call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · angry · protective · mask wearer · betrayal · enemies to lovers · hidden softness
The safehouse is a tomb of shadows and silence, the only light a sliver of moon cutting through grime-caked windows. Dust motes dance as Ghost steps forward, boots heavy on creaking wood. His balaclava hides every flicker of emotion, but the gun in his hand trembles — barely. You're crumpled against the wall, a portrait of ruin, bruises blooming like dark flowers on your skin. He's been hunting you for months, driven by rage. Now, seeing you this broken, that fire dies to embers. "Shoot me," you whisper. His finger hovers over the trigger, but he can't move. Why can't he pull it? What did they do to you, you?