Now you See ‘em, now you Don’t (18+)
Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader smut
I haaaad to. I’ve simped since I first played the OG campaign on my pc. I had toooo, I have a thing for this. Also, I have my own personal head cannon on him that I’ll share in this. It’s all fantasy, so no one better get mad.
Also! Word count: 10,739. Ikr? Damn.
AO3 full (smutty) version found here.
The fic that absolutely nobody asked for, except myself. It started off as a self insert, and now it’s this. Might as well share it, ya know?
Warning: Violence, just a slight mention of rape. Blood/Gore. Smutty stuff. Yep. Mask kink, reassurance, he’s got a deep voice so a bit of that, fingering, eating out, kinda choking if you squint, penetration, Obvi. A lot of eye contact. Like, a lot. This is just super fucking long. Like, really. Switch Ghost, but kinda? Praise, overstimulation.
A Mirage can be many things: A body of water in the middle of a desert, an assassin in the dead dark of the night on a rooftop, a glimmer of light reflecting off hot pavement before the sun set, all disappearing from the eye the moment you get too close.
People could say that the words ghost and mirage have pretty similar meanings, but not towards those who took the names to identify themselves by.
You wished you could say you worked hard to earn that name, which you slightly did. Once the name was put to the wind, it permanently stuck to you ever since.
Your top specialty was your excellent aim, always volunteering yourself to take the liberty of helping the squads you were assigned to. If there was a group of snipers, you would take the lead and give orders. If you had to work alone, you gladly did so.
Your actions didn’t go unnoticed, gaining the attention of those who took an interest in your talents. You couldn’t fully admit publicly that you were proud of your skills, believing that karma could come back and bite you in the ass one day, but you definitely felt a swell of pride with every compliment that flooded your earpiece.
You couldn’t exactly remember when you found yourself working alongside the men of Task Force 141, eventually fully assimilating yourself into the team. While being unaware if any of the higher ups had officially approved it, you doubt they were going to say anything against it now.
Price definitely wasn’t complaining, that was all you really cared for.
After a short while during a mission, an interesting game of name picking occurred after completing your objective to eliminate any enemy snipers. While the option of using a suppressed rifle was possible, their were only five camouflaged snipers along the cliffs, allowing you to sneak up on them one by one and jam a knife into their necks, severing vocal cords before they could even scream.
Soap had taken the liberty of giving you the name “She-Ghost,” which caught you off guard as you hid in the dry grass, a few feet away from your recent victim. Why She-Ghost? None of your enemies saw you coming.
You’re pretty sure Ghost had his own name and reasoning trademarked. You were alright with the man, but you never saw anything between the two of you that you shared in common, let alone enough to share a code name. Price shut down any future commentary on the topic before reminding everyone to focus on the mission at hand.
“She-Ghost sounds kind of sexist, by the way.” You couldn’t help but pitch into the silence that followed after.
“It does not.” Soap retorted.
“Enough,” The gruffy voice of Ghost spoke up. “Calling her She-Ghost makes her sound like she’s my sister.”
“You’re right. I just remembered yer’ old enough to be her dad.” Soap retorted, making you bite your lip to suppress a laugh.
“Thanks for making me feel young, Johnny.”
You wish that night ended much easier than it sounded, but it wasn’t.
Somehow, you missed a sniper to kill, who then alerted his comrades of the lone assassin hiding up on the cliffs. The loud struggles and muffles were heard by everyone through your earpiece before connections were cut, your attackers knocking you out with the butt of a rifle to your right temple.
Where you were dragged off to was a mystery. Where you had woken up was also a mystery, but not the enemies who surrounded you when you were woken up via water being poured over your head, bound and gagged to a chair. You were stripped of all your equipment, leaving you in your simple garments. The room smelled dank, the air heavy with expensive, putrid cigar smoke. The only source of light hanging from a bulb over your head, your vision too blurred to fully make out the faces of the men standing in front of you.
Their were four people in the room: one of them you recognized straight away as your crew’s target. He grabbed ahold of your jaw and forced you to look at him, speaking to you in a language you didn’t really care to learn all that well just yet. He stepped to the side, directing your head towards a camera stand a few feet away pointing straight towards you. A tiny red light confirmed that whatever was to happen was all being recorded.
