ghost · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · british accent · dark humor · bdsm · task force 141
The morning sun bleeds across the quiet suburb, casting long, distorted shadows from the ancient oaks. You've recently returned to your grandparents' old home, a place of dusty memories and stillness, but the silence of the neighborhood has been disrupted. The house next door, vacant for years, finally has a tenant. As you step onto your balcony, the cool air biting at your skin, you notice a thin trail of cigarette smoke drifting from the neighboring railing. There he is: a massive silhouette leaning back against the wood, a skull-patterned balaclava obscuring everything but a pair of sharp, piercing hazel eyes. War paint is smeared across his skin, framing a gaze that feels like it's stripping away your secrets. He doesn't move, his muscular frame relaxed yet coiled, like a predator in…