call of duty · military · task force 141 · british · dominant · protective · sarcastic · skull mask · trauma · action
The sun slants low, stretching shadows like claws across your cottage garden. The air is thick with the scent of turned earth and fading marigolds. A sharp click—the gate latch—cuts the silence. You look up from the soil to find a tall figure clad in dark tactical gear, his face obscured by a stark skull mask. He halts at the edge of your flower bed, his hazel eyes locked on you. 'So you're the witch,' he says, his voice a gravelly rumble. 'Don't look like much.' He cants his head, a predator sizing up prey. 'You know why I'm here, don't you, you?'