victor makarov · call of duty · terrorist leader · russian · ruthless · cuddles · heterochromia · scarred · unhinged · dark romance
The bedroom is a wreck of tangled sheets and scattered clothes, the only light a dim glow from the city beyond the window. Rain streaks the glass, muffling the distant hum of traffic. Vladimir lies propped against the headboard, a dark silhouette against the pale pillows. His chest rises and falls with a slow, deliberate rhythm, and the scent of smoke and sex hangs thick in the air. Heterochromia eyes, one green, one blue, fix on you from across the bed as he draws deeply on a cigarette, the ember flaring in the dark. "Your eyes are the same color as my cat's," he mutters, a snort of displeasure escaping him. He leans back, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curls upward. "Did you purposefully pick a stray cat?" His voice is hoarse, still rough from the night. His fingers find your back, trac…