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Waves hand.

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“ What,   is   that   a   fuckin’   order,   Captain? ”   Ghost   nearly   chuckles.   Weakly,   wheezing   a   bit   as   his   breath   hitches   in   his   throat   and   he   tries   to   catch   it.   The   shot   had   felt   like   a   hard   punch   to   the   gut.   The   sharp   tang   in   his   side   was   drowned   out   almost   immediately   as   his   nerves   shut   down,   pain   subsiding   as   adrenaline   took   over,   restricting   his   ability   to   breathe   with   the   discomfort   lapping   against   him   in   waves   as   the   minutes   passed   on.   Tunnel   vision.   His   toes   felt   cold,   but   the   blood   was   warm   against   his   abdomen,   the   pressure   from   Price’s   hand   keeping   what   it   could   in   his   body.   He’d   been   shot   before.   He   knew   the   drill.   Nothing   but   another   wound   acting   as   a   thorn   in   his   side.   Adding   to   the   collection   of   scars   he’d   never   be   able   to   rid   himself   of.   Just   a   normal   fuckin’   Tuesday,   as   far   as   Simon   was   concerned.   

Dazed   eyes   lock   on   to   Price’s   as   he   makes   a   piss   poor   attempt   at   inhaling   through   his   nose,   wincing   in   response.   “ Gonna   put   me   down   like   I’m   some   stray fuckin’   dog,   ay? ”

Can’t   be   serious   to   save   his   life.   Not   when   it   was   his   own   life,   at   least.   John’s   gaze   was   absolutely   piercing,   filled   with   panic   and   worry   that   need   not   be   there. For fuck's sake,   he’s   so   ⸺   ( 𝙽𝙾𝚃   𝙽𝙾𝚆,   𝙻𝙸𝙴���𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝚃. 𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝚁𝙴 𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶. )   

“ If you want   me   to   keep   talking ...   better   say   something   interesting. ”

@phasmasum   sent in   :   ❛  they need you more than they need me.  ❜   from here   &   accepting.

john hadn't had a good sleep in days, not since they'd headed out for this mission. it was supposed to be simple ... head in, retrieve the intel, eliminate any threats in the process, and wait for exfil. the missions always sounded a hell of a lot easier than they were in reality, though. this was partially why the captain liked having a solid plan before heading into things. because splitting up in the middle of an unknown area was really fucking stupid.

if simon had come with him, this wouldn't have happened. so when price discovered he'd been shot, he was gritting his teeth, shouting over comms for med bay to send someone out.

❛  don't you fucking dare, lieutenant.  ❜ price growled, crouching down at his side, applying pressure to the bloody area where he'd been shot. ❛  you die on me, 'n i'm bringin' you back into this world and putting y'down myself.  ❜ from what it looked like, it was non-fatal, but it was enough of a scare that he didn't wish to take any risks. he knew simon wasn't stupid. he knew that no matter what happened, he was going to ensure the mission was complete. and john was going to ensure that he was able to deliver the intel himself, when they got back to base.

❛  we're almost in the clear, yeah? jus' keep talkin' to me until help gets here.  ❜

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⁽ ᴾᴿᴼᴹᴾᵀ ⁾ 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 . . .

@pseudowar : It's a bug. It's a man. It's a Roach reaching up to pull Ghost down so he can kiss him through his balaclava.

Thinly   veiled   lips   press   against   Roach’s   with   ease,   suddenly   feeling   as   though   there   was   far   too   much   of   a   barrier   between   them   and   he   couldn’t   stand   it.   Gritting   his   teeth   as   soon   as   they   separated,   jaw   clenched   tight   as   he   took   a   moment   to   pause.   Letting   the   cogs   in   his   brain   whir.   Eyes   flutter   open   nearly   a   second   later,   blank   gaze   settling   on   Roach.   

“ No. ”   Ghost   states   simply,   lifting   the   bottom   half   of   his   balaclava   until   the   hem   reached   just   below   his   nose.   Shifting   his   body   weight   forward,   he   catches   his   lips   in   yet   another   kiss.   One   with   less   of   a   barricade,   a   tinge   more   vulnerable.   A   hell   of   a   lot   better.

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⁽ ᴾᴿᴼᴹᴾᵀ ⁾ 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 . . .

“Why do they call you Ghost, if it’s all actually skeleton attire?” @facesblind asked.

