#GO EASY ON ME

[7975348473]

When the Asshole is sick.

————————————— A Lyrason ff.

Lyra was trying her best to get her mind off of her current circumstances. What were her current circumstances, you ask? Well, she started dating an, admittedly, mighty fine Hawthorne a few months ago.

But the problem about dating a Hawthorne is that they never, and I repeat, never give in.

And Lyra just happened to land herself not only the most stubborn Hawthorne, but also the most self less one.

When Lyra had awoken to find a still sleeping Grayson beside her this morning, she immediately knew something was wrong. Grayson was always the early bird. Lyra reached over to touch his forehead and found it burning up, Grayson stirred under her touch.

“Gray? Are you feeling all right?” Lyra asked gently, not sure if he was awake yet or not.

Grayson didn’t reply but simply put his hand around Lyra’s waist and pulled her closer. And you best believe he was burning up.

“Grayson. You’re burning up.” Said Lyra sternly. She knew well when Grayson Davenport Hawthorne tried to avoid a subject of discussion. Especially when it involved himself.

Grayson gave an uncommitted ‘mm’ in reply before nuzzling himself closer to her. It took everything in Lyra not to just give in and cuddle closer to him because she knew he was not going to acknowledge his sickness anytime soon.

And she was right indeed. When he finally let her go and got out of bed he followed his usual routine. He got up, kissed her cheek, her neck and took off for the washroom to get ready for the day, all the while Lyra kept telling him to stop and listen to her.

Haaa fucking Hawthornes and their stubborn asses.

Grayson exited the shower in a record timing of 25 minutes and 33 seconds, which was a lot longer than it usually took him to get ready.

“Grayson. Listen to me.” Said Lyra sternly, flashing him the glare she had learned from him.

“I have listened Lyra, about 20 times now since I woke up, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.” Said Grayson, looking at his phone and checking his schedule for the day.

Fine my ass.

“You are not fine Grayson. You woke up late, took far too long to get out of bed, took an extra 10 minutes in the shower even though you prioritise being early to work and you’re burning up. Nothing about that screams fine.” Stated Lyra, matter-of-factly, coming closer in order to get his attention.

Grayson let out a sigh and glanced up at her, “Lyra. I am fine,” he said putting emphasis on each word, “It’s a slight spike in temperature, it happens. I’ll be alright.”

And so the tug of war commenced, neither side giving up until finally, Grayson walked out of the room.

That would lead to Lyra’s current state of dilemma.

What in the world do you do when your boyfriend is sick and you’re mad at him??

Maybe I should apologise?… for what? Caring for him? As if.

But he’s not going to apologise either— stubborn bastard. So what, I watch while he suffers cuz he’s a dumbass and an asshole?

Precisely.

……..I’m such a terrible girlfriend—

NO. Not going down that road right now.

Lyra’s internal battle continued when, finally, she had had just about enough. She got up and ran through the house for a good 30 minutes until she finally found the kitchen.

Okay. Now. To make a stew for a sick asshole.

Lyra whipped out her phone and called Libby.

“Hello?”

“Libby. Hi. I need your help.”

“Oh? One sec— lemme just— yeah, okay, what’s up?”

“So you remember that one time you told me how Nash got really sick so you made him some st—”

“GNRIJGHORUEHEGROUHOUGBTE SHSHSHSHHSHS.” Libby made a few incomprehensible noises and she seemed to be running?

“GIRL— TELL ME BEFORE YOU DROP A BOMB LIKE THAT.” Came Libby’s long awaited reply.

“���oh— Was Nash there?”

“YES, HE WAS.” Said Libby, out of breath from her sudden expenditure across wherever she was.

Lyra started laughing and Libby joined in soon after.

“So? What did you need? You realise we’re in the same house right?” Asked Libby in between giggles.

“This house is too big for everyone’s good, it was hard enough to find the kitchen, finding you in the process would have resulted in me being lost.” Stated Lyra with a huff. Libby signed in agreement.

“Right, so stew?” Asked Libby.

“Yes. So. You know how Nash was very sick that one time so you spoon fed him that one stew that apparently works like a charm?” Asked Lyra.

“Mhm.”

“Well, I’m in need of the recipe.”

“Oh? Is Grayson sick?”

“You bet he is.” Said Lyra and let out a sigh.

“God damn. He’s even more stubborn than Nash. How do you plan on getting the stew into his mouth?” Asked Libby, Lyra could practically hear her eye roll at the end.

“That.. just leave that to me.” Said Lyra, as an evil smirk spread across her face.

“I can hear your evil smirk.” Said Libby.

“Not evil, Libby.”

“It totally is.”

“Is not.”

“Is to.”

“Okay, ouch.”

Libby laughed at the other end of the line.

“Okay, I’ll come to you.”

“Nah, you could just run me through the recipe over the phone.” Suggested Lyra, hyped to start cooking.

“Uh huh. And I’m sure you know where all the ingredients are in the kitchen?” Said Libby.

…. Right.

“On second thought, pls come to the kitchen that’s right next to… the ballroom? I think?” Said Lyra.

“Second floor?”

“uhhhh yeah.”

“On my way.”

And so Libby walked Lyra through how to make the stew, not bothering to hide her amusement while watching Lyra work hard to make stew for the same boyfriend she was complaining about while making it.

“Lyra. You’re whipped.” Said Libby, after having thought it about 28 times in the past ten minutes she spent with Lyra.

“That’s rich coming from you.” Retorted Lyra, though her reddening cheeks have her away.

Libby laughed and gave her a playful wack across her arm.

And after a good 30 minutes the stew was ready. Now, onto the hard part of the plan. If reasoning and talking wasn’t going to work with Grayson, the art of forced-spoon-feeding might.

Lyra walked on over to Grayson’s ‘office at home’, where he did a lot of his work in recent times. She took a deep breath.

Okay, Lyra. Stay cool. No getting angry. Don’t say a word. Just walk in and act according to plan.

And Lyra, being the queen she is, did just that. She knocked on the door and didn’t bother waiting for a reply. She knew Grayson had no meetings today and was simply trying to ignore that he was sick by busying himself in documents.

Lyra walked in and Grayson looked up at her once before his eyes went back to his documents. Anybody else would have seen that as a cold reaction, but Lyra noticed the way his gaze lingered on her figure, the way his anger and guilt were both visible in his extremely tired eyes.

She payed all of those details no mind, as much as she wanted to. She walked on over to his desk ignoring him when he called out to her.

Lyra stopped right beside his desk and they made eye contact. She noticed the way his body was slightly slumped, the way his cheeks were slightly reddened, the way his eyes looked glassy. She paid those details no mind.

They stared at each other for a while before Grayson finally rose a single eye brow in question. The gesture said it all.

What is it, Lyra?

Lyra didn’t reply immediately. She placed the tray with the bowl of stew on his office desk, ignoring all the documents that were scattered on them. Grayson’s gaze followed her hands before locking-in on her eyes again.

“Turn over.” Commanded Lyra, finally.

Grayson did just that and turned his office chair to face her. He looked even worse in this angle. His red cheeks were on wide display and she noticed how his top two buttons were undone, his blazer abandoned somewhere on the sofa. (Yes this office has a bloody sofa. They’re rich.)

Lyra did not break eye contact a single time. Not while she turned back to him, not while she stepped closer, not while she sat right down on his lap to face him and not when his eyes went wide at the sudden action.

It took everything in Lyra not to break character then and there and just kiss him senseless.

“Lyra.” Came Grayson’s voice. A question that came out sounding a bit lustful.

Lyra didn’t deign that with an answer. She reached over to the soup bowl, took a spoon and brought it to his mouth.

Grayson’s gaze remained on her eyes only fleeing once or twice to her lips.

Lyra raised her own eyebrow and signalled with her mouth ‘ah’.

