maskfiend

[maskfiend]

Unrequited love. (I will always think that this is something that breaks hearts painfully slow)

Simon Riley x Reader.

You’ve always known that loving Simon Riley was a dangerous thing. Not because of the nightmares that clawed at his mind or the ghosts that followed him like a shadow. No, it was dangerous because he never saw you the way you saw him.

And maybe that was your fault. Maybe you should have walked away before the feelings sank in too deep, before your heart curled around him like ivy, clinging even when it hurt.

But you never did.

Not when he smiled at you, a rare thing that made your chest ache. Not when he held you close after missions, his breathing unsteady, as if he needed to remind himself that you were still there. And certainly not when he whispered your name like a prayer in the quiet hours of the night.

It was easy to believe you meant something to him.

Until her.

She was everything you weren’t. Soft laughter and bright eyes, warmth in the way she touched him, an ease in how she held his attention. And he looked at her the way you had spent years looking at him.

You remember the exact moment you knew.

It wasn’t when he first mentioned her name, or even when he started spending more time away. It was when he showed up at your door, eyes shining in a way you’d never seen before.

“She said yes,” he breathed, almost disbelieving.

And you smiled.

God, you smiled so wide it hurt, because that’s what friends do. They don’t break apart in front of the people they love. They don’t let the cracks show.

So you pulled him into a hug, let him crush you in his arms as he whispered about how happy he was. You buried your face into his shoulder, blinking back the sting in your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Because he never looked at you like that.

And he never would.

—

You don’t go to the wedding.

You have an invitation, of course. It sits untouched on your counter, the elegant lettering spelling out his name alongside hers, mocking you every time you pass it.

Soap calls. Gaz texts. They ask if you’re coming, if you’re okay, if you need anything. You lie through your teeth, tell them you’re sick, that you’re busy, that you don’t want to intrude.

Simon doesn’t call.

You don’t think he notices your absence until much later.

Maybe it’s when the party winds down, when he’s alone for the first time in hours, when the realization creeps in like a whisper.

Maybe it’s when he looks around the reception, searching for you without even realizing he’s doing it. When he catches Soap's somber expression, the way Gaz avoids his gaze.

Maybe it’s not until years later, when the honeymoon phase fades and real life settles in. When he finds himself thinking of you in quiet moments, wondering why you aren’t around as much anymore, why it feels like something is missing.

You relocate. A different base. A different team.

You relocate to spare yourself.

—

Years Later

The news reaches him too late.

Simon is sitting in the common hall, watching the rain streak down the window, when his phone buzzes. He answers out of habit, not expecting much.

Soap's voice is quiet. Too quiet.

He barely hears the words over the rushing in his ears.

A mission gone wrong. Too much blood lost before help arrived. You were alone, left behind by your new team.

Gone.

The funeral is small. Simple. He doesn’t speak. Just stands at the back, hands clenched into fists, watching as they lower the casket into the ground.

Soap stands beside him, but no one else does. Not her. Not his wife. She hadn’t asked where he was going, and he hadn’t told her.

Because how could he explain it? How could he explain the way his ribs felt like they were caving in, the way his lungs burned with every breath? How could he explain that this loss felt different than any other?

He doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t say goodbye.

He just stands there, watching as they cover you with dirt, as the last piece of you disappears from his sight.

And for the first time, he wonders if maybe—just maybe—he loved you all along.

But now, he’ll never get the chance to tell you.

And that is the worst part of all.

—

Months Later

It happens on a quiet night.

Simon is going through old boxes in the closet, looking for something long forgotten. His wife is asleep in the next room, unaware.

He’s sifting through old mission reports, books, scraps of things that don’t matter—until he finds it.

A letter.

His name is scrawled across the front in your handwriting, the ink slightly smudged, like you hesitated before writing it.

He shouldn’t open it. He knows that.

But he does anyway.

His hands shake as he unfolds the paper. The words blur in front of his eyes, but he forces himself to focus.

Sim,

I don’t know if I’ll ever send this. Maybe it’s just for me. But if you’re reading it, then I guess I wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud.

I loved you. I loved you in all the ways a person could love someone. And I never told you because I knew—God, I knew you didn’t feel the same. And that’s okay. I never expected you to.

I just wanted you to know.

I hope she makes you happy. I hope she gives you the kind of love I always wished I could.

And I hope, someday, I stop wishing things had been different.

—Y/N

The paper crumples in his grip.

His chest is too tight, his throat burning as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Because fuck.

He should have known.

Should have seen it.

But it’s too late.

It’s too late, and you’re gone, and all he has left is the ghost of what could have been.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

[maskfiend]

“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.

[maskfiend]

In Limbo Masterlist

general masterlist | taglist | mafia!141 masterlist | read on ao3 | playlist

mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

is it wrong to fall in love while waiting to die? accepting a job with the mafia was virtually no different than selling your soul to the devil, but that was something Simon Riley was all too willing to do. it wasn't until he met you that he realized there were worse pacts to find yourself trapped in.

Prologue everyone knew not to ask the Riley brothers what they did after dark Chapter 1 it wasn't easy living on borrowed time Chapter 2 It was always better that way; when you didn’t have someone trying to look out for you.  Chapter 3 blood always recognized blood; especially when it screamed. Chapter 4 you wish he wasn't so kind Chapter 5 at least he's not doing this for you Chapter 6 no good deed ever goes unpunished Chapter 7 another deal. another oath. Chapter 8 warm soup and bile Chapter 9 ferocious and stubborn as an ox Chapter 10 crooked fingers and christmas cheer Chapter 11 everything in its place Chapter 12 love notes

Chapter 13

in limbo

extras

alternate chapter 7 ending

[maskfiend]

Single Dad!Simon who vowed to never trust another woman again after his failed past. He was locked up with the key thrown away, permanently off of the market.

At least that’s what he’d told himself for years. Now, he was beginning to have cold feet.

Simon needed a nanny, one that he could trust completely. He didn’t play about his child, and he’d be damned if he got set up with someone of ill intentions.

