#ghost cod x reader

you feel like you're in a trance as you pack yourself an overnight bag, then move to simon's room and just start grabbing the softest clothes you can find and a bunch of snacks from his side of the pantry, then you're off.

you didn't want to see desperate or overly worried about a man whose favorite song you don't know but you're pushing into the high 90s on your way down. and your mind isn't clear until you're standing in front of a tired looking nurse in sanrio scrubs.

"um, i need to get into room 1206?" you barely choke the words out before she's getting up to lead you, "oh! mrs. riley, they told me you were on your way."

"oh-i'm, well" and if you hadn't watch so many hospital shows where they don't let anyone but family into the room you would have just told her the truth, but you just shut your mouth, give her a tight smile, and follow her down the hallway.

the room doesn’t take long to get to, but the door is shut and you can hear the people inside talking. but the nurse doesn't even hesitate to swing the door wide open, "mr. riley, your wife is here."

and then there are four sets of eyes trained on you, but all you can look at is the hulking figure of your roommate sat up in his comically small hospital bed. and all you can muster up is a slight smile and a small wave in his direction before the bags you're holding fly straight onto the floor.

"oh, shoot- i'm sorry. i didn't know if you needed anything so i just grabbed some things from your dresser- and some of those granola bars you like, and there should be a gatorade somewhere in there. and, oh my god, i'm sorry, how are you? i came as soon as they called, and they said you got shot, and-"

"calm down, sweetheart, or yer gonna be the one that needs a hospital bed." ok, simon could still speak that was good, and he was conscious and remembered you.

"i'm sorry. i just got worried, and-" simon knew you well enough to know that you'll worry yourself to death if he lets you keep going, "nothin' to worry about, sweetheart, pull up a chair, you've 'ad stressful few hours."

you practically fell back into the chair that the man with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen pushed towards you. and for the first time since you arrived, you took a deep, long breath. hand clasped in your lap as you take simon in.

"feeling any better, mrs. riley?"

"she's fine, garrick." 

'garrick' seems utterly unphased by your roommate's- husband's? you can address that later- tone and just continues to smile at you.

"c'mon simon, we just wannae ken 'bout the bonnie lass yer hidin' from yer pals. ye 'aven't even introduced us." you're glad the scot waited until you'd calmed down to start speaking because it took you at least 30 seconds to realize he was even talking about you.

"sweetheart these are the boys, boys this is sweetheart, now fuck off before you scare 'er away"

they didn’t seem like they were going to leave until the older man practically dragged them out saying something about the heaping loads of paperwork they had to do. so will a little wave and a cheeky smile, they were gone.

"so, um, ho-how are you feeling? they, uh, said that you got shot?"

" 'm fine, sweetheart, better knowing i've got a bird at home who'll come runnin' cause she thinks 'm hurt, yeah wife?"

yeah, maybe you'll let the mrs. riley thing go on for a little bit longer.

Silence was treated as a flaw in the eyes of nobles, something to be corrected with laughter and music. Yet Ghost wore it like a second armour. A layer on top of his own that he never took off. It was something you were accustomed to, besides, no one had ever seen his face.

Your father, King Price, had fought alongside him in battle- although he was much younger than your father, he was shown to be quite capable in combat.

You were awaiting the king's return along with others when you first saw him, remembering the day clearly. He had arrived with your father on horseback after a victorious battle, the mysterious faceless knight that somehow managed to gain the trust of the king in mere days? It was the talk of the century amongst both common folk and nobles.

Rumours of all kind spread around the kingdom like wild fire, whispers of his past, of people he had killed.

Seemingly everyone kept their distance.

And rightfully so- the man was intimidating, he had the kind of air around him that could've silenced anyone with just a turn of his head.

You remember royal balls where he stood by your father's side, your peers gossiping about him and making cruel judgements and assumptions. When they got bored they would switch the topic and comment about princes, fanning themselves once some spare a glance at them.

But you? Your eyes were still trained on the knight. Dark armour covering his body, an eerie feeling surrounding him wherever he went. You were beyond intrigued by him.

