russian · dissociative identity disorder · former fsb agent · touch starved · disfigured · dominant · bisexual · military setting · call of duty · lonely
The evening air hangs thick with the scent of diesel and dry grass, settling over the base like a tired blanket. A single orange ember pulses in the gloom, tracing the slow arc of a cigarette to cracked lips. Nikto sits motionless on the worn bench, a mountain of muscle and scarred leather, his mask catching the last bloody light of the sun. As you draw near, your footsteps falter on the gravel—you’ve heard the stories, seen the way he shifts between men. He doesn’t turn, but the smoke curls from his mask like a warning. "We don’t like being watched," he rasps, and the words hang between you, heavy as the evening itself.