But, he was desperate.

Price needed him back periodically, even after his retirement, and he agreed. After all, money was tight when he parented on his own with a growing child.

That was when you came in. Soap had been a pal and recommended an old family friend, somebody he knew Simon could trust with his kid. Simon was skeptical, of course, but Soap had never done him wrong. Reluctantly, he agreed.

Simon wanted to have a trial period to see if you were truly built for the task. He wouldn’t let you off easily. His child was his world, and women weren’t exactly in his deck of cards when it came to trust.

You were as sweet as honey upon the first meeting with a smile that could outdo the sun. Your voice was soft as rain, flowing out of you like a summer song. You spoke to him with the upmost respect, and even more so with his child.

Simon knew he could trust Soap in guaranteeing somebody safe. You were the perfect candidate. He just didn’t know it would lead into him feeling emotions he’d buried a long, long time ago.

Attraction. Interest. A crush, dare he say, like he was a stupid high school kid that just saw the prettiest girl in class and fell head over heels.

He had a silly crush on his child’s nanny when he fully intended to keep it short and professional. That was the way he operated. He was like a working machine, and you had undone his mechanics so easily to the point he struggled to function.

Seeing you with his child only caused his attraction to fester deeper. His child became attached to your hip, smiling more than they had ever done, rambling nonsense to him every time he returned home and you left to go to yours.

It was becoming hard to deny it. You opened an old wound of Simon’s, awakening that deep and dreadful loneliness he felt every passing day. Every smile, every laugh, every Mr. Riley even though you were close in age, all of it had him on the edge of his seat.

He wanted more. He was tired of denying himself happiness. The idea of pushing away every woman was still very vivid in his mind, but denying you just seemed criminal the more time passed.

“I never got to thank you for allowing me in to your home, Mr. Riley,” you told him one day, ever so sweet.

“Thought I told you to call me Simon,” he grunted, avoiding your eyes as the two of you stood in the doorway.

“Right. Simon,” you corrected with a radiant smile. “You have quite the kid, I’ll tell you that. I always look forward to coming over. It makes my day seeing the two of you.”

Simon could feel his heart pattering against his ribcage. His hands were sweaty, and he prayed you didn’t notice him swipe them along his jeans.

“Both of us?” he hummed.

“Of course. You’re just as exciting to see, too, Mr. Ri- Simon.”

Simon’s lips quirked up the slightest bit, but his heart was in his ass. For the first time in a long time, a woman was making him shy and nervous, and it didn’t feel as bad as it did before.

“You’re always free to come over for dinner,” he offered.

“That sounds great, I’d love to have dinner with the two of you!” you exclaimed, beaming.

He didn’t understand how you could be so bright yet so oblivious at the same time.

Simon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. “I meant, the two of us.”

You stared at him like he’d grown two heads, and he nearly slammed the door in your face from the sheer anxiety that spiked in him. He couldn’t read your mind or what you were feeling, and Simon wished he had never said anything to begin with.

“That sounds wonderful,” you said instead. Now it was Simon’s turn to stare at you crazy. “I’d love that.”

Simon realized he was staring too long, so he cleared his throat once again, giving you a brief nod and looking away. “Alright. I’ll text you a day and have Soap pick up the little monster for the night.”

When you agreed and left with the smile that made his heart ache, he didn’t waste a second in texting Soap, telling him he’d be on nanny duty for one night that week.

Soap was quick to agree, but not without a little “You’re welcome ;)” text back.

[maskfiend]

Broken Part 1

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

A/N: this one has been on my mind for ages and I couldn't wait any longer. I'm a huge sucker for angst, so I hope I've got this just right.

"Just... a little further. We're almost... there!" Your knees feel about ready to buckle as the Razor Crest comes into view. "Din! Din, no!..." Din's heavy frame slumps from your shoulder, pulling you to the ground with him. "You... argh... you gotta get up." He's still, terrifyingly still. You press the button on Din's vambrace to lower the ramp and with your waning strength, pull the unconscious bounty hunter across the muddy ground and up the ramp, the desperation to save him overriding the burn of your exhausted muscles.

With a last tug at his wrists, you manage to drag him away from the ramp and further into the belly of the ship, immediately pressing the button to close it. You're not taking any chances. "Din? Din, can you hear me?" You shake his shoulders roughly, hoping the momentum will rouse him. Nothing. But at least he's still breathing. A little wail emanates from the sleeping bunk before the door whooses open, revealing a very worried and frightened Grogu.

In an instant, Grogu is at Din's side, having used the force to propel himself across the hull. "It's okay, buddy. He'll be okay." You don't know who you're trying to convince, him or yourself. Grogu murmurs anxiously, his large ears drooping as he places a tiny hand on Din's helmet. Without another moment to lose, you begin to strip Din of his armour, checking for injuries. There are plenty of cuts and bruises, maybe some bruised ribs, but the injuries don't appear to be severe enough to render him unconscious. "Din!" you shout louder this time "Ner Karta, please wake up."

Your frantic heartbeat thumps against your ribs, threatening to break through at any minute. You're at a loss at what to do. That's when you notice it; a sight that makes your blood run cold! A slowly oozing trickle of deep crimson, pooling on the floor by Din's helmet. "No, No, no, no," you shudder as you carefully slide your fingers under the lip of the helmet at the back of Din's head. Your stomach plummets when your fingers meet a warm and sticky substance. Blood! Din's blood!

On hands and knees, you scramble across the floor to a nearby crate, searching frantically until you find the medkit. You rush back to Din's side and with trembling hands, open the medkit and retrieve the Bacta spray. You momentarily freeze when you realise what you must now do. There's nothing else for it. To save Din's life you have to remove his helmet. A barrage of thoughts invade your mind at the same time; would Din be angry? Would he hate you? Would you hate yourself for breaking his creed? Would he understand? Would he forgive you?

