#simon oc

[skretri]

Meet Argus & Simon (Icely) !!!!

[whumpsoda]

Seeing Me in You - A Real Name

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker,

——————

“You been thinking about names?” Isaac asked, flopping down on the couch. Smiling, her hands folded over each other casually in her lap as she gazed expectantly to her pet.

“Yes, ma’am.” He replied with the softest of a nod. She had ordered him days before to come up with names for himself, a strange request. A master would want to be the one to name their pet, would they not? Weren’t those the rules?

“Got any in mind? Any you like?”

“No, ma’am.” 

Her face dropped a smidge in disappointment, churning a quease in his belly, before she jumped back to her feet. “Give me just one second.” Stepping to the short shelf pushed against the opposite wall, she studied the titles intently, before pulling one out with excitement.

“Here’s some names. A whole book of ‘em.” Isaac announced, flipping to the first page of the thick book, filled to the brim with them, “Edith uses this one all the time, and pretty much all��ve our rescues pick one from in here. I’ll read some out to you, and maybe you’ll hear one you like.”

She recited each and every one in the order they were listed in, looking to him after each name. It was almost as if she wanted his approval, such a foreign concept that 253719 didn’t understand. Though, it was usual for him not to understand her, the other masters, or any of the out of line pets around him.

“Abraham? Arthur? Atticus?” She listed, turning to him with her tender, kind smile that meant even though things were weird, he wasn’t being bad. 

“Whatever pleases you, Master.” He had merely replied after every look, the safe answer he held close to his heart. Nearly was he not even listening, mind wandering to emptiness as he kneeled on the rug beside her. But she continued still, not satisfied with it. With him. 

Until one name.

“August?” She inquired, and he perked up, the lightest of a glimmer in his eye. He recognized August. Isaac chuckled, giving him a sweet pet to the head that he leaned eagerly into. “You like that one?”

He didn’t like it necessarily, a pet didn’t like, but his master did.

Fall was his master’s favorite season, where all of the magically vibrant colored leaves would fly through the chill turning air. The month of August fell during fall, right? He could have sworn it did. 

252719 remembered his master repeating his statement of likeness every year as they sat together on the porch, 252719 kneeling beside him as he smoked. I just love fall, such a pleasant time, he would say, a rare smile strung over his lips. The foul smelling smoke would fill his pet’s nostrils, filling his lungs and tempting him to cough, but he wouldn’t. He was good enough to know not to.

And if his master so decided he wanted to utilize him for another purpose, one he wasn’t designed for but his master enjoyed, he would welcome the stinging burn of the cigarette digging a sizzling hole into his exposed flesh. He would whimper and whine pathetically with affliction, just as his master liked it.

252719 missed his master. He missed him so much it hurt, terribly so, tying suffocating knots all throughout his grief stricken body. Even the pain he inflicted the pet missed.

But they wouldn’t let him leave. Especially the one that was his new master who said she wasn’t but he knew she was. She said no running away, and so he couldn’t. 

But he wanted to.

And wanting was weird and bad. He was not supposed to want, but he did and it kept him up at night, tossing and turning over memories of his master, over anxieties of this new place where everything is confusing and strange. How it was changing him and making him so very bad.

“Yes ma’am.” 252719 - no, August - mumbled, to her glee. 

August. He had a name now. A real name. Not like the numbers his master called him by. He had a person name.

And August liked it.

…

The clothes were terribly uncomfortable. Not being used to having fabric layered over his skin he cringed, scrunching the soft lines of his plush face. 374629 was not ungrateful, never would he dare to be, he simply did not understand why his master had made him dress. He never had clothing beside a dingy pair of boxers in the facility, and was convinced he would not outside of it either. But there he was, anyway, adorned in his master’s clothing.

He was his master, right?

Me too.

374629 couldn’t help but wonder what he meant. Because of course his master couldn’t be a guard dog, let alone a boxie himself. Masters were people, not pets, and such things were not interchangeable, he knew that. 

His master didn’t even act like a pet. No crawling, no mantras - except for, well, when he repeated his pet’s, but that was different, was it not? -  no collar, no master, no pet.

His master was not a pet. He was sure that was not what he had meant, and a real pet like him should not have even been worrying about it. All he needed to worry about was keeping his master completely and absolutely safe. 

So he forced his brain back into blank and utter emptiness once again, saving himself for the danger of any possible threat. He would keep himself vigilant like he was trained to be. 

His master hummed as he cooked, with a sing-song voice creamy like butter that licked his ears with the hint of gravel. He twirled the spoon around the pot, sticky with hot mac and cheese that took over the air of the apartment. 

374629 had never had macaroni before, only the gray slop his handler had plopped into his dog bowl at least once a day. He held no hope for the chance of receiving any, knowing his place well. 

