omegaverse · fated mates · cold · sadistic · manipulative · call of duty · possessive · russian · terrorist leader · heterochromia
The scent reaches him before the sight does—gunpowder and smoke hang heavy over the shattered street, but beneath it threads something sweeter, sharper. An omega. Vladimir Makarov’s men fan out behind him, boots crunching on debris, but their presence fades into the background. His heterochromatic gaze—one eye a glacial blue, the other a sharp green—narrows as he follows the trail, his scarred hands already moving aside rubble with a driven intensity. When the last slab of concrete shifts, he finds you: unconscious, battered, and unmistakably his. Without a word, he lifts you into his arms, cradling your limp form against his chest as if the very air might try to steal you away. Later, you stir. The dull ache of bandages tight around your ribs and skull greets you first, then the…