Saw you were okay to write yandere makarov!! So when is the hcs 👀
— Yandere Vladimir Makarov Headcanons
Warnings: Yandere behavior, heavy detail of manipulation, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic, and gaslighting scenarios.
A/N: I suppose now!! Please enjoy <33 (also, heads up, it’s a bit short. Sorry!!)
Vladimir is tenderly obsessive. He’s controlling, highly aggressive, paranoid, and just suffocating.
Once he decides you are his, you are everything to him—a fresh tattoo of your name inked on him, sensing a form of property to each other. Loving the idea of you having a matching design.
Of course, he is mistrustful. After all, he’s a strategist and terrorist, so he sees conspiracies everywhere. Trusting is a big pill to swallow for him, so gaining his attention, let alone an open scene of his mind, is a complex duty. Years at work, either working for or with him. An assistant he begins to laugh at with horrible, dark jokes. A soldier in the Konni Group that he directly asks for. Or, in a rare chance, a civilian whom he had a one-night stand with; quickly realizing you were too much of a unique drug to get cleansed of.
But, when he allows it, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he doesn’t hide attraction toward you. In fact, he’s very open about it. With that “gentle” smile of his, a soft pat on the shoulder, and his famous nickname being whispered in your ear, you don’t realize till it’s too late just how wrapped you are in for now. You can’t leave.
Before you know it, he’s paying everyone around you to watch you. Your landlord, who cuts your rent in half. The new coworker at your job, who is too nice, is being so sentimental with your stress. That one neighbor moving in next door, always inviting you over for brunch. Anything that can help him with information about you, especially the sensitive topics that he craves to know.
Vladimir makes you rely on him, creating tough situations where you desperately need him. Controlling you financially and environmentally. Never having a reason to leave; holding his wealth, the power he has over you. He’ll buy the apartment complex you live in, hiking up the rent till it’s impossible. Have your bank foreclose your home. Being arrested for a felony you didn’t even commit.
But of course, Makarov is there, offering you money. Safety. A wait out, forms of security where you can trust him. Deceiving you in such a way, you’ll believe him. You belong to him; everything that is yours is his.
Though, if you are smart enough, digging around and truly finding out about his true intentions, it won’t end the way you’d like. The police simply won’t help. But you should’ve known better; since when have they ever been useful?
Vladimir likes to watch. Learning silently, watching you so perfectly. Calculating everything, viewing you, and how your world functions way differently from his. It can be innocent and dirty; flipping through images of you on the live CCTV makes him smile a bit too much.
Being a highly trained individual and a violent man, his patience runs thin. Breaking his rules always results in harsh and embarrassing punishments. Spanking, forms of isolation, and strips of privacy are his main go, too's. Any form of loss of control, for you, is an immediate satisfaction for this man. Even in order for him to “forgive you,” you have to beg. Make it up. Prove to him that you truly are sorry and you want to stay with him.
As your permanent husband, Vladimir is a very possessive and touching man. He always has an arm around you, either squeezing or just there. Standing in a room, anyone could know you belonged to him.
Behind closed doors, he loves holding your hand, bringing it to his mouth, and kissing it gently. Squeezing your thighs, pulling your legs over his lap as he asks about what you did while he was gone. Playing with the clothes of your fabrics, smelling your scent.
Jealousy is thick with Vladimir. He isn’t afraid to threaten, let alone shoot his own men if they make a move on you. Flirting, even talking or let alone touching you, is forbidden. You are his—seeing you a mess is enough to make him fucking angry.
Sleeping together when Makarov is at home, he happily sleeps naked. Curling in the expensive red bedsheets, curling and sighing at the better feeling. He’ll either be loosely spooning or tracing your tattoos or beauty marks. Or, if you want space, he still maintains slight physical contact by resting one of his legs on top of yours.
Believing his paranoia, fearing that they are correct, is more than enough to push him into an aggressive episode. He often has to check up on you, calling you urgently—asking to hear your voice. Helping him fall asleep.
If all is too much, he regularly asks his men to transport you somewhere else. A safer haven where he feels you are safer. Just do what he says, and everything will be okay, yeah?
