#09 ghoap

[baohanhanesel]

09 Ghoap cuddles

[savedbycupid]

Fated to lose each other in every universe.

[aidenlydia]

Has this been done yet

[ddosq]

Ghost: M-MacTavish?!?!

[lululandd]

these two deserves a comfy chill time after what they went through🥺💙

'09 ghoap my beloved

[s0fter-sin]

“simon riley’s dead,” ghost chokes out; bitter resentment coating his tongue. “i’m just wearin’ ‘is corpse.”

mactavish doesn’t shy from his venom; sees through his hiss and doesn’t fear his rotten-fanged bite. he reaches out, pressing the flat of his hand to his breast and ghost damns himself for the way his breath catches; for the way his shoulders curl in around it in a silent plea for it to stay.

“that’s no drum in your chest,” he whispers defiantly.

his hand slowly drags over his chest, coming to rest over his sternum and he feels its possession like a brand against his skin.

“it ain’t bellows inflating your lungs,” he dares and he involuntarily inhales; his body longing to rise to his challenge.

mactavish pushes and he rocks back on his heels just to sway in closer; just to beg for the pressure to chase the phantom weight of six feet of dirt from his bones.

“you’re far from rigor mortis, riley,” he promises and there’s air at ghost’s back instead of decaying wood and infested flesh. “i won’t let the earth take you from me yet.”

[noahdrawsalot]

WIP because I suck at completing drawings before deadlines, the full rendered drawing will come soon

Merry Christmas everyone!!

[emmster]

38 with 09! Ghoap?

Plz?

39. Because time’s run out

[electricchaser]

09 Ghost has a designated chair in Soap's office.

Soap doesn't clue into it at first. In the beginning, it was just an extra chair stuck in the corner of his office. It was old and worn, and he had a newer one in the other corner, but it was only for him to use when he needed a break while working, or for company, so he didn't care to replace it. Then Ghost started hanging around after hours, or even just during the workday, tending to his own responsibilities while Soap worked, but every time he'd sit in that exact chair. It confused Soap for a minute, and at first he'd try to make small talk, not wanting Ghost to feel uncomfortable or unwelcome, but eventually he catches on that Ghost isn't interested in conversation, or any interaction. He just doesn't want to be alone. Just wants to have a little company without the pressure of actually having to engage in social activities.

So Soap doesn't say anything when some of Ghost's belongings, officeware and paperwork start accumulating in a small bin under the chair overtime.

He doesn't say anything when he walks up to his office one afternoon to do some paperwork, only to find it unlocked and a bell set on top to alert anyone inside, and merely sits down at his desk to work on his reports when he sees Ghost curled up and out cold in the chair.

He doesn't bring it up when he continues to find Ghost curled up in his chair, sleeping or otherwise, even when Soap isn't in his office. Eventually he gets used to Ghost just being an accessory to his office, like a picture frame or a little basket of pens, always there, even when he wasn't.

He does say something when another recruit is in his office and they go to sit in that chair and he's struck with this overwhelming feeling of just... wrong and politely but firmly directs them to the other chair because 'that's not their chair'.

The first time Soap walked into his office after Shepperd's betrayal, and he sets eyes on that empty chair, he feels like a cold bucket of water was dumped over him, because seeing that chair empty has a whole different meaning now. It didn't mean Ghost was just off training or busy with other things. It didn't mean Ghost was just tied up somewhere else busy working. No, now that empty chair was a sign of pain. A symbol, of how Soap had been betrayed, a constant reminder of how the person that chair belonged to was no longer around to use it.

It takes a solid three weeks of Soap gathering his things and working somewhere else on base before he can finally stand the thought of sitting in his otherwise empty office to do his paperwork. The first time he does, he has to take multiple breaks to sob and pull at his hair and curse the world, and curse himself because damn it he should've known better than to get used to something that could get taken away from him so easily.

A few months later, Soaps snaps at an ignorant rookie who sees the old worn out chair and suggests getting rid of it, replacing it with something in better shape, and he only has half a heart to feel bad after the fact.

That chair never leaves Soap's office, even after he dies, because Price knew. He knew and he doesn't have the heart to clear out Soap's office. Not yet. Not for a long time. It isn't until Price leaves active duty and someone else takes over that that office gets cleared out, and even then, that chair and most of the belongings in that office leave with Price, set up and stored safely in a room in his house, because he'll be damned if he lets the only things left of his teammates just get thrown away, like they never mattered. Because they mattered to each other, more than anything or anyone else.

[gray-samael]

Silly arts of the first and only poly that got me hooked.

Based on these photos:

Thanks to hubby who sends all sorts of interesting photos.😂🖤

[idk-i-just-write-tings]

Unnamed 09 Ghoap thing:

CW: there’s a nsfw paragraph near the end of this one (if you’d like to skip it, it starts with “He couldn’t help the sudden turn his thoughts took.” and ends immediately after that paragraph

Captain John MacTavish wasn’t a man who drank often. For the most part he was too busy. His days consisted of organising training, planning and carrying out missions, keeping an eye on his squad, and working through mountains of paperwork. He didn’t have time to go down the pub for a cheeky bevvy; he had too much work to do. At least, that’s what he’d told his lieutenant earlier that evening.