Grayson continued staring at her before finally opening his mouth. His eyes remained on hers as Lyra took the spoon to his mouth, and she did not appreciate how that action wanted to make her squirm. She picked up more soup and brought it to his mouth again.

“You made this?” He asked, before drinking the soup.

She replied with a ‘mm’. She was still mad.

They continued the process in silence for a while.

“It’s good.” He finally said.

WOW HAWTHORNE. THATS THE BEST YOU CAN COME UP WITH AFTER ALL OF THIS?? ‘ITS GOOD.’ ??? Asshole.

She sent him a glare before taking up another spoon and bringing it to his mouth.

“Lyra.” This time he was requesting for something. For her to listen.

Lyra sighed, “ What?” She moved her eyes to the soup bowl.

“I’m sorry.” Oh. Oh. So he was capable of apologising. Lyra looked back to him, taking in all the details she had refused to before. He looked terrible. He looked fucking glorious.

They, once again, stared at each other for a while, before Lyra broke eye contact to nudge him into drinking the soup. He did.

They continued in a comfortable silence while he finished the soup. Lyra was mad, but she wouldn’t trade this silence for the world. This moment. It screamed them in every way possible. Silence, but so much was spoken.

In the way she made the soup for him despite being mad. In the way he didn’t snap when seeing her, despite also being mad. In the way she spoon fed him in that position despite wanting to sock him in the stomach. In the way that he apologised and listened to every one of her commands, despite always being the one in control. It was them.

Finally the bowl was empty. Lyra moved to get off of his lap but his hand came to rest on the small of her back, preventing her from moving.

She gazed back down at him, willing her eyes to look angry even though she hated the state he was in.

“I’m sorry. Lyra.” He said again, his eyes boring into her own.

They continued the stare down, as many words passed between them without truly being spoken until finally, she broke the silence, with a smirk breaking free on her face.

“Prove it, Hawthorne.”

The look in Grayson’s eyes changed. He still looked sick, put off, guilty, but something stronger overcame those eyes. Want.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as his grip one her waist tightened, pulling her impossibly closer. He kissed her like his life depended on it and she savoured in it.

When they finally broke apart after a very….. productive make out session. Lyra smiled.

“You’re an asshole. You know that?” She said in between pants.

“Mm. Yes. But I’m your asshole.” He replied simply, as if the words took him no effort to think about at all. As if they were always meant to be said.

Lyra hated the effect those words had on her. She loved it.

“Are you flirting with me, Hawthorne? What has gotten into you?” She joked her hands stroking his hair as he angled his face in the crack between her neck and collarbone and rested it there.

“This is how I am when I’m sick.” He said.

Lyra laughed, “You admit it now?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He brought his face up and kissed her again before adding, “ I really am, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Lyra smiled and kissed him in reply.

Yes, he was a stubborn- selfless Hawthorne. Yes, he could be a complete asshole. Yet, he was still hers, as much as she was his.

My Hawthorne.

——————————————————

Ahahahahaha. I had this idea marinating in my head for a while and I couldn’t help but finally type it down. THIS IS MY FIRST SAD ATTEMPT AT ROMANCE SO CUT ME SOME SLACK PPL.

(Thoughts would be much appreciated.)

PS- @alwaysthefangirl I NEED HELPFUL CRITICISM. WAS THIS GOOD— 😭🙃✨

[anarrrchia]

This was supposed to be a simple sketch, but while I was working on it I started playing around with different blending modes and brushes, and made this thing.

I needed to practice drawing Nicky cuz the last drawing I made of him looked like ass cheeks! And he deserves better than that!

[porkcutletbowl44]

The Man You Need

Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

Tags!: 🔞NSFW. MDNI. unprotected p in v sex(wrap it in foil before you check her oil), dirty talk, creampie, PWP, Insomnia!reader, brief mention of misogyny, semi-public sex, shower sex, reader is also kinda bratty

(Ik y'all are only here for the porn that's why the plot dies quick lmao)

A big thank you to the 200 followers and counting 🫶🏻🩷

• · ────── ·🔞🖤🔞· ────── · •

"Y'look knackered, 'aven't been sleepin' enough?"

Simon's voice forces you to stop staring at the stale scones under the heat lamp, yanking you out of that day dream of falling face first into the breakfast line to get real sleep.

"Just the usual insomnia," you reminded. "What plans do you have today?" You asked, gatherthering the last of your breakfast.

His long strides effortlessly keeping up with your shorter ones. He towers over you as you both approach the table where you both sat normally.

"Just the usual, trainin' new recruits." He answers in the same manner as you, he sits down opposite you. He stretches his long legs out under the table, his calves brushing yours.

His eyes fixed on you like little bugs on your skin, taking in every detail of your face.

"'ow long has it been since y'last slept through a night?" He asks gruffly.

"Saturday." You answered.

His jaw clenches momentarily behind the thin fabric of his balaclava, and his shoulders stiffen.

"Y'mean to tell me its been three days an' you're still functioning?" He retorts, skepticism written on his face. He knows you, and he knows how bad your insomnia gets.

"Yeah. Doesn't help when we have to wake up early."

Simon lets out a frustrated sigh, running a gloved hand over his face.

"You can't survive on 2 or 3 hours o' sleep a day. Y'know you're pushin' it too far. You're going to collapse soon if y'don't get your sleep under control."

He's always stern when he speaks, but with you it's like he's scolding you like a child who doesn't know any better.

You do know better; you've busted your ass to get where you are. You've had to deal with everything in the book to fight to where you are now in the military, and he knows that, he's been there the majority of the time and yet he nags you everyday about something.

"Well I'm trying, Si. Melatonin doesn't work and it gives me bad headaches." You mumbled irritably.

"Doesn't work, eh? An' I can see those bags under your eyes. Headaches too..." He rubs his chin as he looks at you, his eyes calculating. "What 'ave you tried so far, love? I've told you to keep me updated."

"The sleepy tea worked for a little bit, and then it didn't. I tried running before bed, no screen time, benadryl..."

Simon grunts and leans back in his chair, listening to you list all the things you've already tried and don't work, his frustration only seems to grow with this situation— or you?

"Bloody hell. You've tried everythin', 'aven't you? Nothin' seems to work, it's as if your body just won't shut down."

Sometimes this leads to the same thing over and over again, the 'you have to sleep' or, 'why do you do this to yourself?'. You just smile and nod, because yes, you can 100% control this.

"Well, sometimes another thing works, but it's just too much of a hassle." You shrugged, sipping some vitamin water.

Simon's brows furrow as he hears your muttered words. He leans forward, his gaze intense.

"What 'other things?'"

You sometimes keep things from him, and he won't let you get away with it this time. Or, there's the other times you are blunt, disgustingly blunt. You live with a bunch of men, who do not have a filter, that alone has killed yours out of existence.

You blink, fidgeting in place. "Ahem. Me time?"

He's not dense, he knows exactly what you mean and he's not one to back down from anything that usually makes normal people squeamish or "grossed out".

"An" 'ow is it 'too much o' a hassle exactly?" He asks, a slight raise in an eyebrow.

"My hand cramps." You rolled your eyes, it was obvious, who doesn't have that problem sometimes?

He crosses his arms over his broad chest with a humored look, your honesty can be either amusing or completely looked over.

"Your hand cramps, you say? Thas a hell o' a reason."

He chuckles softly, his eyes raking over you, taking in the sight before him. His gaze is heated. Your face can feel it, it's warm, it's like he's putting your face close to a bonfire with that look. For months you two do this... This thing that borders flirty and suggestive but at the same time it doesn't quite feel like either.

"Yeah. Thinking about going down to the store."

His eyes snap up, crossed arms going lose from his chest. He's not stupid; he knows what "going down to the store" means.

"You're talkin' about goin' to get one o' those things." His voice is low, but not quite harsh. He's almost hesitant to say it out loud, but he says it with so much disdain.

You deadpan. "A vibrator, Simon. A vibrator."

