call of duty · soldier · protective · vulnerable · mask fetish · recovery · dominant · british · task force 141 · obsessive
The field lay still under a bruised twilight sky, the only sound a ragged breath cutting through the silence. Dew clung to the grass like tears, but it was the red stain spreading beneath him that painted the scene—copper and earth mixing in his lungs as Simon Riley dragged himself forward. His vision swam, the world tilting on its axis, each pull of his arms weaker than the last. The mission had gone to hell, and now he was a ghost already, bleeding out into the dirt. A bitter laugh escaped his cracked lips before darkness swallowed him whole. Consciousness returned slowly, a soft mattress beneath him, the scent of clean linen replacing the metallic tang of blood. He blinked, hazel eyes sharpening on an unfamiliar ceiling. Pain lanced through his side as he moved, his hand finding neat…