top-tier-tickles

[painonthebrain]

In His Place

Whumptober Day 3: Set up to fail

Content: BBU, pet whump, institutionalized slavery, conditioning, light violence

492 bites the inside of his cheek. The stark lighting beats down on him, hot and uncomfortable. Handler Riley circles him. He, unlike 492, is confident, the way he slinks around him slimy and shameless.

“Position one.”

Stand straight, back stiff. Hands at sides. Head slightly down, but not too far down. Eyes drawn upwards. Face neutral.

“Position… ten.” Handler Riley’s voice sounds bored. He holds a wooden rod, smacking it onto his palm, shifting his weight from knee to knee.

492 knows this one. He does.

On hands and knees. Remember to angle the head upward.

“Posture, trainee.” Handler Riley snaps, jabbing at 492’s side with the rod. 492 immediately corrects himself, shifting into the proper positioning.

“Position five.”

492 drops into a bow, his head touching the ground. It’s easy to remember this one, but he drills it into his head again as he goes through the motions. He wouldn’t trust himself to remember otherwise.

“Twelve.”

492 hesitates. Twelve, twelve, remember — he crosses both arms behind his back, wrist against wrist. The motion is sloppy, rushed, and 492 knows it. He screws up his eyes tight, and just like he expected, Riley kicks him in the side. He forces himself not to grunt, tensing up in order to stay still.

“Come on, Blondie. Pick up the pace.”

“Sorry, sir.” 492 responds, voice tight. “I’ll do better.”

Handler Riley scoffs. “I’ll believe it when you shape up.”

“Yes, sir.” A sudden bout of anger lances through 492. He grits his teeth. Handler Riley is an idiot. A sleazy, third-rate excuse for a human being.

“I promise.”

He’s only so confident because of that stupid rod. He’d be fucked if he were locked up and pumped full of The Drip. Set up to fail from the moment his name was exchanged for a number.

492 revels in the thought of Riley kneeling in his place.

“Then show me position two.”

[maskedbyghost]

i keep thinking about an arranged marriage with simon. maybe it’s for a mission or something that benefits both of you, and neither of you is making a big deal out of it. once you get what you need, you'll get a divorce, no strings attached. but as soon as simon signs those papers, he’s already thinking about baby names, and the house he’ll build for you both to grow old in. and what do you mean, lovie, you want separate rooms? don’t you see the ring on your finger? turn around so he can be a big spoon. a man’s flirting with you? wait in the car, he just needs a quick word with him. don’t worry about his bloodied knuckles once he gets back. of course, it’s all for professional reasons, but he still calls you his wife, missus, even behind closed doors. you made dinner just because you felt like cooking? what a good wife you are. now spread your legs on the table, he’s craving something sweet now, he just wants to thank his wifey properly. and when the mission’s over and you finally get the green light to divorce, you feel a wave of relief when he lights the papers on fire right in front of you. he’s won, but you don’t care anymore, you've never felt this kind of bliss, not until you were with him. you’re back in your shared room, and he’s reciting his vows between your thighs, exactly where he belongs, like a real husband should.

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

i want him. that's it.

[stargirlstabber]

imagine simon riley being in love with your thighs. he simply loves them. they're his favorite place to nap on, they're soft like a pillow, here and there the big man leaves bite marks after a good nap. throughout the day, he randomly comes up to you, bending down to press a kiss to your neck, a massive hand squeezing your thighs. he loves them. if you're insecure about them, that will probably destroy his heart. how could you not love such beautiful body parts? especially when he's eating you out, the squeeze of your soft thighs around his head from the pleasure simon's giving you. heavenly. he falls in love with you over and over again.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

something I do a lot without even meaning to is call people babe, honey, sweetheart, etc, but it's usually in a context that's a joke not like just in passing etc. it's the southern or the whore in me, idk. it's not even flirty, I just do it for the silliness. but when someone does something especially nice for me I occasionally go "you're the love of my life" or "we're getting married." no idea why I chose to express myself this way, but usually it gets a blush or a giggle (very rarely do I do this to a man).

however, I would do it to simon riley.

it's some small task that would only take ten minutes max. he brought you a sandwich from the mess or he finished up a bit of paperwork for you. so you forget yourself in glee and it slips out.

"Riley, we're getting married"

he freezes as you chirp out a "thanks babe!" as an afterthought and munch while filling out a health survey.

he just stares at you, nods, and heads off. you thought that'd be the end of it until he turns up an hour later with a bountonniere and a bouquet. he shoves the later at you.

