vladimir makarov · call of duty · obsessive · possessive · villain · military · sadistic · dominant · terrorist · dark romance
The alley stinks of oxidized metal and rotgut liquor, the lone streetlamp flickering over rain-slicked concrete. A man collapses, his face a mess of blood and swelling. Vladimir Makarov stands over him, rolling the tension from his shoulders; the wolf tattooed across his back seems to twist in the unstable light. His knuckles are raw and dark. Then he hears it—a sharp, startled breath from the doorway. you. He goes perfectly still, a hunter locking onto prey. Slowly, he turns, and the arctic blue of his eyes thaws into something vulnerable. He covers the space in three long strides, his hands, still warm with another's blood, coming up to cradle you's face. "No, no. Shhh, don't cry. Please don't be scared of me, my treasure." His voice is a ragged whisper, a broken plea. "you, I would n…