girlypopsimon

[girlypopsimon]

Heyyy, Im quite new to writing and am not that good yet. If you have tips or suggestions please feel free to tell me 🫶🏻. English isn’t my first language so please excuse mistakes.

„Mhmm…I missed this, baby.“ he breathes into your hair while holding you tightly.

„Me too.“

It’s been weeks since you last saw him. His job, the missions and deployments ripping him away from your side for months at a time.

You met him at base. Ran right into him while having your nose in a few reports Price shoved into your arms earlier.

You were a secretary but at the same time a lot more. You started managing the task force, helped Price organize everything and even started deciding stuff regarding the missions but you never met Ghost. Which was pretty strange considering you’re on the same team.

Somehow though he always managed to just…well vanish when you were near.

Johnny swears on his mum that he saw him disappear in a wall.

Important to mention: Johnny also swore that he was able to fly that night. A night in which he practically emptied two bottles of whiskey alone.

Anyways, you ran into him and after a short shock moment you immediately started talking „Ahh, Ghost! Finally! Oh my it’s so nice to finally meet you and- Oh sorry 'bout running into you. I have a few thin-“ and that’s the moment he wordlessly walked around you and further down the hall.

You were BAFFLED.

Sure Price told you that Ghost is…uhh difficult but that amount of disrespect and asshole-ness wasn’t something you’d let down easily.

With an agitated huff you sprint after him.

„Excuse you? I‘m talking to you.“ the sweet and chatty voice gone, replaced by the firm tone you adapted from Price and tada he actually looked at you.

„Wha‘s it, birdy?“ he says lowly and you almost swoon right then and there.

Thank god he doesn’t talk to you much, you would never get anything done with that voice talking to you.

„Uhh…I…sorry. What did ye say?“

„Wha‘ ye want from me.“

„Just wanted to say hello and…uhh hello.“

„Hello.“ and off he is again.

„Wait! You need to come to the meetings.“ you squeak out and walk after him.

„Do I now?“

„Yes.“ your infatuation with him and his voice got lost almost as fast as it came „You have to come to TEAM meetings because you’re part of a team.“ with a huff you scribble time and date for the next meeting on a piece of paper and hold it out. „Be there or I‘ll find you personally.“

He grumbles something about you spending too much time with Price while leaving.

To your surprise he actually came.

All of you already sat at the conference table looking at some papers when he entered.

Johnny and Kyle snicker „Oh look who it is. Finally got the invitation, Lt?“ and Price only raises a brow in surprise.

You look at him and slide a folder to him but don’t look at him.

The next few weeks you saw him more often. He started to come to meetings and be in the common room when you’re around and even to the pub.

„Don’t ya think ya had enough, love?“ you hear his deep voice behind you while you’re standing on the dance floor and take another shot.

Your knees, those little traitors, decided to buckle right then and there and hadn’t his hands been wrapped around your waist you would have landed on the ground.

The rest of the night is blur. You remember that he carried you out and buckled you into a jeep then it’s black until you remember white tiles and his deep voice saying something about getting you out of your clothes that you apparently dirtied with vomit.

The last thing is him laying you down on a surprisingly comfortable bed and pulling a thick blanket over your limp and exhausted body.

The next morning you woke up to him crouched next to the bed and gently waking you up „Gotta wake up, dove.“

At first you don’t know who that is. His face is gorgeous. Pale skin, thin slightly darker scars marring his face, thin lips and a nose that looks a little too crocked to assume it was never broken. The main focus is on his eyes though. Honey colored with specks of darker browns and even greens in them, framed by long lashes and more scars.

„Ghost…?“ you mumble confused and severely disoriented.

„Yeah.“ he sounds almost sheepish and like he doesn’t want you to look at him, and you’re sure that if you were clearer in the head you would’ve just nodded but in your headache riddled and still dizzy state you reach out to trace a scar near his eyebrow

„You’re pretty.“

„Yeah yeah. C‘mon, gotta eat something and take some aspirin.“

With surprising tenderness and care he helps you up, hold a glass of water to your lips and then puts two towels and some clothes on the bed before leaving.

After the shower you put on his clothes. They swallow you whole. His sweats too long and if you hadn’t tied the strings together they would just drop to the floor. His shirt is similar, going to your mid thighs and just hanging around your frame limply.

That however did not stop Simon from falling for you even harder.

