scarlethunter
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Ghost tipped his glass up, relishing the deepening, disgruntled look on Soap’s face as he pushed his balaclava and took a sip of his drink. He was offering a glimpse of himself from afar knowing how much Johnny hungered for one. Like a piece of fresh meat stored behind glass displays, far away from the mouths of salivating strays; existing solely for torment.
He wasn’t sure why the obsession existed, but it served its purpose for the day.
Ghost pulled the mask down again.
~
Soap wants what Ghost wants, that's for sure.
Bookmarked by scarlethunter
27 May 2024
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Just one bite; to taste, and let go.
Or, the on-field flirting is getting a little ridiculous.
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Bookmarked by scarlethunter
27 Apr 2024
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Ghost lets himself be pulled up slightly, his hand just as steady on Soap's thigh. "That what you need, Johnny?" he asks, licking his lips behind the balaclava. Soap’s eyes drop to his mouth, flick back up. "You wanna draw blood? Be in control?"
"Lt–" Soap starts, lips parted on a rough exhale. A plea or a warning, Ghost can't tell. He's too focused on the way Soap's pupils dilate, and the way the edge of the knife digs into the fabric at his throat.
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When Graves rears his head not ten days after Las Almas Ghost starts questioning Soap's loyalty, and with it whatever's left of his own sanity.
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- 6/6
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Bookmarked by scarlethunter
10 Apr 2024