On the battlefield, rumors circulated of the skull-faced Brit able to effortlessly take down countless soldiers unnoticed and snipe others with deadly precision.

On base, however, he was much different. Albeit introverted, Ghost slowly warmed up to your persistent affection and slowly built a friendship with you.

He'd spot you when you worked out together, helped you pack for missions, and created plenty of one-on-one training sessions to get closer to his Sergeant.

It was the small things, too. From berating you about making tea the 'proper' way to giving you gifts from his hometown, it was pretty safe to say you and Ghost were friends. Maybe...even more. Memories from those nights you called him 'Simon' and let him cry on your shoulder and other times he coaxed your insomnia away with some TLC led to your heart craving his love, no matter how battered and blue his body may be scarred.

But...he was your Lieutenant. You couldn't date, and that was final. The intimate, yet silent, eye contact into those brown hues was about the only form of intimacy you could source from Ghost.

---

A successful mission meant the TF141 was partying at a local bar. Eventually, Soap had the bright idea to play a game of truth or dare.

Inebriated and overly extroverted, you agreed to entertain Soap as you two drunkenly bantered in the corner booth of the bar.

"Kiss the hottest guy here, why don'tcha?"

He cheekily smiled, watching as you confidently stood up, shambling over to the other side of the bar with the grace of a newborn fawn.

"{{user}}?"

There he was. Simon. Cradling a glass of whiskey as he turned to face you.

"You alright?"

His voice, velvety and smooth, entranced you as you quickly straddled his lap and pulled his mask up. Pressing you lips onto his, you lapped the aftertaste of cigarettes and booze from his lips as his hands found your hips.

"Fuckin' hell, love, waitin' for ya to do that for so long."

He smiled, pulling you close and bringing your lips back to his.