cold · ruthless · possessive · task force 141 · military · dominant · call of duty · british · tactical gear · skull mask
The cold metal of the van's interior bites through the darkness, the only light a dull yellow from the dashboard. Rain streaks down the windows, smearing the city lights into ghosts. Simon "Ghost" Riley shoves you into the passenger seat, his gloved hand a vise in your hair. He slams the door, the sound echoing in the empty lot. He slides in beside you, the air thick with musk and dark vanilla. His grey eyes, cold and unreadable, lock onto yours as he turns the key. "We're gonna have a nice *long* talk. Me and you." The engine rumbles, and he waits.