gore wh*re [ghost x reader]

Chapter 3

a/n: heyyy this chapter contains cnc/dubcon themes, wound licking, noncon videorecording, and creampie 

also i will preface this by saying a lot of my cnc/dubcon writings dabble more in the "oh but i shouldn't do this... but it feels too good to stop" theme. Ghost and the reader reference rape in this chapter but it is not explicitly that. The line of consent is just blurred/not there... so with that being said, read at your own risk

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Water drips off the tip of your nose as his words sink in.

"What?" you sputter, throat raw.

"Are you so dimwitted that you forgot my original words when I stepped into this shithole?" His gloved hand closes around your throat, material soaking up the dampness there.

"Can you... blame me?" The sound of water still dripping from your soaked frame seems to plink in agreement.

"Ah, but I thought you were always one step ahead, ready to rend my flesh from my bones the moment I turned my back?"

His tone makes your blood boil, warmth slowly seeping back into your body.

"I–"

His gloved hand presses tighter, silencing the words forming on your tongue. "Don't speak, little rat, I have more to say." A glare through your wet lashes suffices instead.

"Before all... this," he motions to your current state, "I'd told you that I'd been forgetting the very special fact that you're a woman."

Despite his warning squeeze, you speak again. "You can't make me do anything."

"Oh, but I can." Ghost leans in, skull mask level with your own head. "And I will."

Oh, fuck.

A shiver zips up your spine making a despicable chuckle erupt from his cloaked mouth. "Poor thing," his thumb brushes over your lower lip, "your lips are turning blue." The flick of a utility knife opening has your spine straightening, restraints pulled tight. "Too bad the only way to get you warm is to get you dry."

Muscles frozen, you watch as Ghost brings his knife close, the sharp point aiming for the tattered hem of your shirt. Not much remains after weeks of captivity, but he seems intent on slashing the rest of the garment from your body.

And there is nothing you can do to stop it — to stop him.

"And the only way to get you dry..." Your shirt rips under the sharp edge of his weapon. "...is to get this off."

Wishing your clothing was made of chain link, you can only sit there as it's stripped from you. Slowly. Cutting up the middle, Ghost exposes the scarred, wet flesh of your torso. Embarrassment is far from your mind, fury creeping in instead, clouding the edges of your vision as he tears the remains of your shirt free. Throwing it to the floor, it lands with a wet splat.

Meeting his bottomless, inky gaze, you refuse to show any weaknesses — give him any satisfaction in his power trip.

"You're not the first person I've been naked in front of," you supply, rolling your shoulders back, breasts covered only by your bra now. "Being in the military desensitizes you."

"Perhaps," he mutters, unaffected by your talking, "but do they share the same thoughts as me?"

The tip of his knife pricks the hollow of your throat before he lets it trail down the center of your body. It doesn't break your skin, just skips across scar tissue and other miscellaneous scabs littering your flesh. It feels like a warning, but not in the way all his other threats do.