#interactions ft. simon

[colbyvogel]

"Nobody's thrown rotting fruit at me yet, but the chances are never zero," Colby smirked. "Constant vigilance is necessary to survive in this industry. I assume."

Colby nodded. SIlently, she wondered if that meant this man was mostly a long-term-relationships guy or a casual-hookups guy, but she thought it might send the wrong kind of message if she asked. "I don't have a ton of breakup experience either, honestly... but I've learned all it really takes is one good horrible heartbreak to fuck you up enough for real writing inspiration," she laughed.

"Oh my god, I took a poetry class in college! It was horrible! Absolute worst kind of pretentious people in there. Did you have anyone who thought they were the most profound human ever to grace the planet? Some of them at open mic nights too, oof," she shook her head. "I imagine some people say the same thing about me, though."

As soon as he said the name Dansby Swanson, there was a flash of recognition in her mind. She didn't exactly follow any sports, but she made sure to know enough to keep up with the sporty girls she loved to hit on... and Dansby Swanson did look a lot like this guy. But she couldn't be here talking to Dansby fucking Swanson...

"Bro, don't do that to me, I'm way too gullible," she said. "Literally who are you?"

Simon nodded, able to understand. He'd definitely had more than one night where a clearer head prevailed. His usual poison in that scenario was ginger ale in a champagne flute if he was trying to mask his sobriety, but the bitches with tomatoes made him laugh. "Do people usually stalk you with rotting fruit? Because I thought your performance was way better than that."

Her grin was a thing of beauty and tugged one out of him as well. He'd made the comment in complete sincerity, but now he was glad he had. "You're welcome. I never would've guessed it was a first performance, and honestly, it resonated. I don't have a lot of breakup experience, but that's what it felt like when I was going through my last one, and for some time after."

Of course, he left out the part about bitterness taking hold during what he now called the 'clerical phase' of divorce. He hoped he was dead to his ex-wife and that she didn't think of him at all. He thought of her very little, and it wasn't in any sort of a reminiscent way when he did.

He had to clear his throat, wishing for the bourbon that was now on the ground, but not enough to kneel down and start lapping at the floor. "I've dabbled. I'm a pretty casual musician, honestly. I had to take some poetry classes in college, which is the closest I've come to doing it for any length of time. It was.... not good."

He chuckled. "You caught me. If you squint really hard, you'll realize I'm Dansby Swanson, going incognito for the night."

[khaicrafts]

location: The Scry time: evening @roguelunatiic

"I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting." Khairi says to himself while glancing about as he entered the bar. He didn't expect there to be one in the camp but then again, why wouldn't there be? Mythical creatures liked their booze too. He cautiously steps through, looking at the patrons present, taking in the decor. It briefly brought a smile to his face.

"Heh. It's kind of like walking into a tavern in an RPG." he says aloud while taking a seat at the bar next to a gentleman. He still hadn't remembered anyone's faces and connected the names and godly associations. "What's good here to drink? Do they have bar foods too? I could go for some loaded potato skins." he says rubbing a hand to his stomach. "Uh. If they eat that kind of stuff around here. I've never looked up the diet of Faeries before."

[myriaed]

closed starter for EMMA from SIMON COHEN @lupaeus

"baby girl, i can't keep sneaking you in here. your sister caught us already, who knows what kinda blackmail she'll have up her sleeve with that. but if i'm caught with you in my room, even on your property, your dad can fire me and then i'll lose my job entirely."

[seolinah]

closed for @starlingisms / this (second bullet point) ft. simon x ophelia

Being set up for a date wasn't something he'd normally agree, and being set up on a blind date wasn't something Simon ever wanted to do. But after weeks of being nagged by his friends, he reluctantly agreed just so they'd shut up. Now seeing who exactly he was seated across from though, he wished he had told them to leave him the hell alone.

He couldn't quite remember the last time he'd seen Ophelia, but being set up on a date with his ex was definitely not the way he would've wanted to run into her again. Tapping his fingers along the table top mindlessly, Simon kept his expression relatively neutral in the hopes of not looking uncomfortable. "So I guess we have some friends in common again... Obviously never gave them a run down of my relationship history or we could've avoided this weird surprise."

[homiines]

@lovetold : DAPHNE BASSET NEE BRIDGERTON

fingers dance atop her soft, almost delicate, skin as the sun tries to break through the curtains and illuminate the specks of dust fluttering around them. it's quiet with the house void of any servants for he's banished them to the other side of the vast manor ( only for the morning of course) and with the quietness, it felt peaceful. just the two of them in their little bubble for the time being. his eyes are soft as they rake in the beauty that's laid before him, his lips allowing a smile that lightens a face that has been plagued with stress the last few days. it's been a good few months since the wedding but from the very start, he's been hers completely, both body and mind, and he'll be forever hers. the rocky start they had had only made them stronger and he's thankful that she's still here beside him, gracing him with her gentle nature. ❛❛ i think that we should remain here for the day. london can live without our presence for a day or two. ❜❜ he utters softly, a finger trailing up her arm. ❛❛ what are your thoughts? ❜❜

[darkxtdesirxs]

closed starter for @fvlsegcds

fuck  he  was  so  horny.  and  it  didn't  help  matters  that  simone  looks  so  damn  good.  when  he  had  finally  taken  his  shot,  jackson  was  sure  she  pass  on  him.  baby  girl  was  too  damn  fine  and  a  part  of  him  suspected  she  knew  it.  the  last  month  or  so  was  amazing.  and  those  lips,  he  woke  up  hard  as  a  rock  thinking  about  how  good  those  soft  lips  of  hers  would  feel  over  his  body.  imagining  her  on  her  knees  for  him,  or  her  sprawled  out  over  the  bed.  while  he  went  to  town  on  the  pussy  he  knew  was  sweeter  than  anything.  

goddamn,  he  needs  to  get  laid.  

but  they  were  taking  it  slow.  and  yes  okay...  he  suggested  it.  he  didn't  want  to  scare  her  off.  he  was  a  good  guy,  but  he  was  still  a  guy  that  had  needs  and  fucking  was  a  need,  okay?  he  couldn't  have  sex  for  so  long.  but  something  told  him  that  once  they  did  ...  he'd  be  hooked.  

