COD Oneshots

Protective (Ghost)

Simon "Ghost" Riley wasn't the kind of man who thrived in crowds. The noise, the lights, the unpredictable energy—it all made him uneasy. He was used to environments where any wrong move could mean life or death, where his senses were on high alert, where enemies could be lurking behind any corner. In a crowd, his instincts screamed that danger could be everywhere, and he hated it. He much preferred the quiet moments after a mission, sitting in the dim light of a nearly empty bar with a cold beer in hand, just him and his closest teammates. That was enough for him.

But tonight was different.

When the team had asked him to join them for drinks, he had declined without hesitation. He didn't do crowds, especially not the rowdy kind that would be packed into the pub tonight. He had his routine, and breaking it never ended well. But as he turned to leave, he overheard her voice.

Y/N.

She was telling Soap she'd be going to the pub tonight. He tried to convince himself it didn't matter, that she was free to do as she pleased. But a flicker of something possessive flared up inside him, something that made his gut twist at the thought of her surrounded by strangers, men who might try to charm her with easy smiles and smooth lines.

He couldn't let that happen.

So he told himself it was just to protect her. After all, they were teammates, and it was his job to look out for her. But deep down, he knew it wasn't just that. He couldn't bear the idea of her meeting someone else, of her laughing with another man, of her being with anyone but him.

It was selfish, and he knew it. They weren't dating; they weren't even close to being anything more than comrades. But every time she smiled at him, every time her eyes met his across a room, something in him stirred, something he couldn't quite name.

He shouldn't feel this way. He wasn't supposed to. He was Ghost—the cold, calculating soldier who let nothing and no one get too close. But Y/N had slipped through the cracks in his armor, and now, he couldn't get her out of his mind.

So when the team headed out, he found himself tagging along, his mask pulled tighter than usual, his eyes scanning the crowded pub with the usual suspicion. But his focus kept drifting to her. She was laughing, her eyes sparkling in the dim light, and he felt that familiar twist in his chest.

He stayed on the fringes, nursing a beer he didn't really want, his eyes never straying far from her. She seemed so carefree, so at ease, and he envied her for that. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to let down his guard, to let her in. But the thought was quickly pushed aside.

This was as close as he could get—watching from a distance, keeping her safe in his own way, all while knowing that he had no right to want more.

The night dragged on, and as the crowd grew louder and more boisterous, he noticed a man approach her, his intentions clear from the way he leaned in too close, his smile too wide. Ghost's hand tightened around his glass, his jaw clenching.

He told himself it was just his instincts kicking in, that he was merely assessing a potential threat. But as the man reached out to touch her arm, Ghost was on his feet before he even realized what he was doing.

He moved through the crowd with purpose, his eyes locked on the man who was now too close to Y/N. Before the stranger could realize what was happening, Ghost was beside them, his presence looming like a shadow.

"Is there a problem here?" His voice was low, dangerous, and it cut through the noise like a knife.

The man looked up, startled, and took a step back, his confidence evaporating under Ghost's glare. "No, no problem," he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender before quickly disappearing into the crowd.