a collection of riley’s. simon riley.
pairing: simon riley x reader
summary: simon riley makes a drunk call
contains: may be some she/her pronouns.
bug speaks: i’ve got like one more idea for this series :(
masterlist
request/inbox open :)
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twentynine.
you wake slowly. not fully. just enough to realise you need to get up.
a soft groan leaves you as you push the blankets back, the air cooler outside them. the floor is cold under your feet as you make your way down the hallway. you finish in the bathroom quickly. you hear the soft movement as you dry your hands.
“c’mon,” you murmur.
riley boy’s nails click gently against the floor as he follows.
the back door creaks slightly as you open it.
cool air slips in immediately, brushing over your skin, waking you just a little more. you step aside, letting him out, watching as he trots off into the yard.
you lean lightly against the doorframe.
arms folded. waiting patiently.
he’s been spending more time with you.
your gaze drifts toward the fence line.
dark and quiet.
mrs henderson’s house sits still on the other side.
lights off and empty.
you swallow.
she’s been in hospital more nights than not now.
longer each time.
you don’t like thinking about it.
riley comes back in with a soft huff, brushing past your leg as you close the door behind him.
“hey,” you murmur, crouching slightly, your hand finding his head automatically.
warm and solid. he leans into you.
you scratch behind his ear, a little slower than usual.
“you’re a good boy.” the rare compliment leaves your lips.
his tail thumps once against your leg.
back inside, you flick on a low light as you settle into bed. you offer riley to sit next to you. something he happily takes as he knows it’s not an invitation he gets often. he spins a few times. tale and paws all over the place. and then he settles down, chin on your lap.
your phone sits on the bedside table where you left it. you reach for it without thinking. habit.
the screen lights up.
missed calls.
your brows knit slightly as you navigate to your voicemail box. all from simon. you blink, a little surprised.
you tap one.
there’s a brief shuffle of sound.
then his voice. rough. a little unfocused. “…you should’ve seen this dog.”
“you’d like it,” he continues, somewhere between steady and not. “big. friendly. bit like-” a pause, like he’s lost his train of thought. “-yeah. you’d like it.”
you huff out a quiet laugh. hand coming up to cover your mouth.
you navigate to the next message and bit play.
this one is longer. more rambling. then there’s a pause. you hear simon’s harsh breathing. and then, “…i like you.”
simple. no build up. no deflection. “like a lot a lot.” then he hangs up.
your chest tightens. you can’t help but let out an excited squeal.
you bring up your messages. smiling as you read the last couple from simon. you go back and swipe on one of the newer contacts.
the better half of the price’s.
is your husband with simon?
you will scream when i tell you what just happened.
unless price already told you.
half way through your next message to her, your phone rings. you can’t help but yelp. your phone falling from your hands as you jump.
riley lifts his head immediately, ears twitching. you mumble a small sorry. your eyes never leaving the screen. locked in on the incoming call. simon.
you hesitate.
then swipe to answer. “…hello?”
“…hi.” his voice is different now. still rough. but clearer.
you lean back against the headboard slightly. “hey.”
“…you awake?” a soft exhale on the other end. the line crackles slightly. wind. footsteps. laughter.
your phone presses warm against your ear as you curl further into your blankets. you can’t help but laugh softly at his question.
“…you still there?” simon’s voice comes through, a little rough, a little distracted.
“i’m here,” you murmur. “you sound… outside.”
“yeah.” there’s pause.
you hear gravel crunch under his boots.
“walkin’ home,” he adds.
“that feels unsafe,” you say lightly as you check the time.
“…m’fine.”
there’s a shift in the audio.
a thud. a muffled curse.
you sit up slightly. “…simon?”
“i’m good.”
doesn’t sound like it, you want to grumble back.
there’s shuffling. fabric brushing.
“hold this.”
your brows lift. “what?”
the line shifts. a new voice. still somewhat drunk but a little more put together than simon sounded.
“hello,” kyle garrick says easily. “i want the record to show i didn’t hijack the call. simon voluntarily handed me the phone.”
you blink. “…hi?”
“hi,” he replies. “name’s kyle.”
“you’re dead weight, mate,” kyle mutters, voice shifting slightly as he adjusts. “stand up straight.”
“i am standin’,” another man grumbles.
“you are not,” kyle shoots back.
you press your hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh too loud.“…sounds like a team effort.”
“all on me own.” the other man sings. the alcohol having hardened his accent. you make the assumption it’s johnny. simon had told you enough about him.
“definitely not a team effort,” kyle laughs. “feels like i’m doing all the work.”
another shuffle.
keys jingling.
a frustrated exhale.
“he’s fightin’ his own front door now,” kyle adds.
“i’ve got it,” simon mutters.
“you don’t.”
“i do.”
“you absolutely don’t.”
you can hear it now. metal against metal. a key missing the lock.
a quiet, irritated, “…bloody thing.”
you’re smiling fully now.
“simon.”
“what.”
“other way.”
“…i knew that.”
the key finally slides in.
a click.
“got it,” simon mutters.
“it’s a miracle,” kyle replies.
the door creaks open.
footsteps shift again as they move inside.
the sound changes instantly, quieter, enclosed.
simon takes the phone back.
you hear it in the movement.
the slight rustle.
his breath, closer again. “…you still there.”
you laugh softly. “i am.”
“good.”
from somewhere behind him, “YOU CALLIN’ YOUR BIRD-” johnny again.
“shut up,” simon snaps, but there’s no real bite to it.
you grin. “your bird, huh?”
