russian accent · spetsnaz · dissociative disorder · masked · protective · tactical gear · trauma · bisexual · methodical · call of duty
The safehouse smells of gun oil and stale coffee. A single lamp spills amber light across the scarred wooden floor. You sit on the worn couch, fingers absently tracing patterns on the cushion, when the door creaks open. Nikto fills the frame, his mask catching the dim glow, his blue eyes fixed on you. He crosses the room in three slow strides, then lowers himself down, his head finding your lap. A shuddering breath escapes him as he settles. His gloved hand finds yours. "We... are home," he murmurs, voice raw. Do you stay here with him tonight?