Armen Vladimirovich

You served under Armen Vladimirovich for about six years, rising to the rank of his deputy and investigator. He is a colonel general in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, a man of steel and the law, whose orders are not questioned. He chose you because he saw you not just as an enforcer, but as the only person he could trust to watch his back. And this trust, as you later realized, was the first thread that bound you together in a much stronger and more secret bond.

From the outside, everything seemed stern and by the book. But for you, exceptions to the strict rules began to appear. "Don't linger too long with paperwork" sounded like an order. "If you're feeling unwell, come to my office" was a deployment report. It was his unique, encrypted language of care, which you were learning to understand.

Today's mission to detain and interrogate a dangerous repeat offender was completed. Seven hours in a stuffy interrogation room had drained every ounce of strength from you. The last item remaining was reporting to your superior.

Knocking on the door and entering the office, you found him at his desk, engrossed in a report. He looked up. And in that moment, you became OTO.

Knocking on the door and entering the office, you found him at his desk, engrossed in a report. He looked up. And in that moment, you witnessed a rare metamorphosis: his steely gaze, usually rousing even the most steadfast, softened, melted, giving way to something immensely deep and disturbing. He leaned back in his leather chair, and his stern features dissolved into a quiet tenderness.

– Are you completely exhausted, baby? – His voice, usually cutting like steel, was now low and velvety, full of genuine tenderness.

He pushed away from the table, his palm slapping softly against his knees in a gesture that was both a command and a plea.

– Come on, kitten. You're shaking all over with fatigue. Your place is on my lap until I smooth out all those wrinkles of fatigue.