𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭: Ghost x Fem reader

Act 5: Death.

Before a major mission, cooling off at the nearby bar is a revelled tradition for you and TF141. Unfortunately, only you, Soap, Ghost, Laswell and Graves will be available for this very much enjoyed period, considering Price and Gaz are still in Amsterdam.
It's 7pm, an hour before you leave to go to the bar, and you're doing yourself up in your disarray of a make-do vanity in your little room. Concealer conceals the dark circles which line your eyes, blush brings more colour to your face and mascara emboldens your eyelashes. You drown yourself in your warmest vanilla scent, lining your eyes with black eyeliner afterwards as a finishing touch.
Today you have food in you, but you left a little space for intoxicating yourself at the bar tonight (even if everyone heavily warned you against doing so) which you look forward to doing.
Ghost's words to you last night stick onto you like gum under a schools table.
Every time you remind yourself of the way he looked at you with those wet soil eyes, the way those words left his mouth, the way he said them, you find yourself getting giddy and giggling. Literally.
You slide on a pink dress and a jacket which has many pockets - all of which are occupied by knives, guns, all the sorts. What can you say? You're a special forces soldier out in the open, you need to be equipped at all times. After all, the world is a war zone.

"You look nice, surprisingly." Soap says jokingly as he meets you outside the base,
looking you up and down in an admirable manner. He puts a hand through your hair in a protective way, holding you close to him. It's cold out tonight, and the wintry atmosphere takes you back mentally to the night outside the gym. You wish you could go back on that moment and tell Ghost that he's wrong, and that it will not pass.
You bring yourself back to the presence.
"Yeah, I do."

"If any creeps try to come near you tonight, I'll be there for you." Soap mutters. He's actually not over-pitching the scenario considering that the town the bar resides in is the most sketchiest. Rapes, murders, robberies, gang violence aren't uncommon.

"I can protect myself." You say back in response bitterly, but deep down you appreciate how much he actually cares about your well being as a woman. Training for the military growing up you were constantly sexualised or belittled by your male peers, to the point you considered giving up altogether.

However, you're a very good soldier, having an excellent talent for sniping and stealth attacks which proves effective and helpful. Your strength may not be up to par with some of your more taller, muscular male teammates but your talents still don't go unnoticed which is why you're good enough to be in TF141. What's best about it is that your team have never made you feel unsafe or inferior.

"Ghost." Soap says merrily, turning his attention away from you to greet his companion. You merely give Ghost a glance, not saying anything even though his presence is enough to make you fall to your knees. Something you're dreading about this little trip to the bar is that there will most definitely be women, and military men go around like a merry go round, so they won't keep their hands off of them. Ghost may scare away some of the ladies with his skull baclava and towering height of 6'4, but he certainly isn't pussy repellent.

Once in the truck, you sit next to Graves who happily rests his arm around you, pulling you very close to him so that your head rests on his shoulder. You make idle chatter with Laswell on the way there, only stopping every so often because of the amount of kisses Graves' plants in your hair. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear about how 'he won't let any men steal you tonight,' knowing damn well the first bombshell he sees he'll forget all about you. It's quite strange, but you don't question the power dynamic because if it's enough to distract you from Ghost then so be it.

You arrive at the bar, and as always it has LED blue lighting inside and soft jazz music reverberating through the brown brick walls. It has an enticing nature about it, which is why you and the rest of the team find yourselves here so often. Inside it doesn't disappoint. Drink prices are high, but it's fairly populated but not overwhelmingly so, which reassures you because of your fear of large crowds.
You sit on the bar alongside Soap and Ghost, who each have a glass of whiskey. They engage in conversation about the Southern American cartel while you happily sip your cocktail, ignoring all the predatory stares of men in the bar.
Men are all the same, you think. They look at your body with a hunger you can't decipher. Rather than a woman, you're an object they can claim for themselves. A prize, another scotch on their belt. With what little self worth you do have you know not to entertain these pigs.
30 minutes in and you've already turned down many attempts of wooing you. Soap, however, has a group of ladies he's entertaining all at once in a booth in the corner. Kudos to him.
Graves, predictably, has already taken off with a woman he's chosen for the night. He would kill you if you dared to do the same.