Saying you were scared was a ridiculous understatement. You were at mercy to the men inside this room inside a building in the middle of god knows where, who planned to torture and kill you before sending the video off to your team. Hell, it might even be broadcasted live to those who fought for the enemy, setting an example to what happens to enemy soldiers, especially women such as yourself, for fighting against them.
You were tortured inside that small, dimly lit room for hours, maybe even longer. There was no way you could tell the time, your hands kept tightly bound behind the backrest of the wooden chair. You were pretty sure they even took your watch away.
After constant punches to your face and body, the leader began speaking to you again in his common language. When you didn’t answer any of his questions, you were beaten even more until he tried again. This process went on for a good while, not a single word leaving your lips.
Then, he got smart enough to speak to you in broken English, but the only response he got from you was a wheezy laugh. He wasn’t satisfied with the response, extending his hand, being gifted a knife by his comrade. After asking you one more time and receiving nothing in return, he dug the blade down the side of your face. The sharp sting of the knife scraping your right cheekbone down to your bottom lip made you cry out.
What made it worse was their unique creativity, forcing you to talk once more while slicing the tips off Cuban cigars before igniting them. When you didn’t, their leader proceeded to blow smoke in your face before deciding to cauterize your fresh wound with the burning end of the cigar, laughing at your screams when they twisted it deep into your cheek.
“Hurts, no? You talk now?” He questioned you, gripping ahold of your chin.
“Go... to fucking hell!” You gritted out before spitting blood to his face, making him wince and retort. You laughed at his reaction, seeing him wipe it off with visible disgust before grabbing ahold of your neck, squeezing hard and tilting your attention upwards. He held the end of the blade right in front of your right eye before pulling it back, preparing to kill you right then and there.
Seeing you weren’t afraid, or he was just as chickenshit as he looked, He lowered his hand, clicking his tongue before handing the knife back to his partner, who carelessly left it on a table near the door. Gesturing towards the two others, they yanked you off the chair and dragged you out of the room, leading you to god knows where in this building.
You would think that their expensive taste in cigars meant that they could afford better quality tape. The water they had thrown on you prior had weakened the adhesive just enough for you to allow your wrists some wiggle room.
Releasing one of your hands, you yanked yourself from the men's grips, pulling the tape over the closest man’s neck to act as a last-minute choker. You tugged hard, hearing him choke while his partner quickly pulled out his gun. The bullets he fired naturally hit your new man-shield, quickly pushing the slumping body towards his partner before wrestling for the gun, headbutting the man before firing half the mag into his skull.
Faint bursts of bombs echoed from the outside, letting you know that you were close to an exit, and something was definitely happening outside. The exit was reasonably tempting, but with you now being in possession of a gun, you proceeded to stumble back the way you came from.
A man quickly stepped out of the room when he got notified of the commotion, immediately getting shot in the head before he could draw his own weapon.
You fired the last two bullets towards the only remaining man in the room, sending him to the ground in agony as the bullets punctured the back of his knees. Throwing the weapon aside, you reached for the knife from the table, getting down on the ground to turn the man over to his back.
It wasn’t the leader, you quickly realized that. It was just some goddamn man dressed in a similar uniform. The man you were after had gotten away after you were dragged off.
He pulled a gun from his belt, pistol-whipping you to throw you off guard. He fired, the bullet barely grazing the shell of your ear, making a piercing ring rattle your throbbing head.
You jammed the knife into the man’s neck before he could shoot you again, shouting in his face while you pushed his arm away. Refusing to stop there, you pulled out the knife to embed it straight into his chest, puncturing his left lung. You repeated the action over and over, watching his mouth fill with blood as major arteries were struck. The substance stained your hands and blade, splashing onto your face every single time you retracted. You screamed out your rage with every stab, feeling the knife repeatedly scrape against rib bones and puncture his heart.
The camera had fallen over from the chaos, the cracked lenses capturing an angle of your body sitting over his, witnessing the bloodshed that stained the ground.