So when his master, still humming loud and clear, placed a large, human sized bowl of macaroni before him, 374629 didn’t know what to do. He knew he wasn’t supposed to eat it, that was for sure. So he waited.

His master plopped down at the table beside him with his own bowl, steaming the same as his. “That’s for you, okay? I want you to eat as much as you feel you can, if, um, that’s okay.”

Oh. 

Maybe… maybe it was for him. 

And so he ate. Warily at first, waiting for a kick to the face as he descended his mouth to the height of the food, ass up and hands on the wood. Position five. It never came.

But was his meal delicious. 

He’d never tasted anything so good in his life, so wonderful he could never believe he was deserving of it. It spread a cozy warmth of magic through his mouth, not enough to burn but enough to have him melting in a puddle on the floor. Tastebuds sparkling with excitement he plunged back in for more, scooping up pieces vigorously with his tongue and allowing them to dance through his mouth as he chewed.

“So” his master started, pulling him away from the heaven that was his dinner,  “Got any name ideas? It can be anything.”

Oh, he was so bad. Had he missed an order? Was he supposed to have been doing so?

“N- no, sir.” He didn’t even want to dare think about a name for himself. His name was for his master to decide, it was the rules. He couldn’t disobey, but was he really, when his master wanted it? 374629 swallowed another mouthful of cheese dripping noodles, mouth dribbling with sticky remains that pooled at his chin.

“That’s okay.” His master told him, although he knew he didn’t mean it. Nothing was okay when your pet was too stupid for you. “I wish… I had Edith’s book with me… I guess we’ll just have to think about it for a bit. Just let me know if anything comes to mind, um, that you like.”

He could… do that. Did he know any names? He didn’t even have one himself.

He knew… he knew His handler’s name. His first, not just his last, even if he wasn’t really supposed to. Of course he had never called him by it, only Handler Parker, but he’d heard it before.

Hey, Simon, I guess you’ve finally gotten this one under your control.

He missed his handler, he supposed. Missed the strict order and absence of confusion. With his handler he knew exactly what to do and what not, and now it felt like he was all alone with his training. Really, he was.

Handler Simon Parker.

“Simon?” He shifted up to his master, eyes falling wide, “Is that what you said?”

Had he-

He’d said that out loud-

“That’s a nice one. It fits you. I like it.” His master said, lips upturning to a grin. He looked excited, almost, and terribly pleased. “Do you like it?”

He hadn’t really-

But he did, and his master liked it. 374629 was going to be sick, stomach curling in knots as burning bile bubbled in his belly.

His lips carefully parted, quivering as his fists clenched, uncut nails burrowing into the flesh of his palm. “What- whatever pleases you, Master.” He choked out, words tinged with the rasp of shock as he turned his gaze back to the floor.

“I really like that. I think it’s settled then.” His master giggled, sweet and bubbly that failed to calm his pet’s horrified heart. “Welcome to the family, um, Simon.”

——————

Isaac is from a different connected bbu story I just posted earlier today if you want to check that out here :)

———

Masterlist

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @3-2-whump @taterswhump @fefe658 @whumped-by-glitter

@pigeonwhumps @whumpinthepot @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @tippytappytyping @ivymyers

@octopus-reactivated @loserwithsyle @snakebites-and-ink @itsawhumpsideblog @otterfrost

@parasiticwhumpee @starrysky888 @isntthisblank

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[distracted-obsessions]

Can't You Hear Me Scream? Part 1

Warnings: Shock collars, calling Whumpee 'Puppy', mild disassociation (I think), mild sleep deprivation, TV show hosts.

Please tell me if I need to tag anything else.

Part 2 | Masterlist

...................................................................................

Knock, knock.

Mal groaned at the knock at the door, far too tired to actually get out of the pile of soft blankets and plush pillows that made up his little nest on the floor. From the long day of press releases and photo ops with 'the city's greatest heroes' to a long, overcast night fighting supervillains and getting his ass kicked while he hoped for a glimpse at the moon, he had barely been awake when he crawled into the nest last night. That hadn't stopped the nightmares but then again, nothing would.

"Mal?" A far too chipper voice said through the door. Liam. "Mal, you're going to miss breakfast! Wake up!" a couple more knocks at the door.

Mal rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. He just wanted to sleep. Preferably without dreams.

There was an uncomfortable buzz from the shock collar around Mal's neck, a warning of pain that shocked him awake in a moment, making him sit up in the nest. "I'm awake!" Mal shouted, hoping to avoid a real shock. "I'll be out in a minute!"

