouthed kisses until your legs “shift” and “accidentally” part on their own.

He makes sweet, insatiable yet slow love to your pussy, licking a fat strip from your little clenched hole to that hot delicious center that is beyond wet for him—yet another example of how much your body clearly can’t ignore him forever.

But, ever as he brings you to a long needed orgasm, you bite your tongue, absolutely refusing to give him even the slightest sound of satisfaction despite clenching tightly around his thick digits pumping into you. Only letting out a strangled breath through your nose while you stare up to the ceiling, fingers folded across your tummy as if bored. 

He wipes away the slick from his mustache. Hell, even he can admit you deserve an applaud for making it through that without uttering a peep to his skills.

Hurts like hell on the inside though that you’re just that mad still.

He had hoped that being forced to drive with him due to your size preventing you from sitting behind the wheel would corner you into talking him, but even then, as he opens the passenger door for you, you climb aboard and slam the door shut without his assistance.

Now the two of you are on your way to yours and Maria’s weekend brunch. Tommy was also coming to drop his girlfriend off, so it would be a good time to catch him up on this unqiuely-pregnant-you madness.

You snatch your purse and hop out of the car, mood going a full 180 and instantly greeting Maria with a warm hug and perky voice. The two of you sit down at a little table way aways from your idiot husband and brother in law.

Tommy nods him over to the bar and Joel grumbles over.

“She ignoring you?” His little brother asks while shelling peanuts.

“Is it that obvious?” Joel shakes his head. He can’t even leave off with Tommy because he knows you won’t answer his texts asking what time you’re done for pickup. So he’s stuck here to wait for you the entire time.

“You try going down on—“

“Yes! Yes I fucking tried.”

“She didn’t like it?”

“Oh no, she came hard. Wouldn’t even whimper for me when she was clenching her little cunt around my fingers—” he says with an aggressive whisper, his pointer and middle fingers shooting up in the air with wild eyes demonstrating the scene, “—and her little numb twitchin’ on my tongue. Didn’t even fucking moan. She’s a stubborn girl but I don’t deserve that.”

Tommy shakes his head with a chuckle. “Damn. That’s just determination right there. Gotta give it to her.”

Tommy excuses himself with a slap to the shoulder, muttering “gotta take a leak” and disappears to the bathroom.

Joel wouldn’t mind having a drink right now, but know’s he’s gotta stay sober to drive you home. A miserable, silent filled drive once again. He glanced at his watch, following each tick of the hand.

“Hi there.”

Joel almost didn’t address the voice of the woman who had gentle snuck up behind him, moving to take Tommy’s seat. She’s probably a little younger than you, a nice kind smile, inviting and warm towards a stranger. 

Joel politely smiles back with a little nod. 

She offers a sweet “thanks”, a blush creeping on her cheeks before she begins to speak: “Listen, I don’t mean to prude… but I saw you come in and ...I’m usually not so brash—but I was wondering…”

-

Meanwhile, your baby is beat boxing extra hard today in your stomach. You can’t even focus on eating your salad and keeping up with Maria’s chatter about Tommy’s nose hairs all over the vanity. 

Your baby is smart. She knows something is up. You narrow your eyes and look around, finding Joel and company at the bar— 

Except the company he is keeping is NOT Tommy but instead, a gorgeous woman tossing her hair and flashing her pearly white teeth off at your husband, who’s giving her his full attention. She’s giggling with him, taking animatedly with her hands, lingering heavy eye contact and touching his watch as if looking for an excuse to get closer.

You forget about the massive planet sized lump in your belly as you instantly stand up, nearly tipping the table and all its dishes and cutlery over. 

Maria is calling your name but you don’t have the mind to answer, striding over like a bull towards the bar.

-

“Hiiiiiiii!”

Joel and the woman both jump at the harsh shrill of an annoying, high pitched, slightly perturbed but faking a smile, voice screeching behind them—the most beautiful voice Joel’s ever heard…and had missed so dearly this week.  

The woman looks over to you, seemingly startled that you had interrupted the conversation so brazenly.

“Oh, um, hi,” she offers, blinking off your pregnant belly and abrupt appearance.

“This is Joel,” you boast, pointing the shlump of a man in front of her.

“Ah-Hello—“ she smiles again to him.

You add quickly. “He’s my husband.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m his wife.”

“Ah—I—“

“Annnnnnnnd this is our baby!” You boast, proudly rubbing over that enormous swell of your tumtum so she can see in case it wasn’t the biggest fucking thing in this room. “And… you are?” You ask sweetly.

“Um…” she takes one last glance at Joel, his apologetic shrug saying everything then at you, your hard gaze burning holes into her head. “…leaving,” she says towards you.

“Great answer. I like you :) Bye Bye now!” You wave enthusiastically with a chipper voice and a deadly smile. She nods fretfully and pops off the stool, walking away like a threatened animal.

He just chuckles, shaking his head and looking down at his hands with a grin. “Ya know, she just came over to ask where I got my watch.”

“And did you tell her your WIFE bought it?” You ask, poking your finger at his chest.

He has to hide his crooked smile. It’s the first time you’ve directly spoken to him since Monday. “Yeah, I did. She asked where ya got it, because she was looking for one just like it—for her husband.”

Your finger fidgets slightly, expression drawing a blank at the revelation turning over in your mind.

“……………………………………………....................................oh.”

He rotates his stool to face you. You’re steeping in your thoughts, the confidence faltering just slightly in your mind at the realization of how grossly you had interpreted the situation between that innocent woman and your hubby. He didn’t even care, though. All he could think about was how his heart feels 10x lighter seeing you back in your usual, bold, daring, audacious self. All of your attention on him once again.

“I’ll admit, still felt good havin’ ya come to my rescue.”

You scoff, near offended by his words. “Well duh, you’re mine.”

“That right? Even these last few days?”

Yet another bomb goes off in your head at the second realization—that you had forfeited your punishment to ignore him to the ends of the earth.

 You cross your arms defensively anyway. “Well... I…decided.”

“Mmm?”

“That…I needed a back rub. But you clearly you can’t pick up on that on your own so—now I have to verbally tell you.”

“Ah huh. Sure it wasn’t cuz you were jealous? Couldn’t stand me being interested in another woman since my own made it clear she didn’t want me no more? Because my wife decided she couldn’t be patient and wait the extra 13 minutes I was running late before punishin’ me all goddamn week?”

Oh wait—was he really only late by 13 minutes? You could have sworn it was an hour plus!

“That wasn’t 13 minutes! Do you know how to tell time? It was over an hour—“

“Did you set your clock back like I told you to the night before when we got back from the coast, into our own time zone?”

😳

- - - -

Also this is how I see reader getting ate out but trying to be nonchalaunt about it:

conveniently also my favorite shot of Pedro during a photoshoot

Permanent taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller fluff #the last of us fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fluff #last of us fic #last of us fluff #joel dealing with preggo wife

[ghouljams]

Item #: SCP-141

Object Class: Safe Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Each anomalous individual is to be kept in a single cell separate not within 200 ft of another. Each cell is to be outfitted with simple living arrangements and entertainment is to be provided upon request. Each cell is to be made of reinforced concrete with a single titanium locked door leading out of the cell. SCP-141 a-d should be mixed in among other safe or neutralized SCPs in order to prevent attempts to use said SCPs as weapons.

It is recommended that testing requests be made to SCP-141-a, which appears to be the leader of the group. If approval is granted SCP-141 a-d will be removed from their cells and transported to a separate testing chamber of no more than 12x12m. This meeting chamber is to have no outside tools or instruments brought into it or left within at such times as SCP-141 is present within it. Absolutely no weapons are to be within range of SCP-141 a-d, and security personnel is recommended to be in plain clothes.

The individuals which make up SCP-141 are not to be exposed to each other for more than five minutes before the individual needed for testing is removed to a separate chamber and the rest are returned to their rooms.

SCP-141 a-d are generally considered reasonable and will not become violent unless provoked. However, if threatened special containment procedures must be followed to prevent any major destruction from taking place. Specifically, the removal of all weaponry, electronics, and chemicals from the area. All anomalous individuals must be separated and kept under strict containment in blast proof cells until anomalous effects wear off. *

SCP-141 a-d have been outfitted with tracker bands and allowed to resume normal operations under close supervision. **

SCP-141 a-d have been chipped, and are currently being tracked via satellite. They will check in once every ⬛⬛⬛ months with approximate location and will report any other anomalous entities they come into contact with. Do not attempt to apprehend.

Description: SCP-141 is an anomalous gathering of soldiers which, when brought within 50m of each other seems to activate the individuals own anomalous properties. Anomalies disappear within ⬛⬛ hours of separation. Individuals generally appear unaware of their anomalies and report no noticeable changes between entering SCP-141 and leaving it. SCP-141 is made up of 4 5 separate anomalous entities and functions as a military task force. SCP-141 will take on assigned tasks and missions as a military task force if allowed to.

Currently SCP-141 is in ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ attempting to take down the ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ cartel. To date SCP-141 has aided in the capture of ⬛⬛ anomalous individuals/objects.

SCP-141-a: Captain John Price. SCP-141-a is an anomalous individual from Liverpool displaying an the ability to ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛. In testing SCP-141-a was able to ⬛⬛⬛ with both precision and speed. SCP-141-a has demonstrated an secondary anomalous ability to manipulate individuals into giving information and aid. Conversation between SCP-141-a and all personnel is to be closely monitored and aborted should personnel interacting with SCP-141-a be suspected of shifting loyalties or brainwashing.

SCP-141-a seems both aware of the anomalous properties of the group and willing to use them for what he calls "the greater good".