"heard you say you liked these once" he mumbles as he sits down beside you. you look up confused at him.

"Riley, what are these for?" you say with a little grin. you've never got flowers from anyone before.

"my wife gets what she wants. always." he says, placing a hand on your thigh. "c'mon. not open much longer."

your eyes widen at his words. he tugs you up and out, asking if you have anything you want to wear or should you guys stop somewhere to pick up a dress. he swears he won't look beforehand, he'll just see you at the courthouse in it. he'll pay and he's got a dinner reservation afterward, sorry it's not before! do you want to take his last name?

please, doll, call him simon.

gaz is going to do pictures and price and soap will be witnesses. he's sorry it's rushed bird, but the quicker it's official the quicker he can start his husbandly duties.

[elysianightsss]

Delivery guy Simon pulls up in his piece of crap ford car, grabs his bright orange just eat bag from the car, slamming the door shut as he walks up to your house. All black attire and sporting no mask, never does during deliveries after being told by his boss it unnerves people you can’t wear that man.

You’re already there before he rings the doorbell, opening the door and giving him a bright smile. Eyes full of hunger, you stomach growling as you inhale the smell of McDonalds. After a shitty week at work you just wanted some junk food to binge on and there was no way you were cooking.

Simon clears his throat out of his temporary freeze, “Here y’a go love.” His deep gravelly voice has your focus off the food he’s picking up and holding out to you in an instance.

You actually look at him and fuck he’s gorgeous. He’s got a couple scars and his nose is crooked, like it’s been broken one too many times for it to be fixed. 6ft 7 at least, he’s built like a damn ox, there are scars on his arms too. If you could even call the both of them that, they’re just as huge as the rest of him. Graced with veins and stretch marks from where the muscles have grown bigger.

He’s a whole ass meal, forget the McDonalds. You’d happily eat him for dinner, just as the thought crosses your mind your gaze shoots down to the giant bulge in his trousers. Your mouth waters at the sight and you swear you see it pulse behind the fabric.

Simon happily stands there letting you, fuck you gorgeous little thing in a tank top and short shorts, eye fuck him. A smirk growing on his face as he watches your hungry eyes dart all over his body.

“Hungry love?”

You blush so deep at his words, cheeks and ears burning hot as you mumble out, “Starved.”

[yansmachinegun]

GYAAATTTT GHOST???? CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP YEEEOOOOWWCHHHH!!!!!!

[winwho2]

my oc eating

bad art i no but i had fun

[ltash]

Lieutenant Simon Riley hates Lizards so when he spots one he calls you, his 5 feet shortie to get rid of it.

Minutes after he is screaming as you are following after him with the lizard in your hand.

"Get it off me ," he screams. "You'll pay for this."

Meanwhile soap is rolling on the floor crying while in a laughing fit.

[mrsparrasblog]

College roommate Ghost pt 2

pt1

College Ghost who walks shirtless in your dorm all the time just to bother you.

College Ghost who sees you do your silly night routine that leaves you smelling like cinnamon, strawberries, vanilla, and all that stuff.(He says you stink but smells your sheets when you shower)

College Ghost who thinks about ripping those silly pink satin pajamas off your body.

College Ghost who wakes up every day watching you do pilates and mocks you for it, "Never done a real workout, princess?"

College Ghost who hates you so much that he doesn't stop talking about you to Price, Gaz, and Soap.

College Ghost who sleeps with the complete opposite of you( girl male with different features) and just can't cum.

College Ghost who is only meaner to you since that accident.

College Ghost who walks in on you getting pounded in the community shower by your trust fund law boyfriend, while all you do is stare at the wall, hoping the miserable sex is soon over.

College Ghost who is definitely not jealous, never.

College Ghost who, on one of his drunk nights, brings home a girl he knows you hate and fucks her while you are peacefully asleep in the bed right next to him.

College Ghost who never thought you could be that furious, and regretted his choices when you told him that it didn't surprise you because he wasn't anything more than an insufferable man-whore brute.

College Ghost who was kinda sad but would never admit it when you stopped talking to him for a week after the incident.

College Ghost who drank himself into oblivion every night and hated waking up to your usual "choke on it" note with the aspirin.

College Ghost who walks in on you having a fight with your boyfriend, seeing how your boyfriend just hit you.

College Ghost who sends you to your room straight away, acting like a wall to protect you.

College Ghost who loses control and punches that man into the hospital.