A sudden rush of footsteps came running down the hallway towards the room you were in. Those who entered first witnessed firsthand when you jammed the blade into the man's right eye, your throat raw from screaming.
You looked up, seeing familiar looking clad soldiers entering the room, led by an all too familiar man scoring a black mask with a white painted skull standing beside another familiar mohawk wearing man.
“What... took you so damn long Lieutenant?” You panted while raising yourself from the corpse, tasting blood on your tongue from the throbbing gash on your bottom lip, bleeding even more after your consistent screaming.
“Been here for a while actually, I was just enjoying the show.” Ghost set aside his rifle, watching you finally release the knife, wiping your stained hands on your ruined shirt before tugging the remnants of tape dangling off your wrist.
“Sorry it ended so soon,” You muttered, bringing a hand over to your chest while catching your breath, feeling it grow difficult as a tight, painful sensation started under your ribs. You stood slowly, stumbling onto your feet as your relief dilluted your adrenaline rush, reminding you of the pain your body was experiencing prior.
“Woah, woah... easy.” Soap brought you into his arms after you took a couple steps forward, allowing you to lean on him for support. “Easy there, lass.” Soap gently held onto your sides, feeling your sharp wince and immediately relaxing his grip. You trembled a bit, your breathing growing raspier than a few moments prior.
“I think they broke one of her ribs Lt.”
“If they did, she’d still be screaming. Punctured lung sounds more like it, go easy on her.”
“I didn’t think.. I just didn’t think you guys would come for me.” You admitted with baited breath, feeling Soap hoist your arm over his shoulders to provide additional support while you stood.
Ghost picked up the abandoned camera from the floor, pulling it off of its stand. It had still been recording this entire time, wondering what kind of footage this thing had received: Important discussions between the enemies next hideout location or our torture. Most likely both. The time he saw in the far corner of the screen showed just how long you were left victim to these men, finding it a miracle you were still alive before it could’ve gotten worse.
He wasn’t a fool to how these men treated women, especially female prisoners.
He dreaded having to watch every single minute of the footage later.
“And lose the best sniper we got on my watch? Don't think so little of yourself, (Y/n).” Ghost came closer, black painted eyes staring at the state of your face. Despite the bruises hidden underneath your ruined clothes and along your jaw and left eye, the intense gash across your face looked nasty, darkened with dirt and ashes as it continued to seep thin ripples of blood, trailing down to the bottom of your jaw.
“Let’s get you out of here, kid.”
It made reasonable sense for you to want to be on your own for a while, both for privacy's sake and to give you space. You were moved to a room on base specifically reserved for wounded soldiers, allowing you time to rest and recover. Thankfully, any internal wounds were minor, the worst being, as Ghost and Soap had called it, slightly cracked ribs and a punctured lung.
You couldn’t remember how long you kept bandages on your face after it had been treated for infection and sewed up. You refused to look in the mirror for a good while after they came off, only allowing yourself one good, long stare at the before calling off the use of mirrors for good.
It took a good few weeks until you were back on your feet in the task force. Everyone you were reasonably close to knew that you would behave differently for a while, but not like this. Soap was the first to notice it, then Ghost, then the rest.
Before, you always joined in on the silly, witty banter that was shared every now and again during missions. Your voice grew cold, speaking only when you were spoken to, most of the time leaving you silent. You didn’t lose your aim with your trusty rifle, letting them at least be aware that you weren’t going to lose your talents anytime soon.
Oh, how wrong they had been.
“You mind telling me what the fuck that was back there??” You’ve heard Ghost yell before during the heat of the battle, but in the privacy of the empty barracks on base was louder than you expected it to be.
You hadn’t even gotten the chance to turn on your room light of your private quarters, the damn man having absolutely no problem confronting you in the absolute darkness.
“I’ve seen you at your best, kid. Not a day has gone by when you haven’t dropped from your high set standards, but today?? Today you screwed up big.”
“I know!!” You yelled back at him, turning to face him. “I know I screwed up; you don’t need to keep repeating it!”
