Ghosts & Mirages-18+ Smut Series

5: Cherished Spirits (1/2)

Summary: Ghost has been there. He's always been there, watching over you like a second shadow, concerned for your sanity and safety, and you're worried it's taking a toll on him. You're desperate to understand how he sees you, eager to figure out if he views you the way you view him.

Warning: Minor jealousy, mentions of mental struggles. Smut, obvi. edging, oral(giving), slight deepthroating, slight dom!reader, slight sub!Ghost, switch!Ghost, shower sex, overstimulation.

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The utter irony of not being able to fully rest the moment you finally got a chance to after so long. It reminded you of early mornings where you dreaded waking up to go to school, desperately eager to reach the weekend to sleep in, only for you to rise just as early as the sun and never achieve that moment of pure rest.

You were only able to get a somewhat full night's rest when Ghost left, yet every day after that for the past seven days, you were left waking up painfully early, despite your persistent urge to sleep in. You'd close your eyes in attempt of a short nap, only to fail and give up with disgruntled disappointment.

It's felt longer than a week since he had left, leaving you all this time to rest and contemplate on everything that's happened. Your mind was constantly occupied between Ghost's choice words and the loss over your latest mission. You didn't even care if it was deemed a success by officials, the emotions you felt after constantly proved you completely otherwise.

For the first two mornings you've remained in bed, barely containing the appetite to eat breakfast, just mindlessly keeping your dog tags clutched in your right hand in your solitude. While constantly brushing your thumb over his description, it occurred to you how you've never really seen him wear dog tags before. Maybe he just wasn't a fan, or maybe he didn't like how they felt.

Like hell if you even knew he wore them, especially with all the gear and layers of clothing he adorns on a daily basis. Even with every layer off, they still weren't visibly seen. You know that, you would've remembered otherwise.

At the very least, you were well aware now that he was wearing them from now on, at least you hoped so.

It was times like these you really lived up to your codename. The semi-masked Sergeant, the only female of the special task force being seen in a certain area on base, only to be gone almost in the blink of an eye by recruits who weren't familiar to you. Walking out on the track on late evenings until your ankle couldn't bare it, rarely in the mess hall during lunch or dinner, keeping to yourself in the shooting range when your ankle and side wound weren't as sore to allow you to shift various positions, wearing a tight, adjustable ankle brace so you could walk somewhat properly, thin enough to wear so you could keep your boot on.

You had a reputation to keep up with after all, you weren't going to stop just because you couldn't walk that great, despite the pain it gave you. At least it wasn't a torn ligament, otherwise you would've been left suffering a lot longer.

On the third day in the early evening, Price himself requested you in his office. You eventually made your way there to find him doing paperwork at his desk, looking up towards you once he cleared you to come in. "You needed to see me, sir?"

He gestured his hand over across from him. On the other side of his desk was a cup of coffee and one of your favorite snacks, with a chair scooted closer so you could be comfortable. "Sit. Office is too quiet, needed someone talkative to fix that."

You walked over to the desk, slowly picking up the mug of coffee. Just the fragrance of it sent you back to your nights sitting beside her, recalling how much sugar packets she had put in by accident while distracted by your banter, only for it to become a temporary tradition.