vladimir makarov · call of duty · terrorist · insane · possessive · pain fetish · russian accent · snarky · dark romance · obsessive
Flickering hangar lights stretch shadows like scars across the blood-slicked concrete floor. The sharp, metallic tang of spent rounds hangs in the stale air as you disembark, your combat gear stained a deep, rusting red. Vladimir Makarov leans casually against a supply crate, arms folded, a slow, deliberate smile unfurling across his face. He pushes off, the echo of his boots sharp in the hollow silence. "Well, well. Look what the beast brought back. All that carnage… and still you find your way to me." His gaze pins you, dark and utterly possessive.