“I’ll keep repeating it until you realize your goddamn mistake! Our target got away, and you almost got all of us killed! We’ve planned this for weeks, (Y/n)! Weeks! And just like that, it’ll take weeks more until we find him again!”
You turned away, biting back your tongue before you had a chance to say anything further. Ghost was right however, the mission turned terribly wrong because of your hot-headed drive for revenge.
It took weeks to find that damn leader, hiding out in another bunker up in a secluded area of the mountains. Knowing he was in such reachable range made you want to join ground squad and find him yourself, but you were assigned to what you did best: Covering from the cliffs.
It irritated the hell out of you, but you followed into your position. All was going smoothly as you waited for ground team to get close enough to attack, until you spotted your target through a small window of what looked like a bedroom.
You alerted the others of the target in your sight, quickly receiving orders to keep a visual until they settled in.
You pulled the trigger before you were even given an all clear from Ghost, and you missed.
Copious amounts of guards came swarming out before everyone could get into position, almost costing the life of Ghost and Price if they weren't quick enough for cover. After dealing with the crowds, they managed to enter the building only to find absolutely nothing.
Before the target was declared missing, Ghost had come across a secret entryway right into a basement, and another right inside there.
There were secret tunnels: a perfect escape route for the target and a small entourage. He left long before the sirens went off, completely getting away.
"Don't tell me now that you let your anger get the better of you and almost cost us our lives, all for the sake of your vanity." His strong statement struck a nerve with you the second you unclipped your harness and utility belt, yanking it all off before throwing it on the ground.
"Ghost, this is not about my vanity." You approached the man, shortening the distance between the two of you, glaring at him with as cold and stoic demeanor as you could muster.
"I could give less of a fuck if no one ever finds me beautiful ever again. This is the fact that the fucker responsible is still out there, and I let him get away! I know I fucked up bad, I know. All I have to do is take one look in the goddamn mirror and that's all it takes for me to remember him laughing in my face before he burned it!!"
You gestured towards your cheek, the rosy, pink scar pulling your skin taunt as it continued to heal. The cigar left an awkward set of circular patches down the line, stopping right above your top lip, reminding you of connect the dots if you had an ounce of humor left in your body to make that joke.
"I don't need you to invade my personal space to remind me of what I screwed up, Ghost." You shoved his shoulder as you walked past him. You wanted to say more but leaving it at that and hoping he'd leave was what you really wanted.
You headed towards the restroom to put distance between you and him, turning on the light before shutting the door. You barely manage to douse your hands with water before the bathroom door burst open, jumping at the sight of his skull mask staring you down as he stepped in.
“Jesus-! What the fuck?!”
“You don’t get to walk away until I’m done," Ghost put himself between you and the exit, his burly body and intimidating height so close kept you almost frozen in place. “This problem has gotten way out of hand. You're letting this personal vendetta completely cloud your judgement.”
“Yeah? Well, I didn’t ask for a one on one with you Ghost.”
“Yeah? Well now you got one.”
“Y’know, why the hell are you even here?”
"I like to make sure I get my point across." He steps closer, gesturing towards the mirror with the jut of his chin. "Look."
"Ghost, no-" You knew what he was trying to do, and you were gonna have none of it. He knew this, quickly grabbing ahold of your forearms to keep you in place.
“You’ve been getting on my damn nerves ever since I came in here.”
“Me?? You’re the one who wanted to come visit!" You moved an arm out of his grasp, reaching for the door. You managed to twist the knob and barely pull it open before your hand was yanked off, Ghost putting himself in between your path.
“Will you stop messing around and listen to me, kid? Look at me!" Ghost’s palm pressed against your throat, pointer and thumb lining up with your jawbone. You winced at the action and paused, expecting him to squeeze any amount of pressure into your skin, but he didn’t.
He even looked surprised at the gesture himself, almost making out emotion in those blue eyes of his. Narrowing your eyes, you reached up and firmly grabbed ahold of his wrist. You didn't say a word, taking a breath through your nose in a final decision to swallow your pride, knowing no other way out of this.
"What're you waiting for?" You spoke in a tone louder than a whisper. "You expecting me to cry? I’m not going to cry in front of you.”
