#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."

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

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

[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

[that-ghosts-art]

Fernando, ‘Cory,’ and Simon from Gauvain’s fic Alcor the Dreambender’s Infinite Bed and Breakfast having a lovely time at the opera >:3

[dreamberry24]

Math sketches because quadratic equations are boring

[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

[skretri]

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

[simonz-angel]

simon who gets off on your pretty face… literally

your eyes sparkle up at him, diamonds cutting through the pretty iris, your plush, swollen lips grinning up at him. it dimples your cheeks, swells the apples that flush in a sweet pink.

and his cock slaps, tapping at that pink and drags, dragging against your skin nice n hot. it was crude, letting him bathe you down with the flushed length of him, letting him drag and slide his cock over your pretty face.

“stop grinnin’, bun,” he chuckles, taking the pretty pearls of precum n dragging em cross your lips in a pasty lipgloss. “not fillin’ your mouth tonight.”

you pout, letting your tongue catch at the sensitive tip of his cock, sucking the sweetness off your lips with a soft moan. and it has simon sucking his teeth, eyes taking you in with some kind of supernova, your sweet impurity breaking him down.

and he pats at your face with his freehand, digging the ball of his hand up into your cheek with a sick satisfaction, watching your skin pull and face drag up with his touch.

“keep it closed, you hear me?” he snarks, grabbing you suddenly at the back of the neck and pressing himself further into your cheek lewdly. “always so fuckin’ greedy.”

[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.

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[oceantornadoo]

inspired by a dramoine fic i read! simon riley x f!reader

it’s the third time today someone has handed you simon’s paperwork and you’re starting to get confused. in fact, there’s the distinct feeling that you’ve missed a memo.

first, it was the visiting captain, so you couldn’t blame him for confusing lieutenants. but then it was johnny turning in his mission report, muttering something about “cannae be late this time if ah give it ye, lass.” which was odd, considering you weren’t his direct report (you were gaz’s). but what really sent you over the edge was getting called into price’s office and being met with a load of folders addressed to one Lt. Ghost (Confidential).

“sir, i’m a bit confused as to why you can’t just give these to him yourself.” price looked up from his desk, eyes flickering from under his boonie hat. “hav’ you seen ‘im today, lieutenant?” you nodded immediately while trying to scoop all of this paperwork (that was not yours!) into your arms. “yessir, i saw him before breakfast and then during training and then…what?” price had silently quirked an eyebrow, his beard echoing the movement. “i haven’t seen ‘im all day, so i figure it’s faster for you to deliver since you’re more well-versed in his movements than i am.” huh. “i’m sure he’s just doing his ghost thing, y’know? slipping into shadows and…”, price patiently gave you an exasperated look, “but i’ll get these to him, sir. see you later!”

the problem was, you knew exactly where simon was. in your office.

his own had an unfortunate ground level window near the track, so he was always complaining about nosy recruits until you offered to share some office space. temporarily, of course. it’s not like you were using all the empty space anyways and it made it much easier to get the opinion of your fellow lieutenant on a report by walking over to his desk, rather than going up and down stairs. that was the second point he made, and who were you to say no?

after pushing open your office door, you beelined for simon’s desk, dumping the stacks of folders on his desk. “wot’s this?” his mask was off so you could see his eyes widen at the mess of papers. “everyone now thinks i’m a drop off box for your paperwork, so i got burdened with all of this when i was doing my rounds.” he nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea. “cheers, love.”

“what do you mean, cheers? don’t you think it’s odd for them to give me your paperwork? and why do we even have so much paperwork? i swear im drowning in it this week.” he snorted at your last sentence, opening the first folder in front of him while you rounded your desk, sitting in your comfy chair with a hmpf. “yer out an’ about more than me, tha’s all.” well, that was true. the infamous ghost was not known to be a sociable person on base. “i guess…” you turned to your old radio, passed down by a retired captain, and turned on simon’s favorite classical station.