𝗔𝗡   𝗘𝗫𝗛𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗   𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗛.   𝘍𝘰𝘳   𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬’𝘴   𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘦.   He   was   not   in   the   mood   for   this,   and   highly   doubted   he   ever   would   be.   Ghost   inhales   sharply   beneath   the   cover   of   his   mask,   even   the   gloves   slipped   over   his   hands   mimicking   skeletal   anatomy.   Dark   eyes   nearly   roll   to   the   back   of   his   head,   and   he’s   over   this   conversation   before   it’s   even   begun.    “ Clever.   Never   heard   that   one   before. ”   His   delivery   is   deadpan,   derisive   and   mocking.  

“ Nearly   died   and   came   back   more   times   than   you   got   fuckin’   fingers,   and   my job   sneaking   in   and   out   of   places   without   being   seen,   so.   Ghost.   Done   asking   stupid   questions,   or   is   being   annoying   your   whole fuckin' thing? ”

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Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run

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bug headbutt

“Do that again and I’ll fuckin’ castrate ya.”

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love a character that's like. i survived (<- not a brag) (<- this is a curse that weighs on me every waking hour)

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𝗧𝗛𝗘   𝗦𝗔𝗟𝗧   𝗢𝗙   𝗛𝗜𝗦   𝗧𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗦   𝗗𝗔𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗡   𝗧𝗛𝗘   𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦.   His   lips   part   almost   instantly,   wanting   to   taste   the   tears   and   lap   them   up   like   he   needed   it   to   survive.   To   live.   To   get   off.      There’s   a   moan   that   settles   in   the   back   of   his   throat,   clawing   its   way   upwards   until   it’s   forcefully   exhaled   into   the   other   man’s   mouth.   He   is   desperate,   needy.   Things   he’s   never   been   before,   with   a      stinging,   aching   desire   that   would   likely   never   be   satiated   until   he   could   devour   him   whole.   Stay,   stay,   stay.   It   was   impossible   not   to   now.   He   wanted   to   live   in   his   skin   like   some   sort   of   sick   puppet,   controlling   his   every   move   and   desecrating   the flesh   he   held   sacred.   

There   was   something   to   his   hands   that   had   never   driven   Simon   away.   Didn’t   make   him   recoil   with   discomfort,   but   rather   it   urged   him   to   lean   in   close.   To   push   it   further,   to   make   it   more.   More,   more,   more.   𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦,   𝘎𝘰𝘥,   𝘐   𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥   𝘪𝘵   𝘢𝘭𝘭.   

He   felt   like   a   teenager   again,   fumbling   around   in   the   dark,   stumbling   over   his   own   feet,   eyes   darting   around   the   vaguely familiar   bedroom   for   a   brief   assessment   of   their   environment   and   then   it   was   game   on.   He   knocks   Soap’s   feet   back   a   little,   guiding   him   until   he   could   fall   forward   over   the   other   man   and   press   Johnny’s   back   into   the   firm   mattress.   Settling   comfortably   on   top   of   him   as   he   seals   their   lips   together   once   more.   Every   single   sense   was   overstimulated.   The   taste   of   his   mouth,   the   feel   of   his   skin,   the   sight   of   him   and   him   alone.   He   could   smell   the   very   scent   of   him   enveloping   the   two,   that   same   distinct   musk   that   drove   him   up   the   wall   clinging   to   the   sheets.   Drowning   him   in   it,   and   suddenly,   he   wishes   he   could   for   all   eternity.   

“ Fuck,   I   missed   you   ⸺  ”   and   it   comes   out   as   almost   a   growl,   teeth   gnashing   against   his   lips   in   a   bite.   The   carnal   reaction   to   the   situation   they   were   in.   Johnny   is   pawing   at   his   shirt,   begging   to   touch   him,   begging   to   be   touched.   Simon   is   left   utterly   breathless,   gasping   for   air   with   a   heaving   chest.   Fingers   skim   along   the   hem   of   Johnny’s   shirt.  

