masked-and-mean

[masked-and-mean]

….💀🫡

ACQUAINTED | SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

cw: grumpy! simon x bratty! reader, smut, breeding, unprotected sex, fem! reader, no use of y/n, qued, not beta'd

synopsis: simon's hooking up with a civilian volunteer in his squadron who keeps giving him mixed signals

"F-fuck! Simon, t-too much!"

He's got you folded in half with your knees almost completely pushed against your ears, while he holds you open by your plump thighs, his cock splitting you open.

He takes his time, each inch of his thick cock stretching your gooey walls with deliberate slowness. The wet, obscene squelches of his cock filling you and bottoming out slowly fills the room as he thrusts so deep inside you that your mind is starting to feel foggy.

"Hm. look at you." Simon grins, his voice smooth and soft like he's speaking to a lover. "Want me to leave you alone, you said? Could have fooled me, lil lady. With the way your greedy little pussy's sucking me in like she's trying to swallow my dick whole."

You nudge his hands off your face and push your arms are over your face to hide the way that it's contorted in pleasure. Showing him how good you feel won't do anything but prove how he's won against you yet again. He grunts in annoyance when you hide your face, and he draws back...

Withdrawing until just the tip of his cock remains nestled inside you, he slowly, torturously pushes back in until your pussy and guts stretch obscenely around his girth, wet, squelching sounds filling the room.

"Fuck... s'fuckin tight... you can hide all you want." He murmurs, still thrusting into you slowly. "This pussy knows the truth. Knows who it belongs to."

"I d-don't.. mmh! belong to you, idiot!"

Simon pauses at your words, almost amused at your backtalk. He likes when you give him attitude. Gives him a reason to be mean to you.

He pushes your legs open impossibly wider, nearly bending you in half with your legs up against your chest.

"You keep saying shit like that like it's going to get me mad." He laughs softly, before groaning with pleasure. "Maybe I get off to brats, pretty little thing, did you ever stop to think of that?"

You bite your lower lip so hard that it hurts to hide any noise you're making. If you lifted your head, you'd see the faint outline of his cock in your tummy and the way your pussy struggles to accommodate his size, and the look of rapt fascination on his flushed cheeks.

He pays no mind to your attempts at modesty, too focused on the wet, sloppy sounds of his cock churning up your insides. He sets a slow, punishing rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained inside you before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt with a filthy squelch.

"God... this pussy does dangerous things to me, y'know that? lil pussy's is soaking my cock," Simon taunts. His cock churns up your soaked, velvety walls with each roll of his hips, your pussy clenching around him like a vice as you desperately attempt to adjust to his size.

You’re shaking, fingers curling into fists in the sheets underneath you. You’re not sure how much more you can take. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks in a low, taunting murmur.

"Bet you're worried about me creaming in this hot little pussy, huh?"

Your head finally leaves the crook of your arms to stare up at him in disbelief. Your whole body locks up, heat flashing through your tummy. "Yo-you wouldn't, I w-wouldn't let you," Simon uses the opportunity of you moving your arms to grab both your wrists in one hand and pin them over your head, his free hand still holding your thigh.

"Yeah you would." He snaps back, almost aggravated at your tone. "You'd let me. You know why? Because you want me. You're just too damn proud to admit it."

He notches the tip at your entrance, slowing his thrusts, before slamming forward and forcing his girthy shaft deep inside you. "Look," He moans, looking at your tummy bulge. "You've got my cock poking outta you. Think your tummy'll bulge like this if i put a baby in you?"

"S-shut, mngh up! S-simon... m-more... f-feels so good" You moan out, but this time, he forces you to keep eye contact, and his gaze flicks between the way your small, fluttering hole stretches wide to accommodate his length, and the way your face is scrunched with tears tracking your cheeks and your lips raw from biting as he shoves his cock in you. 

"Ha... d-don't tell me to shut up, like you're not the one moaning and crying like a bitch in heat." He retorts. The lewd, sloppy sounds of your cunt being split open fill the room as he impales you repeatedly, not stopping his thrust until his swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass.

