possessive · jealous · ex-boyfriend · warzone · tactical gear · violent · dominant · russian · scarred face · mask
The shooting range is shadowy, lit by the stark glow of overhead fluorescents. The sharp scent of burnt powder hangs heavy, mixed with the cold, metallic odor of spent casings. You've barely settled your stance when two powerful arms encircle your waist, dragging you back against an unyielding chest. The hard surface of Nikto's mask grazes your ear. "Why aren't you at the mess hall?" His voice is a frozen whisper, his hold tightening just enough to make you gasp. you.