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[deriley]

I’m just thinking of former/almost pro volleyball player reader who scares the living hell out of tf141 on court.

Why? Because their team medic: tender, strong willed, yet incredibly empathetic— is crushing the other team under her shoes. Cold-stone face, hardened like a criminal.

Make matters worse? You’re the team captain.

It all started when you and your former team had a meet up. One final game before your medical duties take you away.

Your friends convinces you to invite your ‘military bros’, despite your red face and flushed embrasement.

“Come on lass!” cheered Johnny from the stands, “Show us what you go ya?”

In truth, the boys didn’t expect much.

But god damn.

From the moment you hit the court, your personality and facade did a 180.

You yelled formations, kept your teammates in line, strategized, and blocked every spike like a fucking iron wall.

Price can’t help but stare, especially when your teammates called you ‘Captain’. He never thought authority could look so damn good on you.

Gaz and Soap are holding onto their fucking seats.

And your spikes?

Simon recalls what your teammate said before the match:

“You know, they call her the demon.”

Soap scoff, “Why? She’s nothin’ but an angel.”

Your teammate smirks and lets out a hearty laugh, “Oh you don’t know? I’ll make sense when you see her spikes: could shatter your arms in a hit. Maybe even blow a hole through your head.”

“Do you think I could take her spikes?” whispered Soap to Gaz.

Gaz gulps, “Unless you want to go to hell mate.”

[deriley]

[deriley]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C5Yytr8rgN0/?igsh=bGZmODk2MmdrZXA0

PLSS THIS IS SO HUSBAND!SIMON AND WIFE!READER WITH RILEYYY

PLSSS ANON THIS IS PERFECT I LOVE IT

***

Riley knew you were pregnant before you knew yourself. She had been nudging at your belly for days before she left with Simon for his mission. 

During your pregnancy, she was the absolute best. Simon had trained her to grab water bottles for you so you wouldn’t have to be on your feet so very often. She would follow you everywhere, waiting outside the bathroom when you got up in the middle of the night to pee. She cuddled you any time you were hurting, especially when Simon wasn’t there to comfort you. 

When you and Simon disappeared from the house, she was so confused. 

Then you came back two days later with a baby boy in your arms. 

Simon holds Riley back by her colour while you sit down on the couch, adjusting yourself, knowing Riley is too excited and eager to meet her new sibling. The moment he lets her go, she races over to you, putting her front two paws on your knees, lifting herself up to sniff at the baby. 

You burst out giggling, trying to get her to slow down, Simon grabbing at her collar to do the same. She sniffs Tommy over and over, licking his cheek. To your surprise, for once, he doesn’t cry, but smiles. Riley licks your cheek too, curling into your side to admire the baby. She rests her head on your leg as you cradle the baby against your chest, Simon on your other side, holding you three close to him.

It’s like they’ve been friends for years.

[deriley]

You have the habit of saying out of pocket shit.

Not so much that it makes you mean, or crazy rude, but just that it’s apparent that the military training didn’t exactly wring out that personality of yours.

You hang with Gaz a lot, mainly cause it’s funny seeing him come up with quick answers for your random inquiries.

You just can’t keep quiet.

“How was your day, Sergeant?”

“Just fine, got a new deodorant from versache cause of a raffle. Been sniffing that shit like it’s cocaine.”

“Given the history I wouldn’t be surprised if it had it.”

“…oh shit-“

He entertains it more than not.

Soap is surprisingly more motherly like when it comes to your random meltdowns.

Probably because you're giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“(Y/n), yer goin to combust if ye keep stressing over this work that’s not yers.”

You were looking over his paper work for a bomb diffusions.

“What the fuck are these fucking formulas-“

“Somethin ye don’t have to worry about now go sort inventory-“

“Soap how do you do this everyday-?!”

“(Y/n) I’ll not wipe blood snot or tears off this floor, leave my stuff be, before ye fucking off yerself.”

He just doesn’t want you to stress.

“Fine I guess I’ll go ‘off myself’ then.”

“Hang on-“

Then Gaz’ll join. “Don’t tell 'em to ‘hang’ on! The kid just said they were gonna off themselves!”

Price and Ghost are two of the same but with different ways of handling you.

“Ghost what the odds of me surviving this mission.”

“Bout 50/50.”

“Now how do I lower the chance-“

“That’s quite enough, (L/n).”

But it comes in handy. Especially after a long and grueling training with the others. Instead of heading for the showers you actually head to your barracks. Ghost is the one that spots you.

"Just where do you think you goin', Sergeant?"

You turn to look at him. "Lt, I'm five seconds away from quitting the military and plastering my ass or feet online for the cash. I'm tired. Please let me skip the meeting."

He stares at you for a bit before shaking his head. "Sweet dreams, lunatic."

[deriley]

LOSING MY RELIGION

WIFE!READER X HUSBAND!SIMON

SYNOPSIS: After his comrades death, Simon comes home and remembers what he has to lose. His family.

WARNINGS: Heavy angst :(, Spoiler!!

Your husband was coming home. Forget the stress of school rushes and sorting out the girls’ packed lunch. Forget the stress of ringing up your mum to look after the girls for a day (or two) Forget all of that for your husband was finally coming home.

With his favourite dish cooking in the oven, you wondered what wad taking him so long. Maybe something’s holding him up at the base? Maybe-

Knock, Knock!

You walk- no!- practically run to the door, excited to see your Simon. But once you open the door, and hug him and kiss him like you always do, a cold feeling runs down your spine. He didn’t hug you back nor kiss you back.

“Simon..?” You asked quietly. Your husband’s face was completely still, looking anywhere but your eyes. “Babe? What’s wrong?”

In your years of marriage and dating, you’ve seen Simon cry three times (when you gave birth to your three girls). But never have you seen him just cry and sob, until now.

He grips you tight and sobs into your neck, “Babe? Tell me what’s wrong!” You feel tears sting your eyes too.

“He’s dead, Y/N….Johnny’s…” He choked on his own words but you got the message. Johnny, the Godfather to your youngest child, was dead. Memories come flooding back of the moments you spent with him and Simon. The pub nights, the wedding, the Christmas parties.

