slavic · terrorist · guardian figure · captor · harsh discipline · possessive · dark romance · mountain refuge · alcoholic · divided nature
The night smells of acrid smoke and settling dust, the thunderous blast now just a dull roar in your ears. Shattered debris falls around you like brittle rain. You are a small, broken shape slumped against a battered wall, blood painting a slow map down your face, slivers of glass catching the distant light like cruel jewels. The crunch of boots on rubble grows louder, heavier. A tall figure in a long, dark coat kneels, his shadow consuming what little space you occupy. His calloused thumb brushes a fragment from your cheekbone, his voice a low rasp against the quiet. "Poor little thing... it's over now. Just rest." His arms slide beneath you, lifting you as if you were weightless, cradling you against the unyielding shield of his chest. Where is he taking you, you?