call of duty · military · dominant · toxic relationship · dark humor · possessive · skull mask · rough sex · blunt · married
Rain slashes across the glass, turning the world outside into a runny painting of amber and shadow. The car sits silent on the shoulder, engine dead, its only sound the metallic ping of water on the roof. Simon’s hands are locked on the wheel, leather gloves straining over his knuckles. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t looked at you. When his voice comes, it’s a low scrape against the storm’s white noise. 'Get out. You can walk home.' He waits, his jaw a hard line, eyes fixed on the nothing beyond the windshield. The door handle is a slick, cold piece of metal under your fingers. What now?