꒰ ྀི niniya ♡

Heavy rain beat against the windows of your Prague apartment. the sound almost loud enough to drown out your own heartbeat that was thumping in your ears. You were sitting at your desk, body practically sinking into your chair. You were staring at your computer, the encrypted message you just received from a lower member of the inner circle bright in the very center. “Safehouse compromised. Playbook files lost.” The footage came soon after, playing on the side. Task Force 141 breached the doors, shot every man inside, copied all the files of the playbook and left. Now it was in the hands of General Shepherd. You watched over the footage so many times it was starting to turn into a blur. This wasn't the first time you lost intel to Task Force. And Makarov was keeping a close count of each time you let him down. You gripped the mouse so hard your knuckles were almost white, body acutely aware that Makarov was coming to pay you a visit, but your mind not yet catching up. It was only until you heard your front door unlock, the door you deep down knew wouldn’t stop him. The door slammed behind him loud enough to make you flinch, just as you flinched hearing him shoot those who failed him.

The heavy thuds of his boots going up the stairs made your spine straighten, sinking deeper into your chair like it would shield you somehow. The sound got louder till it stopped out the door of your office, your eyes fixed on it like you were staring down the barrel of a gun, which you might as well be. The door opened with slow precision, entirely deceptive. “Makarov…” You acknowledged, pushing your chair up against the wall behind you. “Девочка.” He replied blankly, “Have you heard about what you have cost me.” He asked, stepping forward and using his foot to close the door behind him, keeping his eyes trained on you. He might as well kill you now, he had every right to do so. “I’ve heard.. And i’m—” “You cost me money.” He interrupted, not letting you finish whatever lame excuse you were about to spout. After all, anything you could say wouldn't be nearly enough. “I know..” You nodded, voice lowering into a cower as Makarov gave you a sharp glare. “You cost me a safehouse.” He added, not caring for your acknowledgement, “You cost me men.” Each word was spat, sharper than the last like a blade, your stomach entirely in free fall. “And do you know what your biggest fuck up was, Девочка?” He added, tilting his head to the side. “Yes.” You nodded, voice sinking into the same cower, if not lower. “Come here.” Makarov spat, pointing at his feet like he was calling a dog back. You slowly rose, legs almost giving out, not wanting to even move towards him. You forced yourself to move, stepping around your desk to stand in front of him. “I’ll ask you this question again, and I want you to answer me fully.” He leaned, his anger basically radiating off of him. “Do you know what your biggest fuck up was?” He spoke, tone final like he was lecturing a child. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was going to spare you or not. After all, you have seen him make people disappear completely, and the ways he did it were not ideal. “I.. Lost intel…” You answered, the words not doing much to cool his nerves, it only made it worse. “YOU LOST INTEL!” He confirmed, his hand shooting up to grab your jaw, yanking your head forward so you were looking directly at him. “Valuable intel, девочка! And you let those bastards walk out with it like it was nothing!” His accent became sharper, each word doing more damage than he ever could, at least that's what you thought. “This is the last time I let you disappoint me.” He added, eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. His breath was hot against your face, but his hands were cold, almost stinging. You sniffled, the faint scent of blood and gun oil from his clothes filling your nose. He never cared to wash them after massacres. You didn't reply, you just nodded, feeling Makarov’s grip tighten before he shoved you to the side, your back hitting the wall almost hard enough to make a painting rattle. You doubled over, hands going to your knees to take a deep breath. You were fully expecting a gun to your head next. “It’s about time I teach you what happens.” He moved forward, breathing heavily through his nose. “Makarov, I—” You tried, standing up straight before you were cut off by Makarov pushing you against the wall again, ensuring your back was flat against it. “It’s sir right now. I’ve let you skip around formalities for far too long.” He spat, his hands moving down to his belt, but you didn't realize what he was doing until you heard the metal of the buckle hit the floor. “Sir— I’m sorry, it won't happen again.” You stammered, gaze moving between his belt on the floor and his face. “You are just so sorry, huh.” He tilted his head, his grip finding your jaw again, thumb pressing harshly into your skin. “If only a pathetic apology could fix the damage you’ve caused.” You clenched your teeth, spine straightening up against the wall as Makarov pushed closer, his stomach pressed to your own.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, even if you just heard what he said. Because what else could you really say? His eyes narrowed, brows pulling together. His grip tightened on your jaw, free hand moving to your hip, fingers digging into your side hard enough to make you wince. “You’re like a fucking parrot.” He snarled under his breath, his hand on your hip moving up, fingers hooking under the waistband of your pants. “You’re lucky I still have use for you. Otherwise I’d put a bullet between those pretty eyes and be done with it.” You swallowed hard around words you forced yourself to hold back, your throat going completely dry as you slowly gave him a nod. You were so on edge you didn't even notice his fingers under the waistband of your pants until they were moving downwards. Your gaze moved with them, staring down as you so obediently stepped out of them, letting Makarov just drop them like he did with his belt, the cold air making you shift. “Mak—..” You caught yourself, “Sir.. Wh—” You tried, a question at your tongue, but Makarov put a hand over your mouth, palm rough and calloused as he pressed forward. “You only speak when I decide that I want you to speak. I own you, сука.” His words sharpened, tone dipping to that serious tone he had when he was about to do something that he knew was bad. “You’re going to make this up to me right here. Do you understand me?” You nodded, his hand moving off your mouth to grasp your jaw again, a hum of approval leaving his throat. He pushed his hips forward, rocking them against your own, the fabric coarse and scratchy against your now bare thighs, the tent in them not doing the sensation any justice. You let out a whimper, mainly of pain, but you couldn't help the stinging heat that filled your stomach at the situation you had gotten yourself in.