Simon continues his relentless, sloppy assault, each thrust accompanied by the most vulgar noises. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes through the room as he fucks you with deep, purposeful strokes. Your body jolts with every impact, tits bouncing lewdly as you try to stifle your cries.

He changes his angle slightly, and your tummy coils up tight into a knot as you feel your orgasm come crashing down, your back arching sharply off the bed. He knows he found that sweet spot deep inside you as your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

Simon focuses his thrusts there, grinding against it with every push forward, determined to make you fall apart completely on his cock, and you let out a final strangled cry as you cum around him.

He rocks you through your orgasm, still hitting that gummy spot that makes you sing so pretty that his heart throbs. 

"I want you to stop... ngh... playing games with me," he demands, voice serious. A bead of sweat drips down his handsome face. "I'm taking what's rightfully mine, and you're gonna accept and be my lady, you got it? No more cat and mouse." He thrusts real deep at his words, like the thought of being closed off makes his blood burn hotter. You jolt, crying out loud. You feel his swollen mushroom tip kiss your cervix. He stops there, watching your orgasm continue to crash through you.

Your pussy, now overstimulated and sloppy from your recent orgasm, throbs with sensitivity. "S-simon, please, please, it’s too much," You cry out, and he coos at your pretty sounds, ignoring you. 

"No. We stop when I say we're done." He continues. “This pussy belongs to me now. You belong to me. Say it. Say who’s pussy this is.”

Your sloppy cunt swallows his thick cock over and over, your lips, swollen, clinging to his cock tightly. Squelches and sloppy lewdness fill the air as he plows into you, each thrust pushing out a fresh gush of your cum. The creamy ring of your hole stretches and bulges around his girthy shaft, struggling to contain the thick cock splitting you open. "Ah! Yours, Si! Y-your pussy, I’m yours!" 

He could feel your cervix fluttering against the tip of his cock, the spongy flesh yielding to his pounding. "That’s my girl, baby. All mine," He grunts one last time as your womb clenches and ripples, ready for the hot cum he was going to pump inside you.

He lets out a strangled moan as he empties inside you, balls twitching as he fills you to the brim with his cum. It’s thick and creamy and never ending, and his head lolls, hips still pumping as he fills you up good.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing, the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. Your body is still trembling, skin fever hot and slick against his, and yet he hasn’t moved an inch. He’s still there, stretched out on top of you, pinning you down.

Simon turns his head, smirking at the dazed, wrecked look on your face. He reaches out, running a slow finger down your jaw, tilting your chin up so you have to meet his gaze. His pupils are still blown, his mouth swollen from kissing you earlier, but he does it again anyway, his cock twitching inside you as he tastes you, lips molding over yours so good that your heart jumps.

He pulls back to rest his forehead against yours and look at your shining eyes. "One step closer to makin' you my wife, baby."

[masked-and-mean]

Not many people can corner Simon Riley and live to tell the tale.

Not many people would even consider doing so, sweetheart, but you're not many people. You're in a league all your own.

It's you welcoming him home by trapping him against the wall, knowing full well your soldier was very capable of freeing himself, but what was the fun in that? Simon's interest is piqued. What did you want from him? What were you going to do to him? Did you want to see him fuckin' feral, embarrassed and turned as he stroked his cock again for you, darling? You want him naked on your bed, kissing on his tattoos and the newest set of bruises, your soldier blushing as you loved on him like no one ever has before?

Bloody hell, just... just say the word. He'd do anything for you, baby, you know this, just—

Fuck.

It's Simon, falling apart at the seams again when you kiss him.

And you take control.

You take control, sweetheart. Your lips are firm. Soft. Softer than his, and you taste better than any fuckin' drink, food, or ciggie he's ever had in his life. It's Simon and those hands of his, hands that have held weapons and taken lives, holding you like you're the most fragile fuckin' thing because he'd never forgive himself if he'd hurt you, especially when you feel so good in his arms.

It's you deepening the kiss, claiming whats yours, exploring just about every part of his mouth that you can, being a fuckin' tease and playing tongue tag, and fuck, Simon's breathless. Lightheaded, euphoric, hard. Whatever the fuck you wanna call it. He'd call it heaven if he ever believed.

But Simon would be damned if he said you hadn't made a believer out of him.