The tops of his cheeks flush red beneath his balaclava at your blunt response. You giggle a little, not expecting such a reaction from Lieutenant Ghost. What's the big deal? Did guys not talk about fleshlights? Brand recommendations?

He clears his throat before speaking, a little husky and quiet. No way, are you embarrassing him with girl stuff?

"Y-yeah. One o' those." He stutters, his usual confidence wavering. "Yes, thank you, love. I realize that. I just..." He trailed off, blinking a few times.

"Y'can't be serious. You're goin' to use a toy instead o' asking for help?"

It's like he can't believe you just said that out loud, in a busy mess hall no less. This is what it took? Talking about sex toys to make him awkward?

"Uhm...yeah? I less you have a boyfriend in your pocket waiting for me." you retort.

And yikes, he didn't seem to like that. His eyes squint, probably crinkle in his nose. He paused, leaning forward in his seat, his eyes studying your face closely.

"You don't seriously think y'need a toy instead o' just asking me, do you?"

Why does he sound hurt??

Your stomach does a backflip off your intestines and into a hot tub of oil. He did not just say that. You must be asleep, yes, you must be dreaming.

You giggled, "Good one."

Simon gives a low grumble, his jaw flexing and grinding. This apparently wasn't a laughing matter to him. Is he serious? Your tongue works over your teeth, trying your absolute hardest to be so cool, nonchalant, you don't care you don't care—

"'M not jokin', love. You don't honestly think that a toy would be better than the real thing, do you?"

Of course it's not fucking better. But what choices did you have? Sleep with one of your teammates and then get a dishonorable discharge? Make things awkward in your team?

"Oh... Considering it's illegal to have relationships, yes. A vibrator won't leave me, cheat on me, break my heart... It's perfect." You shrugged— it was for the best anyways.

He knew the rules just as much as you did. And he followed them religiously. What the hell is going on? Why would he just suggest that out of the blue?

"Y'think you'd be better off with a piece o' silicone than takin' the chance on me?"

You pinch your thigh under the table. Nope. You're still here in mess hall, in front of your now cold breakfast, and Simon is still trying to convince you to fuck him.

"Y'wouldn't be satisfied with that thing. You'd get bored, love..." He sounds so sure, and jealous when he speaks of the horrible, terrible, vibrator.

"How would you know?" You quired quickly.

Just to double check. Maybe the sleep deprivation was catching up.

"I know 'cause I know you. You'd get tired o' that thing eventually, you'd want somethin' real."

He paused for a moment, his eyes lidding, darkening, consuming.

"You'd want someone to touch you, love. Not some piece o' plastic an' silicone."

"Yeah, like I'd ever get that," you barked out a laugh out of sheer nerves.

He didn't like that anymore than your last dismissive reply, you may just be convinced about now. So, cue to you squeezing your thighs together in your seat. Acting completely normal. Because everything about this is so normal; your coworker just telling you to come to him for a good fuck to be able to sleep.

"What do y'mean by that? 'ow can you say that with a straight face? Y'don't think anyone would want to touch you? Let y'know 'ow loved you are?" He grumbled, his hands clenching on top of the table.

"Y'think you're so undesirable that nobody would want you? Bloody hell..." He shakes his head.

"Simon, take a look at me." You licked your lips to prevent a shout of frustration, yikes, you do need sleep.

Simon's eyes fly over your form, from head to toe. He took his time studying you, his eyes lingering over the curves of your body, the way your hair fell over your face. There isn't a damn thing wrong with the way you look.

"'M lookin' at ya, love. An' what I see is perfection. So tell me again... what's your damn point?"

Oh, good God. It's real. But this is better than you imagined; you want to make him work for it. All because it's hotter to get a man to work for something, get all riled up.

"What do you see? A cutesy little girly girl? A nice little housewife for a big strong man?" You asked sarcastically.

"I see a woman who's strong, capable, an' bloody beautiful." He glares, offended you'd even think about saying that, "You're not some dainty damsel in distress, you're a force to be reckoned with..."

"My point exactly. Men don't want a chick that's more man than them." You rolled your eyes at just mentioning the delicacy of fragile masculinity these days.

Simon grunted and rolled his eyes, his irritation building into something you might not want to poke at.

"Thas where you're wrong, love." He points his spoon at you. "Not all men are as narrow-minded as y'think. I know damn well I want a woman like you. Strong, feisty, sexy."

"My point, Simon! I don't want some fucking pussy, I want someone whose more man than me." You huff.

You're not entirely implying this trait about him... You just wanna see him work for it.

"You're not goin' to find that in a bloody toy, love. You're lookin' in the wrong place if y'think some plastic will make y'feel better. Y'want a man? You already 'ave a man."

He was right there, willing to give you what you needed. But how far will he go?

"Yeah but... I want something real, too." You tried to explain.

This flirting back and forth was something you enjoyed; but what would it mean in the long run?

"Exactly." He huffed a bit exasperated. "Y'want somethin' real. Somethin' I can give you."

He shifted in his seat, leaning closer to you, his eyes deep and intense.

"Y'don't need a toy, love. You 'ave me. 'M real, an' I want you. Don't settle for some piece o' plastic when y'know damn well what you really want."

Okay then, schizophrenic, game on.

"I want someone stronger than me, someone to give me a reason to act like a woman," You snorted.

You were infuriating at times.

"An' y'think I can't give ya that? Y'think I can't make y'feel like a woman? Like a fuckin' queen?" That retort comes out low, accusing. "I can definitely make y'feel like a woman. Y'don't need someone stronger than you, love. Y'just need me."

Nail on the head with that one; yet how far can you take it? You lean between your elbows, squeezing your tits together to make you look as enticing as possible.

"Do I?" You purr.

Simon freezes in time, his plastic spoon almost falling away from his thick fingers. His hand does scramble for it to his credit but he almost dumps his bowl in the process. You hear him clear his throat roughly, Adams apple bobbing at the hem of his mask before it disappears. You bite your lip with a challenging gaze, would he take it?

"Yes," He replied firmly to cover up his hesitation, "Y'need me, love. Y'just don't know it yet. I can make y'feel things no toy ever could. Think y'need a man t'make you feel like a woman? I can do that, an' I will happily."

You smirk, "You're gonna have to try harder than that,"

"Oh, I will, love. You're just askin' for a challenge, aren't you?"

"You afraid to take it?" You shot back slyly.

He was anything but afraid with that look. He was up for the challenge, and you know he's gonna prove it.

"Baby, 'm not afraid o' anythin' when it comes to you," he replied, his voice low and husky. "As long as you can take what I can give you."

He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes searing into yours. There was danger in his gaze, it only made it all the more delicious.

"Y'think you can 'andle me, love? Y'think you're ready for what I can do t'you?"

"Only if you can prove it." You grin.

Ghost let out a low growl, his eyes darkening at your challenging tone. He thrived on it, it only fueling his drive to prove himself to you.

"Oh, I'll prove it, love. I'll prove it again an' again until y'can't even think straight."

"No, no, prove you're more man than me." You corrected easily.

"Y'want to know why 'm more o' a man than you? I can make y'feel things you 'aven't even imagined before. I'll 'ave you beggin' f'me, addicted t'me."

"I'll be waiting, then." You set the challenge in stone. This was it.

The bear has been poked enough. He was on a mission now.

"You'll be beggin' f'me before the night's over." He boasts smoothly, a promise and a warning all in one.

"If I get a good night's sleep I'll consider keeping you,"

You were maddening, and he both loved and hated the way you pushed his buttons. It was all in good heart; for the most part.

"You're already keepin' me, love. Y'just don't know it yet."

You bite your lip, taking a quick survey of the area before replying. This was getting too good to be true.

"Don't disappoint then, we have..." You glance at your watch, humming, "six hours until lights out."

"Thas more than enough time." He grunts, all smug and cocky behind his mask.