Thoughts of Johnny’s partner also came to mind, how would they deal with this? Do they know?

Once Simon calmed down, and you gave him a cup of tea, he explained everything to you.

“Me, Price and Kyle…we had to err tell her the news this morning. That’s why I was late. And…She was pregnant and none of us knew…” You wiped a stray tear from his eyes as you listened to him. “She didn’t cry. Didn’t even sob. I think it was shock she was just so still. I wondered if she heard Price when he said that Johnny is dead. It was fucking awful.”

He continues, “I guess, seeing her pregnant reminded me of when you were pregnant…And how you’d struggle when I went on deployment and stuff…Made me think about what would happen if I didn’t come back. Like…It’s fuckin jarring…”

You kiss his shoulder as he speaks. After a while, he stops speaking and settles in silence with you. Nothing but the sounds of both your hearts beating filled the room.

He needed this, his wife, his kids, his house. Not once has he ever thought of quitting his job, until now. Simon knew you’d be a wreck if he passed away, and his girls would be a mess too.

In his mind, it was settled. He’d quit. For you.

[deriley]

I’ll Wait | Simon “Ghost” Riley 4.8k words

“Is there nothing I can do to stop you?” Her eyes were downcast; the room was dark, only moonlight streaming through the windows. It was silent, like the whole world paused, except for the two of them.

He paused, a lit cigarette between his crooked fingers. Smoke curled from his lips, a haze in the moonlight. An exhale, "No." The single word hung in the air heavier than the smoke. She looked again at the already-organized tactical gear on her floor. It was a mocking reminder of what will be taken away from her.

“It’s a suicide mission, can’t they have someone else in exchange for you?” There was anger, pain, and betrayal all at once.

"There is no one else to send," he replied, his voice cold and firm. He took a drag on the cigarette, the tip burning a deep red before fading into the darkness. "Besides, there's no one better suited for this than me."

“But you could die!”

The words hung in the air, a silent echo of the unspoken fears between them. The room felt colder, the moonlight harsher. She fought back tears, her heart heavy with the weight of impending loss.

His eyes flickered, the tiniest crack in his stoic facade. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching her, before finally responding in a low voice. "I know."

She blinked. And one. And another. And a tear.

He pushed himself off the wall and moved closer to her. Taking another draw from the cigarette, he took a moment to exhale before speaking. "Don't... cry." The words were said softly, almost a plea.

She took the deepest inhale, trying to preserve his scent in her memory as long as possible.

“Why you?”

He paused for a beat, his gaze lingering on her face before looking away. He dropped the cigarette into an ashtray before answering. "I'm expendable."

"No, you’re not… no, you’re not…" she shook her head repeatedly, tears falling with each movement.

He closed the distance between them, taking her face in his hands. "Stop crying." His thumbs wiped away her tears, his touch surprisingly delicate for a man who was so rough and cold.

He exhaled a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving her face. "This... this mission. It's the only way." He paused, as if debating whether to say more. "And... they're right. I am expendable."

"You don’t get to say that, Simon! You don’t!" She bit her lip, stopping a scream.

His grip on her face tightened almost imperceptibly, his eyes dark as he looked at her. "Then what else am I supposed to say?!" His voice was edged with irritation, and a hint of something that almost sounded like pain.

She didn’t know either. This was out of their control; she was still a civilian with no knowledge about this.

She just stared at him, feeling the weight of the impending loss pressing down on her chest, the agony of knowing he was slipping away.

She took another breath, fanning herself. She could feel her throat constrict, her heart breaking with every single beat.

He exhaled deeply, the sound a mixture of irritation and frustration. Loosening his grip on her face, his fingers gently cupped her chin. "Don't look at me like that."

He held her gaze for a moment before sighing deeply, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Stop thinking the worst. I’m coming back, you hear me?” His voice was firm, almost commanding.

But deep down, even he knew it was a lie. Simon had read the report a hundred times.

A subtle tension gripped his jaw; a flicker of doubt danced in his eyes. He knew the truth. The report was a death sentence. Yet he spoke with confidence, "I've done this a thousand times before. I'll be fine."

His words were meant to reassure her, but hesitation lingered in his voice. Changing the subject abruptly, he shifted his gaze to the floor. "I... I have something for you. It's in the bedroom."

"Huh?"

Releasing her face, he gestured toward the bedroom door. "Wait here."

He turned and disappeared into the dimly lit bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. She remained limp on the couch, her limbs refusing to move.

Rummaging through a drawer, he searched for something. Moonlight filtered through the window as he returned moments later, holding a small velvet box.

"Sit up," he instructed gently as he settled beside her on the couch, the box cradled in his hands. He waited for her to comply.

With effort, she nodded and sat upright.

He nodded in approval, extending the box toward her. "Open it."

Watching her closely, his eyes flickered between her face and the box.

Carefully, she opened the box, her voice rough as she spoke, "A necklace..."

He grunted in confirmation. "It's a locket," he gruffly replied, observing as she lifted the delicate silver locket from its velvet nest. "Open it," he urged softly.

He waited, watching her every move, as she opened the locket. Inside was a tiny photo—a picture of both of them during one of their beach days. He spoke quietly, "For you to... have something to remind you of me."

And all the emotions flooded her body again; every memory, every pain, every joy—the looming feeling of his permanent departure. She fell to her knees.

He moved quickly, his body tensing as she collapsed. He knelt down next to her, his hands gently guiding her onto his lap. "Hey, hey... don't cry," he said softly. His fingers tangled in her hair, and he tucked her head under his chin.

He held her there for a moment, letting her cry into his chest, his body shielding her from everything else in the world. His voice was low, "I hate seeing you cry..."

Despite his tough exterior, there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice. He continued to hold her, his hand gently rubbing circles on her back, a comforting gesture to soothe her tears.