It's you pulling another coup de grâce, biting down on his lower lip before you pull away completely, enough to break skin, make his cock jump in his pants, and have him feening for more like some fuckin' schoolboy with a crush. Goddamn.

Fuck are you doing to him, sweetheart?

It's you and Simon staring each other down, pupils blown, panting for air, pressed so tightly against each other you might as well merge bodies, and you don't wanna put a name to what you're feeling. Not yet. Simon doesn't let go, doesn't wanna let go, and you're not complaining, not when you're busy taking in your masterpiece of a soldier, flushed and desperate and hard and Jesus fucking Christ.

Mine.

Your soldier who never breaks eye contact with you and runs his tongue over his bottom lip, over your mark, and the slight sting makes his heart skip a beat and his cock jump again.

Yours, sweetheart.

And Simon is in heaven.

[masked-and-mean]

Index

(Last updated: 2 October 2023)

The Concierge has gotten beefy enough that it's getting hard to scroll down and see older chapters, and so this Index is born.

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10)

(11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20)

(21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30)

(31) (32) (33) (34) (35) (36) (37) (38) (39) (40)

(41) (42) (43) (44) (45) (46) (47) (48) (49A) (49B) (50A) (50B) (50C) (50D) (50E)

(51) (52) (53) (54A) (54B)

Headcanons:

Concierge/Sans/Papyrus

Manager/Toriel/Asgore/Frisk

[masked-and-mean]

Commission for @twentydaysofdrabbles for their fic The Concierge. Thank you so much for the support!!

[masked-and-mean]

𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐓, simon riley.

summary: simon takes his time with you, making sure you feel every inch of him as he worships you. cw: gentle!dom simon, soft sex, praise. wc: 460 note: extended drabble of this post.

His weight settles over you, broad and warm, the scent of him—smoke, leather, something distinctly him—wrapping around you like a second skin. His lips brush over yours, not quite a kiss, just a whisper of breath, a tease, as he slowly presses into you.

“Easy, love,” he murmurs, voice thick, gravelly, hands firm on your hips, holding you in place as he sinks deeper, stretching you open, making sure you feel every inch of him.

Your fingers curl into his shoulders, nails pressing into the taut muscle there as a shaky moan slips past your lips. He’s so big, so thick, and he fills you perfectly, the kind of fullness that makes your toes curl, your breath hitch.

Simon groans, low and guttural, when he bottoms out, his forehead dropping to yours. “Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes, his hands roaming up your body, calloused fingers tracing your ribs, your waist, finally cupping your face. His thumb strokes over your cheek before pressing into the soft flesh, squishing your cheeks just enough to make your lips pout.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with adoration as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His honey-brown eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, drinking you in. “So fuckin’ pretty like this, yeah?”

You whimper, nodding as best as you can with his grip still firm on your face, and he rewards you with a slow roll of his hips, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pressing back in, hitting that sweet spot that makes your back arch.

His pace stays steady, slow but deep, every stroke measured, deliberate, designed to make you feel every ridge and vein, to make you memorize the way he fits inside you. His free hand moves down, fingertips ghosting over your stomach before slipping between your thighs, rubbing slow, purposeful circles against your clit.

Your moans are soft, breathy, swallowed by his lips as he kisses you—deep, unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours in perfect sync with the lazy thrust of his hips. He’s everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you, unraveling you piece by piece.

“That’s it, love,” he rasps against your mouth, his own breathing uneven now, his rhythm faltering just slightly. “Come on, be good for me—let me feel you.”

His words tip you over the edge, pleasure crashing over you in slow, molten waves. Your body tightens around him, clenching down as you come apart with a whimper, and the way your walls flutter around him drags a deep groan from his throat.

He chases his own release, his thrusts growing rougher, more erratic, before he finally buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a low, broken moan, his grip on you tightening like he never wants to let go.

[masked-and-mean]

I've been thinking abt a poly!tf141 with a fem!reader who like is from the country side AND I'M CRACKING, OH LAWD!!!

Task Force 141 had seen you kill a man from 700 meters away. They had seen you tear through enemy lines with the precision of a seasoned warrior, your movements deadly and efficient. But what they hadn't seen—what they couldn’t wrap their heads around—was the life you returned to after every mission.

