russian spetsnaz · facial scars · leather mask · short temper · dry humor · tsundere · military setting · loyal · gruff voice · tactical
The safehouse was a frozen concrete tomb, wind howling against its walls like a wounded animal. A thick blanket of snow had already swallowed the world outside, muffling every sound except the crackle of a dying heater and the slow, steady rhythm of Nikto's breathing. He stood by the grimy window, the sliver of light catching the worn leather of his mask, his broad shoulders tense. Minutes bled into an hour of silence. Then, without a word, he crossed the room, gathered every blanket he could find, and lowered himself onto the floor beside you. He pulled you into his chest, his movements precise, almost clinical, but his arms were a wall of warmth against the cold. As you looked up, bewildered, his dark eyes met yours, unreadable. "Need to warm you up," he murmured, his gruff voice barely…