#ghost fluff

but they all carry something.

simon has a hair tie on his wrist. black, cheap, the kind you buy in packs of fifty and lose all over the damn flat. it sits under the cuff of his glove, biting into his skin, reminding him exactly why he needs to make it home. it always smells like your shampoo for a bit before it starts to smell like his own sweat, he finds himself a new one on the bathroom floor before each deployment.

price wears a watch. it’s not the watch that’s about you, really. it’s that he started setting the second time zone to match yours. he checks it more than he should, especially at night when he can’t sleep and it’s three a.m where he is and eight a.m where you are. he’ll think: ‘she’ll be making coffee, i wonder what she wore to bed’ and that’s the closest he lets himself get to mixing you with work.

kyle wears a bracelet. it’s thin braided yarn, the kind of thing you learned to make as a kid at camp. you made it on a slow sunday afternoon while he was half-asleep on your thigh. he said ‘oh, that’s sick, darling. ta!’, put it on and hasn’t taken it off since. it’s absolutely filthy these days. and when it starts to fray, he simply keeps re-knotting it, sometimes johnny has to help get it tight.

You tried to sleep. You really did. But you were just so… uncomfortable. Every time you shifted, your sore breasts would too. And make it impossible to sleep. You don’t want to wake up Ghost, so you try to suck it up.

“Want to tell me why we are both up at three in the mornin’ without sleepin’ a wink, baby?” Simon asks, his voice gruff and thick from disuse in your ear.

You tense, not knowing he was awake—the movement makes your breasts hurt again. “Si,” you murmur, “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“Well, lovie, every time you move—which is often—you let out a small huff of breath.” He says. “Should I be worried? I’m pretty sure I know my wif-“

“I’m fine.” You interrupt, hormones causing you to get angry. Regret washes over you and you shift to face him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He says softly in understanding. “I can help you with whatever it is. Please just tell me.”

You knew he was desperate. Simon? Saying please?

“I’m just… sore.” You admit. “I’m going to start my period soon. My hormones are going wild—which is no excuse—and my breasts hurt. It’s impossible to sleep.”

He nods, expresses softening further. “It’s alrigh’. Let’s just find you a more comfortable position.”

“I’ve already tried!” The sob tears from your throat. You regret it but can’t stop. “I’m so tired, Si! I just want to get rest…”

He doesn’t even flinch, reaching up with his big, calloused hand to stroke your cheek.

A few minutes pass like that in silence. Before you know it, you’ve fallen asleep. Simon grins softly and pulls you closer.

tagging: @angel444riley

thinking about Simon Riley who can't sleep without you. he'd wake up breathless from a nightmare, breath uneven. his fists clenched, that familiar military instinct to grab his firearm shooting pure adrenaline through his veins.

his mind is still stuck in that post dream state, mission still fresh in his mind as he scanned around in the darkness, eyes starting around the shadows for any sign of movement.

soft breathing beside him broke through his haze and he squinted, catching sight of your figure sleeping soundly next to him, calm and breathing.

safe he thought, reassuring - forcing himself to take a breath as he tried to calm down, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears.

you stirred, feeling the rustling of his unrest.

"si?" you mumbled sleepily, turning towards him. his eyes softened. even half asleep you were still attentive, still worried about him.

he was quick to wrap his arms around you, warm and strong around your body as he pulled you against him. the knot in his chest loosened at the contact of your body against his, the tension in his shoulders fading as he buried his face in your neck - breathing in your scent.

still here he thought, closing his eyes in relief.

"shh lovie, go back to sleep" he replied huskily, settling against you.

you relaxed back into his arms, resting your cheek against his broad chest as sleep took over you again.

other nights when he'd wake up without you, he'd panic. dread settling in as he grasped the sheets next to him, seeking out your presence only to find it empty. he'd sit up wide awake, alert only to exhale when he heard you moving around in the bathroom, light shining beneath the door.

when you'd come out and see his expression, the left over anxiety in his eyes you'd rush over, cupping his face and smiling when he melted in your hold.

"still here" you'd whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

his eyes would close at the contact of your lips, shoulders dropping and he'd wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you down onto the bed. you'd giggle at the abrupt action to which he smiled, the sound erasing whatever post nightmare plagued him and grounding him in the sound.

with you in his embrace, right where you belonged, he'd drift slowly back into slumber. peacefully.

simon riley who let's his girl nap on his bulge.

he's on the sofa, arms either folded over his chest or stretched out across the top of the cushions. thick thighs keeping his legs parted (he had no choice).

you could have sat on his lap, laid your head on his shoulder. but you didn't want that.

you wanted to lay across the sofa, neck cushioned by his thigh, nose pressed against his bulge.

you loved his bulge.

whether he was in tac pants or those grey sweats you loved, your nose pressed against his bulge. simon would pet your head as you nuzzled against him. something about it was so damn comfortable.

And the women who he was with never complained.

He was good in bed. But it was mostly just because he was so focused on anything he did.

He couldn't do things half assed.

Sex was never gentle for him, nothing was gentle about him.

But then he met you.

A soft little thing. Moved across the hallway for him in the apartment building, you flirted with him a lot. But never did anything more then flirt. Never pushed.

It was odd. Really much so. Every time you came up the stairs and passed by him, you complimented on his appearance or something similar.

And everytime, something in his stomach squeezed, small fireworks that he tried so hard to ignore. But they made his face burn.

You.

But when you finally ended up in his bed.

He didn't know how to act, all this gentleness had been odd for him before. And now... even more so.

It felt wrong, his calloused hands gripping and massaging your soft skin. The ever slow pace you set and you rode him. The way you couldn't truly look him in the eyes. Soft whines, small whimpers.

It was too much for him to handle.

You've been kinda-maybe-dating for nearly a month now. It's about time you take him to your apartment, you can tell after the third time he asks "where are we going tonight, love?" That he's dissapointed when you say his.

"Do you not trust me?" He finally huffs one day, half-curled into your side while some match neither of you care about plays on screen.

It's not because you don't like him. You care more about ghost than you have any reason to. You're terrified of rejection, but your own fear is hurting both of you anyways. "It's....i trust you, simon."

"Then what, love?" Simon rolls to prop up on his elbows and really look at you.

"It's...i..." you bite the inside of you mouth, twist around your anxiety and spit it out "I still have stuffed animals on my bed!"

Silence. You brace for the mocking laughter that you always hear.

Feeling ghost slip off the bed hurts more than you want to admit. You blink up at the ceiling and try not to cry. It's fine. He can think you're stupid and childish, you don't care, you still love him and—

"Here. Open your eyes." You do. Plastic, black beaded eyes stare back. Cupped in scarred hands is a small cat plushie, body sagging from beans, fur a little dulled. Well-loved. You look past it to stare at ghost, stunned.

"This is Mr. Kitty." He tells you. Gently, ghost scoots right back to your side and sits the plushie in your hands "I've had him for...years. he means a lot to me."

Oh. You try to imagine ghost, this giant of a man curled in bed with the tiny kitty plush next to his face.

"...I have a cat plushie." You tell him, belatedly fishing your phone out and trying to ignore the tightness in your throat at such easy acceptance.

You spend the rest of the night looking at photos of your plushie collection with ghost. He likes the cats the best, has strong opinions about sanrio characters, and insists on seeing them soon.

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.