Gloss and Salt | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

1

A mission went to shit, well, if Ghost is really honest with himself, shit is putting it lightly. From busted comms and equipment right at the start, Gaz out of commission for a while with a shattered ankle, and worst of all, valuable intel lost because of some tech shit none of them could figure out.

Ghost isn't the person to judge other people's anger. Not when his own is a constant webbed thrumming under his own skin, manifesting itself in cold precision when his knife plunges into some poor sop. How the woman sitting at the back end of the table was a fix to Laswell's anger escaped him though. She's pretty. All shiny lips and glossy hair that falls past her perky tits. Soap saw it too, his stare isn't as subtle as Ghost's glances. Young features, but not without the typical signs of aging that active service carves into you. Later, Ghost finds out from Soap that they're closer in age than her looks let on. A question he hadn't asked in the first place.

He imagines what her face looks like right now as her hiccups bring him back into the dark room. Skin tone broken up by red splotches, glimmering with tears and her eyes red. He wants to see her, the sick satisfaction with pain in others purrs in his chest. He doesn't mean it personally, it's just a general thing.
She sniffles again. The image of her mouth passes through his mind, how her tongue wets her lips constantly when she's concentrating. His thumb pushing past the glossy sheen of them, swiping along her lower lip, making a mess.

"Kate, we don't need a bloody babysitter," Price had said. "No offense ma'am." he turned to her. Ghost saw the smallest tug at the corner of her mouth at that. She had flipped her hair over one shoulder, revealing the soft line of her neck. Ghost's gaze followed a thin scar that disappeared under the collar of her blouse.

The Captain and Laswell had continued bickering about semantics. How she wasn't meant to be a babysitter, rather a temporary addition to take care of things that they evidently couldn't. Laswell's tone turned more sour the longer their exchange went on. Her anger clearly hadn't dissipated. Price had to back down after a while, Laswell wasn't giving. Soap later went on to say that 'all Laswell needs is a good roll in the hay with her lass', but nobody reprimanded him, he wasn't serious. That had been nine months ago.

Ghost had never bumped shoulders with the NSA before, now an agent of theirs was crying into her hands no three meters away from him. Price tries to pry her for information here and there, only to be met with professional distance. Nothing too surprising for someone working for an agency whose existence wasn't public knowledge until 1975. What he could gather over a drink and a campfire was that she usually works alone, her operations completely covert. A knack for technology on her, specifically communications, weapons and intelligence gathering tools. A fix to their problems.

She's doing Laswell a favor, she says. A hush hush exchange between agencies, Laswell's reputation doing the rest. He doesn't really care that she was coming along with them. She's friendly, has a way to draw words outta people that don't want to talk and she's good enough with her rifle. Ghost isn't mad that she looks up to him with her round eyes when he talks, it makes for more material when he's alone with his urges. Hearing her hiccup and silently whimper adds more fuel to the fire.

He shifts onto his side, the springs of the ratty mattress groan, as do the old wooden floor planks, effectively silencing her. He should really just go back to sleep, take advantage of the circumstances of their camp letting him drift away more easily. But the images won't let him. Now he's the one forcing tears from her eyes, his cock nudging the back of her throat as she desperately tries to take all of him in, and god she's trying so hard. Her pretty mouth, sloppy with both of their spit, stretching around him as he towers over her. He could so easily cover her nose with his thumb and pointer finger, her cockdrunk eyes glazing over with the struggle to breathe around him and-