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Not so much a request but I think this appeared on my X and I think the guy looks like Makarov slightly and I’m a SIMP for that man 😭 like just imagine Makarov rewards you for being loyal or something and is so nice to you instead of his cold scary self 😩
times change, and with it, the way people act and what moves them. loyalty has always been scarce, extremely hard to find. even when you find someone who seems devoted and dependable, you can never fully trust them. money moves the world, and one hefty offer it's all it takes.
makarov knows it rather well. some of his most trusted people don't work directly on the business, but rather scouting out his people in search for traitors. he also understands that as important as it is to pick the withered ones, you also have to appreciate the ones that show that loyalty.
it just so happens that the best way of doing so with you is to eat your pussy and fingering you dumb, until your thoughts are so clouded with pleasure and how good he's making you feel. until no thought of turning to others crosses your mind.
his wide shoulders making you spread your legs just as wide to fit him between them as his fingers curl inside of your weeping cunt against that spongy spot while his mouth latches onto your pulsing clit, making you moan and squirm like a good little slut.
have to be loyal, specially when it comes with rewards like these
Alpha Makarov that smells like cedar and pine or some kind of earthy smell, like leaves on the floor of the forest. His instincts play a lot in the way he uses his authority, more often than not the souring of his scent and the use of the commanding alpha tone are a clear sign for everyone around him to not even think about challenging his decisions in any way. He found himself more than once growling in the face of some unruly younger alpha soldier that didn't know his place.
He wouldn't have a mate for a while, using supressants to keep his ruts in check or spending them with a beta in order to avoid marking them. His mate would either be a subaltern, not exactly a soldier, maybe someone doing more administrative work and he will definetely bring the power dynamic into the bedroom. Or if it's a civilian he does a throughly background check on them, stalks them for a while and depending on how fast his possessivness takes over he will most likely kidnap them.
From the moment that bite mark is over the scent gland on the side of your neck you're done for. He will take the "Till death do us apart" part very seriously, there won't be anyone else for him and neither for you, he enjoys renewing the mark often and there's a chip in the back of your neck that you don't know about. He will probably get you pregnant pretty early after the marking, both as a way to manifest his claim and also I think he likes the idea of an heir to continue his legacy.
Alpha Makarov is incredibly jealous, scenting you often and only allowing highly trained betas as your bodyguards. It became a habit for him to drape his jacket or coat over your shoulders so you smell only of him.
Despite the front he puts on with his men, under very strict and controlled circumstances he actually enjoys indulging in the more primal aspects of his secondary gender.
He more often than not pretends to be annoyed when you pull him into your nest, making it seem like he simply indulges you, but it's clear from the change in his smell how peaceful and comforting is for him to be there. This is probably the only time when he fully lets his guard down and yes he purrs despite how much he'll try to deny it after the cuddle session.
BUT
Omega Makarov that goes to extreme lenghts to hide his secondary gender, everyone thinks he's an alpha or at least a beta, downing bottles of supressants in order to mask his scent and keep his instincts under control. He didn’t have a heat in almost two years and only allows himself one at the very insistent urging of a few doctors so his body won't shut down or build a resistance to supressants.
He chosed you, another soldier who fought by his side for many years and whose devotament to his leader is stronger than your instincts. He might put a muzzle on you to ensure you won't mark him, he sets the pace and despite being an omega he remains in control the entire time.
Omega Makarov that you might catch taking your jacket and bringing it to his nose, the scent managing to calm him down when he gets too stressed. If you point it out he will send you to wash the latrines for the next few weeks. If you notice more clothes from your closet dissapearing this time you know better than to talk about it.
Based on a request:
I am begging for any Makarov content for kinktober 😭 I get it, the man is a menace to society but pls 🥺🙏
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F!Reader, MDNI, 18+, unestablished!relationship, orgasm!denial, fingering, knife!play, edging, power!play
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The dim light of the candle flickered across Vladimir Makarov's chiseled features as he loomed over you, his dark eyes glinting with a wicked intensity. He traced the cold, sharp edge of the knife along your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand gripped your hip possessively, pulling you flush against his muscular frame. "You're a rare find," he purred, his Russian accent dripping like honey from his lips. The knife dipped lower, tracing the delicate curve of your neck, the hollow of your throat. His touch was feather-light, teasing, yet the threat of the blade hung heavy in the air.