"  how  did  you  hear  about  this  show?"  he  asked  ending  credits rolling  as  he  lay  on  her  bed.  her  daughters fast asleep in her bedroom  so  any  privacy  too  be  had  would  be  found  in  her  room.  it  was  good  vibes,  fitting  of  her  personality  and  her  bed  was  soft.  he  let  out  a  low  moan  as  he  moved  onto  his  back.  callaoused  hands  reached  for  her  ankle  as  he  slowly  traced  shapes  up  and  down  her  calf.    "  i  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  nerd,":  he  teased  inching  higher  up  her  leg,.  lightly  dragging  his  nails  against  her  skin  watching  as  goosebumps  rosed  in  its  wake"  -it's  cute.  you're  fucking  adorable,  you  know  that?"

[ohcaptains]

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲.

pairing. simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader.

synopsis. simon comes home. he's too tired to fuck you right. eventually, he manages to find the energy.

warnings. 18+ this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy or use ai on my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving penetration, blonde simon lol, somnophilia, dry humping, pussy smacking, and crying during sex. i am not responsible for your media consumption.

an. :) life sucked so i found a new animated character to obsess over. please comment & reblog if u enjoyed !

When Simon comes back, he’s dog-tired.

As soon as his feet touch the welcome mat of your quaint little apartment, he feels all of his muscles relax – as if they’re unpinning themselves from his bones – and he has to give himself a pep talk to muster the energy to drag his hand up to ring the bell.

But he doesn’t have to, because you’re ripping the door open – shining like the sun – and pulling him into your body, rendering all 6,4 ft and 240 pounds of the super soldier to complete mush.

For five minutes, you don’t speak. Just hold him, as you gently rub the corner of his jaw, and brush your fingers through his dirty blonde hair. He clutches you to him.

His fat, paw-like hands hold your upper back, and you hold him with the same vigour. His body – wrapped in his black compression shirt and army pants – is rock solid.

It’s a weaving of muscles that have been tensed for the last two months. It’s going to take a minute for them all to soften, but like he always does when he’s been away, Simon lets out a deep and resolute sigh.

The breath warms your neck, causing it to tingle, and you grasp him tighter, your body waking up.

It’s been a long two months.

He manages to push your intertwined bodies through the doorway, using his boot to kick the door shut. His house smells like home -- funny how you can’t smell it until you’ve been gone a while.

Vanilla and a citrus fruit, mixed with the savoury scent of his favourite meal. He hums again, and you scratch the back of his head, sending shivers down his locked spine.

He knows the route to your bedroom like the back of his hand, and he maneuvers the pair of you inside.

The curtains are closed and the bed is made. You know him. You know him so well.

You let him push you back onto the bed – a blur of familiar limbs and hair – and he settles lower, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Immediately, you drag your legs up and cross them over the curve of his ass.

You’re all warm and soft and pliable. Dressed in a pair of simple cotton shorts and a vest top, he wants to grab fistfuls of you and remind himself of how you feel in his palms. Wants to drag his lips over your skin, bully his way between your legs and remind himself of how you taste.

Fuck, he wants you, in a carnal, almost primal sort of way, and you the same. He can smell it. A sweet but sweaty longing that melts from you and causes his senses to wake.

But he’s so God damn tired.

You know. Know this routine. Know that he has to settle back in.

In the meantime, you’ll just have to wait.

You fiddle with his hair. “There’s dinner if you want it,” you whisper into the dark bedroom, looping the strands between your fingers, committing the soft feel to memory.

Simon shuffles just an inch on top of you, but still, the slight movement of his clothes and hard, clenched body against yours makes you take your bottom lip between your teeth.

It’ll be chewed raw by the time he has enough energy to take you. He grunts something into your skin, and after a second, you gather it’s, tired.

His scent clouds you.

When Simon comes back, he always smells the same.

The soap at the barracks is pine scented – shampoo a strict lemon.

But there’s always a leftover grit to him. A hidden layer the soap can’t clean off, and it makes you delirious. Makes you flex your ass up – just an inch, a sweet, gentle inch that has you feeling the hard lines of his thighs and the metal of his zipper, and Simon’s breathing hitches.

You freeze. With your hips pushed tight against his, you stare at the ceiling, hoping that your worn-out soldier hasn’t felt you move.

Simon stays quiet. His breathing settles. You go to apologise, but Simon doesn’t grumble or make a sly comment. Listening closer to his breathing, you gather that he’s asleep.

Jesus, you think, that’s a record. Barely in the door and he’s asleep, he must be burnt out. Figuring that you won’t be able to crawl from under his weight, you decide it’s your bedtime too.

Sleep comes fast.

Hours later, you blearily blink awake. Not much has changed – the room is still dark, Simon is still heavy on top of you, yet now, you’re sticking to him with sweat.

He’s usually a human furnace, but this is different.

Your skin prickles, vibrating at a frequency that has nothing to do with heat. No, this is…you feel a pulsating between your thighs, and wiggle, feeling your slick coating your underwear.

Fuck, why are you so wet? You clench, and the resulting ache forces you to hiss and push your head back against the pillows. What did you dream about? Thinking back, you come up short. Then why--

Simon shuffles on top of you. It’s a slight movement, but it continues, and all at once, your heart clenches.

