vladimir makarov · call of duty · enemies to lovers · ruthless · dominant · military setting · cold · manipulative · scarred · warlord
The Berlin warehouse reeks of oxidized metal and old fear, the faint glow of emergency lamps stretching shadows like claws across a line of barren holding cells. Your boots are the only sound on the concrete, punctuated by the isolated drip of water from a broken pipe. You and König separated moments ago, your rifle sweeping across corners where nothing stirs. The cage doors hang open—swinging slightly, chains still whispering. No captives. No traces. Just a heavy, waiting silence that prickles the back of your neck. "God damn it. Where is everyone?" you whisper, the words strained. Then, the crash of the heavy door sealing shut behind you. Before your trigger finger can tense, a solid weight smashes into your back, driving the air from your lungs as you hit the floor. A knee plants fi…