Time is of the essence now, every precious second bleeding away, along with Din's life. You have to do it. You have no choice, consequences be damned! You're not about to let the man you love die, even if he does hate you afterwards. You'll accept his wrath if it means he's alive. You set the Bacta spray down beside you and take a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," you whisper regretfully, and with a heavy heart, you gently lift the helmet up with one hand while supporting the back of Din's head with the other.

The helmet rolls away from you with a clunk. Brown curls fall backwards from the most beautifully sculpted face you've ever laid eyes on. Patchy, greying scruff decorating a perfectly chiseled jaw, a strong aquiline nose that suits him so well and plush lips... He really is stunning! So much so, that you're taken aback. But you snap yourself out of it. There's no time to lose! You grab the bacta spray and roll Din onto his side to get to the wound. Your breath hitches in your chest and you spray slowly, making sure to liberally apply the treatment.

You're probably using more than necessary, thinking back to how Din would often scold you for wasting the valuable resource when you've patched him up before. But this is literally Din's life in your hands. You'll exhaust the whole supply if you have to. The affects are almost instantaneous. You breathe a sigh of relief as the bleeding ceases and the damaged tissue begins to repair itself. Grogu looks up at you with expectant eyes. "He'll be okay, sweety," you soothed, while stroking Grogu's ear, comfortingly. "Mmm..." Grogu looks back to his dad, sadly.

Once you're satisfied with the progress of the Bacta spray you unwind a sterile bandage, cautiously wrapping it over the wound and around Din's head, trying not to jostle him too much. You then shift your attention to the many cuts and scrapes littering his body, making sure to disinfect every abrasion you see. There's no way you can lift him off the floor so you fetch a pillow from your shared bunk to place under his head and drape a blanket over him. It's not much but it'll have to suffice. With the adrenaline now subsiding, exhaustion begins to sweep over your body and mind, causing you to fall back on your arse, rather un-gracefully, and catch your breath.

You hadn't noticed just how much you'd been shaking this whole time. With controlled breaths your heart rate slowly returns to normal. Grogu waddles over to you with outstretched arms. Poor little guy needs some reassurance. Your maternal instinct has you reaching for him but you stop as you notice the drying blood on your hands. "Hold on, buddy," you say, gently, then rush to the fresher to wash away the blood and horrors staining your hands. Sitting down next to Din, you scoop Grogu into your lap, cradling his head in your chest, while humming a soothing melody to calm him. "Your dad's a fighter, kid. He'll come back from this," Please, you silently beg to whoever might be listening.

All you can do now is wait. Wait for Din to wake, wait for everything to make sense again. Hopefully he won't be furious. Surely he'd understand there was no other way. Even now it feels wrong to look at his face, the very act being sacrilegious to his people. But it's too soon to put his helmet back on. The wound needs more time to heal. Guilt starts to take root the longer you think about what this now means. What you've taken from Din cannot be easily undone. Because of your actions, he is now technically an apostate. He will be cast out of Mandalorian society, exiled in disgrace and it's all because of you.

But what was the alternative? Let him die? Let Grogu lose his dad? Live with the knowledge you could have saved him, but refused? No! It's unthinkable. You know in your heart, you've made the right decision. You just hope Din will see it that way, too. You're not sure how much time has passed, or how long you and Grogu have been asleep, when you are startled awake by a low moan. Grogu stirs in your lap as you sit up from the wall you were slumped against. An equal amount of relief and dread consume you. He's okay, he's waking... But how will he react to the violation of his creed?

"Din?" you gulped, nervously. Din lets out another grumble as his head turns in your direction. You clutch a now awakened Grogu tighter to your chest, apprehension swirling in your stomach. You feel sick! You bite your lower lip, waiting for his eyes to open, for the inevitable realisation to dawn on him. Slowly Din's eyelids lift and you are met with rich, chocolate brown eyes, eyes you would happily let yourself drown in, if it weren't for the look of abject horror and betrayal staring back at you. "Wh... what have you DONE?!!" Din exploded, his face turning red with rage and his eyes filling with tears.

You're frozen to the spot, eyes wide, voice lodged in your throat, refusing to co operate. He's furious, of course he is. "I..." your voice fails as your throat constricts in panic. Between Din's shocked gaze and Grogu's little whimper, you somehow find your voice. "I'm so sorry, Cyare. I had to. You... you were bleeding." Desperation to make Din understand claws at you. "It was the only way to save-" "No!" If looks could kill, you would be dead this very second. "It was NOT the only way," Din seethed, staring daggers at you, "You didn't have to remove my helmet. You chose to do it!" You can't believe what you're hearing.

"But you would have died!" Tears gather at your lash line at the thought. "Better to die a Mandalorian than live as an apostate," Din snapped as he sat up, clutching the back of his head. His eyes frantically dart around the hull, searching for his helmet. He reaches for it but you reach for his arm to stop him. "You can't. You're still healing-" "Don't!" Din recoiled from your touch as if you'd burned him. You heart drops like a stone to your stomach. You've never seen Din so angry, so hurt, his face portraying the image of a man who has lost it all. And you did that. You took away his sacred creed and left him with the ashes. The hiss of the helmet fills the tense air as Din places it back on, the familiar T- shape in front of you once again.

Only it's directed to your lap, where Grogu sits, looking with uncertainty between you both. "Patu," he murmured, while reaching out for Din. Din gently takes Grogu into his arms, his heaving chest and taut shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm okay, pal," Din soothed, trying to calm his foundling, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he now fights to keep his emotions at bay, no doubt for Grogus' sake. Din stands on shaky legs, your first instinct is to help him up, but you stop just short of touching him, unsure if your help will be welcomed. Without so much as a glance in your direction, Din heads to the ladder with Grogu tucked into his chest. "Din? Cyare wait, we have to talk about this-" "Just!..." Din raises his hand to stop your words, his back still facing you. "just stop," he sighs despondently. "I can't look at you right now." Tears sting your eyes as you watch him ascend the ladder, locking himself and Grogu in the cockpit, away from you.

