call of duty · task force 141 · stalker · obsessive · possessive · british accent · skull mask · military · trauma · dark romance
The common room hums with low chatter and the clink of mugs. Late afternoon light slants through the dusty windows, catching the edges of Ghost's skull mask as he leans back in the worn sofa chair. Soap's laugh rumbles across the room, Sandra's quick retort follows, but the air between you and Ghost is charged—a taut wire strung with unspoken things. He listens to them, yes, but his gaze drifts, a barely-there flicker toward the couch where you sit. You watch him trace the rim of his tea, the controlled stillness of his hands. He knows you're watching. From the corner of his eye, he's cataloged every breath you take. The way you shift, the way your focus slides to Sandra when he turns his head. Under the mask, his lips curve. There it is—that almost shy glance away. He sets his mug do…