gore wh*re [ghost x reader]

Chapter 1

a/n: ya see a theme here... i like masks im sorry (no im not)

mind the tags esp since im going to update them as i continue writing :)

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"This would be a lot easier if you just gave me what I wanted," the masked man before you grits. You can't see the way his jaw is clenched, identity and features hidden, but you know his teeth have to be suffering under the weight of his anger.

Simon "Ghost" Riley.

You knew of him, had been warned of his godlike abilities, and had scoffed at your own superiors when they'd tried to tell you of his reputation. Never before had you met someone you couldn't defeat, cutting their flesh from their bones, but now...

Now, after days of being in captivity, you are realizing why people feared him.

How he'd earned his namesake.

Darkness surrounds you, dulling your senses, but the red light bulb in the corner is always on. It provides just enough light to see by, but never enough for your body to regulate.

Is it morning or evening?

And it hides the smaller red dot that always blinks when Ghost appears before you, every heinous action recorded for his sick pleasure.

A slap jars you from your thoughts, vision blurring with the force of it. While his hands are concealed — tactical gloves preventing skin to skin contact — it does little to dampen the pain he bestows with the motion.

"Are you listening, little rat?"

Your nickname makes your own teeth clench. "I'm no rat," you spit, your bindings the only thing keeping you still.

Keeping the anger lurking below the surface of your skin from erupting...

"You will be." His shoe scuffs against the dirty concrete floor. "At least, your team will consider you one once I'm done with you."

"Too weak to kill me?"

"Keep pushing it, and this will be the last face you see." His fingers motion to the gruesome skull mask he always wears. It's an intimidation tactic, one that probably worked on others before you, but Ghost didn't know your past — didn't realize that joining the military was the only escape you had left. It had been your only choice, and to survive, you became cutthroat.

You became what you once feared.

Black cargo pants are neatly tucked into his polished boots, shoes you've stared at while he drags out your torment, but today feels different.

Something is off.

Ghost is off.

While you might be resilient, the lingering taste of anxiety still coats your tongue. The lack of control makes your blood rush, mind fighting to regain the upper hand. Being tied to a chair and tortured is hardly advantageous, but after a couple days, a pattern has been established.

The mind games have begun.

It's almost fun... but now the predictability starts to fade.

Ghost performs his usual routine, question after question pelting you, and every answer you give — even silence — is been rewarded with torture. Evidence of his cruel touch drips down your face, arms cut, bruised, and bloodied. He isn't above hurting a woman. In another circumstance, you might've been impressed. Women were usually underestimated in the field which was a mistake you capitalized on.