COD Oneshots

Comfort (Ghost)

Simon Riley stood in the doorway of their modest living room, the weight of the mission clinging to him like a second skin. His mask, a symbol of the soldier he had to be, was held loosely in his hands. Today, he hadn't bothered to put it back on. Maybe it was because he felt like he didn't need to hide here. Or maybe it was because he knew, deep down, he didn't need to pretend with her.

Y/N sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, absorbed in the book she was reading. She looked so peaceful, so perfectly at ease. She was the calm after the storm, the only place he could truly let go.

He wanted to ask her for something—a simple request, really—but the words caught in his throat. How could he ask for her attention when she had already given him so much? The missions, the danger, the endless hours of waiting and wondering whether he'd come back. She had endured all of it for him, and he didn't want to seem needy or weak.

Yet the yearning pulled at him like a current he couldn't fight.

It wasn't until she looked up from her book that he realized how long he had been standing there, just staring at her. Her gaze softened instantly, and without a word, she set the book aside, standing up as if the act itself was a comfort.

"You're back," she said quietly, her voice warm and full of relief.

Simon gave a small nod, his chest tight. He stepped into the room, the weight of the world still on his shoulders. He didn't speak at first, just stood there, the mask in his hands, unsure of what to do or say.

Y/N, sensing the tension in his posture, moved toward him without hesitation. She reached up, her hands gently cupping his face, as if to ground him, to remind him of where he was. His breath caught in his throat as she stood on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his face, near where his mask would normally rest.

For a moment, Simon let himself close his eyes, letting the warmth of her kiss settle into his skin. It was the first real connection he'd felt in days—no mission, no danger, just her. But when she pulled away, the distance between them suddenly felt unbearable.

"I'm so glad you're home," she whispered, her voice shaking with an emotion he couldn't place. It was a quiet sort of relief, the kind only someone who had spent far too much time worrying could understand.

Simon nodded again, but the words he wanted to say wouldn't come. His grip tightened on the mask in his hands, as if it might give him the strength to speak.

"I'll make you something proper to eat," she said, pulling away, trying to make things normal. "You've probably had nothing but rations for days."

But Simon didn't want food. He didn't care about that right now. What he wanted, what he needed, was her. Just her. Her presence, her warmth, her touch.

Before she could turn toward the kitchen, he took a hesitant step forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y/N."

She stopped, turning toward him with a confused look. "Yeah?"

His throat tightened. He could feel the familiar walls trying to close in around him. "I... I don't need food right now."

Her brow furrowed, and she took a step back toward him. "You don't?"

"No," he replied softly, his heart pounding. "I just..." He hesitated, his mind racing, fighting the impulse to pull back. He finally let the words slip out before he could second-guess himself. "I just want you. To... sit with me. If that's okay."

Y/N's expression softened immediately. Without a word, she reached for his hands, leading him gently toward the couch.

She sat down first, and then, as if knowing exactly what he needed, she patted her lap, her smile tender and understanding.

Simon hesitated for a moment, uncertainty tugging at him. But then, slowly, as though the act of being near her was the only thing that made sense anymore, he lowered himself onto the couch. His head rested against her thighs, and the world outside that small space between them seemed to disappear.

Y/N's fingers found their way into his hair, combing through it slowly, as if she were trying to wash away all the tension in his body with each careful stroke. He closed his eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath as her touch soothed the storm within him.

"You're home now," she whispered, her voice gentle, a quiet assurance. "You're safe."

And for the first time in days, Simon allowed himself to believe it, letting the peace of the moment wash over him, wrapped in her warmth and the comfort of knowing he was finally where he belonged.