Roommate!Simon Riley who says, "I'll consider it.". he worries about getting your hopes up, away for long periods of time and rarely home. it's mostly said in passing to random comments you makes. "Simon— you should wear brown more often. It'd match your eyes.", "Hey Simon, I think you'd like this series. You should try watching it.", "Oh! Simon, we should try this new place that opened before you leave again.", and every time, without fail, he grunts, "I'll consider it."
Roommate!Simon Riley who comes home from shopping with more bags than usual. staple groceries and snacks put away before the rest of the bags are hauled off to his room without a word. you notice it on the third day, his usual black and white t-shirts worn around the house quietly replaced by brown sweaters and shirts. when you ask him about it he shrugs, "Thought I'd listen t'you for once.". he spent too long in the store trying to figure out which textures you'd like if you ever stole one
Roommate!Simon Riley who doesn't spend a lot of time watching media. he's got nothing against watching a match at the bar, but usually just busies himself by inspecting his weapons at home. you do a double take when he mentions a character from a series you love, the one you suggested to him. he barely glances your way before walking off, "Like that loud one, reminded me of you.". he spent three days catching up on it so you could talk to him about it
Roommate!Simon Riley who'd do next to anything to make up for lost time while he's away. he'd never make a promise given his occupation, but the little things are easier to accomplish. you seem to like the little things, rushing to put your shoes on as he fixes the sleeves on his sweater. "I can't believe you got a reservation!", your giddiness has him glancing away, listening to you gush about what to order. he locks the door behind him on the way out, watching as you walk ahead of him, "Maybe we could go out for breakfast tomorrow, what do you think?". he doesn't say anything for beat, but you already know what's coming
eighteen plus or else. i'll literally find you i stg.
you buy a toy that’s marketed as ‘deathly silent.’ too bad your roommate is a highly trained soldier.
“deathly silent”: that’s what the box said. that’s what the ad, the website, the product name, all said.
and it was, in and of itself, silent.
but you and your noises weren’t.
at least not to your roommate, government trained, experience-laden, finger on the trigger, simon “ghost” riley.
you’d been amicable, cordial roommates for two years. it’d gone without a hitch: he responded to your post online, went through your vetting process. agreed to get a background check.
once he’d moved in, (if that’s what you’d even call it) it was like you still lived alone. even when he was deployed, rent was deposited right on time, every month.
but somehow a man that size had learned to move silently. you’d never quite been able to figure it out. sometimes he’d scare you, sure, but he always apologized and moved on. made sure to make his footfalls heavier for the rest of the day.
over the course of two years, you’d managed to learn a couple of things about him.
he likes his coffee black—he buys the same brand they keep on base.
but when it comes to tea, simon buys artisanal earl grey.
he’s got a couple masks, so he’s always wearing a clean one.
he puts his boots next to yours at the door. jackets are the same story.
he has to make huge portions for himself when he does cook, so you’re always offered some. you stopped declining a month in: the man knows his way around a kitchen.
he likes chocolate chip cookies, but not as much as he likes brownies.
it’s almost weird to know so much about someone you’re not quite friends with. not quite family with.
you’ve never lived in such close quarters with a man you’re not related to or in love with. so this purchase was extremely necessary.
if you never had to hear him..
then he should never have to hear you.
“mm, fuck!” you whispered around clenched teeth. at the sound of simon’s feet walking down the hallway, into his room, you slap a hand over your mouth.
his presence next door just puts words to your unconscious thoughts. every sliver of fantasy pulling you closer to the crest is roommate related.
you’re reminded of his eyes above the skull mask, the bulk of his shoulders in a black shirt. how he spreads his legs when he sits on your couch watching the game. it’s inescapable to you, inexplorable. it’s a safe place in your mind.
your roommate, whose cologne lingers in the hallway. whose empty cups of tea sit in your sink.
inescapable. inexplorable.
a high pitched whine escapes from between your fingers, your back arching from the mattress.
this thing was a lot stronger than you realized.
your legs shake as you reach orgasm number three, your toes clenching. you can barely keep a grip on the toy itself, you’re so wracked with sensation.
pleasure coats your bones, a slickness that oozes out of every pore, out between your legs.
simon heard the buzzing from the kitchen. he’d seen the ‘discreet packaging’ in the trash. this wasn’t his first day on earth. his roommate's got a new toy.
