No But Like What If Ghost Did Fuck Reader In Front Of The Team. My Head Is So Full With That Thought.

no but like what if ghost did fuck reader in front of the team. my head is so full with that thought.

A/N: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader. Voyeurism kind of. Vague smut.

It’s not out in the open. Not really. But every damn one of them knows what’s happening. 

Price is on watch while the rest of the team lies on the floor of a dirty, old living room. It’s a rundown shack in the middle of Colorado. The cold is severe, full of needles and glass, and Soap can see his breath. Gaz is pressed against him. Vargas is on his other side. 

Romantic. Two unshowered men nearly on top of him, but the heat is appreciated.

It’s quiet except for the wind howling like something out of legend. Makes him think of banshees or spirits. Soap can hear voices in the violence of its texture. Branches snap against the windows and patchy roof. Howls of agony that may just be from the meat of his head. He's seen a lot of death this week.

“We can’t.”

It’s you, your voice high and thin before it's met by the low, rumbling rasp of Ghost responding with something Soap can't discern. The floor creaks, the shadows burning patterns across the popcorn ceiling. Cobwebs. The stench of rotten wood. 

What are they whisperin’ about?

Soap hears Ghost shift. He’s surprised at how the man maneuvers his colossal mass without the room buckling.

Simon somehow got dibs on being your source of warmth for the night. Soap had even asked first, a tease more than anything.

“Care to be my cuddle buddy, lass?”

You’d laughed before your eyes cut to Ghost who was leaning against the wall, bulging arms crossed over his chest. All black aside from the white stain of his mask. Looming like some stone effigy.

“Um,” you said. “Sure, Johnny-“

“You’re taking watch with me, Red,” Ghost had cut in, tone flat and dry enough to burn. You’d blinked at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. 

“Oh,” you said softly. “Forgot. My bad.”

Sure.

Soap jerks when he hears you whimper. It slices through the cold, the wind. He moves his head to look before Vargas knocks him in the thigh. Soap scowls.

“What the hell, mate?” he whispers.

“He’s fucking her,” Vargas states plainly. “Just warning you.”

Soap nearly chokes, a laugh punching at the back of his throat before he stifles it. “Come again?”

Vargas widens his eyes meaningfully. Soap can’t believe it and so he lifts himself to his elbows to peek across the room. He’s not exactly understated, mostly running on curiosity and bewilderment. 

Lieutenant wouldn’t -

Oh. Holy. Shit. 

Ghost is on top, one arm braced beside your face. Soap can barely see you due to Ghost’s giant body that’s pinning you to the floor. You’re revealed in flashes. Bare knees locked against Ghost’s waist, pant leg loose around an ankle. His trousers are hitched lower, but he still appears fully dressed. Your small hands clasp the back of Ghost’s head, before slipping down to dig your fingertips into the nape of his neck.

Ghost is fucking you slow and lazy. His ass rises before driving forward, lurching you slightly up the floor. One gloved hand is under the crown of your skull, pillowing it from the uncomfortable wood surface. Your heel slides down the back of his thigh. He thrusts a little more sharply and it forces a moan from your lips.

“Shhh,” Ghost murmurs in a voice that Soap has never heard him use. In fact, it sounds alien coming out of Simon Riley. It’s coaxing and tender. “Good girl,” he finishes before there’s the distinct noise of something wet. 

A hand grips his collar and wrenches him back down. It’s Gaz, eyes gleaming in the dark as he cocks an eyebrow. “If Ghost catches you watching them…”

“He’s gonna what?” Soap returns, jaw clenched because the sight, the sounds are doing something to him. “If Price walks in, the cunt’s gonna have his fuckin’ head for screwin’ her.”

Gaz squints, his teeth gleaming white in the dark before stifling a yawn. “They’ve been sleeping together for months. I thought you knew.”

The wind screeches outside.

Soap gapes and Gaz flicks his chin. “Close your mouth, man, before the flies get in.”

Soap rolls his eyes. “How’d you know?”

“Saw them going at it outside that bar in Rio.”

“Like kissing?”

“Like he was behind her and had her cheek shoved up against the alley wall.”

Jesus. He remembered that trip. You’d scraped the side of your face and you’d said you’d fallen. 

“They haven’t been subtle,” Vargas shrugs. “Remember when Ghost slaughtered half that room on Vlad Kuznetsov’s boat…”

“Yeah,” Soap replies. “But they’d shot her. He was just reacting.”

“He was supposed to keep them alive,” Vargas reminds him. “Death only if necessary.”

“So he deemed it necessary-“

“Because they hurt his girl.”

“I’m too tired for this,” Soap growls. “He should-“

There’s the startling noise of Ghost slamming his hand on the floor and shuddering. You giggle, and he bites off a curse before slapping some bare piece of you - probably your ass. Christ. 

Silence returns. The two lovers are breathing hard and deep. The floor creaks and fabric rasps. Simon is talking to you in a soothing baritone before he chuckles. It’s weird as fuck.

“Think she’s seen his face?” Gaz suddenly asks. The question hangs there between the three of them. When Soap hears Ghost laugh softly again, Soap thinks it’s more likely than not.