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.
how will anyone compare to the fictional men i fell in love with?
once again, i don’t know what the fuck this is. it got away from me.
Roommate!Simon Riley who just knows when you’re on your period. Not because you tell him, but because he’s learned to pick up on the little things.
You were never vocal about your cycle, it was something you told him you’d never grown up learning to be comfortable with, he respected that, but really all he wanted to do was take care of you.
He’d notice the difference in your demeanor first, your sweet, gentle personality fraying slightly at the edges. Things that didn’t frustrate you so badly before now made you slam your hand on the table, hands flying up to run through your hair.
“you alright, lovie?” you’d sigh, rubbing at your eyes. “yeah yeah, just-just frustrated that’s all.” he’d notice your tight-lipped smile and stick it in his pocket.
Next, it was your appetite. He’d make you an entire feast and after about five minutes you’d set your phone down, trudging over to the kitchen. He could hear the cabinets rustling, a quiet curse coming from your lips.
“everything okay?”
“yeah! but, what happened to all the chocolate. or the chips. or those cake things we bought?” He couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling in his chest along with a concerned crease between his brows.
“i think you ate them all!”
“aw man,” you’d come around the corner, pouting. “i’m starving.” he’d drive to the store for you, claiming he was hungry too. He wasn’t, but he’d never admit it to you.
As if those two signs weren’t enough, he’d find you curled up after he got home from work, your body in a ball on the couch. He typically knew before he even saw you, especially with your arm wrapped around your stomach and tears dripping from those pretty eyes. He’d sigh, feeling his stomach clench at the thought of you hurting.
“what’s the matter baby?” he’d squat down beside you, hand reaching out to rub your back. You were facing away from him, trying to hide your sniffles.
“nothing, my belly jus’ hurts.”
“aw i’m sorry love. lemme get you some medicine, yeah?”
you’d writhe in discomfort, shaking your head as more tears fell down. “already had some.”
“okay then, let’s try something else.” he’d lean your upper body up, laying it back down on top of his thick thighs after he sat down. he’d then slip a warm hand underneath your his hoodie.
If the simple feeling of his body heat wasn’t enough, then he’d massage your lower belly softly, waiting until he saw your eyes close before he could even breathe.
Eventually, over time, you’d grow more comfortable with him. He’d start making runs for you, grabbing whatever it was you needed and always a little extra.
He memorized your favorite snacks, candies, drinks, and he’d come back with bags full of whatever you wanted.
What really sealed the deal was the time you’d gone out to drinks together. You two had actually been enjoying yourselves for once, no commitments, no work waiting for you the next day, just pure, unadulterated fun. After a few shots, you excused yourself, making a quick trip to the restroom.
He noticed, after the bartender had brought him his second beer, that you’d been gone for quite a while. Nerves overtook his body and he checked his phone, seeing a few texts from you.
i have something really embarrassing to ask
but can you please ask the girl upfront if she has like a pad or a tampon or like anything
You didn’t elaborate, didn’t need too. He immediately threw down some cash and went to find the woman you were talking about. She handed him a few choices and he mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ before racing back to the restroom.
He knocked once, twice. “just me lovie.” Your weak voice beckoned him inside and he slipped through a small crack in the door, locking it behind him. There were several stalls, each one seemingly smaller than the last. “which one?”
Your sniffles were loud, and he could practically feel the embarrassment steaming off of your body. “the big one.”
His heavy footsteps echoed as he made his way to the larger stall on the end. He didn’t knock or ask to come in, just squatted his big frame down, holding everything she’d given him beneath the stall. “got it?”
“no,” the word was wrapped around tears. “can’t reach.”
“unlock her then yeah?” when he heard your deep sigh he forced a joke past his worry. “I won’t look if that’s what your worried about. i may be a ladies man, but I’m no perv sweet’art.” that forced a laugh from your chest and you stretched as far as you could reach with your foot, slipping the lock open.
He pushed the stall in and forced his large frame inside. Your cheeks were flushing a deep shade of red until you noticed large fingers covering his eyes. Another laugh pooled in your gut. “thanks Si.”
That was the first time you’d used that nickname. It made his heart swell. “don’t mention it.”
He closed the stall behind him, holding it shut so you didn’t have to worry about latching it again.
It took you a few minutes and some curses before he heard your footsteps on the floor. He opened the stall for you, not missing the streaks of tears down your cheeks as you walked to the sink.
He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there was anything he could say. He wouldn’t pretend to know your frustrations, shame, or any other feeling gripping at your heart, but he could try to make them go away. To make you feel less angry.
He was holding paper towels out before you were even finished washing your hands, not missing the whispered ‘thanks’ which he just grunted to.
“hey,” he grabbed your wrist before you could walk off, letting his thumb combat the rough grip. “you’re good lovie,” He hoped you could see the smile he was quirking beneath his balaclava or the softness in his eyes begging you to let it roll off your back.
You smiled back, pulling him with you as you unlocked the door. “‘m sorry I ruined your night.”
“nah babe, party’s just gettin started.” he let the hand on your wrist fall to your hip, continuing the soothing circles with his fingertips. “now let’s get you another drink, shall we?”
