cr4shposts

[cr4shposts]

“Smile.”

He gives you a look from across the rec rooms mask pulled up to sip his cup of earl grey and his eyes worn with fatigue. Meanwhile you sat across the table, pencil in hand and eyes war run- but determined. “Fa’ your picture of me?”

“Mmhm.”

“Are ya’ in th’ picture?”

You furrow your eyebrow and set your pencil down, having the general outline done but nothing else of sustenance, no features. So you tilt your head, “Why?”

“Draw ‘yerself in the picture firs’ then I’ll smile fo’ ya.” He then insisted, taking another drink of the warm tea, leaning back in the chair. Biting back the urge to smile as he saw you very quizzically look at the paper and then back at him.

You take a sharp breath, “I…I don’t really draw myself. Nothin special.”

His eyes narrowed on you from where he was sitting and he scoffs moving to sit up and holding out his hand, “Bullshit. Lemme see it.”

“Jesus,” your little grumble fell on deaf ears as he got the sketch book, taking a moment to admire the outline and going on about to scribble something beside it. So you sit and watch him, slightly haunched over the table to do it, extremely focused on the task.

After about seven minutes he pushed the notebook across the table and you then pick it up, rolling your eyes to his smug face and then look at…what you would consider to be a childlike drawing of their teacher. There was no real talent or training, just a want to draw. And you respected the figure, no matter how crude. So with a scoff you look back to him, “Now will you smile?”

You loved his smile, crooked from scare and how his eyes would squint together from how wide it was. With a smile on your own expression you go on about finishing your drawing, it taking about thirty minutes- well technically you only needed him to model for five just to get the outline, but he was fine sitting still for longer.

By no means was it your best, but as he got up to go to bed and he looked over your shoulder to look at the sketch he hummed, “Wanna kno’ why you gotta be in the picture?”

“Mm?”

“I only smile when you’re with me.”

You spin in your chair as he moves to walk out of the room, “YOU CORNY ASS-“

(Fluff!! I know it’s a change of pace :p Toodles!)

[cr4shposts]

Been thinking about the 141 boys coming to visit your southern family…

Price ends up out back with your papaw and uncles staring at a riding mower that they haven’t been able to get back up and working. Beer in hand, hip cocked, mimicking their ‘uh-uh’s and ‘yep’s. He tries to help with grilling but your dad won’t let him anywhere near it because “damn brits can’t cook out to save their lives. I’ve seen what y’all eat.”

Ghost gets a little overwhelmed by the women fussing over him. He’s on his third plate of food and your mimi is still loading him up with more mac n cheese because “He’s just such a big boy - he really needs to fill up! Are you sure you’re feeding him enough?” Luckily Simon is a literal human vacuum - a total garbage disposal. He drinks about a pitcher of sweet tea by himself because you can’t tell me that man doesn’t have a deadly sweet tooth. You have to drive home after the food coma they put him in.

Gaz is the decided favorite son-in-law (never mind that you aren’t married yet.) He’s just so polite, happily helping wherever needed. Quick witted and more than prepared to participate in the small town gossip. Giving genuine, dramatic gasps at the news that the preachers son of your family’s rival church took a trip (went to prison). It just makes sense that boy always had a screw loose, after all. He picks up on the cooking easily enough, asking your mom for all her recipes to make both you and her a lovely custom cook book of family recipes.

Soap goes absolutely hog wild on the four wheelers with your cousins. Regaling the younger ones with stories of his ‘adventures’ (pranks on the other 141 members.) He picks up some of your slang for the fun of it. After all, sigogglin’ just works with a Scottish accent so well. Unfortunately he can’t handle the jalapeño corn bread - it’s just too spicy for the poor boy.

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nap time is the best

Having the window open as your bodies are pressed together with only a thin sheet covering each other. Simon resting his head on your chest as you lazily give him head scratches - debatably the best part of it all. The sound of the rain pattering on your bedroom window making you both sleepy.

the time being filled with soft kisses to each others lips and random naps, Simon falling asleep and you pressing soft kisses to the crown of his head while taking some picture of him to add to your hidden album in your phone…

as you fall asleep, Simon litters little kisses on your chest and whispers about how a big brute like him doesn’t deserve the love you give him. But he could never figure out how even in your sleep you could figure out he was talking bad about himself, your arms wrapping around him as you nuzzle into the top of his head.

the sloppy kisses. Having you propped up on him as you lazily kiss each other, not caring that either of your tongues are basically missing each other and just aiming everywhere else except there.

but the one thing that kills me - Simon can’t help but to hum “You Are My Sunshine” to you as you fall asleep. His low voice rumbling in your ear as he rocks you gently, reminding you that your his light that gets him through a tough day at work, or through a nightmare, or a reminder of what he was blessed with to come home to.

safe to say Simon “Ghost” Riley loves nap time.

