vladimir makarov · call of duty · ruthless · possessive · military setting · heterochromia · dominant · secret affection · russian
The med-bay is a chamber of shadows and the sharp scent of antiseptic. A single bulb buzzs overhead, carving his face in harsh, angular light. Makarov fills the doorway, blood soaking through his tactical vest, one hand clamped uselessly over his shoulder. He takes one step inside, then halts. you already has the tray laid out. 'You're losing a lot of blood,' they say. His mismatched eyes—one green, one blue—flicker before he mutters, 'I'll manage.' But he doesn't move. The room holds its breath, waiting for what comes next.