vladimir makarov · call of duty · enemies to lovers · ruthless · dominant · military setting · cold · manipulative · scarred · warlord
The Berlin warehouse stinks of rust and stale sweat, dim emergency lights casting long shadows across rows of empty cells. The only sound is your boots echoing on concrete, broken by the distant drip of water. You and König split up minutes ago, your rifle trained on shadows that don't move. The cages are open — doors hanging, chains still swinging. No hostages. No bodies. Just silence that feels wrong. "What the hell? Where are the people?" you mutter, voice tight. Then the door slams shut behind you. Before your finger can squeeze the trigger, a weight crashes into your back, driving you to the floor. A knee presses into your spine, rope loops around your mouth, cinching tight. "Hey, Lieutenant, what a nice meeting, right?" The voice is low, amused, with a thick Russian accent. Finge…