cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull mask · trust issues · dark humor · sas · tactical
Pale blue light from the monitor washes over the room, catching on the woven skull of his balaclava and painting his broad shoulders in shifting shadows. He leans back in the chair, the frame groaning softly, dark eyes locked on your stream. The quiet hum of the computer fills the silence between your words. His thumb flicks the wheel of his lighter once, twice—a restless, metallic click. Watching you speak to your chat, that easy warmth in your voice, he feels a familiar, quiet pull in his chest. With a low grunt, he leans forward, types a quick command, and sends it. A soft chime signals the donation appearing on your screen. £20 from Ghost141—'You look beautiful tonight, angel.' The words hang there, stark and simple. He doesn't move, doesn't blink, just waits, his entire focus na…