College you who would never fall for Simon Riley; he was just a brute who hated your guts, right?

[writingfromasgard]

If you're a minor and interact with this post. I will block you.

Read more of Dustball: OC: Dustball

Reader who lives in the fucking vents on base. No one knows why. Somewhere in one of the larger junctions she has an office set.

Price walks over the vent in his office, knocks twice then says "dustball, get in here"

The first time it happens to the boys, they're freaked out. They think their captain has lost it when she pops out of the large vent.

Simon almost pulls his gun on her. Gaz stares then goes "Are you the thing i keep hearing at night?" [She is. Her sleeping vent is up above his room.] Johnny laughs harder than he should, "it's a wee bonnie in the walls!"

She's got a clearance as high as Price's which is why no one cares where she's at. They were curious enough to strap a body camera to her once. They found she does her work, has a camp out set up of pots and pans, and she swipes ingredients from the kitchen at night.

[painonthebrain]

Sunshine

Whumptober Day 1: [Alt. prompt] - Forgotten

Content: BBU, pet whump, institutionalized slavery, memory loss, dehumanization

Just as much as they’re looking for potential buyers, WRU is always looking for new applicants. They hire PR, graphic designers and skilled writers to fill pamphlets with sunny descriptions of a life spent with no more responsibilities, they bend over backwards to make the life of a pet sound enticing beyond comparison.

Their trainees and pets are happy, living in euphoria, freed by their servitude. Never do they have to think of what ails them, never do they have to remember what’s hurt them before. A life of perfect contentment lies within the WRU facilities, waiting for those who feel called to it to enter.

Yet another person has fallen for that narrative.

It takes as little as putting a pen to paper and writing his name to make it so. The cursive script comes out in two simple strokes and the deep blue ink comes out smooth. It’s the last he’ll ever see of his name from then on — a scribbly blue mess of botched cursive.

He savors it, slightly melancholy because it really is a nice name. It has a ring to it. But he supposes it was never truly meant for him.

Next to it is a number.

656492.

He hands over the contract, and the person on the other side of the desk sets it aside. They regard him carefully, giving the papers a once-over to make sure everything is signed. (Consent is extremely important to the WRU, after all.)

“Okay, looks like everything is in order.” They tell him. “We’ll have you escorted to your new living quarters soon.”

He nods in response, playing with his hands in his lap. Waiting. Expectant.

The person at the desk notices, and gently, they smile at him.

“It’ll be fine,” they assure him. “You’re in good hands.”

He nods, noticing the way their smile doesn’t reach their eyes. “I know I am.”

492 can’t remember it now.

His name.

It goes forgotten, like so many other things he’s slowly started to lose hold of. His family, his home, what his face looks like… it’s all crumbling to bits.

He reaches for the memory, the feel of the word on his lips, muscle memory from a lifetime of owning it — but he can’t decipher it. His lips form the name, just barely, and his head throbs, unhappy with the strain it takes just to reach into the depths of his head to find nothing.

What his handlers call him aren’t names.

Trainee. 492. You.

Blondie. Pet. Dumbass.

It’s a disservice to his past self, he thinks. Not only enduring the suffering of losing himself but also calling himself these stupid numbers in his head – as if he’s too empty and blank for anything more.

Though maybe his past self would agree that he deserves to be reduced to this. That this is the price to pay for an “out.”

Some escape this is – endlessly trapped inside a cell.

He yearns for the sun.

Won’t someone take him out to let the warm rays grace his face? To bask in the warmth, let him take shelter away from the icy, pallid light within his cell?

Then it comes to him in a revelation, the feeling like divine knowledge touching him – Sunshine. The name has a luminous quality to it, light and wonderful against the sheer walls of his cell and the nacreous lights above.

… That’s his name. Sunshine.

It tastes like warmth on his tongue, it feels like a prayer, something forbidden and good. It reminds him of how the old one felt. Right.

He’d asked about names once. If handlers could actually remember all those strings of numbers. It had to have been only a few days into his training – Handler Riley stared at him with a funny look, a tiny little smile that bent lopsided; strange, twisted humor dripping from his voice as he spoke. 492 – no, Sunshine – had searched his eyes, seeking an answer to his question. Handler Riley spoke smoothly, his eyes never leaving Sunshine’s as he responded.

“You will receive a name once you deserve one.”

Which is why he’ll never tell a single soul.

