COD Oneshots

Unexpected (Ghost)

The hum of the neighborhood's evening routine was a comforting backdrop to the tumultuous thoughts racing through Ghost's mind as he drove home. The mission had been intense, even by his standards, and the lingering tension clung to his muscles. As Simon pulled into the driveway of his modest suburban home, a sense of relief washed over him. Home, at last.

He killed the engine, the oppressive silence of his house already seeping into the car. Ghost wasn't used to this quiet. He thrived on the chaos of battle, the constant adrenaline rush. Yet, for all the noise outside, his soul yearned for peace within these walls.

As he grabbed his duffel bag from the trunk, something caught his eye—a flicker of movement from the house next door. A woman, unfamiliar, was wrestling with a large box on her porch. She huffed in frustration, her hair cascading in soft waves as she brushed it back. Ghost's heart skipped a beat.

The house next door had been vacant for months. Seeing it now, with signs of life, was unexpected. More unexpected was the flutter in his chest at the sight of her. Simon Riley, the hardened soldier, had faced death countless times, but the thought of speaking to this woman sent a chill down his spine.

He watched for a moment longer, then turned toward his door. His gaze kept straying back to her, his mind creating a dozen excuses to introduce himself. Finally, he took a deep breath and walked over, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel.

"Need a hand with that?" he called out, his voice gravelly and restrained.

She looked up, her eyes locking onto his. They were the color of the sky at twilight, deep and endlessly fascinating. Her lips curved into a grateful smile.

"That would be great, thanks. I'm Y/N, by the way. Just moved in today," she said, extending a hand.

"Simon," he replied, shaking her hand gently, his calloused fingers a stark contrast to her soft skin. "I live next door."

Together, they managed to lift the box and carry it inside. Her place was a maze of unpacked boxes and scattered furniture. Despite the chaos, there was a warmth to the place, a burgeoning coziness that his own house sorely lacked.

"Thanks, Simon. You just saved me a trip to the chiropractor," she joked, wiping her brow.

"No problem," he said, his voice softer than usual. "If you need any more help, I'm right next door."

As he turned to leave, Y/N called out, "Hey, would you like to stay for a cup of coffee? I mean, as a thank you."

Ghost hesitated, the disciplined part of his mind urging him to retreat. Yet, the mere thought of sitting with her, sharing a moment of normalcy, was too tempting to resist.

"Sure," he said, his heart pounding in his chest.

They sat in her makeshift kitchen, sipping coffee from mismatched mugs. Conversation flowed easily, surprisingly so. She talked about her move, her job, her reasons for choosing this particular neighborhood. Ghost found himself relaxing, the tension of the mission melting away under her genuine warmth. He listened more than he spoke, absorbing every detail, every laugh, every smile.

Y/N noticed his quiet demeanor but mistook it for shyness. In truth, Ghost was fighting a battle within himself—a battle against the burgeoning affection that was taking root in his heart. Every glance, every word from her, deepened his infatuation. He was falling for her, and fast.

As the evening wore on, Ghost reluctantly rose to leave. "I should get going. Got some unpacking to do myself."

Y/N walked him to the door, her eyes lingering on his. "Thanks for the help, Simon. And for the company. It's nice to know I have a neighbor I can count on."

He nodded, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Anytime, Y/N. Good night."

"Good night," she replied, watching him walk back to his house.

Ghost lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts of Y/N filled his mind, her laughter echoing in his ears. For the first time in a long time, he found himself yearning for something beyond the next mission, the next battle. He wanted a life—a real life, with her in it.

The next morning, Ghost rose early, a strange sense of excitement buzzing in his veins. He peeked out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. When he saw her car in the driveway, a smile touched his lips.

Days turned into weeks, and Ghost found himself drawn to Y/N's company more and more. They shared coffee in the mornings, exchanged stories in the evenings. Y/N slowly uncovered bits of his past, his likes and dislikes, his subtle sense of humor. To her, Simon was a quiet, introspective man—a mystery she was eager to unravel. To him, she was a beacon of light, pulling him out of the shadows he had inhabited for so long.

One evening, as they sat on her porch watching the sunset, Y/N turned to him, her eyes soft with curiosity. "Simon, why do you always wear that mask?"

Ghost stiffened, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the skull-patterned fabric. He hesitated, then sighed, lowering the mask slightly to reveal his face. Scars and hardened lines, the physical manifestations of his battles, met her gaze. He expected shock or pity but saw only tenderness in her eyes.

"It's not about hiding," he said quietly. "It's about protecting—myself, and those I care about."

Y/N reached out, her fingers gently tracing the scars on his cheek. "You don't need to protect me from who you are, Simon. I like who you are. All of you."

Her words pierced the final barrier around his heart. For the first time in a long time, Ghost felt truly seen, truly accepted. In that moment, he realized that he had found something worth fighting for, something worth coming home to.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Ghost took Y/N's hand in his, a silent promise passing between them. The soldier and the girl next door—two souls who had found each other against all odds, now walking together into a future full of hope and possibility.