He told you a few times during your relationship that he liked you way before the pub incident, but seeing you in his clothes, seeing his name on you- well he was whipped.

„I love you, baby.“

„Love you more, birdie.“

Simon presses a kiss on your forehead again while his hands hold your bump „And I love our baby bird. You‘ll be the best momma ever.“

[girlypopsimon]

Hey, english isn’t my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I’m quite new to writing and appreciate any kind of feedback and tips.🫶🏻

Trigger warning: terminal illness, death, suicide.

„What do you want to watch, baby?“ Simons voice is muffled due to him having his lips pressed against your hair.

„I don’t care, Si. Maybe something colorful?“ your words are quiet and you’re exhausted.

„Something with color…mhmm. We can watch that baking show you like.“

„Cake or fake? Yeah, sounds good.“

You lay against his chest, arms wrapped around you, caressing your skin everywhere his fingers can reach.

It’s a quiet moment. Almost peaceful.

You took a shower a few minutes ago, he washed your scalp and body. He brushed your hair and braided it.

And now you’re cuddling in bed, watching the colorful tv show that always made you laugh.

You feel Simons breathing behind you is irregular, his body feeling a little tense but he tries to hide it even though he is failing miserably.

„I love you, you know that right, Si?“

„Of course I know that, birdie.“

Birdie.

Your favorite nickname. You love birds, they’re free. Free to go wherever they want, whenever they want and however they want.

Not you though.

You feel the last bit of energy leaving you.

The month long struggle and battle you fought overcoming you and forcing you onto your knees.

He’s been there for it all.

The first symptoms.

The diagnosis.

The first treatment.

Every chemotherapy session he was there to hold your hand, to support your head when it got heavy and occasionally carrying you to the hospital bed.

The nurses let him.

A bad sign. They told him that these are the last weeks he’ll have with you. Told him to hold you at every moment possible and to love you until your end.

There is no cure, Mr Riley. We told you and your wife already. We can only hold it off for so long.

That’s what let you to right now. Laying in his arms in a freshly made bed, clean body and hair, your wedding dress still hanging over the door from when you put it on again for the last time and the full pill bottle in the trash can because they also only push the inevitable a few days back.

Simon holds you tightly, rubs your wedding band and kisses your temple every few minutes while a steady stream of tears flows from his eyes.

„I love you, birdie.“ he mumbles again but there is no reaction, not even a twitch and he knows there won’t ever be again.

Your breathing that was only shallow before, but still there, stopped, your weak, but still there, grip on his hand weakens until your slender fingers slip from his.

In death you look small.

But Simon knows you weren’t. You were the sun in his universe. He, his life, his heart and soul revolved around you.

His anchor point that gave him something to hold him just lifted.

His sun extinguished.

Shrunken to a small frail body.

He held you tighter, crying into your hair.

In the background 'Cake or Fake‘ still happily chirping away, but that was wrong.

There was no happiness.

No light.

No reason to live.

He knew you would never tell him to keep going.

Knew how much he resented life, but a small part hoped till your last second that he would keep going.

The bigger part however saw the Zyankali pills he stole from work.

Saw that he placed it in his nightstand with a small bottle of water right next to it.

And deep down you knew that he couldn’t keep going and a selfish little voice inside of you was glad.

Even if you never believed in a god you spent your last moment wishing that you would see him again.

And as Simon took the pill and kissed you softly before laying you both comfortably down he wished that he would see you again.

[girlypopsimon]

Heyyyy, I’m new to writing and appreciate everyone who reads my works. (English isn’t my first language so pls excuse mistakes) This is self indulgent and were my experiences with the topic, they are different for everyone. If you’re struggling try to reach out for help🫶🏻.

Trigger warning: Self harm, mentions of suicidal thoughts in the past, hurt/comfort

You couldn’t believe it.

5 years.

You were clean for 5 fucking years.

1.825 days.

2.628.000 minutes.

And then you failed. Again. Like always. Because that’s your life. Always has and always will.

Failure.

Over and over and over and over.

A never ending cycle of failure, self destruction and anger.

So much of it.

At your husband. At his job, his deployments, at the time you have to be without him- no. The time you have to be alone with your mind.

You always had the urge to see blood. Yours specifically.

You were 11 when you first reached for an eyebrow razor. Dragged it across your calf, only once, then the realization hit and you dropped the razor.