@whumptober-archive @whumptober

[maskedbyghost]

simon reciting his vows between your thighs. i had to write this, i'm not sorry guys. i mentioned it briefly here. enjoy! MDNI, SMUT

simon kneels between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips possessively. his eyes glimmer with mischief as he leans in, teasingly brushing his lips against your skin, igniting a fire within you.

“I kneel before you not just as your husband by arrangement, but as a man who can’t help but be mesmerized by everything you are,” he begins, his voice barely a whisper. his warm breath sends shivers racing along your body, heightening your desire as he places soft kisses along your inner thighs.

“I vow to cherish every moment we share, to honor the bond we’ve created, even if it started as part of a mission,” he continues, tracing his tongue over your skin, the sensation making your breath hitch in your throat. he glances up at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“I promise to be your shield, love, to guard you against any harm that might come your way, even if that means stepping into the line of fire—figuratively and literally,” he says, interrupting his speech with a teasing lick, his mouth just barely grazing your most sensitive spots.

“and I vow to always listen to your needs,” he adds, his tone playful. “even when you insist you want to sleep in separate rooms.” simon smirks, his lips brushing against your thighs as he leans in closer, teasing you with tantalizing kisses that leave you gasping for more.

“I’ll support your dreams, no matter how wild they may seem,” he murmurs, trailing soft kisses up your inner thigh. “whether it’s cooking that meal you love or taking on the world together, I’ll be right by your side.” his breath is hot against your skin, each word wrapped in a promise.

“and I vow to always make you laugh, to chase away your worries, and to be the man who brings a smile to your face at the end of every day,” he vows, his mouth moving closer, teasing you with his warmth as he licks a slow stripe down your thigh, drawing a soft gasp from your lips.

“and when the night falls, I’ll remind you that you’re not alone,” he whispers, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot, the sensation sending shockwaves through you. “I’ll hold you close because that’s where you belong—right here with me.”

his gaze locks onto yours, determination shining through. “you’re not just my wife by necessity; you’re my partner in every sense of the word. I may not have chosen this path willingly at first, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything now.”

with that, he leans in, his mouth capturing your most intimate parts, devouring you completely, his tongue working expertly to drive you wild with pleasure. every lick and kiss sends you spiraling deeper into ecstasy.

you lose yourself in the sensations, every teasing kiss and hungry lick pulling you closer to the edge, and as he continues to worship you, the world around you fades away. all that matters is simon, his devotion to you, and the bliss he brings.

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

s(creaming)

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[seagiri]

description

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Soap : "Yeah uhh... sure."

Gaz : *Takes photo* *sends pic to Alex and Farah*

Soap : *Sends pic to Alejandro and Rudy*

*Spreads throughout Urzikstan* *Spreads throughout the Los Vaqueros*

*Somehow the Shadows knows it too idk*

*Somehow Laswell and Price knows last*

---

(They're sparring ok 👍)

idk why I drew this but I got a lil' naughty 👁️👄👁️

[mi-i-zori]

A funny conversation over the comms

OC Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A Little Snail Under the Rain - Masterlist

🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌

Price : Snail, you in position ?

Snail : Almost there Sir, just gotta climb this-

[Sounds of shoes slipping on dirt and gravel, of branches cracking and something hitting the microphone - all mixed with a string of « oof », « ouch », « ergh » and very imaginative curses]

Gaz : Snail ? You okay ?

Snail, groaning and sputtering : Blergh.

Soap, laughing his ass off : Got a visual of ye the second ye started rollin’ doon the hill, bonnie, beautiful.

Ghost : How’d the ground taste, Sergeant ?

Snail, huffing as she gets back up : Bad, Sir. Like wet dirt and - [She gasps.]

Price : What ? Snail ? What’s wrong ? Are you alright ??

Snail, with a baby voice : Hi Mister Toad !!

Gaz, laughing : Yeah, she’s fine.

[Price simply lets out a heavy, heavy sigh. These idiots are gonna be the death of him.]

🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌🐌

[thejeangreysummers]

boxer au simon “ghost” riley

⁃ everyone is exiting a kickboxing class you show up doe eyed with your little matching set and a bag the same color. simon immediately crosses the gym before soap or gaz get a chance to.

⁃ “i think i have something you’ll like.” simon offers hesitantly, if any other tall masked stranger approached you like that you’d leave for the sake of self preservation. but he’s so hesitant in the way he offers looking above your head and not making direct eye contact. his shoulders are drawn together like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

⁃ he ducks behind the desk and pulls out some Everlast hand wraps in the same color as your clothes.