Step one, getting recruit work out of the way. It's boring as fuck, mostly watching the Lieutenant scare the absolute piss out of the fresh meat.

Simon was barking orders left and right, ruthless to the soldiers in training. Almost as ruthless as the sun beating down on them.

You abandoned your spot in the shade, clip board in hand. You balance two water bottles on the wooden board as you approach to offer a beverage.

"Thanks," he grumbles, his eyes darting around to ensure no one witnessed the small gesture just like you.

He took the offered water, downing half the bottle in one go and adjusting his mask back in place. You drag your pin down the clip board to check off what's already done.

"Forty laps?"

"Forty laps."

Simon confirmed with a gruff nod, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment before turning back to the recruits. Despite the challenging heat, he refused to end the training drills early no matter how much you teased him about buying him a little extra on your toy run— Viagra.

You thought it was hilarious, him? Not so much.

"An' they better pick up the pace!" He barked, the deep baritone easily reaching the pirvates' ears.

You circle that box, "And the sixty pull ups?" You breathed a bored sigh.

Simon grunted in annoyance.

"Done."

He informed in a low grumble, his jaw working under the balaclava. It was an excessive amount, but many of the recruits wouldn't even make it halfway through. But he didn't care, he was in a mood. A horny one. When was the last time this guy got laid?

"Wasn't accepting any half-assed attempts, either."

"The rope climbing?" You tap your pen at the box.

Simon glances down at the list, eyeing the scribbles and doodles next to the ticked boxes.

"Done." He replies simply.

You could faintly hear the sound of the recruits groaning and grumbling in pain and exhaustion, you almost felt bad. It was minor flashbacks to your recruitment days, yet Simon didn't seem to have that same sympathy judging by the satisfaction in his eyes.

"Aaannnd... Combat." You hum, one last task left for training.

This was where things get interesting.

"Its last. Need to let 'em rest a bit first. Suppose they earned it."

"Generous," you comment blandly.

"Yeah, yeah. Just keep checkin' off the list. I wanna get these fuckin' recruits dismissed soon. 'M sick o' the heat."

The day dragged on painfully slowly. The heat was relentless until the rain would show up any minute, and he was more irritable than usual. Even the recruits seemed to notice his foul mood, giving him a wide berth whenever he was in their vicinity. You were starting to grow bored of his usual job of scaring the hell out of the recruits, (not so bored when sweat rolls down the thickness of his biceps and the bounce of his tits when he jogs up to the trainees to yell at them) and overall wondering when and how the fuck you're supposed to get laid at this point.

Finally, the training was over. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the compound. The recruits limped and hobbled their way to their assigned lodgings, exhausted and sore.

Simon, on the other hand, seemed like he had even more energy than usual. Despite the long, grueling day, he was somehow wired and restless. You should ask what energy drink he uses after you wrap this up. (Hint: it's the male drive to get some pussy).

As the recruits dispersed, one in particular caught your eye. He was the most arrogant and obnoxious of the bunch, strutting around like he owned the place. You and Simon had seen it countless times before, it got old fast.

"Arrogant little prick," Simon muttered irritably.

You tongue your cheek, "What? Threatened by him?"

It's a pointless taunt— Simon? Threatened? Gosh, it's so fun to get men worked up. Simon's eyes narrow at your comment, a grunt bursting out from him.

"Threatened? Me? Fuckin' hell, no." He grumbles offendedly. "I could take 'im apart within a minute. Can't stand the ones caught up in their own 'ead,"

You hum in agreement. You know for a fact you'd pay to see that one day, and Soap would be right behind you.

"You're lucky you're the most tolerable person 'ere," he adds goodnaturedly.

You backhand his shoulder lightly, "Oh, look, your best friend is coming over!"

And speak of the devil, the recruit struts over with that piece of shit arrogant smirk. Simon rolls his eyes in annoyance as he turns to face the strutting recruit.

"Great. Just what I need," The sarcasm is laid on thicker than the suspicious gravy served this morning at breakfast.

The recruit saunters over, his obnoxious confidence on full display. Simon clenches his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check.

"Sir... Do we have more extensive training available?" He asks slowly, his own ego taking a hold of his tongue.

Simon's eye twitches at the recruit's pompous tone. Extensive training, more like a request for special treatment to feed that ego.

"Extensive training?" He echos roughly, "F'you? Why?"

The recruit shrugs boredly, "I think your ways are a bit old fashioned, too easy,"

Easy, old fashioned? This cocky little bastard doesn't know the first thing about hard work. And he's about to serve himself his very own buffet of living hell from Simon. You distract yourself with the grass below your feet, taking everything you have to not laugh.

"Y'think we make things easy on you?" He sneers, taking a step closer to the recruit. "Y'think you're hot stuff, eh? Well, you're in for a rude awakening, rookie."

Your lips purse, frowning deeply to stop the smile.

"What makes y'think you deserve anythin' beyond the standard training regime, hmm? You 'aven't earned a fuckin' thing yet." He glares at the recruit, his eyes dark and intense behind his mask. "Y'get your fuckin' arse to the barracks. Your extensive training for the next month? You'll be cleanin' the bathrooms before lights out."

The recruit's smirk falters at Simon's orders. He's not used to being talked back to, much less being told what to do. But he tries to maintain his cocky attitude, not wanting to back down in front of you, maybe. Ugh, men.

"Bathroom duty? That's... a little degrading, isn't it?"

Simon chuckles darkly, his eyes dancing with amusement. This cocky bastard was really pushing his luck more than you were. You almost feel bad if it weren't so funny.

"Degrading?" he sneers. "Welcome to the military, rookie. It's not a goddamn country club. Y'think you can come 'ere, demand extra training, an' expect special treatment? This ain't a playground. You're 'ere to learn discipline, not stroke your ego."

You stifle a laugh behind your clipboard. This was too good, and all the more hot to see Simon angry.

Simon shoots a sidelong glance at you, even though he's supposed to be acting tough and intimidating, he seems to let himself crack through the lieutenant role around you.

The recruit, on the other hand, doesn't notice your amusement. He just looks sulkily at Simon, clearly not pleased with the prospect of bathroom duty.

Simon grabs the recruit roughly by the collar, the display of power and dominance making you jump in place. Simon's firm grip on the recruit's collar startles the cocky little punk, his eyes wide in surprise.

"See, this is your problem," Simon grits lowly. "Y'think you're untouchable. Y'think you're better than everyone else. But lemme tell you somethin', wanker... you're not."

The recruit stammers, eyes frozen with fear.

"Disobey your superior officer again an' I'll make sure your walls are covered in you."

He gives the recruit a rough shove, releasing his collar. The recruit stumbles back, shocked out of words.

"Consider that your final warning," Simon growls. "Now get your arse to the fuckin' barracks, rookie."

The recruit seems to shrink under Simon's intimidating aura, his cocky demeanor shattered and squashed to dust. He mumbles a half-hearted, "Yes, sir," before hurrying away.

You check your watch, "Well, today has been fun. It's too bad you only have three hours left."

Three hours left, you say? He hadn't even started yet. Because of training, of course.

"Three hours, huh?" He grumbles, eyes setting in determination. "Don't count me out yet, love. I can do a lot in three hours."

"Hurry it up, or in three hours I'll have a brand new shiny vibrator." You grin cheekily.

"You won't be needin' any damn vibrator if I 'ave anythin' to say 'bout it," he hisses. "I don't need any bloody gadgets to 'elp out."

He starts to stalk towards you, his eyes intense and focused. Your thighs squeeze together, pleased with your outcome.

"Three hours is more than enough time f'me to prove myself, love. An' you'll be beggin' before the clock strikes, guarantee ya that."

"Right," you drawl with a roll of your eyes.

He reaches up with a rough hand, grabbing your chin and lifting it so your eyes meet his.

"Y'think I can't prove myself in three hours, huh? That I need some bloody toy to 'elp me out? I promise you, love, you'll be singin' a different tune."

