#09 ghoap

[gray-samael]

In honor of the year of acquaintance. October 24.

Personal art.

[baohanhanesel]

I bring you 09 Ghoap

[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.”

[silvermoth0]

Someone reposted saying Roach should live long after with Soap and Ghost and here I am!!

(I draw rarely I’m sorry)

[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.

[8-rae-rae-8]

Their love is a natural disaster (giggling and kicking my feet)

[skauni]

Some ‘09 Ghoap for my gremlins.

[ravensofcedar]

I've really been neglecting my tumblr recently... Let's see if this crop is good enough to stay up. Some 09 Ghoap I did recently, with MacTavish going to town on Ghost. This is supposed to have a companion piece, but I got caught up with writing and Valentine's Day art... I'll finish it once those are done.

You can find the full nsfw version here: Twitter | Bluesky

[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.😂🖤

[baohanhanesel]

I bring more 09 Ghoap. 1/2

Dog Mactavish but Handler Simon because apparently the military dogs under the responsibility of their handlers have higher ranks than the handler.

So Hybrid Captain Mactavish and Handler Lieutenant Riley enters !

[inkformyblood]

unconventional (COD Kinktober 2024 Day 22)

09 Ghoap, Orgasm denial, cockwarming. Canon era, Lemon.

Some days it would be easier to piss in a storm and not get his hands wet than stop Riley from throwing himself into a fight he shouldn’t be able to win. The fact he does win, keeps winning with a grin behind his mask that threatens to tear skin, doesn’t fucking help. 

Even now, he’s pulling against MacTavish’s hold on his neck, always leaning into the curl of his fingers or the solid heft of his palm instead of forwards to escape. Just light little tugs to feel the pressure as they make their way through the tangled network of corridors towards MacTavish’s quarters. They won’t be making much use of the additional space he’s allotted, only the bed, but through some luck, the rooms adjoining his are currently empty. A benefit, given how loud Riley can get when he wants something. 

“In.” MacTavish nudges him towards the door, Riley stumbling forwards to keep MacTavish’s hand against his neck, even as he turns to close and lock the door behind them. 

“Fucker had it coming,” Riley snarls. He turns his face to stare up at MacTavish, his breath warm against the heel of his palm, the threat of his teeth ever present. Still wearing his sunglasses but they’re close enough that the dark lens don’t hide the gleam of his eyes, the aching stretch of his grin behind his mask that bares all of his teeth. 

MacTavish hums a noncommittal answer and pulls Riley with him towards his bed. He sits down, directing Riley to stand in front of him between his legs, only the tips of his fingers indenting the side of Riley’s throat. He can make out the pulse of Riley’s heart, still rabbit-fast from the fight, excitement and adrenaline keeping it high. Dragging a pillow from the bed, MacTavish throws it onto the ground. “Kneel yourself down there, there’s a lad.”

Riley’s eyes widen, his mouth doing something unreadable behind his mask. If MacTavish had to guess, he’s chewing on his lower lip, teeth likely still bloody from a blow to the head. “Don’t need to, it’s fine.”

“Kneel.”

MacTavish removes his hand from Riley’s neck to tug at his own trousers, undoing them just enough that he can slide his hand inside his boxers. He isn’t hard, not yet, but Riley on his knees is a beautiful sight, even more so when Riley removes his glasses and slides them to one side. There’s the beginnings of a bruise on his cheek, pale skin flushed red, and his pupils are blown wide enough to obscure the honey-brown of his iris. He doesn’t tug his mask down, not yet, staring at the slight shift of MacTavish’s hand as he strokes himself. 

Punishing Riley is something of a sweet torture. Conventional methods like dragging him over his knee and beating his arse bright red won’t work and MacTavish isn’t privy to the blacked-out sections of Riley’s file but he’s seen the scars on the other man’s skin, the deliberate Y-shaped mark on his chest and torso, and he hasn’t the heart to inflict any more suffering onto the other man. It had been something of a revelation really, a method that fucking worked behind closed doors only. Not denying Riley an orgasm, but himself. Such aching torment. 

“Ready?” MacTavish murmurs, drawing his cock from his boxers, a smear of precome clinging to the head. At the start, he’d need a cock ring, Riley a mischievous brat when he’s being denied something he wants, but he’s had enough practice now to hold back the rising tide of his own orgasm even when Riley whines and begs. 

Riley nods, tugging his mask down and swallowing MacTavish’s cock in the same practised movement. It tears a groan from MacTavish’s throat, his hips twitching once before he can stop himself. He breathes deeply, pressing his hands into his thighs and Riley whines around his cock, the noise vibrating through him, the likely first of many. Manageable denial. He can do this. 