By 2300 hours that same night he found himself in the local pub frequented by more than half of the soldiers on base, an almost finished pint on the sticky wooden table in front of him and feeling a touch too warm. Ghost had taken a table in the corner for them, the two privates who’d been there before had anxiously left when they’d seen the lieutenant staring them down from the bar.

Roach and Meat had joined them, though the latter had left early for reasons MacTavish didn’t really care to ask about. When Ghost slipped away to buy another round, it left him with only one for company.

Samderson was a good kid, almost reminding MacTavish of himself when he was younger. He’d admit to having a soft spot for him, treating him like a younger brother when they were off the field, so he didn’t mind being left to converse with him. He was quiet at first, but a chatterbox when he got used to the people around him, much like Riley. Currently he was waffling on about something, but MacTavish was far too busy watching someone else to know exactly what.

He’d been fixated on his lieutenant a lot over the past few weeks, and he knew pondering over why was making it worse, but he couldn’t help it. Even now he watched him talking to the bartender, likely flirting his way into at least one free drink considering how interested the man behind the bar seemed in what he was saying. Riley winked at the man and it made something ugly stir within MacTavish’s chest that he immediately tried to stamp down.

He wasn’t homophobic. He was perfectly okay with his lieutenant being gay and flirting with a man. He was supposed to have gotten over that internalised hatred years ago, but there was something still there clearly, because watching Riley lean into the man’s space was far too difficult and he had to turn away. Maybe it was the alcohol. He’d had quite a few and could feel the buzz under his skin that warned him he was only a couple more pints away from drunk.

He didn’t want to say anything bad if the alcohol really was affecting his thoughts like that. He supposed he’d have to call it a night after the next round; he didn’t fancy a hangover anyway.

A new pint was set down in front of him, another by Roach, and Riley’s was placed down by the bartender who’d apparently offered to carry his drink for him. The guy was down bad, clearly, and Riley didn’t seem to mind, stealing the pen that MacTavish always kept in his front pocket to write something, most likely his number, on the inside of the guy’s wrist.

“Cheers, love,” Riley thanked him as he finished the number.

The guy looked flustered but far too eager and mumbled out a “no problem” before heading back to his job.

MacTavish looked up as Riley handed his pen back, hoping he didn’t look as aggravated as he felt. There was nothing for him to feel so off about, and it irked him that he apparently still had a problem with what he’d seen. He washed down the rest of his last pint and pushed the empty glass into the centre of the table to replace it with the new one.

Riley stepped back, thankfully not seeming to catch his tension. He turned to head back to his own seat but paused suddenly, staring at the floor for a moment before bending at the waist to pick something up.

It was like the world froze.

Riley’s cargos were tight and left hardly anything to the imagination, especially at such a close proximity, and it took every second of MacTavish’s training not to reach out and grab a handful.

He couldn’t help the sudden turn his thoughts took. From the pub to his home off base, Riley bent over the kitchen counter, the table, the back of a sofa, fuck, any surface that could take his weight. He’d have the man crying on his cock, bedsheets clutched in his hands, or blunt nails scraping over skin, scrambling for purchase as he writhed and moaned. He’d be so tight, might even struggle to take him at first, but it would be worth it to fill him up, to hear him begging for his captain to-

A glass shatters on the floor somewhere to his left and a rowdy cheer echoes around the pub, breaking Tav from his thoughts and subsequently making him realise exactly what, and who, he’d been thinking about.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I think I’m gay.”

This is the start of a fic I’m currently working on, (I’ve got burnout for HCTS) idk if I’ll finish it but if you think it’s worth it feel free to let me know, I might write more. It’ll be my first ever attempt at smut so please be nice to me 🙏

[baohanhanesel]

I bring you 09 Ghoap

[savedbycupid]

Maybe third times the charm..?

[i-give-u--art]

(click for better quality) Yall what if I said I had an idea for a comic-

But idk if im going to continue it :P

let me know if yall would want to see more :3

EDIT: y’all ok ok

1 || -> || ->->

[morthern]

Regretting posting Ghost alone so have a captain MacTavish

[abnormal-vacuum]

09 ghost who’s very fixated on heartbeats and body heat, whenever he gets upset or scared he feels his pulse to confirm he’s still there and alive, 09 ghost who lies his head on mactavishs chest to hear his heartbeat and his breathing, who everytime they have a scare in the field checks his pulse, 09 ghost who hates having anything heavy on top of him because it makes him feel like he’s back in that coffin buried six feet under, 09 ghost who’s very claustrophobic and sometimes even afraid of the dark because on bad nights everything reminds him of when he was dead.