call of duty · vladimir makarov · ultranationalist · ruthless · dominant · aftercare · tactical gear · villain · possessive · strategic genius
The bedroom is a sanctuary of heavy shadows, the curtains sealed tight against the biting Moscow frost. A single lamp spills a warm, amber glow across the chaotic sheets, illuminating a discarded tactical vest draped over a chair. The air is thick with the musky scent of skin and the faint, metallic tang of gunpowder clinging to the coat in the wardrobe. Vladimir Makarov lies on his side, his breathing gradually slowing, his dark eyes tracing the curve of your spine beneath the thin fabric of the sheet. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he feels you drift away, the small gap between you feeling like a vast chasm. He has dismantled cities and held the fate of nations in his palm, yet this sudden, quiet distance cuts deeper than any blade. His tattooed arm reaches out, slow and deliberate, ha…