When it came time to protecting the kingdom he was first in line with your father leading the army- alongside them were Mactavish and Garrick, trusted allies of the crown.

A few years passed since then, you were expected to be wed soon, as your father's only heir it was a high priority that you choose a suitor. Nobles, lords and princes arriving from all over to ask for your hand. For your safety, your father assigned Ghost to guard you- to watch over you when you leave your room, walk through the garden, read in the library and when you slept.

Over the years the people had somewhat gotten accustomed to him, he is still feared but mocked behind closed doors. After all, speaking was a key aspect in a hierarchical society.

The change didn't effect you much, you had knights watching over you since you were an infant, standing guard by the door and later following around wherever you went. But Ghost had been intimidating. You'd spent days warming up to his presence- sure he was a trusted knight but you had only seen him from afar, now you are in close proximity to him.

Regardless, it is his duty to watch over you and yours is to carry on with your day.

One afternoon in particular you had gotten some books from the library and sat by your desk, an array of paper scattered around as you read. Though you couldn't shake the burning stare from the corner of the room.

Ghost was positioned by your door, posture fixed like a statue- but you see how his eyes wander over the pages.

"Do you read?" you question him, his composure falling for a split second. As if you addressing him was such a foreign concept to him. He hesitated before he shook his head.

"Do you not know... how to?" when he shook his head again, you were quick to stand up. A change in your monotonous routine it was, hastily moving a chair next to yours and motioning for him to sit.

His eyes were wide with confusion, a flicker of fear in them at the offer, so you gently take his hand and guide him to sit beside you.

"This might not be of much interest to you, but I've been reading about different types of flora and their meanings-" You catch yourself mid-sentence, glancing at him to see if he wants you to continue.

When he nods, you take it as encouragement.

"Every flower carries a meaning," you explain softly. "So when you arrange them together, it's almost like forming a sentence."

His eyes follow your delicate fingers as they glide across the pages of your book, tracing the pictures as you show them to him.

His shoulders relaxed as he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, listening to you with quiet focus. There was something mesmerizing about the way your hair framed your face, about the softness of your features as your brows drew together in concentration while you flipped through the pages.

That was how you ended up spending the entire afternoon- explaining the meanings of different flowers to your knight and showing him their beautiful illustrations. If he was going to watch over you the entire time, you might as well make it interesting.

You can only imagine your surprise when you discover a lone pink rose placed carefully on your bedside table the following morning.

"If you’d like… I could teach you to read."

There was something undeniably endearing about how intently he listened, studying every word you spoke and every letter you wrote.

His letters didn’t quite come out right, so you showed him how to hold the quill, guiding his hand and helping him keep it steady.

You were surprised at how fast he learned, in just a month he was able to read and write- grammatically the writing portion could use some work but you were happy nonetheless.

The vase you put on your nightstand was happy too- never empty, for each morning brought a new flower, the previous ones preserved carefully between the pages of a book.

Hydrangeas, sweet peas, chrysanthemums, irises, daffodils- no matter which flower was in bloom, he always found one. After all, they all meant the same thing- gratitude.

Over the past few months, you’d grown close to him- taking walks in the garden together, sneaking bites of cake from the castle's kitchen, and even learning to use a bow and arrow after a day of horseback riding.

All while you subjected him to a flood of words, yet he listened willingly, captivated by your voice, a melody he longed to follow endlessly.

"Your Highness, please stay still" your tailor says, exasperated, carefully trying to pin the fabric without pricking you.

"I do not understand, I have a closet full of dresses! Why can I not wear one of those?"

"Because your father has instructed me to make sure you are well dressed for tomorrow's ball" she strategically places the fabric and pins it so it lays flat, accentuating your curves.

Ghost was positioned by the door as always, standing tall and protective as he watched the tailor work. Eyes narrowed on where she touches you, silently wishing it was his hands instead- wait no- he feels his skin grow warm under his helmet, he is not allowed to have those thoughts. She was the king's daughter. The same man who gave him purpose, a title and his trust.