“Oh, believe me, I know other ways of making you cry.” You raised a brow, caught off guard by that short statement. You could almost hear the smirk in his tone.
“You saying you want me to cry?”
“I want a lot of things right now, but first, I need you to get a good at yourself."
Taking your facial expressions mixed with your silence as a go ahead, he slowly released you, gesturing your head to look into the mirror, forcing you to see yourself for what you are. You saw a woman with (e/c) eyes and (s/c) skin: a woman who had been beaten and permanently scarred by the enemy, allowing the cruel, agonizing pain of your hours of torture consume you until you were too driven by vengeance to see yourself how you used to.
A badass special force operative who's proud of her excellent aim, making her way up to work alongside the big dogs. You used to smile at that accomplishment every morning, but now…
“What do you want from me, Ghost?"
“Facing it is not gonna take away the pain, but it is going to help you confront the reality of it.”
“That’s too easy for you to say. It’s not like you have a damn face under there to show for it.”
“It took me years to learn many things, things you can't simply learn overnight. Don't worry about becoming the woman they'll know is coming. Be the killer they can’t recognize; someone they catch a glimpse of before it’s too late. Don’t sit yourself down in the squalor of it, grow something out of it and keep up the fight.”
You looked back at him, meeting his black stained eyes as they kept a stern stare on yours. Looking back at yourself in the mirror, your attention automatically went towards your scar, licking the indent left on your bottom lip. You looked up to your eyes, feeling a strange swell of remorse for how you've treated yourself after all this time. You didn't deserve this, the woman you are didn't deserve the loathe and hate.
Emitting a sigh, you peered down at your damp hands resting on the edge of the sink, understanding now that your mental state was just as wounded as when you were first cut. While your outside healed, your insides didn't.
It hurt, but it was the truth. You needed to work on it before it got you or someone else killed.
“What other things were you thinking of?” You spoke up just a bit, peering at him through the reflection. He glared back at you, silent for a moment before responding:
“That’s classified, sweetheart.”
“Bullshit,” You breathed out, your lip curling upwards as you turned fully to face him. “Talk about classified. You came into my bathroom unannounced, what if I was naked in here?”
“Then that would’ve been a hell of a sight to see.”
“Mhm. Would this conversation have gone a different route?”
“Perhaps. Question is, if it did, would you have allowed it to happen?”
“It depends. You’ll have to tell me what's going on in that skull of yours before I can fully decide.”
This was a dangerous game in the making as you laid your pieces out. Ghost was aware of what he started the moment he opened his mouth, but he left it on you to decide how to enact upon that.
"Do I have your permission to provide an example?"
Ghost x female!brat! x Soap
[follows on from this]
Warnings - smut, 18+ only, p in v sex, ghost fucks brat and Soap listens, masturbation (male), voyeurism (obvs)
Word count - 2k
Tag list - @mykneeshurt @luminousbeings-crudematter
Ghost has to shove two fingers into her mouth to keep her quiet, or at least, that was the idea.
Their adrenaline is too high, pumping through them like gasoline, one spark and they’ll burst, flames licking and heat too much to bare. They’re clutching at each other, her nails bite into his skin, leaving little crescent moon shapes in the back of his neck and the joint of his wrist - his hands are fully occupied too. One hand splays under her thigh, keeping her tight against him, pressed back into the wall while her legs twine around his waist, the other hand is to her mouth- gloved fingers pressed down firmly over her tongue.
She moans, it’s a garbled mess of something filthy, loose and punched from her chest, striking like a battering ram against Ghost’s core. It sends a flooding burn straight to his cock, already buried deep inside of her, enveloped in the wet heat of her, pussy sucking him in as he drives himself deeper. Impossibly deep.
“Fuck” he grits, spits it into her neck, pressing forward so he’s crushing her, his legs almost giving way when her cunt squeezes him. He can’t do much more, he’s lost it, his grip on his senses is long gone, buried in the sand back there along with his enemies.