he can’t get the sound out of his head. he can hear it over the sound of water boiling in the kettle, over the football talk show on low in the living room. it’s utterly inescapable.
an attack animal trained to hear frequencies he shouldn’t—simon was cursed with the knowledge that you were fucking yourself stupid behind closed doors.
the thought alone had him throbbing under his joggers, blood swelling the piece of meat between his legs.
it was already torture, living with someone like you.
someone with such a light inside. someone who smiled at him like he wasn’t a monster with a kill count in the tens of hundreds. someone with great legs, that peeked out from tiny sleep shorts. if you asked he’d toss you a pair of his boxers to wear instead.
he was waiting for you to ask, like you ever would.
it was torture, knowing he had a bird waiting at home for him that wasn’t exactly his.
torture that he had to hear your whines as he walked down the hallway, and couldn’t do anything about it.
shouldn’t do anything about it.
he shut his door with a loud click, giving you the chance to stop if you wanted.
you didn’t.
it was torture, but he couldn’t resist any longer.
leaning against the wall, his head tipped back to hear better, he gives in.
simon slips his hand under the waistband of his sweats, fist immediately around his cock.
his thumb brushes over the tip, and he’s making his own noises.
they blend in with yours to soundtrack his thoughts, a scenario where he’d be the one under those sheets with you. instead of some stupid piece of machinery.
you grow louder, your poorly muffled whimpering seeping through the thin walls.
it’s obvious: you’re not trying to hide it anymore.
you can’t.
pleasure has taken over. sensation has gained command of your good sense.
the finish line nears, and you can barely keep the buzzing piece of rubber on your clit as your whole body shakes, shudders. a full-bodied moan rips from your mouth as you soak the sheets, liquid squirting from underneath your fingers.
the next room over, cum coats simon’s knuckles as he shudders into his own fist, the room spinning.
he can’t remember the last time he came so hard.
simon coughs, thankful for his mask. his cheeks are burning hot.
“nice shirt, eh?” he remarks, his eyes trained on the ‘RILEY’ painted over your shoulders.
you turn your head, smiling. it almost hurts to see you like this. like you’d just been rolled around in bed.
“thanks?” you reply, a little confused. it was just the first clean shirt in your drawer.
your roommate’s acting kind of odd.
he shakes his head. you have no clue what you’re wearing. what you’re doing to him.
“s’mine,” he growls out. tone a little harsher than he means for it to be.
you finish stuffing your dirty sheets into the washing machine, dropping a soap pod in after them before slamming the lid closed.
looking down at the shirt you’re wearing, the fact that it’s simon’s is becoming increasingly obvious. it smells like him, it’s about three sizes too big, and it’s sporting a logo reading TF141 over the left breast. pulling at the shirt until you can read the back, your eyes widen at the huge letters of his last name.
“i’m sorry! d’you want it back?” you squeak out, mortified.
“nah, keep it.” simon says, tone flippant. devil-may-care.
if that’s the way it’s gonna be, maybe he’ll slip a pair of boxers into your laundry later.
༄ first time writing cod! writing simon! i thought of this prompt and just knew i needed to put fingers to keyboard about it. lmk if i need to explore this more! ❤︎
In which Simon's flatmate mistakes him for a home intruder Simon Riley x Reader
Simon sighs as he drops his duffel on the floor of his shared flat, just inside the door. He can't remember the last time he was here. He needs a long, hot shower, maybe a wank, and then several hours of sleep. He's scrubbing a palm over his face when he hears it- a slight creak of the floors, the whistle of something speeding towards him.
He's moving before he can think. Arm trapping the object flying towards him against his body, hand grabbing the arm wielding it and twisting it so the assailant stumbles. The yelp of alarm stops him before he can kick their leg out from under them.
"What, [name]?? What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"It's me!" His flatmate squeaks, arm trembling in his grip. "Ohmygod, Simon, I'm so sorry! I thought you were a burglar, I didn't know you were coming home and I just- I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
With a curse, Simon releases her, scrubbing at his eyes. "No, dove, but Jesus, you should know better than to sneak up on a sol-"
The words die in his throat when he finally looks toward her. Christ. She's wearing a thin slip of fabric, pink and frilly. It technically covers everything, but the thin light of the hallway is passing through the gauzy fabric, illuminating every dip and curve of her lucious body. Simon feels all of blood drain from his upper extremities, and he shifts uncomfortably. His pretty little flatmate looks up at him regretfully, completely unaware of the show he's receiving.