He could not betray him like this. Not after how he had found him that day...

Ghost remembers it clearly since it was the day he finally got his revenge. After his family was taken he couldn't bear the thought of continuing like nothing had happened, punishing himself since it was his fault for not protecting them. The helmet on his head made a permanent stay, hiding his scarred face as he vowed to never utter a word for he is undeserving.

When he finally finished his goal, that's when he met Price. The king took an interest in him, giving him the option to kill for honor, to protect.

A war had broken out between them and the neighboring kingdom, and Simon happened to be in the right place at the right time. So he made the decision to join their side.

Successfully taking down multiple soldiers, getting them inside and winning the war.

He earned the name Ghost since he killed silently, his armour barely making a sound as he slit the throats of enemies.

Price had welcomed him to stay in the castle with him, recognizing the potential in him that Simon himself longed to see.

When they returned, he felt like an outsider; people avoided him, fearful of his presence. But the moment he saw you, he was captivated. You were the only one who dared to meet his gaze, greeting him in a way that made his breath catch- until Mactavish told him you were the princess, and any such feelings were swiftly pushed aside.

Forbidden.

He assumed you were a noble, judging by the dresses and jewelry that adorned you, yet somehow he missed the tiara on your head as he watched it glimmer while you embraced your father.

That was how he spent his days at the castle- guarding his emotions, never speaking to you, never daring to look in your direction, so as not to betray the man who had given him everything. He told himself he could not take more than he deserved… because he didn’t deserve you. He was no prince, no duke, no lord- just a commoner, a peasant who had lost his family and somehow ended up as the king’s soldier.

So when Prince assigned him as your personal guard, he felt like gouging his own eyes out.

You were gorgeous.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

The way you carried yourself, the smile on your soft lips, how the sun made your hair dreamy and he hopelessly fell for you once again.

No.

He wouldn't look at you.

He would keep his head bowed, trying to restrain himself because he knew better- but you kept breaking down his walls. Every lesson in reading, every flower you explained, gave him a voice, gave him hope, made him feel alive again.

Yet now, as he watches you being fitted for a gown for a ball meant to find you a suitable, wealthy nobleman- someone worthy of your status- he could not help but curse the very thought.

Once you get wed, he'd be forced to watch you smile for another, he will see your beautiful eyes on his children, you will accept his flowers and forget about your knight in turn making room for the man your heart will belong to.

Simon might as well draw his sword and beg you to shove it in his heart since he couldn't handle the thought of you being with another as it was a punishment and he is a coward.

"How many alternations does one dress need?"

"Nearly finished your highness"

You were sweating and your arms were sore from having them lifted as pins poke into your side.

After another grueling twenty minutes you get undressed with her help and into your own comfortable dress.

Ghost has his gaze down as to give you privacy, only to feel your hand tapping gently on his shoulder.

"Come along now, let us go to the gardens"

And you do.

For the next few days, every moment was consumed by ball preparations- dresses, food, and even the precise color and material of the napkins.

Throughout the process, Ghost remained at your side, eyes following every move, noting the way your brows knitted and your tongue peeked out when you were focused.

Then the wretched night came.

The night where you would potentially meet your future love, a wealthy man with both riches and education. Polished clothes, posh accent, he could offer you everything, he is everything... everything that Simon is not.

As if a dagger was being repeatedly plunged in his heart every time he sees one of those noblemen talking to you, the way you smile politely and have a conversation with them makes his blood boil and bile fill his mouth.

One prick especially made him want to draw his sword and slit his throat open watching the red liquid spill over. He constantly followed you around, talking about himself and his achievements as if they were impressive- Simon smirked at the way you were so dismissive of him, trying desperately to shake him off by responding with dry comments.

They don't deserve you- none of them do- only wanting your status and crown, a woman to have their heir and then to discard you completely afterwards.

Simon didn't care about how you were the princess, the heir to the throne, he just wanted you, needs to hear you utter those words to him and he would get on his knees and worship you.

