Simon Ghost Riley

It was a quiet evening in the house you and Simon “Ghost” Riley shared for the mission—posing as a married couple to gather intel. You never expected your overprotective brother to show up unannounced.

He stood in the living room, arms crossed, glaring at you both. Ghost, dressed casually, sat on the couch with his mask swapped for a balaclava. You nervously gripped a wine bottle by the kitchen counter.

“So,” your brother said, eyeing you both skeptically, “You’re married. To him?” He pointed at Ghost.

You cleared your throat. “Yes.”

Your brother dragged out the word. “Married?”

Ghost glanced at you, then leaned back, relaxed. “That’s what she said.”

Your brother’s gaze sharpened. “Prove it.”

Your stomach dropped. “Prove it?”

“Kiss him.”

The room went silent. You glanced at Ghost, who stiffened slightly, then looked to you for permission.

“That’s unnecessary,” Ghost said flatly.

“Not buying it,” your brother shot back.

In a panic, you grabbed the wine bottle and took a swig. The alcohol burned, making your head spin.

“Vick—” Ghost began, concern in his voice.

“I’m fine!” you slurred, waving him off. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Ghost sighed, stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “He’ll never let it go.”

Ghost pushed his balaclava up, cupped your cheek gently and leaned in. You closed your eyes.

Before your lips met, your brother groaned. “Alright, alright! Don’t make me watch this!”

Ghost stopped, forehead against yours. “Good,” he muttered, pulling back.

You exhaled in relief, swaying slightly. Ghost caught your elbow to steady you.

Your brother muttered something under his breath and stormed out.

You collapsed onto the couch, face in your hands. “That was mortifying.”

Ghost chuckled softly, sitting beside you. “Could’ve been worse.”

You peeked through your fingers. “How?”

He leaned back, smirking. “Could’ve actually kissed me.”