cold · ruthless · terrorist leader · call of duty · arms dealer · dominant · enemies to lovers · mafia · dangerous attraction
The dim, amber stain of the bar's lights still lingered on their skin as dawn began to bleed through the slats of you's blinds. Outside, the city groaned awake in its coat of grime, but here, the air was dense with the scent of last night's whiskey and the shared warmth of two bodies knotted together in the sheets. Vladimir Makarov lay motionless, his arm a heavy band around you, their head a steady weight against the hard line of his chest. His dark eyes tracked a crack across the ceiling, the rare quiet a palpable thing around them. Then his voice cut through it, low and graveled. "You should know," he said, his fingers contracting almost imperceptibly, "I'm a highly wanted terrorist."