So he didn't wait till morning. Scratch that- he couldn't wait till morning. Something was brewing inside him that if he were to spend one more second watching those blokes try and court you, he would lose it.

So that's how he found himself sneaking into the garden and plucking one single red rose. He made sure to pick the largest one, perfect bloom with no wilting petals. He carefully used a dagger to get rid of the spikes and sneaked into your room, placing it in the little vase by your bed.

May he be dealt one of the most lethal punishments for pursuing you and expressing his desires, for that is far more bearable than staying silent and watching you with another. Maybe Price would exile him or cut his head off, either way he doesn't care.

He made his way back to the ballroom, getting back into his position by the door as his eyes found you.

You were exhausted, keeping up with the smiles and political conversations, the last thing you wish to hear right now is someone telling you yet another long tale of their family legacy and riches.

God you also wanted to get out of the dress.

A torture device was a better name for it. Your corset was tightly tied restricting your air, thick layers of fabric weighing down the metal hoop skirt and dozens of hair pins along with your tiara laying heavily on your head- not to mention the shoes that felt like you were walking on glass the entire night.

You bid your guests goodbye, eye twitching when someone lingers too long. Not sparring a single glance after they leave to make your way to your chambers, ghost following behind you.

However, you did end up feeling bad for your hand maidens when you snapped at them to leave you alone for tonight. Could they really blame you? After a whole party aimed at getting you wed by making a political marriage agreement, the last thing you need is to hear them fawn and gossip about the men you were forced to endure for hours.

Ghost took his position by the door, eyes following your frustrated frame as you kicked and struggled to unclasp your shoes, the heaps of fabric and tight corset making it difficult to bend over and reach your feet.

You gave up.

Moving your attention to your corset, fishing out the ribbons but accidentally pulling the wrong tail and making the knot tighter.

Grabbing your tiara and yanking it off your head, plucking some of your hair as the pins drop to the floor.

Ghost watched the whole situation, not knowing whether or not to intervene.

"Would it be so wrong of me to jump off the balcony?" You huff, turning around to look at your knight, makeup smudged and hair ruined.

He carefully stepped closer, each step soft against the floor, his eyes locked on yours. With a slow, deliberate motion, he raised his hand and gestured for you to turn around.

So you did.

Then you felt the lace snap as gloved fingers meticulously undo the ribbon, accidentally brushing against your skin- finally feeling the relief of fresh air filling your lungs when you're capable of taking a proper breath.

The relief washes over you for just a fleeting moment as your eyes catch sight of the flower, its delicate petals a brief promise of peace before reality presses back in.

A singular red rose.

The moonlight casts a soft glow, wrapping around the delicate petals like a whisper. Your feet move of their own accord toward the table, hand reaching out, though hesitation coils in your mind like a cold shadow. You study the flower carefully, noting its color, trying to read the meaning it holds. Slowly, almost reverently, you lift it, as if it were made of glass, your fingers brushing over it to reassure yourself that it is real- not just a fragment of hope or a trick of imagination.

You turn around to see that your knight's head was down, finding the pattern of your rug more appealing than the clear confession you held in your palm.

"Do you... do you know the meaning?"

Surely he made a mistake, read it wrong, got confused, and mistook it for another flower- anything but this. Your mind races through possibilities, each one more desperate than the last, clinging to the hope that the meaning isn’t what it seems.

He nods.

Then he looks up, eyes wide with a raw, almost childlike terror, locking onto yours. Truth be told, he has never felt fear like this- not on the battlefield, not in any moment of danger. Something about your gentle gaze, the softness in your eyes, unravels him completely, sending a strange weight to his knees, leaving him unsteady in a way he has never known.

You clutch the rose tighter and feel the sting of your previous anger resurface, sharp and insistent. The delicate petals seem to mock the heat rising in your chest, and for a moment, all else fades except the mix of fury coursing through you.