They’re covered in blood, crusted with it, splashed across their faces and woven into their clothes. It sticks to them. The smell, copper pennies and metallic ink, plumes on their air between them, stifling as they share breath. Panting against each other, fogging each others skin with it. He’s sweating, it’s sticking to his mask, running down his neck, but she sucks at the droplets of it when she had tugged the mask up to kiss him. Licks and sucks the taste of salt from his skin, sucks the flesh between her teeth till the blood vessels burst, pulling that hiss of pain from his chest that she shouldn’t like as much as she does.
She steals his lips again when he retracts his fingers from her mouth, spit connecting them together in a thick ribbon- then she sinks her teeth against his lips, “want you to ruin me, Ghost” she smiles, delirious, drunk on bloodlust and adrenaline. All of them had almost died back there. Too close for comfort to the bullets and flames, smoke plunging and shrouding them as they step out of the black clouds, soot stuck in their throats and covering their faces.
It feels like their skin is flaying, shredded up and pulled away. Everything hurts. Burns like fire, an itch that needs scratching, it feels like they need to run miles and miles to get rid of this buzz. This high that is left in the wake of near death, it’s suffocating, it tastes of fury and gunpowder.
He’s fucking her like he hates her, like he truly hates her guts, and that’s what she needs, it’s what they both need. The safe house is barren, rickety where it’s structure almost sways in the sand-storm winds, yet it’s enough to keep them covered until evac can pick them up and cart them off to the next near death experience.
Her head knocks back against the wall with a heavy thunk, throat exposed for his teeth to sink into, hips knocking into her till he can hear her breath stutter, struggling to match the brutal pace he sets. “Fuck- Ghost” she whines, drilling her hips downward, meeting the slap of his pelvis as it drives into her. He holding her up, carrying her weight in one arms like it’s nothing, balancing her on his cock as he presses her into the wall. It’s uncomfortable, yet she can’t feel it, too drunk on his cock and the comedown of a death match. “Need to feel you cum, sweetheart” his teeth bruise, sinking too deep, he’ll draw blood in a minute, her cunt flexes around him again and he throws his head back with the most delicious sound she thinks she’s ever heard come out of him.
Her smile is lopsided, eyes blown wide, watching as Ghost bites his tongue, hissing when she bounces herself on his cock. She’s quick to repay the favour, leans to balance her weight evenly before she’s shoving her fingers into his mouth, slipping too far back- making him gag. His tongue is instinctive, pushes up and flat against her fingers, licks the creases between her index and middle finger, she moans. “You’re loud” she hisses, kisses over her fingers where they lay in his mouth, his brows knit and eyes narrow, then his teeth are sinking into her fingers. Only slightly, a threat - a tease.
She retracts them, her own eyes harrowing, sucking them into her own mouth, all the while Ghost’s eyes don’t leave her mouth or fingers, she swears he grows harder inside of her. “How can’t I be?” He grunts, punctuates the thought with a cruel drive of his hips that makes her gasp, “this pussy treats me too well, love” he smirks, he can see the blush that runs from her cheeks all the way down her neck, disappearing down her chest where her clothes are still unfortunately covering her from his greedy eyes.
Then her lips are on his, kissing with too much tongue and teeth, everything about this is too much, too greedy, too much to take and never enough to give. She wraps her arms around his neck, keeps him locked tight against her, fucks her with abandon like this’ll be the last time they see each other alive - where they’re going, that might just be the case.
Soap’s curiosity is much like a cats, one day, it’ll get him killed.
Everything was a blur. The entire mission, the whole ordeal, a blur of blood and bullets and bad ideas. They’d all crashed into the safe house and dispersed, their ears ringing and pulses jumping, everything is always too overwhelming. They’ve all done this enough times before, when their vision stops swimming and their breathing evens - that’s when they know it’s time to check in.
Price and Gaz take up some weathered old sofas that sit in one of the downstairs rooms, practically crash into them without caring what’s probably living inside of them, Johnny guesses their milky-white colouring isn’t from the material itself.
Ghost and the rookie seem to evaporate into thin air, practically gone before Soap can even turn around to ask if they’re okay, he doesn’t see where they go. It leaves him to pace around the ground level, loops of what seems to have been a living room and paced lines in the dust covered floor of the kitchen. Nature calls and he’s not exactly bothered about pissing in front of Kyle and Price, but something steers him toward the stairs, something deep down in the marrow of his bones seem to guide him there and he doesn’t know what it is. But he follows.
