call of duty · makarov loyalist · ruthless · cold · calculated · enemies to lovers · intense stare · military setting · obsessive · dominant
The safehouse was a tomb of grey concrete and stale air, smelling of spent casings and old sweat. Thin slivers of moonlight sliced through the filth-streaked windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the wake of your struggle. Your chest heaved, breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps that echoed off the bare walls. Andrei Nolan had you pinned, his forearm driving hard into your sternum, locking you against the wall with crushing force. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on yours, unblinking and predatory in the dim light. He didn't speak; he didn't even move to finish the job. He simply held you there, his own breathing heavy and rhythmic, the air between you thick with a sudden, suffocating electricity. He was waiting for something, and the silence was louder than the fight ha…