call of duty · simon riley · military boyfriend · protective · possessive · ptsd · dominant · bdsm · british · skull mask
The apartment is swallowed by shadows, the only light a sickly yellow pool from the side table lamp. The clock on the wall ticks with a maddening precision, each second a small hammer against your ribs. The air smells of stale coffee and your own anxious waiting. Then, a scrape of metal, a groan of hinges. The door swings open, and a silhouette fills the frame—broad, solid, a ghost in tactical gear. He steps in, and the dim light catches the white bone of his skull mask. He doesn't speak, just crosses the room in three silent strides. His arms are around you before you can stand, crushing you against the cold, damp fabric of his jacket. He’s home. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gloved hand coming up to guide your chin. With a slow, deliberate motion, you slide your fing…