She was screaming, wailing…

He winced at the sound of her screams and wails, his arms tightening around her. He hated seeing her like this, so helpless and vulnerable. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was the cause of her pain. "Shhh…" He tried to soothe her, his voice rough with concern. "Calm down…"

He rocked her gently, his body trying to provide her any semblance of comfort. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry." He repeated the words over and over again, like a mantra, hoping that they would be enough to ease her pain.

“Please come back to me…”

He inhaled sharply at her words, the weight of her plea hitting him like a punch to the gut. He held her closer, his fingers digging into her skin as he spoke. "I will." His voice was firm, resolute. "I promised you, didn't I? I'll come back."

But there was that doubt in his voice. He knew it. It was a contract for death. But he couldn’t show his weakness. He can’t.

His arms tightened around her again, holding her so closely that it seemed as if he was trying to physically keep her from falling apart. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding her gaze, as he continued to speak. "I've been in worse situations. This is nothing. Trust me."

It was an attempt at reassuring her, but the waver in his voice betrayed him. He was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince her. He knew the risks, the odds, and the high possibility that he may not return alive.

He had spent the last month ensuring she would be well taken care of if he dies—bank statements, account and estate transfers.

He continued, his voice growing more ragged with each word, "I've been through hell and back, and I always come out alive. This is no different." He forced a laugh, trying to sound nonchalant, but it came out as a bitter, mirthless sound.

He gently pulled her face up, forcing her to look at him. His eyes met hers, his gaze intense and raw. "You have to trust me. I'll come back." He repeated the words with conviction, as if saying it enough times would turn it into truth.

But he knew he wouldn’t. That’s why he put her on his will. But she’ll only find out about it if he dies.

He could see the doubt in her eyes, but he chose to ignore it. He pushed her head back down onto his chest, his hand resuming the gentle stroking motion on her back. "I won't die," he said firmly, even though he knew it was a lie. "Not after everything we've been through. Not after all the fights, the laughter, the joy. I'm coming back, and we're going to have a life together. Just you wait."

“We just got married last year…” she weeps.

He clenched his jaw, his grip on her tightening almost imperceptibly. "I know," he said, his voice hoarse. He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling heavily as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "I... I didn't plan on this mission, you know that."

"It just... fell into my lap and I couldn't say no…" He tried to justify himself, his voice trailing off, the weight of the truth sinking in. He had made a deal with the devil, and now he was paying the price, with his life.

"But I'll come back," he repeated the words like a mantra, forcing confidence into his voice that he didn't feel. His chest ached at the thought of leaving her behind, of not being able to fulfill all the promises he had made to her.

"Please... you have to... we have to have a family... please Simon! Please!" She was in agony, tortured by the pain tearing through her.

His body tensed at her words, fingers digging into her skin. He struggled to maintain control, the weight of her pleas tugging at his heartstrings. "Don't you think I want that?" he snapped, frustration and guilt boiling over. "Don't you think I want to come back, build a life with you, have a family, grow old together?"

He released a shaky breath, his voice thick with emotion. "But... this isn't about what I want. It's about what I have to do." The bitterness of duty hung heavy in his words, stark against his attempts to reassure her with love.

“Duty above all.”

He chuckled bitterly. "Always…" he murmured, eyes softening as he saw the raw pain etched on her face. Cupping her cheek, his fingertips traced over her tear-stained skin. "I never wanted to hurt you. You know that, right?"

He memorized her face, every contour, every line—a desperate attempt to sear her into his memory. He wanted her to be the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes forever.

Studying her face, he committed every detail to memory. The curl of her eyelashes, the curve of her nose, the softness of her lips under his touch. His fingers moved delicately, tracing the path of her tears, the slope of her neck. He lingered on her pulse, feeling its steady rhythm.

He knew he was trying to capture her essence, to preserve every sensation so he'd never forget. He wished he could freeze time, keep this closeness for eternity.

She wept...

She memorized his face too, hands gently cradling his cheeks. They sat on the mahogany floor, sharing a moment of tender intimacy.

His eyes closed as her hands explored his face, feeling her warmth, her tenderness. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze with a mix of pain and something deeper, unspoken. He struggled to contain his own fear and grief.

"I’ll never love again."

He grunted, pain seeping from his lips. Pulling her close, he wrapped his arms around her protectively. "Don't say that," he gruffly replied, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't."

“I’ll never love again if it’s not you.”

Pressing his lips to her hair, he breathed her in deeply. "You have to," he whispered, voice raw. "You have to move on. Find someone else, live your life. Don't waste it pining after me."

“No… you don’t understand!” She pounded on his chest.

He grunted as she struck him, holding her tightly. "Stop it," he commanded firmly, trying to restrain her, though she resisted.

Looking down at her, frustration and pain etched on his face, he pleaded, "Damn it, you have to listen to me. You can't give up on living because of me. I won't let you!"

"I love you... losing you would be killing me too!"

He clenched his jaw, her words slicing through him like a blade. "I know," he said, his voice hoarse. "I know, but you have to survive. You have to keep going. You can't just die with me."

"I’ll never love another. I can’t. I can’t."

He growled in frustration, his body tensing as he held her. "You have to. You have to try."

He saw the determination in her eyes—the unyielding refusal to even consider loving anyone else. He wanted to shake her, to make her understand, but he knew it would be futile. She was too strong-willed; too loyal; too damn stubborn.

She shook her head. "Then I’ll be your widow forever."

A strangled sound escaped him, somewhere between a laugh and a cry. "Goddammit, you're driving me insane," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "You can't do that. You can't just spend the rest of your life mourning me. That's not fair to you."

"And even if I did try—I’d feel like I was cheating on you!"

"You can't think like that," he said, his voice hoarse. "You can't think that finding someone else is cheating on me. That's not how it works."

"I know you’d do the same. That if I die, you won’t love anyone else—you told me that! Why can’t I do the same?" Her voice was filled with frustration and pain.

He gritted his teeth, the truth of her words hitting him hard. He had told her that, and he had meant it. He wouldn't be able to love anyone else if she was gone. But the idea of her staying alone, mourning him for the rest of her life... it was unbearable.

"It's different for me," he said, his voice tight with emotion.

"How?"

