#Petrol price down

[luminni]

Can’t stop thinking about how much Simon “Ghost” Riley loves his American girlfriend.

(sorry for this being a 3rd repost, I had an account called Lumi_bunsblog but that one got deleted for some reason so this is the new one now ig lol)

Unlike the other 141 boys he wouldn’t poke fun at you or tease you about the different words you use. Kyle loves to correct you,

“Whens the soccer game on tonight?”

“Its football love, not soccer, ‘cause you kick the ball.”

“You kick the ball in American football as well.”

“Yeah but...ours is better”

Johnny’s a tease

“Have you seen my swimming suit?”

“You wear a suit to go swimming?”

“I’m not calling it a costume”

“Well it sure as hell isn’t a bloody suit”

Even Price gets in on it by pretending not to hear you,

“Can you grab some chips from the kitchen?”

“Hm? Sorry dear can’t hear ya’”

“Grab me some chips!”

“Gunna’ have'ta repeat that”

“....crisps”

“There ya’ go, really outta speak up more sweetheart”

Never mind the fact he was right beside you on the couch.

But Simon, Simon is different. Never once has he corrected or teased you, to the point where its become a bit of a hindrance.

“Can you stop by the gas station on your way home?”

And he’ll just stare at you, an almost blank expression on his face, only the fidgeting of his fingers give way to what he’s thinking.

“The petrol shop Si’”

“Right.” 

Is it because he doesn’t care? Or maybe he’s too frightened he’ll scare you away if he corrects you? Whatever it is he’ll never say, but one thing is for certain, he’s absolutely elated when you start to pick up the British dialect.

You tell people your boyfriend is a leftenant instead of a luitenant and he’s looking at you like you hung the very stars in the sky.

Ask for a “wife beater” while pointing at the bottles of Stella Artois in his fridge and he swears his heart just skipped a beat (despite the crude connotations of the nickname)

Ask him to pick up ‘Maccies for you bolth on the way home and he almost causes a 20 car pileup because he has to hide his burning face.

Tell him you like the black jumper he’s wearing and theres three more in the online cart already.

And when you start swearing like a “proper brit” he’s ready to get down on one knee. He hears you mutter “bloody hell” from across the flat as you listen to news report an expected  10cm of rain for today and for the first time in his life he’s thanking god Manchester is such a dreary place.

You’ve become part of his life, he hadn’t scared you off, you hadn’t gotten tired of him. You wanted to be here, you wanted him. You’ve been here long enough to pick it up, you’ve spent enough time together even your words are beginning to match each other, and theres nothing in the world that could make him happier. So he’ll never once correct you or tease you when you ask to go on a vacation even if he’s blindly nodding along to your requests and scurrying off to the bathroom later to look it up and figure out you wanted to go on holiday with him. Cursing under his breath while he fishes his phone from the sink because he dropped it in his shock at the revelation you wanted to go on holiday with him. Give him two days and he’s already bought the tickets

[darktyrannomon]

Oooowee I'm having some panics up in here at this fine 4am

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 12

Kinktober Masterlist vi coactus - "under duress" Simon "Ghost" Riley/TF141 x f!reader Kinks > SHAME, forced orgasms, bimbo/dumbification Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

“Under duress” — A quick exfil means limited seats in the TAC-V. Simon lets you sit on his lap, but it’s a really bumpy road. When you realize that his thigh is the perfect shape, and that it’s pressing against your most sensitive spot, there’s not much you can do to stop yourself. Might as well enjoy the ride.

Warnings: SHAME! EMBARRASSMENT! SHAME!!!!, mean teasing, slut shaming, it's not non-con but no one asks for permission; this truck is not a safe-space.

No one said a word. Once the noise of the petrol explosion and the machine guns faded from your ears, all that you could hear was the rattle and rumble of the engine of the TAC-V. The mission had been successful, but barely. You’d secured the package, but it had cost you the chopper exfil that you’d been desperately counting on. What was a quick twenty minute flight was now an eight hour drive through the bumpiest mountain road known to man, and you were sitting on Ghost’s lap for the entire trip.

The TAC-V sat two in front and three in back, so with Price and Gaz up in the driver and passenger seats, you should have been able to fit in the rear with Ghost and Soap. But, the care package was taking up your spot. As the smallest member of the squad, you were relegated to lap-status, much to your audible dismay. 

“Shut your mouth and get in the truck, Corporal!” Price had shouted, spraying cover fire over the hood of the vehicle. 

So, that’s where you found yourself. Mouth shut. Seat secured. 

There was only one problem. Ghost’s thighs were enormous. He never skipped leg day, and when you tried to sit against his hips to distribute your weight, his gear vest was in the way. So, he’d shifted you over onto his right thigh, forcing you to straddle him, and now you could feel… everything. 

Every time Price hit another bump – which was once or twice every few seconds at this point – Ghost’s rock-solid quad muscle would jerk up into your pussy, shaking your most sensitive bits. It was savage, but it was making your body respond in ways that you did not appreciate. And now, you were in the middle of fighting off the most embarrassing orgasm of your life. 

You could feel how wet you were through the canvas pants you were wearing. Your panties were soaked in the first hundred kilometers, so they were useless against your slick pleasure. Soon, Ghost would be able to feel the warm stain of your cunt imprinting itself on his own trousers, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had tried to shift away in the beginning of this trip, rotating your hips back and forth, trying to search for a less-shameful angle, but he had grumbled, 

“Sit still, love. Tha’s enough squirmin’ around.”

His hand had reached out to secure your hip, pulling you down into a deep seated position, crushing your soft lips against his thigh and spreading them apart unknowingly.

You’d managed to suffer in pure silence so far, but that was becoming more and more challenging as the ride got rougher. The desire to roll your hips against him to take the edge off of the blinding friction you were experiencing was mind-numbing. You were sweaty from battle and now you were sweaty from nerve-racking lust, and there was no escape. You still had hundreds of kilometers to go, and you didn’t know what you were going to do.

Your body knew exactly what it was going to do, though. It was going to come whether you wanted to or not. 

“You alright, lass? Car sick?” Johnny asked, peering over at you as your head rested against the driver’s headrest in front of you. 

“Need a break, babes?” Gaz turned in his seat to check on you. 

“No can do,” Price shook his head and peered at you in the rearview mirror, “Still in the red zone. We can’t stop here and expect to make it out without drawing unwanted attention.” 

“Here,” Gaz reached back and unclipped your vest, “At least take this off so you can catch a breath.”

You let him slip the vest off your shoulders and stuff it in the footwell on the floor in front of him. He passed you his canteen, and you tried to open it with trembling hands. 

“She’s not fuckin’ sick,” Ghost hissed, grabbing the canteen and opening it for you before lifting it to your lips so you could drink.

The rest of the truck-full of men waited to hear the rest of Ghost’s explanation. You felt heat rush to your cheeks in painful humiliation as you waited for him to reveal your predicament. You knew, now, that he could feel you. You had thought you’d gotten away with it so far, but it was too obvious. He could feel the wet, sticky patch on his quad growing with every tremulous shake of the truck, and he knew what was happening to you. You could almost hear the jeering smile on his lips when he told them, 

“She needs a quick wank, innit that right, Corporal?”

You tried to keep your eyes trained on the floor, but you had to see what their faces looked like. You lifted your gaze to meet Price’s bright blue eyes in the mirror, the evidence of Ghost’s truth written all over your expression. 

The silence was broken up only by the road noise. No one spoke and no one breathed. You looked to Gaz and saw his mouth open in shock, curling at the edge of his lip with a boyish glee. Soap’s brow was furrowed in disbelief,

“S’that true, bonnie?”

Ghost didn’t even give you a chance to answer him. He shoved his gloved hand under your crotch as if to feel the evidence on his hand that he was sensing on his thigh, chuckling at your sorry predicament,

“Bumpy road, been wet and warm for almost an hour. Gonna have myself a pretty little pussy stain by the time we get to base. And if I give her somethin’ to work against…”

Your lieutenant curled his fingers that he had shoved underneath you, finding your swollen clit with a surprising ease. As if he’d pushed a button, you let out an obvious moan. You cut it short, unable to hold it back from crawling out of your throat, but the damage was done. 

Silence again, and then Gaz’s low voice,

“Holy fuck.”

Ghost removed his hand and settled back in his seat, keeping his grip on your hips with a steadfast strength. He was looking at you in the mirror along with Price who kept glancing up from the road. The message in Ghost’s eyes was a clear challenge; he wasn’t going to give you any more relief, and if you wanted to come on him, you’d need to figure it out yourself. 

The urge to hump his solid thigh was overwhelming, and now that the cat was out of the bag, you thought it wouldn’t be possible for you to be any more ashamed, so you started to hump your pussy against him, ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly… but, Ghost couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“See? Needy thing’s grindin’ on me. Can’t help yourself, huh, love?”

You shook your head, looking to Price for some sort of rescue, but what could he do? Your captain was driving as fast as he could out of enemy territory, and you were stuck in place, tumbling into an orgasm and suffering the pain of embarrassment in front of your whole squad. 

You moaned, trying to hold your breath, but your whole body shook as you came. Your hole was so wet and burning hot, and you could feel yourself gush as you clenched your muscles around nothing, wishing you had something… someone… inside of you. 

“There she is… good girl,” Ghost teased you, rubbing your back as you shuddered above him, rolling in your high. 

“Did she just…” Soap gaped.

You looked up at him, and even though your eyes begged for pity, you received none from him. He met you with a filthy grin,

“Come over here with me, lass. I’ll give you somethin’ to fuckin’ sit on.”

He reached for your arm, attempting to drag you over the care package, but Ghost jerked his hand away and wrapped his arm around your belly, forcing you to lean back against him, the tools in his vest digging into your flesh,

“She’s fine where she is, Sergeant. Aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You felt hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes, and you squeezed them shut, whispering,

“I’m s-sorry…”

“Shh, love. Nothin’ to be sorry for. Can’t be fuckin’ helped. C’mon,” he snarled in your ear, his mask smelling like his menthols and sweat, “Beg me to help you. Beg for my fingers, princess.”

“Simon,” Price warned, watching your degradation unfold behind him. 

“Eyes on the bloody road, Cap,” Ghost chuckled, “Bumpy enough back here as it is.”

Gaz hadn’t stopped staring, and you watched in horror as he palmed his hard length over the rough denim of his jeans. 

You felt yourself building to another crescendo, the waves of your first orgasm swelling to threaten a second, easier now that you’d let down so much silky come, allowing your pussy to slip that much faster over Simon’s huge thigh. 

“Beg me, baby,” Ghost growled in your ear, “Beg me to fuckin’ touch you right here where they can all watch me make you come.”

“No…” You gasped, “I can’t… I’m not…”

“Not what? Not a dumb little slut? Oh, sweetheart. Yes, you are. You’re so fuckin’ wet it looks like you pissed yourself. I bet those pretty knickers are fuckin’ ruined, aren’t they?”

He grabbed you by the chin roughly, startling you, making your core clench tight, turned on by his cruel aggression as he almost shouted in your ear, 

“Aren’t they? Tell the fuckin’ truth. Tell it to him,” Ghost’s eyes turned toward the rear view mirror and you looked up at Price, pleading with him for forgiveness in your tone. You mumbled, 

“My panties… are…”

“He can’t hear you, baby.” Ghost held your face, forcing you to look at his captain in the eyes through the reflective glass.

“My panties are ruined, sir.”

“Is that so, Corporal?” Price asked in a low droll, and you saw him readjust himself in his pants before putting both fists back on the steering wheel, gripping it so tight that his knuckles turned as white as bone. 

“Better see for myself, yeah?” Ghost chuckled, unbuttoning your trousers and yanking down the fly. 

He reached inside and grabbed the fabric roughly in his hand and, with a strength that shocked you, he tore them right off of your body with a loud rip, breaking the elastic at the seam and slipping the scrap from under your lips and ass. He held it up for the entire truck to see, showing them how the gray cotton was stained dark from your wetness, how they gleamed in the light of the setting desert sun. 

Soap reached out and snatched them from his hand, and Ghost laughed out loud, watching Johnny shove them to his nose and moan out a breath of satisfaction. 

“Go on, then,” Ghost turned his attention back on you, “Beg me for it. I wanna hear you say please, sir. You got that, Corporal?”

He snaked his hand back down the front of your belly, barely touching your furry mons, resting his gloved finger just above the hood of your clit, touching you with a light, teasing pressure. 

You could feel the rough canvas against your soft pussy now, and the seam was giving you something to grind against, but it was nothing like the feel of a strong finger. You chased another orgasm, but it was just out of reach. You were humping him lewdly, at this point, rocking your hips back and forth with abandon, unable to stop yourself from chasing your second, hard burst of pleasure. 

You bit your lip, struggling with all your might, but you were failing to surge over that exaltant peak. You needed his help, but you didn’t want to beg for it. You couldn’t. You were too dismayed at your fallen state.

You looked at Gaz, hoping he could talk some sense into your lieutenant, but he was jerking himself off with a hand down his pants, watching you through hooded eyes. You turned your gaze to Soap who had your ripped panties in his hand and was using them to wet his own heavy cock, smearing your juices all over his ruddy head. 

