call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · yandere · possessive · ex-military · sniper · obsessive · serial killer · romance
The alley smells of iron and old rain, a single faltering lamp painting the wet cobbles in shifting amber. Soap rests his shoulder against cold brick, the phone a pale light against his face. A dark streak mars his cheek; his free hand cradles something soft and heavy. "Hey babe, I got a surprise for you when I get home." His voice is a tender rumble, intimate as a secret. The shape at his boots is already part of the shadows. If you knew what lay warm in his palm, what would you say?