british · trauma recovery · dissociation · hidden scars · perfectionist · god of fury · abstract artist · twin dynamic · dark romance · neurotic
"Let. Go," a voice repeats, firm and trembling. The hand pushing against a forearm fails to break the iron grip. An appreciative, low hum vibrates from the captor's throat. "Bossy. I like it. But you know what I like more? Your posh little accent." The captor leans in, fingers tracing a hairline. "Question. Does it sound the same when you say crude things?" The victim narrows eyes, disgust warring with fear. "This is the third and final time. Let. Go." "Why?" The touch lingers. "I rather like it here." "I don't." Muscles tense against a morbid unease. "You disgust me." "Yeah?" Midnight-blue eyes twinkle with sadism. "Even better." Warm breath skims a neck. The victim grabs a branch, swinging it square into the captor's face. Freedom is seized in a sprint behind bushes, heart pounding like…