*****

Din sat in quiet dispair, trying to come to terms with his new reality. One where he is now an apostate... again. Sure, he had removed his helmet to save Grogu when he'd been abducted by Moff Gideon and to say goodbye, but that was his call, his decision to make. By removing his helmet, you'd taken away his choice, his creed, his very identity. You should have let him die an honourable death. Of course, redemption is possible but that doesn't change the fact that you betrayed him. He had trusted you, opened up to you and believed that you respected his creed and his way of life.

The longer he sat contemplating, the angrier he became. How could she! he thought bitterly. Not only had you dishonored the very foundation of who he is, you had also inadvertently destroyed the close bond you'd both built over the past year. He doesn't even know who you are anymore. To have done what you've done... how can he ever forgive you? His helmet suddenly feels too restrictive, too suffocating. Din pulled his helmet off with one hand while still holding Grogu close, and set it down on his lap, staring bleakly into the pitch black visor.

Until he can atone, this helmet will serve as a reminder of what has been lost. "Mmm..." Grogu tilted his head as if to ask 'are you alright?' Din exhaled, long and deep and looked at his son with a thin lipped smile, his face reflecting back to him in the childs' large, glossy eyes, the only eyes that are, by creed, permitted to look upon his face. "I'll be okay," he whispered softly, "I'll make this right." He can find forgiveness in the living waters, that part is simple enough - well maybe simple isn't the right word. He still has to live with the fact that he has grievously sinned against the creed. Even the living waters can't wash that truth away - but how can you both move forward from this? Is it even possible?

A dull, throbbing pain pulses through Dins' temples, causing him to groan and lean his forehead into his palm, his elbow resting on the armrest. He needs to calm down. He needs to think with a cool head. Grogu yawns and snuggles into Dins' stomach. "Okay you little womp rat, time for bed," Din smiled as he tucked Grogu into the crook of his elbow. After securing his helmet, Din makes his way down the ladder and into the hull, where he finds you sitting with your back pressed against the wall. His heart physically aches at the sight of your red rimmed eyes and blotchy face. You look as though you're about to say something, but he hasn't got the energy for this right now. All he wants to do is settle the kid in his hammock and rock him to sleep. So Din quickly opens the bunk door, disappearing inside.

The dim light of the hull reflects your sombre mood as you listen to Din's modulated voice, muffled by the closed door, speaking softly to Grogu. Most of the time you and Din would say goodnight to him together, every bit the picture of a happy family. But now you are shut out, physically and metaphorically, and it hurts, maker it hurts so much. You are only meters away but it might as well be the length of the entire galaxy. A short while later the door slides open and Din slowly walks out, keeping his steps light as to not wake Grogu. He turns to you for a moment, seemingly unsure of what he wants to do next. He takes a step towards you but then stops. Sighing, he turns on his heel and retreats to the cockpit once again.

Your heart sinks and lungs deflate in crushing disappointment. You can't stand it anymore. If Din won't talk to you then you'll talk to him. You bring the sleeve of your top to wipe your face - not that it'll make a difference to your puffy eyes and reddened cheeks - and steeling yourself, you make your way to the cockpit. The silence is deafening, oppressive, brutal. You gingerly sit in the co-pilots' chair, fiddling nervously with the hem of your top. Din remains motionless, staring out of the window, shoulders strung tighter than a bow. You feel invisible and you hate it. With a steady breath, you break the silence.

"Din, we have to talk about what happened." Din still doesn't look at you. "There's nothing to talk about," Din retaliated, the coldness of his tone sending shivers down your spine, "What's done is done!" You shake your head. "Please believe me when I say I didn't make this decision lightly. It was the only way to save your life. What else could I have done?" The tears threaten your eyes again as you try desperately to make Din understand. "You could have let me die an honourable death." An incredulous huff forced it's way up your throat. "How could you expect me to do that? Listen to what you're asking? Would you have let me die if I were injured?! "That's different," Din retorted, annoyance building on his voice.

"How?!" You're so close to clawing at your eyes in frustration. "Because you're not Mandalorian!" Din's booming outburst had you shrinking back in your seat, his large frame now towering over you, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. You know Din would never hurt you, no matter how angry he got, but at the same time you've never felt so small, so helpless. Is this how his bounties feel under his intimidating gaze? Din seemed to notice your unease, immediately unclenching his balled up fists and taking a step back to give you some space. After a moment of silent staring, he shakes his head and simply states, "You'll never understand."

That was a low blow! You've always respected Dins' creed, his way of life. Never asked him to go against it and never judged him like so many other's have. It's a part of him and you love all of him. Fear and despair have now given way to anger. "Maybe you're right," you glowered, "I'll never understand because if it comes down to chosing between the creed and your life, I'd chose you everytime. I love you too much to just let you die for an ideal." "And you think being an apostate is any better?" It's like talking to a fucking brick wall! How could he not see the impossible situation you'd been placed in?

"I don't know what else to say, Din..." you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat, "I'm sorry it's come to this, but I'm not sorry for saving your life." "Then there's nothing more to say," Din clarified with finality, sitting back down and turning to the window again. Silent tears run down your cheeks as you leave the cockpit and join Grogu in the bunk.

*****

When you wake the next morning the bunk is empty, cold. Even though you were certain Din wouldn't have joined you last night, disappointment weighs heavily on your heart. A part of you had hoped he would calm down and come to you. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up with a groan, dreading the tension that will, no doubt, still be rife. "Morning, buddy..." you cooed, gently as you stood on the mattress to wake Grogu. Your brows scrunch in confusion at the empty hammock. Din must have come in to get him while you were still asleep.

Stepping into the hull, you hear babbling from Grogu in the cockpit, followed by the occasional chuckle from Din. A flicker of hope ignites within. Maybe now he's had time to cool off, you can both talk reasonably and calmly. Maybe not all is lost? However that flicker is soon doused when you walk into the cockpit and see Din's posture turn rigid, his chair not even turning so he can acknowledge your presence. The air turns icy and heavy with friction as you take a seat. "Good morning..." you offer, meekly. "Morning." Din's monotone reply confirms that he's still upset.