He let out a heavy breath, struggling to find the words. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration. "It just is. I don't... I don't want you to be alone. I want you to be happy, to live your life, to find someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved."

Slap!

"You don’t tell me that—you don’t tell me to give up on you. You don’t tell me to forget you."

His head snapped to the side with the force of her slap. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a silence that was deafening.

He turned back to face her, his jaw clenched, a red mark starting to show on his cheek. "You're being ridiculous," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not telling you to forget me. I'm telling you to carry on. To live your life."

"My life started the day I met you."

He closed his eyes, her words feeling like a punch to the gut. He knew that she was speaking the truth; their lives were inexorably intertwined—they had become each other's reason for existing.

He opened his eyes again, looking at her, his gaze intense and raw. "Don't make this harder than it already is," he said, his voice gruff. "Please."

"You're my husband... I can't just..."

He reached out, cupping her face gently in his hands. He looked at her, his eyes full of pain and turmoil. "You have to," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have to be strong, love."

"Please come back. I'll pray to the Lord every day..." she pleaded.

He clenched his jaw, his heart twisting at her words. He wanted nothing more than to promise her that he would come back, that he would survive and return to her. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't make false promises, not to her. He had to be honest, even if it hurt.

"Don't pray for me," he said, his voice hoarse. "Pray for yourself. Pray for a good life."

"And a good life is a life with you."

He clenched his jaw, his eyes shutting tight as her words hit him like a ton of bricks. He knew she was right; his presence in her life would bring her happiness and fulfillment. But he also knew that he couldn’t give her that. He couldn’t give her the life she deserved, the life they had both envisioned.

His hands tightened around her face, his grip gentle yet firm. "You need to let go," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You need to let me go."

"I WON'T! I WON'T! I WON'T!" She was screaming, her head shaking in every direction, tears falling like a relentless storm.

He pulled her gently towards him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly against his chest. Her screams and tears cut through him like a knife, each one a reminder of the pain he was causing her.

He buried his face in her hair, his breathing ragged. "Please," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "Please, don’t make this harder."

He held her, letting her cry and scream into his chest, his own heart breaking with every tear she shed. He wanted to comfort her, to take away her pain, but he knew there was nothing he could do.

He pressed his lips against her hair, his own eyes filling with tears. "You have to be strong," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "You have to be strong without me."

"I love you… more than anything… never doubt that."

He pulled back slightly, lifting her chin so that she was looking at him. His eyes searched hers, trying to commit her face to memory again.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice failed him. All he could do was look at her, his chest tightening with emotion. It was like looking at a piece of his soul, a part of himself that he would be leaving behind.

"I love you," he forced the words out, his voice thick with emotion. "More than life itself."

"I’ll wait for you."

He let out a shaky breath, his chest tightening at her words. Part of him wanted to believe that she would wait for him, that she would hold onto the hope that he would come back to her.

But another part of him knew that it was hopeless. The odds were stacked against him, and the likelihood of him surviving this mission was slim. He didn’t want her to waste her life waiting for him, hoping for something that would probably never happen.

"You can’t," he said, his voice rough. "You have to move on."

Her grip tightened on him; her voice was trembling. "I can't... I don't know how to live without you."

"You’ll learn," he whispered, his own tears falling now. "You’ll find a way. You’re stronger than you think."

"I don’t want to be strong," she cried, her voice breaking. "I want you."

He closed his eyes, the pain in his chest almost unbearable. "I know," he said softly. "I want you too... more than anything. But sometimes, wanting isn't enough."

She clung to him, her sobs wracking her body. He held her tightly, as if trying to hold onto every moment they had left.

"I’ll always be with you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "In your heart. In your memories."

"That’s not enough," she sobbed. "I need you here, with me."

"I know," he said, his own voice breaking. "I know. But you have to promise me... promise me you'll live. Promise me you'll try to be happy."

"Then I'll wait in death." She held her ground.

His eyes widened, a mix of shock and pain flitting through his gaze. He hadn't expected her to say that, to make such a declaration.

He gripped her wrists, his eyes fixated on her, a mixture of emotions warring inside him. He wanted to protest, to tell her that she was being ridiculous, that she shouldn't even think about such a thing. But deep down, a part of him also wanted to believe that this was how much she loved him.

"You can't..." he said, his voice strangled.

"I'll tell death I'll wait for you."

He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around her wrists. He wanted to shake her, to make her understand the foolishness of her words, but he knew it would be futile.

Her conviction, the determination in her voice, it both filled him with a sense of pride and also terrified him. He didn’t want her to give up on her life for him, but her love and devotion were unwavering.

"Don’t say things like that," he croaked, his voice thick with emotion.

She was stubborn; if she wanted something—hell would freeze before she bent her will.

"Why? You don’t want to—"

He cut her off, his eyes flashing with anger and determination. "Of course I don't want to!" he snapped, his voice strained. "I don't want you to spend your life waiting for me, holding on to the hope that I'll come back. It's pointless, goddamnit."

Her face fell back—all that pain, despair, and agony in full display on her beautiful face.

He saw her face fall, saw the devastation etched on her features, and his heart broke. He knew he was causing her pain, that his words were cutting through her like a knife, but he couldn't stop.

"You don’t understand," he said, his voice rough. "You don’t understand what it means for me to leave you. To know that I might never come back. It’s not fair for me to ask you to wait for me."

"I AM YOUR WIFE! I swore to you—we swore to each other, to God, to everyone that we’d love each other through it all!"

His eyes flashed with emotion as she yelled at him, her words hitting him like a physical blow. Yes, they had promised each other, vowed to love each other through everything, through life and death.

But in that moment, it seemed like a cruel promise, a promise that he was breaking. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her, to give her false hope that he would make it back to her.

He took her shoulders in his hands, his gaze intense and pained. "You think I don't know that?" he said, his voice hoarse. "You think I haven't spent every waking moment regretting the fact that I have to leave you behind? You think I don't wish things were different? That I'm not tearing myself apart with the thought of leaving you?"