"You better be! You know how the captain gets when our puppy doesn't eat!" Liam laughed, not unkindly, but Mal flinched at the nickname anyway. He really should have been used to it by now. After 5 years at Camp Rainer and 3 different teams after that, he should have been used to being called 'puppy'. But it made his inner wolf growl with irritation every time, self-preservation be damned.

"I'll hurry," Mal said, reaching to pull on some clothes. He didn't dally but he still expected it when a second warning buzz came 5 minutes later, this one probably from the captain. He trudged out of his room and headed to the dining room, ignoring the happy chatter as he sat at the table and laid his head on the cool wood, closing his eyes.

"You tired, Mal?" Maya asked with a gentle smile.

Mal smiled back out of habit and nodded. "Just stayed up too late last night. I'll be fine."

"Good," the captain, Simon, said, putting a plate of food down for Mal and petting him in between his wolf ears. "We have an interview with Callie so you need to eat up and be well-rested so that you don't try to bite people's heads off."

Mal fixed his hair and dutifully ate the food set in front of him. He hated interviews and Callie specifically. The fake smiles and cutting remarks made him want to bang his head against the wall. She wasn't any worse than any other TV show host but she seemed just as equally upset that the team treated Mal like a dog as she was likely to treat him like one herself. The hypocrisy itself was enough to make Mal's head hurt.

Mal ate quietly while the team ran over test questions and rehearsed answers. Mal didn't need to participate. He didn't technically have to be there at all. He was just there to show how good the rehabilitation centers like Camp Rainier were at taming wild beasts like Mal and he was already an expert at that. He hadn't even realized that he had zoned out until-

"And before we forget, we should probably change Mal into his public appearances collar."

Mal glanced at Kate, carefully keeping his face neutral as twin waves of anger and anxiety ran down his spine. His 'public appearances' collar was about four times more sensitive than his normal collar and the shocks ramped up in intensity much quicker. Even on his most careful and obedient behavior, he still got shocked at least once every time he wore it. If he didn't know this team better and didn't know the policy he might have assumed that they were just cruel for the sake of cruelty. Sadly, he did know better and no amount of begging would change policy. He had tried.

"Thank you, Kate," Simon said, pushing Mal's plate closer to him in an effort to make him eat more. He knew from experience that just being in that collar made Mal lose his appetite. Mal took a moment to indulge in some healthy annoyance at that before shoving everything back into their respective boxes in his head and forcing down a few more bites. "Liam, since you're done eating, can you go grab that?"

"Right away, Captain!" Liam left whatever he was tinkering with today on the table and left the room. Mal managed about four more bites before Liam came back. His fingers tightened around the fork, the thought of stabbing Liam with it and bolting entering his head and immediately being directed towards the appropriate box as he slowly put the fork down and pushed away his plate.

Simon stood and walked around behind Mal, turning off and unbuckling his current collar and putting the new one on. It was sleek and black, the 'corrective measure' more hidden but easily seen when pointed out. Mal's shoulders tensed when Simon switched it on, the tell-tale beep almost making Mal flinch. Simon rested one hand on Mal's shoulder and pet him with the other until Mal could force himself to relax back into his calm mask.

"Good boy," Simon said in that same deadpan he said everything in. Mal knew it was just the conditioning that made him preen at the praise but that didn't make him stop. Just sent an undercurrent of frustration through his head. Simon gave him one last pat and sat back down, leaving Mal to figure out how to breathe around the collar.

They finished breakfast quickly and piled into the armored car to head to the studio. When they got there, everyone got into their makeup and headed to their spots, having small chats with Callie and the staff. Mal mostly just sat quietly in his chair and started weaving in his head to calm himself down.

In. Out. Over. Through. Add another color. First color in. Second color out. Second color over. First color through.

The music that signaled the start of the show played and Mal made sure he hadn't forgotten to put on a smile before going back to his weaving. Add another color. Second color in. Third color out. Carry first color. Third color over. Second color through. Carry first color.

"So Mal, how has working with the city's greatest heroes been treating you?" Callie asked in her blindingly bright voice.

Mal looked at her and then glanced around at the team. The captain's serine smile and eyes that stared right through Callie, Liam's bouncing leg and hands signing the conversation to the crowd, Kate's calm, neutral expression and subtle 'get on with it' gesture, Maya's expectant look and encouraging smile. He heard his own screams playing from one of the boxes in his head as he turned back to Callie with his own calm smile.

"Better than anything else in the world."

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Meeting Simon

Lucien Masterlist

Y/N had just finished making a rope out of her bed sheets when there came a knock at the door. She scrambled to hide her escape attempt. Taking the sheets up in a bundle, she shoved them inside a wardrobe. Another knock at the door.

“Excuse me, Miss, may I come in please?”

Y/N tilted her head. That didn’t sound like Lucien.