Note: SCP-141-a has demonstrated an increased tension around testing recently, as well as a sharp increase in willingness to subject the other members of SCP-141 to testing. Note 2: SCP-141-a is not to be trusted with information regarding Site ⬛⬛ operating procedures or personnel. Note 2a: Who the fuck is giving SCP-141-a information?

SCP-141-b: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. SCP-141-b is an anomalous individual from London displaying memetic properties which convince anyone talking to him that they've known him for years. D class personnel exposed to SCP-141-b for an extended period of time are able to recall false memories of him from various points in their life, as well as give general descriptions of SCP-141-b's likes and dislikes. SCP-141-b seems unaware but unbothered by this and will simply nod politely when the fictional memories are brought up. When asked about any relation later SCP-141-b will claim he has "never met them in his life," but that they "seemed nice enough."

-SCP-141-b Research Logs-

SCP-141-c: John "Soap" Mactavish. SCP-141-c is an anomalous individual from Glasgow displaying an anomalous understanding of weaponry and physics, which he is unable to replicate outside of the group. When grouped into SCP-141 he is able to disassemble and reassemble weapons into different functions, replacing and substituting parts between weapons. His understanding of physics while within SCP-141 seems to function outside of normal understanding. He appears to make up rules as he goes along, and is able to follow them even when they go against established laws of physics. Researchers attempting to follow steps SCP-141-c outlined are unable to replicate his results. Normal physics and mechanics apply when SCP-141-c is outside of the group.

-SCP-141-c Research Logs-

SCP-141-d: ⬛⬛⬛ "Ghost" ⬛⬛⬛. SCP-141-d is an anomalous individual from Manchester, England. He is unable to be photographed, and will not show up in photos taken of him.

-SCP-141-d Research Logs-

Note: SCP-141-d's inability to show up in photos seems to be a secondary anomalous property. Given the recent break out of SCP-141 from Site ⬛⬛ as well as the observations gained from new containment procedures it is theorized that SCP-141-d is unable to die. SCP-141-d appears to be able to take massive amounts of lethal damage without flinching. Secondary effect SCP-141-d-a allows any member of SCP-141 to heal SCP-141-d using basic first aid. Note 2: How the fuck is this guy still walking. Note 3: Please keep all notes to observations only.

SCP-141-e: SCP-141-e is an unknown anomalous entity which seems to share a psychic link to SCP-141-a and is able to communicate information to SCP-141-a. SCP-141-a refers only to this entity as "Laswell" and cannot be persuaded to share further details. SCP-141-e seems to give SCP-141-a orders, and has an almost omniscient understanding of situations and enemies that SCP-141 may come across.

-SCP-141-e Research Log-

*Following SCP-141's recent escape and the loss of several personnel containment procedures must be revisited.

**Someone bring these assholes in and tell them to stop taking off their fucking arm bands or we're going to chip them.

#I KNOW THERE'S AN SCP 141 ALREADY THIS IS NOT AN OFFICIAL SCP ARTICLE #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #captain john price #ghost mw2 #simon riley #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #kyle garrick #gaz modern warfare #gaz cod #gaz call of duty #gaz garrick #soap mw2 #soap cod #captain price mw2 #captain price cod #john price #john price cod #task force 141 #SCP au #This is a one shot and will not be followed up #probably #but that's my SCP au that's their article

[houseofpurplestars]

"Make Contractors Afraid Again:

Posted on November 15, 2023-

On the night of November 13th we set fire to 6 Ernst concrete trucks at 553 Seaboard Industrial Drive. Ernst is pouring the foundation for Cop City. This site, like so many others, is completely unguarded.

Front-pouring cement mixing trucks have large rear engine compartments which can be accessed without opening any doors. We placed incendiary devices and kindling near the engine block, the fuel tank behind it, and the double rear tires. We encourage further experimentation with incendiary placement.

There was a time when contractors were afraid to take on this project. If we can make the cost of the contract greater than the profit, they will drop it. Sneaking around at night is fun and burning shit is cool."

#stop cop city #cop city will never be built #atlanta #resistance

[thethamesconcrete]

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#Foam concrete #concrete mix #construction #concrete services #concrete supplier #on site concrete

[fredwkong]

Taking a Trip

Arne was more than excited to visit Vancouver for the first time. Everyone said that he could have easily seen beautiful mountains on a trip to Switzerland, but Arne wanted something a little bit extra inspiring on a continent he had never seen before. His life at home had become a little monotonous at his corporate job, and the dating pool was as unpromising as ever for a shy, reclusive man in his mid-20s.

With his frugal nature, Arne balked at the hotel prices in the city, and quickly found himself looking at short-term rental sites. The prices were, if possible, even worse. Finally, he followed a link to a retro-looking gay room-sharing website and saw an ad that read: “Shared room, accessible, perfect for tourists.” The price was well within Arne’s range, and it was within walking distance of transit. He booked it without a second thought.

It was only as the taxi drove away after dropping Arne and his suitcase on the curb that he had second thoughts. He followed the instructions the owner, Julian, had sent him and went around the small house to the back, where there was an external door to the basement. All around the door were skateboards, leaning on the concrete foundation, each with a unique design painted on its underside. As he knocked, Arne felt a tremor up his spine, like an anticipation of danger.

Before he could react in any way, he heard heavy feet and voices behind the door. With a clunk of the latch, the door swung open to reveal a young man with dark, curly hair and a thin moustache with no shirt on his tanned, muscular body. “What’s up, bro? You must be Arne,” he said in a deep, slow voice, holding out a big hand that engulfed Arne’s, even though they were the same size. “I’m Julian, your host.”

Arne opened his mouth to reply, but he lost his train of thought as an eye-watering stench poured off Julian’s bare, hairy muscles. He almost seemed to steam in the cold air. The smell was a mix of stale sweat, cooking spices, musky body odour, and, over all of it, the stench of weed.

After a moment, as Arne struggled to control the cough that threatened to burst out of him, Julian seemed to realise he was bare from the hips up. “Oh, sorry, bro,” he said, lazily backing away into the basement apartment. “I was, uh, busy.” He chuckled and moved away, grabbing a stained green shirt from an equally stained couch.

Reluctantly, Arne followed Julian through the doorway, and immediately realised that it was not only Julian who stank. The smell permeated the whole space, making Arne lightheaded. He wished that he had thought to bring air freshener in his luggage.

The basement suite was small, with low ceilings. Behind the couch was a counter to delineate the tiled kitchen, while in front of the couch was a low, beat-up table with a bong and other smoking paraphernalia scattered across it. To the side, a couple of doors led to what Arne hoped were the bedrooms and bathroom.

One door banged open, and another guy stumbled out into the living room. With a beanie over his dishevelled hair and his shirt on inside out, it was clear that he had dressed hurriedly. He looked over Arne with bloodshot eyes, his movements clumsy as he pulled on a thin jacket. “Hey man,” he grunted. As the man waved, another scent washed over Arne. This time, the skunk-smell was tempered with dried cum and a tangy, earthy flavour that hit the back of his throat.

“We lost track of time. Omar was just leaving.” At Julian’s gesture, Omar brushed past Arne and out the door. Arne turned to see him grab one of the skateboards leaning against the concrete stairs before the door shut behind him.

Arne was still shaking his head in an attempt to clear out Omar’s stench when Julian grabbed his bag. “In here, dude.”

Julian led Arne back through the door Omar had burst through into a room with two twin beds, exactly as small as Arne had feared. “Obvi, I won’t have guys over while you’re here, bro,” Julian said, handing Arne a spare key. “But if you like, we can always push the beds together for extra sleeping space.” He raised a lascivious eyebrow at Arne.

Blushing furiously, Arne made several aborted gestures. “Uh, no, no, no thank you,” he muttered, his accent thickening.

“Your loss, bro.” Julian raised both his arms to show his hairy armpits, posing as his musk assaulted Arne’s nostrils. “Just tell me if you change your mind, right? If you need me, I’ll prob-ly either be here smoking and painting, or over at the skate park, smoking and skating.”

Chuckling dumbly, Julian left the room. Moments later, while he sat on his bed and trying to work up the courage to leave, Arne’s nose was tickled by a waft of thick, numbing pot smoke.

It was just a few days, Arne reasoned. He’d be out all day anyway. He probably wouldn’t even see Julian that much, even if they did sleep in the same room. Plus, with a quick check of his bank balance, Arne knew that any alternative sleeping arrangements would be utterly impossible.

Arne forced himself to stay out late that night, exploring Davie Street, but his jet-lagged brain forced him back to the basement suite by midnight. Disheartened at the sight of a light on in the tiny ground-level window, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Julian was painting a skateboard in the living room, a half-smoked blunt in one hand. Not even the acrid smell of the paints and lacquer could overpower the stench of weed and musk in the tiny space. “Evenin’, bro,” Julian slurred as Arne blinked his eyes and tried to adjust to the thick, musky atmosphere. “Hey, come sit with me.”

“I have to go to sleep,” Arne protested, even as he walked to the spare seat on the couch and lowered himself into it. He remembered that he had resolved earlier not to touch the couch, since it was covered in who knew what kind of stains, but it was already done.

“No worries, this’ll help you sleep, bro,” Julian said, waving away Arne’s excuse with his blunt and then taking a deep pull off of it. He blew a stream of smoke into Arne’s face.

Arne spluttered. “Wh-what the hell!” He’d smoked a few times, but he was hardly a stoner. He could already feel a contact high working its way through his system, loosening his muscles and overwhelming him with sleepiness. For some reason, it also left his body feeling strangely tight.

“What design should I put on this board?” As he spoke, Julian leaned back on the couch and laid his arm across the back. Through the haze in his mind, Arne realised Julian was shirtless again, with musky sweat dripping down his sides from the bushes in his armpits.

