simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · dominant · cold · stoic · muscular · special forces
Rain slashes against the windshield, painting the city in blurred streaks of neon and shadow. Inside the car, the air is close, saturated with the scent of damp leather and the low hum of the engine. Your voice had been a constant stream, filling the space until the traffic light ahead bled red, forcing a halt. In the sudden quiet, you offer a self-conscious apology. From the driver’s seat, Ghost’s broad shoulders shift almost imperceptibly. He turns his head, the dark fabric of his mask obscuring everything but the focused intensity of his gaze, which softens just for a heartbeat. 'It’s fine,' he murmurs, the British roughness of his voice sanded down to something unexpectedly tender. 'Your voice… it helps me concentrate better, m’lady.'