But a habit, a way out, was forged.

Just that it wasn’t a way out.

Just a deformed sense of relief, because how would ripping and cutting yourself apart ever be an escape? Proper relief?

It isn’t.

Never was.

Never will.

It trapped you. Caught you in it’s trap. Weaved itself into your skin, under it. Engraved itself into your flesh.

But now? Years after that first time of cutting your skin, like cracking open a glass in which you ferment your drinks to keep it from exploding, to give the pressure a seemingly controlled release and outlet, you thought you left that habit behind you.

Thought that with Simon your demons would finally leave, and they did.

For 5 years.

1.825 days

and 2.628.000 minutes.

But as everyone knows, old habits die hard. And those that leave skin deep marks, those that are woven across your body, wrapped around your bones and have their claws sunken into your neck are stubborn and cruel.

You learned to live with it.

Accepted the scars marring your body.

Simon accepted them. Matched them even.

It gave you security. Made you think you could grow past it.

But this?

This shows you that you will never outrun something that is carved into your very flesh.

Here you sit. On your side of the bed, looking at the bleeding cuts over your left arm. Blood runs down in rivulets, pooling in your palm before dripping down between your fingers and onto the wooden floor.

Simon has been deployed for 2 months.

2 months in which you just started spiraling.

The life you so carefully crafted and created to help you heal breaking away like twigs under your feet.

You stopped drinking your 500ml of water every morning.

Then stopped making your bed daily.

Then stopped putting your jewelry on every morning.

Then you stopped carefully picking your outfit, styling your hair because you genuinely enjoyed it. Now you don’t.

Then you stopped cooking daily and started eating everything you found. Toast, cornflakes, the long forgotten ice cream from the freezer.

Then began the pain.

First only a subtle numbness in your ankles that spread to your hips before it turned into a heaviness that kept you from walking and going to the gym.

Before everything began to blur in a mix of pain and anger.

And before realizing anything else you did it again. Broke the promise you gave yourself to never do it again.

The worst of all however is that you can’t even blame it on him being gone. He was gone multiple times throughout the years and it never affected you like this.

You had to accept once again that you’re ill.

Ill.

You hated that word. It made what you felt so small.

Only 3 letters. 3 letters for infinite pain.

The front door opens quietly and he enters just as quietly.

The heavy boots get left at the entry along with the duffel bag and the skull mask. Both hits the ground with a muffled thud.

The stairs creak under his weight and his footsteps sound softer on the carpet in the hallway.

You don’t notice any of it.

You first realize he’s back when he opens the door and takes in the sight before him. His wife, sitting on the bed while blood runs down her arm and drips to the floor.

„Oh baby…“ he whispers and takes a few steps further into the room.

He knows you don’t need empty phrases like everything will be alright or it’s okay.

Because he knows they are just that. Empty.

Instead he kisses your head and without a comment he vanishes in the bathroom.

Mere moments later he comes out with disinfectant spray, gauze, iodine ointment, bandages and tape.

Wordlessly he kneels before you and takes your arm. Gently cleans the surrounding area before pressing gauze against the still bleeding cuts. With military precision he applies the ointment, presses new gauze on the cuts and then wraps it before securing the bandages with tape.

A kiss to your wrist and a „C‘mon, love.“ later you stand in the bathroom and he washes your hand. Cleans the blood from your cuticles and from under your fingernails.

He‘s gone for a few moments but when he leads you back into the bedroom you see that the blood stains from the floor are gone.

He helps you into bed.

„I‘ll be right there, baby. Just need to take a shower.“

And like he promised he slips into bed behind you a few minutes later.

His arms wrap around you, pull your back against his chest and he is just…there.

Because even if you just gutted your streak of being clean,

for 5 years

1.825 days

and 2.628.000 minutes,

you did not fail.

You still were clean for that time. Still lived your life and for the most part, moved on.

This moment made you realize that you just had a setback. A minor one.

You’re not failing.

Aren’t failure.

You’re alive. Something 13 year old you would have never even thought about.

You’re alive.

Moved on for the most part.

Have people that love you.

People you love.

People that understand and don’t think you’re failing.

You did the thing younger you would have never expected.

You survived it.

And to younger you‘s surprise…you love life because one set back isn’t life.

[girlypopsimon]

Heyyyy, this is one of my first written things so please bear with me. (English isn’t my first language so just ignore any mistakes.)