Julian was still talking, something about dragons and complementary colours, and Arne just nodded along, too fixated on Julian’s body to care. He had never liked smelly guys, but something about Julian had Arne’s cock flooding his boxers with precum.

As Julian took another hit off his blunt, Arne realised that he could smell the salty tang of his precum in the air. Looking down, he could see a slick, spreading stain on his jeans. How long had he been sitting here? He thought that he should be embarrassed, but working up shame seemed like so much effort. He was so relaxed, sitting here on the couch, breathing in Julian’s sexy musk and clouds of pot smoke.

The rest of the night was a blur. Arne was so tired. He vaguely remembered Julian’s face looming over his, dripping sweat into Arne’s mouth. At some point, Arne thought he must have taken his shirt off because he got so warm and sweaty sitting on the couch. Finally, they had moved to the bedroom, where Julian had kept talking while Arne tried to calm his dripping cock enough to fall asleep.

Arne woke up slowly the next morning, cocooned in the scent of musk and weed. He started to roll over, but realised suddenly that there was a pair of sweaty arms around his chest. One of Julian’s fingers brushed across Arne’s bare nipple, and he moaned uncontrollably as a spark of pleasure shot to his slick, precum-smelling crotch.

His face burning with embarrassment, Arne carefully extricated himself from Julian’s bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He wondered why his body felt strange and top-heavy until he switched on the light. In the mirror, he saw a pair of massive pecs on top of his slender torso, the big nipples erect and pink.

Despite his horror, Arne still found himself feeling oddly horny. Looking further down, he saw an unfamiliar, half-hard cock between his bare legs—he had slept naked!—still leaking thick, clear precum that gathered in big drops before falling to the floor.

There was something seriously wrong with this apartment, and with Julian. Arne struggled to think, but the scent of his precum was quickly filling the little bathroom, making his head foggy. He had to…He had to…He had to touch his fat man tits.

Arne watched in the mirror as he popped his sweaty pecs, and then grabbed them with one hand. Not only were they real, they bounced hypnotically as he kneaded at the muscle. A finger brushed over his pert nipple, and Arne moaned again. His voice sounded strange. A little bit too deep, and slower than he was used to.

Would he feel even better if he pinched his nipple? As Arne went to grab his opposite nip, he struggled to remember what he had been thinking about. It had been something way more important than his bouncing pecs…

The thoughts dissolved as Arne started to tug on his sensitive nipple. He moaned loudly, his legs buckling as jolts of pleasure engulfed his body. The trickle of precum from his cock grew into a continuous stream as he knelt on the bathroom floor, mindlessly tugging on his pecs.

Arne barely noticed the bathroom door open until a pair of strong arms grabbed him under his shoulders and started to haul him to his feet. “No cumming yet, bro,” said Julian’s relaxed drawl next to his ear. “You’re not nearly done yet.”

By the time Julian handed Arne a plate of poptarts, Arne’s horniness had mostly faded back to a low hum, which spiked at the scent of Julian’s unwashed armpits. Arne wondered if he should feel embarrassed to be sat, naked, on Julian’s couch, his insistent cock still slowly leaking tangy precum onto the seat.

“Yesterday was a lot for you, huh bro?” Julian said through a mouthful of poptart. “I bet you just wanna stay here and hang out with me all day.”

Arne frowned. He was supposed to go to the suspension bridge today…No, that sounded like a lot of work. He’d much rather hang out with Julian. He had no idea why he’d thought Julian was gross or uncool. His smell was utterly intoxicating.

“What were you planning to do today?” Arne asked, after he’d eaten a few bites.

Julian shrugged, shedding runnels of sweat from his pits. “I was gonna go to the skate park and hang with some bros, but you need me more, bro.”

“What do you mean?” Arne was independent! He didn’t need Julian around! But it did feel nice to have someone hot and manly like Julian looking out for him, he realised.

“You can’t be left alone right now, bro.” Julian had finished his breakfast, and started to set up the bong on the coffee table. “So we’re gonna hang out, I’m gonna smoke, and then you’re gonna help me with some boards.”

Before long, Arne was floating comfortably, a little stoned from how much smoke billowed out of Julian’s sexy mouth. Julian got to work painting a skateboard, but after a few minutes he turned to look at Arne, a strange smile on his face.

“Come over and help me, bro.”

When Arne slid down to the floor next to Julian, his host raised one tanned, muscular arm. “I’m so sweaty, bro,” Julian said. Arne agreed, watching a rivulet of sweat emerge from the dark hair in Julian’s armpit, adding to the heady musk in the room. “If you could just, like, lick it up for me, I’ll be able to focus so much better.”

Arne frowned. That didn’t seem like it would help at all. But before he could protest, he felt a strong hand on the back of his head, and Julian was pushing him into his musky armpit.

The smell overpowered any of his protests. Julian’s musk was baked into his skin, and taking it straight from the source was far more intense than smelling him at range. The smell of sweat filled Arne’s mind, and he started to lick and suck at Julian’s armpit hair without realising it. The rank taste filled his mouth and trickled down his throat, and Arne felt his leaky cock start to flow again. He couldn’t imagine anything hotter than this. As Julian kept painting, he moaned whenever Arne’s tongue pushed against an especially sensitive spot.

As he laved his tongue over Julian’s tight belly button a while later—time didn’t really matter—Arne started to feel itchy all over his body. As he ran a hand over his arms, he felt the resistance of thick hair. All over his body, Arne felt long hair growing. Before long, his precum didn’t even fall onto the skin of his hairy thighs, it just got lost in the hair.

With his new fur, Arne found himself sweating at least as much as Julian in the heat of the little room. When Julian took a break from painting to grab some lunch, Arne noticed a new smell filling the air. He was emitting his own flavour of musk now, like Julian’s, but with a bit more of a richness to it from the precum dripping between his legs. He couldn’t help but give his armpits a sniff, licking up what he could reach of his own taste.

Julian returned and grinned at Arne. “Damn, bro, you’re almost ready.”

“What?” Arne looked up at Julian. It felt like he was seeing through a thick haze. It was so hard to think. He had to get outside and get some fresh air. But where were his clothes?

Julian held out a brownie for Arne. “Here, bro, this’ll help that brain of yours along. It’s my special blend.” He winked a dark eye, and Arne obediently took a bite of the brownie from Julian’s hand.

While Julian got back to his painting, Arne felt himself feeling slowly, but insistently, hornier. From licking up the sweat at the top of Julian’s back, he moved lower and lower, until he was licking at the very top of Julian’s musky asscrack. His cock felt iron-hard and huge against his thigh, a continuous stream of precum trickling into his sweaty leg hair.

Julian groaned. “Oh, bro, if you’re gonna get in there, let’s do it for real.” Putting the freshly finished board aside, Julian rose to his feet and pulled Arne up as well.

Arne felt so tall. The floor was so far away. All he could see was his hairy belly and thick, drippy cock as he followed Julian through the door to the bedroom. Then, all he could see was Julian, lying on his back with his legs hooked over Arne’s hairy shoulders. At last, Arne was back in a place that made sense, looking into Julian’s asscrack, licking up the musky sweat on his firm cheeks.

As his tongue dove into Julian’s hole, Arne remembered the first time they had skateboarded together. With his natural musk, it was hard for Arne to make friends with other skaters, but Julian had skated right up to him and invited him back to his place.

As he lined his cock up with Julian and rubbed his copious precum over the shaft, Arne remembered growing up in Vancouver. Dealing weed had been fun before legalisation, but now his job at the dispensary was pretty easy. Arne spent most of his time perfecting his skating tricks or smoking up with Julian or their other musky skater friends.

As he thrust against Julian’s prostate and felt the smaller man begin to tighten around him and cum, Arne remembered how much he loved his buddies. He was the big guy of the group, with his big, hairy muscles and fat, leaky cock. He wasn’t much of a thinker, but he’d do anything for Julian and his bros.

With that thought, Arne felt his balls tighten against him as he unloaded a huge, creamy load in Julian’s ass. As he shuddered, collapsing on top of his bro, there was a knock at the door.

“Fuuuuuck, that’s my next guest,” Julian groaned, whining a little as Arne pulled out. In addition to selling custom skateboards, Julian made extra cash by renting part of his room to gay tourists. Arne loved Julian’s musky, pot-smelling basement, so he thought that sharing the space a bit more was a great idea.

Julian pulled a pair of relatively clean sweatpants up his legs and wiped the worst of his cum off his chest with one of the shirts on the floor. “Just grab some clothes, bro,” he said over his shoulder as he shut the door behind himself.

As he pulled on his XL sweatpants and grabbed his hoodie, Arne listened to Julian introducing himself to this new guy. “What’s up, bro? You must be Yadu. I’m Julian, your host.” The spiel sounded strangely familiar. Careful to leave the hoodie unzipped so he wouldn’t stimulate his oversensitive nipples, and careless of Julian's cum slowly drying in his chest hair, Arne crammed a beanie over his hair and stepped into the living room.

A shrimpy African guy was looking in horror at the room, a small suitcase hanging from his weedy arm. Arne waved at him, and the guy looked like he was about to gag as a wave of Arne’s thick, precummy musk washed over him.

“Sorry, bro, we lost track of time.” Julian was pulling on a shirt in the kitchen. “Arne was just leaving.”

Nodding to Julian, Arne brushed past Yadu and headed out the door, grabbing his skateboard from where it was leaning against the wall. He had to go meet up with Omar at the skate park anyway.

This story is a belated holiday gift for @rakurairagnarok! Here's to a very sexy, transformative new year, my friend ;)

#male transformation #mental change #muscle tf #male tf #reality change #dumber tf #musk tf #stoner tf #all fwkong

[mightycrete]

#concrete line pump hire #mix on site concrete

[realmofimagines]

Don’t Make A Habit of Dying (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

follow @cowboybxtch (my other account) for more ghost content, as i will not be posting on this blog anymore <3

Wordcount: 3241 Content: swearing, near death, graphic depictions of gore, blood, injury, ghost is in love with u, soap is oblivious, heroic ghost, pre existing relationsip, tension  Request: no Note: *just wanna preface this by saying it is not proof read lol* i am absolutely unashamed to be jumping on the ghost bandwagon. i finished the campaign yesterday and honestly i sort of rushed through it bc it was a lot of fun so this is sort of based on one of the missions but it’s all from memory so if anything is wrong or out of place just ignore it and lets call it canon divergence AO3 version here

“Fox, how copy?”

You grunted, clawing at the rain-soaked concrete and grit beneath your fingers as you stretched to reach your communications device. Your head was still spinning from the impact, and your eyes blurred as if you were lying underneath a moving river staring at the wrinkled water surface above. A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, and you are intensely aware of the urge to vomit.

With a sharp breath, you are able to level yourself onto your knees. Your hand closed around the slippery radio, and you pulled it toward your mouth whilst collapsing your back against a slick brick wall. Your free hand pressed against the sharp, pulsating pain in your abdomen.

“(Y/N), I repeat, how copy?” Ghost’s voice crackled.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, before pressing the voice activation button on the radio. The strong rush of adrenaline burned in your chest, but it didn’t match the wash of relief upon hearing and recognising Simon’s voice. You closed your eyes and relished in the sensation for a moment.

“I read you.”

He audibly sighed. “Thought I lost you there.”

“Nearly did.”

“You injured?”

You stared down and shakily inspected the palm pressed against your wound. Your fingers came away glistening with rain and blood, and your undershirt was soaked a deep red around the site of the injury. You replace your hand on the wound, applying as much pressure as you can muster with a heavily clenched jaw. As much as you wanted to be honest, you knew that due to the personal obligations Ghost felt toward you because of your secret relationship, letting him know just how hurt you truly were could compromise his position. He would, without a doubt, make his way straight toward you.

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not what I asked, Sergeant.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good. Are you in sight of the church?”

You blinked hard to clear your vision and glanced around your surroundings. Through a rusted, paint-chipped iron gate, you could see the distant glow of the religious building and gathered that it was about half a mile away. You weren’t sure how much steam you had left in the tank, but you sure as shit were going to use every last drop to get your ass to that church.

“Yeah, I see it.”

“We’ll RV there. Johnny’s on his way now.”

“Copy that.”

“Do you have a weapon?”

You fumbled with your gear, cursing to yourself when you found nothing but empty holsters. All that remained on your person was a singular, small combat knife hidden within your boot, and you silently thanked yourself for taking such precaution.

“A knife.”

“That’s all you need. Stay safe, Fox.”

“Sure, Ghost.”

You released the radio trigger and clipped it back onto the front of your tactical vest. With a deep breath, you managed to pull yourself to your feet with the solid support of the brick wall. Your bloodied hand mixed with the rain, dripping down your chilled fingers and spreading the blood down your arms. You looked like a damn mess. You felt like a damn mess.

You first attempted to push through the iron gate but found it chained and padlocked from the other side.

Never the easy way, you murmured to yourself.

Turning back on yourself, you stumbled through a fruit market. Bruised and trampled limes and apples rolled across the puddled floor, seemingly abandoned in a hurry rather than packed away in their crates. Upon leaning on a stall for aid, you noticed that the civilians, presumably the shopkeepers, had been shot dead in their stalls. It was bloody and gruesome and told the tale of just how relentless the military-for-hire group were.

Your wobbly vision was clouded, and your lashes were thick with rain droplets concentrated with the blood dripping from your head. Your lips and fingers were icy cold, and each breath felt like the air was taking shots at your lungs like they were punching bags. You pressed onwards, however, knowing that if you wanted a chance at living that you needed to make it out of the Shadow’s web, and you could only do so by pushing yourself forwards.

The detour through the fruit market leads you to a couple of Shadow mercs, who chatted idly amongst themselves as if they weren’t standing upon the consequences of their war crimes. Families, including children, cried and screamed in the distance. Gunshots followed, and you tried not to flinch against the sound.

The mercenaries were armed, and they were blocking the only route you had. There was no easy way around this, but you had to improvise given your lack of weaponry and physical power. Your body was betraying you, and try as you might, you’d never be able to take these men in your current situation.

You tossed a beer bottle down the alleyway, hoping to distract them enough to get the upper hand. The left merc stubbed out his cigarette with a sizzle under his boot, before trailing down in the direction of the smashed glass in pursuit of the sound. Noticing your chance, you steadily crouch-walked your way over to the lone hostile and plunged your knife into his side and then into his neck.

“Just an empty bottle. It’s nothing,” the other merc stated, then turning on his heel with a final glance at the broken glass before he whipped his head around with a double take to notice his friend in a gargling heap on the floor, and you standing above him. “What the fuck?!”

He raised his gun toward you, leaving you no choice but to slam straight into him to throw off his aim. His gun flew upwards as he pulled the trigger, spraying an arc of loud, bright bullets into the air whilst you attempted to disarm him. He retaliated with a hard shove, though not before you were able to get your hands on the pistol in his hip holster. You flew to the ground with a thud and splash, but before he had the chance to regain composure and take aim at you again, you’d blasted two rounds into his chest, and then his throat. He collapsed on top of you in a heavy heap.

Another soldier rounded the corner, but you didn’t quite have the energy to recognise the threat before it was a second too late.

You were just lucky that Soap barged through the cafe door on your left and took him down with a clean shot straight through the temple. He turned his gaze from the man on the floor after confirming his death and reached over to you on the ground. He heaved the dead mercenary off of your chest and offered you a strong hand. You grabbed onto him and groaned as he yanked you upright, a firm hand on your shoulder to steady you as you fell towards him. With a concerned eye, he straightened you with a gentle nudge.

“Christ, Fox,” Soap murmured, eyeing the wound on your side. You immediately clutched at it defensively. “You’re not lookin’ so hot.”

You wheezed a breath and mustered a smile. “I’m running on fumes, but I’ll be fine. Let’s just get to that church.”

“Aye, Sergeant. I’ll take front.”

“Be my guest.”

You trailed sloppily behind Soap, cursing yourself for your inability to be as sharp as you usually were. You hated being a burden, but you hated letting the team down more. Your carelessness in the fight that broke out with Graves had cost you a life-threatening injury in a team that refused to leave anybody behind, even if it got them killed. You only worried that if you weren’t going to make it, you wouldn’t be able to see Simon before you went and that you wouldn’t be able to tell him you were sorry.

Your heart ached at the thought.

You and Ghost had been dating, briefly. It happened slowly. First, there were inside jokes, and then there were gentle teasing pet names, and then more than friendly touches… until one night the tension seemed to break, and you slept together, which was just a week ago now before everything went to shit. You almost regretted doing so, for fear that now you’d never get to see him again, to touch him again.

You stumbled to your knees and caught yourself barely by planting your hand solidly on the gravelled floor. Soap spun around and cursed under his breath before reaching for his radio.

“Ghost, we have a situation here.”

He leaned forward and grabbed at your biceps, throwing your arm over his soldier for support.

“What situation?”

“Fox was WIA,” he grunted with a low voice, pulling your body towards cover as a squadron of Shadows passed by in pursuit of the gunshots from only a few moments prior. Any second now, they would find the bodies and be alerted of your presence.

“Don’t piss around the bush, Johnny. How bad?”

Soap studied you with an uneasy glance.  “We’re gonna need backup if we’re gonna get the lass outta here.”

“What’s your location?”

“Uh—” Soap paused and checked for any noticeable landmarks. “We’re at the coffee shop just a ways from the fruit market—”

“Hang tight. I’m on my way.”

“What about the RV?”

“Stay put, Serg.”

“Yes, sir.”

The distance from the church to the market was about ten minutes, but Ghost cleared the distance in about four. His eyes were cold and steely behind his mask but became soft and expressive upon noticing your strained face and bloodied abdomen. He was gentle when he leaned for you.

“Jesus Christ, Fox,” he murmured, his tone an edge softer than usual. He leaned toward you to help stabilise you on your feet and apologised under his breath when you yelped in pain. “Who did this to you?”

You grunted and leaned against one of his large arms for support. You blinked the rainwater away from your eyes and maintained eye contact with him. Even now, at a time like this, you felt your stomach flip. You were so in love with him and that somehow made everything scarier.

“One of Graves’ boys. Not sure who. Didn’t get a good look before I killed him.” You answered.

“Atta girl,” Ghost praised. Your heart clenched.

Soap stared on with a worried look, his back tense with stress.

“Hold up,” Soap said, raising a fist before lifting his gun to level his eyes with the sights. mercenaries stormed past the windows, and there was a sudden series of heavy bangs on the cafe door that Soap had barricaded with bar stools. “We’ve got company, Ghost.”

Ghost nodded, and then turned to you with an urgent look in his eyes. “Can you walk?”

You cringed at the stabs of pain and clenched your jaw. “Simon, I’m a liability. Leave me here and I can hold them off—”

“I am not leaving you here!”

You blinked in shock at the intensity of his tone. His eyes beyond the mask seemed desperate, and he clutched your face in a gloved hand as if uttering his silent pleas through his palm. You truly believed him and his words, for there was no reason for a man like himself to lie to you at a time like this.

“I said, can you walk?”

You nodded stiffly.

“Then let’s fucking walk,” Ghost answered, tossing your arm over his shoulder to carry the most of your body weight as he essentially dragged you toward the exit point of the cafe. His other hand gripped his pistol so hard that his knuckles began to numb beneath his glove. “Cover us, Johnny!”

Soap tailed your backs with a raised gun, and Ghost was just able to tug you out of the door before the hostiles blasted through and started swarming the place with bullets. Ghost seemed to lug you along with desperation, as you were practically limping at this point.

“You stupid girl, getting me all worried like this,” he cursed, turning briefly to shoot one of the incoming adversaries before continuing onwards. “Do you know how lucky you are that I’m here?”

He was acting characteristically sharp and dry, but you knew that it was just to glaze over his worry. Ghost didn’t often lose his cool, but you were certainly shaking his faith. You couldn’t judge him for his words and simply offered a weak smile in response.

You heaved a laugh. “Let’s just say I owe you one.”

He seemed to soften. “Let me take you to dinner when this is all over. Call it even.”

“It’s a date,” you wheezed, your words accompanied by laboured breaths. The pain was intense and radiated in waves of white-hot pulses and aches that made you limp and shudder in the agony. Your feet and hands were starting to feel numb, and your head felt like it was full of TV static. You just needed a short break, and then you would be able to continue.

You began tripping over your feet, and albeit he tried to keep you upright, Ghost’s strength wasn’t enough to counter the sudden push of gravity as you slumped to the floor.

“(Y/N)!”

Your face was white, and your eyes rolled back. He was immediately at your side, grabbing your face in his hand to inspect your breathing, and then the pulse on your neck with fingers that he’d torn a glove from. He was momentarily relieved when he felt the feedback of your heart, regardless of how faint it was. It was enough to keep going, to revive the easily extinguishable flicker of hope.

Soap rounded the corner, seeming urgent as he fired shots down the alleyway.

“Ghost, they’re gaining on us!”

“Shit!” He cursed.

Without a second thought, he unsheathed his pistol and handed it over to Soap who took it without question. Simon scooped his arms under your legs and back and held you securely to his chest before nodding at his comrade.

“You keep us safe. That’s an order, Serg.”

“Sure, LT, but we need to get a move on— now.”

“Let’s go!”

You jostled in and out of consciousness. It was soft and gentle, like a slow beat of butterfly wings. You would open your eyes momentarily, but there wasn’t enough adrenaline supply in the world to keep you awake, and things would quickly return to darkness. Your grasp on reality started to slip when the blood loss became critical, and the only thing you were aware of was the bruising grip Ghost had on your flesh and the overwhelming fear that you were about to die.

You vaguely notice the sensation of cold marble on your body, and then the tightness of gauze and tape being wrapped around you.

Ghost was manic as he watched your pale, lifeless body show little to no reaction to his movements. He’d torn your battle vest off and inspected the damage beneath your vest. He’d swallowed his anxiety and wrapped you up as best he could with what little supplies himself and Soap had scrounged from the village and proceeded to perform CPR on you when he noticed your breathing had come to an abrupt stop.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You couldn’t move.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Crack.

A blooming pain in your ribs.

A warm press of lips on your own, and the uncomfortable sensation of being filled with air.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The thrum of helicopter blades. Distant shouting. Ghost’s voice.

Ghost’s voice.

“Simon…?”

——

When you next woke, it was a slow and unpleasant sensation. White, fluorescent lights pierced through your eyelids, which felt heavy to open. The sharp sensation of the gunshot in your side felt dull, and you could tell by the swimming sensation in your head that you were drugged. You vaguely recognised the sound of a beeping monitor, and you flinched. The smell of bleach filled your nose.

“Good mornin’, sunshine.”

Your eyes fluttered open, wincing against the harsh ceiling lights. You turned your gaze to the figure hunched over in a small brown chair— a heavily-built man, adorning a balaclava with a skull painted on it. Ghost.

“Simon.”

“(Y/N).”

You attempted to lift yourself into an upright position, and immediately felt a flare of agony that had you coughing out a broken sob.

“Hey, hey, take it easy there, Fox,” Ghost murmured, immediately reaching forwards to settle you back down. You grit your teeth together and blinked away the sudden onslaught of tears that were born from the shock of the pain. He tried to sit back down, but you caught his gloved hand before he could leave and he didn’t have the heart to pull away. His stature immediately softened, and his thumb smoothed over your fingers and knuckles in an attempt to comfort you.

“They outta put more drugs in you. They sure did a number on you. Surprised you’re still with us.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

Simon huffed through his nose and tugged the chair closer so that he could sit beside you and hold your cold hands in his. “I thought you were, too, sweetheart.”

“How the Hell did you get me out of there?”

You couldn’t see it, but by the wrinkle of his eyes, you knew he was smirking. “This old dog still got his ways.”

A concern suddenly popped into your head as bits and pieces of memories began to slot together. “And Soap?”

“He’s fine, unfortunately.”

You smiled gently, feeling yourself relax a little. You turned to him and held his gaze, suddenly feeling intimidated by his sharp eyes. The heart monitor next to your bed began to beep at an increased pace, and your cheeks flushed.

Ghost seemed bemused. “Am I makin’ you nervous, darlin’?”

You buried your face in your hands and only dared to peek through your fingers when you heard him start to laugh.

“Don’t hide from me just yet. You still owe me a date.”

You threw your hands down to your sides and smiled. “Look who’s gone all soft. I wonder what the boys would think of you right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“Don’t kid yourself, LT, you loved playing hero,” you retorted, a glimmer of mischief sparkling through your grin. You suddenly felt the atmosphere become slightly tense and heavy with the weight and reality of the situation. You could’ve and likely should’ve died back there. You weren’t aware enough of your surroundings to remember just what Ghost and Soap went through to get you out, but you could only imagine.

“Thank you, Simon.” You said, more serious this time.

He glanced away as if embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”

You reached closer and grabbed his masked face. In private, he would remove his balaclava just for you. You felt the selfish desire that he would do so just now so that you could kiss him but swallowed your urges for you knew he couldn’t compromise himself in the med-bay. Too many prying eyes.

He grabbed your hand from his face and kissed it, the warmth and pressure of his lips still present even through the fabric on his face. You were butter in his touch, practically melting through his fingers.

“Just don’t make a habit of nearly dying, you hear me? Nearly gave me a bastard heart attack.”

You smiled, staring at him dazedly. “Yes, sir.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #x reader #angst #injury #pining #ghost is in love #soap mactavish #john mactavish

[pellucid-constellations]

angstober (4)

Prompt: "Just Breathe"

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

A/n: More angst!! I appreciate all the support for these little drabbles sooooo much!!

angstober masterlist here ♡

~~~

“Come on. Come on!” 

Bucky was panicking. 

How had you fallen so fast? So suddenly? 

One moment you were beside him, the next you were mixed between cracked concrete and metal pipes—falling, falling, falling. Who knew bridges were so unreliable?

“Wake up, sweetheart. Come on, please,” he pleaded. Begged. His hands kept moving, kept pushing life into your chest as tears mixed with the saltwater on his cheeks. “You don’t get to leave me.” 

Steve was somewhere near the shore, fighting off whatever creature had blown up the bridge. And thank god for Steve, because Bucky would sooner let the creature from space eat him before he left you. Before he let you die. 

In some cynical, self-hating part of his brain, Bucky registered that you were already dead. 

He pumped his arms more steadily, applying more pressure, willing your heart to start beating. You weren’t dead. You weren’t. Because if you were gone… well, Bucky felt the repercussions of such a thing as he stared down at your waning, wet skin. Your lips were turning an unnatural shade and Bucky felt the reality, this reality, sink into his very bones. 

Sand bit into his knees where the torn material of his pants failed him, but Bucky felt it like lidocaine had been injected right to the site. A sob wracked his chest, almost crippling him as he gave his breath to you, and Bucky decided right then and there that nothing in his life had compared to this. 

The way your body moved was making him sick. You only budged when he forced the motion into your limbs, your neck only turned when he tilted it up to try and save you. 

This was awful, unimaginable. 

“I love you,” he whispered, shaking hands coming to brush the hair from your forehead. You hated when it fell into your eyes. “I love you, honey. Please.” 

His words broke, so Bucky kissed your skin instead. Your cheek, your neck, your shoulder—he kissed you to quell the unevenness of his own breath, and then he restarted compressions. 

“You can’t—” he struggled. “—you can’t let a little water take you out. I love you so much, it doesn’t work like that.” 

But, in real life, it did work like that. 

There was nothing supernatural pumping in your veins. You were human, breakable, and while Bucky was used to this truth, he had never felt it as strongly as he did in this moment. 

Somewhere, Steve called his name. 

Bucky was only listening for one sound, and it wasn’t Steve. 

Grief invaded the deepest parts of him, and it was slowing him down. Bucky never felt slow. Bucky was a machine. He could fix things and make them right. He had strength and invincibility and power.

Bucky could fix you, too. He could make you right. 

Couldn’t he? 

His crying had turned unintelligible, just small words lost between tears and gasping breaths. You’d cried like this one time. Right now, Bucky couldn’t remember why, but he’d held you and told you he’d never leave you. He’d run gentle fingers across your temple and stayed awake when you fell into a fitful sleep. 

Bucky was alone as he cried. 

“I can’t do this without you. I can’t.”

You coughed. It started small and then grew into a hacking, choking sound. Bucky startled, took a split second to watch the way your chest moved on its own, and then he pulled you forward with vigor. Your chin slotted over his shoulder and his hand made an imprint in the wet material at your back. 

“Hey, hey,” he breathed, shaky and softer than he had ever spoken. “Just breathe. You’re okay. Breathe, I got you.” 

Your fingers curled into his shirt, ripping at velcro and kevlar as you fought for air. Bucky held you through it, pressed his nose to the warming skin of your head and rocked the two of you without realizing it. Grief was still pounding in his bones. He wasn’t sure if that would go away anytime soon. If the weight of you being dead was ever going to leave him, even as you sat in his arms and choked out breaths. 

“Bucky,” you eventually wheezed out, pulling back from his grasp. “I—” 

“Shhh,” he hushed. Because as much as he wanted to hear you speak, hear proof that you were lucid and knew him and loved him, you were struggling. “Don’t try to talk. You’re okay. You’re okay, right?”

It sounded like a question no one could answer. 

But you nodded, and Bucky pulled you back into his chest. “Just breathe, baby. You’re okay.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #bucky barnes reader insert #angstober 2023 #day 20

[messedupfan]

Chapter 16

Summary: After finding out about your possible attendance at Tommy and Billy's big day, Vision decides to pay you a visit.

A/n: Hello! This one is short haha Also did any of y'all get to see the eclipse? Crazy!! Enjoy!

Masterlist | All Stories Taglist | All Chapters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Pietro are staring at the blueprints for the building that the company has been working on. There was a measurement off on an area which has made the work halt until someone can figure out what went wrong. The two of you are trying to decipher where the issue is and what the best solution would be when Vision storms onto the job site. 

“Vision, you're not allowed to be here. You're an unauthorized civilian in a construction zone,” Pietro says as he steps around the table to prevent his former brother-in-law from moving further into the unpredictable space. 

“I'm here to speak with Y/n. I'm not leaving until I do,” he states and you aren't sure what he could possibly want with you. 

“We are trying to work,” Pietro glares at Vision. “Actual life threatening work, not standing pretty in a room full of hungover college students.” 

Vision looks at Pietro for a moment then looks back at you. “Do you have a minute?” 

Pietro is about to say something when you decide to cut in. “Just this once, Vision,” you grab a spare hard hat and plop it on his head. “Regulations, I’m sure you’ve taught your students about them.” You pat him on the back before guiding him out of the construction zone. He takes the hard hat off and roughly returns it to you as he fixes his hair. “What is so important, Vision? I’m needed inside.”

“I want you to stay away from the tournament,” he states. 

You lick your lips in thought and look past him to the job site. The concrete mixing machine is spinning and you fantasize for a moment about pushing Vision into a space and burying him in the concrete. You shake the thought away and look back at Vision. “Why would I do that? Tommy and Billy invited me.” 

“That doesn’t matter, I’m uninviting you. They are my boys and if anyone is going to be there to support them, it’s going to be me!” Vision says as he tries to intimidate you. His reasoning for keeping you away confuses you. Why does he really not want you there?

“Vision, no one is saying you can’t be there. Why are you making this a ‘it’s me or you’ thing? This isn’t about either of us, it’s about your sons. I have been helping them practice and they want to show me that our hard work has paid off. Why is that such a bad thing?” You ask, instead of agreeing to stay away. You knew that he was going to make this into a thing, but you don’t understand why it has to be. It’s not like you are dating Wanda or trying to replace him as his kids parent. You don’t understand why he has such a problem with you. 

“I know that you have been helping them. You know how I know? Because they don’t stop talking about it. I have friends and colleagues that have children in their class. What kind of father will people think I am if Tommy and Billy give you all of the credit? I don’t want them to run to you when they win. They will be running to me because you won’t be there. Understood? You are to stay away,” he says bitterly and now you understand what’s happening. He doesn’t want his image of being an involved father to be affected. It upsets you that he could easily earn that credit and praise by spending time with his kids. But he relies on everyone else doing the heavy lifting and keeping their mouths shut. You find it ridiculous. “The tournament is happening on my weekend. So I have to be there. They aren’t your kids, you can make up some excuse and not show up. Or else,” he threatens. 

“Do you have something to support your ‘or else’ or were you hoping that was enough for me to agree to cancel?” You ask, bored of this conversation. 

“Just, leave my kids alone. Okay?” Vision walks away and you sigh. You knew when you accepted the twins invitation two weeks ago, you were going to upset Vision. You didn’t realize that you were making him feel insecure as a parent. You return to work to try and push the encounter out of your mind. 

The issue turned out to be a simple adjustment. Everyone cheered because it could have been much worse. It could have taken weeks to fix. There could have been a fatal accident. It could have cost materials that would have taken weeks to replace. It could have been missed until inspection and that would have had the building demolished. The list of scenarios could go on and on. You and Pietro are more than happy about the results of an easy fix. 

You forget all about Vision's visit until during your lunch break when Pietro asks what the man wanted. “For me to stay away from Tommy and Billy’s tournament,” you shrugged. It was something you were expecting but you didn't think he would cause a scene at your place of work. 

Pietro nods and takes a bite of his food as he looks at the other crew members around the two of you. “Did he say why he doesn't want you there?” 

“Kind of? The gist of it was he's an absent father and he doesn't want the rest of the world to know that,” you shake your head and laugh a little as you think back on the conversation. “I tried to threaten me but there's nothing he can do. I'm still going.” 

Pietro makes a face, “Threaten you? How so?” 

“Well, he just said,” you clear your throat as you get ready to imitate the British man. “Stay away or else!” You roll your eyes. “It's ridiculous, he didn't have anything to say when I asked him what he would do. Because he can't do anything to me.”

“Maybe not to you, but he could do something to my sister. Or worse, he could pull the boys out of that class or make sure they don't show up to the event. I don't know.” Pietro pushes his food around his plate. “All I'm saying is that he can't do anything to you but he can do something to them. So maybe, don't go.” 

You frown as you consider Pietro's advice. He was right. Vision might not be able to touch you but he can hurt Wanda and her kids. 

Later that night, when you're picking up Rachel from Wanda's house, you feel terrible as you think of the ways Vision can hurt them and the only thing that you can do is comply and hurt them in a different way. “What's on your mind? You've been more quiet than usual,” Wanda asks as she hands you a clean plate to dry. 

“I um,” you aren't sure if you should tell her about the encounter earlier. But I'd you're considering canceling on her boys, you can't lie to her. “Vision came to see me today. He doesn't want me there to support the boys next Saturday.” 

“What?” Wanda stops scrubbing the pan she was cleaning. “Are fucking kidding me?” She scoffs as she shakes her head. She figured that Vision would come to her when he found out about you attending the event. She can't believe he dislikes you so much. She truly doesn't understand it. “What did you tell him?” 

“What I told him and what I’m considering are conflicting,” you truthfully tell her. “I don’t want Vision to do something to the boys or even become a bigger headache for you.” 

Wanda nods, she knew that whatever Vision threw at her, she could handle it. However, she agreed that the boys shouldn’t get affected by their father's tantrums. She takes a deep breath. “What are we going to tell them?” 

You are a little touched when she includes herself in this conflict. That this isn't something you have to deal with on your own. “I haven’t figured that part out yet. I wasn't sure if I should fight him or not.” 

“I know how much the boys would love to have you there but,” she sighs as she hands you the last dish. “Vision can't hurt either of us and he knows that. I don't want to believe that he would do something to hurt his kids but, let's face it. His priorities aren't exactly where they should be.” You dry the plate and set it aside as you nod. “So, we're just going to have to tell them that something came up and that you won't be able to attend. But we'll wait until the end of the week to tell them. Make it seem more urgent.” 

You nod with a deep frown. It hurts that you had to cancel on the boys. They've been so excited during the practices that you've done with them since that first night. You don't want to disappoint them but it's better that it's you and not Vision. 

On the day that you do have to break the news, Tommy called you a stupid head and said that he didn't want you there in the first place before he stormed up to his room. Billy just cried. Rachel asks you a million questions on the way home. It makes you feel terrible. Nothing could have prepared you for the heartache you felt when you said that you couldn't be there for them. 

In the middle of the week, Vision had a basket sent to your apartment with a thank you note. You tossed it in the trash. You couldn't believe that you let him win. All you could do was hope that they'd forgive you or at least forget about the let down. 

You tried to forget about it the rest of the week. On Friday, your friends want to go out so you join them. You don't drink as much as you have in the past when hanging out with them but you, Bucky, Steve, and Darcy end up staying out until close to three in the morning. The four of you had a lot of fun. The night started out at a simple bar with a few drinks then it led to one of those modern arcades with a bar. At a certain point, you noticed that  Steve and Bucky had gone missing. Darcy claimed that it happens every time she hangs out with them so you didn't question the disappearance. And when they reappeared, you were having too much fun to realize that they had switched shirts. 

Everyone ended up crashing at your place instead of going to their homes. You chose to sleep in Rachel's room to give Darcy your bed while Steve and Bucky crashed in the living room. You plugged your phone in and slipped into a dreamless sleep. 

In the next afternoon Darcy is shoving you awake. “Answer your damn phone! Some of us weren't made to sleep through natural disaster!” She grouchs as she continues to shake you. 

Groggy and discombobulated you squinted through your eyes as the bright sun shone through the blinds. You stretch and yawn as your phone starts ringing again. It's louder than you remember it ever being. You quickly answer the call before checking who it is. “Hello?” 

“Y/n, thank goodness!” Wanda says urgently. You spring up in bed, alarmed by her tone.

“What happened? What's wrong? Are you okay? Is it the boys?” You say as you get out of bed. 

“Woah, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I mean, it's an emergency but it's not a life threatening one,” she says, a little calmer this time. 

Your body relaxes instantly. “Sorry, I'm just waking up. I had um quite a night. Anyway… What's the emergency?” Darcy shouts that you're being too loud so you step out onto the balcony. 

“Hold on, are you with someone?” Wanda asks instead.

“No, that's just Darcy,” you say. “She spent the night because we were out late. Bucky and Steve are here as well. But ignore all of that, why are you calling?” You check the time and frown. “Shouldn't you be cheering the boys on soon?” 

“Vision dropped the boys off and disappeared,” she says. “I can't get a hold of him. Every time I call it goes straight to voicemail. I asked Tommy and Billy what he said when he dropped them off but their answer wasn't helpful. They're devastated,” she continues and it seems like she's going to say more but instead she says. “Sorry, I don't know why I called I-” 

“I'm on my way. I'll be there as soon as I can,” you interrupt before she says that she shouldn't have called you. It makes you happy that she called you for this. “I've got to get ready, I'll see you in a bit. Bye,” you hang up the phone before she can protest. 

You quickly inform Darcy that you have to leave and why. She stops you from grabbing your keys. “Not so fast boo boo the fool. You smell like sweat and booze. Shower first, I'll put together some clean clothes and then you can go play superhero.” You don't think you have time but you do have an odor and you don't look very presentable. In fact, you'd hope that they'd refuse entry to someone in your state. 

You quickly rinse off the previous night and throw on the clothes that Darcy laid out for you. Steve and Bucky are sitting at the kitchen table and Darcy is making them coffee as you pass them. “Darcy, you have my spare right? Please lock up before you leave.” 

“What? Why does Darcy have a spare and I don't?” Steve asks, offended. “We've been friends longer.” 

Darcy taps his head, “Hush, they’re on a mission.” She looks up at you with an innocent smile as Steve scratches his head. “Don't worry, I'll be sure to lock up. Now go, go!” 

You thank her before racing out of the building. When you arrive, you find Wanda consoling her boys with their Sensei. Someone steps out of the gym and when the door opens you can hear that the event has already started. You jog over to Wanda. “Hey, I'm sorry I'm late. Traffic was just,” you don't get to finish your excuse because Billy crashes against you and greets you with a tight hug. You wrap your arms around him. “Hey buddy, it's alright,” you say gently as you carefully pry him off of you. “What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in there kicking butt?” You ask as you level with him. 

Billy wipes his tears, “I couldn't because I was sad.” 

You frown, “Sad? Why were you sad?” You move some of his hair out of his face and pull a bandana out of your pocket to help wipe his tears out of his prescription goggles. 

“Because my daddy didn't want to be here and neither did you,” he admits and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. 

You shake your head. “That’s not,” you sigh and look behind him to Wanda standing beside Tommy, he is giving you his best death glare that reminds you a lot of Vision. “I’m sorry that I made you think that, Billy. I thought that there was something more important but I was wrong. Nothing is more important than seeing you and your brother compete today.”

“Really?” Billy squeaks as his eyes start to brighten up a bit. You can see so much of Wanda in him. You grin as you nod. 

“Billy, sometimes we are given two choices and I don't always pick the right one. But you are smarter than me. So I'm going to give you,” you point to his chest as you speak, “two choices. Number one, you can quit now and we can all go home. We might watch a movie but there will be nothing to show for it. Or number two, you can show everyone in that room what your Sensei has taught you and what we have worked on together. You and your brother could win trophies and get new belts and then we can go out to celebrate. Which one do you think you should pick?” You try to make one option seem a little more appealing than the other to try and get him inside. 

Billy looks at you then to his mom, then to his instructor, and lastly, he looks to his brother. “Do you want to?” Tommy had his arms crossed over his chest with an angry frown and a deep scowl. You could tell that between the two, he was the one that refused to perform. His way of having control over the situation. Something that he was learning from his father. If you don't give him what he wants, he tries to take something away. In this case, he's not getting his father's approval so he's making it so that they don't participate. It hurts Vision’s image, which isn't something that Tommy knows much about. He can't stop playing his father's words over and over in his head, don't embarrass me. 

Tommy steps forward, “If we go in there, are you going to stay?” 

“I'm going to stay,” you promise. His features soften and he grabs his brother's hand and takes him over to their Sensei. The three walk through the double doors and run to their corner. Wanda walks over and gives you a tight hug, much like Billy had. 

“Thank you so much,” she says into your chest. 

“Wanda, as much as I love being in your arms, you're holding me back from keeping my promise,” you say as you give her a quick squeeze in return. 

“Just a second longer,” she says before she finally releases you. “You are incredible,” she says as she leads you inside. A volunteer stops you from walking further. 

“Do you have a ticket?” She asks with a bright smile. You quickly pull your wallet out of your pocket. 

“No, I don't actually,” you say but Wanda stops you. 

“Nonsense, after what you did for my kids, I've got you covered,” Wanda hands the woman her debit card despite your protests.

“Okay, you two are good to go,” she says then she pulls out a clipboard with a sheet of names and contact information. “I'm also supposed to ask if you would like to sign this petition to get more funding for programs like these. Is that something that you would be interested in?” The woman is a little more flirtatious in her approach and you are thrown off. You size her up as she is clearly eyeing you and you smile at her politely. She bites her lip as she leans a little forward to expose a bit of cleavage. 

“Sure, I love to support a good cause,” you say as you take the clipboard and pen to write down your name and phone number. She asks you a couple of more questions before you and Wanda are able to walk away. 

“That girl wants a date with you,” Wanda mutters once the two of you are sitting in the stands. “I’m assuming one without any clothes.” You shake your head with a laugh.

“Please, it was just a tactic to get my signature,” you say as you lean in close so she can hear you. 

“Oh. So I should judge you because it worked on you?” Wanda asks in a playful tone but there is a layer of truth. 

“No, I just thought the cause was worth supporting. What you should be concerned about right now is that Billy is up next,” you say as you point to the floor where Billy is stepping onto the mat. Wanda reaches for your hand and holds it in a tight grip. You don’t pull away, more than happy to give her some sort of comfort. You felt just as nervous watching Billy out there. You record as much of the match as possible. Something for Wanda to send to Vision or people in her family that couldn’t be there. 

In the middle of the tournament, your stomach starts to growl and ache painfully. You excuse yourself to buy some snacks at the concession stand. Because neither of her boys are on the mat, Wanda watches you from her seat. On your way back to the stands, the woman stops you for what looks like a quick chat. She cleanches her jaw when the woman touches your arm as she laughs at something you said. She tries to ignore the pang of jealousy she feels as you continue to talk to the woman. You come back to her side when Tommy stands up to enter the mat. When you return, Wanda pulls you close to her and her eyes search for the red haired woman. As soon as she makes eye contact with her, Wanda wraps her arm around your waist and steals some of your popcorn. You laugh because you notice her odd behavior but you don’t question it. Not as much as Wanda is. 

When the event is over, Tommy and Billy run to you to show off their awards. You give them high fives and tell them how proud you are. Wanda gives them hugs as she tells them the same. Then they take your hand and race you over to their friends. She puts their prizes in her tote bag as she gets ready to leave. Tommy and Billy have other plans. They have you show each of them how to do the moves you managed to teach them in the past few weeks. Wanda stands back and watches with a wide smile. She snaps a few pictures as she watches but she doesn’t want to view the moment from her phone screen.

“Excuse me,” the volunteer from earlier says quietly to Wanda. “Hi, my name is Nebula and I just wanted to apologize for flirting with your partner earlier. I consider myself to be a girls girl and I didn’t realize that you two were together,” she rambles and Wanda holds her hands up to stop the girl. 

“Slow down, we’re just friends,” Wanda corrects her. The words feel wrong coming out of her mouth but she couldn’t stop them. It was like an automatic response every time someone implied that you and her are a couple. 

“Oh,” Nebula fails to stop the smile from growing on her face. “Is Y/n seeing someone?” She turns to watch you playing with the kids. 

“No. No, they are single,” Wanda knew this girl was being friendlier to you than just getting another signature for a petition. She didn’t want to be the one giving Nebula this information. But no matter what she was feeling, she wasn’t going to sabotage you. 

Nebula nods as she continues to watch you. “Do you think they will be creeped out if I use their information from the petition to contact them?”

Wanda watches the girl for a moment and thinks about telling her to back off. That if anyone should be asking you out, it should be her. But was Wanda ready for a relationship beyond physical pleasures? She doesn’t know. And because she doesn’t know, she wasn’t going to gatekeep you. Just in case she isn’t ready for a long time. “I think maybe that’s exactly how you should do that. I’ll get to win a bet if you do,” Wanda says jokingly. 

Nebula nods and nudges Wanda with her shoulder, “I’ve got you. Make it a good bet.” She winks, “Thank you. I hope to see you around soon.” 

“I’ll give the toast at the wedding,” Wanda jokes again and Nebula walks away laughing. 

“Oh, would you look at that, I think she had her eyes on you this whole time,” you say as you walk up to Wanda with both boys wrapped around and hanging onto each of your legs. Wanda shakes her head. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” She steps closer to you and puts her hand on your shoulder. “Let’s get these two some ice cream,” she says loudly and the boys let go of your legs to jump up and down as they cheer. She messes with their hair and tells them to go wait by her car. They start to shove each other on their way out of the building as they race each other. 

“Still no word from Vision?” You ask as you scrape the sides of your cup to get every last bit of chocolate ice cream out of the cup. Wanda checks her phone and continues to shake her head to see the lack of responses from Vision. She eats her ice cream and gets some of it on her nose. You wipe it off with your thumb and smile. “Mmm, maybe I should have gotten that flavor instead,” you say as you lick the ice cream off of your thumb. She smiles back at you.

Tommy and Billy are running around the playground while you and Wanda sit on a bench and watch them play. “I don't know if I should take them home with me or drop them off at Vision’s house. I don't know how Vision will react because I'm not even sure why he didn't show up.” 

Your smile drops and you look away from her as you shake your head. “I can't believe after the tantrum he threw that he wasn't there for them. He sent me a thank you basket. Which, I don't want to know how he got my address to begin with-” 

“He is unbelievable and I am going to be tied to that man for the rest of my life,” she shakes her head again. 

“They're pretty great reasons to be tied to him though,” you compliment the boys, making Wanda smile as she watches them chase each other around. 

“They are,” she says and then she looks at you. “Will you join us for dinner? I'm thinking that we should go somewhere nice.” 

You look at her and when your eyes meet, you want to kiss her. The only thing keeping you from doing that is the fact that her kids could witness it and ask questions that you're not prepared to answer. “Um, yeah, I’d love to. As long as we split the bill.” 

Wanda considers insisting on paying for everything but that's not what will catch your interest. It's not a collection of times she has done something for you and you have done things for her. Leaving an imbalance of power between the two of you always. No, you are someone that seeks equal partnership. “Fine by me,” she says. 

Your phone goes off and Wanda's heart jumps in her throat from the anticipation. She hoped that the Nebula girl hadn't decided to reach out so soon. “It's a grocery list from Darcy,” you say as another message comes through. “And she and the guys have finally vacated the premise,” you laugh as you respond to the messages. She didn't realize she was holding in her breath until you spoke. Wanda relaxes as she continues eating her ice cream. 

“They’ve been at your apartment this entire time?” Wanda asks with a light laugh of her own. 

“Apparently, and now I'm all out of food,” you shake your head.

During dinner, Wanda has to excuse herself to take a call from Vision. You distract the boys by being silly to make them laugh, then you ask each of them to tell you about their week since you haven't seen them since last Friday. They go on and on about assignments that they enjoyed or hated. Like how Tommy is bummed about a book report but that Billy is ecstatic about it. He’s already read every book on the list, which he conveniently avoided telling the teacher. In gym class, there is a push up challenge that Billy isn’t thrilled about at all but Tommy is more than ready for. They talk about some playground drama where you find out that your daughter has been married and divorced three times throughout the week. You laugh when you find out that she's currently married to a girl named Kate in their class. 

You fondly remember your days in primary school when you were officiating weddings for Jean. She married half the class by the end of the school year. But she never married you back then. She told you that one day she would and then she kissed you on your tear stained cheeks. 

When Wanda returns she looks frustrated and you feel for her in her situation. “That was your dad,” she starts as she sits down. “He will be by the house tomorrow with your school bags but you're staying with me tonight.” She can't look at her boys as she stabs her food with her fork. She was still very worked up over the conversation. Billy puts his hand on her arm and she nearly breaks. 

“Wanda, do you want to know a trick I use to make water taste really good?” You ask her as you hold your glass up. She looks at you with a fragile expression before she takes your cue. She grabs her cup and you show her the trick you've learned over the years of how to drink something in order to avoid crying. It seems to work and she compliments that the water does taste better. The boys don't believe it so they try it and their brains trick them into believing the technique did anything to change the flavor. 

“Thank you,” Wanda mouths when she has calmed down. You shrug in response as the meal continues on. 

After dinner, you follow Wanda to her house with Tommy in your car and Billy in hers. He wanted to make sure that you came to their house to play video games and because you wanted to earn their trust, you agreed to drive with Tommy in the car. Wanda thought it was sweet that you cared this much about her boys. 

The four of you play three different multiplayer games together. Some rounds were kids versus adults and others you and Wanda would team up with one of the twins. The games went on until nine at night and that's when the kids wanted to watch a movie. You and Wanda sat at opposite ends of the couch with both boys sitting in the middle. When they both went quiet Wanda recruited you to help her take them to their beds. 

Once the two were settled in their beds you helped Wanda with cleaning up the mess in the living room by taking care of the cups while she reset the gaming setup. Putting controllers to charge and setting game cases on the game shelf in the cabinet. When all is said and done Wanda walks you to your car. 

“Thank you for today,” she says as she stands close to you with her hands in her back pockets. “You'll have to let me know if that girl messages you. I have a lot riding on that bet,” she jokes but her eyes look at both of yours and then land on your mouth. You've heard about this tactic, it's a signal to let you know she wants to kiss you. Suddenly you feel a little nervous. Any kiss the two of you shared could be dismissed with being under the influence or having heightened emotions. But right now, there wouldn't be any excuse. There would just be. 

It was a terrifying thought. 

“I’m sure you'd be devastated to lose the chance to choose my next haircut,” you retort as you lean in closer to her. Even when you're talking about a potential relationship with another woman, the only person on your mind is Wanda. The two of you gravitate towards each other until your lips meet. The kiss is short but meaningful. She smiles at you when the both of you break away before she bites her lower lip. You smile back at her as she steps away from you. “I'll see you later?” You ask as you open the door to your truck. 

Wanda nods, “Yeah, I'll um, I'll see you later.” 

“Okay,” you say softly. “Goodnight, Wanda. Sweet dreams.” 

“Sweet dreams, Y/n” she repeats and waves goodbye as you climb into your truck. She watches you drive away from the front door. She decides then that she doesn't need to be exploring her sexuality anymore. None of the people she sleeps with make her feel nearly as alive as that simple kiss did. As she lies in her bed, she goes through all of her dating apps and deletes every single one of them. She doesn't need them anymore.

Chapter 17

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#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff au #wonderstruck #wonderstruck series #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda fanfic #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x gender neutral reader

[octuscle]

My biggest dream was to backpacking in europe between the end of high school and the beginning of college. But I didn't do it. In a few days I'll celebrate my 50. birthday and my wife told me she has a special present for me realizing my dream from my youth and getting a young lover for herself when I'm back. Now I've this countdown on my phone from your corporation. What's going on?

You think it's a bit silly when you get on the plane. With hand luggage only. A large rucksack. Nothing else. Otherwise, when you get on the plane, you usually have a suit on and your laptop with you. Today? T-shirt and functional pants. Cell phone with extra powerful power bank. You feel dressed up. And you look really dressed up too.

When you wake up shortly before landing in Paris, you stroke your chin. Shit, you can't have grown that much beard between New York and here… Anyway, now you have to make your way to Gare de Lyon somehow. The TGV to Vezelay leaves in four hours. And from there, the first stage takes you along the Way of St. James to Strasbourg. With your little bit of school French, you'll manage quite well. In the metro, you look at your reflection in the window pane. You are a miserable tourist. An ageing man in ugly functional clothing. But the beard looks pretty cool…

When you finally arrive at Vezelay station, it's late. You are tired. You've booked a hotel room near the station for your first night in Europe. A bit of comfort. By the way, the Chronivac timer has expired. The display shows that the transformation is in progress.

The hotel is relatively elegant. You stand out at breakfast. Yes, you are freshly showered. But you could go to the hairdresser again. And although you've had a fresh shave, you've already got a shadow of a beard again.

Now it's getting serious. You're standing in front of the hotel. The rucksack on your back. You're already hot. And your first stage of the day is 25 kilometers. How much is that in miles? And why are you doing this to yourself…

The day is hell. You're sweating like a pig. Your feet hurt. You have a sunburn. On the one hand you're hungry, on the other you feel like puking. And when you arrive at your stage destination, you realize that you can't get accommodation without a reservation. As you pass a building site, the foreman asks you if you are looking for work. You reply that you need somewhere to sleep. He replies that that is not a problem. If you give him a hand, you will be given dinner and a place to sleep. You don't really feel like doing any more physical work. And you've always been a failure as a handyman. But somehow you know how to mix concrete and pour a foundation. And as you drink a beer in the evening sun at around 7:30 p.m. and talk to the other craftsmen, it feels very normal. One of the carpenters asks you if you're from the north of France. Because of your strange dialect. You look at him questioningly. And say that you're from Buffalo. He asks if that's near Lille. You have obviously arrived in France.

When you wake up the next morning in your bunk in the trailer, it's 05:30. You were expecting a hell of a muscle ache. But you feel like ripping out trees. You wash yourself briefly with ice-cold water in the rain barrel and then continue on your way. You've promised to help out for two more days before you move on.

Your wife mocked you when you said you wanted to take time out to do two months of work and travel in Europe. Sometimes you realize that she is simply much older than you. But shit, so is the French president's wife. And he should be about your age. 45 years old, as far as you know. Just four years older than you… Well, he's got further than you. But you look hotter than him. And the fresh air is obviously doing you good. Your wife is really suggestive when you facetime. You didn't even know she was into phone sex. But it's a nice change. Normally you tend to fuck colleagues on the building sites where you're helping out. It's more of a man's world. Something for real guys. And if you're anything, you're a real guy.

You've been on the road for six weeks when you finally arrive in Strasbourg. Shit, it's expensive here. Prices completely spoiled by tourists and European bureaucrats. Fortunately, you soon find a job here too. Not as a construction worker, though. But as a waiter in a bistro. And you can even sleep above the bistro. On the very first evening, you notice that very few guests spend the whole night here. A constant coming and going. And when you have to go to the toilet across the corridor, a not at all bad-looking guy in a stuffy suit asks you if you'd like to come up to his room for a moment. He slips you 50 euros. A hell of a lot of money for a blowjob or something. Should you feel cheap or like a hooker? Who are you kidding? Back home on the other side of the pond, you're the toyboy of an ancient lady. She's already 50 years old.

Strasbourg was awesome. But you only have three more weeks before you have to go back. The new semester at university starts. And your GILF is waiting for you back. She told you yesterday how much she misses you. You went out of your way to make her squeal with ecstasy at the end of the phone call. The PayPal payment arrived immediately. Together with the money you earned as a hustler and waiter in Strasbourg, you can now enjoy your last days to the full. You love the wind on your nipples. Maybe a hot trucker or something will pick you up as a hitchhiker. Tonight you should be in a place called Karlsruhe. Then it's not far to Frankfurt. And from there it's back to Buffalo. Someone there is eagerly awaiting her young lover.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #inked man #tank top #age reduction #ai image

[unsubconscious]

The artist Michael Heizer began working on “City” in 1972. A mile and a half long and inspired by ancient ritual cities, it is made from rocks, sand, and concrete mined and mixed on site.