Ghost’s grip tightened on your jaw, and he turned your head toward his passenger window, stopping you from looking at the other men, 

“They can’t help you, love. Just me. Now, use your fuckin’ words.”

“Please… touch me,” your voice was barely a whisper.

“Please, what?” He bit back.

“Please touch me, sir,” you whined, sick to your stomach at your own weakness.

“Tha’s a good girl,” he smiled.

He moved his fingers lower, shoving two of them between your lips, applying firm pressure to your clit. He didn’t even need to rub you. Your pussy started to come the moment it had his relief, and you cried out like a paid whore, keening into the hollow cab, rolling your hips against him, chasing your crashing orgasm. 

Then, he started to move his hand frantically, rubbing you back and forth, dragging out your bursting come even further than you thought was possible, turning one orgasm into two, back to back, a painful overstimulation, enough to make your body convulse from his effort.

“No, no… oh, fuck!” You screamed, trying to close your legs but his thigh was in the way, and all you could do was ride him. 

“Yeah, tha’s it, love. Give it to me. Come on me, you filthy fuckin’ slag. Let ‘em hear what I’m doin’ to this needy cunt.”

“Mmngh! Please… Ghost, please, oh, fuck…” 

“Listen to that sound, lads,” he grunted, commenting on the wet, milking noises your cunt was making under his hand, “Runnin’ like a hot tap.”

“Hurry up, LT,” Soap barked, pulling on his cock with your panties wrapped around the hard shaft like he was furious with it, “I’ll only be so patient.”

Ghost shook his head,

“Tsch, tsch, alright, Johnny. If you insist. C’mon, baby. Keep those legs spread f’me like a good girl, yeah?”

You felt him ruck down the back of your pants and shove them onto your legs, exposing your ass to the whole truck. Then, you felt the tell-tale drag of his cockhead over your folds, and before you could even think to protest, he was shoving himself inside of you, slipping through your slick without much resistance, your wet come helping guide his length all the way up to your womb. 

Once he had whet his prick down to its root in you, he used both hands to lift your hips and slam them back down, using you like a cocksleeve. He was so thick, but your body was primed and ready to take him, and you found yourself without words, only able to moan and whine as he filled you up. 

Gaz reached over, leaning out of his seat to grab your face, turning you towards him so that he could kiss you. You couldn’t even kiss him back, you were so mindless, and he spent most of his time licking your lips and sucking on your tongue as you whimpered for Ghost’s heavy dick, your body jerking up and down as he slammed you onto his steel-hard length repeatedly. 

“Does he feel good, babes?” Gaz asked you, sticking two of his fingers into your mouth and down your throat, making you choke on him until you started to instinctively suck and swallow against him, “Tha’s it. Pretty thing just needed somethin’ in her mouth, didn’t she?”

Every time you choked from Gaz’s hand in your throat, you clenched around Ghost’s cock, and he begged his sergeant for more,

“Choke her again, Garrick. Makes her so fuckin’ tight.”

Gaz laughed, full of mischief, and reached up with his other hand to pinch your nose. Then, inside of your mouth, he pressed his fingers in a downward motion over and over and over, making it feel like he was fucking your face with a throbbing dick, too big for you to breathe. You gagged, and then, when you tried to take a breath, you gagged again, your whole body spasming, fighting for air. You could only suck in short breaths when you opened your mouth wider, and Gaz held the relief of those moments from you for as long as he could. 

Finally, Ghost wrapped both of his hands around your torso and ripped you away from Gaz’s cruel hand, laying you against his chest and fucking his cock up into you from below, creating loud, pornographic slapping sounds that filled the truck. 

“Fuck!” Ghost groaned, “Gonna make me come, love. Say please, baby. C’mon. You can do it. Say it.”

“Dinnae think she’s still with us, LT. Fucked her brains right out of her head,” Soap chuckled. 

“She can do it,” Ghost insisted, “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re not gettin’ my come until I hear you beg for it.”

 You looked at his eyes in the mirror again, not recognizing yourself in such a mindless state of indulgence, drowning in pleasure and losing yourself to it. He was looking at you with such an intensity, you wanted to please him. You wanted to follow his orders. You wanted to show him that you could be such a good girl. 

“P-please…. Please! Ungh, please, sir… Give me your come. Please, sir… I need it. I need it. I need… mmnff-fuck!”

You felt his cock swelling, throbbing, and bursting with hot, sticky ropes of his cream, buried deep inside of your walls, coating the head of your womb as your pussy squeezed out another orgasm, milking him like a hungry mouth. He pulled out a bit only to ram himself back in, deeper this time, stretching to touch the end of your sheath, aching to plant his seed. 

“Fuck, finally,” Soap grunted, reaching over the crate with both hands this time to drag you from Ghost’s lap, “Couldnae wait much longer, LT.”

You felt Ghost’s cock slip from you, spilling his come down your leg, your pants sliding down to your boots as Soap dragged you into his lap.

“There she is,” Gaz smiled, returning to his efforts and shoving his fingers back down your throat, this time shifting them back and forth, massaging your tongue as he fucked you on his hand, “Suck them for me, baby. It’ll be my turn, soon.”

“Better enjoy the easy ride while you can, Corporal,” Price sneered, “You’ve got PT in my quarters as soon as we get back to base. Might take all night.”

As Johnny’s fat dick squeezed into your come-soaked pussy, you wanted to protest. You wanted to make some snide comment back, but your usual biting retorts were unavailable at the moment. You really were blissed out of your mind, and the only thing you could do was fuck and suck like the dumb little slut that you were.

If anyone comments on this OBVIOUSLY TAGGED shame kink fic that it was "too embarrassing to read!! huehueuhe"/"i tried but i couldnt do it. too cringe!", I'm gonna come to your house and shit in your shoes, you coward. Get the fuck off my page.

[tojisun]

sun, i am on my knees begging while typing rn. PLEASEEEEEE HURT DBF!SIMON BACK. he has hurt reader and gotten away with it tooooo many times

im kinda zooted rn but

beg more, sweet thing.

okok but im feeling mean rn and i do want simon to start regretting. i wonder if it’ll take seeing john price treating his girl right for him to snap out of it. imagine if he got blindsided. if simon assumed that you would never look for affection somewhere else, not because you’re unlovable—dear gods, you are the perfect girl—but because what you needed was someone like simon. someone older, someone who provides for you, who spoils you. but simon got complacent. he thought that sprinkles of affection are enough.

but they aren’t, are they? yes, the thrill had been addicting but you’ve gotten too soft. too in love. you’ve forgotten that this should have been temporary, forgotten that simon isn’t one for commitment. you thought you would continue to be trapped in that endless cycle of eating the scraps of simon’s affection; living off of a passion that gets easily snuffed out.

then, john came along. beautiful and rugged and ‘old man’ john. john whose eyes are a storm as they gazed at you; whose hands have never strayed closer, only swiping your hair away or drying the tears staining your cheeks; whose words are short and curt but gentle and soft, and you realized that the timbre of his voice fills you up with want.

john who strapped his helmet on yours and plopped you on the back of his harley before dropping you off at your dorm. john who didn’t ask for anything—not your number, not a chance to climb up with you to your room. he did not even ask if you were going to be alright—john knew you wouldn’t be, and he rather stay silent than ask you to lie to him.

you felt so out of your element as you stood there, trembling, looking at him.

“i-…thank you,” you said.

john said don’t worry about it. said don’t forget to drink lots of water because crying can cause dehydration, and don’t forget to grab a chew because he heard your stomach grumble on the ride home. you don’t tell him that you are starved for something else so you nod and climb upstairs to your room, thinking that was the last you would see john.

but john isn’t the type to let what he loves slip from his grasp so he began to fill your days. he’s always there when simon can’t—doesn’t—come, filling up the hole in your heart one fragment at a time. always there to distract you from the yawning in your chest. always there to listen to you, to watch you, to spoil you.

he smells of ozone and burnt rubber and petrol. he has weary lines on his face and unimaginable exhaustion buried within his irises. he has scars on his palms and his forearms and on his knees. and yet, he is gorgeous to you. so gorgeous.

john’s the one who tells you he loves you first. you don’t say it back. not yet. he understands.

then, simon confronts him. asks what he’s doing with you; why is he driving you around in his harley; why is he picking you up from uni.

why is he putting a wedge between you and simon?

john downs his bourbon and rumbles, “cause i love her.”

and simon fumbles because—

[catfern]

outback.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: trucker!abby x afab!reader

music: her - unloved

word count: 1.7k

summary: the night shift at a remote petrol station sounded like easy double pay. but nights get lonely. you've gotta find something to keep yourself entertained.

warnings: porn with a smidgen of plot, fingering, some perverted staring, tiny tiny implied age gap, australia. this is rlly just porn

fern says ⎯ THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE AUSSIES IN THE AUDIENCE MAKE SOME NOISE!!!!!! this truly is self indulgent cause i miss flirting with hot women who call me darl.

you brought this on yourself, really.

the pale blue of the bug zapper fought a contrast with the dying fluorescents, painting half the aisles in an eery, twilight movie shade. the heat of a high december night was creeping, clinging to your shitty polyester uniform as you camp out in front of the only standing fan.

you had begged for a job, pleaded for it really, in the wickedness of this economic climate. you had run, tail between your legs, from your local chain grocery at the sight of the price of an avocado, and thrown yourself at the feet of the next passing employer. like a squire to the knights of old.

you just hadn’t expected it would be this job.

the gatekeeper of one of the last vestiges of civilisation. the night shift at a deserted highway petrol station.

the flickering floodlights by the pumps fighting an uphill battle to keep the creeping night at bay, you can do nothing but stare, eyes adjusting, ‘unadjusting’, readjusting to the dark over and over again. you’d had a total of two customers since you took over from the day shift crew. one just threw a gatorade your way in exchange for the bathroom key.

the high beam headlights of an oncoming truck shake you from your fading thoughts, baking you into the linoleum tile as you squint, blind. asshole.

you’d been warned about truckers, briefly. handsy rednecks, your manager had called them in passing while giving you a tour of the storage room. desperate old fucks who crawl like dogs to anything with a hole.

you watch with an almost bated breath as the peeling yellow cabin of the long-haul truck pulls into park, your eyes following its jaunty movement through the glass of the front windows. you’re starting to think maybe you should have brought an illegal switchblade to work. if you had one.

you avert your gaze quick, grabbing at something from the magazine rack in desperate hopes to appear disinterested, unapproachable. 15 Ways to Homeschool Your Kids. sure, that works.

the bell above the door chimes, you spy the scuffed leather boots crossing the plastic tiling with heavy footfall. 

“y’got a lounge?”

standing at the counter, you have to admit, she’s not what you pictured when you saw the truck. not that what you see is at all worth of complaint.

a thin sheen of sweat clings to her, echoes of the heat of the road. her skin is flushed, the contour of her muscle sitting, almost man-made, in a thin, cotton singlet. her hair is tied tight, her features, sharp, discerning, eyeing you down. you try not to stare, too obviously, at the soft outline of her nipple piercings beneath her shirt.

“hm?” you’re distracted.

“a lounge, darl. trucker lounge?” she repeats slowly with a bite of a smirk, looking at you like you were only a little bit stupid. your stomach drops with the honey of the nickname.

your eyes dart around the small space of the shop. you barely had space for the 3 aisles and the dingy bathroom. you clear your throat, trying to shake the feeling of fascination, “oh — uh, nah.”

she scoffs, a wicked, small laugh, before retreating to browse the snack section.

you watch her, when you think she isn’t looking. small, caught glimpses in your feigned disinterest. she’s been on the road long, a tension in the broadness of her shoulders obvious as she readjusts her posture, eyeing the chips. you try bury whatever rears its head in your stomach when you hear her groan as she squats to better see the canned fruit. a roughness in her voice, lead with age and smoke.

you drop your reading material and smile, tight lipped, polite, as she approaches the counter. a cold meat pie and a ginger beer.

"and uh — pack'a rothmans, thanks, love.”

you nod, turning to wrestle with the rusting cigarette cage behind the counter, when you hear her chuckle, breathy and deep as she talks,

“y’look a little young to have kids.”

spinning back so quick you make yourself dizzy, you swipe the shitty magazine off the counter, discarded and unimportant, “nah, i… i was just bored.”

she rakes her eyes over you, slow, and you can’t help but feel the pull, magnetic, a knot in your stomach as she studies you. you feel caught in a trap, under her gaze. looking up at her, her looming presence is becoming all too real.

you slide the pack of cigarettes over the counter, trapped meeting her eye. a smile, something sly, plays on her lips as she thanks you, moving to catch a breeze of the fan.

an uncomfortable beat of silence passes between you. well, it’s uncomfortable for you. no longer able to hide behind disinterest behind glossy paper, you instead wrestle with yourself to seem at least neutrally interested, not utterly obsessed. you wring your hands behind the shelter of the till.

the woman shakes a cigarette free from the pack, holding it between the skin of her lips. “you smoke?” she’s looking at you, through the corner of her eye.

no, never.