He let out a heavy breath, his grip on her shoulders tightening. He needed her to understand, to see the turmoil he was going through, the struggle between love and duty. "But I have to do this," he said, his voice gruff. "I have to go, and I can’t ask you to wait for me. I can’t bear the thought of you spending your life in wait, in limbo, when you could be living it to the fullest."

"I will live, yes… but I’ll never… love… anyone again…" she kissed him deeply, pouring all her love into every kiss.

He kissed her back, his body responding to hers as it always did. The passion and intensity in their kiss spoke volumes of the love they had for each other—a love that was so deep it felt like an endless well.

But even as he kissed her, even as he allowed himself to get lost in the moment, he knew that he had to pull away. He had to bring them back to reality, to the painful truth that he was leaving her behind.

He forced himself to break the kiss, to pull away from her even as every fiber in his being screamed at him to hold her tighter. He looked at her, his eyes full of pain and love, and he knew he had to say what he needed to say.

"You're young," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "You have your whole life ahead of you. You can't just give up on love because of me."

"You gave me forever, even if… it’s for a limited time. And… and I’ll hold onto that forever all my life."

He closed his eyes, her words cutting through him like a knife. He wanted to fight against her words, to tell her that she should move on, that she deserves more than just the memories of their time together.

But he also knew that it was futile, that her love and loyalty were unwavering. He had given her forever in the short time they had together, and she was going to hold onto that forever.

He opened his eyes again, looking at her, his heart in his throat. "You deserve more than that," he choked out, his voice rough.

He struggled with the words, wanting to say something, to make her understand. But everything he wanted to say seemed like a weak attempt at comfort. He took a deep breath, his hands still holding her shoulders.

"You're young and beautiful," he said, his voice gravelly. "You have your whole life ahead of you. There’s bound to be someone out there for you. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"Only you, Simon. Only you. Forever it’ll always be you."

5 months later. A knock.

She stumbled out of bed, her heart pounding in her chest as she staggered to the front door. She knew who it was; deep down she knew, and the thought both scared and excited her.

But when she opened the door—

The most agonizing, painful, piercing scream.

An older uniformed gentleman stood there, holding the UK flag and a pressed uniform.

The sight of him on her doorstep, holding that flag and uniform, sent a wave of dread and sorrow crashing through her. She knew what this meant; even before he spoke a word, she knew.

The scream that escaped her lips was primal, a guttural sound of grief and despair. She stumbled backward, her hand going to her mouth as tears streamed down her face.

The older gentleman had a sympathetic look on his face, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. He extended the flag towards her, his voice quiet as he spoke. "I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am."

She fell to her knees, the weight of his words crushing her. The world seemed to blur around her; the colors fading into a dull, lifeless grey. Her fingers trembled as they reached out to touch the flag, the symbol of his sacrifice; the finality of his absence.

Memories flooded her mind—his laugh, his touch, his whispered promises. She clung to the flag, her body shaking with sobs that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. Every moment they had shared, every kiss, every tear, every laugh—it all felt like a cruel reminder of what she had lost; what she would never get back.

The gentleman stood there silently, giving her the space to grieve; the space to process the unbearable reality. She looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes, searching for some sign that this was a mistake; that this wasn't happening. But his solemn expression told her everything she needed to know.

"How?" she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. "How did he...?"

"He was brave," the gentleman said softly. "He saved us all. He was a hero."

Hero. The word felt hollow; meaningless. He was her hero, but that didn’t bring him back. It didn’t fill the gaping hole in her heart; the emptiness that he left her. It didn’t mean fucking shit if he was a hero. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t here with her. No amount of compensation, medal of valor could bring him back.

She clutched the flag tighter, her fingers digging into the fabric as if she could somehow pull him back through sheer force of will. The older gentleman remained silent, his presence a stark reminder of the finality of it all.  

She wanted to scream, to rage against the universe for taking him away from her; to demand answers from a god who seemed indifferent to her suffering. But no answers came. The universe remained silent; her questions echoing into the void. She stood there, clutching the flag, feeling the weight of her grief pressing down on her; a suffocating blanket she couldn’t escape.

“And i’ll wait in death.”

[deriley]

lmao thinking about how the tf141 men know you're serious by the way you say their given names. like they just turn docile immediately, no matter what they're doing or their positions.

“kyle, johnny, zip it.” swiveling in your chair, you turn your gaze towards them and glare, lips set into a thin line. the two men who sit next to each other stop their quiet bickering and nod softly, focusing on laswell once more.

ghost usually avoids doing med checkups when the time of year rolls around and it just ends up making the medical professional's jobs harder than it needs to be (they usually come to you in order to get him to do it.) “simon, i’m not in the mood. now.” he sulks and broods (swears he doesn't.) but nonetheless does the med check up, that you sit in on so he doesn't run.

price isn't exempt from it either, despite being captain. during a mission including farah and her people, the two had been going back and forth on the trek to the meet-up point. annoyed you had stopped price with a hand to his chest and met his eyes. “john, leave it alone. we don't have time for this.” he’d kept eye contact for a bit but had nodded, clapping you on the shoulder. “heard, seargent.”

ppl call you the 141 whisperer 💀 lolll

[deriley]

(unedited)² retired simon has nowhere to go, so you offer. [ one, two]

it took a lot of convincing to get him to your little apartment, like trying to move a massive brick wall with a feather. however, in the end, he gave in— not that he had much of a say in the matter, considering the fact that the two of you were already at your home amidst arguing (which, to be fair, was predominantly one-sided as he persistently uttered 'no' in response to all your counterarguments).

in all honesty, you couldn't quite figure out why you were so insistent on having a stranger, especially a strange man, stay with you in your much too tiny apartment. perhaps it was your festive december spirit, the idea of someone being alone during this time of year just didn't sit right with you. besides it was just for the night, then you could take him to the shelter.

he’d been quiet as you set up everything for him, he was imposing, tall, and somewhat scary (primarily due to his skull mask and his overall silent demeanor). but strangely enough, you didn't feel unsafe with him, despite the fact that you probably should have. after all, he was a man, and he undoubtedly outweighed you by at least 100 pounds. killing you and getting away with it would be easy for him. and, why the hell were you contemplating this now, instead of when you first picked him up from the side of the street?

perhaps it was the way he carried himself, with a sense of calm and control that was almost hypnotic. or maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to pierce through you, yet held a hint of sadness that made you feel a strange sense of empathy toward him. whatever the reason, you found yourself drawn to him.

as you finished setting up the couch, you couldn't help but steal glances at him, trying to decipher his thoughts and emotions. but his expression remained unreadable, his mask hiding any hint of vulnerability or emotion. it was both frustrating and intriguing, making you wonder what secrets lay hidden behind that skull mask.

