roommate!ghost who's waiting for you when you get home in the middle of the night after going out with your friends. Sitting on the couch in those fucking grey sweatpants when you stumble through the door and drop your keys. Has to stare at the crack on the ceiling when you get down on your hands and knees to find them, pretend for his own sanity that he hasn't seen the tiny excuse for underwear you've got on under that little black dress.
Like clockwork, he's got you sitting on the icy bathroom counter as you giggle, telling him all about your night. He's got cotton pads and makeup remover in one hand and the other holding onto your thigh because you started unconsciously squeezing his broad frame when he stepped in between your open legs. He gently wipes away all the traces of the night, carefully mapping out the contours of your face like you're a masterpiece he's carved from some precious stone. Until he gets to your lips. The shiny, fucking sparkly gloss is all thats left on your skin but his hand freezes as he studies the crease in your bottom lip. You catch up two seconds later in your dreamy, relaxed haze, and without even thinking about it you close the gap, softly pressing your lips to the one's silently hovering over yours.
His breath catches and his grip on your thigh becomes molten hot as you just as quickly pull away. Innocently you smile at him, like you hadn't just killed him, like you hadn't just made him start planning your wedding down to the way your eyes would shine as you walked down the aisle, all for him.
Your laugh is the only thing that can pull him out of his stupor, "you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that."
Roommate!Simon who starts to take an interest in cooking when you get sick during his leave and refuse to eat anything. He spends half the time researching soup recipes and actually cooking them, and the other half trying to spoon-feed you with the most unimpressed poker face he can muster.
Roommate!Simon who spends an entire day while you're away, trying to find out what his signature dish might be. He had been experimenting with various recipes and is ashamed to admit he got accustomed to the warm feeling in his chest when you compliment his cooking and sometimes even ask for a second helping.
Roommate!Simon who starts to enjoy cooking, especially the part that involves cutting, chopping and dicing. He's good with knives for a reason.
Roommate!Simon who lets you sit on the counter and talk his ear off while he is chopping vegetables for a new pasta recipe he found on Pinterest. He rolls his eyes in disbelief when you complain about some of your male coworkers bringing lunch to work only when their wives made it.
"I swear, men are so blind sometimes, no offense, Simon, because some of their lunches are so neatly packed and they just dump it on a plate and microwave it while taking about finance and AI. If someone made the effort to plate my food, no, scratch that, if someone made the effort to even cook me lunch, I'd spend 5 minutes only staring at it, then take a picture of it, and only then eat it."
Roommate!Simon who makes fun of you when you start to tear up because he is literally cutting onions.
"You were not supposed to cut out that end!", you say between sobs. Not his fault his military training had him inhale worse things, he doesn't even have to blink.
Roommate!Simon whose Pinterest search history sounds like: "easy dinner recipes", "meal prep ideas", "healthy meal prep", "easy lunch ideas", "freezer-friendly meal prep", and the list goes on.
Roommate!Simon who spends the day before deployment meal-prepping. From an outsider point of view, it's funny to see a 1.9 m man hunched over a stack of casseroles with a marker in hand, carefully labelling each meal component in his messy handwriting.
Roommate!Simon who wakes up early in the morning and, after bidding your sleepy figure goodbye and ushering you to your bedroom, leaves a hand-written note on the counter.
"Not exactly packed or plated, but your lunch for the week is in the freezer. See you in 2 months."
simon feels like his brain was left on the last deployment.Why the fuck was he crouched outside the flat of his girlfriend, no roommate, easy mix right? what was he doing here? oh yes he was partaking in what felt soul crushing, watching as you eat dinner with mr.soon to be missing man. he had also watched as you cooked it, which was much more enjoyable because it played out different in simon's mind, he'd come back and you'd celebrate him, with a feast, it didn't matter that the spiciest thing he usually consumed was the vinegar on his fish and chips, he couldnt complain, he couldnt dream of a pretty bird cooking him a meal, and this idiot is complaining loud enough for him to hear.
