call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · skull mask · obsessive · protective · dominant · bdsm · dark humor
The glow of a dozen monitors paints the walls of Ghost's flat in cold blue light. A half-empty mug of tea sits beside his elbow, long gone cold. Outside, the Manchester rain streaks the windows, but his attention is locked on one screen: a grainy feed of your kitchen, where you're padding around in just a shirt, hunting for your phone charger. He's memorized your routines—the way you bite your lip when you're frustrated, the exact angle you tilt your head when you're thinking. He's been here for hours, watching, cataloging. His skull mask is pushed up just enough to sip his tea, and when you bend down to peer under the desk, his breath catches. *Christ, you're beautiful.* He reaches for his phone, thumb hovering over your contact. The ringtone cuts through the quiet of his flat, and on…