“um, so the shower is just down the hall, oh! feel free to look through the fridge for something,” you smile awkwardly at the tall man and gesture to your room door, “if you need anything just let me know.” his gaze remains fixated upon the makeshift bed you have prepared, adorned with a spare comforter of a soft, faded hue resembling baby blue, adorned with delicate flowers which sprawls across the expanse of your pull-out sofa.

simon, ever the brooding man, says a small, stiff thank you; ready for you to leave him alone you're sure. wiping your sweaty palms on your denim-clad thighs, you gently press your lips together and affirmatively bob your head. “alright, well, goodnight simon.” without waiting for a response, that you were sure you weren't going to get, you scuttle off to your bedroom, swiftly closing the door and attempting to lock it as quietly as possible. however, the resounding click makes you think he’s heard it.

letting out a weary sigh you slide down your door, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your phone. with a gentle motion, you begin to skim through your contacts and find your best friend. it rings once, twice before she picks up with a tired hello.

“if i die tonight, i love you.”

you catch the faint sound of her perplexed murmur, followed by the gentle click of her bedside lamp over the phone. it was late, far too late for you to have disturbed her with a call, you knew that— should’ve called your sister or something.

“have you been drinking?”

you give a slight eye roll before curling your legs up to your chest. “no, not yet. anyways, i think i might've done something very dumb," you admit, trailing off as you nervously nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the soft flesh give way under your teeth. your friend lets out a quiet grunt. “well? spit it out.”

“so, i picked up a homeless guy on the side of the road and offered him a ride to the shelter but instead i brought him to my apartment and now he’s in my living room, about to sleep on my couch,” you utter quickly— and she's silent for a moment, it's a loud silence, one that makes your heart beat quickly in your chest. you run a hand down your face and take a deep breath, sighing heavily. “say something.” your voice is filled with a mix of impatience and anxiety.

“what the hell is wrong with you?

[deriley]

Just a memory [Simon 'Ghost' Riley]

You are reading: [Part 1] Word Count: 1.4k You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he didn't feel the same.

Being friends with Simon was not something you'd expected to happen, even though you'd known him since secondary school. You recall a young boy entering the classroom, your teacher introducing the new kid from Manchester as Simon Riley. The small chain of snickers erupts from the classroom, you weren't able to tell why then, only learning after that he was teased and picked on due to his ragged appearance, mainly the dark eye bags and the bruising plastered on his arms. But that didn't stop you.

You found your edging towards his presence, talking to him in between classes, sitting on his table and admiring him from afar, but your attempts to befriend him were futile. He just never reciprocated it.

You never shared the same classes, to your dismay. Though you were in the same year group, you were distinctly cleverer than him, that was a fact, excelling in your A-Level subjects, considering your high ambitions of applying to the best universities in the UK. Simon, on the other hand, always found himself at the centre of trouble, getting detention after detention for insignificant reasons such as failing to get his planner signed by his parents, or talking back to teachers, even when they had asked him questions.

Once you finished your after-school extra classes, only for students that had been handpicked from the year group, you'd purposely walk the longer route through the now empty school just to look through the doors of the detention room, to see Simon carelessly slouching on his chair, whilst graffiting the school furniture. How the teacher never caught him, you'd never know. But you could tell who the culprit was, you'd sit down in classes where the table was littered in small skull faces carved by biro.

Sometimes, he make eye contact with you through the door, when you'd walk past, the constant snarl on his face slightly faltering when you'd flash a gentle smile his way. Of course, the smile was never mutual. In fact, you often find yourself thinking of the last time you'd seen his smile, flicking through the yearbook and class photos, only to find that he was in neither.

Ah, you remember that. The end of school was approaching. The last year you'd see your fellow classmates, the ones you've grown around for almost 7 long years.

Simon Riley entered form time late. It was the last first day of secondary school. The first day of Year 13. He strolls in, the tie around his neck still sloppily wrapped around his white shirt collar. You remember that fondly as, the moment he looks up to you, you point towards the collar of your blouse, hinting to him that the teacher was going to cause another scene at his attire that week. He raises his eyebrows at your gesture, blushing furiously as he rips the tie off, the teacher beginning to raise his voice at Simon.

In your mind, Simon's blushes at you, after seeing you for the first time since summer holidays had started. But that thought is pushed away, when your friend asks you if Simon had replied to your texts. He had not, for your information, they had been left on delivered.

But you don't fail to notice the change of appearance from Simon, in fact most of your classmates open your jaw in shock, the once scrawny boy had seem to hit a growth spurt, his body almost doubling in size.

"Simon mate, hitting the gym?" A boy asks, when Simon walks past to sit in his seat at the back of the class. His attempts of a conversation are unanswered, and a small part of you is happy to see that he treats everyone harshly, not just you.

Trying to talk to him in the lunch line was also so much harder, now that he was surrounded by a bunch of popular kids, the girls squeezing at his bulging arms, and the guys patting his shoulder, conversing with him as if they hadn't ignored him for the previous years of school. He'd catch your eye once in a while, and sometimes you'd find a look of desperation within them, help me, like he called out for you.

All in all, the last 10 minutes of lunch always consisted of you sitting at your desk, ready for the next class, with Simon sitting rather close to you, even though his designated seat was rows behind yours.

"Maths was boring today, I know we're not in the same set, but when you finally get to the same topic, I beg you'd start cryin'." You'd mention, not turning to look at him, but he knows you're talking to him.

