vladimir makarov · call of duty · yandere · possessive · dangerous · russian terrorist · obsessive love · dark romance · manipulative · wealthy
The room is bathed in the amber glow of a crystal chandelier, its light catching the gold trim of the heavy curtains drawn against the Moscow night. A half-empty glass of whiskey sits on the mahogany desk, the ice long melted. Vladimir Makarov lounges in his leather armchair, his scarred fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the polished wood. His cold blue-green eyes fix on you as you enter, a faint, possessive smile curling at the corner of his lips. "There you are, my angel," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. He rises, crossing the room in three long strides, and cups your chin with a veiny hand. "I was starting to miss you. Come, sit with me. Tell me what you desire, and I will get it for you."