“ya want mess or the pub tonight, love?” another great thing about being on base with simon - you never had to pay for dinner. “actually, that thai place we like is doing a special tonight.” he gave you a half-smirk, one cheek ticking up. “bloody raccoon. we had thai two nights ago.” you didn’t respond, instead blinking your best impression of puppy dog eyes at him. simon sighed, then shook his head at his desk. “olrigh’. the things i do.” you smiled and winked, dipping your head back down to your desk. “thanks, si.”

-

two weeks later, you were prepping for a duo mission with simon. price had been grilling the two of you for the past three hours, making sure you had everything memorized. satisfied, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, the feeling of a headache coming on. “one more thing.” both of you snapped your head up at price, desperate to leave and eat. you’d already missed dinner and your stomach was complaining.

“the safe house is pretty small, basically a shack. one bed, no couch. i assumed ‘s fine since y’r datin-“ “‘s fine, captain.” simon cut him off, an out of character move that had you frowning. “it’s fine, cap. not like ive never slept on a floor before.” now price was frowning at what you said. he turned to simon, who shook his head imperceptibly before becoming still again. price’s brow furrowed but he didn’t push further. he got up from his chair, eyes flitting suspiciously between you two. “i’ll see you at 0600.”

“what was that about?” you whispered to simon after as you walked down the hall. “‘s nothin’.” you were missing something but it was so unclear what. “he thinks that we’re datin-“ “said it’s nothin’, sweetheart. he’s an old man. let’s get some food in you, yeah?” you nodded, letting him guide you to the kitchen. price wasn’t that old. and you were not dating simon riley.

-

the mission was beautiful, your best one in years. it was the first duo mission between you and simon, so the nerves of pulling your own weight had settled in hard. thankfully, your skills balanced each other out and you’d gotten the target in record time. now, all you had to do was wait in the safe house for exfil.

“you were so good.” you whispered once he’d locked the door. he only hummed a response, checking exit and entry points while you set up your packs, scrounging up MREs and testing the shack for electricity. price wasn’t kidding - it was practically a studio apartment. one bed, a bathroom and a decrepit stove. the soldier part of you was fine with it, but that small soft part of you ached for the warmth of your apartment. memories of yelling at simon for using all your shampoo even though he didn’t live there, of him running you a bath after a long day of training.

“you were good too, baby.” he snuck up from behind your spot on the floor and lifted you onto the mattress that had definitely seen better days. you hadn’t even checked it for bed bugs yet. “c’mere.” he pulled you into his lap, unbuckling your tac vest as you pulled off your bandana. you tugged off his mask - the hard shell since you were on a mission - and ran your nails through his short haircut. simon started kissing your neck, wet and sloppy like he couldn’t get enough. the unrestrained want he displayed sometimes scared you. the respective pulsing in both your chest and cunt scared you more.

“so are you sleeping on the floor or am i?” he flipped you over, your back flush with the mattress as simon loomed over you. there was still eyeblack around his eyes, caught on his blonde eyelashes as well, and you couldn’t help the hand that reached up to brush some of it away. “y’r funny, sweetheart.” you grinned at that - a real toothy smile. he bent down to kiss you, scarred lips caressing your own. simon bit your lip and you moaned, sliding your legs out from under him to wrap them around his torso. when you tugged him in he went willingly, grinding into your clothed cunt. his tac vest was still on, scraping against your shirt, hardening your nipples.

“keepin’ you in this bed all night.” cold fingers dipped past the waist of your pants. you were already wet, his fingers sliding easily up and down your slit as they warmed up. that’s when you realized he still had his glove on, his movements harsher than normal. wide eyes met his own, and simon stopped so you could make a decision.

it didn’t take much as you dug your heels into his back harder, meeting him in a sloppy kiss as his gloved thumb played with your clit. “fuckin’ made for me.” he whispered, and you chalked it up to dirty talk because obviously, you weren’t together. he just knew exactly what to do, giving your clit the right amount of pressure as his other fingers teased your hole, the stretch burning more than usual. it only took a few flicks and you were off, your orgasm settling through your bones like a warm cup of tea. “jesus, si.” he grinned, his scarred lips pulling up to show a beautiful smile. “know ya like th’ back of my hand, huh?” you shook your head, capturing the idiot in another kiss.