He hums, listening, "Speakin' from experience, huh?" He'd always refer to you by your surname, his manny accent seeping through his words.

You'd chuckle in response, jolting suddenly when the bell rings signally the end of lunch and he gets up and walks to the back row, even though it was still just you and him in the room. Perhaps he was embarrassed to been seen by you, given his new-found popularity, or perhaps he thought you didn't want to see with him. Who knows.

Many months pass by, and as exams had finally come to a finish, the schools opened the hall for a get-together for the final year students. Many had turned up with pens and markers to sign their fellow classmates school uniform, as memoir before heading off into university. Others had their yearbooks open, asking (or begging) people to sign them. You sat down, watching your friends mingling with others, a hot pink sharpie in your hand, knee bouncing as your eyes skimmed the loud room for a tall muscular guy.

Hours had gone by, your shirt only consisted of 7 signatures from your friends and one janitor that you'd been acquainted with, yet no sign of Simon. And when the clock hit 5 P.M., you were one of 5 people in the hall, the rest leaving to head home for the holidays.

"He's not coming, dude. C'mon, ice cream on the way home?" Your friend would suggest.

"But...but it's the last day of school...I mean there weren't any classes, why wouldn't he show up, I don't understand..." You frown, admitting defeat as you start zipping your bag up ready to leave.

"Did anyone truly understand him?" You friend states, rather than questions, locking arms with you and she drags you towards the exit, ranting about her holidays plans.

15 minutes later, the room was nearly cleared out, with just your form room teacher tidying away the paper cups and plates.

"These bloody kids, why am I even a teacher, I would have been on Broadway if it weren't for puberty messing up my lovely voic-" His mumbling is interrupted by the doors slamming open and a teenage boy with a black balaclava mask running towards him.

"AAAAH- This is a school- This is a school in the afternoon, who in earth wants to rob a school past 5 PM, what you even in here for? Gonna steal some pens and pencils, yeah I'd like to see you try, I'm a white belt in Karat- Riley, you? Mate, you're like 6 hours late."

Simon pants in exhaustion, his mask now in his hands, "Sir, -huff- is she here? Am -huff- I too late?"

The teacher huffs in annoyance, "You're not the protagonist of a romance film, Riley, go home. We finished at 4:30. It's 5:15, don't you boys haven't nothing better to do?"

Simon rolls his neck, "Ta...cheers for the wise words." He makes his way towards the exit.

"Happy to help," your teacher groans turning away from him, "Had you been here 15 minutes earlier...maybe you would have caught her...."

Simon pauses in his steps, cursing loudly. Maybe he shouldn't have signed up for the military that day.

He walks home that dark afternoon, forgetting his card for public transport. He checks his phones for notifications, clicking the text messages that he'd marked a spam. It was from you.

He knows he should have called you, at least even texted you. But he was too much of a pussy. It would be weird to hear your voice over the phone, not like hearing it as he sat by you at lunch hearing you ramble.

It's not like you meant something to him, you're...you. Replaceable.

Like every other person he's met.

You don't mean anything to him.

And just like that, 5 years go by just like that.

Okay, so I got this idea in bed, let's see how it goes on paper :P or on my laptop should I say...part 2 in the making hehe

tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es

[deriley]

××××××××××××××××××××××x x××××××××××××××××××××××

Simon who looks up at you with those pretty blonde eyelashes grazing your eyes. Faces pressed up against each other before he nods. Pushing his lips against yours and kissing you as if he wanted to drink you in. Soul and mind.

Simon who's just so in love with you that he stares at you as if you hung the stars and moon just for him. Just for him. And he would believe it so if you told him so.

Simon who follows you anywhere you tell him to. Eyes focused and alive as he watches you move. Enthralled, hypnotized.

Simon who stays whenever you tell him too. Sitting down and waiting for you like a dog. He doesn't care if it'll take years, just come back to him love.

Simon Ghost Riley who decides that two decades is enough waiting and starts in his hunt for you, far older and far rougher yet he'll act like a young mutt If that's what you want.

Simon Ghost Riley who finds you in some abandoned mine, starved and dehydrated yet all his heart and mind can think about is how he has you back. His bird. His dove. His life. Releasing you into his life again.

He is complete once again.

××××××××××××××××××××××x x××××××××××××××××××××××

—

[deriley]

(have so much fun on that concert next week✨️)

What do we think about Simon suprising us with a picnic date near a lake?🥺 bonus points if there are little ducklings around

This has been in my inbox for a week 🙈 and I feel so bad!! But the concert was fantastic, thanks!!! As for a suprise picnic with Simon..... (as always, this is gender neutral, and happy pride month)

He'd take you to a park, but not one near your flat because you've already gone there together before. But he knows there's one near where Price lives, a really nice park with lots of flowers and a pond, a pond with ducks. And Simon knows you're going to be so excited.

He didn't tell you where y'all were going, just that it'd be outside and there was no need to get all dolled up. He wants you comfortable, and let's be real, this man is so down bad. You could show up in literal rags, and he'd still think you were the most attractive person he's ever seen.

You think that maybe you're just taking a stroll through the park. Simon's just recently gotten back from deployment, and you don't want him to overwhelm himself just to make you happy. But the park is quiet, mainly older folks. There's a family by the pond, the children talking with excitement as they toss frozen peas into the water.

It's peaceful, and it's a perfectly good day for a picnic.

You pick a spot with a good view of the pond, watching the ducks, as Simon gets the blankets set up. He barely has time to put the basket down, before you're grabbing his hand, almost frantic as you drag him away.

"Simon, come look! Come look!" You loudly whisper, excited but cautious, not wanting to scare the ducks. "There's babies!"

And sure enough, swimming in a little yellow cluster, there's a group of ducklings on the side opposite to where y'all have set up. They're so small and fuzzy, and you fawn over them for a second.

Simon let's out a small huff of amusement, wrapping an arm around your waist. He pulls you closer to him, your back to his chest, and he presses a kiss to your temple. Sure, the ducklings are cute, but he thinks you're far cuter.