Makarov's hand slid down your body, palming the swell of your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. He could feel your heart pounding beneath his fingertips, could hear the hitch in your breath. It spurred him on, this power he held over you, this desire he ignited with mere touch. Lower still, his hand drifted over your stomach, your hip, until it rested at the apex of your thighs. He pressed the flat of the blade against your clothed sex, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat emanating from you.
Makarov leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Feeling this heat, I can tell how much you want me, how much you need my touch." He pressed the knife more firmly against your clothed sex, the cold steel a delicious contrast to the scorching ache building between your thighs. His hand slid under the hem of your skirt, fingers skating along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Higher and higher he went, until his fingertips grazed the damp lace of your panties. A smirk tugged at his lips as he felt the evidence of your arousal, the fabric soaked through.
"You're dripping, малыш (baby)," he taunted, rubbing the knife against your covered slit, putting pressure on your throbbing clit through the fabric. "Is this all for me? Tell me, who makes you this wet, this desperate?" Makarov's breath was hot against your neck as he licked a trail up to your jaw, teeth grazing your racing pulse. His hand slid the knife under the lace, the cold metal now pressing directly against your bare, slick folds. He could feel you tremble, could hear the needy whimper that escaped your lips.
Makarov's fingers pushed the drenched fabric aside, exposing your glistening sex to the cool air. He could smell the addictive and sweet scent of your arousal, could see the dewy essence coating your petals. A low, approving growl rumbled in his chest as he traced a finger through your slick folds, gathering your juices.
"Such a needy little девочка (girl) you are," he purred, bringing his finger to his lips and sucking your essence off his finger. "Mmm, you taste divine. I could feast on you for hours." He pressed the knife's tip against your swollen clit, not hard enough to break skin, but with enough pressure to make you gasp. At the same time, he plunged two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your aching cunt, pumping them in and out at a punishing pace.
Makarov's lips captured yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure. His tongue delved into your mouth, claiming you, conquering, possessing you utterly. He drank down your moans, relished the way your body clenched around his invading fingers, the way your hips bucked against his hand, seeking more. He tore his mouth from yours, a string of saliva connecting you in a sinful manner.
Makarov's lips curled into a wicked grin as he took in your debauched state, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his brutal kiss, and your essence dripping down his fingers. He brought his glistening digits to your mouth, tracing the seam of your lips. "Taste yourself, девочка (girl)," he commanded, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Taste what you do for me, how much you crave me."
As you parted your lips, he thrust his fingers into your mouth, making you suckle and lick your own arousal. His other hand never ceased its relentless assault on your sex, the knife's tip circling her clit, the blade's edge teasing your dripping entrance.
Makarov leaned in close, his breath scorching your ear as he whispered, "I'm going to ruin you. I'll fuck this tight little cunny until you can't walk straight. Until my name is the only word you remember." He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust of his fingers, driving them deep and curling them to hit that sensitive spot within you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. His thumb rubbed in a merciless circle. Makarov's eyes darkened with lust as he watched you succumb to the pleasure, your body writhing against his touch. He could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, could sense you rapidly approaching climax. But he wasn't ready for this to end, not yet.
Abruptly, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you whimpering at the loss. Before you could protest, he gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach. He pushed your skirt up over your hips, exposing your panty-clad ass to his hungry gaze. "Keep your hands on the table," he ordered, landing a sharp smack on your rear. The sound echoed obscenely in the room, followed by your startled yelp. He smacked you again and again, until your ass was a rosy red and you were squirming beneath him.
Makarov soothed the abused flesh with a gentle caress, fingers trailing over the curves of your ass before dipping between your thighs. He pushed your panties aside and plunged two fingers deep into your dripping cunt, pumping them at a brutal pace. His other hand, still gripping the knife, trailed up your spine, the cold steel a delicious contrast to the heat inside of you. Makarov's fingers continued their relentless assault, plunging in and out of your dripping sex. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he finger fucked you hard and fast, his palm slapping against your sensitive clit with each thrust.
