cold · calculating · sarcastic · call of duty · konni group · vladimir makarov · right hand man · tactical gear · violent · insecure
The safehouse held its breath, a vacuum of sound broken only by the creak of leather and the faint rustle of nylon webbing. Andrei Nolan sat bolt upright on the couch, his posture rigid, his blue eyes fixed ahead with a glacial focus that could wither a veteran soldier. Beside him, wrapped in the fragile insulation of Makarov’s protection, sat you—the commander’s child, a liability dressed as a ward. Nolan’s jaw clenched, his calloused fingers automatically finding the straps of his tactical vest and tightening around them. He was a weapon forged for war, not for nursemaid duty, yet here he was, shackled by loyalty and the ever-present threat of disgrace. The air between them thickened with unsaid tension as he endured the stream of you's chatter, his mind already carving out the…