"Patu," Grogu smiled as he patted your leg to pick him up. You couldn't be more grateful for the distraction right now. "And good morning to you, baby," you grin as you scoop him up and place him in your lap. "You two strap in," Din orders as he fires up the engines. "Where are we going?" You bring the seat belt around yourself and Grogu. "Sorgon." Din's clipped tone is like a knife to your heart. It's the same tone he'd used when he'd first employed you two years ago, when you were both still adjusting to each others' company.

Now you realise how you've taken his caring tone, his laugh, his tenderness for granted. It feels a million miles away now. You swallow the lump in your throat and give Grogu your full attention, feigning cheery laughter while trying to ignore the 'bantha in the room' the whole way to Sorgon. The Razor Crest descends into the atmosphere, the blackness of space giving way to a dazzling blue, causing you to squint and shield your eyes. You've always liked Sorgon, visiting several times with Din over the years.

The simple, peaceful way of life is so unlike most worlds you've visited, and with that simplicity comes a tight knit community. One who always welcomes you with open arms. You've even made a few friends here, your closet one being Omera. Grogu bounces excitedly on your lap as the ship touches down on the outskirts of the small village, no doubt ecstatic at the prospect of seeing his friends again, especially Winta. "I know, I know..." you chuckle fondly, placing a kiss on Grogu's head.

Din shuts down the engines and without a word or even a glance in your direction, he leaves the cockpit. The harsh treatment makes you want to cry, but in an effort to shield the kid from any more tension you plaster on your best fake smile. "Ready to see your friends, sweetie?" Din lowered the ramp and was instantly greeted by a handful of locals, eager to welcome back the man who gave them back their home and dignity when the Klatooinian bootleggers attacked them.

He shook hands and accepted enthusiastic slaps on the back. He looked to where you stood, embraced in Omera's arms. Winta had already claimed Grogu, the two of them heading off to play with the other kids. The sight of his son playing with the other children warmed Din's heart, but that content, fuzzy feeling soon faded when his gaze fell back on you. Dread and sorrow wash over him, choking him, knowing what he has to do. Din turns to one of the men, lowering his voice. "Please, I need to speak to the village elders."

Din felt like the worst person in the galaxy as he discussed your future with the council, all the while you remained completely unaware of the real reason he'd brought you here. He'd been reassured you'd have a place here, a safe community to call home. Even through the anger and hurt, he had to know you'd be safe, protected. And since the defeat of the Klatooinian's, sorgon had become a peaceful planet again. He couldn't imagine a safer place for you to start over. Now all that's left to do is to break the news to you.

The ache in Din's chest grew stronger as he walked through the village looking for you. It didn't take him long to spot you, sitting by a fire with two other women you'd become friendly with. Din could tell you were wearing a forced smile by how it didn't reach your eyes. When your gaze locked with his, your smile faltered, replaced with a look of deep remorse and longing. Din sighed wearily and walked over to where Grogu was happily frolicking about with other kids. Again, guilt gnawed away at him as he thought about how hard this is going to be on Grogu. In time, he'll understand, hopefully.

Din catches sight of Omera and makes his way over to her. "Hi," Omera smiled. "Can I speak with you? It's important." Omera's smile dropped slightly, her face taking on a more serious countenance. "Of course," she replied. Din shifted uncomfortably, unused to asking for favours. This is the second time today. "Could you do something for me?" Omera raised an eyebrow in intrigue, waiting for Din to continue. "Would you look after Y/N? She... she's going to need a friend now, more than ever." " What do you mean?" Omera asked, clearly confused. "We're leaving, me and the kid... and Y/N is staying here... permanantly."

Omera glanced over her shoulder to you, then turned back to Din. "Is everything okay with you two?" Din looked down and placed his hands on his hips. "No." He shook his head before raising it again. "I can't explain right now, but, please, promise me you'll look out for her." Omera's face softened. "Of course I will. She's my friend." Din felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, albeit a small one, compared to the weight he'll have to bare for the rest of his life; the weight of breaking your heart and leaving you alone in the galaxy.

But what else was there to do? Nothing could ever be the same between you both again. This is for the best... at least that's what he keeps telling himself. "Thank you," Din replied with a twinge of sadness in his voice. "That... means a lot to me." He patted Omera on the arm in gratitude before making his way over to where Grogu was playing. "Time to go, pal," Din cooed as he bent down to pick Grogu up. "Say goodbye to your friends." Grogu waved as the other kids bade him farewell.

You could tell something was wrong when Omera sat beside you, her normally soft and calm mien now absent. In it's place, concern and worry clouded her features. But before you could ask her if she's okay, Din appeared before you. It's the first time he's acknowledged you since this morning. "Would you come with me for a minute?" The gentle tone of his voice and outstretched hand made your tummy flutter in anticipation. Without a second thought, you took Din's hand and stood up. But the little hope that gesture had given you was dashed when Din immediately released your hand, and you had to fight against the anguish his absent touch left in it's wake.

You silently follow Din to the Razor Crest, stopping at the edge of the ramp. "Are we leaving already?" you ask disappointedly. Din remains silent while he turns around to pick up a bag off the ramp. He holds it out for you and sighs, "I am... you're staying here." And just like that your whole world has come crashing down around you. Din's words are a punch to you gut, stealing your breath away. "What do you mean I'm staying here?!" Your voice wobbled as your veins ran cold. "I mean..." Din set his shoulders and took a deep breath, "This... us..." he gestured between you both, "it's over." Shock has you rooted to the ground. Icy chills prickle over your skin, nausea sweeping through you.