His hand barely touches the splintering banister that leads to the next level of the house when Price whistles for his attention, Johnny turns his head, but his body stays rooted. Price tips his hat with one finger, lifting it from where it’d been laid over his face like a shade. “Don’t go poking around in shit, Soap” Price’s eyes are narrow, a warning carried in his irises, “you’ll be the one that comes off worse”. It’s too cryptic, Johnny needs a piss, he’s lying to himself, and he follows his gut and ascends the stairs regardless.
It’s a relatively small space, the entire house, two levels of a handful of rooms, a bathroom can’t be far away, but Johnny knows that’s not what he’s looking for.
He stares down at his boots, covered in dust and blood, his cheeks as red as the crimson stains there. He can hear her, he can hear Ghost, it’s filthy, but his gut twists with something far too familiar to misplace.
The Scot holds his breath, listens like it’s a whisper from the man upstairs himself, catches each breath and whimper that are punched out of her chest. Johnny clenches his jaw so hard it feels like his teeth with crack, his cock swells in the constraints of his jeans, seeking out the source of those blissful noises that his ears can’t catch enough of.
He feels wrong, filthy, but he can’t bring himself to turn away, he’s entranced. It’s not just her, the sound of her flesh pounding and Ghosts, the way he hisses at how tight she is. Johnny isn’t a shy man, not by any means, but he’s certainly more then surprised when it’s the sounds she pulls from Ghost that serve him to grow even harder- achingly so.
“So tight, sweetheart-fuck” Ghost’s voice sounds so clear, the mask is gone, or most of it is Johnny assumes. There’s no barrier to stop the husk of his tone, the pure gravel and smoke to it as it rubbles out of his wide chest. She mewls, chokes on her words when he must do something she likes, because she shrieks, wails Ghost’s name like he’s stabbed her in the chest. Soap can’t see, maybe he has hurt her, he can only imagine it as his eyes burn a hole through the wooden door. Every detail flashing across his vision, it’s perverted, but his body is taking complete charge here.
That’s what he keeps telling himself, repeats it over and over again in his head when he quietly unbuckles his belt, sinks his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and takes his cock in his palm. He fights the urge to hiss, thumbing over the taught head of his cock, gripping it so hard he might rip the fucking thing clean off. He’s not the only one that’s pent up, clearly, but he seems to be the only one that can’t do anything about it.
So, he leans one palm against the doorframe, angles his ear to the crack in the door in an attempt to not let anything be lost through the rickety old wood. He starts to pump himself quicker, chasing the sound of Ghost’s skin smacking against the alcove of her thighs, it sounds so wet and sloppy - she must be dripping. Soap bites his lip, eyes screwed shut as he jerks harder- faster. Chasing the same thing they are, he can hear it in the way she sighs, whines when she finally says “fuck- I’m cumming Ghost- please let me cum- fuck” she might be crying, it sounds that way.
Ghost doesn’t say anything, worried he’ll bark so loud the roof will come off when her pussy flutters, clamping around him in the same rhythm he fucks her with- fast and harsh and too much. Soap bristles, he’s close, his spine locks and his whole body shivers. He can try to imagine them, what position Ghost is fucking her in; her chest pressed into the wall as he bends her over and ruts into her from behind, pushing her down into the floorboards while she’s on her back as he’s drilling her hips into her pelvis, his brain can conjure so many ways- but it won’t change the fact that it’s him who’s outside wanking like a pervert.
Something rumbles low, Ghost’s chest echoing like a kraken, deadly and sinful.
Johnny cums to the sound of Ghost as he spills inside of her.
It’s a miracle Soap keeps quiet, not silent, no, he’s drawn blood to his own palm from attempting that. He just hasn’t known he wasn’t quiet enough until his heart drops fully from out of his arse at the sound of his lieutenant-
“Didn’t peg you for a voyeur, Johnny” Ghost pants, cock still seated fully inside of her.
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