“I can’t open the door, it’s locked,” she called back.

“Yes, I know,” the voice said, “I was just trying to respect your privacy. If it’s alright, I’m going to open the door now.”

The door opened with a click, and a young man walked in with dirty blond hair and honey brown eyes. He wore a simple gold cross around his neck. He carried a brass serving cloche in his hands.

“Hello,” the young man said, “Lucien said you might be hungry.”

He stepped further into the room, setting the platter down on a little table and removing the lid. A warm, mouth-watering aroma wafted over to Y/N. A hearty breakfast had been set before her.

“Okay, thank you,” Y/N said quickly, “uh, I’ll see you around.”

The man tilted his head.

“You tied up the bed sheets, didn’t you?” he asked knowingly.

Y/N stiffened.

“…No,” she lied.

“It’s all right,” he said, “I don’t intend to tell Lucien. Might I sit with you for a bit?”

Y/N didn’t like this. Why wouldn’t this man hurry up and leave so she could get back to escaping!? Yet, She found herself nodding to him all the same. The man thanked her and sat down, as did she.

“My name is Simon,” the man said, “Simon Gilchrist, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I’m Y/N… Y/L/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Simon said.

Y/N looked at the breakfast warily. It seemed alright, but then… Lucien had seemed alright.

“Do you have any dietary restrictions?” Simon questioned.

“Hm?” Y/N asked, “it isn’t that…”

Simon paused for a minute.

“Oh,” he realized, “may I?”

He picked up a small piece of bacon and ate it.

“Not laced at all,” he said, “or if it is we’ll both find out in a minute.”

That seemed good enough for the time being. Y/N started picking away at the food in front of her. It tasted as delicious as it looked. The meal would’ve fit right in at a lord’s castle.

As she ate, she could hear voices outside, further down the hall. One sounded like Lucien, the other was completely unfamiliar. It sounded deep and commanding. She couldn’t make out any of the words, but it sounded like an argument.

“Who is Lucien talking with?” she asked.

Simon’s expression became unreadable.

“We prefer not to mention him,” he said, “it’s no one you should have to worry about.”

That was not at all comforting, even if Simon had meant it to be. Y/N’s appetite drifted away, replaced by growing unease.

“Sooo,” Y/N started, “how do you know Lucien?”

Simon chuckled to himself.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

“I’ve got time.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately I do not,” Simon said, getting up, “I have my studies to return to. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Simon left the room. Y/N watched him leave. The sounds outside dwindled from two voices to one. Y/N made up her mind then and there. There was only one way out of here.

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit @telltaletoad @bacillusinfection @noseyowes @xxarson-forbr3akfastxx @violetvase

[corruptfoxarc]

Happy valentines

Julian(last one) is : @snuffk1t oc

[simon-foxx]

Ummm guys

I think I have a problem guys

[pawsun]

Another drawing of Argus and Icely =3 I LOVE THEM ‼️

OCS @skretri 💗

[ossumarts]

You should draw a microraptor (or any small theropod!).. or your favorite oc? Love your style!

OMG IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO RESPOND TO! I finished this drawing a while ago and completely forgot what it was for I’m so sorry 😭

Tysm for the ask and compliment omg! it was so fun to try and do feathers :]!

Also drew my oc Simon, he’s based on a sinosauropteryx so I guess that counts as a small theropod too, tehe

[thecluelessdoctor]

hey.

Look

I made art of my aftermath cast

Simon doing Simon things

Rayray being annoying. Fun fact: rayray is based on Riri from Romantic killer. If you have seen that anime just know I love you

Also ray ray has a redesign. I took his horns and gave him hooves in stead

A

He's gay! And don't smoke kids

Don't be like John

No you can be gay i-

Ok I'm shutting up

Flustered

You ever have that one friend you wanna grab the head of and crush

Golly I wonder what rayray is teasing him about

Oh

Well that just took away any tension

Screw you rayray >:(

Don't ask me how this works just let me ship my skeletons

Also I'm sorry I haven't drawn Oliver ik you all love him/j

[dreamberry24]

Math sketches because quadratic equations are boring

[skretri]

here some argus & icely art i did while i was on my mental breakdown 💪💪💪

[tobeholyistobeempty]

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

based off a request i got - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.

find part two here.

————-

it’s honestly not even your fault.

you’ll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - he’s the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now you’re blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simon’s arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.

simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because he’s the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.

needless to say, he’s used to this by now. used to the way you’ve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesn’t say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesn’t complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if he’s a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.

he’s tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.

“jesussi—you’re big.” it’s slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. “like, industrial grade. military-issued big.”

the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober you’d see the smirk he’s biting back.

“tha right?”