[s0fter-sin]

it’s the sound that tips him off.

it’s late, half-past hell by his last count, and mactavish knows there shouldn’t be a single soul in the showers this time of night. though he’s sure if he asked, he’d be told a soul isn’t in there.

just a ghost.

he almost chokes on the thick steam filling the locker room; humid and hazy and the perfect cover. or it would be, if the man collapsed in the far stall cared about hiding.

mactavish hates himself a little for the low sigh that falls from his lips. he wishes he wasn't so disappointed; that the promises he's heard over and over and watched be broken as many times hadn't wedged their way into his heart and convinced him that maybe, maybe this could be the time it sticks.

he doesn't know what's worse; the disappointment or the lack of surprise.

he holds his breath through the steam and leans over the limp body; stinging hot water hitting his back, instantly soaking through his clothes and already starting to burn. he flicks the tap enough to take the bulk of the heat out and straightens; a groan startling out of the man beneath him at the sudden lash of tepid water.

mactavish crouches, knees clicking and hooks a hand under his bicep to pull him up straight against the wall. if there was any vomit on his skin, it's been washed away by the pelting stream and he supposes he can count himself lucky for that. he tilts his limp head back and slips his fingers into his mouth; holding down his tongue and ignores the way it lazily jolts under his fingers to check his airway.

clear.

another small victory.

mactavish pulls his fingers out and cups his chin, keeping him tilted up and moves in the way of the water again so he can pull at his eyelid.

the eye he's met with is cloudy, so dilated there's hardly a ring of blue left.

he sighs again; hand falling away and letting his eye fall shut. "god damnit, riley."

riley moans, all his weight resting on the hand holding his jaw.

"aye, 'm talking ‘bout you," he grunts tiredly.

he lets riley's head fall forward to grab his arm, pulling him away from the wall to sit behind him; propping his body up against his chest. he leans his head back over his shoulder, keeping his face out of the water and his airway open just in case he hasn't actually finished throwing up.

he takes the rag riley'd half-managed to soap up and mechanically runs it over him; cataloguing new bruises and cuts and checking if the old ones are healing. sickly yellow fingerprints ring his hips, red splotches paint his ribs; too new to have settled into the deep purple he knows they’ll become.

riley slowly makes more noise as he rubs life into his body; still lying limp against his front but his head's starting to roll restlessly on his shoulder. he swipes between his legs and carefully doesn't think a single thing about what he finds.

"sean?" he rasps and mactavish's hand stills; eyes falling shut. he bites his check, hand clenching around the rag tight enough to shake and breathes hard out his nose.

he doesn't say a word, just forces himself to go back to cleaning.

he's not sure what would come out of his mouth if he did.

riley isn't conscious enough to hear him anyway.

he runs his fingers over his inner elbows for tracks and manages to muster some relief when he doesn't find any. seems to be a pill and booze night; far from the worst condition he's found him in.

he rinses him off, running a curtesy hand over his shaved head only for it to fall back to his jaw; his thumb stroking over the thick scar carved into his cheek.

"you gotta stop doin' this," he whispers.

he isn’t sure if he’s talking to riley or himself.

mactavish gathers up riley's too-light body into his arms and turns off the shower. his head lolls into his throat and he throws a towel over his dripping body and another over his shoulder. it doesn't stop him from tracking water all the way to his quarters but he'd like to see someone try to put in a complaint about it.

he lays out the other towel on the bed and sets riley down; moving his body into the recovery position in an all-too familiar routine. he dries him enough that he won't soak the covers as he pulls them up to his chest and kicks the waste bin within grabbing distance of the bed.

he goes to pull off his sodden clothes when a different noise makes him freeze.

a low sniffle.

mactavish slowly turns back to the bed to find riley's eyes squinting open; glazed with tears as he kneads at the covers.

he stares at him for a moment as he looks around the room and those hazy eyes lock on him for the first time. "cap'n?"

he swallows. "aye; s'just me, riley."

his hand pokes out from under the covers and for all the promises he's made himself - all the “never again”s and “this is the last time”s - at the end of the day, he's weak.

he sits on the side of the bed and takes riley's hand in his; already so cold after nearly boiling himself alive.

"y' mad a' me?" he sniffs.

mactavish runs his tongue over his lip and slowly shakes his head. "no, i'm not mad at you."

"prom'se?" he pushes.

he reaches out and caresses his temple with his thumb. his hand almost covers his head and it cuts like a knife to remember just how small riley is. "aye," he says, hushed. "i promise."

riley's eyes fall shut, voicelessly murmuring 'promise’ to himself over and over.

"I’ll ge’ bett'r," he slurs and between one breath and the next, he's out.

mactavish sighs, running his hand in a final pass over his head and stares at a face that looks so much younger in sleep; bruised and sallow skin hidden in the shadows. "i know you will."

he presses a slow kiss to his forehead, shutting his eyes against the grief that wells in his heart and gets up to pull a chair over to the bed; settling in for another long night's vigil of watching his broken lieutenant sleep, ready to tilt him over if he throws up, eyes locked on the slow rise and fall of his chest fearing tonight may finally be the time it stops.

[silvermoth0]

I’m just out of ideas but wanna draw cuddles

[greyauras]

Captain MacTavish, leering over a tied up enemy: "I am a very serious man."

Ghost: "I'm not, can't wait to chop your balls off."

Roach: *chainsaw noises*