[cr4shposts]

*after a mission*

Nik: *causally talking about snapping someone’s neck while having them in a headlock*

Graves, whispering: John-

Price: Oh my god…

Graves, urgently: John I need him now

Price, voice cracking: Nik we need- *whispering* oh my fucking god- NIK-

Graves: NIKOLAI GET IN THE OFFICE NOW

Nik, confused: … what did I do I’m behaving?!

[cr4shposts]

waking your handsome hubby up with a sweet treat (very consented for!!)

your head dips, nostrils flaring as you suck in deep breaths of depleting oxygen. you’re trapped between the sweet space of simon’s thighs and your thick comforter. it smells faintly of your candy-like perfume n the sweet musky scent of your sleeping husband.

your fingers creep up his thighs, the tips playing in the bushy hair as you stare down the pretty length of his cock. simon always had a bad problem of waking up to a nice morning wood, which of course is why he had you… duh!

your mouth waters, tongue dragging up the underside of the pretty muscle (ik it’s not a muscle shut up idc) before laying the sweetest of kisses along the tip.

his legs shudder up slightly, before they’re relaxing. simon’s stomach lifts n falls in soft breaths, mind in the deepest of slumber as you play round with him.

your lips part and you slowly sink your mouth down onto him, careful to try and hold off from waking him. it was almost a challenge to you truthfully. see how far you can get him before he’s dripping down your throat, a race to get him to finish before his eyes are fluttering.

your tongue swirls, careful not to splutter round not only the girth but the length of this man. your clit throbs with every inch, fingers desperate to slide down n rub one out.

you can’t help the moan that vibrates through his cock, his back arching up ever so slightly till you can hear the faint whimper that echoes in the silent air.

everything bout this made your skin run hot, flesh crawling in pure lust. it drove you mad, mouth lifting and sinking till his sounds become more prominent, till his legs begin to bend up round your head.

he was getting close… to waking up… to that sweet edge of release… you didn’t know which one but you kicked it up into overdrive.

you wanted to wake him up with his salty, sweet seed drooling from the edges of your lips. your eyes pricked with tears as you began to take him down to the back of your throat, lips creating a seal round his balls before you’re pulling back up n working up a rhythm.

“b-baby… fuuuuck,” is the last thing you hear before you’re being blinded by the rising sun and the handsome, groggy face of your sleeping beauty.

[cr4shposts]

i love the hc of soap being super into hair care, he’s got the softest mohawk in the world it’s so so nice.

and then ghost with 3 in 1

[cr4shposts]

Graves: I’m ready to head out

Price: Alright- What the fuck… why are you wearing THAT?

Graves, wearing a cowboy hat: It’s a part of my heritage

Price: Take it off its ridiculous

Graves: Now, I’ve been nice about everything but now you’re provoking me

Price: You aren’t nice you’re a pain in the ass by existing

Graves:

Graves: That piece of shit on your head should be retired to the landfill by now. You picked it up from a dumpster and haven’t let it finished it’s journey home. Your boots have the same raggedy shoelaces that came with them because you can’t be bothered to change them. Your shirts have pulled threads and fraying EVERYWHERE. The neatest thing about you in your hair and even that is hard to look at

Graves: Now, I’m wearing my three hundred American dollar Stetson out. Is that a problem?

Price: … no

Graves: Good. Let’s go

Price, quietly: I think that awakened something in me

[cr4shposts]

the 141 & how they would kiss you (in my opinion 🥰)

[cr4shposts]

how i think your camera roll would look like if you were in a relationship with jonathan price

"captain's got your back."

[cr4shposts]

how i think your camera roll would look like if you were in a relationship with kyle garrick

i just know that he buys you flowers at any given opportunity

[cr4shposts]

how i think your camera roll would look like if you were in a relationship john mactavish

this man would do anything for you. i mean it.