“mmm. like a fuckin tank,” you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. it’s involuntary - just like it’s involuntary when he twitches. “or an armoured vehicle. y’should come with airbags.”

simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.

maybe he’s not as used to this as he thought - because this isn’t just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.

hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.

“you’re drunk,” he breathes.

you grin. “so’re you.”

“not even half as much as you.”

you let out a giddy little laugh that makes him glance down, at that. it’s quick and brief, the way his eyes flick over you, like he’s checking to make sure you haven’t stripped mid-hallway. it’s just the bickering that gets you. makes you warm inside.

“m’not that drunk,” you lie through your teeth with all the drunken confidence you possess. “i mean—i am, but not like…memory loss drunk. i’m still gonna remember how wide your shoulders are tomorrow.”

it’s only seconds after that and your fingers are moving again, crawling down his arm to where leather edge meets skin.

“..and how insanely big your hands are,” you sigh in continuation, unable to help yourself. “like—biblically destructive. ruin-her-life-in-a-single-night kind of hands. anyone ever tell y’that?”

and that might just be precisely when it starts - the feeling in his gut. brought to life through the filth you’re beginning to feed.

“don’t.” he says, and it’s torn. “not now.”

he’s all but begging you - and however miraculously, his pace doesn’t break. still steady as ever even as you switch from squeezing to tracing his tattoos with your finger. the only response he gives is a devastating clench of his jaw as he keeps you moving - steering past flickering lights and sterile walls.

“y’ever choke a girl out with them?” you press, unfettered. “not like, unconscious, but like. in bed?”

he exhales. slow. almost a growl.

“jesus. stop talkin’.”

“why?” you blink up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, far too innocent for someone who’s very much not being innocent. “am i makin’ you nervouuus?”

his head tilts just slightly, just enough to peer down at you again.

“no,” he says, and even drunk you hear the grit in it. “you’re makin’ me hard.”

he says it like he hates himself for it. like it slipped out - cut from the meat of some deep place the inebriation in his veins simply won’t let him keep inside.

and you?

you blink slow, lips parting in surprise.

“fuckin’ finally.” you exhale with a smile. slow and crooked and dangerous. “thought i’d have to be on my knees and naked for you to admit that—“

he doesn’t let you finish that thought.

“fuck’s sake, y’little minx.” he’s dragging you now, as if he’s realizing the dangers that are surfacing the more this conversation continues. by this point he’s half-carrying, half-hauling your giggling form down the hall like you weigh nothing. “y’need to stop talkin.”

“you like it,” you slur between unsteady steps. “y’like me like this cause you’re a freakkk—“

his grip tightens. morals in tatters. control evaporating.

“i’d like you more if y’were unconscious.” he huffs, hard. “or duct-taped.”

that makes you giggle more. worse, it eggs you on.

“was that supposed t’be a threat?” you ask, lips glistening. “cause if so, it’s workingggg.”

he grunts - some deep, violent sound in his throat like that one hit a nerve. “bloody hell.”

by the time you make it to your door, he’s breathing heavy. less from exertion and more from sheer fucking restraint. it takes two seconds before he throws the hinges wide, kicks it shut with his boot, and all but drags you onto your bed.

and you hardly even realize you’ve reached it until the cotton caresses the side of your cheek. but that feeling is quickly forgotten when simon, the gentleman that he is, leans over you - one knee braced on the mattress as his hands go to work on the laces of your boots.

your thighs tense. he notices.

“fuck, simon.” you can’t stop yourself. not even god himself could, at this point. “i’ve been into you for ages, y’know.”

he pauses. boot in hand.

“…what?”

he says it low. like a warning - like a don’t you fuckin start. but you’re too drunk to care - especially when all you smell is him and all you see are those shoulders, leaning over you while you’re flat on your back beneath him.

your lashes flutter.

“jus sayin- since, like. you’re in my room, on my bed above me like one of my codeine fever dreams.” you slur, brain sloshing. the room spins with it. “thought y’should know.”

he looks at you like you’ve hit him with a brick.

your head lolls. glassy eyes dragging up over the length of him. “used to think about it—you—when i couldn’t sleep.”

he swallows, and you watch his throat work with it. the grip he’s got on your ankle could shatter bone.

“….you tellin me y’think bout me when y’touch yourself?” he asks.