Holy fuck, he’s—

“Simon?” you whisper, and your boyfriend whines into your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes, the words wet and desperate. The puzzle pieces lock into place.

He knocks his hips into your crotch once more, and you gasp, clenching, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Simon’s apology comes out again, except this time, it’s christened with a “s-shit – fuck.”

Blinking at the ceiling, you huff and try and glance down, and in the dark, you just about manage to see the outline of his burly body grinding into yours.

You take stock of the situation.

Feel his fat palm around your hip, and squinting, see that he’s got your shorts pulled down around your thighs, and has the band of your underwear looped around his fingers.

Jesus Christ. You fall back into the pillows. “How long have you?” you whisper. “Five – fuck – minutes,” Simon grunts, continuing to roll his thick hips against you. His bulge knocks the edge of your throbbing clit, causing you to gasp again. There’s been no build-up to your want, it’s just there, humming electric, and spread tight over your thighs.

Simon meshes his wet mouth against your chest. He’s tugged your vest top down, too, and his lips close around the skin of your breast. Jesus. He was undressing you as you slept.

“Thought about fuckin’ you, but couldn’t get my pants down, so – shit -- tired. Jus’ woke up and you were just so fuckin’ soft. And wet, Christ, felt you through my trousers.”

Your whole body goes numb. “You were gonna fuck me as I slept?” you whisper, belly flipping. You’d told him – ages ago – that he could, but he hasn’t been here. You’d forgotten.

The image of him pulling your underwear down as you slept streaks across your mind. Imagine waking up with him inside of you, so full and wet and just on the precipice of coming.

Simon grunts. He tugs at the band of your underwear, “I’ll fuck you right, at some point. Just –”

In your delirious state, you manage to finish his sentence, “Tired, I know – I know baby.”

You kiss the crown of his head and whimper into his hair. “Just use me until you’re ready.”

Simon groans out deep and loud. It rumbles against your chest. Echoes through your heart, and you’re so turned on that you begin fidgeting.

You try and squirm away from the stifling ache of your pussy, but Simon’s built like a brick shithouse, so you can’t run from it, just gotta take it and take it and take it, until you can’t anymore, and you break.

You’re so fucked that you don’t even announce that you’re coming, but Simon knows, shit, and as your pussy clenches up tight, he growls low and hard, mumbling, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, until his movements go sloppy, and his breathing goes laboured, and he’s coming into his pants and mewling your name.

When he finally does manage to get inside of you, he doesn’t last long. No, he pushes all the way to the hilt, and you tighten up.

“Stay” you gasp, clenching your pussy around his shaft, and Simon grunts deep and long into your throat.

“S-Stay there,” you moan, then, in case he didn’t hear you, “Stay,” you whisper, and push the ball of your palm into his thick, scarred shoulder. 

You were teetering on a knives edge.

You’ve come once since Simon was home, and your second orgasm of his return was right there.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Simon groans into the shallow of your throat, “Did we do enough prep?” 

“Yes,” you immediately whisper, not wanting him to pull out. 

He’s thick and pulsing inside of you, hard and heavy on top, and God, he kisses at your throat — soft and gentle. You try to swallow down the ball that has swelled in your throat, but tears prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill. 

No no no no, you think. Not now. Not now not now. You try to stifle the tears, but you unconsciously sniff, and despite Simon being perfectly still, he still manages to freeze.

“Sweetheart?”

You inhale, “Yeah?” 

Simon looks up; and seeing tears on your cheeks, his face falls, “Did I hurt you?”

You furiously wipe the tears away, shaking your head.

“M’just overwhelmed,” you whisper, and he presses his forehead against yours, going to kiss you, but the movement causes his hips to flex against you, nudging his cock, and you whine, immediately gripping onto the back of his dirty blonde locks. 

Simon drops his face into your chest and lets out a pained rasp, “Tightening around me, kid.” 

You unclench, “m’sorry.” 

“Gonna come quick.” 

“S’okay.” 

“I’ll fuck you right, just gotta…” he trails off and grabs fist fulls of your hips.

“Fuck,” he huffs wistfully, “This pussy. Missed this fucking pussy.”

You go dizzy with need. Shake your head, and bend to kiss him, tasting his wet and swollen lips. Gently, you knock your hips up into his, and when he lets out a surprised grumble, you flex your hips higher, trying to stuff his cock deeper, further – till you can see it pressing into your belly.

Catching onto your plan, Simon grunts and pushes your hips with his fat palms, pinning your ass to the mattress. 

“Stop,” he orders, and the demand goes straight to your cunt. Jesus. He hasn’t been very dominant since his return, and that little instruction has you chomping on the bit.

“Want you, Si.”

“One stroke and I’ll be fucked.” 

“Just gotta practice.” 

He chokes on a laugh, muttering, “Practice.” 

You try another tactic. Clench around his cock and pout, “Want you to come inside me.”

“Fuck,” Simon cuts. You curl your legs back his back and push your foot into the dense muscle of his ass, at the same time rocking your hips up. Simon lets you. Let’s you try and fuck yourself on his cock. With wet lips, you push your mouth into the shell of his ear, shakily uttering his name.

“Gonna fill me up, Si?”

“Fuckin’ filthy, you know that?”

Simon pulls back, and your heart stutters.

You think he’s going to pull out, until he uses your hips to pull you tight against his cock -- your ass nearly sitting on his thighs. His thick, scarred chest is puffed up.

Cheeks red, and he’s got that animal glint in his pretty eyes.

It knocks you for six.

“Where you want it?” he asks, and you’re confused, until he presses the heel of his palm into the middle of your tummy.

“Shoot my load here, huh?”

