『"They call her '𝒴𝑒𝓊𝓇𝒾' or say she's one."』✰
『"Why?"』
『"Because you can't see her, she's a ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ.』✰
Started on: 14 /05/23
REWRITTEN ON: 27/10/23
Finished on: ??
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Yeuri The name of a calm female Ghost, who can be aggressive when triggered.
༺♥༻
In the confined space of the room Y/N had led Ghost into, tension hung palpably, an almost tangible entity that suffused the air. Silence, heavy and oppressive, seemed to stretch between them, each moment passing like a hesitant step toward an unseen precipice.
Y/N's eyes, possessed of an intensity that could carve through steel, fixated unwaveringly on Ghost. The room seemed to shrink in the weight of that gaze, her eyes penetrating beyond the surface, delving into the recesses of Ghost's very skull—figuratively and perhaps even literally. There existed an unspoken challenge in the way her gaze never wavered, a testament to the unyielding resolve behind those piercing eyes.
On the flip side, Ghost, not one to back down, met her gaze with equal determination. The air crackled with a silent exchange, their eyes locked in a duel that spoke volumes without a single word uttered.
A lingering silence draped the room, a collective hesitancy woven into the very fabric of the atmosphere. It was an unspoken agreement among those present—a mutual reluctance to shatter the fragile equilibrium that seemed to teeter on the edge of discomfort. The onus for this uneasy quiet rested squarely upon your shoulders; it was your decision that ushered him into this enigmatic space, devoid of prior warning or any reason.
Ghost, an imposing figure in this sea of hushed voices, responded to the quiet with a subtle tilt of his head. His rifle, an extension of his formidable presence, he nestled it close to his broad frame. Gloved fingers, encased in strong fabric, wrapped around its end with an almost reverent precision. There was a practiced elegance to the way he cradled the weapon, as if it were someone he wished to hold..
In this tableau of suspended moments, her gaze, almost involuntarily, descended to the patterns adorning Ghost's gloves. The painted bones, adorned with meticulous detail, bore the scars of time—parts of the paint chipped off, stained with remnants of blood or dirt. It was a visual narrative, a story etched into the very fabric of his gloves, a testament to battles fought and unseen struggles endured.
The room held its breath, an unspoken tension thickening the air. Breaking the stillness, her voice, tinged with a murmur, found its way into the quietude. "Lieutenant.." she uttered, her arms crossing as her eyes met his once again, a subtle defiance intermingled with an unspoken recognition.
Her gaze, a delicate play of invitation, possessed a softness that bordered on the seductive. It was a look intricately woven with intent, an unspoken challenge laid bare in the silent exchange. Yet, to his credit, he met the intensity with an unwavering gaze, a mirrored reflection of the same desire, neither yielding nor capitulating to the allure.
A murmur escaped his lips "Yeuri..", a mere utterance of her name, and in that quiet acknowledgment, subtle ripples traversed his back muscles—a physical response to the charged atmosphere that enveloped them.
Yeuri, never one to hastily unveil her sentiments, grappled with the delicate art of initiating such a conversation. Despite her "I don't give a fuck" persona, honesty was her currency, and yet, in this moment of heightened tension, impulsivity wasn't a luxury to indulge in. She navigated the uncharted waters carefully, recognizing the delicate balance that hung in the room.
"You're aware," she began, her voice a measured cadence in the charged quiet, "that subjecting yourself to unresolved desires isn't precisely..." Pausing, she allowed the words to linger in the air, biting the inside of her cheek as if to punctuate the weight of her unspoken thoughts. Tilted head and averted gaze conveyed a vulnerability, an acknowledgment of the complexities beneath the surface. "Healthy.." she finally concluded, the word carrying more than its literal weight, resonating in the charged space between them.
He responded, his rich, deep brown eyes lingering on the contours of her form, his free hand's index finger betraying a subtle twitch as it traced an invisible line. A hint of amusement danced in his gaze as he remarked, "Surprising to hear such words from you." She countered in a hushed tone, fingers clutching the fabric of her vest, a subtle mimicry of Graves' mannerism she had picked up.
Every nuance was absorbed by his attentive gaze, from the intricate shade of her hair to the subtle curvature beneath her attire. An insatiable desire to explore the delicate contours of her body kindled within him, a yearning akin to a forest fire rapidly gaining momentum. "I'm not as simple as I may appear.." she confessed, her words barely audible.
His response, a whispered retort, carried a hint of vulnerability as the dryness in his throat threatened to crack his composed facade, "I never claimed otherwise." The atmosphere thickened with unspoken tension, each word and gesture a delicate dance in the intricate ballet of desire and restraint.
Y/N's gaze descended, an involuntary drift that fixated upon a specific and intimate region of Ghost's crotch. Her eyes, caught in a magnetic pull, lingered on the subtle prominence that betrayed an undeniable thickness—an unmistakable sign of arousal. It wasn't as robust as previous encounters, yet the mere presence of it held a narrative of its own.
Leaning forward with a deliberate proximity that brought their vests into a tender connection, the subtle friction of fabric against fabric underscored the charged atmosphere enveloping them. There was an unspoken language woven into the tactile dance, a nuanced exchange conveyed through the proximity of their bodies.
In a breathy whisper that hung between them like a fragile thread, she uttered a single word, laden with vulnerability and a subtle plea. "Looks like you need company.." she murmured, the sound a low entreaty that echoed in the confined space between them. Her hands, guided by a magnetic pull of their own, descended, sliding beneath the open edges of his vest.
The room seemed to tighten around them, a cocoon of shared vulnerability and desire. Y/N's fingers, delicate yet purposeful, traced the contours beneath Ghost's vest, navigating the terrain of skin and fabric with a whispered urgency. The connection of their bodies, however innocuous, held a resonance that spoke of unspoken tension.
Ghost, his gaze unwavering, met her eyes with a subtle understanding. There was a dance of emotions in that charged moment—hesitation intertwined with longing, vulnerability masked by desire.
Lowering his gun, he gently grasped her hands, guiding them to rest against her chest. The silence between them spoke volumes. "Fuck you," she grumbled, frustration etched across her face as she unlocked the door and briskly walked away, leaving the lingering tension of their unspoken exchange.
(Another short chapter, i really don't know how to make their relationship make more sense so i'm gonna do cringey shit based on how high i am while making this fanfic.)