Makarov just smirked, not trying to hide his amusement. He loved having people at his mercy and it was clear that he considered this one of those times. Because it was, and you sure didn't have it in you to disobey. He knew that. His free hand moved down to his own pants, carefully unbuttoning and unzipping them, not putting in the effort to even take them off. Your body squirmed as you heard it. “Sir—” You stammered, your heartbeat loud in your ears. “Stop fucking moving.” Makarov growled, using his hips to keep your own in place. “Spread your legs. You don’t get to pull this shit and just get away with a verbal warning. I need to drill this into your memory. You need to remember every fucking moment.” You slowly obeyed, Makarov becoming quickly impatient, shoving his knee between your legs. “When I ask something of you, you do it.” His words stuck, your head moving in a nod. Makarov tugged his boxers down, only enough to free himself, his hand moving to trap himself between your pressed stomachs, his other hand forcing your head to look down at it. “Look at it. Look at what you're going to be taught this lesson by. Look at what's going to ruin you for life.” His tone only sharpened further, length long and heavy, tip a pink that matches his mouth, leaking like a broken faucet. He shifted his hips up and down, pressing hard against you so his pre-cum would smear on your shirt. He dug his nails into your cheeks, a whine of pain leaving your throat, one he only chuckled at. “Yeah, That's the sound I like.” he rocked his hips one more time, his free hand moving to your panties and snapping the elastic against your skin, the sting making you even more squirmy than before.

You felt his fingers drag down the front, hooking under the fabric that covered your most sensitive spot, snapping it again. A whimper escaped you, pained, your hands trembling at your sides, not daring to move, not even an inch. Makarov ignored the pain he was causing, enjoying it more than anything else, fingers tugging the fabric of your panties aside so you were exposed for him. He let you stand like that for a moment, fingers slowly dragging along your slit to feel your wet heat, a purr leaving his throat. “Look at you… Shaking, but dripping already. That's exactly what I want from you. You’re already understanding what you are.” His words hit harder that he ever had, your body stiffening as he moved his length between your thighs, letting it slide over your folds to gather your heat. His nails dug deep into your cheeks, the crescent indents turning raw, the smallest beads of blood emerging from them. You winced at the sting, legs shifting at the strange duality of sensations. His free hand snaked down to your thigh, forcing your legs apart further, giving himself more room. You took in a shaky gasp of air, feeling his thumb push his tip up against your entrance. “It’s disappointing..” He spoke, pushing forward roughly to bury himself as far inside you as he could, your jaw dropping to let out a sound but his hand immediately went to your throat, squeezing hard. It wasn't enough to knock you out, but it was enough to make your body naturally panic. “I would’ve expected you to at least act like you didn't want this…” He added, chuckling to himself as his length sat unmoving inside you. The stretch was almost just as bad as the stinging of the raw crescents he dug into your cheeks, your eyes watering ever so slightly.