"You... you can't be serious! Din, we have to talk about this. You can't just go making rash decisions like this, please!" Your imploring eyes search Din's visor, hoping to detect even a fraction of hesitation behind it, but you find nothing but unnerving calmness. "I'm not making a rash decision," Din replied almost emotionlessly, pushing your bag of belongings into your hands, "I thought about it all last night and it's the right thing to do." "Look, I know you're upset with me but please just take a minute to -" "I don't need a minute!" Din snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Tears burn your eyes, the lump in your throat causing your voice to quiver. "But I don't understand," you begin, willing your tears to remain where they are, but your resolve is cracking with every passing second. You have to make him see how ridiculous this is! "You broke the creed once to save Grogu and you attoned. Can't you do that again?" "Of course I can," Din answered through gritted teeth. "Then... what's the problem?!" Your voice has now risen in pitch, despite your best efforts to de-escalate the tension. "The problem is you!" Your mouth snaps shut and eyes widen in response to Din's sharp words. Words lined with a razor edge, cutting straight to your core. "You didn't just break the creed Y/N, you broke my trust! The creed can be restored, my trust in you can't."

Words have now completely abandoned you, numbness slowly consuming you as you let Din's truth sink in. You now realise just how much you've hurt him. 'I thought you understood me, respected how my religion is absolute. I can't..." Din shook his head, his voice shuddering as he continued, "I can't trust you ever again. I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore." "Please..." you whimper as your tears begin to fall freely. "please don't do this. Don't leave me. I love you and I know you love me." "I do," Din agreed without hesitation. "Then we can get passed this." You reach for Din's hand but he pulls away. "No." he takes a few steps back, "Love isn't enough."

"So, what?..." you yell as your heartbreak turns into anger, "You're just gonna leave me here, after everything we've been through? You're just gonna to throw it all away like it meant nothing?!" "This is the way," Din responded, robotically, as if he's no longer a living, feeling organism. Fury welled up in your chest, until you were trembling with rage. "Fuck the way!" you exploded, wanting in the moment to wound Din as he has you, but regretting it simultaneously. Din visibly stiffened at your blasphemous insult, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I saved your life and I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry." A silence settles between you both before Din sighs and responds, "I know... I'm sorry, Cyar'ika." Din Turns to walk away but you grab his arm, spinning him to face you. "Wait! Where's Grogu?" Your eyes dart to the ramp in search of him. "He's in the ship." "You were just going to take him away from me?!..." you gasped, hand on your chest as if the action would lesson the intensifying ache, "Without letting me see him." "It's for the best. Saying goodbye will only upset him," Din spoke, now devoid of emotion, "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

In that moment your heart shattered completely, the shards ripping you apart from the inside. They say love hurts, but that is an understatement. This raw agony feels like it might just be the end of you. "Please!" you now beg, tears streaming down your face, "He's my son too. Don't take him away from me! He'll think I abandoned him." "He'll understand.... in time." Despite Din's persistence, he seems conflicted, like he's fighting himself on his decision, like underneath all that Beskar he's hurting as much as you.

"Please Din! Please don't do this!. Don't leave me!" you sob loudly as you fall to your knees, clutching your abdomen as if to comfort yourself. Seeing you in distress is unbearable to Din, but what makes it worse is that he's the cause of said distress. He Automatically takes a step towards you, hands outstretched, seeking to hold you but he stops himself and regains his rigid posture. "I'm sorry," he mutters as he quickly spins on his heel and storms up the ramp.

The rising Crest wobbles in your tear filled eyes as it ascends into the sky, heaving breathes causing violent hiccups to rip through your airways, as you watch your family disappear forever. In your distraught state you don't notice a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. It's only when your head is gently pulled into a warm chest, that you realise Omera is holding you as your whole life falls apart.

[maskfiend]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[maskfiend]

ion even care. take offensive or nah idfc.

simon likes his girl plushy. he likes to see you eating good, looking thick in the belly n the legs. tbh turns him on a lil… A LIL.

it’s like edging himself looking at the pretty pooch of your belly bounce with every desperate thrust of his hips. the way your fat ripples in the force behind each smack of his hips against the crease of your ass n thigh.

n he enjoys the way your soft, squishy thighs wrap round his hips, the way they slip and stretch. it’s your whole body, arching up off the mattress, hands pressing up under your tits in the shrill way the tip of his cock lays wet kisses at your cervix.

he watches your tits spill up towards your neck, n he’s suddenly craning down over you. his teeth scrape against the soft fat, before hes pulling the pretty bud of your nipple between his teeth. n when you shriek out in a throaty moan n your sweet pussy flutters round him, he chuckles.

he’s on the verge of busting you down with a baby, but he’s chill… nonchalant yk.

[maskfiend]

IDGAF if the women in my fiction are empowering or aspirational, I'm an adult, I don't need role models, I want the women in my fiction to be interesting, and if that involves being pathetic, hypocritical, amoral, or trapped in a delightfully dysfunctional relationship so be it

[maskfiend]

reblog if you wear glasses. too many mutuals don't know they have glasses wearers in their midsts

[maskfiend]

ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)

you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.

it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.

but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?

for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

you can't hurt him. you just can't.

and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--

those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.

he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.

you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.

you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.

because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.

you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.

he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.

ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.

he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.

when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.

he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.

he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.

it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.

because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.

[maskfiend]

simon riley x deaf!reader

tw: none, literally just pure fluff

“It’s just one date. I promise.”

You didn’t know how your friend had convinced you to go on a blind double date in the first place. In fact, you weren’t even the first choice, but when your friend came by to ask you to fill in for another girl who had bailed out last minute, you pity-agreed to help her out.

You weren’t sure if you were making the right choice. Dating wasn’t your thing, and you avoided it like it was the scum of the earth. Not to say you had bad experiences, per se, but you also didn’t have the best choice of men. None of them understood your situation to its fullest, but that was okay! You didn’t need their validation, and you were perfectly content with the way things were.

There was no harm in going on a fun date and having a few drinks and good food, you thought. One night, and you’d never have to see your blind date again.

Besides, your friend seemed to really be into her date from the way she’d gush about him after they met online (not your favorite choice, but you’d support her anyway), and you didn’t want to ruin that for her.

That’s what led you to be here, shoulder to shoulder with your friend as she rambled on about how excited she was with speedy hand gestures, how grateful she was that you came, that she’ll make sure your dinner and drinks are paid for. You weren’t exactly sure where the two of you were going, but judging from what she forced you to wear, it had to be a bit fancy and lavish.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that was also not your favorite choice.

