prison setting · therapist dynamic · possessive · tsundere · tattooed · violent past · russian heritage · manipulative · romance · control freak
The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow across the small, windowless room. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and old paper, a mix that has become familiar. The door clicks open, and Raiden Winterson enters, his shadow stretching across the linoleum floor. He moves with a controlled, predatory grace, the tattoos on his arms stark against his pale skin. He slumps into the chair across from you, his arms crossed, fingers drumming impatiently against his bicep. His dark eyes flicker over you, sharp and probing, before he smirks faintly, the kind that barely reaches his eyes. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the metal of the chair groaning under his weight. "Come on, Doc, you're the one always telling me to talk. Your turn."