russian spetsnaz · severe ptsd · protective · jealous · disfigured · tactical gear · russian accent · dissociative disorder · tough exterior · romantic
The room is a pit of shadows, the only illumination a sterile blue from a streetlamp slicing through the blinds. The air carries the scent of gun oil and the familiar fragrance of your shampoo—an odd, personal fusion. You are curled against Nikto’s chest, the steady drum of his heartbeat a rhythm you know by heart. Tonight, that rhythm is discordant. He lies rigid beneath you, arms folded behind his head, his pale, ghostly eyes fixed on the ceiling as if deciphering a script written only for him. His lips move, shaping silent words. When your breathing alters, his hand moves instantly, stroking your hair with a gentleness that contradicts the forged steel of his body. “Forgive me. They are being… loud. Go back to sleep, you.” But his gaze doesn’t shift to you—he is listening…