He shifted, lifting you with his free hand, ensuring you were firmly pushed up against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist, while your hands wrapped around his wrist. Your body squirmed against the movement, but stilled as he tightened his grip on your throat. “Relax, Моя глупая девочка…” He smiled, russian words coming off his tongue like silk. You knew they were insults, but the softness of the words made your stomach twist. He started moving, wasting no time on starting gently. The pace he set was harsh, pulling halfway out before shoving himself back in as far as he could go, over and over again. You whined with each movement, it felt like with each aggressive thrust he was pushing the air out of your lungs, and he gave barely any time for you to gain it back before he pushed right back inside again. He growled, the sound almost feral, like a wolf tearing apart its prey. His head dipped, his mouth pressing against your neck next to where his hand grasped, lips parting to sink his teeth into your neck shallowly, his stubble scratchy against your soft skin. You let out a yip, the sensation sharp, his breath hot against your skin. It made your stomach twist, each slam of his cock against your inner walls only making it worse. “Too— much—” You managed through shallow gasps, nails digging into his arm. Each ragged breath you forced in only brought in the smell of him, gun oil and rain mixed with his natural scent, hammering the fact he was the one doing this into your brain. Those words made him move harder, rougher, hand tightening around your throat to stifle them, “Be quiet and just take it, сука.” he spat against your neck, “The more you bleed and beg, the more I enjoy fixing your pathetic mistakes.” his words stung, just like the sting of each mark he’s left on you, his words leaving his mouth between guttural grunts. Makarov’s teeth sank into your neck again without warning. Sharp pain flared, followed by the warm trickle of blood running down your collarbone. He licked over the fresh bite mark, a low, satisfied sound vibrating against your skin. Somehow, it only made your walls flutter, a strained whimper leaving your throat.

Makarov smiled against your neck, kissing over the bite mark. Your head tilted back against the wall with a dull thud, only giving him more access, more area for him to grab and bite. You hated how your body reacted so desperately for him, absolutely folding to even just his presence. His hand tightened around your throat, vision blurring at the edges as he drove into you again and again, hitting those deep, perfect spots inside you that made you yip. The wall scraped harshly against your back with every thrust, but the pain only made the heat between your legs burn hotter. It was like he was trying to break you, because he was. “Жалкая сука…” He growled, his depth bruising and relentless. “Always fucking up and making me do this to you…” He hummed sharply, groaning as you clenched around his dick. You clench your jaw as he hits just in the right way, a strangled whimper leaving your throat instead of a moan, the noise unable to leave your throat through his grip. His teeth found your neck again, sinking in deeper this time. Fresh pain bloomed hot and sharp as blood welled up under his bite. He didn’t bother being gentle, he sucked hard, dragging his tongue over the fresh wound like he was tasting your failure. The sting made your walls flutter around him despite everything, shame burning in your chest. This is what you deserve, the thought floated through your hazy mind. This is what happens when you keep failing him.His hips snapped forward harder, faster, driving so deep it felt like he was trying to split you in half. The hand not wrapped around your throat dug into your thigh, nails carving fresh red lines down your skin. Tiny beads of blood welled up under his grip, smearing between your bodies with every thrust.

You tried to moan, tried to beg, but his fingers only squeezed tighter, turning everything into broken, strangled whimpers. Tears slipped down your cheeks. Your nails dug uselessly into his arm, not pushing him away, just holding on while he used you.