Because while Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz spent their leave in safe houses, military bases, or the occasional urban apartment, you?

You went home.

To the countryside.

To your massive, luxurious farmhouse nestled in the hills of a quiet village, where the air smelled of fresh hay, wildflowers, and the occasional whiff of cow.

And when TF141 finally visited, they were not prepared.

The First Time They Saw the Farm : "What the fuck—" Ghost had been the first to say it when you pulled up to your estate in an old pickup truck, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as you parked in front of a sprawling wooden house with a red-tiled roof.

There were animals everywhere.

A massive black and white cow lazily chewed its cud near the wooden fence. Chickens and roosters strutted about like they owned the place. A gray donkey stared at them with judgmental eyes. Two ducks waddled past as if they were on a mission. Dogs barked excitedly at the sight of you, tails wagging. A cat lounged on the porch, stretching in the warm sun.

And then—a fucking horse trotted up to you, nuzzling into your palm like a puppy.

"Price," Gaz whispered. "She has a fucking farm."

"A fancy one at that," Soap muttered, still stunned.

"You lot gonna stand there all day?" You grinned, tossing your duffel bag over your shoulder. "Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready."

They were bewildered. They had spent years with you, fighting side by side, seeing you covered in blood, sweat, and gunpowder—and now you were leading them up the front porch of your cozy countryside mansion like a perfect little housewife.

And the worst part? They liked it.

You, The Deadly Soldier and The Perfect Housewife

Soap had expected you to relax on your leave. Maybe sleep in, drink some tea, read a book.

But no.

You were up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of bed before any of them could pull you back in, dressed in overalls and a white tank top, heading out to feed the animals like it was just another mission.

"Morning, sweetheart," Price murmured, leaning against the doorway as he watched you toss hay to the horses.

"Morning, Captain," you teased, kissing his scruffy cheek before moving on to collect eggs from the hens.

Ghost watched in silence, arms crossed, as you scolded a particularly feisty rooster. "You peck me one more time, and I swear to God, I’m making soup outta you."

Gaz almost choked on his coffee when you turned around and gave them the sweetest, most innocent smile.

"You boys want breakfast?"

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a massive wooden table in your warm, sunlit kitchen, eating fresh farm eggs, homemade bread, and smoked bacon.

And Soap was ready to propose.

Domesticity With a Side of Chaos

Price: Loves sitting on the porch with a cigar, watching you work. He helps with repairs, fixes fences, and absolutely adores the peacefulness of your home.

Ghost: The animals are terrified of him at first (except the donkey—the donkey hates him). But the barn cats adopt him, curling up in his lap whenever he sits down.

Soap: Thinks farm life is the best thing ever. He learns how to milk a cow, names every single chicken, and gets way too attached to a piglet.

Gaz: "Babe, I love you, but this rooster is evil." (He got chased one too many times.)

And at night?

After a long day of farm work, you slip into something soft and lacy, curl up in their arms, and remind them that you’re not just a soldier, not just a farmer—you’re theirs.

They Never Want to Leave

By the end of their stay, not a single one of them wants to go back.

"You sure we have to leave?" Soap pouts, feeding the ducks.

"Darlin’," Price murmurs against your neck one night, arms wrapped around you in bed, "Ever thought about retirin’ here? With us?"

Ghost doesn’t say it out loud, but when he watches you laugh, your hands covered in flour as you bake bread, he knows he never wants to be anywhere else.

And Gaz?

He just sighs, watching the sunset over the hills. "I never thought I’d say this, but…I think I’m in love with farm life."

They were all in love. With you. With this. With the life they could have, if only they stayed.

Maybe one day.

For now, they’d enjoy every stolen moment in their countsyde paradise. But what if we make thing spicy ? A little bit, at least.

Ghost Was The First To Break

Ghost had held strong. Longer than the others.

While Soap got weak-kneed watching you bend over to pick up hay, and while Gaz couldn’t stop staring at your thighs in those tiny denim shorts, Ghost had kept his cool.

Until that damn sundress.

White. Light. Flowy. Just enough fabric to tempt, but never satisfy—clinging to your curves, slipping off your shoulders as you carried a bucket of water to the horses.

He had been cleaning his rifle on the porch, but his grip tightened the moment he saw the fabric sway with your every step.

And then?

You had the audacity to look over your shoulder and wink at him.

He dropped the rifle.

Soap Lost It In The Barn

Soap had always been shameless about his attraction to you.

But you?

You were even worse.

It was an accident—(was it?)—when you walked into the barn one night, looking for something. The others were inside, drinking whiskey in the house, but Soap had been alone, brushing down one of your horses.

And then he saw you.

Wet.

Covered in rain.

Your thin white blouse clung to you, completely see-through, nipples pebbled against the fabric.

"Lass," he had rasped, watching as you closed the barn door behind you, stepping forward, voice all honeyed and sweet.

"Johnny," you had purred, voice dripping with something that wasn’t innocence, "I’m cold."

He snapped.

The horse had seen things that night.

Price Was The Most Dangerous

Price was a man of control.

A man of restraint.

A man who knew how to bide his time.

But you?

You tested him.

You liked to push. You liked to see how far you could go before he gave in.

And God help you—you found his limit.

It was late. The others were asleep. You were making tea in the kitchen, standing on your tiptoes to reach a mug from the top shelf.

Price had walked in just as your nightgown slipped up your thighs.

It wasn’t fair.

The soft, white cotton. The little lace trim. The way your bare legs looked so smooth, so inviting—and the sleepy way you turned, so unaware of what you were doing to him.

You looked up at him, mug in hand, and smiled. "You want some tea, Cap?"

And then—his hands were on your hips.

Voice rough.

"You know damn well what I want, sweetheart."

Gaz Had It The Worst

Gaz?

Gaz was a goner the first time he saw you in nothing but boots and his shirt.

You had come in from the field soaked in sweat, hair messy, thighs speckled with dirt. You had tossed your muddy clothes into the laundry room, grabbed his green tactical shirt, and walked around the house like it wasn’t driving him insane.

"Babe," he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, watching you stretch, the hem of his shirt riding up to dangerous levels.

You blinked. All innocent. "What’s wrong?"

Gaz was a patient man. A respectful man. A man who was about to lose his goddamn mind.

"Come here."

You smirked, walking over slowly, pressing your hands to his chest.

"You’re so easy to rile up," you giggled.

His hand wrapped around your throat.

"And you’re about to learn what happens when you push too far."

[masked-and-mean]

I am laughing so loud and hard that it has turned it to evil cackle 🤣 goods, this is so fresh!! Haven’t read something like this in a long time!!!! Simon is always (aaaalways) in command, so this one, when he is the one following? YAAAAS QUEEN!!!!

Ghost gets no bitches and he reminds me of whatever that TikTok audio is that’s like “how’d you get her?” And the other person is like “get her? No she grabbed me by the throat and told me I was hers”.

Word count: 800

Warnings: none (ghost being immediately whipped)

So hear me out you’re at the grocery store and while walking down the aisles you see this behemoth of a man. Big muscle sexy, surgical mask covering his face. You want. What to say? How should you approach? Ah yes you need help getting something from the top shelf. Stepping so you’re in his line of sight

“Could you come here?” You ask him and he just gives you a blank stare. Raising your eyebrows clearly waiting for a response he turns around looking for who you could be talking to and who is clearly not listening to you. When he sees no one else in the aisle he slowly points at himself, questioning you. “Yes you.” You smile trying to hold in a laugh. Quickly adding a “please” in the sweetest little voice and he is scurrying over to you.

“Could you please reach that box for me?” Ghost raises his arm up and points to a box when you nod confirming that’s the one you want he hands it to you. “That one too please” he obeys. You have him hand you two more boxes (not needing any of them). Then you try to push your luck a little. “Wait not this one” you hand him a box back and he returns it to the shelf. Before you know it you’ve had this man put all the boxes back just to hand them to you again. A smirk plastered on your face. Not once did the large man question you, not when you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes.

“Ok done with this aisle. Come on.” You start walking and his feet are following you. He hasn’t said a word to you but is following you around the store like a puppy. Down the next aisle you pointed at something (well within your reach) and he handed it you.