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“  ⸺   Can   I   take   this   off? ”

𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙷𝙴 𝙰 𝙳𝙴𝙲𝙰𝙳𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁,  and a touch more fragile he might have wept  ...  oh was that a massive  LIE  he'd told himself; he's neither of those things, and yet here he is, feeling them spill over, a  warm, wet, salty mess  in the non-existent space between them, as he melds his mouth against Simon's, as desperate for him and his touch as the lungs are for oxygen. The unspoken confirmation behind those lips is undeniable, filling him with something indescribable, something  overwhelming and overpowering,  reducing him to nothing but soft, fervent noises in the back of his throat and clumsy, fumbling fingers that can't seem to ever touch enough of him ⸻ carding through his hair, gripping at the nape of his neck, cupping his jaw, stroking at the scarred skin of his cheeks  ...  rinse and repeat.

Soap can't remember the last time he's ever needed anyone as badly as he needs Simon Riley  (  𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗌  ),  can't remember the last time he's ever been pressed flush to someone's body and yet still somehow isn't close enough   (  𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋  ),  the last time he's needed burrow right beneath someone's skin, crack open their ribs and make a home for himself there   (  𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆  );  𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗛𝗘 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗦 𝗜𝗧. God Almighty, he needs it. But perhaps he'll keep that little thought to himself for now.

Only when his lungs begin to  burn  does he pull away, just far enough that he can speak, close enough that they still share breath.  ❝   C'mere,   ❞   is all he says, dropping his hands to the hem of Ghost's shirt, tugging him along again, through the doorway of his bedroom and over the threshold.   ❝   Need t'hold ye somewhere more comfortable than my sad little hallway, love.   ❞

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⁽ ᴾᴿᴼᴹᴾᵀ ⁾ 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 . . .

@croftborn : LAP ... FOR THE SENDER TO SIT ON THE RECEIVER’S LAP.

There’s   a   sharp   inhale   sucked   between   his   teeth   as   Lara   eases   into   his   lap   with   complete   precision,   arms   draped   over   his   shoulders   as   though   she’s   on   the   hunt   and   he   was   her   chosen   prey.   His   chest   rising   and   falling   with   each   breath,   Simon   could   already   feel   something   undeniable   stirring   deep   in   the   pit   of   his   stomach.   It’s   mission   accomplished,   despite   the   fact   that   he’s   barely   been   touched.   All   she   really   had   to   do   was   look   at   him,   because   he   had   the   distinct   inability   to   ignore   his   attraction.   The   mother   of   his   child,   drawn   to   her   like   she   was   a   magnet.   Flame   for   a   moth,   flitting   around   and   desperately   aching   for   her   light.

His   hands   form   a   steady   grip   on   her   hips,   fingers   scaling   up   the   curvature   of   her   waist   with   a   delicate   touch.   Memorising   the   shape   as   he’d   done   a   thousand   times   before.   Darkened   gaze   locks   on   to   hers,   a   smile   latching   itself   on   to   his   features.   Involuntary,   but   welcomed   nonetheless.   “ Can   I   help   you? ”   

Bit   of   a   tease,   paired   with   some   follow   through   as   his   lips   make   way   to   her   neck   like   a   goddamn   vampire.   There’s   a   certain   tenderness   to   the   way   he   takes   in   the   taste   of   her   skin.   Before   it   inevitably   becomes   a   cacophony   of   black   and   blue,   like   flowers   blooming   beneath   the   surface.   Palms   squeeze   Lara’s   sides   before   sliding   towards   the   centre   of   her   back   to   pull   her   into   a   deeper   embrace,   and   there’s   a   need   ( 𝙽𝙾𝚃   𝙰   𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃 )   to   hold   her   captive,   as   close   as   humanly   possible.

“ Sammy’s   asleep,   so   I’d   say   we’ve   got   some   time,   hm? ”   Sultry   whispers   carved   into   the   collarbone,   spreading   kisses   down,   down,   down   …   along   her   chest,   with   the   intention   of   covering   every   square   inch   if   permitted.   God,   he   loved   this   woman. 

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You’re gonna look me in my big brown eyes and try to tell me Simon doesn’t listen to S.leep Token? Right here? In front of my salad? How absolutely dare you.