Your body goes numb. Eyes white out. It happens so suddenly that it scares you, and you’re a mixture of turned on and frightened, but the fear turns you on even more.

All you can do is blearily look up at him as he slides his paw to the other side of your tummy, “or shoot it here. Fuck it so deep that you can taste it.”

He pretends to think about it. Even hums, before he drags his palm up and stuffs his thumb into your mouth. “Or just directly here, huh?” He snarls a smile, “know you like it when your mouth is full.”

You suck at his thumb, and tighten your cunt around his cock, causing his mouth to open, and eyes to flutter, and just like that, you’ve won.

He comes in record time.

But Simon keeps his promises.

A couple of days later – on the seventh day he’s back -- he fucks you so good, that when you wake up the next morning, you get shy just thinking about it. 

Lay in bed, staring at the ceiling – your boyfriend fast asleep on your chest -- remembering the debauchery you’d gotten up to the night before. 

The pair of you are a little tipsy, drunk on beer and wine, but all it’s done is heighten your senses, and made you fully aware of your desires, so much so, that they pulsate behind your eyelids like a migraine.

Simons got you face down, ass up, and as he pushes you face first into the mattress, he presses his thumb against the tight, fluttering hole of your pussy.  

“Gonna let me inside, baby?”

You sink into your thighs and spread yourself wider for him, humming into your crossed arms. Simon watches your pussy spread further, and he can’t help himself, he has to slide his thumb deeper.

He presses, just barely pushing the tip of his thumb into your wet hole, and you gasp, trying to chase the feeling by inching back against his fat palm.  He laughs at you. “Look at your pussy sucking my thumb in, baby. Wish you could see what I’m seeing. So fuckin’ sexy.”

You hum, the words making you wetter – dripping over his thumb.

“Been dreaming of fucking you right, gonna take you whenever I want.”

“Okay,” you whisper, so delirious that you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. Simon raises a brow,

“Yeah?” he asks, tone breathless. Thought he’d get some pushback on that one, but for a second, he forgot that you said the nastiest shit with his dick inside of you.

You nod into your crossed arms, and Simon laughs again, “Free use pussy,” he sounds, then lightly smacks your sodden folds, causing you to flinch, bucking forward. 

“Oh fuck,” you choke, eyes rolling back. Heat ricochets through your crotch and swamps your belly, before settling back in your aching pussy. Once you manage to collect yourself – and it takes a second -- you huff. “Bein’ mean.”

Simon snorts, grabs your hips, then rams the underside of his cock against your pussy, grinning so big that his scars stretch, “don’t know the half of it, babe.” 

You sob, real tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Your desire is visceral, enough for you to taste it on your tongue. Simon pulls back, and your slick coats the length of his dick, earning yourself another light smack to your cunt.

“Soakin’ me,” he grunts, and you sob into the sheets. “Please,” you whisper, then, please please please, and Simon hears your breathing hitch. 

This time, instead of checking up on you, he chuckles, “Crying again, baby?”

You sniff and wipe your eyes on your wrist, face heating.

“No,” you mumble, and Simon sighs.

He reads you like a book. Always has. Always will.

“Lying to me,” he grumbles, then he steers the uncut head of his cock between your folds, whispering, “Lie to me again, and I’ll give you something to cry about,” before bottoming out in one thrust.

[diamondbridgerton]

once again, the eldest bridgerton daughter found herself alone in the gardens whilst the rest of the ton enjoyed the merriment of the ball. it was strange to flee such a scene for she had been desperate to begin her first season, to find a true love match and finally begin her life. tonight, however, she could not withstand the looks of pity, and in some cases delight, or the whispers that followed her wherever she went. it was mortifying to know that all of the ton were privy to matters of her heart. with a sigh and her gaze concentrated on the ground below her, she continued to pace back and forth before unceremoniously colliding with a man. "apologies," she said immediately, offering the gentleman a curtsy before she glanced up to view his face. "your grace."

@unbented

[forsworned]

⠀⠀⠀˗ˏˋbumblin fool ft. poly!tf141ˎˊ˗

꒰ঌa/n໒꒱ i'm just writing whatever comes to mind at this point, bc i think it's fun to write about how tf 141 would react to a female being on their squad, even if its a bit delusional lol more so on my part but oooohhh welll

꒰warning(s)suggested polyship, fluff꒱

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀˗ˏˋrequests are openˎˊ˗

"How many fingers am I holdin' up?"

Simon's gaze was locked onto her and her lips split into a grin, so clearly dazed and wanting to giggle at his awful attempt at trying to test if she had been concussed from the fall she had just taken moments ago. Fortunately, Simon was able to scoop her up after her head smashed against the pavement, lucky to not have split her skull open but not lucky enough to not have a small knot on her right temple.

"You serious?" She giggled, swaying a bit to the side but he held her still. He couldn't help the annoyed huff that slipped from his lips, but there was a glimmer of amusement behind his eyes. His eye black that had been smeared against his eyes hours ago was now faded from the rain that had drenched them. Even in her allegedly concussed state she read Simon like a book. Always wanting to know all his ticks so she could push the right buttons, usually working in her favor more than her detriment. However, she really couldn't speak for her other teammates.

"Yes, 'm bloody serious. Now answer the question." It was almost playful the way he responded to her. Not wanting to give too much away, but also not wanting to be too rough around the edges for her. God knows he didn't want another go around of the same tears and pouty lips until he had to muster up the pluck to apologize.

Kyle, Johnny and Price couldn't help but chuckle at the scene unfolding in front of them. Luckily the incident had happened on their way back from the bar and not in the middle of a mission. Her usual state of bumbling around, and tripping over thin air was a rather large contrast to how tactful and agile she was on the field. She tapped her chin for a moment with that giddy smile. "Hmm, four?"