Simons kicking himself as he sees the pout on your lip, he could’ve saved all this trouble but no. He didn’t do anything, just kept pushing it off. You already lived with him so anytime he needed it he’d just eat your leftovers or swipe a pair of panties, take photos and audio recordings of you for when he was away. It was perfect!
Until this.
He had just gotten back from his deployment and now his pretty birdie was feeding some dickhead and he’s hidden outside his own flat.
Simon just needed to go in there, scare your shitty date away and eat his portion. Easy peasy
He was tired of these restless nights. Staring up at the ceiling, not being able to fall asleep, and when sleep eventually came, being woken by another terrible memory nightmare. He’s sure the 141 had noticed that he was more easily irritated than normal. He didn’t want Price to have to call him into his office for a talk, but he also just didn’t know what to do. Melatonin? Tried it. Chamomile tea? Tried it. Warm milk? Tried it. Everything else…? Tried it.
So...what to do now? Become a zombie and go the rest of his days without sleep...sounds like the easiest answer. He scoffs softly as he whips off the blanket and gets up to head toward the kitchen, hoping that maybe the tea will work this time.
As soon as he gets to the kitchen though, he spots you, ever the night owl, and he thinks maybe there’s one thing he hasn’t tried yet. Talking with someone who is so uninvolved there can’t be bias, just someone who can lend an ear.
”Si...?” you ask softly, turning as you hear footsteps entering the kitchen. He nods, grunting softly in response as he takes in your form. "Couldn't sleep?” you inquire softly as you glance over at him before returning to your task of filling the kettle with water. “Never can these days,” he responds softly, glancing at the kettle before looking back at you. “Mmm…I wish I could help you with that, but all I got is tea,” you say with a soft shrug as you take another glance at him. “Better than nothin'," he responds gruffly as he thinks about what plagued him tonight—or, well, every night.
You hum softly as the water finishes boiling and you pour two mugs of chamomile tea. “Do you…want to talk about it?” you ask softly. You don’t expect a yes; normally the answer is always no, but he surprises you with "I think I do.”. You turn toward him, gazing at him as he now sits at the counter of the apartment kitchen. "Okay,” you say simply with a soft nod as you walk over to him with the two mugs of steaming tea, setting one in front of him. The simplicity of your answer allows for space with no pressure; he could say as much or as little as he wanted to; he knew you would just listen.
He takes the mug and says a gruff ”thanks” before taking a sip, trying to calm his nerves. You take a sip from your own mug, leaving room for him to start whenever he’s ready.
“I get these... nightmares, and some nights they just won’t let me rest.” He starts gruffly. “Feels like I’ve tried everythin' to get to sleep, but some nights it just won’t relent.” He continues as he stares into his cup of tea.
You nod along softly as he speaks about what’s plaguing him. He doesn’t go into detail as to what he sees in his dreams; he doesn’t want you to know about the horrors he’s seen and the way they've been twisted in his mind, tormenting him in sleep. But that’s just it. He doesn’t have to tell you the details; you’ll just sit and let him ramble.
When he’s done, he feels a pound lighter, finally lifting his gaze from his mug of tea and meeting yours. There's a moment of comfortable silence before he softly mumbles, “Thanks for listenin'.".
“Of course,” you say with a soft smile as you gaze back at him, reaching out to pat his back softly. You both stay and chat for a bit longer before the late hour eventually catches up with you both. That night you both fell asleep feeling a bit better. Simon was finally able to rest relatively peacefully, and you felt as though you became closer to him, falling asleep with a small smile on your face.
okay okay yes ghost perfect setup your writing is immaculate but gaz? oh my god gaz? your cute little bastard sunshine manners with gremlin brain gaz? i would literally give everything to see you write for him in the future, you portray him so perfectly!!!
roommate!ghost who isn't good with words, who expresses himself by grabbing your jaw, fingers pressing into your soft skin as his thumb comes up to pull on your bottom lip. The only thing you can manage in response is to curl your tongue around it, wetting his rough skin. It's as obscene as the sound of his fingers fucking in and out of you, curling at that perfect spot until your eyes start to flutter closed. Suddenly he pulls your head forward, that piercing stare now level with you. Just a look, the slightest tremor of his brow, tells you what he wants. eyes open for me.
