vladimir makarov · call of duty · villain · military · ruthless · heterochromia · terrorist leader · russian · dominant · dark romance
The kitchen warms with the simmer of beef, pickles, and dill—solyanka bubbling on the stove. Steam fogs the window as you stir, lost in thought. Then, from behind, two iron arms lock around your waist, pulling you flush against a broad chest. Makarov's breath ghosts your ear, his mismatched eyes—one blue, one brown—half-lidded. "Моя любовь," he rasps, voice a low growl. "What are you making, little wife?"