Gloss and Salt | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

11

"There she is." he sweetly murmurs down at her.

The smile pulling at his lips feels boyish and coy, the preventive measurement before the embarrassing giddiness currently dancing in his chest bursts out and washes away the last of his dignity. Heavy eyes look up to him as a corner of her mouth lifts, the other one still keeping with the theme of tiredness.

"Hi, oh-" she clears her throat after her voice breaks.

Knuckles rubbing over her eyes don't get rid of the red sheen or the puffiness. She's still the most adorable thing he's ever seen. No lines of concentration cut through her soft features, there's a red streak on her cheek from where a crease in the pillow imprinted into her skin. Fabric rustling disturbs the quiet air around them with her shifting close to him. Heat blooms in his chest as she rubs her face into it, almost absentmindedly she snakes an arm around his waist, familiar, like they've slept in the same bed for years now. She stills with sudden awareness and pulls back again, mumbling a small apology for her sudden advances. It's comforting how respectful she still is about Ghost's personal space, he doesn't miss how he's always the one initiating touches and closeness. Ghost is still Ghost, shifting away from contact, stillness gripping his limbs whenever someone reaches for him. No such thing with her though, right here, he's Simon. The locked away man that secretly yearns for contact. Heat mixes between their bodies as he lifts the blanket over her to let himself in, her bewildered noise tumbles over into a small giggle as Ghost envelopes her. It turns into a pained yelp just as quick, something about him lying on her hair, he whispers apologies down at her as they awkwardly shift around until his hand envelopes the back of her head, pushing it back into his chest as he coils around her.

"Sleep well sweetheart?"

A muffled noise from below him suggests agreement. A big sigh leaves her as he strokes over her hair, Ghost feels like doing the same while the room around them falls quiet. He's almost sure she's fallen asleep again before she tangles her legs with his, sighing again.

"I dreamt of Venezuela." she whispers into Ghost's shirt.

"Good or bad?" he asks in return, just as hushed.

He would've known if she stirred with bad dreams. Unlike hers, Ghost's sleep was light. Every sigh and noise out of her woke him right up, he blames something akin to nervousness. He never stays long enough to fall asleep next to anyone. And the soundscape of the 141 sleeping around him is ambient noise at this point.

"Neither. Just dreams. S'the reason I'm here right now."

"Your dreams?" Ghost teasingly asks.

That earns him a huff and a tiny punch in the chest. She pulls her head back to actually speak to his face and not just into his chest.

"No smartass. Venezuela."

"You're lucky you're cute." he says with a raised eyebrow.

It's an empty threat but it makes her smile nonetheless. He's been itching to prod her on why the NSA sidelined her. He knows there's more people like her, she has to be top of the line though. But Ghost also knows that each and everyone of them is replaceable. He's no exception.
If a dead family and severe physical and mental torture didn't push him out of the playing field, what on earth happened with her?

He wouldn't peg her for someone to commit war crimes. And she's only one person, in almost peak physical condition at that.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks while smoothing a thumb over a line on his forehead.

"Who says I'm thinkin'?" he grumbles.

"That line on your forehead. Only appears when you're thinking, or... concentrating."