She guided you inside of the building, which was a preview of what was to come — high ceilings, ravishing decor, and low lighting that made everything much more romantic. You took in the fluorescent scenery as she spoke with the hostess. You didn’t know what they were saying, but as the waitress gestured with a hand for the two of you to follow, you assumed the two men were already there.

Your arm was looped loosely with your friend’s as the two of you walked after the hostess. When you approached a table, you took in the sight of one man that looked familiar — your friend’s date, a man with smooth, tanned skin and a smile that could cure sickness. The other man was new to you, and compared to your friend’s date — Kyle? — he was much more phlegmatic.

Kyle gave a polite nod towards you with a blinding smile, and you have one back, bowing your head in greeting. You sat next to your friend, watching as Kyle pulled out the chair for her, to which your date definitely didn’t do the same.

That was alright. You weren’t planning on making it past the first date anyway.

Your friend began to chatter with Kyle while you and your mystery date sat in silence. Your hands remained in your lap as your eyes scanned the menu that sat on the table.

Focused on appearing as busy as possible, you were unfortunately snapped out of it before it could last long when your friend nudged your shoulder with hers. When you looked up at her, she was smiling, and she lifted her hand to signal the man in front of you.

Blinking at him, you realized he was possibly trying to talk to you, and you shifted awkwardly. He probably thought you were rude.

“Sorry, Simon. I forgot to mention she’s deaf, so she didn’t know you were introducing yourself,” your friend apologized, and you watched as he stared at her before nodding in acknowledgment. “It won’t change anything, yeah?”

You sat in tense silence as you averted your eyes back to the menu. Your date had eyes that could pierce right through you if they wanted to, and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to be their next victim, date or not.

A phone screen was slid across the table from where you were studying the menu, and your eyes flickered to see a string of words typed out in the notes app.

“Sorry if that came off as rude. I’m Simon.”

Glancing up at him, you flashed him a smile that was relieved. He gave you an awkward one back, and you thought maybe he didn’t do it much.

You picked up his phone from where it sat in front of you and began typing out your response before slipping it back to him. You watched as he read it, a look of amusement in his eyes as he did so.

“Not rude at all. Sorry she didn’t tell you. You can back out if you’d like, I won’t take offense.”

Kyle and your friend were conversed in conversation with one another while Simon and you had your own back and forth.

“Why would I do that?” his next note read, and you tilted your head at him. He offered you a shrug, and your fingers tapped along his screen in return.

“Most men wouldn’t like being blindsided by not knowing their date is deaf.”

You saw his mouth part open when he read it, and you wondered if he was chuckling to himself. You wished you could hear it.

Was it deep? What if it was one of those contagious laughs that sounded like the literal gates of heaven opening up, and you wouldn’t ever have the chance of hearing it?

You didn’t have time to think about it when he placed the phone back in front of you, and when you glanced down, you couldn’t help but smile bashfully to yourself.

“A pretty girl’s a pretty girl. I’d be an idiot for backing out on the prettiest one I’ve had the gall to see over something like that.”

Fuck.

You weren’t supposed to like your date, much less so quickly. You only came for the food and for the sake of your friend’s happiness, but here you were, cheesing to yourself like a stupid teenager with a new crush.

But as the date continued, with the both of you eating alongside Kyle and your friend, shamelessly passing his phone back and forth and filling his notes app with evidence of your growing infatuation, you knew it wasn’t only for the food anymore.

He was sweet. Sure, it was all on paper (well, screen), and you told yourself to always be cautious with men.

But when he asked you out on a second date, then a third, you allowed your concrete walls to crumble.

And when he showed you the new signs he’d been working on so he could communicate with you on the fourth date, spelling out your name with cautious, slow fingers, eyes searching for your approval? You could’ve already married him then and there.

[maskfiend]

I got an idea for a one shot or fic for COD🤔…… what if “reader” is an actual genius 🧐 like straight up Spencer Reid kinda genius🧐 and she’s part of the 141 (sergeant, lieutenant, captain, or any role). How would they react 🤭

141 guys: *trying to analyze encrypted message*

Reader: *solving the message in two seconds and fluently reading it*

141 guys: WTF?!?! *Shocked pikachu faces*

Or…

141: *playing card game*

Reader: *winning every round*

Soap: HOW😤😠

Reader: 🤓☝🏼it’s a very easy game once you start seeing the patterns and analyzing your opponents body language 🤭

141’s genius soldier 😍

( I can’t write for shit so plz excuse my terrible grammar)

[maskfiend]

Why there isn’t more Hades!Simon Riley x reader… is beyond me 😭

[maskfiend]

there's something about simon that makes me think he's capable of kneeling in front of you — even if the surface underneath his feet is muddy, if it's strewn with nails, if he has to crawl to your feet through it all.

you're the one simon will go through all this for, slump around your leg and hip like a tame dog, and while he looks like cerberus in the eyes of others, to you he's nothing more than an obedient, faithfully in love puppy.

he is not ashamed, for you are his core, something that blooms brightly and beckons him from the veils of his darkness with your affection, your quiet whispers of endless love and velvety touches on his wounded skin, removing the burning feeling that tears at his skin, replacing it with a pleasant, cocooning warmth.

simon knows that you change him for the better, effortlessly, so easily mold him into various shapes, and in return he remains loyal to you, holding his raw heart between sharp teeth, the one that beats and bleeds only for you.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[maskfiend]

TAKE IT OR LEAVE HIM ᡣ𐭩

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & reader

synopsis: Ghost forgets your birthday

tags: slight slight angst

Hectic doesn’t begin to describe Ghost’s schedule, yet you accepted him with open arms. He needs to cut your dinner short because he’s needed back at the base? You nod with a smile full of understanding. He forgets a few chores and groceries because he’s piled up with tasks? You kiss his forehead and tell him it’s fine, and you just work around it and rush during your office breaks to do those tasks on your own. You’re exhausted from being held back at the office because the client changed their mind during the finalization, but you come home to a pile of dirty dishes and no dinner? You say you understand, washing up and going to bed while feeling your stomach grumble and washing the previous night’s dishes just to lessen Ghost’s worries.