Simon shakes himself, casting his eyes around for a distraction. They land on the object she just tried to bludgeon him with.
"Hold on a minute. You said you thought that I was a burglar? A large, dangerous man, silently breaking into our flat in the dead of night, while you are home alone, and you decided to attack me? With- what even is this?" He asks with a curled lip, picking up what looks like a baseball bat, but is surely too small to be so.
Simon's caustic tone seems to give her some pause, and she looks away, sheepish. "It's a tee-ball bat."
"A what?" Simon bites out.
"A tee-ball bat, Simon. It's like baseball, but.... Well, for little kids." She trails off at the end and he can barely hear her.
Simon takes a deep breath, then another. Dangerous, thoughtless, reckless, stupid. He continues his breathing, trying to stay his temper, and inspects the bat in his hands. It's aluminum, chipped and rusted like she unearthed it from the depths of a charity shop.
"Right. So, as we established, you thought a massive stranger- possibly armed-"
"Simon, come on-"
He holds up his hand sternly. "No, Dove, let me finish. A man, possibly armed, is in the flat, and rather than hiding and calling for help, you go after him with a tee ball bat." He over enunciates each word, making his opinion of her choice of weapon perfectly clear. "And if you managed to hit him you were going to do what, exactly?"
The little bird in front of him murmurs something angrily, eyes glued to his boots. Boots he hadn't had a chance to fucking take of before he was fending off an attack in his own flat. Simon places two fingers under her chin and jerks it up until she's making eye contact with him, noting the way her eyes glaze slightly when he does so.
"Didn't hear you, luvie. Speak up now."
Her face scrunches in resentment. "I said I didn't think that far ahead."
"Right." Simon deadpans. "Well, I'm sure you would have figured something out."
He grabs his bag and storms past her, bat still in hand.
"If you gave me a heads up this wouldn't have happened to begin with!" She cries after him, and he imagines her stomping her foot in indignation. "And give me my bat back!"
"Absolutely not. This is confiscated until you can prove you'll be responsible with it." He snaps over his shoulder, slamming his bedroom door behind him.
Whenever you and Simon go out, he pays. At first you argued about it, reaching for your card regardless, and frowned when he paid anyway. But he never made a big deal about it, so eventually you stopped fighting.
Simon's schedule is irregular. Sometimes he’s home for months at a time, or deployed for months at a time.
This time, he left yesterday. And you don't notice the problem until it's already happening.
You're at your usual cafe, one you and Simon frequent often. you claim your seat in the corner against the wall with a book tucked under your arm.
It's normal, the cafe isn't so busy this time of day, it's perfect. Routine.
You set your stuff down and head to the counter.
“Hi, could i get a–” you order your usual without thinking. The barista nods, tapping it in.
and like always, you drift to the end of the counter and wait.
There's a pause, long enough to spark a halt in the scripted routine. You glance up, the barista already staring at you.
“You have to pay…”
Oh. oh no.
Mortification swallows you. Heat floods your face so quickly it's dizzying.
You rush back to the till, words stumbling out.
"oh my god, im so sorry. i–"
you go to explain but stop. Because what were you supposed to say?
Oh my roommate usually does this part because my brain apparently resigned to any basic life functions.
“Sorry. I just…yea…”
The barista doesn't look particularly interested in your reasoning anyways. So you tap your phone, leaving an extra tip, mumble another apology, and wait for your drink in daze.
Drink finally in hand, you retreat to your corner.
You try to focus on your book, act like nothing happened. but your brain is your worst enemy, deciding it has to replay the interaction in a loop.
You have to pay. No shit.
You sink further into your seat, hand over your mouth as you pick at your lips.
“This is your fault,” you mumble under your breath.
Unfortunately, Simon was in fact several hours away, and not here to defend himself. So you wallow in your misery until you decide it's the regular time you'd normally leave.
Simon definitely heard about it through a flood of very embarrassed texts and at least three rambling voice messages.
The next time he came back, he stopped by that same cafe without telling you and left a hundred-dollar credit on your name.
Just in case.