“Are you always this obedient?” You watched his eyes go wide but he found himself nodding. He’d probably say yes to anything you ask when you’re looking at him like that, like you want to eat him whole. His answer brought a smile to your face and he swore his knees were gonna buckle. You held out your hand, “phone.” It was a statement not a question and he quickly (fumbling) pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to you. When you saw it was locked you looked up at him moving the phone ever so slightly towards him. You had meant for him to take the phone and unlock it but instead he mumbled out “0000” a small but dramatic gasp left your lips “oh so he does speak.” You typed in the 4 digits and the phone opened. You looked up at him when the basic passcode worked. “Simple and obedient. Just how I like ‘em” ghost swallowed hard. No one has ever treated him like this. Spoke to him like this. Not even Price. He should be offended? Insulted? Definitely not turned on. Right? (mark him down and scared AND horny). You handed his phone back to him, your number and name resting on his screen. He reached to take the phone from you, but you didn’t let go. Fingers touching you looked up at him “you better call me. I’ll be real sad if you dont.” He swore he was gonna pass out. Before you let go of his phone, hands still touching, heavy steps made their way into your aisle.

“Aye lieutenant there ye are. Been wandering round lookin fer ya.” Soap called down the aisle.

Ghost refused to acknowledge his friend calling for him, keeping eye contact with you. Your smile got bigger as you let go of the phone.

“Lieutenant huh? That mean you know how to give orders too?” He nodded again. “Then I’m definitely going to need you to call me. I’d like to see that.” Your eyes shamelessly raked down his figure. Fuck he needs to hold on to something.

Once you finally walked away, Soap approached quickly asking who you were and when ghosted shrugged his shoulders “I don’t know.” (But he’s gonna that’s for sure)

“She’s a fine looking lass I’m gonna go talk to her.” Ghost’s hand moved fast, grabbing the back of Soap’s neck guiding (pushing) him in the opposite direction of you. He was thanking god you saw him first and not Soap. If you had talked to Soap like that, ghost knew you’d have him walking on a leash (who’s he kidding if you had asked ghost would’ve barked)

Part 2 Part 2.5 part 3

[masked-and-mean]

In many other countries, it’s not considered that weird. Not much, just a little.

Again, I’m sorry US. But you are the richest U-land in the world🙄

[masked-and-mean]

i love writing porn and i wont feel bad about it. understanding the eroticism of a character is character analysis if u are enlightened.

[masked-and-mean]

John who fucks you raw for the first time.

You've been dating for a year now, and you always tried to be safe. But now, he came home earlier from a mission, and you didn't have the time to buy the condoms.

But how you can say no to him, when he begs you to let him fuck you. He says how much he missed you and your pussy. So, you agree that you will give him a pussy job and he can push the tip inside.

John thinks that he never felt anything better than your pussy raw on his dick. Everything feels so intense, and he can't control himself. With few hard thrusts he is completely inside you and he can't hear your whimpers when you remind him that he is only allowed just the tip.

Now he has you under him and he promises that he will pull out, but he slowly starts to realize that it won't be possible. He thinks about you full with his child, with your breast getting bigger and his load spilling out of your pussy. How lovely would you look with his fat baby on your hip while being pregnant with another one.

He never thought he had a breeding kink but once he tried your pussy without a condom everything changes.

He pins you down to the mattress pushing his dick deep inside your pussy and when he feels you reaching your orgasm and squeezing his cock he spills his seed inside of you. With few more thrust he fucks the cum deeper inside of you.

And when you moan his name so overwhelmed and sensitive, he knows that he needs to make sure that it sticks. It doesn't take long and he is spilling another load into you.

And than another one in the shower while he has you pressed against the glass. And another one on the couch when he makes you ride him, while he smokes his favorite kind of cigars.

When the next day you come home with a pack of condoms, he quickly hides them away from you when you're not looking. He needs to make sure that soon enough you will be fat with his baby.

Masterlist

[masked-and-mean]

Ghost has been gone for months...

Six months, to be exact.

When he finally gets home it's late at night, well over midnight. All the lights are off, no sound coming from anywhere.

He wonders if you've started moving on. Wonders if your feelings have started fading.