You had no problem bending backwards just to accommodate him. You entered the relationship knowing about his schedule, so… were you really in any position to complain? 

A few insignificant tasks and miniscule adjustments to your schedule were nothing; never once uttered a complaint because you understood. Why? Because Ghost always finds a way to make it up to you. Sending bouquets when you close a big deal, treating you to a fancy restaurant during your birthday (though he’s mostly never there to celebrate until the end), and gifting you branded things during your anniversaries… so, it was all okay….. ?

Yes, it’s fine if he never shows up for your dinner date because of work. 

Yes, it’s fine that you spend most nights alone. 

Yes, you can clean the house, shop for groceries, do the laundry, and cook for the both of you. 

It was all okay. You were okay with it. You accepted it. You understood. You can do it. You’re fine. It’s all worth it. It’s not worth any trouble. It’s fine—

You snap back and all thoughts stop rushing into your head. Your phone blares an alarm with the words, ‘DATE NIGHT’, flashing on the screen. Right, it’s your birthday and Ghost promised he’d finally make it this time. So, you wore the prettiest dress, applied the most gorgeous (and time-consuming) makeup, and put on the cutest heels (your feet are getting blisters) because you wanted to spend this night with the man you love most on your Earth… who wasn’t by your side right now, but it’s fine. 

The waiter approaches the table, asking you for what seems to be the 6th time that night if your company is coming because they’re about to close. Giving up, you offer an apologetic smile and gather your things. The walk out the restaurant was embarrassing to say the least. Harsh winter air greets your face, your legs and arms trembling as you try to seek warmth from the take-out bag. You didn’t bring a jacket because, well, you thought Ghost would be there with you, but it’s fine.

The apartment door clicks open and a dark hallway awaits you. ‘Ah, he’s not here yet,’ you think to yourself, a pang of disappointment piercing your heart that raised its hope for one night. With a wince and a pained gasp, your heels come undone. Muted footsteps along the wooden floorboards as you strip out your clothes and wash up. You resign the night with your lover nowhere to be found— once again, but it’s fine. 

Morning dawn cracks through your curtains with a familiar arm around your waist and familiar dip on the mattress. You blink your sleepiness away, taking in every detail of your Simon’s face in the morning. Like he has a third sense, he wakes and stares back at you. First smiles of the day are shared between you two but you expected more. Nothing too grand. Maybe an apology and a greeting? Yet the day goes by with receiving either, but it’s fine. Maybe the next day’s the charm? 

Nothing.

Irritation towards your lover is a rare occurrence with your endless patience and never-ending understanding of his situation. You still held hopes that maybe he’d finally realize his slip-up, but what did you come home to? Dirty dishes. A pile of them. 

“Ah, sweetheart. You’re home,” he kisses your cheek and presses your waist close to him like usual. The scent of whiskey and cigar lingers on his clothes— a scent you usually adore but now only fuels your anger. “Si, what’s this?” you ask, trying to keep your frustration at bay as you point to the sink. “What? Oh, noticed ‘ya didn’t make dinner so I ate what’s ever left,” he answers cooly like there’s nothing wrong.

“... do you mean you ate my lunch for tomorrow?” 

“That yours? Sorry, baby. ‘Ya can jus’ make another one, and one for me.”

You pull away, slapping his face with tears rushing down your face. Ghost looks at you with shock and confusion which angers you further. How can he not realize why you’re mad?

“Woah, woah. What’s wrong, doll?”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT. Oh, my fucking God, Simon. You’re really asking me that?” you run your fingers through your hair, screaming at his face and throwing your purse at him. “What’s wrong?? You tell me! I slave away at this goddamn house. I go to bed with my bones feeling like weights because I keep cleaning after your mess, but it’s fine! Because you were busy, I understood.”

Tension builds in the air as everything you’ve held back poured out of you. “I never complained because I told you I was fine with your schedule when we first started dating. I fucking bend my body backwards and did everything for you LIKE A MAID. And you have the audacity to ask me what’s wrong? You don’t even ask me how my day went. Asking me to cook for you like I’m just a housekeeper? YOU DON’T EVEN DO ANYTHING FOR ME.” You stomp over to his face, glaring with hatred as you spat out your next words. “Just a fucking reminder that I am your girlfriend. I am not here to clean up after you.”

“Did I ask you to?” he snaps back, returning the same vile stare. “You’re whining about working around the house like I asked you to. Let’s be clear that I never forced you to do these shits around the house.”

“You didn’t have to! You just kept piling up dishes and clothes, leaving a messy trail behind you because you know you expect me to do it for you!”

“And did those come for free? I buy you everything you want on anniversaries and birthdays. You act as if you come for cheap,” he scoffs.

"WELL, GUESS WHAT? YOU FUCKING FORGOT IT THIS YEAR,” you finally confess through sobs. Realization dawns upon your lover, evident on the way his face drops. He tries to approach you but you step back.

“I waited for you like a fool because you promised. I-.. I.. had to tell the waiter 5 times that you were coming because they were on the verge of throwing me out. Did you know how embarrassing it was for me? I… I know I shouldn’t have kept my hopes up but I wanted to believe in you, but.. I’m tired.”

Silence blankets you both as every emotion rushes through your heart. Your throat felt raw and your head was getting heavy from all the crying.

“I’m done, Ghost. I’m tired," you whisper. Those words were simple but Ghost knew what lies underneath. You weren't tired of what you did for him. You were tired of him.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: woah, angst again? Anyone surprised? This request has been sitting on my inbox for a while but I have enough free time to answer them, so here we are. I will make a König version if this gets attention. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

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[maskfiend]

Naming the female razor brand Venus is so personally offensive to me....you think Venus the goddess of love and sex and beauty was shaving her PUSSY? Go kill yourself

[maskfiend]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude