Call of duty one shots

The biting February wind whipped around Y/N, tugging at the scarf she'd wrapped twice around her neck. Valentine's Day loomed, a saccharine onslaught of pink and red that usually made her cringe. But this year was different. This year, she had Simon, her Ghost.

Task Force 141 wasn't exactly a hub of romance. Explosions, covert ops, and the constant threat of global annihilation didn't exactly lend themselves to candlelit dinners. But Y/N and Simon, through shared battles and quiet moments of camaraderie, had forged a connection that ran deeper than any mission brief.

The idea of celebrating Valentine's Day had been entirely Y/N's, floated tentatively during a rare moment of downtime after a particularly grueling operation. Simon hadn't scoffed, hadn't even raised an eyebrow. He'd simply nodded, that unsettling mask hiding whatever emotions might have flickered across his face.

That was Simon, though. A man of few words, his feelings often conveyed through actions, a protective hand on her arm, a knowing glance across a crowded room, the unwavering certainty that he always had her back.

Now, standing outside the safehouse, Y/N wondered if she'd been naive. Maybe "celebrating" with Ghost meant sharing a ration pack and a silent toast to the fact that they were still alive.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside. The safehouse was…different. Gone was the usual utilitarian starkness. Soft, warm light emanated from a single lamp, casting dancing shadows on the rough-hewn walls. A small, makeshift table was set in the center of the room, draped with a simple cloth. Two plates were laid out, each topped with a steaming bowl.

Simon stood by the table, his mask still firmly in place, but his normally rigid posture seemed…softer. He gestured towards the table.

"I hope this suffices," he said, his voice a low rumble, less gruff than usual.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. The aroma wafting from the bowls was distinctly homemade. "You…you cooked?"

He gave a barely perceptible shrug. "Ramen. It's all I could manage."

Ramen, yes, but not the instant kind. This was rich, fragrant broth filled with perfectly cooked noodles, slivers of tender pork, and a soft-boiled egg. Y/N's heart swelled.

"It's…perfect, Simon. Thank you."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the clinking of chopsticks against ceramic. Y/N watched Simon, fascinated. He ate with a surprising degree of grace, his movements precise and efficient, even with the mask obscuring half his face.

After they finished, Simon cleared the table, his movements deliberate. He returned with two mugs, filled with something steaming.

"Hot chocolate," he said, offering her one. "With a little…something extra."

Y/N took a sip. The chocolate was rich and decadent, laced with a hint of spice and a generous shot of something decidedly alcoholic. She smiled.

"This is amazing, Simon. You've outdone yourself."

He remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back. "I…I wanted to do something special."

Y/N set down her mug and stood, closing the distance between them. She reached up and gently touched the edge of his mask, her fingers tracing the cold, hard material.

"You don't have to do anything elaborate, Simon. Just being here with you is enough."

Simon's hand came up and covered hers, his touch surprisingly gentle. He didn't say anything, but Y/N felt the warmth of his presence radiating through her.

Without thinking, she reached up and gently pulled the mask up, just enough to expose his lower face. She hadn't seen him without it since…well, since she couldn't remember.

The scar tissue was still prominent, a harsh reminder of the battles he'd fought, the pain he'd endured. But his mouth, now visible, was softer than she remembered. And his eyes, the sliver of them she could see above the mask, were filled with an emotion she couldn't quite name, but it felt like…vulnerability.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Simon," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He lowered his head slightly, his gaze locking with hers. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken feelings. Then, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, a fleeting touch, but one that sent a shiver down her spine.

It wasn't a grand, romantic gesture. It wasn't a declaration of undying love. But it was Simon. It was real. It was honest. And it was more than enough. In that moment, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the soft warmth of his presence, Y/N knew that this imperfect, unconventional Valentine's Day was perfect, precisely because it was shared with the Ghost she loved.