Gloss and Salt | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

7

The collision of Ghost and the Agent from the other side of the universe. They're similarin more ways than one.

The retelling of chapter 6 from the Agent's point of view.

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Men in power feel too fucking safe for their own good. President Palencia sits at his desk trying to cut his cigar after he's turned the light off. Amber liquid is already poured in his glass, swirling with an invisible substance that will put him into cardiac arrest about a week from now. The CIA's chemists really are something. Too slow is one of those things.

The missiles are aimed, funds are liquidated and Palencia's helicopter is being fueled for extraction right this second. The team back at Crypto City processed the information she'd relayed hours before quickly, like they always do, but those few minutes really did a number on her. Colonel Richardson cursed right into her ear as the decryption finally cracked into what would become the execution order for her. The CIA was too slow. Again.

Her muscles ache and scream as she reaches down for her gun. She never has any personal issues with the people she kills, but the bullet that eats its way into the back of his skull might carry a twinge of schadenfreude. The floor under the couch which she just crawled out beneath of was so fucking dirty, the dust still burns in her eyes. One of his delegates he'd invited to gloat in front of, had the nerve to sit himself down on it while she shifted underneath it for millimeters at a time while trying not to give away her hiding spot and make her body stop screaming at her for spending hours in a contorted position.

The cut cigar rolls underneath said couch, hopefully it isn't found for a while. Let it suffer the same fate that she's just been in because of its owner spending the last hours drinking and laughing in his comfortable chair. At least he was nice enough to open the window for her before he died.

Richardson's voice comes through her earpiece, giving her the final warning.

"Last opportunity for contact. Give me something or you're on your own."

Before she gets to respond, the door handle presses down. She's out of options in this position. Another painful bolt crashes through her body as she presses herself against the wall next to the door, right beside the hinges of it.

The guy's surprisingly quiet for being such a big motherfucker. His broad shoulders and thick arms call forth echoes in her head. But she has the advantage here. He doesn't even bother to turn for the light switch after he's closed to the door behind him. He just keeps looking at the corpse on the desk, not even moving a muscle, not checking in on his president, not leaving. What the fuck is he doing?

His hands ball into fists as he stands there, looking down. Her arm rises, aiming at his head, maybe this'll be the last bullet she has to fire today, she's ready to get out of here. His broad figure is a reminder of what's waiting for her back at the hotel. Something in her chest flutters as her finger finds the familiar dip of the trigger.

Then, his hand reaches up. Suddenly, her feet push forward, muscle memory guides her hands. One over his mouth, gun to his head, drilled and practiced until she dropped. She even has to stand on her toes to reach up to him but the sour strain in her angry muscles winds them tight as she pulls him back, crushing the back of his head into her shoulder.

"No hagas ruido o mueres." she whispers into his ear.

The metallic smell of blood emanates from him, but it carries an undercurrent of something familiar.

Fog in the woods. A cold morning spent in front of a crackling fire. The sun falling on a window sill in England.

His shoulders relax, the weight pushing into her front feels like the one pushing her into a mattress, soft hair slipping through her fingers while his kisses stole her breath. The memory softens her grip, a grave mistake if she's honest with herself. The guy leaning back into her could snap her in half and not even break a sweat. But Ghost and everything revolving around him makes her so incredibly soft and pliant, she hates it sometimes.