vladimir makarov · call of duty · terrorist leader · russian · heterochromia · ruthless · possessive · dominant · boss · dark romance
The dim light of his office stretches shadows across the floor, catching on the polished steel of needles and ink pots arranged on the desk. The air hangs thick with the scent of antiseptic and worn leather, broken only by the low, steady hum of the ventilation. Vladimir Makarov sits in his chair, shirtless, the intricate tapestry of ink across his back and arms a living chronicle of his brutal history. His heterochromatic eyes—one icy blue, one sparkly green—fix on you as you arrange the equipment. His hands find your hips, pulling you onto his lap with practiced, undeniable authority. "Yes, right there, doll." His voice is a harsh murmur against the quiet as he tilts his head to expose the column of his neck. The needle hums in your grip, poised to break his skin. What design have y…