Tips or any advice/suggestions are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading. 🫶🏻🥰

„He.“ *smack* „Is.“ *smack* „An.“ *smack* „Asshole.“ *smack, smack, smack* you mutter between punches that leave Soap breathless.

The two of you are standing in the sparring ring at the bases gym in the early night. „Why is he like that, Johnny?“

*smack* another punch to the pad strapped around his abdomen „Dunno.“ he grunts and lifts a hand in defeat „I…I need a break, hen.“

„Yeah. Shit. Sorry.“ you grumble and unwrap your hands and throw the dark green bandages across the room.

„How can someone that smart be so…so…ARGHHH…so fucking daft?!“ a kick against the sand sack in the corner.

Then another one and then a third.

Johnny unstraps the pads from hands and abdomen and approaches you from behind „Well…he’s Ghost.“ Soap offers halfheartedly.

„Wow.“ you retort accompanied by another kick against the poor sand sack „What a brilliant answer.“

„Wha‘ am I supposed to tell ya?“ the now slightly annoyed man grunts.

With an agitated huff you stomp out of the room and along the hallway until you reach your barracks where, to your severe dismay, the cause of your agitation already waits with an almost puppy like expression.

„'m sorry; sweetheart. I promise I really didn’t mean it like that…I didn’t…uhh think?“ he offers apologetically but you hear the laugh under his breath and see that he really as to pull himself together to not laugh. Puppy-dog eyes my ass.

„Here.“ you hold out a copy of your civi apartment key „Wha‘ am I supposed to do with that, sweets?“ he only glances at it before going back to cleaning his knife. „It’s for my apartment, Si. So you can get in…you know, because we’re a couple, remember?“ you raise a brow and hold it out once again „'m never there anyway?“ he huffs and turns his attention fully to his knife.

„'m never there anyway.“ you huff and mock his accent „That’s what you have to say to me when I give you a key to my apartment?“ even more agitation mixes into your voice „Idiot.“ you mutter, and that’s his last straw.

With an equally agitated huff he throws you over his shoulder and holds you down by your thighs „Already said 'm sorry, sweets. An‘ don’t ya dare call me an idiot. Now gimme that key and be quiet.“ with one fluid motion he opens your barracks‘s door, enters and puts you back on your feet.

„Imma say it again, sweets. 'm sorry and of course I wan‘ that stupid key.“ he cups your face in his gigantic, gloved hands while towering over you.

„Am I forgiven, baby?“ he murmurs and kisses the right corner of your lips, then the left one and finally he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

With a defeated sigh you just mumble „Of course you are. But for real, how can someone so smart be that daft?“ you snicker.

[girlypopsimon]

Hi, this is lowkey the first thing I‘ve ever written (at least in english, it’s not my first language) and yeah…uhh I don’t know. I hope someone likes it or even reads it but yeahhhhh…..To anyone who reads it anyway THANK YOU 🫶🏻😝

Oh and any tips are greatly appreciated.

3 months. 3 horrible, gruesome and cruel months has he been on deployment somewhere in South America with barely any contact.

You wait near the tarmac with your 4 year old daughter on the hip, wait for your husband to get out of the helicopter, hug you, kiss you and little Lia and then tell you that now everything will be alright again.

Unfortunately you don’t live in a fairy tale and instead of the mighty Ghost stepping onto the tarmac after a successful deployment you’re met with a stretcher getting lifted out of the helicopter. On it your husband, a neck brace around his throat, bandages over his torso and dirt and blood caked all over his face and hair.

If it hadn’t been for Johnny you would have collapsed right then and there, would have sunken to the ground, your daughter still in your arms while panic, pain and pure dread would have filled your very arteries until your heart would’ve stopped beating.

Instead, Johnny gripped your arm so tightly that it snapped you back to reality. Almost.

The Scot’s white and horrified face next to yours, his mouth moving but the words don’t reach your ears. Your brain seemingly replaced by cotton as the dread still pumps through your body, clouding your senses and dulling everything until it all blurs together.

The only thing you register is Johnny taking your daughter, his niece, from your arms and distracting her from the stretcher, her unmoving daddy and her distraught mommy.

The next thing you know is that you’re sprinting across the tarmac, ducking under Prices arm and stopping next to your husband’s body. Up close you see the various bruises, cuts and even bullet wounds marring his body, leaving him looking vulnerable and…defeated. Something no one thought possible.