[cr4shposts]

how i think your camera roll would look like if you were in a relationship john mactavish

this man would do anything for you. i mean it.

[cr4shposts]

It almost looks like ghost is leaning into johnnys touch….

[cr4shposts]

i love soft!simon so badly it makes me physically sick.

literally the line “his hands so calloused from his pistol softly traces hearts on my face” in icfhnric makes me fully ascend out of my body because i think of soft!simon !!!! :(

simon who is so in love it makes him nauseous. simon whose hands tremble with nerves as he fumbles with the keys to open your door, getting frustrated because he’s so nervous he can’t get the door open.

simon whose knees threaten to give out at the sight of his lover lounging around in one of his shirts.

simon whose calloused fingers cup your face, tracing gentle shapes across your skin and melting into your embrace because he’s so in love and he’s home.

[cr4shposts]

[cr4shposts]

Price: Fuck why can’t I sleep?

Laswell: Someone must be thinking about you

Price: Who the fuck is thinking about me at fucking midnight?!

(Meanwhile in Russia)

Nik: I miss my husband… I miss him a lot

[cr4shposts]

ONE POINT PERSPECTIVE

or, midnight cuddles with ghost

The first time it happens, it's an accident, or at least that's what you tell yourself. It's a shitty sleeping situation anyway: the draft creeping in through the windows and the wind howling outside the windows. You couldn't sleep, wrapped in some pathetic excuse for a blanket, watching the rain beat against the windows.

"You awake?" Ghost mutters, rolling over from his bedroll on the floor next to you. You snort, pulling your blanket up around your ears.

"No, I'm sleeping," you drawl, flipping over to face him. He's a lot less threatening like this, in simple thermal regulation pants and long-sleeved top. He's still got his mask on, but it dips to reveal his buzzed blond hair, the scarred skin of his chin, his lower lip. He's most human here than he is anywhere else.

"Sorry to interrupt your rest, then," he quips, but you can see his smile lines crinkle against the corner of his eyes. You roll back over, a shiver shaking your shoulders as you close your eyes.

"Are you cold?" Ghost's eyes are apparently strong as ever. You prop yourself up on your elbows, steeling yourself.

"No," you lie, pulling your blanket up higher. Ghost's eyes flit over you, from the exposed tips of your ears to the holes in your thermal socks.

"You're a shit liar," he chuckles, hand reaching across your bedroll, pressing your palm between both of his. As much as you hate to admit it, his hands are warm, much warmer than yours.

"Jesus, you're freezing," he mutters. You pull your legs up to your chest, resting your cheek on your knee.

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do? Cuddle me?" you snort, "we should sleep. We're no good dead on our feet."

"If you want me to, I will," Ghost shrugs, "you're no good if you've got hypothermia." His earnesty catches you off-guard, a sudden departure from his cool, unbothered persona in the field. He takes your hand again, thumb sweeping circles over the inside of your palm.

"Why aren't you cold, then?" You're deflecting and he knows it, but he indulges you.

"Mom always said I run hot. Somethin' about being tall," he shrugs, this thumb still working circles on your palm. You swallow hard, words escape you.

"Will you let me?" Your heart almost breaks at how gentle his voice is, how soft. You tilt your head up, watching as his eyes melt into pools of hazelnut and pitch.

"Let you what?" you ask. It's a formality at this point, with your head resting on his shoulder and one of his hands resting on your waist. You walk through the motions anyway.

"Will you let me keep you warm?" He breathes the question, lets it echo around the tiny room. You twine your arms around his neck, watching as your silhouette copies the motion on the opposite wall.

"Yes."

You swear you feel him exhale in relief as he untangles his body from yours, pulling his bedroll next to yours. You swallow hard as you climb inside his sleeping bag, deliciously warm from his body heat.

He clambers in next to you, and there's room, but really not that much. Your bodies are flush against each other at any point they could be, from your legs to your hips to your arms. It's surprisingly intimate and it brings a blush across your face.

Ghost settles next to you, his chest against your back, arms cradling you to his chest. You can feel his chest move back and forth with each breath that he takes, a soft, dependable rhythm.

"See, it wasn't that hard, was it?" he asks softly, "asking for help?" You swat him sleepily, tangling your legs with his.

"You're on thin fuckin' ice, Ghost," you sigh. He tucks his head into the crook of your shoulder, his breath washing over your neck.

"Call me Simon." It's the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.