You giggle teasingly, biting your tongue through your smile.

"Tick tock, Simon." You singsong.

You were mocking him, challenging him, all for this purpose.

"You're playin' a dangerous game, love," he growls down at you, "Y'think you can tease an' walk away with that pretty lil smile on your face. But you're gonna find out real quick that I won't back down, even when you're being a cheeky lil minx."

You smirk dreamily, staring up at him with raw want. You kinda want him to do something extravagant, proving himself just because. When was the last time you had fun like this?

"You're pushing your luck, love," he grunts, his voice gruff with barely concealed desire. "If you keep lookin' at me like that, there ain't gonna be enough time to do everythin' I wanna do to you."

You pull from his hand, turning on your heel as you call over your shoulder,

"I'll be waiting, Si,"

You were taunting him, teasing him, with that sultry little comment and casual tone. You feel his eyes on your ass with each sway of your hips, that naked feeling let's you know he's undressing you with his eyes.

You whip out your phone to look at the time, alas, there's just no way what you want can happen. The rules, regulations, and the severe lack in privacy.

Shooting Captain a quick text for permission to leave base for an hour you head into the higher up showers for some much needed washing of the sweat collected on your body.

As you toss your towel on the bend, your phone buzzes.

'Permission granted. I'll let the team know you'll be out.'

Your heart drops to your ass as you frantically text back—

'Wait no that's not necessary!!!!!'

And then, to your horror, you get a ping in the group text.

Shit.

The team knows youre just going out, but Simon knows. Simon knows you're chickening out from the challenge.

"Fuck!" You hiss, frantically looking around the showers as if there were anything that could help you.

There's nothing. Not the gathered pubes in the moldy shower drain nobody uses, not the faded rusting lockers, not the dirty windows that nobody will ever be able to see out of no matter how much scrubbing

You're fucked.

But how fucked, do we wager? Does this mean Simon will get in his feelings and never talk to you again? Will he out you? (No, it wouldn't ever—) What if he gets revenge?... What kind of revenge?

As you stand there, panic setting in, a voice rings out from the entrance of the shower area.

"What 'appened to three hours?"

You squeak as the door slams, the deadbolt echoing through the room.

You are locked in the showers with Simon.

"What's with the sudden cold feet?" Simon grunts as he rounds the corner, closing the distance between you in slow, measured strides.

"I-I can explain—" you stammer, phone dropping on the bench next to your towel.

He stalks towards you, his steps slow and deliberate. There's a dangerous edge to his gaze that makes your heart beat even faster in your chest.

You're trapped, unable to back away, and he looms over you like a caged beast.

"Explain why you're runnin' away from the challenge you issued, love?" he drawls, stopping just a few feet away from you. "This I 'ave to 'ear."

He crosses his arms as he stands there, his eyes never leaving your face. You're in for it now, his expression seems to say.

You chuckle nervously, gesturing between the two of you, "I mean, realistically it can't ever happen—"

"Who says it can't?" He leans in, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl. "I don't care 'bout the damn regulations, love. That's not gonna stop me from 'aving you."

"Y-You are all about the rules, Si. You follow them to a T— You wouldnt—" you swallow thickly. What have you done to yourself this time.

"I usually follow the rules, yes," he concedes tauntingly, "An' right now, those rules are fuck all to me anymore."

Your tongue suddenly feels heavy in your mouth, "W-What about—"

Simon leans a forearm over your head and slouches down, his eyes darkened by lust and determination.

"What 'bout...?" he mocks, "Y'think I give a damn 'bout those old geezers with their rules right now? All I care 'bout is 'aving you, 'ere an' now."

Simon's free hand reaches up, his fingers lightly tracing your jawline. "I'll show you 'm fuckin' man enough to 'ave you."

While you are speechless, he adds for you to better understand. "It's just you an' me in 'ere."

"But—" you squeak.

Simon's hand moves quick to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"No," he growls, "We don't need to follow the rules in 'ere. We don't need anyone's permission. We could be loud, we could be rough. No one would ever know."

No one... Would know.

He leans in, his lips hovering just centimeters from your ear. "Just us in 'ere. You tellin' me you'd rather 'ave some stupid fuckin' toy over a man that can fill you up all night long?" His hand slides down to your throat, holding you tenderly but firmly, "Just say yes, love."

You whimper in delight, his eyes flickering down to your shifting thighs.

"Yeah," he purrs, his hand angling your head up against the wall. "Y'know you want it. Y'want me."

You want him more than sleep. You want him more than some real fucking food.

"Y'know you don't need anythin' else but me t' fuck you stupid."

"Yes," you moan.

Simon's eyes gleam with approval, his grip on your chin tightens slightly.

"That's good fuckin' girl," he growls.

He licks your neck through the mask, chest expanding with a deep inhale that crushes you to the wall.

"Say y'want me," he demands in a gravelly whisper.

What is thinking? Why would you have to think?

"Want you s'bad," you whine.

"Fuckin' right you do," he mutters.

His other hand drifts down, slowly tracing down your body until it lands on your waist, shoving you into the shower stall. For a moment, you thought you were going to get a little groping, made a knead here and there. But no, you're just standing like a dumbass in the empty shower stall.

"Strip." He growls.

Your skin erupts with gooseflesh in the bare shower shall, his gaze unwavering as he waits for his private show. He steps closer, his own clothes still on, thick arms folding over his chest.

"Slowly," he commands, "Show me what's gonna be mine."

You pinch the hem of your cargos, and then switch to your shirt.

What the hell do you even start with?

"Trousers first," Simon instructs roughly.

He stands there, still dressed, but his eyes devouring every inch of you as you slowly pop the button.

You slowly shimmy the waist band over the swell of each hip, pushing down to your ankles. Simon's breaths grow heavier as you flick the material off your feet his eyes transfixed on the movement.

"Thas it. Bra next," he commands, velvety smooth, "Nice n' slow. I want t'see all o' you."

Bra? Bra next? Why not your shirt?

You kick the cargos away, your shirt barely covering over your panties as you unclasp the bra through your shirt and maneuver it out from one of the sleeves to hold it in the tip of your finger.

Simon's eyes zero in on your pebbled nipples and pretty panties, the thin fabric doing little to hide your curves.

"Good girl," he purrs, "Now come 'ere."

You're... You're not even done. He motions with his fingers for you to approach him, his eyes dark with need.

"Do the thing," you manage out.

"The thing?" he grunts in an enticing voice, taking a step forward as you gesture to your mouth and nose.

He reaches up and pulls the mask to his nose, revealing his lips.

"Is this what y'want, love?" he asks, running his tongue across his bottom lip.

"Yeah," you breathe as you wet your lips.

Those would taste so good. You just know it.

"Y'want to see m' mouth, huh?" he asks, a smirk playing at the corners of those now revealed lips that show his canines, a chipped tooth, his lower face in general in its scarred glory, "Y'want to see what I can do, love?"

He closes the remaining space between you in a single stride, grabbing you by the back of the neck and yanking you forward.

His free hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, his eyes filled with dark hunger that makes your pussy pulse.

His mouth descends on yours, his lips claiming yours in a fiercely possessive kiss. You moan lowly, one of your arms circling his thick waist. He's burning up, hot and sweaty under his clothes that reek of his natural musk.

One of your curious hands ventures down, squeezing at his ass. He breaks the kiss with a surprised grunt, a coy smirk.

"Naughty, that," he huffs, "But I like it. My turn,"

The world before you lunges back, his mouth descending on your neck. He sucks and bites at the sensitive skin, his teeth leaving red marks in their wake.

His hands have a rough exploration, sliding down your skin, pausing just above the waistband of your panties to slide in to the globes of your ass. You stand in your tip toes to lean into him, whimpering at his rough gropes and kneading.