“god yes.” you don’t even realize you’ve said it. “you. your hands. bending me over the sinks. in the showers while muttering filth in my ear, tellin me to behave—“

“—fuck.” it punches out of him like it hurts.

the silence falls heavy. he doesn’t blink, breathe, or move for what feels like forty minutes, when in reality, it’s like forty seconds - just long enough for him clamp the leash back on whatever beast is tearing through him.

not fully, but enough.

you stretch like a cat, oblivious to it. arch your back. sigh. “d’you think about it?”

he doesn’t answer. not at first. then—

“only when i breathe.”

your stomach lurches. your thighs twitch. “you mean that?”

he looks at you, finally - eyes darker than the devils deal, filled with filth and heat from the fire you started without even trying.

he shakes his head, his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the beast at bay. “i mean, if you don’t stop talkin, m’gonna fuckin’ fold.”

the alcohol in your blood just roars, at that. fuel to the flaming fire inside you.

“tell me.” you murmur. “you think about fucking me? what i’d sound like moaning your—“

before you can finish that thought, his hand is over your mouth. it swallows your face, makes you twitch in all the wrong places — and he sees it.

“enough.” it’s barely a whisper. “christ. fuck. you’re gonna make me do somethin’ stupid.”

you moan against his hand - it spills out of you, vibrates against his fingers. he curses.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

his palm silences everything but your pulse, which is roaring, at this point.

your fingers come up, shift a few of his digits until your voice finds room to leak out. “please.”

his eyes snap shut.

“y’dont know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart,” he mutters, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his free hand and yanking it over your hips. “ain’t gonna wake up with you hatin me.”

even drunk you realize he’s a man of morals.

“you think i’d regret it?” you whisper. stars in your eyes. he doesn’t respond. “simon. i just told you i’ve fantasized about fucking you. i wonder how big you are, if it’d hurt—“

his palm tightens over your lips again.

“one more fuckin’ word and i’ll forget every goddamn reason why i shouldn’t touch you right now.” he spits. “if y’even remember this tomorrow, y’come say it to me sober. promise on every grave i’ve ever stood over i’ll bend y’over on the spot and fuck the idea of regret right outta you.”

then he pulls back, moving slow like it hurts, and you smile.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” he hums, take a step or two toward the door. “fuckin hope you will.”

[distracted-obsessions]

Can't You Hear Me Scream? Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Masterlist

Warnings: emotional manipulation, Mal being called 'it', disassociation,

Simon didn't have a good relationship with emotions.

Some of the more observant people around him had always been confused by that. "Your mouth and eyes take turns smiling," Kate had once said.

He didn't remember feeling like this as a child. He remembered flashes of joy and sadness and rage. Mostly joy. He didn't know if he really had also felt like this as a child or if he had somehow lost those when his powers developed.

Simon was writing up the events that happened during the mission last night on his way to the breakfast table. He left out the part with Mal. He hated psych evals, especially with the agency's psychologists. "And how did you feel when this happened? What do you mean by 'probably angry'?"

Simon walked into the dining room in the agency housing that his team lived in and, like every morning, found everyone already sitting down. Liam and Maya were deep in a conversation about some show the two of them were watching, Kate was cooking to avoid getting sucked into a discussion before her coffee finished brewing, and Mal was sitting at the table, picking at the tablecloth and yawning.

Mal looked tired. Mal always looked tired. Sometimes, Mal remained Simon just a little too much of himself.

Simon felt himself smile at his team. His chest loosened at seeing all of them acting normal and in one place.

"All the little birds under mama's wings, right Simon?"

Simon's smile dropped and he shook his head, trying to dispell the sound of The Deceiver's- "Oh, don't call him that, Simon. You know who he is." Of Kalek's voice.

Kalek. The man whose memory pledged Simon's ever waking moment. A mix of loss and betrayal that made him want to scream.

Control, Simon thought to himself. Control is your best virtue. Control yourself.

"The worst thing they ever did to you was convince you that voice was yours."

Simon shook his head again. Of course it was his voice. Of all the voices in his head, that one was his. It had to be. If it wasn't...

Simon moved to the table, reading over the words he didn't remember writing. It all seemed fine and Simon didn't see anything that would raise eyebrows so he signed it and sent it on its way. He walked up behind Mal like he did every morning and dug his fingers into Mal's hair, petting him gently.

Mal needs a shower... Simon thought, digging a couple of rocks out of Mal's hair, his thumb brushing at a slightly matted patch of fur on one of Mal's ears. Poor puppy still has blood in his hair.

Kate grabbed a plate of pancakes and her cup of fresh coffee and walked over to the table, putting the pancakes in the middle of the table and sitting across from Mal. She stared at Mal as she sipped her coffee then looked up at Simon. "Tired, Captain?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Simon looked at her, trying to understand what she meant. He looked down at Mal and realized that Mal hadn't leaned into his touch like he usually did. Instead, he had frozen, the tablecloth still pinched between his fingers.

Simon frowned. Mal only froze when he was uncomfortable but he was never uncomfortable with Simon.

"Well, you did torture him yesterday, Simon."

