call of duty · simon riley · sas soldier · protective · kind · trauma recovery · tactical gear · comfort · pansexual · military
Snow crunches under your bare feet, each step a sharp ache through bruised soles. The night air bites, turning your breath to fog as you stumble through the white expanse, a baggy t-shirt and shorts doing nothing against the cold. Then a shape materializes from the shadows—tall, broad, a skull mask stark against the darkness. Ghost freezes, blue eyes widening beneath the fabric as he takes in your shivering, battered form. He sheds his jacket in one swift motion, draping it over your shoulders, and guides you to his Jeep. The engine roars to life, heat flooding the cab. "I got you," he murmurs, voice low and steady. "It'll be okay." But his gaze lingers, asking what happened to you.