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a/n: dont worry about the technicalities of how this would work. its all in our head anyways. my fault for not posting anything in a while, ive been drowning in school and writers block. also not edited, I dont wanna.
can’t stop thinking about roommate!simon who was surprised you actually agreed to move in with him, a random online stranger, whom he was sure got scared off when you met to discuss terms
roommate!simon, who was struggling to find a roommate. taller being an understatement with the way he loomed over you, scars littering his body and gruff exterior - sure to send anyone running
and roommate!simon was sure you were no exception, showing up in a pink knitted sweater with flowers (homemade by yourself he later learnt), your beaming smile was sure to waver, no matter how positive your outlook.
but apparently the terms were so appealing to you, you agreed on the spot! surely because of the added benefit of roommate!simon being on assignment for months at a time .. and not because you couldn’t fight your thighs squirming at the sight of the wall of a man and his low voice.
after a few months of living together roommate!simon had still mostly kept to himself, with the occasional note left behind by roommate!simon telling you when he’s left for assignments.
and you, you were frustrated, sure in the sense you wanted to be his friend and were annoyed.. but you were also sexually frustrated!
these last few months it’s as if roommate!simon has been dangling himself in front of you, walking around with no shirt on, in a towel after a shower, or the way his muscles barely fit in the black compression tees of his.
teasing you with the smug look on his face, like he knows exactly what your thinking, then leaving you with no release!
you had enough of roommate!simon antics, you needed to get his attention somehow, get him to just talk to you then you can figure out how to jump his bones!
so while roommate!simon was away on assignment you started leaving pieces of yourself around his bare, bleak apartment.
of course when you first moved in he had muttered briefly about how you can put your stuff anywhere, but you had been too polite to take him up on that, until now
roommate!simon’s bachelor-pad coded black leather couch now had a pink knit blanked draped over it, throw pillows and plushies littered the surface.
and when simon got back from deployment of course he noticed, he also noticed your self satisfied smile, so he chose to do nothing, you were bound to break soon,
seeing his lack of response you decided to up your game, waiting until you heard the shower running, you scrambled to your underwear draw, grabbing the skimpiest thong you own, before sneaking over to his door,
the only rule he had set in the apartment, he had been stern and clear with you when you first moved in, “look kid, I don’t wan’ you goin’ in m’room ‘nd snooping through my stuff, hm?” in that low, panty dropping voice of his.
but fuck it, you slowly open his door, being sure not to step on any creaky floorboards, before leaving the panties draped on the edge of his bed.
More roommate dynamic with Simon but he walks in on you and Soap (gasp)
Part 1 blurb
-
“Ye sure he ain’t gonna be home till later?”
“Yes Johnny, do you wanna read the text again?” You giggle into the kiss when he presses his lips against yours and grab onto his collar, dragging him down the hall into your room. You nudge the door shut with your hip and now it was his turn to paw at you, grabbing fistfuls of cotton as he pulls your shirt off and lets you push him backwards onto the bed.
You straddle his lap and kiss him again, pulling a low growl out of his throat when you tug at his now messy mohawk. His hands run up your back, fingers slipping underneath your bra straps allowing him to push them off your shoulders. You were both too occupied to hear the front door open or hear Simon’s heavy footsteps coming closer down the hall.
“Oi do y’wanna go to-“ he swings the door open and all three of you freeze. Simon stares at you and Soap, and you stare right back. “What the fuck is going on?”
You fix your bra and scramble to get your shirt back on, quickly getting off of Soap. “I thought you were gonna be home late?”
“Change of plans.” His eyes flicker from you and over to Soap who was still on the bed and he steps into the room, getting more angry than he already was when Soap stifles a laugh. He grabs the man by the arm and drags him out until they’re out on the porch.
“What the fuck, Soap?” He whisper yells, glancing inside to make sure you weren’t listening.
“What? She’s the one who called me, who am I deny tha’ little bird of yers?”
Simon sighs, dragging his hands down his face. “That’s not th’point, she’s my roommate. Y’can’t just do that.”
Soap just shrugs and opens the door to go back inside. “She’s a grown woman, lass can decide for herself.” He leaves Simon on the porch as he disappears back into your room. A few moments later, he walks back out with his keys and punches Simon’s arm lightly as a farewell.
Simon goes back inside and you’re in the kitchen watching him like you’d just committed some sort of crime for trying to get with his friend. But Simon didn’t look mad, just conflicted. He paces around the living room, stopping to look at you a couple times before shaking his head and pacing again. It was making you restless, teeth gnawing at your lower lip.
“Spit it out, Si.”