Always, you comply, studying the ring of breathtaking color around his widened pupils as you feel your orgasm building within you. He can feel it too, you can tell by the way his jaw locks in concentration. give it to me, the huffs of his quickening breath say as he pushes you further and further to the edge. The labored rise and fall of your chest gives way to a punched out whine of his name as you come, hips riding his hand as his forehead finds yours. His nose brushes yours every time your hips cant forward, a desperate kiss finally finding your lips that feels like I fucking love you.
He's no good with words, but in his lips lie a thousand more I love you's waiting to be kissed.
Roommate!Simon who finds you fast asleep on the couch when he comes home after a mission. He gently enters your shared apartment, momentarily freezing when he hears the faint buzz of the TV and occasional small sighs.
Roommate!Simon who can't stop a smile from spreading on his face when he sees the inhumane position you fell asleep in, one leg thrown over the couch, the other partially covered by a blanket and your head hanging down in a position that's guaranteed to give you neck pains for the days to come.
Roommate!Simon who takes off his mask, gloves and tactical gear before gently lifting you in his arms and cradling your sleeping form to his chest, relishing in the rhythmic sound of your heartbeats.
Roommate!Simon whose heart skips a beat when you cuddle up into his chest, murmuring a sleepy welcome with your eyes still closed.
Roommate!Simon who eventually has to place you in your bed and tuck you in, a tender expression on his face as he watches you drift off to sleep in an instant.
part two part three part four part five masterlist
Roommate!Simon who, one morning, wakes up to an empty house and a 1000-piece puzzle on the coffee table with a note on it.
"When I was younger, doing puzzles was a way of keeping me grounded. Perhaps it might help you as well."
Roommate!Simon who can't help but smile faintly at the handwritten words and focuses his attention on the puzzle box, his brow furrowing at the sight of the picture containing cats. A lot of cats.
Roommate!Simon who is definitely not a fan of cats, but carefully places his tea on a coaster on the coffee table, turns the TV on a random music channel and spreads the puzzle pieces on the table, eyes slightly widening at how many there are.
Roommate!Simon who realizes he has to come up with a strategy to organise the pieces and even if his military-trained mind is tired of planning and strategising for missions, he has no problems in coming up with a sorting scheme
Roommate!Simon who is still bent over the table when you come home that evening, several fragments of put-together pieces lying scattered among piles of other pieces. He is so caught up in studying the reference image for a weirdly-patterned piece, that he does not hear the sound of the door opening and closing and almost tackles you to the ground when you crouch on the other side of the table, an amused look on your face.
'If you need a hand-'
Before you can finish your sentence, he scoots over and pats the empty spot on the couch. Yet instead of looking at the pieces and assessing the progress, your eyes are locked on his face and the fact that he ditched the mask and the balaclava.
'I can see you staring.'
'I don't know what you're talking about!', you lie through your teeth, busying yourself over a pile of unsorted pieces. You do not miss the way his lips twitch a little and you certainly cannot stop the hot blush that spreads across your face
You spend the rest of the evening hunched over the table, trying to connect as many pieces as possible. Your hands accidentally come in contact a couple of times, whether it's you reaching for a faraway piece or Simon trying to have a better look at the image, and you eventually come to accept the butterflies that seemed to make a home in your stomach
Roommate!Simon who eventually notices you're dozing off over the puzzle and tries to carry you to your room. When you refuse, he just rolls his eyes in his own dramatic manner, brings a weighted blanket from his bedroom and drapes it over you
Roommate!Simon who finishes the puzzle at two in the morning and dares to take a look at your sleeping figure. His thigh is numb from the weight of your head resting on it, but he doesn't mind.
His mind hasn't been so quiet in a long time. And the cats he spent hours piecing together are rather cute.
The cat puzzle I was thinking of when writing this
