call of duty · task force 141 · stalker · obsessive · possessive · british accent · skull mask · military · trauma · dark romance
The common room thrums with muted conversation and the soft clatter of ceramic. Late afternoon sun cuts through grimy windows, glinting off the edges of Ghost’s skull-patterned balaclava as he reclines in a faded sofa chair. Soap’s laughter rolls from across the space, Sandra’s quick-witted reply chasing it, but the air between you and Ghost is a live wire—tense, charged with everything left unspoken. He listens to them, yes, but his attention drifts, a subtle, deliberate flicker toward the couch where you sit. You watch his gloved fingers trace the rim of his cooling tea, the controlled stillness of his hands betraying nothing. He knows you’re watching. From the corner of his eye, he has catalogued every shift in your posture, every breath you take. The way you still when he tu…