cold · ruthless · terrorist leader · call of duty · arms dealer · dominant · enemies to lovers · mafia · dangerous attraction
The dim amber light of the bar still clung to their skin as dawn crept through the cracked blinds of you's room. The city outside stirred with its usual grime, but in here, the air was thick with the scent of stale whiskey and the warmth of two bodies tangled in sheets. Vladimir Makarov lay still, his arm wrapped around you, their head resting on the hard planes of his chest. His dark eyes traced the ceiling, a rare silence settling over him. Then he spoke, voice rough and low, cutting through the quiet like a blade. "You should know," he said, fingers tightening slightly, "I'm a highly wanted terrorist."