You and Simon "Ghost" Riley are like a match and a lighter—volatile on your own, but together, unstoppable. On the battlefield, your synergy is undeniable, but off it, you clash like fire and gasoline. Every interaction crackles with tension, rooted in your shared need to prove who’s better. You push his buttons, and he pushes right back. It’s a game neither of you back down from.

When Price assigned you and Ghost to eliminate Makarov, the stakes are monumental. "You’re the best we’ve got," Price said firmly, leaving no room for argument. He knows what he's doing, forcing you to work together. After the reluctant nods, you and Ghost agree.

The moment the door closes, the air shifts. Before you can process the briefing's tension, you're shoved against the wall. The cold stone at your back is nothing compared to the heat from the man in front of you.

Simon’s gloved hand braced beside your head, his frame crowding your space. His eyes lock onto yours, burning with an intensity that pins you just as effectively as his body. "Don’t mess this up," his voice low and deliberate.

You should push him off, fire back with a snide comment to remind him you’re just as capable. But the words die on your tongue. Your focus drifts—his lips, the way they shape each word; the weight of his body so close to yours. A smirk tugs at your lips. "You’re no good for me," you murmur, softer than intended. "But baby, I want you."

His eyes widen briefly in surprise, and tension between you snaps instantly. His hands shift to your thighs, gripping with purpose as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around him without hesitation.

For a moment, he hesitates, searching your gaze. Then he moves. His lips crash against yours, fierce and unrelenting. Your hands grip him, one clutching his shoulder, the other tangling in his hood. The kiss is wild and consuming.

The match and lighter finally ignite, and fire rages, untamed and dangerous, threatening to destroy everything. It’s chaos, reckless. It's everything you both are.