𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭: Ghost x Fem reader

Act 3: Earthquake.

The morning Ghost vowed to join you for breakfast, you got up bright and early to jump start your morning routine.
You know the worm you're catching this time.
Funnily enough, you found yourself amused by your newborn infatuation. Each time you brushed your hair for the strands to come out shinier and glossier than before, you couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to lay your head on his lap while he braids your hair, the pair of you engaging in meaningless and lighthearted conversation. Conversation not about war.
When you took your morning shower and ran your soapy loofah over your body and the littlest crevices between your limbs, the soap being rose scented just for this morning, you imagined the dried tropical gourd morphing into course and wrinkled fingertips. Instead of the natural loofah, his tough yet delicately veiny hands ran themselves down your body in the most sensitive places as if it was second nature to them. He traced patterns along your inner thighs, squeezed your waist and brushing hair out of the nape of your neck for love bites.

Simon Riley, what sort of disgusting things would you love to do to Y/N in the shower?

Would you take care of her, cleaning her deeply after a mission and watching blood and dirt swirl down the drain into nothingness? Or would you fuck her into nothing while you both slip and slide around dangerously? You need to know.

Putting on a hoodie and army pants, you made your exit out of your room, shutting the door on all the sick, languishing thoughts your mind seemed to dwell over this particular morning.

He caught you before you even got to breakfast.

"Y/N. Morning."
His unmistakable voice called out to you halfway to the mess hall. You abruptly turned around to the source of the voice, anxiety targeting your stomach. Your insides squelched uncomfortably with hunger and apprehension.
"Hey Lieutenant, this isn't your usual route is it?"
"Said I'd join you for breakfast, did I not?"
"Oh yeah, you did."
It's quite funny for you to diminish the hours you spent thinking about this very morning into a moment of forgetting. In no other reality would you have to question his presence there with you, but you found yourself doing it anyway even though you haven't.
Can he see through your acting, Y/N?

Ghost simply said nothing in response, calmly walking side by side to you as you both go down the usual route to the mess hall.
Stealing side glances at him, your eyes found sanctuary in his facial area. He didn't wear his usual skull mask today, just a skull patterned baclava and a black hoodie over his head. The combination of the two was strangely alluring.

In the mess hall, you walked to where the food was served. As if this was a normal morning routine for him, he took your plate and plated up some food. A fruit cup, an omelet and fried chicken graced ur plate in his hands.
"That's a lot for breakfast, lieutenant."
"Your input isn't required. You need protein." His rough and unfriendly voice pierced your ears, each syllable laced witn irritation. You pursed your lips, not daring to say more.
Once you both sat down, you stared at the unapproachable plate of healthiness in front of you. It stared back, as if it was daring you to eat it.
Ghost gazed at you. "Looking at the food doesn't make it go down any quicker."
Sighing, you obediently got out your fork and poked at the fruit cup, stabbing a piece of pineapple to take it to ur lips. The flesh eating enzymes targeted your inner cheeks, causing a weirdly nice tingle in your mouth the more you ate it. In Ghost's presence you found digesting
the food easier.
Once you swallowed the sweet juices, you couldn't help but to ask him a question.
"Why do you care so much about my eating habits?" You inquired, looking up at him guardedly. He caught your gaze, his eyes seemingly darting all over your face before he pulled his mask up to eat some food of his own.
"It's my job to take notice of your habits. You won't be any good without any food in you, will you? Some may call it a duty of care." He huffs in response, saying the last part almost sarcastically as he chows down his own plate of food.
Good enough response, you think. A part of you wishes for him to just simply care. You want him to be at your bedside every night feeding a spoonful of soup to your warm welcoming lips, staying next to you all night guarding you from any danger just to feed you breakfast next morning.
Is making yourself weaker the only way for Ghost to stick around?
"I appreciate it, Sir." It comes out more puny than you deliberated. Once the sentence comes out, it echoes through your head and sounds like a child talking to its teacher.
"It's Ghost for you."
His voice is ever so inscrutable, lacking any sort of hint of emotion in it other than his British flair. You want to be the one to make him laugh, to smile, for his voice to have an edge to it.
If you can't do it by your personality or charm, you may as well just wrap your delicate fingers around his neck and hear him thrash and strain and yelp as his fingers crawl at your hands hopelessly, his oesophagus closing as your sick obsession takes him to an untimely demise, just to hear any sort of sign that he feels something.
"Hey y'all." Graves' accent pulls you out of your dark fantasies. He's standing next to your table, accompanied by the one and only Soap. Your eyes narrow at the sight of Graves the ever so slightest bit, but you won't be the one to shit all over this little party.
"Hey right back at ya." You say in your friendliest tone, patting the seats next to you. Glancing at Ghost, you try to make out his thoughts on the situation and you only see a small light in his eyes as Soap sits next to him.