You never hesitated to talk to him after that, he was someone you could rely on, he proved that much. And for the first time, you felt soemthing stirring under the surface for him. something other than platonic, something different, something fierce. soemthing that looked a little like love.
what the fuck is this guys? once again i’m doing something random and possibly stupid but whatevs!!!!!!
i love the fact that girlies will write the filthiest, most depraved smut about dark, intimidating and tattooed men—with fluffy bunnies, sparkling little stars and pretty bows as banners. oh, and soft pink as a colour accent on certain words.
Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but when he is fucking you he doesn’t take his eyes off your face, drinks in every pretty reaction you give him when he’s tucked right against the spot he knows makes your lashes flutter and breath hitch.
‘That the spot? Yeah, baby? Look s’pretty under me.’
Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but smiles at you because he can’t help it when your reactions are so cute, when you nod so pleased at him with pursed brows as you orgasm for the second time.
‘There we go, sweet girl. Gonna cum wrapped ‘round me?’
Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but he doesn’t let you muffle any of your moans because you sound too fucking pretty whiny and breathy.
‘No, no, none of that, sweet’art. Wanna hear you, sound too pretty to hide it from me.’
Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but tangles his fingers in yours the entire time, keeps your palms pressed together in any position, squeezing your hand through it.
‘I know, baby, I know. I got you.’
Fuck buddies with Ghost who tells you it means nothing, doesn’t want anything more than sex, but he’s possessive over you— ‘my, my, my.’
‘My pretty little dove.’ ‘My sweet girl.’ ‘All mine.’
And because he’s so cruel he makes you say it— ‘Only mine, yeah, baby? Wanna hear you say it.’
But still, after he’s done breaking you down and putting you back together piece by piece with such warm palms, soft eyes, and sugar-spun words he cleans you up before tucking himself back into his pants, and leaves you like it meant nothing to him until the next time he texts you for more.
gentle cleansers, green tea, at home workouts, fruit bowls, face masks, spf 50, pink nails, jewelry always, hair masks, body milks, late night runs, sparkly claw clips, hair massages, lip serums, balanced salads, night routine, vitamins and supplements, sunglasses sun hat combo, princess treatment, floral bouquets, vogue videos.
Roommate!Simon Riley who’s always got presents on hand for your birthday and holidays. he’s almost embarrassed about stockpiling gifts for you, all neatly tucked in the back of his closet… almost. that nagging embarrassment is quick to fade when your eyes light up, always excited that he bought you something and how, “Simon Riley, you didn’t have to get me anything!”
Roommate!Simon Riley that specifically likes buying you rings. nothing too fancy that would raise your suspicion, but always something shiny and pretty - something he wouldn’t dare tell you how much it cost. silver, gold, anything in between, if he thinks it’d look good on you he buys it. he likes seeing those bands decorate your fingers, reflecting in the light when you happily show them off to friends and family
Roommate!Simon Riley that gets one engraved - his initials delicately printed inside the band. he plays nonchalant, voice even when you notice, “Hm? Engraved is it? Didn’t know.”. you laugh it off, tell him ‘thank you’ before grabbing your phone. he loves when your friends ask you about the jewelry, how you always point to him as the one whose covered you in pretty metals and eye-catching accessories
Roommate!Simon Riley who has a matching ring, your initials engraved on it. snug on his ring finger when he’s at base - pretends it’s a wedding band, that his spouse is waiting for him at home. Simon doesn’t flaunt that ring at home though, not when he can have you tucked against his side. no, Simon doesn’t have that band on his ring finger, he slips it on with his dog tags. tucked under shirt, safe and sound on that silver chain as he holds you tightly
simon ghost riley listening to let down by radiohead on repeat after you pass away.
Not to offer advice nobody asked for but fixing ur sleep schedule is life changing
Simon Riley who needs a quickie when you bring him lunch while he's on base. CW : Housewife kink, bit of a breeding kink, dirty talk, hair pulling
You thought you'd do something nice for your boyfriend. Bring him a nice stroganoff.
You didn't think walking into Simon's office in a pretty little sundress and giving him a Tupperware of beef stroganoff would make him so utterly horny.
He couldn't help himself. What man could stand seeing his pretty bird acting like the cutest housewife for him and resist bending her over his desk to thank her?
"Can't look this good, baby" Simon growled. His hips snapping against yours with an audible slap. Over and over.
"I just-I thought it was nice!" you squeak over the sound of skin on skin.
"Oh it was, princess. It was so so nice of you. Being the perfect little housewife f'me"
"H-Housewife?!"
"Yeah, birdie. Gonna put a ring on your finger. Come home to you every night while you hold out a plate of hot food f'me"
You couldn't even think from how good Simon's cock was hammering against your gummy spot deep inside you. Small 'ah!'s coming from you with every thrust.
"You want that baby? Be my sweet wife?" Simon growled. a hand grabbing your scalp and pulling your head off the desk.
"Yes!' you beg, "yes yes, please Simon!" You practically wail.
"and then eventually, I'll fill you up nice and good with my kid. Get you all barefoot and pregnant f'me" Simon grinned wolfishly.
You felt the coil in your lower stomach tighten dangerously at that. The idea of being Simon's housewife, merely having to do the housework and get as many orgasms as you want.
It only took three swipes of Simon's thumb on your clit for you to tremble and cry out as you came.
"Tha's it. Good fucking girl, birdie" Simon groaned as you felt his hot ropes fill you. Patting your lower stomach with a rumbling chuckle
I wrote this while playing cookie run kingdom ngl to y'all.