"You're mine," he growled, teeth clenched as he rutted against you, his clothed erection grinding on you. "This pussy belongs to me. Your pleasure belongs to me." He punctuated his words with a sharp nip to your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark. His hand slid up to wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly, just enough to make you feel the threat of his power, the danger he posed.
"Come for me, малыш," he demanded, fingers curling inside you, rubbing that sweet spot that made you see stars. "Let me feel this hot little cunny spasm around my fingers as you scream my name." He teased
Makarov could feel your body tensing, your walls clamping down hard on his plunging fingers as your climax approached. He growled, a feral sound of pure male satisfaction, as he fucked you harder, his fingers slamming into your sopping wet cunt with brutal force.
You couldn't hold back any longer. He could feel your desperation growing with each passing second, your body crying out for more. But he held back, determined to leave you wanting and craving.
"Please," you gasped, hips bucking urgently against him, trying to take what you needed. "Please, I can't... I need..." your words dissolved into incoherent pleas and whimpers.
Makarov just chuckled darkly, amused by your desperation. "Not yet," he taunted, pulling away completely. He stood up, looming over your trembling form, a sadistic grin on his face. "I want you to stay like this, on the edge, craving my touch. Let that need consume you, drive you mad with want."
Makarov traced the knife under your chin, tilting your head up to force you to meet his ruthless gaze. "Think of me, as you touch yourself, as you fuck yourself with your fingers.” Makarov's eyes, half lidded, glinted with wicked amusement as he took in your debauched state, your chest heaving, your thighs trembling, your sex dripping and aching with unfulfilled need. He had reduced you to a desperate, wanton mess, and he reveled in it.
Leaning down, he brushed his lips against yours in a mockery of a kiss, his voice a low, mocking purr. "Until next time. Think of me as you lie here, high and dry and hungry for my cock." With that, he straightened up, tucking the knife away. He gave you one last dark, promising look before turning on his heel and striding out of the room, leaving you alone with nothing but your racing thoughts and your throbbing, unsatisfied body.
The door clicked shut behind him with a sense of finality, leaving you in stunned silence. You remained there, half-naked and quivering, as the cruel realization set in that he had left you high and dry, denying you the release you so desperately craved. It was a cruel twist of the knife in the wound, a reminder of who held the power.
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Snow crunched under your boots, your footsteps leaving a trail behind you as you held your weapons close to yourself, ready if something attacked you.
Anton Dragovic. Other than the fact that he had intel on Makarov he was basically a nobody. Firearms dealer turned coward, But he claimed to know something and at this point your team would do anything for even the smallest crumb of info on the russian.
Your hands felt like ice cubes as you approached the abandoned building Anton requested—practically begged—to meet at. A few others from your team scattered throughout the inside and outside of the building while you went searching for Anton.
There were what felt like hundreds of doors throughout the entire place and you searched each one of them. After counting each room you’d explored you came up to the 13th door.
With deliberate slowness and silence you opened the door. But when you opened it, the room wasn’t what you thought it’d be. Anton—you presumed—was tied up to a chair, wide, teary eyes. A makeshift gag in his mouth made of what you guessed was a cloth and bruises adorned his face and body.
Anton shook his head when you took a step forward. A warning that came out muffled when you closed the door and walked closer towards him.
A sharp, small, needle-like object stung in your neck when you reached Anton. For a moment you thought it was a bug, but when a hand covered your mouth with a small towel that smelled of chemicals you regretted not paying attention to the terrified man in front of you. Your voice was muffled as you struggled against the large hands and strong arms around you.
“Shh, you signed up for this, agent (L/N),” a man cooed in your ear. The russian accent was a dead give away and you knew it was Makarov.
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You woke up somewhere cold. The bed was soft, comfortable but that made it more eerie because it wasn’t yours. One swift look around the room and you could tell this wasn’t supposed to look like an interrogation room.
The door opened abruptly and you finally saw him, his green eyes met yours. A pit grew in your stomach. He scanned you quietly, his eyes roaming over your face before it lowered down your stomach until they stopped where a blanket covered your legs.
“I was beginning to think you might sleep the whole day away,” he finally said, accent thick, You didn’t answer. Instead you took him in, his suit didn’t look wrinkled in the least, his shoes gently clicking against the marble floor.