His mouth continues it's path down your neck, his teeth grazing the tops of your covered tits as his hands roughly squeeze and massage your perfect ass.

"Look at you," he growls, "Squirmin' an' I haven't even started."

He pushes your ass up, looking over your shoulder to watch it bounce. His hands slide lower, pulling the elastic of your panties down slightly, "Look at this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You're fuckin' soaked through."

And he's right.

You squeeze your thighs, trying to rid that sticky mess thats unbearably uncomfortable. He tuts, delivering a slap to your ass.

"Tryin' to get yourself off, love?" he purrs, his fingers tracing along the edge of your panties.

You can't tell the difference between the onyx color from his pupils, you can hardly look at his eyes when his mouth is right there and his own tits are in your face. God, you want to nibble on those chapped lips, feel those fat biceps squeeze you as his hips snap on the backs of your thighs—

He backs you up, his hard cock pressing against you through his jeans, "Y'want it?"

"Yes!" You mewl.

"Thas what I like to 'ear, love," he husks, his fingers playing with the crotch of your panties. "Get that shirt off, wanna see those pretty tits finally."

You squirm, pulling your shirt up and off and throwing it somewhere that doesn't matter right now.

"Perfect," he rasps, his hand reaching up to cup your breast, "These are fuckin' nice,"

You arch, eyes rolling at the nice kneading to your sore flesh of being stuck in a bra all day. To your displeasure, freezing water sprays down your body and your uncomfortable groan bounces off the walls until the water warms up.

He's still fully dressed though, his clothes sticking to his muscular frame, accentuating every hard muscle and scar.

"Shower's a bit shitty," he says, his eyes raking your body. "But we don't 'ave to wait for that to get goin'."

Your panties have disappeared into his pocket, you follow the way his fingers shove it in— Your eyes divert to that large bulge behind the zipper.

"I know what y'want," he grunts, his hand moving to the belt and zipper.

Simon pulls down his zipper, the metal teeth parting revealing a black pair of boxers, which does little to hide the already impressive outline of his hard cock nudging up against the waist band.

He pushes his jeans down his thick thighs, his body still clothed in a tight black shirt and underwear drenched in water.

Your saliva glands burn at the sight of his happy trail plunging past the waist band, eyeing that nice size you only got a little feel of on your leg—

"Want a closer look?" he purrs, his hand slowly palming the base of his covered cock, precum bleeding out from the thin fabric on his thigh.

You make a face at him, your face burning with embarrassment

"What's the matter, love? You shy now?" he says with a smirk, his hand continuing to slowly palm and squeeze, "Y'were all full o' attitude today."

His head tilts mockingly, stroking himself for you, enticing you. Pinch yourself again, this might actually be a dream—

"Go on," he rasps, "Feel me."

You follow a trail of water down to his shirt clinging to his body, his drenched happy trail, and then the outline of his cock.

With one hand, you tug the waist band forward, clenching as he sucks in a breath that makes his abs tense.

He leans forward, his mouth hovering over your ear, "Go on," he husks, "Take it out, love."

He leans back, watching you intently, waiting for you to do as told. Maybe you do like to be told what to do in this context. With your other, you pull him free with your eager hand.

He moans, he fucking moans.

"Thas it, love," he husks out, his voice a little strangled. "Feel me up."

His hands rest on the wall behind you, caging you in. He hips rock into your hand, each stroke of your fist pulling the foreskin back.

"You're so big," you whimper.

Simon lets out a deep, gravelly groan as you speak. It just might be the hottest sound you've ever heard. Right next to the time he was lifting heavy dumbbells, letting all those grunts and growls loose.

He looks down at you, his gaze burning with lust and need, "You want it, baby?" he asks, his hips grinding against your hand harder, "Want this big dick?"

"Want it so bad, Si," you mumbled against his lips, your tongue darting out to lick his teeth.

his mouth claiming yours in a rough, passionate kiss. His tongue immediately tangles with yours, his teeth biting and tugging at your lower lip.

"I know you do," he grunts, his tongue slipping past your lips to slide against yours before speaking again, "You've been eye-fucking me all afternoon, love."

His hands start to wander along your body, mapping your curves with rough caresses,

"You're gonna get it," he husks.

One of his hands moves down to your hip as he moves lower, his mouth following the curve of your throat, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses and bites.

"Want m'cock in that pretty pussy? Or your mouth?"

Where do you fucking think, smart guy?

"In me, inside me, please," you mewl.

His massive paws squeeze your hips to spin you around, planting your hands against the wall.

"Bend over," he growls, his eyes roaming over your body, "'M gonna give you what y'want."

His hands on your hips start to maneuver your body, making you arch your back and hips out.

He runs a hand up your spine, "So pretty," he murmurs as he takes in the sight of your body bent and on display for him.

He steps up behind you, his body flush against your back, his clothes still fucking on and wet and sticking to your body.

"Gonna fill ya up nice n' good," he sucks on his teeth with a low growl, "Been thinkin' o' me all day 'aven't you?"

His hips rock against your ass slowly, his bare cock rubbing on your supple skin.

His hands massage your ass, kneading and squeezing the flesh as you lean on your forearms, moaning as the blunt head notches to your dripping slit.

"Want m'hands all over you," Simon growls against your flesh, his rough palms skimming over your curves, "Mm, relax, yeah? Nice n' easy— Yeah, thas a good girl,"

His hips do a slow, deliberate grind, rocking into you to make room for him as he moves his lips along the curve of your shoulder.

There's slow shallow thrusts, working you open until he takes a deep stroke down to the base. Fuck, he's thick all over, heavy even inside your walls. If you had the brain power, you'd reach below and hold his balls.

"You're so damn gorgeous," he husks darkly, his breath hot against your skin, "I wanted this since I first saw you."

He's so intense he's burning a hole through you with his gaze, his hands still exploring your body, worshiping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.

His hands slide down to the front of your thighs, coaxing your legs further apart, opening you up for him.

"I knew I wanted you the moment you walked in," he breathes, "I knew you'd feel amazing under my hands."

Your cheek presses into the shower wall with a strangled moan,

"S'deep,"

Simon growls at your moan and pushes into you with more force, his hands squeezing your ass to yank you back, spearing you over and over on his cock.

"Fuckin' knew you'd feel s'tight an' good,"

His hand presses on your lower tummy, mouth hot and panting against your shoulder blade. He grabs the back of your hand, his fingers threading through yours and pressing it against the wall.

"Take it, take—this—cock,"

You choke out a moan, slumping against the wall, "please, so close, so close—"

"You gonna come f'me, huh?" he asks, his voice raw and breathless.

It's a lovely sound on him.

"Yes, please, wanna come, haven't came this fast before—" you beg.

He lets out a ragged, possessive growl at your words, his hips piston roughly against your ass, full balls swinging on your clit over and over.

"Come on, pet," he snarls, deft fingers twirling tight circles around your clit.

You whimper loudly, hands sliding down the slick shower walls, hips straining for him as you come hard with a broken mewl.

"That's it, fuck—"

He breaks off in a gutteral moan, hips stilling as he spills inside you. Simon catches you as your legs buckle out from under you, scooping you up against his chest to lean you back against the wall.

You don't even know what just happened in the span of 5 minutes. He's panting hard, his heart pounding against your back.

"Fuck," he growls, burying his face in the crook of your neck, "Fuckin' perfect, love,"

You smile lazily back at him, pawing at his shoulders to pull him in a soft languid kiss, his lips claiming yours in soft, sweet caresses. He melts against your touch, the fierce need from earlier receding now that you're sated. He returns your lazy kiss, his hands gently roaming up and down your back.

"Bloody hell," he mutters against your lips, "Fuckin' perfect, woman." He nips at your neck, "'M not done yet."

Looks like he is the cure to your sleeping problem.

[aatom87]

Changeling Mickbell 😁

dwarf mickbell for the ever greedy fumi

[rorichuu]

Could I request some nsfw of sniper x f!reader where the ready is noticeably smaller? He just absolutely wrecks her from behind while pushing her head into the mattress they’re on?