Ghost, the force to be reckoned with. The name that made the enemy tremble in fear. The name dozens of people heard, but no one ever saw the man behind it and if they ever did it was the last thing they ever saw. That Ghost- no not Ghost, Simon Riley, your husband, your daughter’s father, the love of your life and your soulmate…defeated?

It couldn’t be. He promised. Promised it was a simple mission.

That promise echos in your mind while you hold his hand, still warm but unmoving. The world around you seems to explode and slow down at the same time.

Medics come running, soldiers free the way, others run to the infirmary to get an emergency OR all while you stand there and hold his hand. It doesn’t last much longer though, medics and other people you don’t recognize shove you away, say words you don’t understand and grab your shoulders and face.

Price, Price grabbed your face. He makes you look at him but you try to look at Simon. Simon, your husband who gets rushed to the infirmary while two pairs of hands hold you back.

Again, you see Price‘s mouth move but the words never reach your ears. Everything is drowned out by a ringing in your ears and Simons promise to always come back to you.

„Listen to me, love.“ the words sound so far away and yet they reverberate through your mind and you actually drag your eyes away from the now closed door through which they took him.

The words come from John. His mouth moves again but it’s so hard to follow. Calm down, listen, he’s alive, listen - he’s alive. Alive. Simon is alive? Then why didn’t he react? He never ignores you.

You now realize who the other pair of hands belong to, Kyle. His hands on your shoulder and arm so you don’t try to run.

You take a breath.

In and out.

In and out.

Again.

Now you look around. Soldiers on their positions looking at you, Johnny with your daughter in his arms who didn’t realize what just happened, Price holding your face so you focus on him and Kyle telling you to relax.

The tension leaves your body and you would have landed face first on the ground hadn’t both men held you up.

You hear Price talk about something but again only hear some words while the rest is only unidentifiable gibberish ambush, alone, 15 armed men, Simon, bullet wound, thigh.

Slowly you blink, then nod.

The next thing you know is that Kyle pushes you into an armchair in the common room.

Over the next few hours a soldier comes in and tells you „He’s alive, Mrs. Riley.“ every twenty minutes.

You don’t know how much time passes before John reappears. He stops in front of you and calls out a few times „Love? You hear me?“ and after a shaky nod „He survived the operation. He’s in an intensive care unit.“

Survived. That’s the only word that you fully register and it feels like you can actually breathe again.

It takes another few minutes to fully recover from the terror. The dread slowly ebbing away leaving a shocked but almost hopeful feeling.

Johnny comes in with Lia who is sleeping on her uncles chest.

With a small nod Johnny places her in your arms again „You alright, bonnie?“ you can only nod and press your face against her hair.

A whole grueling day. That’s how long it takes for Simon to wake up. You sit in a chair next to his bed, careful to not jostle the plenty of tubes and wires connected to his body, and hold his hand.

At first you don’t notice the movement in his hand that lays centimeters from your head that’s resting on the mattress but then you hear a groan, followed by a whisper of your name.

You sit up „Simon? Simon, baby? Are you awake?“ euphoria overtakes you and you kiss him which you quickly stop when a pained grunt leaves him „Careful, luv.“ he rasps, his voice darker and huskier from disuse and lack of water.

Tears stream down your cheeks and sobs break from your throat „Oh god. I thought I lost you.“ you whimper, „Can’t get rid of me that easily.“ he huffs.

Nurses come in and start testing and prodding at him to see if there’s any permanent damage.

It takes a few minutes but then he’s finally declared stable and free to go.

Another sob breaks out of my throat and I press his hand to my lips „You‘ll be alright, baby...“.

It takes almost two hours to get him home. He moves like a slug. Slow and takes a few minutes of rest after a few meters and if you weren’t still in pure relief of him waking up you’d be rolling your eyes.

The minute he does get home however he can move properly again. Rushes towards Lia who is equally excited „DADDY!“ she half squeals and half straight up screams. With not much grace and a painful sounding crunch from his kneecaps, he drops to the ground and wraps his big arms around her. The next moment he’s sobbing and rocking her back and forth, kissing her head and chubby cheeks „My baby…my perfect angel…“ and the moment after that you’re sobbing too.

But all was good.

He was good.

And you would soon learn about the already signed retirement papers on the Prices table.