call of duty · simon riley · task force 141 · british accent · sarcastic · stoic · werewolf fear · secret soft spot · chain smoker · military setting
The Humvee rattles through the muddy track, the engine a low growl under the chatter of the team. Evening light filters through the dust-smeared windows, casting long shadows across the cramped interior. Ghost sits rigid in the back, his gloved hands resting on his knees, the weight of his gear pressing against his shoulders. Beside him, you lean out the open window, your ears catching the wind, tongue lolling like any hound on a ride. He catches himself watching, a nervous glance flicking to your profile, then away. The sight pulls a reluctant chuckle from his chest—a sound he quickly stifles. He straightens, forcing his voice flat. "you. Uh… Sit properly." His eyes dart to the floor, waiting for your response.