I didn't torture him, Simon told the Kalek in his brain. Still, he took his hand away from Mal's hair and watched Mal slip back into movement like he was being unpaused. Simon's stomach lurched unpleasantly. Mal. You can't be scared of me. You're my puppy. You're supposed to love me.

Simon sat down in his seat next to Mal and took the plate of pancakes that Kate handed him, ignoring the warning look that was passed along with it. She didn't get it. She couldn't get it. No one else on the team had powers. It was just him.

Him and Mal.

Simon watched Mal throughout breakfast. He was used to Mal gravitating towards him. Mal would usually lean on the arm closest to Simon and eat with his other hand but, subconsciously or not, he had switched which hand he ate with to lean away from Simon. Liam, who was not ambidextrous, noticed Mal suddenly being in his way but didn't seem to figure out what had changed so he just ignored it and finished breakfast.

The second breakfast was over, Mal jumped up and left, mumbling something about marksmanship. Simon reached to grab Mal's arm but Kate grabbed his first. She stood and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Let it be. If you crowd it right now it will lash out just to get space."

Simon watch Mal leave. He didn't want to let Mal be. He needed Mal to be sitting at his feet, begging Simon to touch him at all times.

Not because he wanted Mal to be upset. He just needed Mal. Needed Mal on his terms. Watching Mal walk away from him, seeing him with a tiny piece of independence, made him want to throw Mal into one of the cells under the house until he refused to leave Simon's side again.

"Do you ever wonder if they sided with the wrong person? If they made the wrong choice all those years ago."

Shut up, Simon thought. You've done far worse things then me. My actions towards Mal are nothing even close to some of the things you pulled. I'm a

"Good little hero."

Simon tried to distract himself throughout the day. He really did try and take Kate's advice to give Mal space. It was disturbingly easy since Mal also went out of his way to avoid him. Not having Mal a half step behind him felt like he had misplaced a limb. Every person he talked to that wasn't Kate had something to say about Mal, either asking where he was or just asking Simon to pass along information.

By the end of the day, he was ready to scream.

It was some time in the afternoon when Simon finally caught Mal alone and not busy. He was dreading the next phone call he had to make when he found Mal laying on the couch in the living room, a pillow wrapped in his arms, wearing one of Simon's hoodies as he watched that show that Maya and Liam were obsessed with.

Simon crept into the room, not wanting to startle Mal too soon. He looked so soft like this. So needy. Desperate for comfort.

Simon reached out, careful not to block Mal's view of the TV, and ran his fingers though his hair. Mal didn't react in any way, not to freeze or lean into it. It was like he didn't feel it at all.

"Poor baby," Simon said, a little surprised to find himself smiling. "You're not even here, are you?"

Simon sat on the couch and laid Mal's head in his lap, careful not to jostle him too much. He wanted Mal to slowly come back to himself. It was better for Mal if he slowly blinked awake, disoriented and confused, making those soft whimpering noises, nuzzling whatever was under his cheek as he tried to come back to himself. Better for him.

"Simon, if twisted streaks were a virtue, you and I would be the best people in this building."

Simon gently stroked Mal's ear and watched the show as he waited for Mal to wake up. The show was fine but the feeling of Mal breathing and his ear twitching under Simon's fingers was making it hard for him to focus on the plot.

After a while, Mal suddenly inhaled deeply and let it back out. Simon looked down at him and watched him rub his face against Simon's thigh, his hand reaching to grab at Simon's jeans. He continued to squirm as he got used to his surroundings before he froze again.

Simon frowned, keeping his touch gentle dispite the sudden desire to yank him up by his hair just so he'd move. "Hey, puppy. I lost you there for a second."

Mal did say anything for a moment. When he did speak, his voice was quiet. "Simon, what are you doing?"

"Comforting you." He did tug on Mal's hair then, just lightly enough to make Mal shift his head to look at him. Mal's eyes were wary as they shifted to Simon. "You should have told me that you needed comfort after last night's mission. I would have helped you."

"Sir, I..." Mal hesitated then took a deep breath and said, "I didn't feel-"

"That it was necessary, I understand," Simon interrupted, running his hand up and down Mal's arm. "But I want you to be settled. And if The Deceiver bothered you then I want to fix that." If Simon's palm lit up with just a little yellow light when he said 'The Deceiver', well then it was necessary. If it wasn't necessary then it didn't happen.

Mal shuddered and grabbed Simon's thigh tighter. "Sir-"

"Mal, you don't have to call me Sir. We're home." He tilted Mal's chin up and made him make eye contact. "You're safe."

And if Simon's palm glowed pink when he said that, making Mal scramble into Simon's arms, sniffling and telling Simon that he was tired and he just wanted to sleep in Simon's lap, well,

It was necessary.

