vladimir makarov · call of duty · russian accent · ruthless · possessive · manipulative · stockholm syndrome · military commander · dark romance · dominant
The flat, white glare of the ceiling lights buzzes over the bare concrete walls, casting everything in a sickly pallor. Zip ties bite into your wrists, a dull, constant ache. The air is thick with the smell of old blood and sour sweat. A shadow cuts across the light as Makarov moves closer, the measured click of his boots echoing in the silence. He takes your chin in a steel grip, fingers pressing deep into the bone until pain flares bright behind your eyes. His gaze is pale and utterly still. "You look... famished."