The Masks in Your Life (Ghost x Reader)

f o u r

Ghost was absolutely and utterly fuming, a fiery anger making his heart nearly jump out of his chest.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, his jaw flexing, arms crossed so his biceps was bulging under his shirt.

At first, he was just extremely irritated about the way your husband spoke to you. He had wondered why Mike didn't stop dead in his tracks when he saw you were hurt.

How he wasn't treating you like the delicate bird you were, but like a servant, how the stupid basketball game was more important than his wife.

Ghost wished you would have walked right out on him, but instead you still felt the need to seduce him. Clearly you were the only one putting any effort into the relationship. When he saw your reflection in another kitchen window, he felt his jeans getting tighter.

The way you seemed to hover down the stairs in the blood red lingerie, a stark contrast to the sheer negligee you put on top. A devious angel descending from heaven, neediness written all over your face.

Oh, how Ghost would have given you what you needed.

He had watched how your slender fingers touched your husband instead of him, having more effect on the man standing thirty feet away than the one who had the blessing to receive it.

To say he was shocked when your husband rejected you was an understatement. Not in his wildest dreams he could push you away, even if he tried. He had been bewildered at how it wasn't your husband's dying urge to fulfil every of your wishes.

All of this was bad enough, but it got even worse when the penny dropped.

Ghost noticed the signs as soon as you asked about leaving the country. It hit him like bricks, you were definitely not to blame for losing your passport. 

Gaslighting, manipulation, isolation.

As an outsider, he realised long before you ever could. The effort of months and years that your husband had meticulously spent twisting and messing with your head was presented to Ghost on a silver platter.

Your husband couldn't hide, Ghost saw right through him. Through every layer of his skin, flesh, and bones right into his black heart.

Rage. He felt nothing but rage.

Even if you weren't you, he would have felt the same.

Memories from his own past flashed past his eyes, to the point where he had to close them to avoid breaking down, shutting them out.

He felt strong fingers digging into his biceps and he let out a slight gasp when he realised they were his own, clawing into something to suppress the urge to barge into your house to smash your husband's head into the coffee table.

After taking a deep breath he eased his mind with a mental image of your husband, beaten and bloodied.

He pushed it away as quickly as it came. The punishment Ghost would come up with would be much worse for Mike than a good old beating.

No, Ghost would take his prized possession away from him.

A possession that wasn't meant to be possessed. A beautiful bird that deserved to be freed from its cage.

He took another breath, even deeper this time. The cool night air helped him come back to reality.

There was no point in being rash, this situation called for more methodical measures. And since methodical measures were part of his job, which he was extremely good at, he knew exactly what to do.

The plan to place bugs under the target's windows was still on, but he would also install them at your place.

Partly because he wanted to protect you if necessary, partly because he wanted to hear more of what your husband did and said to keep you in check.