#riley oc

[starryybrained]

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.”

[static-head]

Riley, my silly little guy (haunted by The Horrors)

[maskedbyghost]

when simon wakes up in a hospital, the last thing you expect is for him to grab your hand, pull you close, and say, “hey, there you are, love.” his voice is so soft, so sure, it leaves you speechless. you stare at him, half in shock, because this is ghost—simon riley, the one person who’s kept every feeling locked up.

“simon, do you… do you remember anything?” you ask, testing the waters.

he blinks, looking at you with confidence. “of course, i remember. you’re my wife.”

you freeze. his wife? this is new, and you’re not sure where he got the idea, but before you can correct him, johnny walks in, taking one look at the two of you and biting back a grin. he leans in, whispering to you, “maybe just… go with it for now, eh?” he’s got that teasing glint in his eye, and something tells you there’s no harm in humoring simon for a bit, if it can be helpful for his recovery.

so, you go along with it. and to your surprise, simon doesn’t act confused—in fact, he’s more open with you than he’s ever been. suddenly, he’s holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, always looking for you, keeping you close, calling you “love” or “darlin’” in front of everyone. he’s even got that soft smile every time you catch his eye, one that makes it hard to remember this isn’t real.

the team’s amused but supportive, playing along with the whole story. simon keeps asking you little things, like what your favorite meal is, or how you usually spend your days when he’s away, as if filling in gaps in a life he believes you share. you find yourself answering with things that feel so genuine, and the way he listens—focused, attentive—feels more intimate than anything you’ve shared before.

one day, you’re patching up a minor scrape on his hand, and he just watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing every detail. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it’s so genuine, so open, that for a second, you forget it’s all just part of his memory loss.

then, one night, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, eyes serious. “do you ever think about us?” he asks softly, like he’s trying to get at something just out of reach. “how we’d be if things were… different?”

you’re not sure how to answer because there’s no script for this. “sometimes,” you admit, feeling a pang of something deep and unspoken. and for the first time, you’re almost grateful he can’t remember—because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only reason he’s letting himself be this vulnerable with you.

as the days pass, you start catching little glimpses, small things that make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. he catches you watching him once, and instead of asking why, he just gives you this little smile, one that feels like he’s in on the secret. and just when you’re starting to think this is all some kind of twisted dream, he pulls you aside.

“i know i’m supposed to remember,” he whispers, “but i don’t want this to end. not yet.”

it’s in that moment you realize the truth. he’s been aware all along—he’s been pretending just as much as you, holding on to this fragile, temporary illusion because, maybe, he needs it just as much as you do.

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

hii!! i'm backkk!! send some requests plsss, byee <333

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[simonz-angel]

simon who leaves his sweet best friend for the military…

his eyes wander over the small portrait, the one with your pretty face taken upon it. he remembers when you’d handed it to him before he left, a soft, sad smile gracing your face when you’d whispered, “promise you won’t forget about me, simon?”

it was silly of you to ever think your grace of a presence would leave his mind. it was quite the opposite, every day in training he’d run off you like fuel, praying upon the very day he’d get to have your softness in his arms once again.

as for now, he’s alone, cold… desperate.

his head reels back, lips splitting till blood pools in the cracked skin, mouth dropped open as he chokes on his heavy gasps. you were his best friend from back home, the pretty girl next door, yet even in the hell he faced, you still had him wrapped round your finger.

he had locked himself away in an old storage closet, trying his best to keep from waking his fellow sergeants yet as his fingers squeezed and slid their way up his cock, he was finding it increasingly difficult.

you were stuck in his mind, the plush pillows of your cherry tanged lips, your fluttering eyes, the bounce of your full breasts… gah simon could go on n on, and it all somehow had his cock dripping.

he sucked his lip between the pearls of his teeth, chest contracting into tense angry muscles before loosening in heavy breaths. he could barely keep himself up, even with the wall he had heaved himself against, knees weakening by the second, the stroke.

“f-fuck, fuck,” he breathed low, words coated in a sugary sweet whimper, and your face flashed bright behind his lids. pupils soaking in the messy thoughts, all that presented you in nothing but impure.

he was hooked, deeply infatuated with your presence yet forever scared to mention it, knowing you were only, only friends. this is how it had to be forever, home or not, you were only a dream, a whisper of what he so desperately needed.

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[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

[starryybrained]

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

[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.

[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.

[simonz-angel]

ghost who has many techniques to stamina training..

your neck flexes, muscles fluctuating against the hard shell of his bicep, head held trapped between the thick muscle and his chest. you can barely breathe, chest puffing in desperate, needy gasps.

and when he fingers sink into you, your sweet essence squelches, fingers digging deep as he fucks into you with a mere two digits. but the speed, the quickness and precision has you squirming and groaning.

“stay still, baby, you need to learn,” he huffs into your ear, tongue dragging over the shell. and he’s kicking his feet beneath your calves, forcing you flat to him and still, unable to move and only able to take everything he has to give you.

when you gasp, hands patting at his flexed up bicep, he gently lightens still keeping his arm tight around you and fingers buried to the absolute hilt within you.

“gotta give me 3, babe, so we can keep track of your progress.”

[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?

[ameftowriter]

Koraidon knows what's up :3c look at that smile :)

Riley just needs to scoot a bit closer to Arven that would help right? :3

Clavell: You kids are not allowed in there, we've told you this many times! But if Sada insists on it, then I'm not going to let the four of you hop in there without an adult!

I love this already though!

All in Area Zero!

The au Zero Squad goes down in the crater

Clavell didn’t like the idea of 4 kids on a Pokemon so he called his Gyarados to help and Penny was like “You know what, I’m not gonna risk my neck on Koraidon”

Nemona is having the time of her life, Penny just wants to arrive and Clavell is trying very hard to not look too upset and tense.

Riley doesn’t seem to mind being this close to Arven :) and neither does our boy :))