'' T-T-TIPSY! ''

s n i p e r x f ! r e a d e r :

┆rori's note: oh yeah this is delicious omg

┆desclaimer/tags: size difference, hair pulling, dacriphilia, dumbification, mix of praise and degradation (if you squint), pet names .

Sniper was relentless the past hour. The Australian had one hand on your hip while the other pressed further onto your lower back, pressing you further down so you could feel the entire length of his cock. You whined, choking out cries as your hands gripped the sheets of his campers bed… Sniper let out a low laugh, rumble in his throat as his hips met with yours ruthlessly. “You cryin’, sheila?” He was right, tears rolled down your face as your broken moans met with the pillow beneath you. And though you couldn’t see it, Sniper’s eyes lowered to something darker. His hand slowly ran up your back to the back of your head, gripping your hair and pulling it up with a gentle tug. “I wanna hear ya’ scream, Roo—scared?” His voice wavered a bit with a hint of his teasing as his hips continuously slapped against yours… his cock reaching deep within your raw cunt as it throbbed, the coil in your stomach tightening.

“S…Sniper, please! T…Too much!” You cried out, back arched by Sniper’s own commanding hand. Sniper snickered, his pace beginning to slow to something painful. Your own voice betraying you as you let out a whimper, his hips rolling slowly as you squeezed around him. Sniper groans.

“I can do this all day, love,” he whispered, leaning over and pressing his chest against yours; sweat against sweat. His hand that once held your hip slid down to hold your hand, guiding it to the bulge that corrupted your small body. Sniper motioned for you to put pressure on it. “Feel that?” You whimper, rubbing circles where Sniper’s cock was buried deep into you. Sniper bucked his hips and his hand dropped. “Shit… there you go.”

“S’so big…” you murmured, pouted lips as your cheek pressed against the pillow, a small patch of your own saliva pooling on the tussled fabric. Sniper hummed in response.

“You’re a big girl, you can take it.”

.

.

.

rorichuu!

[faceless-inthecrowd]

It took me a min, but my beloved first Jhea one-shot is here.

A Form of Cheering Up

After Losing to Gunther at Saturday Night’s Main Event, Jey might need a little cheering up.

Or Jey and Rhea find an unoccupied office space to feel better in.

[cin-2-cin]

that trailer huh?

+ Bloody version if you want

Pose from this post here

[jafsisomni]

Because I just had to.

Something something,

"George quietly made his way over to his driver's room, trying not to lose control of his breathing because he already almost fainted during the debrief, almost had another panic attack and made yet again a fool of himself, almost cried about disappointing toto, Lewis, the team and everyone else in the paddock. Closing the door by himself and leaning back against it, he stared blankly ahead of himself, distracted by the floor seemingly swaying and feeling dizzy with the weight of everything that has happened all over the day, all over Qatar, all over the week, all over the whole fucking year.

was it not enough that he tried his best all the time? Was it not enough that he spent longer than anyone else on the paddock, every single day, night in and morning out? Is it not enough yet that he has barely gotten any sleep in the past few months, but nobody seems to care and yet he tries to hold himself within and not let it all spill and say something he'll just end up regretting and because he doesn't wanna hurt or harm anyone else like that? Is it not enough that he tries his best to talk to all the drivers and the people working behind the scenes, get their opinions and not make them uncomfortable or undermined? Is he perhaps too overbearing when he asks about how their days were, Is it a lot to constantly say hello whenever he gets the chance, is it rude to try to talk to each of them privately and respectfully, trying to be as inclusive and understanding as he could manage to be whenever it's required he gets their opinions on something? Is it too faced if he's calm about things when explaining them in the meetings, is it disrespectful if he doesn't raise his voice enough to be properly heard while talking to one mechanic or engineer instead of the whole room all at once during debriefs? Is it unsettling if he pronounces too slowly, maybe he should try to speak more quickly? He remembers as a media new intern girl once shyly asked him to slow down because her english wasn't that good either, during his first week this year, he hopes she's not upset because she's doing such an amazing job?

He wonders if its too faced to want to keep each and every driver's opinion and confidently opinionated talk he'd been trusted with, within the confines of their shared space, a mental space between two people where everyone involved feels comfortable-- wonders if lando is still upset he called the move a little bit reckless in the media pen god knows how many months ago, wonders if he still feels upset about feeling like he's not enough until George held him all through the night, never once taking a moment to breathe through his own dnf. If Alex is still upset with him because he doesn't talk to him as much anymore, hasn't since last summer break, but george promises he's always trying, taking more time out of his own sleep to text the other driver and check up on him, wonders if charles still hates him for the change that wasn't even his to decide, still blames him (by accident, is what he tells himself) for being closer to everyone than they all realise, wonders if franco is still as scared and overwhelmed by it all, up until he cried in his arms during that talk, wonders if logan hasn't called him yet because he wants nothing to do with george after he kept their friendship private and didn't showcase it to the public, and decided he didn't want someone like george around anymore in his life, wonders if Oscar still feels hesitant voicing opinions out as much as he does with either lando or himself.

He sincerely hopes max still isn't mad at him. He hopes max doesn't want to yell anymore about a stupid worthless penalty anymore either. He prays the other man doesn't hate him as much as he told the media he did now, tries not to cry as he remembers everyone going quiet the moment max snapped at him mid meeting and told him to just shut up because he isn't doing anything, would never be anywhere like seb,and that he hated him. Tries not to throw up as he remembers the email, as he remembers almost losing it in front of ola when he asked if george was alright, despite having won, tries not to throw up as the pounding in his head suddenly grows far too strong to be withstood and george finds himself stumbling away from the door in his haste to get away, get out, do something, anything- Just to stop it all and have a single moment of quiet, but he doesn't get the chance to as the door slams open and the force of the sound makes him see dark spots before he notices a figure he could barely make out until someone's talking to him and he suddenly realises it's toto and panics because he's just so,so sorry he'd spoken too much, gone too far and said too much to the media earlier, spilled open far too much and the next thing he knows amidst the fog his name is being called as another figure, he thinks, makes his way in in a rush as more white spirals into his vision and it all goes black and dull and quiet."

something something ;).

@tyremanagementsupremacy

@autumn816

@russelliv (bec i adore u)

@russilton (bec i also adore u and admire u lots)

@dellovestorant (not sure if u even like rpf but I like ur blog sooo)

@georgegraphys (same thing)

@grbambi63 (once again, the same thing ahaha)

[ohnohargrove]

I just imagine Vincent Sinclair would be an incredibly sweet boyfriend. Imagine that he's been caught up in his work for the majority of the day. You had all shared breakfast together at the table before everyone had to go off to do their respective duties. Lester had dropped by that morning and he had gone off to do some repairs in the movie theater, Bo had gone down to the garage to work on a particularly rusty (and "a stubbon sonafabitch" in his words) truck he got from one of his latest victims, and Vincent had hurried off to the basement workshop to start on a new sculpture for the museum. He had assured you he'd be back sometime late this afternoon.

It was now 9 PM and Lester was watching you and Bo get into a very heated game of War on the living room coffee table. Bo was on the couch, You were cross-legged on the floor with Jonesy's head in your lap, sound asleep even though there was heated cursing going on, and Lester was on the arm chair to the side of both of you. Bo threw the cards down on the table. "Goddammit! Where th' HELL do you keep gettin' those joker cards" he let out, bringing his hands up to his face. Lester and you both knew the game was basically over at that point.

