Please I’m literally at work and this thought would NOT go away
Roommate!Simon Riley who sits in the bathroom while you’re in the shower.
The first time it happened he’d been so lost in his head he hadn’t even noticed the water was running. It was after work, late at night. When he walked in and heard your shriek, he was quick to cover his eyes, despite the shower curtain, fumbling for the door while a constant stream of apologies fell from his lips.
“Simon! Is that you?” Your voice was shaky, and he realized, just by the simple sound of your tone, that you weren’t screaming because he’d walked in, you simply just hadn’t known he was home.
“Yeah love, ‘m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.” His fingers nervously fiddled with the door handle, squeaking hinges reminding him to take his weight off of the old wood.
“No it’s okay, you just scared me is all.” You peeked your head out of the shower, dripping loose droplets of water all over the rug. “You can stay in here ya know. I wouldn’t mind the company.” Didn’t have to tell him twice. He was sat.
He listened to you ramble as he cleaned his bloody knuckles, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo with every breath. He found comfort in it, even found himself longing for the lingering smell of your hair when he was away. That’d never happened to him before, not since you came along.
He liked how the smells weren’t harsh, they were just you.
“Hey Riley! Hand me my towel please?” He turned his gaze from the crimson sink to face you, quirking a smile when he saw the way you clenched your eyes shut, soap suds dripping down your forehead. “Got soap in my eyes.”
An amused huff came from his nose. “I can tell.” Instead of handing it to you, he grabbed your jaw with one hand, bandaged fingers careful as they wiped from the corner of your eyes to the outer part and back again. It wasn’t necessary of course, but you didn’t need to get a perfectly clean towel soaking wet before you needed it. That would be silly.
“Thanks,” You couldn’t help how breathless you sounded, eyelashes fluttering open to see his stern ones focused on making sure the rest of your face was dry.
“Welcome,” It was gruff and short, but he meant it, truly.
After that, it didn’t necessarily become routine, but if you got home from work, and he was there, it was bound to happen. You just had so many things to tell him. Stories of rude coworkers- about how they tried to steal the cookies he’d bought you, but how you were determined to eat every single one of them.
He’d follow you around like a lost puppy, finding solace on the toilet seat when you finally managed to get your ass in the shower. He made fun of you once for how distracted you got, and after seeing the fake pout on your lips he couldn’t stop. Picking on you was his favorite past time after all.
He loves how you sing softly, and he queues away the songs your the loudest to in his head, storing them away to discreetly surprise you with later. The sound of your voice just soothes him, even if it’s not always on key.
Sometimes he’ll even tell you about his day too. It’s not often, but when it happens, you remind yourself to stay dead silent. He was like a baby deer, one wrong move and you’d lose him.
When he inevitably goes quiet mid conversation, you always urge him to continue. “C’mon Riley, I’m listenin’” He melts right then and there every time.
The towel is always in his hands once he hears the shower turn off, ready for you to grab whenever you’re ready. You always insist on doing the rest of your routine behind the safety of the curtain.
“I don’t mind leaving love,”
Another peek of your head and another puddle of water.“Simon Riley, finish telling me your story or I’ll murder you.” It was a pretty convincing argument. He’d obviously listen so he didn’t die. Not because the cute little angry crease between your brows drove him crazy or the way your eyes were stormy with determination made him feel a little horny.
It was always the small things with you.
“Alright you sassy lass, I’ll talk.” And so he’d finish his story, handing you whatever products you asked for every now and then before you reached your hand out for fresh clothes.
As he turned around to get them he’d hear a loud slam, the sound of bottles clattering and your quiet hiss making him alert. Before he could even say anything though, you’d counteract his concern.
“I’m fine. Just slipped on my fucking conditioner.” And oh if he didn’t belly laugh.
Now, sometimes, you’d follow him to the bathroom, and he’d let you. Those these were the moments where he wouldn’t get a second to speak. Because you’d talk, and talk, and talk some more, and he’d eat it all up like it was his last meal.
He’d go to bed thinking about the sound of your voice, bottle it up and take it with him when he had to be away for to long. Because a minute without the sweet sound of your presence was a minute to damn long.
i asked someone to do this for me once and they looked at me like i was crazy and said no :( (is this only cute in my head???????)
Did somebody ask for more??? Too bad cause you’re getting it.
Roommate!Simon Riley who loves to find you sprawled out on the couch like an octopus when he gets home from work. You’re always laid out in some odd way, a way that certainly cannot be comfortable. The blanket you’d been snuggled up with was now tangled haphazardly around your legs, and your arms were dangling off the side, head dangerously close to tipping off with them.