Simon glanced between her cute and incompetent expression and his two fingers and then back to her. Kyle was the first to burst out into laughter.

"Bloody hell." Simon groaned as the others chuckled.

"Got ye a concussion, don't y'lassie?" Johnny brushed the hair out of her eyes and she smiled sweetly up at him.

"Bumblin' fool." Simon shook his head.

"Jus a clumsy duck off th'field, aren't ya?" Price grinned, as he softly pinched her cheek. She licked her lips as she wriggled into his touch, feeling the rough pads of his fingers tickle her soft skin. A girly mirth errupting from her and she cowered away playfully from him. A wry grin on Simon's face as he observed the interaction and held her steady once more.

"Well, she's definitely concussed." Kyle laughed again, playing with a strand of her hair. She hummed in content.

"Y'think that's somethin' to be happy about?" Simon's vexation bubbling to the surface at her lack of concern and at his teammate's lack of intiative. All of them at her side, cooing at her in her wobbly and whimisical state and more than ready to take care of her. He pinched the bridge of nose. No wonder she was so giddy.

[aliyebalik]

Life was always fun when Aliye had anything to do with it and a healthy dose of delusion always made it possible. His words were met with a grin, head inclining gently in his direction. "And are you always right?" she asked, sensing that Simon's ego might just outdo her own inflated one.

The admission that his taste could be expensive probably should have given her some pause in offering to pay, but it didn't at all. The concern over whether she could afford it simply didn't exist for Aliye. "Hey, woman of my word over here. If I lose, you order whatever you want to drink," she reaffirmed, not for a second willing to back down on the bet, even if she had literally every reason to do just that.

Picking her drink up to take a few more long sips, Aliye was hoping it would give her the extra boost to somehow magically get better going into the next throw. Especially when she saw the easy spin of the dart in Simon's hands before he let it fly to the board, again with success. "You know, when I find out that you're actually a professional darts player, I'm going to file a complain that I've been scammed," she teased, moving around a bit to hype herself up before her next turn. There was no real method to her toss of the dart, Aliye taking mere moments to try and pretend she knew how to line it up before letting it fly, this time managing a somewhat more respectable throw closer to a bullseye.

@thesimonhawthorne

Simon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Aliye with a small, amused smile as she lined up her shot. "Delusion's half the fun, isn’t it?" he quipped, his voice carrying the faintest hint of an accent he often downplayed. "Keeps things interesting. But who needs delusion when you're always right?"

He turned back to Aliye, one eyebrow raised. “First round on you, huh? You’re brave. I’ve been known to have expensive taste,” he teased, though his tone was light, not wanting to put too much pressure on her offer. He came back with their drinks.

When Aliye’s dart hit the board but didn’t quite make it to the center, Simon couldn’t resist a grin. “You know, when bad shots are all you have, it's just called playing.” He picked up his next dart, giving it a quick spin between his fingers before throwing it with the same easy confidence. The dart landed him a size chunk of points, not as perfect as his first, but still strong. He turned back to her with a satisfied smile. “Your move.” @aliyebalik

[itacats]

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: Weeks without contact had worn Simon down, leaving him adrift in worry and helplessness. His routine at the butcher shop, once comforting, now felt hollow without you. When you finally appeared—with Tom looming behind you—Simon’s protective instincts surged. The interaction between the three of you was tense, every moment charged with unspoken desperation. Despite the fear in your eyes, Simon’s determination solidified: he would find a way to help you escape.

A/N: This chapter is heavy with tension and restraint. Simon’s internal struggle between wanting to act and knowing he can’t risk making things worse mirrors the quiet strength of his character. Meanwhile, your subtle plea for help highlights the immense bravery it takes to reach out while under Tom’s control. A napkin—so simple yet so meaningful—becomes a symbol of hope, a thread connecting Simon to you in this dark moment. The stakes are rising, and Simon’s resolve to help is unwavering. Hold tight—this story is just getting started. 🌌

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 6 - A Fragile Lifeline

The weeks without a word from you had worn Simon down, each day stretching longer than the last. It was as though your absence had carved out a hollow space in his chest, a dull, gnawing ache that refused to fade. Every morning, the quiet hum of the butcher shop felt emptier, the smell of fresh cuts and the rhythmic sound of knives on meat suddenly lacking their usual comfort. He thought of you constantly—how you had smiled, how you had laughed, how your presence had brought light into the mundane routines of his life. And now, without you, everything felt heavier.

He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that had taken root. There had been days when the thought of going to the police had been a constant undercurrent, but each time he considered it, a sharp pang of doubt held him back. What would it change? Would they even believe her? Would it escalate things further? His mind ran in circles, the scenarios of confrontation, or even redemption, playing out in endless loops. But with each passing day, those scenarios remained just that—empty imaginings, no action. Just waiting. Waiting for you to come back.

It was an ordinary day at the shop when the door chimed. The soft, familiar sound normally wouldn't draw much attention, but today it did. Simon turned his head, his heart jumping in his chest when he saw you. There you were, standing just inside the door, a shadow of the vibrant person he remembered. Your face was pale, drawn tight with worry, your eyes avoiding his gaze as if afraid to meet it. And behind you? Tom. That vile, possessive figure standing close behind you, a dark energy wrapping around you like a suffocating fog.

Every instinct Simon had screamed at him to act. To grab the nearest knife, to confront Tom, to break the control he could see so clearly in the way Tom held you. The way you moved under his influence, the way your posture sagged, defeated and submissive. It made Simon’s blood boil. He wanted nothing more than to tear Tom away from you, like a butcher working through meat, to end this torment. He pictured himself with the sharp gleam of a blade, but even as that vision flickered in his mind, the cold logic of restraint held him back. No, he couldn’t do that—not here, not now. Not yet.