[deriley]

Have I ever mentioned I’m a Greek mythology nerd? If not… here’s a good time to drop that. This is HEAVILY Orpheus and Eurydice inspired!!

This is just a little writing EXERCISE, I know it’s not good :) I will be posting an actual writing thing on WEDNESDAY!!

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Gn!Reader

He Doesn’t Look Back

You’d follow your lieutenant through fire if he asked you to. And he never did ask, but you still did it. Bullets pinging at your feet, all you can do is grip your gun and keep your eyes trained on his back.

Ghost doesn’t look back.

Hesitating for even a second would get you both killed, and he knows it. Glancing back at you, even just to confirm you’re alive and following, would end with a bullet in his head too.

It’s not far from cover, a building you two can duck into to reload and go back at it. Call Price for an evac, inform him the mission went sideways.

Damn intel leaks.

This was your mission, technically. You were sent out alone, collecting information on a mobster from afar. It was simple, safe.

Until the Task Force servers were hacked and your mission was leaked.

Being disconnected from the team unless you called them left you unable to know what happened. When the mobster suddenly went into hiding, you searched the city high and low, trying to figure out what had triggered it.

Ghost was the one to come into the city to tell you, to save your ass. And now he’s the one helping you get out, helping you live, continuously saving your ass.

Despite what everyone says, Ghost is hardly callous or emotionless. If you chose, you’d liken him to a tragedy. For all intents and purposes, he’s the makings of a hero: strong and brave, loyal enough to dive into hell to save you. But he’s got the air of a dead man walking, someone who has so many ghosts that they’ll drag him down. Ironic, considering his Callsign.

You let out a muffled curse as a bullet zings past you, barely missing. Ghost doesn’t turn, too busy dodging his own bullets.

There’s just a few more paces, then you’ll be in the safety of cover. This is the last time you’re letting Price put you on undercover work, you swear. Soap will probably tease you for days for needing Ghost to come rescue you.

Your hands tighten on your gun instinctively, glancing over as you catch a glimpse of fabric. Honestly, you’re not sure you’ve been in a worse situation. At least in other times you had all of 141 to back you.

Finally, Ghost ducks into the doorway of the abandoned house, looking back at you before he’s even fully in. You can see his eyes through the mask, relief clear as he reaches back to haul you through with him.

You lower your gun, stretching to grab his arm, eyes only on him and the prospect of safety.

Neither of you ever sees the grenade.

It flings you back, the ground seeming to erupt beneath your feet as you fly. You slam against someone’s abandoned car, scrabbling for purchase as you’re sent tumbling across its hood. Glass tears through your sleeves and gloves, piercing through to your skin.

Ghost shouts your Callsign, but you can’t even hear it past the ringing in your ears. Like everything is muffled, you can barely get yourself to focus on pushing yourself to a sitting position.

Pain shoots through your body, but you ignore it. You have to get up, you have to get to Ghost, you have to fucking live.

You look up, right into the barrel of a gun.

A man you’ve never seen before stares down at you, sneering. As you watch, his hand tightens around the grip.

Ghost is nowhere in sight. He came back for you, but at what cost? He looked back to help you, to make sure you were still alive, and you were a fool for dropping your gun to reach for him.

The man above you squeezes the trigger.

Ghost’s name is the last thing on your lips.

[deriley]

anyone else have a Pinterest section for their fictional crushes or is that just me?!?

[deriley]

All I’m gonna say is pyramid head ghost

Like and reblog if you agree

[deriley]

pony…

[deriley]

pony…

[deriley]

imagine ur bd being out of the picture and your little girl running up to si ☹️🤍

   “Daddy!”

   Simon looked down, eyes wide at the little girl wrapped around his right leg. Johnny eyed him carefully. He was thankful none of the other café patrons paid any mind. “I’m not your daddy, love,” Simon said. He tugged his leg away gently but the strength of a child is hard to match.

     “Annalise, get off that man,” a woman cried. In the blink of an eye, she knelt near Simon’s leg and tugged the child away.

     “Dada!” She shrieked. Annalise’s chubby hands reached out for Simon’s. “Is dada, mama!”

     You shook your head. “I- I’m so sorry, sir. Her dad was in the military. Anna thinks everyone in fatigues is dada… Do you want me to get either of you a coffee to pay you back? I’m truly sorry.”

     Soap discreetly elbowed Simon harshly in the side. “‘M quite alrigh’ lass. Simon, here, would take a coffee if your serious. If you’ll excuse me, I got to go. Bye, little lassie,” the Scot rushed, face lightinf up at the way Annalise giggled as his parting.

     Annalise was still cooing and reaching for Simon. You just shifted her on your hip and rubbed her back. “Simon, yeah?”

     “That’s me, ma’am,” Simon nodded, feeling suddenly extremely exposed without the balaclava he had decided not to wear for one single occasion. “You don’t have to pay me back-“

     “Nonsense. I would feel like a bad person if I just let my kid latch herself onto your left and call you dad and then just swoop her up and leave,” you said, reaching for your wallet before walking over to the ordering counter. “What can I get you?”

     Simon ordered a small of his usual, watching you pull the money from your wallet without glancing at how much it costed. He observed you in that split second- a beautiful baby girl on your hip who thought any man in camo was her dad. So he had been in the service… Simon watched you smile kindly at the teen behind the counter who fumbled for your change. You murmured a quiet, “It’s quite alright, take your time.” A well-mannered, well put-together individual who was also very attractive. Simon knew what Johnny was doing when he left and Simon would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought you were a catch.

     “I seriously appreciate the coffee, ma’am, but it was unnecessary,” Simon said as you tucked your change back and waited for the drink. “As long as the kid’s alrigh’, I don’t need anything in return.”

     You smiled. You smiled at Simon and he swore his cold heart jumped in his chest. Clearly your bright smile disarmed Annalise as much as Simon because she let out a bubbly laugh and put her hands on your cheek. “What if I said I wanted to?” You asked coyly.

     Simon watched Annalise play with a baby hair near your face. “Then I’d say it’d be a cruel thing to tell a gorgeous woman no.”