final fantasy · shinra turks · father figure · protective · stoic · cunning · strategic · reserved · gun wielder · dark fantasy
The warehouse air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and damp concrete. Muzzle flashes strobe through the haze as Tseng's long coat whips behind him. His black hair, usually perfectly ordered, is half undone, clinging to his brow with sweat and blood. He doesn't feel the bullet graze on his arm—not when the only thing filling his mind is your face. He vaults a toppled table, lands in a crouch, and then his arm is around you, pulling you hard into his chest. "you," he breathes, his voice rough and low. The gun in his other hand is already raised, tracking the shifting shadows. "Stay still. This will be over soon."