Tom sauntered to the counter, his smirk wide and self-assured, while you remained a silent presence, lost in the gravity of his control. Simon felt his eyes flick to you, watching as you shifted from foot to foot, too quiet, too withdrawn, as if trying to shrink into yourself to escape attention. But Simon couldn’t stop watching you. He could see it—the weight of everything you’d endured in your posture, the subtle tremble in your hands. It tore at him.

Tom waved a hand dismissively, not even acknowledging Simon beyond his businesslike tone. "You gonna grab those meats for us, Buddy?" The words were patronizing, dripping with entitlement, and Simon’s grip tightened on the edge of the counter.

You were still lost in your mind, your thoughts far away from the scene unfolding before you. That’s when Simon couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward, slow but deliberate, his body fighting against the need to flee, to act, to shout out. He reached for the meat, his hands steady despite the chaos roiling inside him. The moment was surreal, everything so still, so calm—until it wasn’t. He finished cutting the meats and extended them to you, his fingers brushing against the cool, wrapped packages, but before you could take them, Tom’s hand shot out and snatched them away with a swift motion.

"They can pay," Tom declared, his voice dripping with smug ownership. He glared at Simon as if daring him to challenge him, before turning toward you. His hand landed possessively on your back, pushing you forward towards the register with a casual gesture that made Simon’s stomach churn. "I’ll be outside, dearest," Tom added, his tone dripping with a kind of false sweetness that made Simon’s blood run cold.

As you followed Tom’s direction, head down, shoulders slumped in quiet defeat, Simon’s mind raced. It was all too clear to him now—the power Tom wielded over you, the way you barely resisted. Simon’s fists clenched involuntarily, the heat of his anger rising with each step 

You hesitated, torn between the overwhelming fear that anchored you in place and the instinctual pull to seek help. The pressure of Tom’s presence, so close behind you, loomed like a weight on your chest, and yet something inside you still wanted to reach out. You could feel the heaviness of the moment, the quiet desperation that hung between you and Simon. As much as you knew that any wrong move could send Tom into a fury, the urge to connect, to grasp onto any sliver of safety, was undeniable.

Simon, ever perceptive, had his eyes locked with yours. In that brief exchange, you could see something—a flicker of determination beneath his usual nonchalance. He wasn’t going to let this moment slip away. Not like this. His breath quickened, his hand slightly trembling as he leaned in closer, careful not to draw Tom’s attention too much.

“Don’t worry about it. Just take this,” Simon murmured, his voice low but insistent, as he shoved a napkin toward you across the counter. His movements were rushed, almost frantic, and his heart hammered in his chest as he quickly scribbled his phone number. It wasn’t neat or elegant, but the scrawl was undeniably his—a promise in ink, a lifeline for you to grasp if you needed it. The act felt insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but in that moment, it was everything.

You reached for the napkin, your fingers brushing the cool paper, but your voice—hoarse, tight—cut through the air. “I need a receipt,” you said, the words coming out broken, like they were clawing their way through your throat. "Or he’s going to think I did something for—or rather to— you for the meat to be free."

The confession hit Simon like a punch to the gut. He felt a wave of helplessness crash over him, cold and bitter, as he realized the weight of what you were enduring. The fear, the manipulation, the isolation. His stomach turned as he tried to steady his breathing. But even in the midst of this, he found himself still trying to be practical, to do something that might make the smallest difference.

He quickly wrote up a receipt, his hand shaking slightly, his mind reeling with thoughts of how to get you out, how to protect you. When he finished, he slid it across to you, his eyes briefly meeting yours. He didn’t trust his voice to speak, so instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, sliding it over the counter to cover the cost. It felt like nothing—no price could ever make up for what you had suffered, for what Tom had stolen from you. Still, it was all he could offer in this moment, and it was wrapped in the concern and helplessness that burned within him.

“Take the napkin and hide it,” Simon urged, his voice thick, barely above a whisper. He couldn’t risk Tom’s gaze catching him too intently, not now. “Call that number if you need me. For anything.”

You nodded, carefully tucking the napkin away as if it were a fragile thing, a thread of hope that could unravel the darkness around you. It wasn’t much, but in that brief moment, it felt like the only connection between two people caught in a world they couldn’t escape from. A lifeline, fragile as it was.

As you turned to leave with Tom, Simon watched you go, feeling that familiar ache in his chest. He didn’t know if he’d ever see you again. In the weeks that followed, he caught glimpses of your face in the crowd, flickers of you as passing customers came through the butcher shop, and each time, it felt like a ghost, a shadow of the person he had come to care about. He would hear echoes of your laugh in the steady rhythm of his work, memories of moments shared, fleeting glimpses of a life he hoped you could have.

But Tom never relented. He kept you locked in his grip, always lurking just beyond Simon’s reach, and Simon couldn’t do anything more than wait and watch as the world around him continued to spin, unsure of where you were and whether you were safe. Still, he clung to that napkin, to the small hope that, somewhere, somehow, you might call.

Tag List:

@jessicab1991

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[jacenotjason]

oc dump. i have strep throat halp

i have discovered that when im super ill, when i have energy the only thing i want to draw is my ocs. it feels a lot less important to draw them, so ifeel okay if i screw it up yknow?

anyways, on the menu today we have Julian (+ mori cameo, @jbwashere), simon, and riff raff

(very itty-bitty cw for pill bottle if that bothers you)

riff raff's design here is supposed to be a stained glass window. similar to how discord (mlp) was imprisoned in stone i imagine riff's prison was a window. free my boy he did do that shit

then i drew moreeee riff raff

ft john! a canon charaacter woa!!

ive said this before, john is always.. my john doe. my placeholder for main characters when it comes to canon interactions. dunno why i always put that man in situations...