“your favorite color.” he says jokingly

“how’d you know?” you laugh and for the first time he looks you in the eye and something shifts in your chest.

“you’ve got good taste.” he quips

he’s extends his hand in front of yours and you’re so dazed, you just hold his hand. simon is already tipsy of your laugh he considers kissing it. he begins wrapping your hand and the realization makes you flush with embarrassment.

⁃ until he starts talking… he’s explaining how the wraps work and which gloves he recommends and your initial reaction shifts into annoyance. you want to fuck with him just a little bit, because who is he to explain anything to you? he probably doesn’t even work here and you’ve been kickboxing for the last two years.

the stress relief it gave after your last break up worked wonders.

⁃ “do you want to practice with me love?” he offers after he lingers on your wrist

you concede and slip under the bar of the ring. his eyes tell you everything. eager to be close to you he explains a hook and a jab, of course you nod and smile feigning ignorance as he tells you how he’ll explain the kicking afterward. you’re feeling a little triumphant when the false jab distracts him as you sweep him, he falls and makes a jagged hurt noise.

⁃ your playfulness turns to panic

“are you okay? i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to actually hurt you. i kind of expected you to grab my leg or move or laugh? i didn’t mean to—” you fall to your knees beside him worried he hit his head. he shifts on to his back leaning lazily on he’s elbows and he’s smiling at you. that little fucker. or huge fucker honestly, he’s so tall he’s practically scraping the celling.

⁃ “you’re such an asshole.”

“wounded my pride, worse than a physical injury honestly.” simon looks up at you cheekily

“how long have you been doing this? do you work here? why did you come up to me?”

simon wants to toy with you a little more. he loves your short temper paired with your softness it’s intriguing. you’re so sweet worrying about him, would you be like that at one of his matches? anxious fluttering around saying a hail mary he won’t get hurt? or would you bask in the stadium lights, proud that he belongs to you? he intends to find out immediately.

“well ‘m a professional love, a man’s got to eat someway. my trainer, price, doesn’t love when i frighten the clients, but you’re too pretty to avoid.” simon winks at you like his voice isn’t flirtation enough

“i’m not afraid of you.” you lean in front of him on the mat and he gets a long look at your tits when he meets your eyes again you’re aware of how public this display is. you scramble to you feet and extend a hand to help him up and simon doesn’t move.

“get up.” you command in a harsh whisper

he shakes his head shamelessly drinking in your figure.

“seriously, get up someone could come in here.” you urge extending to gently kick him and in a moment he’s pulling your ankle shifting to ensure you fall directly on top of him. he places a gentle hand on the small of your back, respectful almost hesitant.

“now we’re even.” he teases

he smells like mint a touch of lavender and something distinctly him. you want him to lower his hand even though you’re in public. you almost want to kiss him, but then he’d get the wrong idea about your intentions. you were supposed to be scouring the price for this gym across from your apartment nothing more. he probably does this with every pretty customer that walks through the doors. you push yourself up using his chest as leverage.

“we are not even, you tricked me!” you scoff

“then let me make it up to you let me buy you dinner.” he offers

you can’t date this stranger at the gym across from you apartment. you’d see each other again, after dating your co-worker you decided not mix buisness and pleasure. boxing is an essential part of your routine, it’s safe and consistent. he’s roguishly attractive and probably not staying in the country.

“no thanks, you’re something but y’know you’re not from around here. i want a serious relationship.” you know your honesty will scare him away and you’ll never speak again

“well if you get off me, i can get on my knees and propose” simon smirks

you realize that you’ve been leaning directly on top of his chest, not shifting or standing.

“it’s one knee.” you counter as you slide off him and stand up

“for you i’d beg.” simon admitted

the way he looks at you for a second you almost believe him.

“i’m sure you offer that to ever pretty girl who walks in here.”

simon is serious about the begging, he’d wait as long you wanted to have you underneath him. but someday soon the sweet sound of you whimpering his name would be fill the room. you’d be the one pleading for him just to put the tip in.

“come to my match tonight. if i win, you let me buy you dinner. our first real date.” simon promises

he’s such trouble and you want him despite it.

how many girls batting their eyelashes and love struck boys come to his matches longing to see him afterwards? one of them will surely take your place if you don’t attend.

“what if you lose?”

“i won’t.” simon drawls

“you think you’re that good?” you taunt

“i think you’re lucky.” simon breathed