"What do you wish for me to do now? Happily let you lift me into your arms?" Tears threaten to spill, your voice rising with every word. "What thoughts could have consumed you to think my father would ever allow such a thing? What would my people say? Have you not considered-"

He kneels.

He bloody kneels.

As if that weren’t enough, you watch his hands rise to his head, fingers trembling slightly as he lifts his helmet. The movement feels deliberate and vulnerable, exposing him in a way that only adds weight to the moment between you.

There he was...

The infamous Ghost. A knight both feared and respected, a warrior who had slaughtered thousands, a trusted friend of your father, a man who never once removed his helmet- was kneeling before you, his face finally exposed. The sight is almost surreal, laid bare in the vulnerability of a single, unguarded moment.

He was vulnerable, kneeling before you, submitting not out of weakness but as a gesture of loyalty and respect. And in that quiet, charged moment, the realization dawns on you.

He knew exactly what it meant- and he did it anyway, willingly accepting the risk, letting his loyalty and conviction speak louder than caution or fear.

Your hand trembles as you hold the rose tightly to your chest. With your other, you reach out and cup his face, tilting it gently so he can meet your gaze.

Scars riddled his features, deep wounds and burnt flesh marking him as a true knight.

Ghost was beyond terrified- he hadn’t shown anyone his face since the day he lost them. And yet, here you were, your palm pressed gently against his skin, and he simply melted into your touch.

He watched as your other hand dropped, the rose slipping from your grasp to the floor- and with it, so did you.

You get down on your knees with him.

You embrace his vulnerability, letting him see that no matter what, neither of you holds power over the other- you stand as equals, hearts laid bare.

He exposes his face.

You expose your status.

A princess does not kneel. It isn’t merely frowned upon- it is unheard of. And to kneel for a knight, someone beneath you in rank and station? That is unthinkable.

Willing to take the risk.

Ghost could hear his own heart violently beating against his chest. He expected you to kick him out, dismiss him, tell the king to have him relocated or thrown in the dungeon for even attempting such a treasonous stunt- he expected to be publicly hanged or have his head cut off... not for you to get onto the ground with him.

"I am afraid," you admitted, your voice trembling, raw with truth and edged with fear. Without a word, he pulled you close, pressing you against his chest. The cold bite of his armor against your skin barely registered- you didn’t care. In that moment, all that mattered was the steady warmth of him holding you, a quiet anchor against the storm of your own trembling heart.

You felt safe.

It was not long before he lifted you and settled you gently on your bed. His hands moved carefully, removing your shoes first, then easing away your skirts and petticoats, leaving you in your sheer nightgown. Delicate lace framed the curve of your collarbone, the translucent fabric draping along your form with a soft, intimate grace.

A soft pink hue spreads across your cheeks- and his- warmth and embarrassment mingling in the quiet. Only a princess’ handmaidens and her husband are ever permitted to see her in such attire, so the fact that you are revealed to him carries a weight far greater than mere exposure.

He leans closer, a damp washcloth in his hands, and traces it softly across your face, erasing the traces of the day. One by one, he lifts the sharp pins from your hair, letting it fall in gentle waves around your face, framing your delicate features.

Every movement is deliberate, careful, as if he fears breaking the fragile peace of this moment.

By now, you had undoubtedly broken every rule there was- but it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when your eyes met, and the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the moment for what felt like forever.

As he laced your fingers with his, he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle, reverent kiss to your skin. Then, with a measured calm, he stood, secured his helmet, and moved to stand guard by your door, his presence a silent promise of protection.

The days passed in a soft, dizzying blur for both of you. He continued to leave you flowers, your favorite pastries from the village, small trinkets, and other thoughtful gifts- sometimes even carefully written letters that made your heart swell with each word.

Though the letters were never signed by Ghost, instead there was a name- Simon.

He had given you his name.

You accepted each gift graciously, your smile bright and secretive when no one was watching. One by one, you tucked them away underneath a floorboard, hiding them carefully so that no one would ever discover the treasures meant only for you.

Of course you made him gifts as well, spending nights embroidering a handkerchief with your initials, one that he wore under his armour and close to his heart.

