New Rules 💫

womp womp this feels silly. i had a bad day, SUE ME.

The first time Roommate!Simon Riley saw you cry he wanted to watch the world burn, and simultaneously wanted to be the one to set it alight.

Because to him, there should never be any reason why hot tears stream down your cheeks, why those eyes he loves so much look up at him with bloodshot rims and wet lashes. No, this was wrong.

“Sweet’art?” His voice was softer than normal, and it called out to the corners of your mind as a warm hand splayed across your lower back.

You were supposed to be cooking dinner, and you tried, but after a while the weight on your chest felt too dense to carry anymore. It began seeping out of your pores until the waterfall of emotions became impossible to stop. Now, you were crying over a stove, trying to contain the grief that tried to claw itself out of your chest.

Simon had never seen you like this before, it wasn’t something you wanted him to either, but, inevitably, here you were.

He stood there dumbfounded, his heart clenching tight at the sight of you standing beneath him, absolutely sobbing. He didn’t know what to do or say, just stood there like an idiot, frozen. He watched as you hung your head, hands moving to cover your face. Shaky fingers pressed into the skin of your eyes, willing it to just stop, but your body didn’t listen. It never did.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was broken and laced with shame, and dammit if he didn’t want to roll over in defeat. Because your sweet soul should never feel so anguished.

The sound of your guilt woke something up in him, stirred a possessiveness and protective nature he wasn’t sure he had over anyone else. Before you could speak again, his strong arms pulled you into his bare chest, tucking your shaking form into his unwavering one. He remained sturdy, he remained Simon.

“Easy lovie,” His voice was a strong, deep rumble. A stark contrast to how utterly weak you felt. “I gotcha.” If the dam hadn’t been broken before, it sure as fuck was now.

He allowed himself to feel what to do as you shattered completely in his arms, your limbs going lax as you clung to him like a needy child. He stopped thinking and contemplating options, instead, he just existed.

His chin fell on top of your head, hands squeezing your sides and caressing your warm skin. When you choked on a sob he was quick to shush you, letting his back fall against the counter so he had better leverage. He wanted you to melt into his touch, to let yourself feel. The pot of food was boiling over, steam beginning to waft up toward the ceiling, but he didn’t move. Dinner could wait, he’d starve if he had to, but you, no, he’d let the ground open up and swallow him whole before he ever let go.

He stood firm until your cries began dissipating into sniffles, and when you pulled back to look up at him he swore his entire world came crashing down.

Your hands were squeezing his biceps, the muscles tensing beneath your touch. He let a smile stretch across his lips, and, instinctively, the back of his fingers ran along your cheeks, removing any remnants of your tears.

He watched your eyes close, sniffles turning into deep breaths and heavy sighs. “‘m okay.”

He didn’t push, just kissed your forehead and let you walk away.

You finished dinner, but it was too quiet, and he knew that when you weren’t talking it meant something was still very wrong. Because the lovie he knew, took every waking moment as a chance to make his ears fall off.

He sat next to you while you ate, noticed the way you picked at your food before eventually just giving up on eating entirely.

You offered to do the dishes, and, once more, he let you, but only because he could see the second breakdown from a thousand miles away, and if scrubbing pasta off of plates would help then he’d let you do it.

But it didn’t help, if anything it made everything so much worse.

He came out of the shower to see you crying over the soapy sink, your hands emerged in the now cold water. There was no trepidation this time, he just looped his arms around you from behind, warm lips leaving light kisses to your neck. He let them rest softly against your shoulder, his temple flush against your jaw as he closed his eyes. A heavy sigh came from him too. It felt as though whatever weight rested so heavily on your shoulders had begun to slip onto his. For the first time, he felt his own heart being ripped open for someone else’s.

“I know baby, I do.” His words were a gentle whisper. One that beckoned you to give in.

He held you until you fell asleep that night, and you held him four days later.

He’d never let somebody see him like that, didn’t think you did either, and it laid on his mind, wrapping around his skull and engulfing him in emotions he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

It was one of the first moments he considered the fact that maybe Simon did feel something for you. Because he never wanted to see your eyes rain like that again, ever.

okay this is DUMB i know it but whatever. i must feed my lonely brain.

tap out.

simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.

based on this.

simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.

in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.

but simon is an orphan now.

there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.

over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.

the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.

he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.

maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.

no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.

still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.

then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.

it’s you.

you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.

you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.

—you. you. you.

and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.

he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.

you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.

he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.

and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.

with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.

then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.

in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.

his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.

‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.

his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.

you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’

and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.

. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.

actually, ykw? imagine if simon had a civilian s/o and bc he’s constantly away and the partner is there most of the time anyways, he lets them decorate the place.

they make it so cozy with a million lamps with stained glass lampshades and tapestries on the walls and an unexpected number of stuffed animals on the bed.

one time, simon invites tf 141 to his flat and their jaws dropped, bc ofc simon didn’t warn them about the absolute pinterest board that his place was.

in fact, he hadn’t mentioned a partner at all, or to you that his team would be coming over so you’re still in one of simon’s raggedy old t-shirts with a handful of dry cereal halfway to your mouth.

it’s generally a shock for both parties, simon excluded, who seems to settle himself right in, kissing the top of your head, eyes crinkling slightly as he grins, looking rather like a cat showing off the bird he dragged in.

you had some choice words for him later, but for now, you brushed the crumbs off your face and wiped your hands off on your shirt before sticking your hand out to the team to introduce yourself.

surprisingly, it goes rather well. all things considered. the team is charmed by you and your ability to make ghost blush and smile endlessly. and you’re absolutely enamored with the fact that they keep complimenting your decor.

+18, mdni

He stops with a sharp breath, his hands locking around your hips, fingers digging in hard. He’s close—too close—and you can feel it in the way his thighs tense under you, in the way his chest rises unevenly.

"Wait," Simon rasps as his one hand leaves your hip and finds your face, pulling you down until your mouth is on his.

It’s that lazy kind of kiss—lazy and wet, all tongue, just the way you love it. His lips are warm, soft, and parting with a hum when your teeth scrape just a little. He kisses you like he’s trying to catch his breath through you, like if he slows it down, he might not cum right then and there.

Your body doesn’t get the memo.

You're already soaking, but that kind of kiss? That slow, wet drag of his tongue against yours? It makes you clamp down around him so tight he chokes on a moan.

“Fuckin’—love,” he grits out against your mouth, voice rough and cracking. “Stop squeezin’ me—I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

You smile into the kiss, smug and breathless. “Then stop kissing me like that.”

He stares at you for a split second—just one—and then drags you back down, kissing you deeper, messier, like he’s punishing you for talking back.

You keep squeezing.

He bucks once, twice, hips jerking under you like he’s losing the fight. "You fuckin'—ngh—"

You feel it when he gives in.

His head drops back, jaw slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s trying to anchor himself. You ride it out slow, lips still brushing his, feeling him pulse inside you while you grin like a little menace.

“You’re evil,” he mutters, breathless, his eyes half-lidded.

“And you’re terrible at resisting me.”

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gooood morninggg

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

simon riley whose insomnia went away when he met you

cw: pure fluff - no tag list

after retirement simon still felt the scars and pain as if they were fresh. he often found himself staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his shabby apartment, his large body sprawled out as the thin grey sheets were half on him and half on the cold wooden floorboard.

it was like he could hear the gun shots, the commands being shouted and the smell of smoke. if he was lucky and got some sleep, he would wake up in the middle of the night sweating, jolted awake as his scarred hand was in his chest, his breaths heavy and sharp. never did he think he would get a good night’s rest.

until you.

at first he didn’t even recognise it, his head on your lap as you watched soccer on the television, and simon never missed a game. his eyes felt droopy, the commentary from the show slowly faded as his breathing evened out, the feeling of your nails against his hair making his whole body go limp.

and when he woke up, it wasn’t like the usual nightmare induced sudden jolt, no. it was peaceful.

slowly blinking groggily before realising what had happened.

he fell asleep.

it was only for an hour, but that was the best sleep he had ever gotten.

slowly, he started to sleep more, taking occasional naps with you in his arms, where the two of you slowly migrated from watching tv on the couch to the comfort of his own bed.

his sad flimsy excuse of a bed now adorned in thick blankets and throws just to make the experience a little better.

then he started to go to bed early. usually he would be in bed at best by 1am, finding any excuse to not go, and yet he found himself bundled up next to you by 9.

then, he woke up later, finding any excuse to sleep in. “jus’ ten more minutes,” his voice muffled as he snuggled deep into the crook of your neck, pitting his whole body weight on you so you couldn’t leave.

suddenly, the bed became his favourite place.

don't stress about that opportunity that fell through or that friend you lost or that thing you really want to happen but isn't. as long as you keep your chin up and try try try again, better things will replace your losses. i'm looking at my life rn and actually marveling at how every single thing i stressed about, whether it be an opportunity or a person, got supplanted w another thing that is so much better. it really is true that loss makes space for better things. these days i don't get sad when something doesn't work out. i get excited that i'm now open to so many other possibilities out there, so long as i actively seek them. you never lack. you just transition.

i am not exaggerating when i say I, Carrion (Icarian) changed my brain chemistry.

PEDRO PASCAL SAG Awards | 2024