-

after the mission, after debrief and a hot shower, you made your way back to your base office. thankfully, paperwork had only slightly piled up. one envelope stood out though - a thick card-stock with glossy, swooping letters. an invite to london’s military gala, addressed to a Lieutenant & Lieutenant. simon’s name was next to yours, connected by a singular symbol. you turned to him in disbelief. simon had been going through his own backlog, but his head snapped up under the focus of your glare.

“simon, are we…dating?”

-

this was fun!!! check out the fic i linked it was so good and i couldn’t put it down.

[luminni]

Simon has a favorite jumper. It's simple, black wool, fits him well, and he wears it all the time. Only problem is, he wears the thing all the time. He's had the thing for years and it's practically all he wears when he's on leave. By this point, the poor thing is threadbare, little holes around the armpits, the neckline, and the cuffs. It's pilling everywhere and it's covered with dog hair (from where, he has no clue).

You loved the jumper on him, he looked fantastic in it, but even you could see the thing was in a dire situation.

"Simon?" You questioned, holding up the jumper in your arms, folding it after its last round in the wash (which it mercifully survived).

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever...thought about getting this thing dry cleaners?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Don't trust 'em, they'll ruin it."

It was a simple answer, one that told you the subject wasn't up for debate. But just because he didn't trust the dry cleaners with his jumper didn't mean he wouldn't trust anyone with it. And there was no one he trusted more than you.

...

Simon came home from his last deployment late into the night, trudging through the front door and setting his bag down as gently as possible as to not wake you. Toeing his shoes off and finally being able to tug off his mask, he couldn't wait to get out of the rest of his gear.

Stepping lightly through the house, dodging the floor boards he knew were going to be squeaky on his journey to the bedroom. Ready to join you in bed the moment he got into a pair of sweat pants.

When he opened the bedroom door however, he did not find you tucked away in the covers. You were crouched on the floor, humming along to quiet music playing on a small speaker. And you were bowed over that black jumper of his.

"Love?"

"Oh! Simon you're home!" You squealed, jumping up and throwing yourself into his arms, snuggling your face into his chest and drinking in the scent you had been without for so long like you could get drunk off it, and in many ways you could.

"Hey there sweet'art" he cooed, practically purring it into your ear and enclosing you in a big bear hug. "What'er ya' up to?"

"Oh just..." you turned back around, anxiety lacing your voice, "doing a little repair work." You handed him his black jumper, folding it into his hands.

He could believe his eyes, it was smooth like it was new, no pills of fabric clinging to it. The tiny, threadbare areas and holes were patched up. Now, perfectly matched black wool was weaved in to fix it. He stared at you, wide eyed, in disbelief while you just grinned nervously. He brought it up to his face, no dog hair to be seen and it smelt like you had just picked it up off the shelves.

He kept on staring at you "how..?"

"I just," you turned back around, grabbing the sweater trimmer, the replacement wool, the sweater scent spray, and the lint roller, all in your hands. "Used a couple things" You grinned

Simon could have sworn he never felt this way before. There was this weird tightness in his chest, it felt like it was going to explode. He had owned that sweater when he Tommy was still alive, that sweater had seen the first pub crawl with the 141 boys, he wore it on your first date. The sweater was more than just something he wore often, it was his good memories wrapped up into one piece of soft and comfortable wool. His arms moved before he could stop them and he buried you in another hug, squeezing you (and his jumper) into him.

"Oh- Simon!" You giggled, dropping your supplies.

He buried his nose into you shoulder, lifting you up into him, off your feet.

"Thank you," he murmured, voice cracking a bit, "thank you."