“Look at me,” he snarled, forcing your head up with the hand on your jaw. His eyes were black with fury and lust. “I want to watch you fall apart while I fuck the incompetence out of you. Every time you sit down tomorrow and feel how sore you are, I want you to remember who owns you.” He slammed into you again and again, grinding against that spot that made your legs shake uncontrollably. The pressure in your core built higher, sharper, almost painful. “Моя глупая девочка…” he hissed between gritted teeth, pace growing erratic. “Always making me do this. Always forcing my hand.”

His grip on your throat loosened just enough for you to suck in a desperate gasp, then tightened again as he buried himself to the hilt. “Да, сука…” His body shuddered hard against yours, a low, guttural groan escaping him as he came deep inside you, hips jerking with every pulse. The heat of it filled you, marking you from the inside while his teeth marked you on the outside. Your body trembled with his, the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm making you feel disgusting.

For a few long seconds he stayed pressed against you, breathing heavily against your neck. Then, without a word, he pulled out. You nearly collapsed, legs trembling violently, but his hand on your hip kept you pinned to the wall for a moment longer. Makarov tucked himself back into his pants with calm, efficient movements, as if he hadn’t just fucked you raw against your office wall. His eyes dragged over your ruined state, tear-streaked face, blood trickling from bite marks, his cum slowly leaking down your thighs, and his lip curled in faint disgust. “Clean yourself up,” he said coldly, voice back to that terrifying calm. “And pray the next time I need intel, you don’t disappoint me again. Because next time I won’t be this merciful.” he added, his hands moving to grab and shove his belt through the loops. He turned toward the door without another glance, boots heavy on the floor. The sound of the front door slamming behind him echoed through the apartment like a final warning. You slid down the wall slowly, legs giving out completely, the cold floor biting into your bare skin. The rain continued to pour outside. And you knew — deep down — that this wouldn’t be the last time.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Keegan P. Russ

Keegan doesn’t tease loudly. He removes your ability to ignore him.

Shit's he does:

1. Stands too close while you’re talking, doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

Eventually you stop mid-sentence like “…What?”

He answers calmly:

“You’ done now.”

♧

2. Uses his voice instead of touch.

Just your name. Low.

If you ignore it once? He won’t repeat it.

Next thing you know, your cheeks are pinned and your lips are occupied.

♧

3. Puts his hand on your waist while you’re focused on something else. No movement. Just there.

Yes, he's possesive. No, he'll never admit it.

♧

4. Lets silence do the work.

You realize he’s been watching you for a while. Longer than you think.

When you finally look at him:

“There you are.”

♧

Keegan’s teasing is about claiming attention. Silently.

♧♧♧♧♧

König

König is a manipulative cocky bastard and you don't even realize it.

He absolutely enjoys outsmarting you into affection.

Fuck's he does to annoy you:

◇

1. Asks philosophical or “deep” questions mid-task purely to make you stop what you’re doing.

Then when you realize. Stop. Look at him.

He smiles. He won.

◇

2. Uses height advantage: rests chin on your head, leans over you, boxes you in without touching.

Waits to see how long before you break.

◇

3. Steals your chair and sits, then pats his lap like it’s obvious where you belong.

If you hesitate, he raises an eyebrow like: are you serious?

◇

4. Pretends not to hear you until you repeat yourself closer.

Then suddenly hears perfectly.

◇

König loves the moment you realize you’ve been outplayed.

◇◇◇◇◇

Non-traumatized Nikto

Nikto doesn’t tease much, but when he does, it’s direct.

Little shit behavior that makes your heart pound:

♤

1. Interrupts you mid-sentence with affection. Because he feels like it.

Kiss. Forehead touch.

Then: “Continue.”

♤

2. Picks you up instead of asking you to move. Sets you where he wants you.

Goes back to what he was doing like this is normal.

♤

3. Grabs your hand while you’re busy and presses a kiss into your knuckles.

Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t wait. Leaves.

♤

4. States facts that are actually bids for affection:

“You haven’t looked at me today.”

That’s it. That’s the sentence.

