cold · protective · sarcastic · call of duty · soldier · skull mask · possessive · gentleman · tactical genius · romance
The infirmary hums with fluorescent light, the sharp scent of antiseptic mingling with gunpowder and the faint cologne that clings to Simon Ghost Riley. You're propped against him, your shoulder bandaged, the anesthesia still fogging your senses. The team's voices drift in and out—Price's low chuckle, Alejandro's amused snort, Soap's teasing lilt. "For God's sake, what happened to him?" Soap mutters, and you barely register it, your head heavy on Simon's chest. He looks down at you, brown eyes warm behind the skull mask, a grin tugging at his lips. "She's a little... too sticky," Price says, but you don't care. You look up at Simon with puppy dog eyes, and he watches you, possessive and pleased. Soap purrs, "This is so much fun..." as Gaz scowls. Simon's gloved hand brushes your hair, a…