[maskedbyghost]

+18, mdni

He stops with a sharp breath, his hands locking around your hips, fingers digging in hard. He’s close—too close—and you can feel it in the way his thighs tense under you, in the way his chest rises unevenly.

"Wait," Simon rasps as his one hand leaves your hip and finds your face, pulling you down until your mouth is on his.

It’s that lazy kind of kiss—lazy and wet, all tongue, just the way you love it. His lips are warm, soft, and parting with a hum when your teeth scrape just a little. He kisses you like he’s trying to catch his breath through you, like if he slows it down, he might not cum right then and there.

Your body doesn’t get the memo.

You're already soaking, but that kind of kiss? That slow, wet drag of his tongue against yours? It makes you clamp down around him so tight he chokes on a moan.

“Fuckin’—love,” he grits out against your mouth, voice rough and cracking. “Stop squeezin’ me—I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

You smile into the kiss, smug and breathless. “Then stop kissing me like that.”

He stares at you for a split second—just one—and then drags you back down, kissing you deeper, messier, like he’s punishing you for talking back.

You keep squeezing.

He bucks once, twice, hips jerking under you like he’s losing the fight. "You fuckin'—ngh—"

You feel it when he gives in.

His head drops back, jaw slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s trying to anchor himself. You ride it out slow, lips still brushing his, feeling him pulse inside you while you grin like a little menace.

“You’re evil,” he mutters, breathless, his eyes half-lidded.

“And you’re terrible at resisting me.”

----------------------------------------

gooood morninggg

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[corruptfoxarc]

Ah yes, Obey

[elysianightsss]

Something something becoming an accidental prostitute for Simon lol.

Hear me out though, you’re at a bar. You’re making out, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Not enough to be completely gone like you’re sure Simon is but enough to be making out with a stranger.

Then you’re back in his truck, he’s practically begging for you to let him fuck you and you say no. You ‘don’t do that type of shit, one night stands and all that’ you say. Simon’s next thing is to beg for a blowjob, you again say no. ‘Part of the boyfriend package’ blah blah blah.

Then Simon delivers his final offer. He is so desperate he offers to pay for a handjob, he cringes after the words come out of his mouth thinking you’d be offended. But to his surprise you say yes. You need the money, and want him to feel good so why the heck not.

And it’s the best damn handjob he’s had in his life.

He drives you home and soon enough after a few days he’s at your door offering more money for another handjob. You feel a little dirty but when his calloused hand slides up your thigh and his hot breath is fluttering on your neck, the feeling fizzles away into something else.

Seeing him come undone with just your touch drives you wild, it becomes increasingly difficult not to do more for him. So when Simon comes over again, this time you kneel in front of him watching as his dark eyes widen when your knees hit the ground.

And just like your handjobs, it’s the best damn blowjob he’s ever had in his life. All sloppy and filthy, not like he imagined but so much better.

You don’t ask for anything but after Simon has kissed you goodbye -(after he’s done begging to let him make you cum)- you turn to find a stack of cash on the coffee table, almost double the amount he’d given for the handjob.

It’s not long after that, that you give in and let him spend hours between your thighs. He even pays you for that, mumbles into your cunt that it’s just as good as your lips around his cock as he ruts his hips into the mattress. You don’t see it until later, long after he’s left, but there is a triple stack of cash on your nightstand.

A day later you receive a text from him saying he’ll be gone for a couple of weeks on work but he can’t wait to see you when he’s back. You feel a strange fluttering sensation in your tummy that makes you feel sick. You thought Simon was the type to hide his feelings and be more stoic and blunt so seeing that message from the hulking giant has your stomach in knots.

It stays that way, you can’t rid the feeling so much so that when he finally shows up at your door you tell him whatever it is between you had to end. It was certainly not the welcome Simon was expecting after dealing with a gruelling mission with nothing but men for weeks on end. He feels something snap in his mind and suddenly he’s throwing you on the bed, gripping your jaw, brown eyes glaring into yours as he speaks, “I’m not goin nowhere sweet’art.”

You ‘fight’ with him blah blah blah but let’s get real you let him finger fuck your pussy until you go cross eyed. You let him fuck you into the mattress until you can barely remember your own name. You let him kiss your neck until the sun starts to rise. And you let him pull your body into his as you both drift off to sleep together.

In the morning you hear the envelope, heavy with weight to it, placed down on your nightstand. Then Simon kisses your forehead and whispers he’ll be back later to take care of you.

Then, the money stops appearing but he’s still fucking you. Soon the rent is paid in cash by an anonymous ‘good samaritan’. And before you know it, you’re waking up with a glittering diamond on your wedding finger and a swollen belly that moves when Simon says I love you.