A smirk grew on his face when you tried to push yourself far on the bed away from him. His hand wrapped around your ankle and he yanked you close to him.
He leaned down, took in your scent, like he was trying to memorize everything about you. “I didn’t know task forces recruited such beautiful women,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against your temple.
You shivered and pushed him away. Muscle memory makes you reach for your gun but you remember it's gone. Of course—it wasn’t there. He probably hid it. You cursed yourself. He chuckled, his smirk growing into a smile. It was unsettling.
“You have a dirty mouth, maybe we have to wash it out with soap” he said, moving towards you again. He didn’t seem to care about personal space because he pulled you close to him again.
Another shiver ran down your spin and your breathing became heavier. You blamed it on the danger of everything happening.
“You think washing it out will make a difference?” you bit back. His smile deepened, predatory and amused, like your defiance only entertained him. Like he wanted it.
“Oh, no, милaя…I just want to see your face when you taste the soap,” he whispers, pulling you up off of the bed. He’s dug his hands into your hair, a light grip on your scalp to force you to look at him.
“I don’t want to fix you. I want to see how filthy that mouth really is.” He leaned in, “Especially when it’s saying my name.”
“The only time you’ll hear me saying your name is when I’m holding a gun to your head” you whispered, threatening, but he laughed. Unconvinced.
“I’ll make sure you’re wrong, малышка” he whispered. “Even if it means ruining you.”
“Try,” you hissed. “You’ll find I don’t break easily.”
He smiled, slow and cruel. “Good. Then it will be fun watching you bend.”
A shiver rolled down your spine at his words, heat curling in your stomach like a traitor. You told yourself it was fear. Adrenaline. The cold air in the room. Anything but the truth. You weren’t attracted to him. Couldn’t be. Not to the man who abducted you.
“Fuck you, Makarov,” you hissed.
“Do you want to?” He tilted his head, those piercing green eyes glinting with amusement.
“Hell would have to cool down before I ever touched you,” you scoffed.
“Oh, малышка, why do you lie?” he whispered, pushing you down onto the bed, crawling over you. “Get off me.” He didn’t move. “Tell me to stop like you mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Then why are you so nervous?”
“I will kill you,” you whispered. He smirked and leaned in closer to you, his lips ghosting over yours. “A nice way to die, in my opinion.”
For a moment you let him lean in closer to you, your breath hitching. His lips were maddeningly close. He didn’t kiss you—just lingered there. “You didn’t pull away,” Makarov said, a smirk on his face as he pushed himself up and sat back on his heels.
You hated that he was right, you hadn’t pulled away, and it fed into his ego.
Makarov pulled his coat off, his hands moved to his cuffs and unbuttoned the shirt. “You know I want you малышка” he whispered. “Tell me you want me too…”
“Fuck you.”
“Tell me the truth” he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. You didn’t say anything, just waited for the anticipation to end, and finally accepted it.
He finally kissed you, and it was with an intensity that caught you off guard, slow, intimate. He wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling away from your lips and kissing your jaw.
“Don’t lie to me, малышка, tell me you want me,” he whispered. “I, no,” you whispered, out of breath. You sounded pathetic trying to deny him even after the kiss. He growled, tightening his hold on your neck the slightest bit and he kissed you again.
“...Say it,” he whispered into the kiss.
“I want…”
His heartbeat quickened as he listened to you, ready to give you anything you asked for. “I want you.”
He started tugging everything off, first his button up, then his shoes, followed by his pants. After, he started undressing you, first he removed your top, then your pants. “Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, kissing up your stomach.
“Mak–” “No, малышка, say my name,” he whispered, pulling down your only piece of clothing left—if it could even be considered clothing. He hovered over you, taking in the sight of you, bare, ready, all for him.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, mostly to himself. Then, like it was instinct, he lowered himself, kisses trailing from your thighs up until your cunt and he finally allowed himself to taste you.
“Vlad– Vladimir,” you gasped, his lips latched onto you like he was afraid you'd disappear somehow. A low growl escaped his throat as he swiped his tongue along your folds, savoring in the way you gasped and moaned.
