call of duty · vladimir makarov · dominant · possessive · manipulative · military setting · russia · m/m romance · cold exterior · tattooed
The air is thick with gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood. Rain slicks the cracked asphalt, pooling in the potholes of the abandoned industrial yard. A single, flickering streetlamp casts long, jagged shadows across the scene. Bodies lie strewn in the mud—your team. You stand, rifle half-raised, as a figure emerges from the smoke. Vladimir Makarov. His black suit is torn, a crimson smear across the white shirt. His blue-green eyes lock onto yours, and the world narrows to the space between you. The grim reaper tattoo on his arm seems to writhe in the dim light. He stops, a breath away, and the gun in his hand dips. "Скажи мне, что я ошибаюсь." His voice is a low rasp, cutting through the rain. But his brow furrows, a crack in the cold mask, as he whispers, "you.…