[myriaed]

@carp3diems liked simon's sc // for apollo!!

❝ i'd ask if you're havin' an issue trackin' someone down but considering... ya know... what we are i'm guessing that ain't what you're here for. ❞ simon had temporarily settle down in town, giving himself a break from the hussle and bussle of new york city. his private investigator business was still picking up, mostly word of mouth in a town like this, but business was good. he was surprised to sense another werewolf walk into his office. ❝ this ain't some 'you're on our pack's land' dispute thing is it? ❞

[seolinah]

closed for @wraithliked for liking this post // ft. simone + muse of your choice

A soft sigh passes through her lips. Eyes wandering towards them. "So..." Simone breathes out, catching their attention. "Are you, uh, planning on sticking around much longer? Because I sort of had plans and I'd rather know now if I need to tell them I'm running late or if I need to cancel my plans altogether."

[belovedivies]

裏 ft. yuika

cw: spoiler alert for yuika's backstory, mentions of typical-canon violence and death, emotional manipulation, suicidal thoughts, general bad vibes. pre-simon arc, implied kageo/yuika. masterlist

Sometimes, Yuika wondered what life would have been like if her whole clan hadn't been eradicated.

She's not delusional enough to think it would be a fairy-tale happy ending or anything. Ever since her childhood, those days weren't an easy path filled with sunshine and rainbows that people loved to sing praises about: a fuck ton of rules to obey as the future heiress, long indoor training hours until her heart threatened to stop, and maybe candy for a treat on rare occasions because, for all the wealth her Wandering Ghost Blade clan had had, she couldn't afford the luxury of simply being a kid.

It's no fun for a girl like her. Soft hands, big smiles, and a head full of ideas—all Yuika ever wanted was someone she could talk to. The servants would brush her hair, draping her body in the finest silk on every birthday as Yuika browsed through an array of perfumes expensive enough to feed an entire nation of starving people. What started as a delight that her muted world had gained some temporary vibrant colors soon became another burgeoning monotony. When those bottles filled up a whole room and her maids' comments felt more like bittering jabs than they were applauds, the cheerful child in Yuika also died a little.

But at least she still has her mother.

Kageo, too. The two people who made her feel like an actual person somewhat rather than a statue on a pedestal. They just didn't have the chance to be around that much in the past, and sadly so was she. Day-in and day-out etiquette lessons and sword practices ensured that none of her time could be wasted on mundane interactions. Her uncle was a strict man, and for years, Yuika was stuck in this confusing loop of thanking the man for what he had done for the clan when her father couldn't, resenting him for the way he had treated Kageo, and fearing that one day he might turn his back against the ones he called family. Still, he did what he had to do for her and the clan. Even until his dying breath, the old man had only wanted the best for Yuika.

But what had she wanted for herself?

What if there hadn't been a firelit graveyard filled with rotting, gas-filled corpses that Kageo had carried her away from on that fateful night, but a cozy lawn in the summer moonlight?

Deep within the mansion, tucked safely underneath the futon's duvet, Yuika would sleep like a baby. Her duties wouldn't be any less daunting, her people wouldn't look at her as anything but a pretty doll on display, and her life would still be laid out for her.

But maybe…

Maybe she could spend more time with her mother. Flashed her doe eyes and begged hard enough so that she would let her sweet girl tag along for afternoon tea. Yuika missed her gentle touches; how she wanted to sit on her mother's lap and hear the woman talk about her day again, just once more.

Maybe, with some effort and miracle, she could convince her austere old uncle to mellow out a little. He shouldn't be so harsh on people for things they couldn't control. Yuika used to wish he would see how unfair he was and how it would be so much better if he stopped viewing everyone outside the clan as a threat.

Maybe she could finally talk to Kageo without risking him another brutal beating.

Maybe she could have been more than a husk filled with vengeance and hatred.

Maybe she could be normal.

But her whole family was dead; her hands were soaked in the blood of two thousand individuals and counting; her name and Kageo's plastered all over Japan and the FBI's warrant.

Sometimes, Yuika wondered if she regretted the person she had become.

Maybe she did.

—

The second time Yuika thought about it rationally, her heart in her throat and your hands on her shoulders, she realized that she hated this life too.

It's fine. At least they weren't on the run anymore; one week after Raphael took the pair of street rats in and gifted them a fancy ship. Kageo was out discussing whatever with the new boss, but Yuika couldn't be bothered. All the time wasted on revenge, all the things she wanted to say to him had turned into her barely saying anything meaningful at all. A hundred miles away from land on the Ghost Cruise, Yuika heard the waves and saw the barely-there ray of a distant lighthouse through the window; your fingers carded through her hair, the phantom of a caress.

"How's Yuu-chan settling in, hmm?" you chirp. "Is everything to your liking?"

Glory Club seemed to have a penchant for idiosyncrasy, she thought. Both in the way this place functioned and how its subjects were treated. She wasn't complaining; she finally got a place to stay and a large tub to relax in, sprinkled with a few drops of lavender oil and rose petals. Yuika reeled her mind back to reality, letting out a small chuckle of her own when your fingers curled around a lock of her hair with more force than needed.

"Everything's perfect," she said, wetting her tongue when she remembered she had one. "Kageo and I would like to thank you again for your kindness."

Your grip loosened instantly as you let out a giggle, each titter cutting the back of Yuika's skull like a sharp blade. "Raphael's kindness," your jollity was still there, fingertips massaging the shampoo into her scalp. "But I'm glad; you're definitely looking better than you were last week, Yuu-chan!"

She allowed herself a humorless smile. "Do I?"

