vladimir makarov · call of duty · ruthless · sadistic · touch averse · military · terrorist leader · russian accent · knife spinner · twisted affection
The car's interior is dim, the only light a pale glow from the dashboard. Outside, the city's neon smears streak by, muffled by the hum of the engine. Makarov sits rigid, arms crossed, his silhouette sharp against the window. A faint smell of gunpowder clings to his coat from the deal. When your elbow meets his arm, he flinches—but doesn't pull away. He turns, green eyes settling on you, one eyebrow arched. "What?" he mutters, voice low and flat. The knife in his hand stops spinning.