♤

Nikto doesn’t negotiate affection, he just takes the affection owed to him by the contract of your love.

♤♤♤♤♤

He likes affection especially physical ones in doses- but it has gotten better over the years..

However there is something that annoys him to no end..

Poking

Its such an odd tick for him-

So when you want to mess with you all you got to do is poke him and you can quite literally see his eye twitch.

Simon had gotten on your last nerves after deciding to overpack on your last date, who brings a tactical knife to a resturant. So you had gone a bit petty..

Walking past him as you gave a small poke right on his back. The man turning his head quickly at you as you saw his face twitch.

"What..."

"Mind grabbing the fresh sheets off the top of the closet?"

He nodded but clearly had a grumble. This started with you asking random things of him, Or just walking past. Not without a poke- You saw him slowly start to lose it.

Poke

Poke

Poke..

It was the final one when he was watching the game, slowly crawling behind the couch so he couldn't see you and..

Poke

"FUCKING GOD DAMN IT FUCKING BLOODY GOD FUCK!-"

He yelled loudly roaring up at the ceiling. You giggle and run away as he loses his mind in the livingroom and goes to chase you.

Price

John Price is a man who always has things planned

He knows where things are, knows how to go about it all and has a way to get around anything.

That includes his house.

John is a man who can walk through his house blindfolded and with tape behind his back without bumping into a thing-

As long as you dont move stuff..

Move stuff and it's like you through him in a thorn maze buttass naked and with a stick to navigate.

He does not know were to start or where to go.

If you move an object from its normal spot it might as well have disappeared from existence.

And when it comes to major arrangements..

Just put him out of his misery

John should not come home and when he goes to find a cup finds the plastic Tupperware instead

"The Hell.."

So he goes into another cabinet and finds dishes instead. Now a frantic search takes place for a damn cup.

He slowly begins to feel his blood pressure rise as he pulls out plates, the spices and everything he could think of the find a damn cup.

"...LUV!!"

He yelled out, Now frustrated. You walk into the kitchen and raise a brow at the man who looks so out of his element.

"Where are the fucking cups?"

"Its the cabinet next to the fridge"

John stops over and opens said cabinet as he grabs a cup angrily.

"Why did you move stuff? I cant find shit"

"I told you I was getting the kitchen reorganized when you were underway. I also redid the closets and organzied your office"

He looked at you as if you told him you'd laced the house with bombs for him to find.

Kyle

Kyle is fairly laid back, man.

He can handle many things but he does have a few pressure points.

But his worse one are things not symmetrical

He will stare...

Oh he will stare

Before finally he breaks and needs to fix whatever it crooked or off.

Paintings, Pillows- Hell he has even evened out some flowers you had in a vase once since they all leaned to one side.

It is like watching a nature documentary of a bird needing to arrange something just right. From moving a lampshade a few times till its somehow perfect.

So when you get an abstract art peice that is MENT to be crooked

He almost loses his shit

Getting home from an assignment and while he takes off his boots sees a painting at the end of the hall. There it looked like a wave going across the shore which was even by the image but the canvas itself was tilted giving it a unique effect...

"Fuckin Hell.."

He instantly tries to correct it.

"Hey love, Welcome back"

You say sweetly prepared to give him a hug and kiss but see he is totally focused and even took the painting down to look at the back of it to see why it wasnt evening out.

When you scold him telling him its ment to look like that.

You might as well have just said

'Im going to give a headache everytime you walk down the hall'

So sure he tries but everytime he walks past it he attempts to make it straight before it goes back to his corrective form making him groan and stomp away.

You actively saw the man stressing out everytime he looked at it.

It would only take a week to find the painting thrown into the garden..

Johnny

Johnny has a few things he actually cares about that are small..

Just a few things he will take a extra moment on and kept an eye on.

So ypu unfolding all the clothes.. makes his blink one eye then another like he was a frog you kicked.

Johnny has a strict thing about having things folded- he has been trained to a T on folding and making everything neat.

It was something that was weirdly important to him-

He would take a incredibly precise and almost meditative state while folding the clothes.