"Of course!" another enthusiastic remark. When your thumbs grazed the back of her neck, Yuika briefly wondered how many lives those hands had taken. "Your hair feels softer now, your eye bags are gone, and even your mood seems to increase too— well, you killed two of my brother's underlings today, but that's okay! Yuu-chan is happy, right?"

Because she was finally home.

In some ways, she hadn't changed at all. Yuika wasn't any less scared or clueless than the girl she had been thirteen years ago on that stormy night, rushing through the villa barefoot to reach her mother's chamber. She opened up to you almost too easily, finding solace in your touch like a bear that had been melted into butter. You reminded her of the woman so much; it's weird. It's so fucking weird. You're so fucking weird. Who the fuck invited someone they barely knew for a bath?

There was this sudden, crushing silence, save for the sound of water sloshing as you rinsed her hair. Yuika pursed her lips—neither a yes or no to your earlier query—and said your name. Quietly. Hesitantly. Like she was the one giving the question instead.

But you pressed closer, every inch of your front touching her back, and somehow, somehow Yuika already knew your answer before you even voiced it out.

"Hmm? What is it, Yuu-chan?"

"Why us?"

Why chose them?

Why brought them in and showered them in benignity?

She shouldn't be thinking this much, but you nuzzled into the junction where her neck met her shoulders; hands circling her waist underneath the water like a mother's embrace on a winter eve; smile imprinting her skin like an uncle's rare approval; eyes packed with a loving warmth like the daisies her and Kageo smelt that July noon in the bamboo trail behind the clan, and Yuika wanted to curl up and die, just a little bit.

"Yuu-chan, let me say this."

She let you.

"I remember when you first came in," you traced some unknown, asinine shapes on her stomach. "Tired, hopeless, and burnt out. You were a shell," the motion stopped as your hands left her midriff to dance spider-quick up her arms. "Barely eating, barely sleeping."

She was barely even alive when Kageo dragged her sorry ass from whatever shitty motel they hid in all the way to Korea.

"Who took you in? Who helped you?"

Kageo, I'm hungry. Where are we gonna go? We killed them; we killed them all. I didn't fucking choose this life. I never wanted us to be fugitives. You should just leave me be. Kageo, Kageo! I heard the sirens—

"Y-You," Yuika choked out, the gentle waves on the side of the ship ringing like a thousand agonizing screams in her ears. "You helped us."

"Raphael helped you." you corrected her, softly. Hands resting on her shoulders like the starting point of a never-ending game. "Because?"

"We need him."

"And?"

"He needs us."

"To?"

"Kill Peter."

"That's right," you patted her shoulders, then her hair. Each digit rubbed against her scalp as if nothing was amiss. As if they weren't on a giant cruise in the middle of the ocean, and Yuika wasn't trembling with the weight of her existence.

When she stilted, you giggled. Louder this time. "You're very talented, Yuu-chan," squeezed her. "But you're too soft; you don't belong in this world."

Not when the guilt of what she did still shadowed her.

Not when the gore and carnage wore her skin and burnt into her flesh.

Yuika couldn't learn to love the danger this line of work brought if what actively kept her alive now was the thought that one day she would get away from it.

"Shh," you cooed, smoothing out her still-damp hair before she could muster the strength to weep. "I know, Yuu-chan. You're not here to stay. Do your part well, and you can leave. Both of you."

"I," Yuika gritted her teeth. "But I did so many unforgivable things—"

"I've done far worse." the girl almost flinched when you tugged sharply on her hair, but instead of sharp pain, there was this fuzzy, suffocating warmth spreading down her spine. "So don't think too much, okay?" you continued, chiding her with an amused laugh. "Silly Yuu-chan," a soft sigh left your lips. "You deserve happiness too!"

"I… I do?" she muttered, small and helpless.

"I wouldn't think otherwise," another chuckle. The water rippled and splashed around them as she felt you stand up, followed by a cheerful, "Let's go; those two might be back soon." that strangely, anomalously brought a wry curl to her lips.

But when Yuika turned her head around, you weren't smiling at her.

taglist: @yaoduriaa @anjeliquesworld @crazycatwithscissors @i-anoobis-i @galaxyquirks @poppytartt @funsizedlaziness @missroro @hot-mexican-rat @hdstudio-045 @jaazoldyck @izzatune

[ask-dumbcrittersshop-au]

DCS!Brud: You can ask me or this little fellows anything, I guess!

Ask is open!

Rules:

- No weird/horny/NSFW ask ooc is a minor!

- No spamming asks in Inbox please!

- No shipping between characters or oc's allowed! There's already canon ships in the au! (srry)

- Interactions with characters allowed! Just don't be a weirdo!

- Rp's allowed!

- Magical anons allowed! (But not the weird ones)

- Other au's interactions allowed! (But not other fandoms interactions allowed! I might not know the character n have zero ideas how to answer)

- Oc's interactions allowed! N adding ur oc's in my au allowed! ><

On all talking asks will answer Brud, critters can't talk(or they can answer u on their own language)!

Canon ships in the au:

Jevin x Simon, Raddy x Durple, OWAKCX x Tunner, Oren x Pinki, Garnold x Clukr

Mr. Tree, Mr. Sun, Mr. Fun Computer n Funbot does exist in the au, but they have other function/they can't talk!

Forgot to mention:

Brud is 24 in the au, n he's 5'9 ft tall ><

Tags:

shop drop - lil art posts or smth ><

sillies being sillies - ship arts

crittersreblog - rebloging smth

dcsask - ask answer

dcsdare - interactions with critters

dcsrp - rp time! ><

dcsrequest - art requests related to au

critters facts! - some silly facts about critters

ooc yap - me talking - ▾ -

Main acc - @krislgfox

That's all I guess! See ya all! ><