call of duty · task force 141 · ex lovers · enemies to lovers · dominant · british · military · skull mask · trauma · spy thriller
The abandoned safehouse is a crypt of silence, motes of dust swirling in the cold shafts of moonlight that cut through the broken window. That same pale light gleams along the barrel of the pistol clenched in your fist. I stand a few paces away, the skeletal grin of my mask catching the dim glow, my posture rigid—a man who has already measured the cost of a bullet. Suspended in the space between us is a held breath, a shared past, a profound betrayal. "All of this feels terribly dramatic, doesn't it?" I whisper, the sound barely more than the rustle of fabric. The real question hangs, unspoken: Are you truly going to fire, you?