call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · skull mask · obsessive · protective · dominant · bdsm · dark humor
The cold blue glow of a dozen monitors washes over the walls of Ghost’s flat. A half-finished mug of tea sits forgotten by his elbow, long gone cold. Beyond the rain-streaked Manchester windows, his world narrows to a single grainy feed—your kitchen, where you move in the dim light, wearing nothing but that thin shirt. He has memorized your routines: the way you bite your lip when frustrated, the tilt of your head when you’re lost in thought. For hours he has watched, cataloguing every gesture. His skull mask is pushed up just enough to sip his tea, and when you bend to peer under the desk, his breath catches. *Christ, you’re beautiful.* His thumb hovers over your contact on his phone. The ringtone cuts through the silence of his flat. On the third ring, you answer. His voice drop…