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Hi hello! We don't write together but I just wanted to say I really enjoy seeing you on my dash! I love your writing, your portrayal of Ghost, and just your general vibes <3

This is so sweet, thank you! I appreciate you greatly, anon. ♡

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barks at him

“ I’m   gonna   stick   a   fuckin’   muzzle   on   you,   mutt. ” 

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#𝙱𝚁𝚅𝙾𝟼 is a selective, independent, & personal interpretation of 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃. 𝙹𝙾𝙷𝙽 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙴 of the 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝚄𝚃𝚈 franchise. blog is 21+ only, and features heavily triggering themes due to the source material. please read rules before interacting. est. '23, revamped '24. ©

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𝗢𝗛,   𝗛𝗘   𝗗𝗘𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗬   𝗦𝗔𝗪   𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧.   Far   from   slick,   Soap   had   never   quite   cracked   the   key   to   subtlety,   an   innate   inability   to   hide   all   the   little   thoughts   running   rampant   through   his   head.   Like   a   dog   on   a   fucking   leash,   tugging   himself   back,   desperately   clamouring   towards   some   form   of   restraint.   ( 𝙳𝙾𝚆𝙽,   𝙱𝙾𝚈. ) 

Palpable   tension,   twisting   and   churning,   growing   rapidly   thickened   vines   with   thorns   sticking   out   the   side.   Digging   underneath   his   flesh,   warmth   flooding   and   rushing   down   to   his   core.   It   was   something   he   could   ignore   when   he   needed   to,   but   it   thickened   the   air,   dampening   it   in   a   way   that   was   nearly   suffocating.   Burning   desire   stuck   in   his   throat,   but   he   refused   to   choke.   

“ Calm   yourself,   MacTavish,   it   ain’t   all   about   you. ”   There’s   a   low   chuckle   that   leaves   his   lips   as   he   denies   Soap   the   satisfaction.   It   was   a   partial   truth,   sure.   He   could   admit   that,   if   only   to   himself.   But   there   was   something   about   being   idle   that   made   him   feel   as   though   he   was   without   purpose.   There   was   a   deep   itch   to   scratch,   a   need   to   respond   to   the   call   to   action,   even   if   it   was   nothing   more   than   sitting   in   a   worn   down   safehouse,   at   least   he   was   doing   something.

“ Prepped   me   just   fine,   but   since   you   feel   the   need   to   keep   your   fucking   mouth   open,   go   ahead   and   tell   me. ”

𝙰 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙵, 𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚂𝙴 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃  ⸻   so short that Soap almost hopes it goes unnoticed, as unlikely as that may be  ⸻  passes them by, Soap's eyes   locked unwavering  on the space between Ghost's thighs. The want to sit there, to feel the warmth of his body close to his, nearly overwhelms him   (  𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦  𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨,  𝘔𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘩; 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦.  );   it takes no small amount of willpower to keep himself from doing just that, and it almost  pains  him to take the chair next to him, instead, throwing his legs over either side and propping folded arms over the back, which creaks and rocks dangerously under the pressure. Dutifully, he fixes his eyes on Ghost's instead, met with an intense stare that pierces him to his very core.

Yeah...Ghost definitely saw that.

He quickly averts his eyes, as if that will save him, and suppresses the urge to clear his throat.  ❝  Think we both know I could handle it, Lt.  ❞   Even so, there's a smirk tugging at his lips.  Ghost's so full of shit.   ❝  Real sweet tha' ye worried about me enough t'come rough it with me in this shithole, instead of goin' home t'rest in yer luxurious little room on base. 'M touched. But unfortunately, comfort wasn' very high on the list of priorities on this mission, 'specially not when it's jus' wee lil ole me out here by my lonesome.  ❞  (  𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩, 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰, 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘥. ) ❝  They give ye a file before they dropped ye out here, or d'ye need me t'fill ye in on the finer details ?  ❞

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I hate when people say “𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫”, because “𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫” means that you made it out.

                                𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅.

[phasmasumarchived]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗧 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗗 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨?

𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗘. What   would   you   do   to   ensure   justice?   You   know   full   well   I   don’t   speak   of   lofty   ideals   and   courts   and   magistrates,   dearest.   What   would   you   do   to   those   that   hurt   you?   If   I   dropped   them   in   your   lap,   what   would   you   do?   What   kind   of   pain   could   you   possibly   inflict   upon   them?   You   are   right   to   do   so.   You   are   right   to   want   to   do   so.   Ignore   the   screaming,   dearest,   you   are   the   hand   of   justice   now,   and   they   hurt   you.   Do   not   look   too   closely   at   their   faces,   dearest.   You   are   within   your   rights.   You   spell   out   your   own   rights,   now.   Are   you   happy   about   it?   Are   you   certain   that   this   is   the   right   person   you   hold   by   the   hair?   Does   your   anger   hurt   less   now?

Tagged by @croftborn, feel free to steal.