He likes to think you were waiting on him. That it’s the reason why you left the warm lamp on by your head, why there’s a familiar movie playing in the background. Your dinner is untouched on the end table beside you, his is neatly placed on the kitchen counter. His favorite drink is left unopened, a cup of melted ice right next to it, your bottle is nothing but a few drops of water.
Gently setting down his things, he pads as quietly as he can to where you’re laying. The tips of his fingers ghost along your spine before he gives your back a gentle squeeze, moving to the kitchen to grab his plate of food. He puts your food in a plastic container as he waits on supper to warm up, making sure to trade out your empty bottle of water for a fresh one. You’d wake up thirsty, you always did.
The microwave beeps a fraction too loudly once it’s finished. and he finds himself cursing at it, wincing when it squeaks as he opens the door. You twitch in response, adjusting your head just to squish flushed cheeks even further into the cushion.
When he comes back to the couch, he’s careful moving your feet, placing them one by one onto his thighs. He’ll give ‘em a quick little rub, patting the sides of your toes before scarfing down his dinner. He leaves the movie playing while he eats, just because he didn’t wanna wake you up, not because he likes it. Because he doesn’t.
Subconsciously, he finds his fingers tucking the blanket back around your body, and instead of tugging them away, he rests his hand on one of your calves, setting his empty plate on the coffee table.
With one hand on your leg, and the other wrapped around his stomach, he scoots down, letting his head rest on the back of the couch. He’d close his eyes. Just for a minute.
A minute turned into the end credits blasting through the TV speakers, jerking the both of you awake. He notices the way your eyelashes flutter, sleep leaving you dazed and confused. You don’t question him being there, instead just reach for his hand, fingers tangling around his thumb.
“‘m thirsty.”
Of course you were. He shakes his finger, jostling you to open your eyes again. “On the table.”
There, waiting for you, was a fresh bottle of water. You don’t question that either. “thanks,” He just grunts in response, settling back down beside you.
You keep your grip tight on his hand, flicking off the lamp after chugging your drink. He turns on another movie, for you, of course. Definitely not for him.
As sleep tugs him under once more, his side droops down toward your body until he’s resting an arm against your back, and his head against his arm. Large legs stretch out as far as they’ll go, his other hand moving to lay over your feet.
Now you’re tangled together. Two octopuses sprawled out on a small piece of furniture.
And what’s that they say about octopuses? They’ve got three hearts?
Well he was sure that was him right now. Three hearts all beating solely for you. They always would.
Guys, this is the end of my drafts. WHAT DO I DO?? Is this stupid? Too silly? Was it only cute and domestic in my own brain??
somebody needs to stop me
Roommate!Simon Riley who crawls into your bed late at night when he gets home from deployment.
The apartment is dark, nothing but the hood light on the microwave dimly illuminating the kitchen. He can hear the theme song of your show playing from the hallway. It was something you’d seen a thousand times before, and he knew you’d watch a million times after that. One of his favorite sounds on Earth was hearing the echo of your sweet laughter that came with it. It was the only thing that kept him sane while he was away, knowing he was coming home to you.
He drops his duffle, trudging, begrudgingly, to his room to change and clean up. Oh how’d he’d love to just go right to your arms, but he was disgusting, and he didn’t want to get his sweet’art coated in blood and dirt.
He’d move quickly, barely taking the time to wash his body before he was out and in his boxers.
Immediately, he was standing at your cracked door, eyes flickering to your sleeping frame as the TV light glared harshly around the room.
You were covered in a cocoon of blankets, stuffed animals scattered across the mattress. He loved how everything that surrounded you screamed life. Down to the colors of your pajamas and the books on your nightstand. It was such a drast contrast to what he’d spent the last month being suffocated in. It was his home.
He’d creep in slowly, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as he made the way to your bed. There were clothes on the floor, and he found himself tripping over a few pairs of shoes. A smile crept its way onto his stern features. This was what he’d been waiting for. He’d crawl to your body, pushing past mounds of covers to lay down beside you with a grunt. He’d delicately wrap his arms around your waist, squeezing your skin every so often to remind himself that this was real, that you were here.
You’d stir, hand flying out to push away whatever had grabbed you, but he was quick to ease the anxiety, planting a kiss to the back of your head. “easy now love, it’s just me.”
You’d immediately still at the sound of his voice, relaxing into the warmth of his body. “missed you.” The words are slurred, but they’re there nonetheless. Groggy and hoarse, but yours.
He’d sigh, nuzzling his nose into your hair. The sweet smell of your shampoo makes him breathe a little easier. “missed you too.”
He’d fall asleep like that, passed out against your back. No covers on his body, no clothes. Just you, your show, and the peace finally coming back to him at the feeling of your chest rising and falling.
You were alive. You were here.
That’s all that ever mattered.
can you tell I have an unhealthy obsession with this trope??