So when you bulldoze to grab one item in the middle of the stack or tear apart the drawer to were it looks like soup?

Yeah it gets on his last nerve.

He has folded up all blankets and towels so they were practically a masterpiece

To you in seconds reach in to grab a random towel not even looking and knocking over a stack of towels to use to clean up a major spill on the kitchen.

...

Johnny jaw dropping as he looked to you as if you had ripped his heart out.

"(Y/N)! I just folded that!"

You hear yelled out as you have the towel om the ground frantically moving it across the dirty floor in mild panic.

"Im sorry! Actually can you hand me another one!"

You were then promptly met with a towel to the side of your head.

Hong-Jin (Horangi)

Hong-jin appreciates you. He likes to make sure you are spoiled- well taken care of and content.

So You being a pushover over little things bothers him.

He will look at you as if you have grown a second head.

When you let someone just get their way or get in your way it frustrates him.

You are a strong person, he knows it. Yet you let someone insignificant talk down at you.

Standing with his arms crossed, lips curled down in a frown as Hong-jin watched the waiter completely ignore your every instruction as they set down your meal and you accepted the incorrect food.

"Say something-"

He will grumbled. When you try and strug it off or change thw topic he will feel his chest tighten as he would take a heavy breath.

Sure not wanting to be confrontational was an admirable trait but this was simply insanity.

Constantly he tried to push you to approach people with simple complaints that could bw resolved. A simple tiny mix up with change, the wrong dressing for your food, them giving you the wrong color of something.

It is something you want so why are you so okay with not getting what you want!

"(Y/N)- You deserve what you asked for. Tell them.."

When you wilt in your seat a bit flushed. He grumbles and looks around- irritated for the person in question.

"Excuse me- You"

"Hong-Jin!"

Konig

König likes to go in and out when it comes to certain things.. Choices being one especially if they are small. He would prefer to at least have some idea of what he wants so he can get back to where he feels comfortable

So being indecisive over small things

It will drive him insane..

Absolutely up the fucking wall.

Sure he knows sometimes it take a moment to think things over. He has even needed a moment to make a choice.

But taking 30 minutes to pick something low effoet is insanity

Switching back and forth constantly with something as simply as what you want to eat at the same restuant you two go to constantly.

Trying to think of what brand to get of bread

It makes him feel on edge since it means they are attracting more looks or prolonging a interaction he doesnt like.

He will try to be nice however it will slowly drive him mad.

"Schatz please.."

König will beg as he tries to keep from saying the choice he knows you will make.

So when you two are shopping for you to get a new phone he is leaned against the wall.

He will close his eyes and channel in all the calm of his body. His soul.

You going back and forth between two phones when he knows that you know which want you want.

"...(Y/N).. You want that one on the left.."

"Well yeah, but i don't know- This one is also good"

He will put his head in his hands trying not to cry.

Nikto

Listen.. Nikto doesnt like scarcity. He has known the feeling of not having enough. Of scrapping by, he never wants to experience thay again.

Listen.. He knows he eats a lot

So forgetting to stock up has a emotional grind to him.

He knows he can go through many things fairly quickly.

He has a card that you can use at any and all times. It is practically ENDLESS for you to use for whatever needs you have and whatever you could possibly ever want.

SO why do you wait till there is quite literally crumbs in the house? Or that there is barely anything in terms of house needs until its ABSOLUTELY gone.

So many times he has gone to different parts of the find there wasnt a restock.

Hell even of stuff you use constantly!

How do you not restock your own stuff!

So of course when things like that happen he will feel absolutely annoyed.

Nikto felt a twitch in his eye as he stared at the empty toilet paper bag in the bathroom. Stuck on the toilet as he felt a pain behind his eye.

"(Y/N!)"

You peak in to see your boyfriend there on the toilet- His scarred face a twisted mess of irritation.

"Где находится туалетная бумага?"

(Where is the toilet paper?)

"Oh- I must have forgotten to pick up some more"

Nikto closes his eyes and heavily sighs