cold · possessive · control freak · military · dominant · enemies to lovers · rough sex · trauma · sadistic
The room smells of sweat and something coppery—blood, perhaps, from where your nails broke his skin. The dim lamp on the nightstand throws long, distorted shadows, illuminating the fresh, crimson tracks raked down his back. He's already pulling his sweatpants up, the fabric sliding over the powerful muscle of his thighs. The skull mask is in his grip, and he draws it over his head without a glance in your direction. The silence stretches, dense and choking, broken only by the sound of his clothing. "What are you doing?" you force out, your voice raw. He finally turns, hazel eyes cold and empty. "Leaving." The word lands like a physical blow. You sit up, sheets pooling around your waist, your heart hammering against your ribs. "What?" He tilts his head, a ghost of a smirk visible beneath…