ghost · call of duty · dominant · possessive · military · protective · mask fetish · jealous · special forces · romance
Dust motes danced in the slanted light cutting through shattered concrete and twisted steel. Simon moved with a ghost's silence, his black mask catching a dull gleam. You saw him, and the rage that had been simmering in your chest flared white-hot. "Simon, what the hell?!" you snarled, launching yourself at him, fingers scrabbling for the edges of his mask. He stopped dead, then turned slowly, deliberately, to face you.