He slips his shoes off and makes his way into your shared bedroom. You're sound asleep in your bed, on his side even though his scent has long since left those sheets.

He undresses and slides in beside you, gentle not to wake you. His head hits the pillow and he sighs as your familiar scent enters his nostrils.

He drapes an arm around you and freezes when his hand lands on your belly.

Your very swollen belly. And he feels a kick right back against his palm.

"Welcome home, Si."

part 2

[masked-and-mean]

Dear tumblr.

Because of you and ao3, my inhibitions was for a moment gone and instead of being anonymous… I I will now play a DnD game with my friends with my obsession of Simon “Ghost” Riley…

I have created a character with a picture for gods sake!

Do you know how embarrassed I am???

And all of them will know!!!!!

——————————————

After the game:

Nobody commented… think they knew but didn’t comment? They just played and just 🤷‍♀️

Another dear friend of mine didn’t even make the connection immediately when I started to explain that the character I made was tall af and had a skull mask…

I think I made this embarrassment bigger then it was because for me he is connected to this other stuff😶 

[masked-and-mean]

Every. Damn. Time. I hear the Luminary from my moms phone when she is just relaxing beside me and watching shorts, my mind just blanks out🤣 like HOW am I supposed to act when she is basically listening to smut music💀💀💀🤣🤣🤣

[masked-and-mean]

[masked-and-mean]

inspired by that sound on tiktok

simon standing at a bus stop in london, he fucking hates this city but sometimes he has business to take care of here. as usual, it’s pissing down with rain and he didn’t bring an umbrella or a hoodie

he’s more bothered about the fact that his cigarette is getting wet and keeps dwindling out. he’s got 5 minutes until the bus gets here and he really doesn’t feel like rolling another one

he’s already agitated and he’s gonna take it out ont he next person who talks to him. or so he thinks, until he feels a light tap on the back of his shoulder. he straightens up and turns with purpose, only to slump in annoyance when he sees you. a pretty thing that he already knows he can’t be a cunt to

there’s normally only one reason someone as sweet as you might approach him and his eyes scan about for any wrongen who might be bothering you but he finds none, just your hand held out with a closed up umbrella wrapped in your palm

“hi… sorry to bother you, I just thought you might want my spare umbrella. I brought it with me by mistake and you look like you need it more than I do…” you smile nervously, clearly off-put by the furrow in his brow and steely look clouding his eyes

he stares at you for a few seconds, unmoving and he thinks you might give up. he sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out an old receipt before scribbling something on the back. snatches the umbrella and shoves the piece of paper into your hand

“take this.” he grumbles, not looking at you. he doesn’t need a reminder of your unwavering gaze and welcoming eyes so soon

“anyone gives yeh any bother, call me. I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em for yeh.”

he doesn’t give you a chance to respond before stubbing out his cigarette and getting on his bus which arrived a bit too soon for his liking

[masked-and-mean]

Well I sure as hell like it!!!

thinking abt some kind of outlaw!au where the 141 walk away from a raid with a lot more than they bargained for.

a few weeks back they’d received word of a nobleman and his wife who’d be leaving for their honeymoon, valuables aboard the carriage. after a bit of lurking and bribing, they’d narrowed down just which road was desolate and wild enough to get away with the raid.

concealed by the bordering forests, they’d waited. an embarrassingly opulent carriage came dawdling down the road (polished wood, velvet curtains, ostentatious engravings) & they pounced.

the drivers & guards, they’d expected. the gunshots, the shouting. what took them by surprise, though, was the wife, who did not fight as gaz wrestled her into his arms. who watched a little too closely when ghost dragged his blade across her husband’s chest, demanding the location of their funds.

“where’s’a money?” price questioned, moving towards the woman when her husband’s pride weighed heavier than his cowardice. his broad palm gripped her jaw as gaz held her arms behind her back. “hm, lovey? y’speak english? y’better tell me, or your sweetheart ‘ere ‘ll be gutted before tha night’s over.”

she watched her husband writhe for a long moment, before meeting price’s gaze. her voice was flat, steady. “kill him.”

soap barked a laugh. ghost cocked his head.

price, though, was intrigued.