“uh, yeah.”

you follow her out the shop, tied to her artificial shadow in the fluorescents. something is crawling in the night, when you step outside. a cicada silence echoes across the gathering dirt and dust.

she offers you the cig she had been holding, you take it gingerly, holding it in your mouth as she holds her lighter up. she brings her hand to cup the flame, to keep the absent breeze from destroying it. you feel, just slightly, the brush of her calloused palms against the low of your cheek, and you pray that the navy hue of the bug zapper is enough to hide the heat on your skin.

smoke fills your lungs, foreign and quick, an itch inside you that feels impossible. you cough and splutter to the chorus of her raspy laughter.

“you haven’t smoked a day in your life.” she says with a lopsided smile, plucking the cigarette from your hand and bringing it to her lips, taking a long, constrastly confident draw.

you shake your head in between wheezes, “is that what everyone is always going on about?”

“you’ll get used to it, here,” 

she hands it back to you, you feel obliged to take it. to try again, as she so quietly commands. your second go is met with an only slightly irritating tickle in your throat.

“that’s it, good girl,” something that seems so unsure rolls off her like syrup, something you had never known you were so desperate for. her hand finds the small of your back, her fingers dancing circles in something akin to comfort, to praise.

you look up to find her eyes already on you, tracing the contours of your neck in icy blue form.

the smell of artificial pine and day-old dust clings to her, swallows you whole as you fall victim to her touch, light-headed and weak at the knees as her breath fills your lungs.

she’s nothing if not vocal, desperation falling from her lips in tortured moans as she presses herself into the crook below your jaw, drawing your soft skin beneath her teeth, softly licking the littered aftermath, a trail down your chest.

she’s quick to undress you, pulling impatiently at the scratchy fabric of your worn company polo shirt. she’s not phased by any forgotten need for privacy, for decency. she’s only here in passing, after all.

“oh, sweetheart,”

the lace of your bra is a temptation not lost on her, a delight she so happily indulges in after days on the road. in some perverted part of her mind, you wore it for her. maybe, in some cosmic, fated way, you did.

her hands snake down your body, helping themselves to the lux of your curves as her lips press, all-consuming, against yours. her fingers lightly spreading your legs, a mean chuckle souring the kiss.

she’s not at all easy, or kind, the way she pulls you open, watches you fall apart in the brutality of her control. she touches you like she aims to destroy you, her fingers working relentlessly to the pull of your walls, unheard to your pleas to — please, slow down.

“that’s it, darling. come on,” it’s sharp, delirious and oh so pleased to hear you, a whisper tickling the dip of your chest, watching you through the blonde of her eyelashes as you throw your head back, your body rocking to the rhythm she sets.

“p-please, fuck, jesus, fuck!” if she was any meaner, she would have laughed. but god, she’s distracted. driven mad by her own dripping need.

“you wanna come, baby? yeah, yeah?” she’s slowing down, and you chase her question with a desperate, shakey nod. “yeah, you do. come here.”

she takes your hand in hers, delicate, kind, a wicked contrast. under the guidance of her touch, you grip the stiff denim of her jeans, tender, unsure, until she leads you to the heat between her legs and you nearly melt. her hand goes to fiddle with her belt, her eyes finding yours, bleary, in the haze.

“think you can help me out, sweetheart?” she nods along with you, and you’re unsure if she’s copying you, or you are her.

“yeah — i can, please, please,” you whine, your hips still rutting a lazy pace against the now stagnant force inside you. your hand pulls, impatiently, at the waistband of her cotton boxers, pulling them down to sit unceremoniously at her hips.

“fuck, good girl,” she seethes at the languid circles you draw on her clit, gentle and paced, as you chase your own euphoria on her fingers, “come on,” a whisper, hot on your neck, “i’ll go faster if you do, darlin’.”

you pick up in a daze, so compliant to the whim of her demand, so desperate to feel her calloused fingers trace the tide against your centre. rushing that feeling, wretched to have her tear you apart.

her fingers rock against you without care, wrenching every ragged moan from the cut of your throat as her speed picks up, “that’s it, fuck, you feel so good, sweetness. keep — keep going.” hoarse whispers against your chest as she presses sloppy, undone kisses to the ghosts of your ribcage.

you watch, above the broadness of her shoulder, as a peak of the sun paints the horizon a muddy pink, your moans a soundtrack to the emptiness of the desert as you practically bounce on the stranger’s fingers, loud for your own release.

yeah, you lost your job.

⎯ kofi

taglist; @whore4abby @endureher @beemillss @afraidofheightss @sentimentalyellow

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 17

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

A/N: and were back. were so back after getting this chapter deleted. trigger warning for this chapter as it contains blood, car accidents.

About You Series

2014, Circuit de Monaco

From this point of view, one could overlook Monaco as a whole. There was the sea that is fleeted with yachts, specifically docked there to watch the Grand Prix this weekend. Then, the clustered hills filled with trees and apartments, the composite of it can be eye-catching or an eyesore in Y/N’s opinion. And of course, she simply can’t miss how the balcony has the perfect view of the start of the Monaco Grand Prix. She can hear and see the Formula 2 cars dash around in their practice sessions.

“What do you think?” Sebastian walked in with a smile.

“This is just gorgeous. I mean I thought that I have seen amazing Monaco apartments when McLaren or when Red Bull booked us but this…”

Y/N lets out a loud ‘woah’ to conclude her statement.

It was no wonder that this apartment seems empty and unoccupied. If Y/N has to guess then the price for this place is skyrocketing. This was a dream location for anyone who wanted to stay in Monaco.

“So why did you call me here?” Y/N asked. The Red Bull driver has texted the location and she is still confused to Seb’s interest in this place. It was gorgeous but she knew how Sebastian explained several times that he was not one for the Monaco lifestyle.

“I bought it-”

She was mildly surprised with that. Only mildly because Red Bull has clearly lined up Sebastian’s pockets well especially after winning continuously for several years. Even today, Y/N pretty sure that despite the lack of win streak, Sebastian is still getting paid generously.

“-and I want you to have keys for it”

“I must have misheard that Sebastian” Y/N stated.

A key was laid out in her palm. It has a keychain of the checkered flag with an imprint of Y/N’s name as well as the date today. It contained two keys which has been poorly labelled with Sebastian’s handwriting on a plaster tape. One was scribbled as Mon, an acronym for Monaco while the other has Mar.

Maybe there was too much car fumes or petrol in Sebastian’s head which is why he is going crazy for giving Y/N this apartment so she tries to hand back the key. He just shakes his head in disagreement.

“This place is yours as much as its mine” Sebastian insisted “I knew you love Monaco and I want you to have a place to go whenever you feel like staying here.”

It wouldn’t be that bad to have a place to go to here in Monaco. However, there was this certain guilt that this was too much and she doesn’t think that she deserves this. It was something that Sebastian caught on, he could read her so well.

“I thought of you that’s why I bought it. You love the sea, you love the races, and bonus points because you have Nico and Lewis as neighbours”

The last statement elicited a laugh from the two of them. Sebastian wanted to convince her because this was a literal vision in his head that he wanted a safe space for Y/N to go home to. England and Australia may be her home town but it doesn’t give her the privacy that she needs. Monaco, on the other hand, is quieter and more peaceful despite the extravagance.

“Okay but I’m still going to text you when I’m going to go here”Y/N settled.

“Perfect”

“Now what is Mar?” Y/N’s curiosity got the best of her “And please tell me that its not a key to a boat in the Marina”

“Mar is Maranello”Sebastian clarifies.

It was time to move to the second surprise that he has for Y/N. He had been so excited to tell her about this but he had to keep it down until everything was settled and signed. Last week, he signed the contract.

The girl was confused. It didn’t make any sense to why Sebastian would be in Maranello when the Red Bull headquarters is in Brackley. Only Ferrari resides in Maranello, why would Sebastian be there?

“Sebastian Vettel, you are Ferrari’s new driver?”

There were talks that Ferrari would change their driver lineup but she haven’t heard Sebastian’s name being thrown in the hat. She couldn’t contain the excitement that she was feeling and leaned into hug Sebastian. Driving for Ferrari is a milestone for Sebastian especially when he used to idolize Michael when he drove for the red team.

“When are you announcing this? Who else knows?” Y/N quizzes.

“No one yet”Sebastian grins “I wanted you to be the first one out of the signing team to know”

This was an exciting news and hopefully one of the first of the many happy memories shared in this Monaco apartment. Things are finally turning for the better.

2014, Red Bull Ring

In a very media-centered event, it surprises a lot of people that there are places in the Grand Prix where any forms of press and media is not allowed. Of course, this varies depending on whose home turf they are racing on. Mercedes and McLaren definitely have bigger private spaces in Silverstone, just like how Red Bull have their own private lounge reserved for their private guest.

Jenson sticks out like a sore thumb with his McLaren merchandise. He seems to stick out even more with the way that he stands there and just gazing at the view in front of him. Sebastian, Y/N, and the little baby Margarette—if Jenson didn’t know any better then he would have guessed that they are an actual family. He was lucky that the media weren’t there to catch his reactions because they could catch Jenson spilling the truth about his feelings.

“Jenson is that you?” a voice broke Jenson out of his reverie. His head turned to see Hanna with a plate of fries.

“Hello Hanna, nice to see you around”Jenson politely greeted.

He honestly couldn’t fathom why Sebastian has invited her over. He gets it if Sebastian wanted to see the kid but to add this woman that has been the cause of pain of Y/N, Jenson could not help but scoff. His emotions does not seem to be hidden well as Hanna shifted nervously.

“I know you are probably thinking that I don’t deserve to be here and I think that too”Hanna explained “But Y/N invited me to take Marga because Seb is missing her”

“Y/N?”

The woman chuckles, “Yeah, I can’t believe it as well. She has been nothing but nice to me. I know that she have every right to hate me but she has been a supporting pillar and someone really wonderful to Marga”

They glanced back to Y/N, who was playing with the baby. She was gently rocking the baby and it giggles as it tries to reach her hair. Sebastian, on the other hand, was sat next to her with a loving gaze on the two of them.

Jenson couldn’t feel but sigh and ask if it was him in Sebastian’s place then would Y/N be as happy as that?

There were no need for words but Hanna have realized from the small interactions how Jenson is deeply inlove with Y/N. It felt like a déjà vu because that was the way she used to look at Sebastian. Her actions to force things to happen has ruined a lot of things for Sebastian and she was glad that things are still repairable.

“I know that look” Hanna pointed out “You love her”

It was something that Jenson cannot rebut. He had always thought that he was good at hiding things especially with his flirty attitude and his chill self. This was the first time he was seen for what he feels.

“That obvious huh?” Jenson nervously replied.

He had tried his luck once upon a time and he ended up in the friendzone. He took the friendship if that is all that she could offer just so he could keep her in his orbit. There is a part of him that knows that no matter how many girls he meet, it was always Y/N who occupies his heart. Confessing is not an option given how complicated things are and how telling will only do more harm than good.

“We were in the same position a year ago” Hanna understands Jenson “All I could tell you that it is best to move on so it won’t hurt you anymore”

A year ago, Hanna would have not suggested that. She would have urged Jenson to confess so he can end up with Y/N and Sebastian could end up as her’s. The past few months have been a huge period of moving on for Hanna. Maybe it’s the birth of her child that allowed her to refocus the unreciprocated love to the child. She also understood how much Sebastian and Y/N means to each other, she wouldn’t do anything more to damage them.

“That’s easy to say but so hard to do”Jenson mutters.

Hanna’s hands patted Jenson’s shoulders. It was a comforting thought that someone gets how he is feeling and maybe Hanna can serve his inspiration that maybe he could move on from this unrequited love.

“Everything will be alright Jenson”

2014, Silverstone Grand Prix

Jenson Button and Assistant Webber involved in a freak accident.

Jenson Button was going home after a celebration of Lewis Hamilton’s win in the recent Silverstone Grand Prix when he and assistant, Y/N Webber collided with a ten wheeler truck. The driver of ten wheeler truck has been drunk and lost control of the car. It was of sheer miracle that Jenson was not driving the car during the time of the accident because he was at the backseat drunk and sleepy. Due to that Jenson is able walk away from the accident with just some bruises and ready for the next Grand Prix. Unfortunately, Y/N who is behind the steering wheel received more dangerous injuries. Suffering from a head trauma and crippling injuries, Y/N was rushed to the hospital where she is placed in Intensive Care Unit.

The bright light and the white aesthetics of the hospital was a stark contrast to the blood that stained Jenson’s hands. His hands were shaking knowing that this blood was not his but from the girl who is currently fighting for her life. Tears were stinging his already bloodshot eyes as he watched the clock tick painfully slow.

Its already been a hour since Y/N was rushed inside. The doors of the operating room remained close and Jenson doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Scrambling footsteps screeched in Jenson’s hallway. He saw his fellow drivers and Mark. All of them equally frazzled with the worry and fear being the top ones to show.

“What happened?” Mark was quick to ask.

Honestly, Jenson was not much of a help. He was lying down and he just remembered how Y/N was reminding him that he has to get up early to apologize to a Ronnie in the morning. He was too dizzy after having too many tequilas and then a bright light followed by a loud crunch.

“Holy shit, is that your blood?”Lewis noticed “Man its all over you”

“It’s Y/N” Jenson muttered. He remembered how his hands and his clothes were stained when he tried to pull her out of the wreckage.

The reality of the whole situation sinks in. Mark, was supported by Nico and Lewis, as he falls down on his knees. Sebastian was pacing back and forth while Jules seems to be praying. They were all a mess as they await updates about the girl. As Formula 1 drivers, they should have been used to accidents and collisions because it was a risk that comes with their work. It hits a little different when it happens to someone who is not a driver and someone very dear to them.

It took another 40 minutes before a doctor appeared in front of them.

“How is my sister?” “Is she doing okay?” “What happened to her”

The flurry of questions was something that cannot be stopped. The doctor’s expression was not giving away anything if the operation turned out positive or negative.

“She is stable now” the Doctor explained “We stitched up the head wound and hopefully she will be awake in a few hours”

A sigh of relief erupted out of every single one of them. They were just so relieved that she survived the whole crash.

“But there is something that you must know about her..”

2014, Hockenheimring

“Seb, you have to focus” Y/N reminded him “This is your home race that we are talking about”

“I know but quali don’t start in about…” Sebastian knows he has 10 more minutes before it starts but he grins “20 minutes”

The grainy camera could showcase Y/N sitting on her bed. The balcony must have been open hence the sunlight gracing her face and shining light to the newfound hollowness in her face. Her busted lips and the stitches were a constant reminder of the tragedy that she survived.

With all those imperfections, Sebastian continues to stare at her lovingly across the screen. His thoughts remain the same that Y/N is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

“Sebastian, don’t make me call Christian”Y/N warned.

The German driver just raises his hand in surrender, “I’m just checking in you sunshine and I really miss you more than ever today”

It would have been really nice if she was here during his home race. Maybe he would have taken her for a drive to his parents’ house or they can get to explore some German countryside just like when they were younger.

“I’ll be there and recover soon”

“And I’ll be waiting. You take your time” Sebastian assures.

The door creaks open and Y/N could be seen turning sideways. She pans her camera to show Sebastian the visitor.

“Hey Mark!” Sebastian greeted.

Honestly, the retirement of Mark was a perfect timing. Sebastian couldn’t always take care of Y/N so Mark was placed in charge during race weekend. The Monaco apartment was big enough to have guests to stay over so Mark is currently camping at one of the guest room.

“Seb aren’t you supposed to be in your car right now?”Mark made a tsk tsk sound.

“I am but I wanted to talk to my best girl here” Sebastian reasoned out.

Y/N couldn’t hide the flush of red in her cheeks, “now you go and race! I love you!”

“I love you more sunshine”Sebastian replied

2014, Hungaroring

“That’s a terrible finish for Sebastian”

Mark’s comment from earlier has been ringing in her ears for the past few hours. Sebastian has started from P2 and ended up in P8 so Mark’s statement was not shocking. She has also seen the articles and the people in social media talking about Sebastian. Usually, people can blame the car or the strategy but today, Daniel won from P4. People are pointing fingers that Sebastian is past his prime.

She was fidgeting with her necklace again. She wonders if maybe her condition is a contributing factorin the recent poor performance of Sebastian.

Of course, Sebastian didn’t blame her for anything. He has always been supportive, kind, and lovely throughout this recovery journey. However, she feels like she is burdening Sebastian and distracting him from his true passion.

Speaking of the devil, the face of Sebastian shows up in her screen. Her hands hesitated to pick it up but she eventually pressed the green button.

“Hey! I have been so caught up with the meeting and I was only able to call now” Sebastian’s voice was cheery. If Y/N didn’t watch the race then she would have thought that he won with that smile on his face “Are you okay sunshine?”

“Yeah, tell me about your day”

Y/N is definitely lying but she no longer wanted to burden Sebastian. She continues to listen on with a forced smile on herself as she tries to fight the plaguing thoughts in her head.

2014, Autodromo Nazionale Monza

Seb: I know you dont like me much but we have to talk. Call me when you get this.

Mark: Hey mate. I wanted to talk to you about Y/N. Mark: Ring me up when you are available.

The notifications stared in front of Jenson for a good five minutes. It wasn't a difficult decision to ring up Mark because a) its about Y/N and b) Sebastian isn't someone he adores a lot. Although Jenson was hoping that Mark wouldn't pick up since its the late hours of the night.

"Jenson, its been a while"

Indeed it has been. Jenson can count how it had been almost 5 weeks since that accident. Heck,he could even count the hours and minutes that have passed if asked about. It was something on his mind 24/7 slowly eating him alive.

"Mark,how are you doing? How is she?"Jenson asked immediately.

"She is not doing well"Mark admits.

"But I thought everything is alright?"Jenson was confused.

He may or may not have been avoiding Y/N out of the eating guilt. However,he have heard from Nico that she was doing well. As far as he knows, she is staying with Mark in the apartment in Monaco.

"Her physical inabilities is taking a toll on her mental well-being"Mark explained "But I think she has been taking it too hard on herself."

Mark continued to talk about she has been pushing herself to the limits and wanted to expedite the whole process of getting back on her feet. He also mentioned how Y/N is clouded with guilt that she is a huge problem and a burden for everyone.

"But she isn't a problem or a burden"Jenson interjected.

"We know but she doesn't believe me" Mark sighs.

"What are we going to do about it?"

There was nothing that he wouldn't do for Y/N. Even if guilt was eating him up, he would have been an invisible figure being there for her. He would do whatever it takes just to bring back the old happy her.

"We are going to the next Grand Prix. Sebastian is making arrangements because he thinks maybe Y/N will feel better if she is surrounded by friends and the family she knows."

The Singapore Grand Prix was two weeks from now. Jenson immediately made a mental note for this one. Maybe he will busy himself with some media team bullshit or maybe he will have to arrive late for the free practice.

"I'm calling to let you know so you won't run away Jenson" Mark added "I know that you blame yourself for what happened but please, she misses you"

"You know me too well Mark"

"We're arranging dinner, promise you'll be there?" Mark continued to push.

"Anything for her"

2014, Marina Bay Street Circuit

When the news broke out about Y/N returning for Singapore, almost every driver arrived early to Singapore so they could attend the dinner arranged by Mark. Y/N was a beloved figure in the grid and even if she was not as close to everyone in a Nico, Lewis, Jules, or Jenson level—they all greatly miss her.

It was a good thing that Mark booked this restaurant for the night as people would have been really curious why the drivers gathered in one place.

Mark received a message from Sebastian that they were all there. He gently pushed the wheelchair to the elevator and texted him back that they will be there in a minute or two.

"Are you ready?" Mark wondered. "Its nice to get out of Monaco"

Y/N hummed in agreement. The glass elevator has a view of the whole Singapore nightlife. She could see the fireworks up in the sky to celebrate the upcoming weekend and the busy streets. It brings her a small smile that this was just like the old times.

The minute that the elevator opened, Jenson was standing there in front of them. Mark watched as Jenson immediately hugged Y/N and they were immediately crying.

Mark knew that if there was anyone who took this harder than Y/N then it was Jenson. He thinks he haven't seen Jenson interact or message after Y/N was pronounced safe from disaster. He knows how Jenson have blamed himself and thinks he should have been the one driving behind the wheel so this would not happen.

It was a joy to see them together again.

"I'm really sorry if I couldn't be with you a lot"Jenson continued to apologize.

"There is no need for that Jense"

"You might have needed me and I left you by yourself. I felt so guilty by the whole accident that I thought that its better to leave you alone"Jenson explained.

The hug just got tighter. There was no need for Jenson to explain himself because Y/N already understood. Many people forget that the two of them have been involved in the accident. Y/N's damage was physically present but Jenson's wound was something invisible to the naked eye.

"It's alright Jenson, were alright"Y/N assured.

It wss a good thing that the two met here rather than inside the restaurant. They wouldn't want the tears to get in the way of reconnecting and meeting with other friends.

"Let's get inside"Jenson wipes his tears "Everyone is waiting for you"

Before Jenson could open the door, Y/N shouted to wait.

"Mark,can you help me up?"Y/N asked.

Mark looked at her unsure. They have been through this several times in the Monaco apartment. Even if she tried to stand up,she normally can't walk because of the pain let alone stand for so long.

"Are you sure this is a good decision?"Mark was trying to find reason.

"I don't want them to see me in a wheelchair"Y/N admitted.

Mark gently helped Y/N up with Jenson assisting her as well. It was a team effort to keep her standing up but she is bearing most of its weight because of the excruciating pain that is hitting her.

The doors were gently pushed open and the drivers' attention turned to the newcomers of the restaurant. It made Sebastian shocked to see her standing there and trying her best to walk. He immediately went to assist her but he stops on his track.

"You stay there"Y/N instructed when Sebastian was three steps away "I'll do my best to get there"

It was quite painful for Y/N to take the first step and loosen her grip to her human crutches. Her teeth grinded each other as she tries to hide the pain away. She focused her attention to the hand of Sebastian reaching out for her.

"You can do it Y/N" Jules cheered on.

"Just careful steps"Sebastian encouraged.

The whole room seems to stand still with awaited breath as she takes another step towards Sebastian. It was like seeing a miracle for them and they felt speechless to see such feat. Some of them couldn't help but have tears in their eyes with how emotional this moment is.

"You've got this,one more"

Pain was shooting up but Y/N did her best to take another one. Her hands gripped Sebastian outreached hand before she could fall. Sebastian, gently held her close.

"You did it. You did it sunshine"Sebastian whispered.

The feeling of tears were welling up in her eyes. She doesm't know if this was because of the pain or maybe the longing that she felt for Sebastian. It didn't help when she looked at Sebastian and found his eyes tearing up as well.

There was a moment of comfort and peace that they both have been lacking the past few weeks. Everything was okay again now that they are back in each other's arms.

2014, Suzuka Circuit

Even if Y/N walked a few steps in Singapore,she was still advised to use the wheelchair. Her physical therapist have been trying to up her routines so she could walk again. For now she was stuck in a wheelchair and Sebastian don't mind pushing for her.

But today, Sebastian is quite busy so Jules have to sub for him.

"The media is going crazy with the news" Y/N observed. Today was the day that Sebastian was announced to replace Fernando Alonso and will start driving for Scuderia Ferrari. The media have been interviewing Sebastian as early as 8 in the morning and now its nearly lunchtime.

"I know, people say Sebastian may be the key to getting the championship back to Ferrari"Jules said.

"That puts a lot of pressure in Seb then"

"I'm sure he can handle it"Jules assured.

Jules pushed Y/N to the track. Their grid walks were something that Y/N have terribly missed. It was a good thing that its a bit cloudy so Jules wouldn't have to bring an umbrella for them.

"Speaking of Ferrari.."Jules opened up "I think I have to let you know that I may be replacing Kimi in 2016"

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. She felt like she was in a deja vu moment when Sebastian first told her about the Ferrari contract.

"Ohmygod that sounds amazing Jules!"Y/N beamed.

Jules seems to be a little bit unsure of himself judging by the nervous smile that graced his face.

"Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself but you know I'm already thinking about it. Would the people cheer for me when I announce that I signed to Ferrari"Jules glanced at the Tifosi crowd chanting Sebastian's name.

Y/N knows how sometimes driver can doubt their ability. She believed that they are one of the best drivers in the world because it isn't easy to be a Formula 1 driver. The skills,the reaction time, and even their quick thinking is an asset that not many people have. They often downplay themselves when they felt like they are performing poorly.

"You have got to be confident Jules. I'm sure the Tifosis would love to have you in their team"Y/N comforts "You just have a shitbox that can't compete right now but Ferrari would give you a beautiful machinery and I swear you will be up on the podium"

It was a beautiful picture in Jules' head. Any kid would have dreamed of driving for Ferrari but winning with Ferrari is a different kind of euphoria. He glanced at her and he hoped that he could see her cheering for him someday when he is at the top of the podium.

"Thank you little sister"Jules said "I'll make you proud someday"

"You already make me so proud Jules"

READ: Statement regarding Jules Bianchi crash.

[meowpupp]

we need more puppy girl reader pls!!!

say less 🙏

1.4K- owner!price x chubby!puppygirl

TW- puppy play, degradation, cum play, exhibitionism(?), humiliation, sorry if you have a stuffed toy called 'fluffy,' general rough sex, HYBRID FIC, price is jealous over a stuffed bear, 

owner!price who decides you’ve been so good recently, so good in fact that you deserve a treat.

he sees it when he’s in cue for petrol- a cute stuffed bear. soft brown fur, fuzzy ears and big eyes. just like his favourite pup.

when he first gives you the plush it’s innocent. you give it a dumb name, fluffy or something. he doesn’t pay much mind. all he cares about is how happy his pup is, tail wagging and excited yaps.

after days of being sidelined by some stupid ball of fluff, price starts to get jealous. he knows it’s irrational. the bear is just something you entertain yourself with when he can't, but jealousy still stirs in his gut.

it’s like fluffy glares triumphantly at him when you give him attention. price watches in envy as you lazily chew on its ears, nuzzle and lick its fur. all things you used to do to him.  

one day, it gets too much for him. after a painful workday, all price wants is his sweet puppy girl. Instead, he walks into the house to see you cuddled up with the fucking bear. its beady eyes stared back into his as if saying, ‘ha-ha, she likes me more.’

he’s on you in an instant, ignoring your yelp as he pulls you up. price makes you kneel, pushing you back down when you try to get up.

“what, want your bear?” he scoffs at you, your brain still sleepy, trying to play catch up, “c'mon then, since you want it so much, ride it.”

it takes you a moment to process what he’s saying. ride it? Ride Fluffy? but he’s your bear- soft, warm and plush. he’s a toy, but not that kind of toy.

before you can even reply, price grips your jaw with one of his big hands. his skin is rough and calloused, almost scratchy as he manhandles you.

“are you deaf pup? or perhaps you think you only take orders from the fucking bear now?” price shakes your face side to side to catch your attention, “disobedient fucking mutt, don’t even know who your owner is.”

he kicks apart your knees, creating space for him to shove the bear between them. “go on. ride it. hump it like the desperate thing you are.” he takes a step back, arms crossed as he glares down at you.

Price scoffs when you start rolling your hips. His eyes analyse you, how your back arches, how your eyes screw shut, how your lips part as you whine. all while you grind down on your beloved plush.

“yeah… bet it feels good, huh? making your dumb puppy-cunt feel tingly?” the man sits back on one of the couches, lighting a cigar as he watches. “tell me pup, does it feel better than me? do you like riding the bear more than my cock?”

you whine, hips bucking at his growly voice. as you speed up, price laughs. he relaxes on the couch, cigar smoke filling the air, making you dizzy. tells you when to speed up or to slow down. when to grind harder or softer. directs you as if you’re making him a personal porno.

“ah, now look at that.” he stands, setting his cigar down on an ashtray. walking to you, he crouches down, “now pup, look at what you’ve done.”

he pulls the bear plush from between your legs, holding it up. it’s drenched in your slick, fur glistening. “poor Fluffy, you’ve made him a mess.” he sighs, throwing it on the ground, “dirty pup. can’t control yourself can you?” you shake your head, shaky hands reaching for him while you babble. 

his eyes scan over your body as you cling to him. ears low as your thighs tremble. you yap and whine at him- something about how it wasn’t enough, you didn’t cum, to please let you cum. 

Price sighs as if you’re an inconvenience. his eyes linger on your cunt. its dripping with slick, puffy and flushed from all the friction. he meets your gaze. melting at your teary, desperate expression. he doesn’t show it, instead reaching out, repositioning you. your back meets the hardwood, legs forced apart as he slots between them.

price doesn’t even look at you, his eyes trained on your cunt. his fingers poke and prod, parting your lips to watch your clit twitch when exposed. your hips buck as you squirm, causing a hand to grip your thigh and still you.

“such a desperate bitch,” his eyes finally meet yours as he slaps the inside of your thigh, “maybe i should get you a stud, hm? give you to some mutt, let him fuck you? then you’ll know how good i am to you pup.” his fingers start rubbing slow circles on your clit, “simon tells me his mutt is always full of energy. if you get this wet grinding, you’ll be yowling around that pups knot.”

prices eyes dart away from yours, ignoring your babbles as he continues to inspect your cunt. he slides a finger in, eyebrows furrowing. his other hand leaves your thigh, slapping your clit. he lets out shuddering breath as your warm, wet walls clench around hisi finger, his dick twitching.

“getting this fucking wet and loose over that thing?” he glances to the soaked bear, “need to teach you a fucking lesson. who your cunt is supposed to get wet for”

he pulls out, using the hand on your thigh to flip you over. he pulls your ass flush against his hips, a hand in your hair to force your upper body down. the bear lays just in front of you.

he audibly scoffs when you reach out for it, bringing it close for comfort. price pulls your tail, making you instinctively arch your back. he grinds your hips back on him, groaning. “shh, keep fucking still.” he grunts, rutting his clothed dick into you

it takes only seconds for your dripping holes to wet his jeans. even less time for him to unbutton his pants and shove his boxes down. with his cock now free, he thrusts between your thighs.

your slick acts as lube as he fucks the fat flesh of your thighs. “bloody fucking hell.” he growls. his dick just barely pokes out the other side, your thick flesh completely consuming him.

price angels himself, now nudging your clit with every thrust. you whine and squirm pathetically beneath him, back arching as he spanks your ass. he uses the hand in your hair to shove your face into the toy bear, forcing you to inhale the scent of your own slick.

you beg and whine into the plush, your voice now muffled. he continues, not giving in and fucking your cunt, grinning as you start to sob. he presses your face harder against the bear, fucking your thighs the same he would your cunt. his hips slam against your ass, stinging the flesh and making it flush.

within minutes, price cums all over your thighs. thick globs spill down the front of them onto the floor. as he pulls away, he pulls you with him- the hand in your hair forcing you onto your knees.

“look at the mess you’ve made,” he scolds, free hand circling your clit. the bear lays discarded on the floor, stuffing now soaked with drool and slick. there’s a puddle of his cum on the ground, mixing with your fluids. he ignores your babbles as you cry about not cumming, instead he pushing your face to the ground.

“i’ve taught you better than this, love. you know better than to make a mess without cleaning it.” price shoves your cheek into the puddle of his cum, the now cold liquid smearing across your face, “once you’ve cleaned up your mess, ill clean you.”

he lets you up. his hand trailing along your body to your cunt, slipping two fingers in, finally giving you what you’ve been begging for. “might even make you cum, hm?” he slowly thrusts his fingers, “ that floor better be fucking sparkling by the time i come back.” as he pulls out, he slaps your ass agiain. a sadistic smirk spreads over his face as he gets up, taking his cigar with him as he leaves.

tonight you’ll definitely be clinging to him, and not that fucking bear plush. 

[oaksgrove]

Captain's New Year (A Captain for Christmas Sequel)

pairing: John Price x female!reader

synopsis: After a peck under the mistletoe and a lukewarm first date, the tension between you and Captain Price lingers unresolved. Gaz invites you to his New Year’s Eve party, determined to push you and Price together again, while you wrestle with your feelings—and the possibility that you might be falling for someone completely out of reach.

word count: 1115

warnings: meddling best friend, unresolved tension and a kiss.

A Captain for Christmas.

It had been nearly a week since Christmas, and the warmth of that night still lingered like the faint smell of pine in the air.

You replayed it in your mind more often than you cared to admit—the kiss under the mistletoe, the way Price’s eyes softened when he asked you on a date, and the genuine surprise you felt when you said yes.

But the date had been… awkward. Hesitant.

You’d spent most of it treading safe ground: talking about work, the team, and Gaz’s antics. Price was polite, attentive even, but the spark you’d felt that night under the mistletoe seemed absent.

It left you in limbo. You weren’t sure if it was a dead end or if he was holding back because of you.

Now, Gaz had roped you into another party—New Year’s Eve this time. You should have known he wouldn’t stop meddling.

“C’mon, you’re not still hung up about the date, are you?” Gaz asked, flopping onto the couch in your living room.

“I’m not hung up,” you said, glaring at him.

“You’re hung up,” he replied smugly, popping open a soda. “You’ve been weird since Christmas.”

“I’m always weird.”

“True,” he said, grinning. “But this is different. You’ve got that look—you know, the one where you’re thinking about him and trying not to.”

“Shut up, Kyle.”

“You’re coming,” he said when you voiced your doubts. “No arguments.”

“Kyle—”

“No. This is non-negotiable. Soap’s bringing some ridiculous whiskey he swears is ‘top shelf,’ and I need you there to back me up when it inevitably tastes like petrol.”

You rolled your eyes but relented. And truthfully, part of you hoped Price would be there too.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived, the flat buzzing with energy. Soap’s laughter echoed through the space, mingling with music and the occasional cheer from the corner where some of the team were playing darts.

Gaz greeted you with his usual grin, pulling you into a one-armed hug. “Knew you’d show up.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Exactly,” he said, handing you a drink. “And trust me, you won’t regret it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your attention was already drifting across the room. It didn’t take long to find him.

Price stood near the window, a glass of whiskey in hand. He was dressed in a dark sweater and jeans, casual but no less commanding. His eyes met yours almost instantly, and for a moment, your heart skipping a beat and the noise of the party seemed to fade.

Gaz followed your gaze, a knowing smirk creeping onto his face. “Go talk to him.”

“Kyle—”

“No excuses, He gave you a gentle shove in Price’s direction before disappearing into the crowd. “Go. Don’t keep the man waiting.”

“Evening,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“Evening,” you replied, your heart pounding.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the noise of the party fading into the background. Then, he gestured toward the balcony. “Fancy some air?”

You nodded, grateful for the excuse to escape the crowded room.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, his tone polite but cautious.

“Good,” you said, though the word felt inadequate. “And you?”

“Can’t complain,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink.

The conversation stalled, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. You glanced down at your glass, gathering your courage.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” you said finally, your voice quieter now.

“About Christmas?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “And… the date.”

His expression softened, a small sigh escaping him. “It didn’t go how I wanted it to.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted to tell you how I felt,” he admitted, his voice low,  “but I wasn’t sure how much to push,” he admitted finally. “Didn’t want to put you in a difficult position.”

You frowned, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “What do you mean?”

“You’re close with Kyle,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t want to… complicate things.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “You didn’t complicate anything,” you said firmly. “You just… stopped.”

He looked at you then, his blue eyes searching yours. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” he said, his voice low and steady.

“I don’t know what I want either,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “But I know I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The confession hung in the air between you, raw and vulnerable. Price took a step closer, his hand brushing yours in a gesture so brief it almost didn’t happen.

“Neither can I,” he murmured.

The sound of Soap’s voice interrupted the moment loud and boisterous as ever, pulling your attention back to the party.

“Oi! It’s nearly midnight!”

The room erupted into cheers as the countdown began, everyone gathering around to join in.

Price hesitated, his hand brushing yours in a silent question. You looked up at him, your heart racing, and nodded.

“Oi! It’s nearly midnight!” Soap’s voice cut through the moment, shattering the fragile tension.

You stepped back instinctively, your heart racing as the countdown began.

“Ten… nine…”

Price’s gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable but full of something you couldn’t name.

“Eight… seven…”

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said suddenly, his voice low and intense.

“Six… five…”

Your breath caught, the words sinking into your chest like a promise.

“Four… three…”

Before you could respond, his hand cupped your cheek, his touch steady and sure.

“Two… one…”

His lips met yours, the kiss slow and deliberate, as if he was giving you all the time in the world to pull away.

But you didn’t.

You leaned into him, your hand gripping the front of his sweater as the world around you seemed to blur.

When you finally pulled back, the cheers from inside filtered through the door, but neither of you moved.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

“Happy New Year,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

-

From across the room, Gaz’s grin was smug enough to light the whole flat.

“Looks like my work here is done,” he said, clapping Soap on the back.

Soap raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking credit for that?”

“Of course,” Gaz replied, grinning. “Who else got her here in the first place?”

You caught his eye, and he winked at you, his expression equal parts teasing and proud.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price joined the army at 16 and distinguished himself as The Best of The Best, wholly committed to finessing the skills needed for his work. There is no way that man ever learned to cook beyond gutting and cooking an animal as part of his survival training. Taste doesn't factor in; scran is all about efficient energy.

When he's not on base with a mess or eating rat packs out in the field, Price lives on Tesco Meal Deals or camping packs from the local Go Outdoors retailer. Yes, he will eat it cold.

Enter: Nikolai.

The moment that man became an independent contractor, he vowed to eat like a king whenever possible, and learned to cook accordingly. You don't maintain his body mass by eating poorly. He gallivants all over the world on ops for different people, unrestricted by any superior, and every time he lands he collects a recipe or two to add to his repertoire. Cooking for him is a pleasure and an art form, he's just sad that he doesn't have a kitchen of his own to create in...

When he moves in with Price and finds an empty kitchen - apart from a battered old frying pan and spatula that saw some bacon once - he audibly whines; a noise that makes Price huff a laugh. Nik rifles through cupboards in hopes he's just missed something, but comes up with a lidless tupperware. The oven has never been used. It's as pristine as the day it was installed.

He audibly gags at the sight of a ready-to-eat breakfast pouch, but the fridge with half a week's worth of pre-packed sandwiches from the petrol station is the final straw. Nik hauls that Scouser down to the local IKEA and buys out their kitchen section, ignoring his partner's bleats of protest as he chucks yet another lämplig into the trolley.

The next stop is the local market for fresh local food. Nik is a man possessed and Price is in fucking awe. By the time they're home, Price collapses on the sofa and leaves Nik to organise the kitchen as he wants it.

Price wakes up to the single best goulash he has ever tasted in his entire bloody life. Cleans the loaded plate and sits back with a full belly and a beer. He doesn't expect the look on Nik's face when he looks up; pupils blown wide, soft smile, shoulders squared with pride and chest out.

This is a dream come true for Nik. Not only does he now have his own kitchen, but he can use it to feed the man he loves. Price resigns to needing to go up a few belt notches during leave, because how can he say no to that face?

[violetgroans]

So, the Luigi Mangione situation has been consuming my thoughts for days. Honestly, I’m surprised to see even those who typically consume right-wing media starting to connect the dots.

Kyle Rittenhouse was hailed as an “American patriot” and a “hero” by right-wing media like Fox and co, not because they’re anti-establishment but because they blindly support the establishment. After his acquittal, conservative media framed his actions as self-defence, the ultimate embodiment of “law and order.” But let’s be honest—this wasn’t about justice or morality. It was about doubling down on a toxic gun culture, one that upholds violence as a virtue when it aligns with their politics.

Take Donald Trump, for example. He’s their golden boy, the so-called saviour of the working class, but what did he actually do for anyone struggling to make ends meet? He gave billionaires a massive tax break, slashing corporate rates to 21% and leaving crumbs for everyone else. Universal healthcare? Forget it. Trump spent years trying to dismantle the Affordable Care Act without even pretending to offer an alternative. And wages? They stagnated while he bragged about a booming economy. He couldn’t stop talking about low petrol prices—as if that fixes lives ruined by medical debt or the soaring cost of living. Meanwhile, his obsession with fracking wasn’t about energy independence; it was about making oil companies richer.

Trump’s entire existence is proof that capitalism rewards incompetence if you’re born into the right family. He’s failed at business after business, but the money and connections always find their way back to him, bringing power along for the ride.

Now compare that to someone like Luigi Mangione. Here’s a guy from a privileged background—an Ivy League graduate, no less—who allegedly assassinated UnitedHealthcare’s CEO, Brian Thompson. And why? Because Mangione had seen enough of the system Thompson profited from: a healthcare industry that lets people die while executives rake in bonuses. Mangione reportedly left behind a manifesto condemning health insurance companies for putting profits over people. Even Daily Mail readers, who’d normally back the establishment, are expressing sympathy for him and calling out billionaires. When even the most propagandised audiences are waking up, you know something’s wrong.

This isn’t complicated: poverty kills. Debt kills. And billionaires like Thompson—who faced criticism for policies that punished patients seeking emergency care—are perfectly comfortable profiting off that suffering. They sit in their towers, insulated from the consequences of the system they exploit, while working-class people are forced to choose between survival and dignity.

What billionaires should really fear is us realising we’ve been played. For decades, they’ve worked to convince us our biggest threats are each other—minorities, immigrants, anyone but them—when they’re the ones pulling the strings. Without our labour and endless, soul-crushing consumption, they’re nothing.

Do I feel bad for a billionaire who’s scared? Not in the slightest. They don’t know fear the way we do. They don’t have to worry about eviction notices or medical bills. They’ve convinced us their success is aspirational, but it’s all a con—a rigged game that keeps them on top no matter what.

I hope the Luigi Mangione case sparks a backlash they can’t ignore. I hope it forces people to confront how deeply this system has failed us. The media will try to spin it, of course. They’re already working to humanise people like Thompson, men who built their careers on denying claims and leaving sick people to fend for themselves. Meanwhile, these same journalists won’t write about kids being pushed into poverty or the way empathy disappears when a rapist gets elected to office. It’s so absurd it feels like a cruel joke—like we’re being manipulated for laughs as reason abandons our collective psyche.

People have turned this murder into a meme, and they’re being condemned for it. But billionaires, propped up by the likes of Murdoch, have relied on our desensitisation for decades to amass wealth and control political narratives. The internet makes that harder for them now, and they know it.

And people are tired. We misdirect our anger into the wrong places, often at each other, and can you blame us? What have protests actually accomplished lately? Millions marched for Palestine—one of the largest demonstrations in recent memory—but did it stop the US or UK from backing Netanyahu? Of course not.

So where do they think all this frustration is going to go? Because one day, it’s going to boil over—and no amount of money or media spin will protect them.

[xi1dius]

Cream cheese and Pickles

so i just ate cream cheese a pickles and they where DELICIOUS and i feeel like it calls for this..

summary: johnny just ate cream cheese and pickles and is now corrupting the whole base with it…

tw!: NONE😌

(i can not, for the life of me, write a scottish accent. so please just IMAGINE it becuase i’m not as talented as others)

Johnny had just found out about the magic of Cream cheese and Pickles while scrolling through tiktok and just HAD to try it out. so, while he should have been training, off the scot’s man goes to the local mini waitrose at a petrol station not too far from the compound and buys a giant jar of pickles as well as a tub of Philadelphia cream cheese.

The second he got back to the base, he practically skipped down the corridors with his little bag and into the common rooms. he got out a knife and a plate. he layed our all the pickles onto the plate and then put little bits of cream cheese over all of them, rolling them up. he picked up one and downed it, eyes widening with a giant grin. he ate a few more before picking up the plate, discarding his mess, and going off to find Captain Price.

It took a little while, but Johnny soon found the Captain in his office. without a word, the scot place the plate down infront of him. “What is this shite, johnny?” Price questioned as he looked away from his papers towards the plate of.. odd looking food. Johnny just looked hopeful as he pushed the plate close to the Captain. “Go on, try it!”

Price tutted a bit, he lent bakc in his chair and folded his arms, catiously taking one of the Cream cheese and pickle told of the plate before popping it in his mouth. He ate it, eyes squinting. After a solid minute he began nodding, his signature smile on his face. “Fockin’ amazing..” Peice chuckled before standing up.

“Gotta make Gaz and Simon try these..”

And Johnny followed along very easily, managing to force both other lads to try it. They all loved it, meaning that Johnny went to the kitchen staff — whom he has a very close relationship with all of them since he was consistently asking them to add hings to their menu from the different food he found and made.

And now, two weeks after the whole fiasco, It was a daily thing the catering staff made for the 141.. lucky bastards…

I WISH PEOPLE MADE ME CREAM CHEESE AND PICKLES DAILY😭😭

[bonespired]

How to degrease bones? (With the easiest and cheapest method!)

Bone cleaning is quite a journey - and honestly degreasing is the part I find a tad confusing. Questions like: how long it will take? Does it work in cold water as well? Is it done? Is it doing anything at all?

As a beginner bone collector, who also doesn't want to put a huge amount of money into it and finding an acceptable way to clean bones is essential. Mainly because of the challenge, - tbh it is quite enjoyable for me to create quality bones with a less amount of investment, it just makes me feel like I really worked for it, I love these challenges - but mostly because it is already difficult to make my family accept this kind of a hobby of mine. Not many people are fond of keeping rotting animal parts at home, I can tell you that! If this hobby turns out to be stinky and expensive, that is definitely a no from family members. And even though I am an adult, making my own money, my husband does have a saying about the family funds - because we are both responsible for this family - so it is important for me to keep things at a reasonable price.

There are many ways to degrease bones and you have to pay a price for it either way, be it about the time period the degreasing takes or the used materials. You can degrease bones chemically, using liquids like ammonia or acetone, but personally, I dislike these, because:

it requires some effort to put your hand on this stuff, they can be hard to come by

they can be harmful to your health (ammonia is not nice to work with)

they can be expensive, and we already have to buy H2O2

they have to be stored and get rid of properly - you cannot just let these go down in your sink

and some materials can be straightforward and dangerous - read about some pros are using stuff like petrol for degreasing and while it does the job, petrol is extremely unstable, highly flammable and tend to blow up easily, so super no!

So, I go with the safest and also the cheapest solution: dish soap.

Dish soap is something that is easy to come by, can be super cheap and the water system is well prepared to clean grey water, so you can pour dish soap into your sink. However, it can take time to degrease your bones. While ammonia or acetone can be done with degreasing under a day (depends on the size of the skull and species of the animal), dish soap takes a lot longer: days at the best, months at the worst. But this is also the easiest degreasing method for beginners.

But there is another big question: how do you know your degreasing is working (and when it is done)?

When I started to even think about degreasing I went online, read about dish soap and was happy because everyone has dish soap at hand, so I picked a pot, filled it with cold water, pour the dish soap in, put the bones in and yay, magic was done! But things are not this simple.

The first days everything went fine: my water had fat oil drops at the surface and a visible white cloud came out of the bones, so a clear sign of the degreasing is working. But this stage went down quickly, like a matter of days - and I thought okay, degreasing is done, time to pull the skulls out and whiten. But my whitening never turned out white, rather like light grey and first I blamed my peroxide because of it, then my bones. These are findings from nature, probably they are stained, right?

I started to be doubtful when my cat skull turned out to be sticky after whitening. That never happened before, so another research later I came to the conclusion the cat that I thought are fully degreased is actually not degreased. But it didn't do a thing in the pot anymore. So what did I do wrong?

I used cold water. Apparently cold water works, but only for a while. It cannot really pull out the grease that is hiding deep inside the bone - that's why I stopped seeing white cloud after a matter of days, falsely thinking I am done. I needed warm water in the long run - if I simply use warm tap water that just runs cold way too quickly. It can be done with warm tap water as well, but that takes even longer. So, I bought an aquarium heater.

I looked after the fat oil drops in the water. They appeared on the first day, so I thought they will keep appearing until I am done. Turns out they don't? Rather the water slowly goes more opaque and murky with time, but no more fat drops don't matter how hard I am looking for them. This makes my job significantly difficult because oil drops are easier to spot and tell based on them if the degreasing is working or if I am actually done.

I am just super imapetient. I want my skull done and perfect as soon as possible. But it just doesn't work like that. I am working on this cat skull for 3 weeks now and it is still going: I had to macerate it, then degrease it, then whiten it, and then go back to degreasing and all I wanna do is glue it together and post fancy pictures of it. Won't happen for a while, time to accept that.

But how this opaque water progress looks like? I was so confused about is it clear water, is it dirty water, is it done, whether the water is warm enough or not, so I started to document the process.

This is the freshwater stage. I just changed the water and quickly snapped a pic of it, making it my reference piece. I can clearly see all the details of my bones, even if my dish soap is yellow, colouring my water a bit - but I can see through the water without any problem. My heater can do 36 Celsius degrees max, otherwise, it cooks the fish in the tank, so I put that on max, hoping it will be enough. About the temperature: I did read about 46 Celsius or even more than 50 Celsius for water temperature, but the aquarium heater cannot reach those degrees, because the main goal is to keep fish alive and no fish stays alive in 40+ water. I could use a bucket heater, but for me, that is harder to get and I really don't want a setting that takes a lot of space/costs a lot of money, so an aquarium heater it is.

Another thing I am not comfortable to put my bones in more than 50 Celsius degrees. This is my personal choice, but I really wanna avoid any chance of accidentally cooking my bones, and 50 seems to be too much heat.

I looked back at it an hour later and snapped another pic: and look, we start to get blurry details! No oil drops on the surface, but something definitely makes the water murky: my water is not hot enough to cook the bones, so it cannot dissolve or take any kind of damage in my bones, so this stuff must be grease! Seems like the heater works!

Checked the bones that evening as well and the water is definitely even more opaque!

And this is the next day: I can barely see my bones anymore, so definitely time to change the water.

Conclusion

If you think you are done with your bones, but they:

have yellow spots or wax on them

stick to your hand like you glued them

are shining here or there

have a waxy feeling

smells

Then your degreasing is not done. The good news is you can always go back to degreasing, doesn't matter if you whitened the bones or not.

The cheapest version of degreasing is the dish soap version and you will need warm water for it! It can be a good idea to get an aquarium heater because that will help you to macerate carcasses during the winter as well and quickens degreasing too. You can work with warm tap water, but that takes even longer.

But the dish soap method really takes time! Seems like this part is the longest one in skull cleaning. So even if it seems like my degreasing is not over and my method works, I can also see I won't have a pretty white cat skull anytime soon.

The bones are bathing for the third day in a row now and they seem to release the same amount of grease, so no sign of clear water yet. Also, when I pull the bones out of the water I can still see yellow spots on it - that is grease, sweeping to the surface and I need to get rid of that.

And how I will know my degreasing is done? My water stops being opaque. I can decide when to pull my bones out - do I want to fully degrease it or I decide to end it sooner because I want some discolouration, preserving am roe natural look.... that is up to me. Ideally, I wanna do a full degrease, but I just wanna preserve my bones perfectly to have quality art references that will be with be for a long time, so I try to go for a full degrease and will see how long that takes.

So just take your time, change your water as needed and enjoy the process :3 You cannot harm your bones this way, so happy experimenting!

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 19

Kinktober Masterlist aegri somnia - “troubled dreams” TF141 x f!reader Kinks > sex-pollen, gangbang, semipublic, corruption Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

You’re at a costume party on Halloween night on base with your team. The whole gang is there, and they sample something …strange… from the bar. The only cure for their fever? You.

Warning: drugged sex, dubcon, sex-pollen style scene, anal, vaginal, face fucking, some ghoap.

You were a kitty cat. Past tense. Now, you looked like a chimney sweep. This Halloween party had gotten way out of hand. The heating was cranked up to ninth-circle-of-Hell temperatures, and everyone was dancing, sweating, and getting completely fucking sloshed. 

Your whiskers and nose had long been rubbed away, and you’d lost the cat ears somewhere between the upstairs toilet and the sandpit volleyball game that the boys had set up in the basement. Two months of deadtime in the Urzikstani Green Zone had been great for morale but shit for discipline. Price was gonna be so pissed when he saw how Soap had painted the TAC-V like a big pumpkin. 

“You alright, love?” Gaz slurred, stumbling a bit before resting his arm around your shoulder, half-in and half-out of his own Paddington Bear getup. He still had the red hat, but the blue jacket was tied around his waist, and the matching shorts looked like little more than boxer briefs. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Parched. What’s that?” You pointed to his hand, jealous that he had a cold beverage. 

“Mm,” he took a sip and handed you the cup, “I dunno. Soap was passin’ it around. Orange, mysterious, probably lethal.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you laughed, downing the last sip.

“Speak of the devil…” Gaz nodded over to the makeshift bar.

There, on top of two stacks of crates, stood Soap, pouring his orange concoction right into Simon Riley’s open mouth. Soap was dressed in a little red devil outfit, complete with pitchfork, and Ghost was… well, he was just himself. The skeleton mask did the trick, you supposed. 

You shook your head, laughing at them, and Soap looked up to see you there. 

“Oy! C’mere, bonnie. Got somethin’ special for ya.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you grumbled, walking over to the bar with Gaz in tow.

Soap was crouched over in his tight red onesie, digging through an ice chest. He emerged with a wide, mischievous smile on his face and a bottle of eerie, murky liquid.

“Pinched this from Ale and Rudy when they were in last night. Probably that killer tequila he’s been on about. Didnae wanna try it by meself.”

He started to pour out four cups, and you turned your nose up at it,

“Oh, Jesus, Johnny. This smells like piss.”

“Quit your whingin’, lass. You’ve had worse things in your mouth,” he winked, downing his shot and wearing a twisted face of immediate regret.

“Suppose that’s right,” you shrugged, drinking down your own. 

It rushed through you like burning fire, and it made you feel like you’d been punched right in the jaw. 

“Holy fuck,” Simon coughed, “The hell is this, Johnny? Fuckin’ petrol?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Gaz complained, trying to breathe slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth. 

“Ach! C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Johnny protested, going back for a second dose.

Suddenly, a husky voice came out of the darkness behind the crates, 

“What’s all this then?”

“Oh, hey, Cap’n,” Johnny tried to look normal. He failed, but at least he tried.

Price rolled his eyes, but he held out his cup and held it out to the sergeant,

“Go on, then. Give us a taste.”

You watched as Price took two big gulps, your own stomach turning from the memory, and gaped in amazement as he mostly controlled his expression. Show off.

You were already sweaty, but this tequila made you feel like you were going to burn right up. You wanted to move. The music was deafening, and even though you didn’t know this song, you begged Gaz for a dance. 

“C’mon! Just one.”

“Alright, love. But, you know I can never have just one,” he twirled you around, making you feel even drunker than you were, and led you out into the warehouse where Ghost had rigged his huge boombox to make a dance floor.

Everyone was dancing. Time was moving at an insane rate. Fast and slow, dilating in and out, and you were like a shadow, letting it pass right through you, drunk and high and everything in between. 

Soap and Ghost joined you, and Price watched on from the edge, smoking and looking a little red around his eyes. 

Suddenly, Gaz’s hands were on your hips, pulling you back into him, grinding you against his crotch.

“Hey,” you turned over your shoulder, “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’, babes. Just dancin’. That alright?”

You nodded, smiling up at him, 

“Yeah, I guess so. Feels like this tequila went right to my head.”

“This fat arse is goin’ right to mine,” he said, staring down at your butt, squeezing it roughly.

You felt his cock through his shorts as he danced with you, rubbing himself against your leotard and fishnet combination, chasing his own high. 

Soap joined you, dancing in front of you, lacing his legs between yours, dancing even closer to you than Gaz. He looped one arm around your neck, and he threaded the other around your waist, moving his hips in time with the beat, drinking another cupful of tequila when he got the chance. 

Ghost was behind him, and he began peeling off the lycra onesie, revealing Soap’s broad chest to you, rubbing him down with his hands, playing with his nipples in front of the entire base.

Had you been in your right mind, you would’ve balked at such behavior. But, for some reason, it felt right. You wanted to touch him, too. So, you did. 

You reached out in front of you and ran your hands down his belly, lowering the zipper even further, feeling his heated skin.

“Mmf-fuck,” Ghost moaned, “Tha’s hot.”

Soap seemed to agree, his arching erection obvious through the thin, red outfit. 

Gaz’s hands moved from your ass to your tits, squeezing them as he pulled your body against him, thrusting himself against you to the rhythm of the drum and bass, letting you feel his incredible length across your backside. 

“Look at these, mate,” Gaz cooed in your ear, talking to the other boys, massaging your breasts and pulling at the fabric of your leotard until it almost let your heavy tits fall out. 

“Gaz… what’s…” You tried to clear your mind, “What’s gotten into you lads?”

Your lieutenant leaned forward across Soap’s shoulder and kissed you through his balaclava, moving his mouth into yours, letting you feel the outline of his full lips. You tried to kiss him back, using your hands to flip up the edge of his mask, finding his chin and cheek, moving over so you could taste him properly. 

He was full of that dark tequila, and a hint of his menthols, musky and manly in the most enticing way. When he pulled away, he went immediately to Soap’s neck, sucking on his flesh and making him moan aloud in the middle of the dance floor. 

Suddenly, a large, strong hand gripped your face and turned you towards him, kissing you full on the mouth. His beard and mustache were the only giveaways that it was your captain, feeding you his tongue and choking you with it greedily. 

What was happening? This was insane. Something was wrong. What was in that drink?

“Cap,” you whispered when he allowed you space for a breath, “What’s happening?”

“Need you, love. Need you right fuckin’ now.”

Gaz’s hands reached into your leotard, around your cotton cat tail, and tugged at the gusset. The button snaps popped, revealing your ass, covered only in fishnets. He dug his fingers into the large holes of the fishnet leggings and pulled, ripping them apart, making room for his fingers to sink themselves into your dripping hole. 

You fell forward, grabbing onto Johnny’s shoulders, loving the way Gaz’s hand felt as he moved it inside of you, each finger was like its own challenge, delving into you and reaching for your soft spots.

“Fuck, she’s wet,” Gaz revealed, and you felt your cheeks warm with shame.

Soap smiled down at you, reaching between your legs on his own accord,

“Oh? Is that so, bonnie girl?”

He touched you right beside Gaz, both of their hands vying for position, sometimes shoving their fingers into you at the same time As Gaz would pull away, Soap would bully his knuckles forward, swiping up into you like a greedy thief, reaching for more of your silky wetness. Then, Gaz would return, playing at your clit and then feeding two of his fingers inside of you again, stretching you to make room for both his and Johnny’s eager hands, not caring who was there first or whether or not you were enjoying yourself. 

You were enjoying yourself. But, that was beside the point. Weren’t you at a party? What were you doing before this? There were other people around, right?

But, they suddenly didn’t matter. Price tugged down your shoulder strap to reveal your breast. He marveled at the puffy nipple, pebbled and waiting for his mouth. He bent and began to suckle from you, feeding his other hand across your chest, groping you under the fabric of your outfit as he pulled you into his mouth.

Johnny’s ragged moan cut through the fog of your pleasure, and you looked up at him. He was nearly naked, his devil horns the only thing left from the waist up, and Ghost was kneeling behind him, his mask pushed up, eating his sergeant’s asshole and spreading his cheeks apart cruelly. 

You reached down to feel Soap’s cock, and it was leaking through the fabric, barely concealed anymore by the costume. You pulled him free, jerking him off, smearing his glossy precome all over his pulsing, pink head. 

Price grew tired of your clothing, and he began to rip your costume away from you. Gaz helped him, pulling and tugging and tearing at the fabric. You were left in your fishnets and heels, stumbling between the men surrounding you, feeling the tequila worm its way into your core, stirring your body and making you yearn to be fucked by their heavy pricks. 

Gaz was the first to press himself into you. You were shoved forward, your face smashed into Johnny’s furry belly, his sweat painting your cheek, and Gaz held you in place. He gripped your hips with a painful clutch of his hands, and he swiped his dick through your lips, back and forth, coating himself in your wet warmth. Then, that familiar, aching stretch, and he was inside of you, humping his cock into you deeper and deeper, filling the empty space within your core. 

“Holy fuck,” Price purred, grabbing you by your hair at the nape of your neck.

He pulled you toward him, his fat prick in his hands, and fed himself into your mouth, shoving your head down onto his shaft, choking you with his girth. 

Soap pulled you from him, giving you the same treatment, and you could taste the salty precome that he was leaking with, using the momentum of Gaz fucking you to find a rhythm with your mouth. 

They took turns using you, moving you back and forth, fucking your throat until it burned, pushing you further and further down until your nose was buried in their dense curls, tickling you with the matted fur at the root of their cocks. All you could do was swallow and try to breathe, but it was little use. You were drooling all over them, unable to control your body and its desperate attempt to prepare you for their huge pricks. 

Gaz had ripped an orgasm from you twice, making you scream around the base of Price’s cock, shoving his thumb into your twitching, tight asshole as his cock ruined your pussy. He was well and truly gone, at this point. His grunting was like that of a beast, and you could feel the sweat dripping off of him and onto your back. 

Ghost grew tired of tasting Johnny’s asshole, and now he was fucking him in shallow, huffing thrusts. Every time he would push himself further into his hole, Johnny would leak a little more, his come running down his shaft like sap from a huge trunk, sticky and sweet and endless. 

You were in the middle of tasting Johnny’s dripping head when you felt Gaz bottom out inside of you. Then, he shouted out a long, whining, rumble as he pumped you full of his come. You felt it spilling out of him, pouring into your cunt, spraying rope after rope of his seed into your walls, soaking your hole, desperate to seep into your womb.

Price all but shouldered Gaz out of the way, manhandling your body until you were wrapped in his arms, your legs slung over each giant bicep, and you were being lowered onto his impossible phallus. 

“I… I can’t…” You protested, unsure of whether or not you would survive whatever your captain had to give you.

“You will,” he purred darkly, his voice demonic in its timbre, “Oh, baby, you will.”

He slipped his head into your hole, but that was all that slipped. Everything else was an uphill battle. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to take some of the weight off of your core, but it was no use, he was using his heavy hands to pull you down onto him, squeezing himself inside inch by agonizing inch. You said a prayer of thanks to whatever sick gods were watching your debasement that he was not as long as Kyle.

You hissed in a breath when he reached a new level of thickness that your body had never experienced before.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed in your ear, “Be a good girl, love. Relax for me.”

His hands readjusted, moving lower to pull your cheeks apart, and he used his middle finger to dip into your asshole, playing in Gaz’s dripping come, swirling it around the puckered rim, teasing you by prodding you with shallow thrusts of his finger.

It was enough to distract you from what he was doing to your poor pussy, and he shoved himself in to the base, shocking you enough that your blood ran cold. You held your breath, unable to even cry out. It was as if you were a machine that had been unplugged. You were gone. Your captain had fucked your mind right out of your head. 

“That’s it. There she is,” he smiled sinisterly, pumping himself in and out, using your own weight to fuck you on his heavy rod. 

Two, greedy hands reached around to grope your breasts, grabbing them roughly, pinching your nipples until you whimpered and squirmed. Johnny was behind you, being fucked hard by Ghost, teasing your heavy breasts and rubbing his cock against your ass. 

Price’s hands were in the way, but when he felt Johnny’s cock, he positioned you so that his sergeant could reach. Then, you felt Johnny’s slick cockhead writhe its way inside the very brink of your asshole. He was so close to coming, it didn’t take much depth to take him there. As Simon fucked him, he thrust himself up into you, stretching your hole, unable to fit inside as deep as he would’ve liked with Price in the way. There was just no room. 

Johnny came in you messily and with total abandon. He bit down on your shoulder, keening and groaning, spending himself inside your asshole and letting it drool out of you as he left you there, warring with Price and his weapon.

Ghost let Johnny sink to the floor, and he took his place behind you. He was as tall as the captain, and his cock was almost as large, but there was no gentle rubbing like what Johnny had given you. Simon spread you wide, making you cry out from the way you were being spread apart, your cunt desperately clenching around Price, trying to find a way to hold onto something, anything. Then, he fed his cock inside your asshole, wet already from Johnny’s greedy core, shoving and pushing and squeezing his way beside Price, not taking any sort of laws of physics too seriously.

He began to kiss your neck, staying perfectly still and buried in you to the hilt, letting Price do all the work. The captain kissed you on the other side, biting you and leaving huge red marks where his teeth were too mean on your tender flesh. 

“Too fuckin’ tight,” Ghost complained, moaning into your skin.

“Knew she could take it,” Price smiled, kissing your slack mouth.

“Needy slag,” your lieutenant growled, leaving marks of his own all across your throat. 

He was playing with your tits, pinching your nipples between his forefinger and thumb, holding them up and out, making you feel like you were trapped in his hands. Then, he would knead them, feeling the weighty softness, enjoying your vulnerability, revelling in your corruption. 

Price’s thick cock was moving you both, shoving and bullying Simon’s dick through the thin flesh between your holes, making his masked officer harden like a stone inside of you. 

“M’gonna come in you,” Ghost promised, whispering against your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. 

You could only cry out, your brain too fuck-drunk to make any words. Sluts didn’t need words. They just needed to come hard and clench their tight little holes around these two, huge cocks. You were nothing more than a hole to be filled. 

Simon thrust in opposite motions from Price, moving himself through your asshole at an absurd speed, fucking you into a shuddering orgasm, and blowing his load deep inside your belly. You could feel its creamy warmth, and as he pulled out of you, you felt it drip from your gaping hole, mixing with Johnny’s fallen seed on the floor. 

Price was still pounding away, brute that he was. Now that he was alone, he lay you on the crate beside him and held your knees open wide, splaying your thighs apart and staring at his cock as it thrust through your folds. 

You were moaning like a paid whore, coming in waves, your whole body feeling the effects of your pleasure, full of come and hungry for more. 

Suddenly, the music kicked off with a thud and you heard laughter coming from across the room.

“Déjame adivinar…” Alejandro’s rude tone came through loud and clear, “You filthy perritos got into my Damiana, verdad?”

Rudy reached behind the crates that Gaz and Soap were leaning against, panting, sweating, and covered in come. Then, he pulled out the bottle, half-empty. He let out a low, pitying whistle, watching as Price buried himself in you with loud, wet slapping noises filling the room, 

“No mames, güey,” he shook his head, showing Alejandro the bottle, “Mira. They’ll be hard until next week.”

“Mierda!” Alejandro cursed your group, all worn out in your pitiful states, “This was expensive stuff. I had it made by a bruja! Extra strong. You owe me, pendejos.”

Their crackling laughter made your head spin, and as you listened to the pounding of flesh on flesh, you knew you were in for a long fucking night.

Hope you enjoyed this year's Kinktober adventure! Thanks for sticking around. Happy Halloween, everyone!

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving me a like or a comment to let me know. As always, reblogs are deeply appreciated. Want more from me? Check my AO3 profile. I have over 100 COD fics! (I know, crazy.) Discord: @californicationist

[lisenberry]

Part 2 of this one. Completed here!

You meet up with Fisherman Price for your first date.

E/MDNI

"This is your boat?” you asked, as he ascended the steps from below deck to greet you at the railing.

It was ancient. Rusted nearly through and decaying before your eyes. It creaked and groaned above the lazy waves of the River Mersey like a contrary, lumbering goose.

You’d lived along the bay your whole life. You’d thought you’d gone nose blind to the smells of low tide and petrol exhaust, but you couldn’t place the stench that radiated from the relic. Notes of wet tobacco and dead fish, perhaps?

“What’s the matter? She’s not pretty enough for you?” He wiped his grease covered hands on an equally greasy rag, defeating the purpose you thought, and reached up to help you board.

His grip was warm and firm as he helped the bag from your shoulder and caught you against his chest. His meaty palms on the backs of your thighs and his hot tongue down your throat was enough to momentarily distract you from your doubts.

You hooked your own arms around his neck, and the dampness of his sweat seeped through his shirt. It left you to wonder if he’d showered in anticipation of your visit, or if it would’ve even mattered in the end. He was filthy either way.

When he finally set you down, you nearly stumbled backwards from the absence of his steadying mouth. Instead, you let yourself fall forward, further into him.

“You look nice.” His eyes sparked with appreciation as he dragged his gaze from your bare legs back up to your face. “But, are you ready to get a little dirty?”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly apprehensive that you really did have wildly differing ideas of what constituted a date.

“You’re going to be my first mate for this trip. How good are you at following orders?” His hands had traveled to your hip bones, resting as if they were handles molded just for him.

“I’m not so sure I trust this thing in the open water.” Your eyes fell upon a hose pumping some kind of slurry off the side of the boat.

Best case scenario, it was some sort of waste. Worst case, it had a leak, and that pump was the only thing keeping it afloat.

“Oh, she’s fine. You don’t have to worry about her.” He rocked you up against him boldly, as if gauging your pliancy. Your soft edges fit perfectly in the crook of his thumbs.

“Then what do I have to worry about?” You teased, as you blew away an annoying wisp of hair that clung to the beading perspiration along your eyebrow.

The humid air, and your closeness to him, already had your pulse up and your pores working overtime to cool you off. You’d have done anything for a stiff breeze to ease the stickiness between your breasts and thighs. But there was no respite, not from the sun or the intensity of his hungry stare.

“The tides. We don’t have much time to waste if we’re going to make it back tonight.” He slipped a hand behind you to unhook the line from the dock’s cleat.

Being stranded out to sea with him overnight didn’t seem so terrible. Until you remembered the vessel upon which you were standing. You did a quick mental check for the last time you’d gotten a tetanus shot. Primary school?

“I’ve never worked on a boat before,” you confessed as you moved out of his way helpfully. “I just cook the fish, not catch them.”

"Try and relax. There's no such thing as a bad crew. As the Captain, it's my job to take good care of you."

[cmncisspnandmore]

Ghost with a reader that has freckles in her cheeks, nose, slightly in her arms and back and a few in her neck.

Like imagine him, on a cozy night, kissing them🥺

Ahh, thats adorable. I'll do my best <3

Pairings: Simon Riley X Reader Warnings: Pure tooth rotting fluff, Soft!Simon, allusions of sex but not described. Fade to black. Word Count: 1045 A/N: okay sorru but it got a little steamy... I couldnt help it. But i didnt write the actual smut, which might just a crime itself but assddfghjkl.

The wind howled loudly against the windows of your small house, the latches shaking, rain pelting the roof. It was a nasty storm, it had knocked the power out a few hours ago, you and Simon aren't bothered by it though. You were prepared for this kind of thing, you knew what you were getting into when you bought the small house in the countryside. 

It wasn't uncommon to get storms like this. You wouldn't truly live in the English countryside if you didn't get rain and wind like this a few times during the spring. Simon had insisted that you buy a house out of the city, having been there most of his adult life, living on the base. He needed a change, some fresh air that wasn't in the middle of war zones. So when you found the small two story house on a large plot of land, you jumped on it. You put in your offer, not expecting to get it, but you did. Now as you cuddle up next to Simon listening to the howling wind, you find it peaceful.

You lay with your head on Simon's chest, the fire casting a soft orange glow around your second floor bedroom. Simon had insisted on uncovering the fireplaces around the house after finding that the previous owner had boarded them up. He spent hours with Soap, Gaz and Price, breaking through the bricks and sheetrock that had been layered in front of them. When you asked him if it was really worth all the trouble. He insisted that something about using a fireplace to warm the house was cost efficient. It was easier to build a fire than drive the 40 minutes into the city to get petrol for the generator. Since then there has been a fire going in at least one of the fireplaces every night, despite having power.

His hands skim along your sides, his brown eyes studying your face. Your cheeks burn at his intense gaze, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you look at him. 

“What?” You whisper as Simon/s hand comes up, his fingers ghosting along your cheekbone. 

“You have so many freckles.. It reminds me of the stars.. Like constellations,” he smiles, as you look up at him.

“I never liked them,” you mumble, casting your eyes down. Your fingers trace one of the raised silvery scars on his chest. The skin is raised and puckered, a reminder of how often he’s come close to death. You loved them and hated them at the same time. They made Simon who he is, but they made your heart hurt. The thought of losing him, for him to go out one day and not come back makes your chest physically hurt. 

“I think they’re beautiful” Simon whispers as his finger comes up under your chin, tipping your face up to him. He rests his forehead against your, both of your eyes closed as he breathes you in. His minty breath fanning across your face, a blush on your cheeks. For a few moments you just sit enjoying the quiet of the house. The sounds of the fire crackling and popping in the fireplace.

“I got teased as a child for them..” You whisper after a moment, breaking the silence. 

Simon pulls back slightly to see you better, his brows knit together as he looks at you, “kids are mean,” he grunts. 

“I know they are… but it still hurt my feelings, so sometimes I'm self conscious of them,” you mumble. Your eyes cast down as you stare down at the fleece blanket that covers you and Simon. 

Simon's hand comes to cup the side of your neck, his thumb tipping your face up and to the side. Your eyes widen as he leans in, his lips ghosting across the side of your neck. He presses small kisses to the freckles that are splashed across your skin. His warm breath causes goosebumps to spread along your skin. A shiver runs down your spine as he follows them up to your cheeks, his lips brushing over the ridge of your nose. Your eyes flutter shut as continues his gentle assault. 

“Simon..” you whisper, but he cuts you off with his lips on yours. 

“Shh, Love, let me show how much I love your freckles,” he whispers huskily. His lips brushing back down your cheek to your neck. This time he softly nips at the skin there, pausing when he gets to your shoulder. His hands come to circle your waist as he flips you onto your stomach. Your bare front pressing into the mattress as he climbs over you, His knees on either side of your hips. His fingers massaging the soft flesh of your hips. A small smile plays on his lips as he looks down at you. Your naked back to him, the muscles there flexing as he trails a finger down the curve of your spine. “God you;re exquisite,” he breathes.

He leans down, his body covering you as he whispers in your ear, “you’re such a beautiful woman.” His voice is thick with lust as he begins to pepper kisses down the side of your neck, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses. His tongue flicks out every once in a while earning a small gasp, from you as he continues to make his way down your back to the dip of your hips. 

“Absolutely ravishing,” he mumbles against your warm skin. A smile on his face as he listens to the soft moans and pleas that fall from your lips. “What was that Darling? Didn't I get enough earlier?”

“Simon…” You pant, pressing your face into the soft mattress as he trails his tongue up your spine before he nips softly at the base of your neck where it meets your shoulder. A low groan passes through Simon's parted lips as he takes in your flushed skin, and the way you pressed up into him.

“Never think your freckles make you anything but beautiful, Love. But..” he pauses his lips, ghosting the shell of your ear. “If you ever need a reminder, I will always be happy to show you just how much I love them.”

[cassafra5]

I took a commission recently and just wanted to vent a little for a sec.

-Rant ahead-

First off, I’d like to say that I really appreciate and am flattered when people reach out and want to commission me! That’s money that could be spent on more immediate things like food or material items so having someone want a personal piece from me does mean a lot to me - I recently started being active again and although I don’t take commissions very often, I will on occasion and its 90% normally a nice exchange where I can work on something that someone is happy with and I can get some pocket money too.

I haven’t made an updated commission sheet since 2017 because I wanted to do it once I felt like I had decent enough time to open up commission slots and to figure out decent pricing. Because of this, when people would reach out to me, I felt bad about charging more than what I had in my original commission menu (which tbh was low to the point where at some points the time spent =/= the price of the commission) so I took a lot of them at my old rates. Also, I really wanted to work on getting my art to a caliber where I’d be happy with it since I want to do my best especially when someone’s paying me. Commissions take priority over my own projects also since I don’t want to push stuff down with my own projects when I was literally paid to do something. My boyfriend and friends have been encouraging me to update my prices to make it more fair to me so I’ve been trying to do so while still considering making it manageable for whoever does get my commissions.

Recently, I started being active on Bluesky and someone reached out to me claiming to be a “big fan” from way back when on Tumblr (circa 2016) so I was pretty happy to reminisce and talk about old fallout accounts we missed and even drew two quick sketches for fun for them. They started talking about wanting some art from me but I started to get a weird vibe from some of the messages. Commissions can be pricey so I tried to be understanding so when they eventually asked for a comic commission, I tried giving a pretty affordable price for a very simple comic page ($40) since it was mainly 1 main picture with just two small panels toned since they kept splitting hairs. Apparently being more than petrol would have been criminal. I got other comments and voice mails from this person that made me a bit uncomfortable but I shrugged it off that maybe they had just gone through a bit and ultimately meant well.

After more convo, it seemed they weren’t actually very familiar with my work. All good though it wasn’t necessary to say it if they weren’t? I got to work, looked at the references and managed to get this done in twoish days. I had some time during Christmas Eve so got a bit done then and since they emphasized wanting to get “the most for their money” I was also requested to give them the main pic, pic without dialogue and the panels separately so I did. There was no extra charge for that. I sent it to them and they were happy and started asking about another commission and that’s when I got upset.

It’s perfectly fine to say you aren’t in a position to commission at this time. It is absolutely understandable - all of us are trying to get by right now and commissions and art are luxuries and not something I expect someone to follow through with if they can’t do it…but to literally talk down to me when I’ve already tried to keep my prices manageable is very shitty. It doesn’t matter how many fucking hearts you put there either lol. There are people I’ve given freebies and discounts because I figure if we can make something work, I can maybe shave a little off. It’s incredibly disheartening when I try to be nice to people who say they’re so sad their oc isn’t drawn/oh no arts so expensive these days and then get met with this sort of attitude.

The Fallout Community is very warm and inviting and I’ve met so many great people through it but I’ve also had my fair share of shitty experiences too and to have someone really question the worth of your work over $30/$40$ is pretty awful. Just nicely say you can’t afford it at this time and go on your way - no sob stories or voicemails or haggling or pointing fingers over price. The entitlement is insane.