“It should be me, not him.” He blurts out, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I mean think about it, we’ve been living together for over a year now, we pretty much know everything about each other, we just…” he pauses and vaguely motions between the two of you. “Work.”
You stare at him, absolutely gutted at his whole spiel. “Simon,” you sigh deeply and put your hands over your cheeks. “I don’t- oh Si, I don’t see you that way.”
You see the light in his eyes dim and he looks back at you like a kid who just got his candy smashed in front of him. He mumbles out a quiet ‘oh’ and nods slowly before retreating to his room. You stand in the kitchen feeling a terrible weight on your chest, almost tearing up not because you rejected him but because of the look on his face when you did.
In his room, Simon’s sitting on the bed deep in thought. Could he win you over? Probably not, if he couldn’t do it thus far. Should he tell Soap to ghost you and keep you away from him? No, that would be too mean. So he had no choice but to just wait it out.
Wait it out as he saw Soap’s car in the driveway every weekend. Wait it out when you told him you’d be gone for a week because you were going to Scotland. Wait it out when you started coming to pub nights only to hook yourself onto Soap’s arm and go home with him instead. Simon was miserable, watching the woman he spent so much time with and spent so much time thinking about fawning over his best mate.
Soap didn’t know about Simon’s feelings toward you, Simon would rather die than tell him. He just had to wait and watch as weeks turned to months and then you moved out and those months turned to years. Wait and watch as Soap pulled out a velvet box from his pocket to show the team what he was proposing with.
Wait and watch as he stood beside Soap and you came down the aisle looking more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. His heart broke a little more every time he saw you but if it wasn’t gonna be him, at least it was Johnny.
Youre his roomnate, living together in a big flat in Manchester. Originally you two had seperate beds but after a long time of building trust and him not being home enough to have his own bed, you started sharing.
Sure theres still a bed in his old room which youd turned into your studio, but Ghost always came to your bed when he was off duty.
Its comfortable really. Both of you have your own blankets, ghost just draping his over himself and you while you were wrapped up in a burrito in his arms.
While you had no trouble sleeping soundly, he did most times, night terrors, bad memories and scenes from work haunt his sleep.
But with you its easier. Everytime you turn in your sleep you wake up to flip yourself like a pancake, using the opportunity to snuggle back into him. Waking him uo from whatever bad dream he had with the movement and reminding him that he was safe at home with you.
The mornings are the worst. For you at least. Ghost was used to earky wakeups from his job so he always got restless around dawn.
You were more of a nightowl, always taking the late evening shifts at your job, and sleeping till 10 or later.
At first Ghost had always tried to slip out unnoticed, but since you always awoke from the pressure of him moving over you, you always bullied him against the wall after all, hed given up. Now he just moved over you quietly, giving you a slight pat and a few words of reassurance when you stir to blink up at him.
You dont mind, quick to fall asleep again. The next time you wake up is usually when Ghost comes back from the kitchen with some sort of breakfast and a tea, supervising you as you slowly nibble on whatever he made you.
After some sleepy nibbles and sips you usually go back to bed, snoozing away until Ghost decides its time to rise and shine.
While he himself struggles with taking care of himself, still too deep in the mindset of seeing himself as a weapon, its much easier to do if hes simply taking care of someone else, and his care beung collateral.
He makes sure to spend at least most of your sleep with closed eyes laying still, catching more sleep than ge would on base. When he makes you breakfast he sets aside a portion for himself after you gave him a sad look once you realised he skipped most meals that werent just MREs shovelled in out of necessity.
While he doesnt realky enjoy outings, its nice to go to a designated coffee shop once every week for a drink and some cake, it was more for you but he enjoyed it nonetheless. Alone you wouldve probably sped through the experience, too anxious abput taking someone elses space by accident. So he came along, since you seemed to ease up in company.
Twice a week he helps you work out. Nothing big and at home, but it helps with your aching joints and builds at least a little muscle tone.
Everytime he leaves for base youre a little sad, sometimes falling back into mundane wake eat work sleep days, but you try. Because everytime you do manage to stay on the schedule he unconcsiously appointed to you, you receive a little cake or sweet for doing so well.
In the end hes a great roommate to you and you enjoy his company.
To him youre like sone beloved pet he takes care of financially and emotionally. After all Price did recommend he get himself a service dog or something when he first got him his Manchester flat.