“kill ‘im?” he echoed. then, he lifted her hand, yanking the diamond ring off her finger and pinching it between his fingers. “wha’ bout this? just a rock, is it? ‘till death do us part’ mean nothin’ to ya?”

“words don’t mean much when you’re forced to say them, sir.”

“forced?” price questions, narrowed eyes flicking across your features. he looks to your husband, then, who’s soiled his pants. “tha fuck is this muppet forcin’?”

price is quiet for a while, watching your husband as he wriggles in ghost’s grip. when he meets your gaze, there’s a small, barely-there curve to his chapped lips. “you really want ‘im dead?” there’s an amusement to his tone, a disbelief.

you steel your gaze. “yes.”

the curve of his lips bends into a grin, and you’ve barely exhaled before he’s lifting his pistol, aiming it at your husband’s head, and shooting.

limp, he falls to the ground.

you don’t flinch. in fact your voice is steady when you state, “the money’s in the chest, beneath the seats.”

once again, price approaches you. grips your jaw, tilts your face this way and that. he taps your cheek twice, and says, “you heard the woman. soap, get the money. gaz, tie ‘er up, she’s with me.”

[masked-and-mean]

* blushing* this man…

Red. That was all Simon could see as he barreled through the barracks, ignoring the concerned onlookers as he slammed open door after door.

He was just washing up for the day, ready to head to his quarters when he’d heard whispers of you being admitted to medical. The words “banged up pretty good” were all he needed to hear before setting off in a panic to find you.

You were everything to him. Simon Riley was a man who swore he’d die alone and be happy doing so, until you came along. You, with your terrible jokes, your witty personality, your loyalty and determination and gods damn your fucking smile. He’d do anything to see you smile.

Love wasn’t something that came easy to Simon, but with you it did. Loving you was as easy as breathing, it was natural. He loved you from the moment he saw you, and would love you until the day he died.

The door to the infirmary flung open, and Simon strode in with purpose, his eyes scanning the entire room. When they landed on you, Simon felt his heart drop, his blood running cold.

“Who did this?” Was all he said, his cold gaze softening ever so slightly as he took in every cut and bruise that littered your beautiful skin. It took everything in him not to yell, to scream.

Your eyes dropped from his, your lips forming a thin line as the nurse beside you finished stitching the large cut that now adorned your shoulder.

“Y/N.” His voice was stern, causing you and the nurse to jump slightly.

With a small smile aimed at you, the nurse gave a polite nod to Simon as she ran past, leaving the two of you alone in the now eerily silent room.

“Tell me.” Simon demanded, sinking to his knees in front of you. When you still refused to meet his gaze, he gently rested his index finger on your chin and tilted your head to look at him. His eyes were soft, gentle as he gazed into your own. “Tell me.”

The tenderness in which Simon looked at you had your lower lip wobbling, a soft sob slowly escaping your mouth as you replayed what had happened in your head. “Simon, it’s okay.”

“It’s not. You need to tell me what happened.” His finger gently began to graze your cheek, a tenderness that you’d grown used to over the years with him. A tenderness reserved only for you.

“The mission went south. There was a mole. We got ambushed.” Was all you said, as you struggled to regain your composure.

“Who.”

“Simon, please it’s really okay, I-.”

“Who.”

Your brows furrowed slightly as Simon ripped off his mask, his face now fully visible to you. Concern etched its way across his features as he held your gaze. You knew this was a battle you wouldn’t win.

“Coles. It was Coles.”

“He dead?” Simon asked, his face not showing any of his internal turmoil. If he wasn’t, Simon would make damn well sure he’d suffer for what had happened to you.

You shook your head as your bottom lip trembled once more. “No, but Simon-.”

Simon cut you off with a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering against your skin as he murmured, “Sleep in my quarters tonight, yeah? I’ll be back soon.”

Without waiting for your reply, he strode out of the infirmary, the red in his vision intensifying as he set out to find the mole. Nobody, nobody would harm a hair on his lovers head and get away with it.

Simon would do anything for you, die for you, kill for you. He’d do anything to make sure that beautiful smile of yours was permanently etched onto your lips.

For you, Simon Riley would watch the world burn.