You looked at the old, dusty clock on the wall and Lester noticed the look you gave when you finally saw the time. He reached into the cooler beside his chair, got up, and handed both you and the fuming man a cold bottle of beer. "Hey now," he assured, putting a hand on your shoulder, "sometimes Vince gets caught up in his work, that's all. He's always been like that ever since we were little. It's best to just let him do his thing. He'll come 'round. Promise." Bo flicked the cap off of his bottle and onto the pile of scattered cards. "Yeah, damn perfectionist probably can't get the nose right or somethin'." He took a large swig of his beer. "You gonna shuffle those cards and re-deal 'em so I can kick your ass?" You and Lester both shared a knowing look that another game would just turn him into an even bigger sore loser, but you obliged.

It was a little past 11 at that point. Lester had decided to head home after Bo lost for a second time and started pulling the silent treatment towards you. "Jonesy can have a little sleepover with you tonight" Lester said as he was getting his boots on, "she's had a rough day of running up and down the isles and knocking stuff over while I was fixin' it. I think she's pretty tuckered out." You thanked Lester and told Bo you were heading off to bed, which he ignored ("he'll get over it in the morning" you thought to yourself). You passed the basement door on the way to the stairs and still heard opera music playing from below. Lester was right, it's best not to disturb him if he's really this caught up in sculpting. You called Jonesy up the stairs and promised her that she could sleep under the covers tonight.

Light streamed into the windows and hit your face. You noticed that Vincent hadn't come to bed that night and Jonesy was now gone. You looked over at your nightstand to see what time it was, but sitting in front of the old alarm clock was a small figure obscuring it's view. You rubbed your eyes and noticed that it was a small dog sculpted from wax with a folded note underneath. You smiled as you picked the little dog up and ran your fingers over the detailed fur. You reached over to open the note and see what it said. It was somewhat dingey paper with immaculate handwriting scrawled on it.

"My dearest one, I'm incredibly sorry that I stayed out so late last night. I feel horrible that I promised you I'd be done, but time had slipped away from me and I didn't want to wake you. I'm having a particularly tough time with the face of my newest sculpture (especially the nose) and it will take longer than I had anticipated. If you'd like, you may join me for breakfast in my workshop as I finish up. If not, I should be done by noon and I mean it this time. I think Jonesy might like to play in the yard for a while. Forever yours, Vincent"

You got out of bed and headed down to the kitchen, grabbing a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator along with some butter to make toast. You planned on bringing your boyfriend some sunny side up eggs for breakfast and chatting while he finished his work. Playing frisbee with Jonesy could wait until noon so all three of you could play. At that thought, you felt a cold nose press the back of your leg and you handed the pup a slice of bread.

[itsaboutbee]

POV: They call your Plumehound a good boy and not you

[wenclexa4ever]

<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/

My first Fanfiction was just posted! Yay. Go have a read and give me some constructive criticism please. Don’t be mean, not that I can’t take it, I just don’t want to hear it. Thx

[snack-at-midknight]

FINALLY started drawing with the tablet! Here's a redraw of one of the Jeff doodles I did a while back

[treasurehuntbuck]

For my very lovely wife @ninewesternstars for the Roy/Jamie Big Bang 2024, please check out her fic!

building me a fence, (building me a home)

(summary below the cut)

His grandad used to say, lightning never strikes twice. He would give Roy a sly grin when he did, eyes twinkling and accent thick. Even then, Roy knew it held more meaning than the obvious.

(Roy slowly begins to realize what love is. -- Written for the Roy/Jamie Big Bang 2024.)

[kuinaminku]

Chapters: 3/11 Fandom: Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman, Wicked (Movie 2024) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Elphaba Thropp/Galinda Upland Characters: Madame Morrible, Elphaba Thropp, Galinda Upland, Pfannee (The Wicked Years), Shenshen (The Wicked Years), Fiyero Tigelaar, Feldspur | Fiyero Tigelaar's Horse (Wicked), Doctor Dillamond Additional Tags: Time Travel, Post-Canon, During Canon, Post Canon Glinda, During Canon Elphie, an interesting mix for sure, glinda number one yearner, not a time loop fic don’t get it twisted, Slow Burn Summary:

Watching her father’s back as he left, she shook herself out of her trance. She stumbled over to her calendar she remembered she used to keep on the far wall of her room.

And there it was. Indeed, circled in pink marker, with pink sparkles all around it, today’s date.

“One hour, Galinda! Don’t forget!”

She had gone to bed Glinda the Good, and woken up Galinda Upland, ready to leave for her first day at Shiz.

 or

 Glinda wakes up over a decade into the past, on the day she first met Elphie. She decides she’ll do whatever it takes to fix her mistakes and save her.

[shrimpleasthat77]

So hey guys uh I finally got the thing I was working on beta read (in an Applebees no less) so here’s my super secret little project!!! I hope the two aren’t too out of character. If they are then uh sorry chat 🐎🐎🐎

Kabuto would like to think that he’s a rational man.

Undoubtedly, he possessed a brilliant mind and boundless talent, and that fact was known. Any village would kill to have someone as adept as him, whether for his medical prowess or his skills as a spy. If it weren't for him, Otogakure would not run as seamlessly as it does. He was a cog in the machine, but one that was central to the mechanism as a whole. A heavy responsibility would require someone to be level-headed not easily swayed by emotions.

Kabuto thinks he fills that role on most occasions.

On most occasions, he can compose himself. Tonight, however, was not one of these instances.

He was not on a mission; quite the opposite. Tonight, he found himself in his Lord’s quarters, sitting behind him on the silk sheets. He had been summoned for “personal matters,” which just resulted in giving the older man a massage. Kabuto would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy these moments with Orochimaru.

“You are incredibly adept with your fingers, my dear…” Orochimaru sighed, leaning into the younger man’s touches. “I could not imagine anyone else providing this service.”

“It's nothing, My Lord. This is the least I could do for you." Despite his clinical tone, Kanuto truly meant it.

The serpentine man chuckled, leaning his head back. “I wonder…would you do this for any other ‘master’ of yours? A target you had to warm up to, perchance?”

The bespectacled man stopped his firm movements, a gasp escaping him. “N-no, My Lord! The thought wouldn’t cross my mind-“

“-I jest, Kabuto, I jest.” Orochimaru turned towards him, spindly hands caressing Kabuto’s cheeks. “You are oh so easy to rile up~”

Under the gaze of his master’s golden eyes, he feels vulnerable. He may have been fully clothed, but he felt almost as naked as the day he was born. Orochimaru had that effect on people, and Kabuto was no outlier. The only thing he could think of doing now was leaning into his master’s touch.

“You do not have any more tasks for tonight, do you, Kabuto?” The older man questioned, moving his thumbs in a circular motion.

“I don’t think so, My Lord. Do you need anything else from me?” Even in tender moments like this, Kabuto found it hard to articulate his words affectionately.

“Ever so serious, my sweet boy.” He pinched at his cheeks, “I would request that you spend the night with me. It gets oh so cold here, and my body just cannot handle it.”

Kabuto faltered for a moment. “Of course, My Lord, if you’ll have me.”

Orochimaru’s face dropped. “That is what I just asked of you, Kabuto.”

“My apologies, My-“

Before he could finish, his body was quickly arranged to be propped up against the older man. His face was now against a wall of ivory, the skin feeling smooth and dry. His Lord’s left hand gently held his head while the other limply rested on his forearm. The sensation of skin-to-skin contact in such a way fulfilled an ache within the bespectacled man, something he could not place a finger on. His mind couldn’t catch up with how fast everything escalated.

“There, you may relax now. You are always so wound up, my sweetness.”

With that, he did what his lord asked of him. It was foolish to be so vulnerable in front of someone like his master, an extremely volatile and manipulative man, but none of that mattered in the moment.

Kabuto was a rational man, but not when it came to Orochimaru.

[trafficblrpositivityproject]

hgcz appreciation is so real, needed, deserved, HUGE HUGE BIG HUGE appreciation for them and for the project... so much talent effort and time. ive only gotten the littlest snippets and hints via nepotism and GUYS. AS A FANDOM. we have no idea what we are in for

@hotguycomiczine !!!