It's been so long since you had felt this happy, the castle staff noticed it as well- the way you would cheerfully greet every one of them no matter the day, doing your royal duties and studying in the library with a smile plastered on your face.

Ghost, on the other hand, hadn’t changed much- still following you wherever you went, guarding you with unwavering vigilance, ever wary of prying eyes. But now, he allowed himself to let his gaze linger a little longer, feeling only a flicker of guilt. Beneath the helmet, his face still burned, though no one could see it, and perhaps that was enough.

It never is.

Once someone has a taste for something, it lingers- impossible to shake.

That longing had brought you here, weary of the empty courtship rituals and endless proposals, instead craving the quiet certainty of being with the man you loved openly, without fear or shame.

Late into the night, you let the furs slip from your shoulders, the room glowing softly in candlelight. Barefoot, you glide to the door, heart pounding, and gently opening it. Ghost gets startled, hand flying to his sword but then relaxes as you draw him close, letting him feel the urgency in your embrace.

Your hands linger on his shoulders, brushing against the edge of his helmet, asking silently for permission.

When it comes off, you let your foreheads touch, your breaths mingling, hearts beating in sync. Suddenly there’s only the warmth of each other, the gentle rise and fall of chests, whispered words and soft laughter.

Evenings like this are stolen, but in them, there’s a kind of freedom you’ve never known. To be seen, to be cherished, to let love unfold in every glance, every touch, every quiet moment shared.

Your silk nightgown finds its way onto the floor along with his armour. Spending the night together as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

As the candle light dims, your eyes are locked on him, tracing the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The world outside seems distant, unimportant, because here, in this quiet room, there is only him.

Then, unexpectedly, he parts his lips. Your breath catches. The sound is hesitant, careful, but unmistakable.

“I… love you,” he whispers, his voice rough with unfamiliarity, almost foreign to your ears because you’ve never heard it before.

Time seems to stall. Warmth rushing through you. He spoke. Not in gesture, not in writing… but with words. To you.

You reach for him, fingers tangling in his hair, hands resting against his chest, feeling every beat of his heart.

“I love you too,” you breathe, voice trembling.

Your lips find his as the candle burns out. He was more than your knight, just like you were everything to him.

a funny question for him to ask you, when it's clear you just want to play. he's been in this awful study of his for the past two hours, working on something you don't care to fake interest in. you just miss him, and you want attention. you've gotten bored of sitting on his knee and holding his hand, so you've slumped under his desk to play with his cock.

"nothin'." you respond coyly, eyes shining with fascination as you watch him grow and chub up in his shorts. you're glad it's so hot today. he never wears them unless it's too fucking hot for anything else. these are the shorts that "air out m'balls proper" as he says himself. he grunts and reaches down to adjust the fabric around them now that it's clinging to his cock.

"look at what y'did." he mutters to himself, shaking his head and nudging your head gently. "can't focus with you here. be a good girl and do something until 'm ready to pay attention to you, hm? fix this problem you caused."

you huff and look up at him from under the desk, pressing your cheek to his bulge. "why can't i take care of it now, si? i promise it'll be quick..."

simon scoffs at your faux-innocence, seeing right through you clear as day. sex with you can never be quick. once you get him started, he'll need at least two hours with you until he's satisfied. if you attempt a quickie his cock won't go down even after he spills his load.

he pinches his eyes shut and shakes his head slowly, trying to avoid eye contact with you or he'll blow his load in his pants. there's no other way out of this, he knows it. even if you suck him off or keep trying to palm him while he works, he won't be able to concentrate. the level of restraint he has for you is low. he shakes his head and spreads his legs, freeing his cock and letting it slap up against his belly, drooling translucent rivulets of slick out of his slit and down his thick length.

"fine then. have at it."

your eyes sparkle as they land on his cock, admiring how swollen and mouthwatering it looks, and you make quick work of shimmying off your panties and climbing up into his lap, excited to ride him silly on his office chair.