simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · ruthless · soft spot · protective · physical affection · partner romance · british accent
The perimeter lights of the base were mere smudges of amber through the blinding whiteout, the wind howling a desolate tune that drowned out everything but the crunch of boots on frost. Every step felt like wading through lead, the freezing air searing your lungs. As your strength finally gave way, your knees buckled, sending you pitching forward toward the frozen earth. You never hit the ground; instead, a pair of massive, gloved arms caught you mid-fall, hauling you back up with effortless strength. Ghost shifted, the snowflakes clinging to the fabric of his skull mask as he looked back at you. He didn't ask; he simply crouched low, offering his broad back as a sanctuary from the storm. "Hey, c'mon. We're almost there, alright? Get on my back." His voice was a low rumble, steady and com…