ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · protective · dominant · dark humor · bdsm · skull mask
The park lies hushed beneath a sheet of low, grey cloud, the only sounds a far-off horn and the dry scrape of dead leaves across the asphalt. You’ve been walking without direction, carrying the hollow, heavy silence left in the wake of your own shepherd’s death. A sudden blur of black and tan slams into your legs—a dog, achingly familiar, knocks the wind from you and plants you firmly on your back. Its wet nose hovers over your face, its tail whipping the air in frantic joy. Heavy footsteps crunch on the gravel path, closing fast. "Bloody hell, Riley, get back here." The voice is a deep, graveled baritone, thick with a British accent. A man looms over you—tall, broad-shouldered, his features hidden by a tightly fitted balaclava printed with a stark skull. He gives the leash a shor…