He pulled your thighs over his shoulders, enjoying how they locked around him, he encouraged it, slapping the soft skin whenever you tried to crawl away or spread your thighs. He ate you out like he was dehydrated like you were the only source of liquid around.
Makarov was proud of himself for the noises that you made. The way your breath hitched when his tongue was working into you and his nose bumped against your sensitive nub. It all fed his ego.
“Please– Vlad,” You gasped, a knot forming in your stomach, your legs trembling. You weren’t going to last much longer and you both knew it.
He didn’t say anything, just worked you towards the edge until you finally came undone, flooding his mouth with your taste. He accepted it gratefully and cleaned you up with his tongue—which only prolonged your pleasure.
“Perfect,” he whispered, finally pulling away and crawling back to be level with you. He leaned down and captured your lips in a slow kiss.
He pulled away after a few moments and trailed kisses down your neck, sucking bruises onto your skin, letting red bloom across your throat. “Are you ready for me, малышка?” Makarov whispered. Grinding his hips against yours.
You nodded, he didn’t believe you.
“Do you really think so?” He asked, his fingers travelling and sinking into your cunt. “Fuck, vlad…” The moan escaped your throat before you could think it through. He just hummed, “mhm, I know малышка.”
He was preparing you for him. His fingers spread you open with a scissor motion to ready you for a third finger. “Малышка, are you really ready now?”
Again, you nodded, whimpers and moans coming from you as you came again, coating his fingers in a sticky residue. He licked them clean before tugging his boxers off. His cock hard, the tip red. “Tell me if it hurts,” was the last thing he whispered before he thrusted into you. Deep. Slow.
Makarov enjoyed the sting of your nails digging into his back, he didn’t mind if he was marked with scratches later, in fact he wanted there to be scars. He wanted you to dig your nails so harshly into his skin for you to leave cuts. He wanted his blood under your fingernails.
After some slow pumps to let you adjust to him he sped up the thrusts, hooking your legs over his forearms. The room filled with the obscene noises of skin slapping on skin and moans.
“Take it, Малышка,” He grunted, pushing deeper until his tip kissed your cervix. “F-Fuck!” you gasped as he rubbed against the sweet spongy part inside of you that had you reeling.
You could barely form a thought as he drove deeper and deeper into you. His mouth was against your temple, his grunts filling your ears.
The headboard slammed against the wall, the bedsheets twisted beneath you. There was no room left to think—only to feel.
You could tell you were close and all you could do was whimper and moan under Makarovs body. His lips latched onto your neck, kissing and sucking until another hickey bloomed.
“I’m gonna come,” you managed to breathe out. Makarov took that as motivation and pushed one of your legs over his shoulders until it was pushed up against your chest and you were forced to take him deeper.
“Take it, малышка, come for me,” he whispered, his hips stuttering as he felt you clench around his cock. “Come for me” he thrusted deeper than before and stayed there as you finished. Your thighs trembled and once you could catch your breath he pumped in and out of you again. It was his turn for his release now.
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Your body ached, your legs felt sore, and you didn’t have any strength left in your body. You tried to open your eyes but it was dark. You were blindfolded.
“Smile for the camera, малышка,” Makarov said, low, cold.
A sigh escaped your mouth as you struggled against your confinements. Makarov chuckled, you could imagine how smug he probably looked right now. You remembered everything and you regretted it. You should’ve resisted, fought back.
Makarov came closer, his hand tilting your head back. On the camera he was showing off the hickeys that adorned your neck. “No need to bother with a rescue mission, agent (L/N)’s already surrendered.” His voice curled with amusement as he held your jaw still for the camera.
He turned off the camera and removed your blindfold. “How are you feeling малышка?” he asked with a smirk. All you did was glare. He chuckled low. “Still fighting? Good. I’d hate for you to get boring.”
“I’m going to untie you,”—he whispered, his lips brushing your ear—“But if you try to run, малышка, I’ll chain you to my bed, and you won’t leave it again.”
It wasn’t a bluff and you stayed there in the chair as he untied you. After, he removed the gag from your mouth. “Моя красавица” he whispered.
“Do you like it when I speak to you in Russian?” he asked, noting your shivers whenever he gave a pet name. “No, I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“That’s the best part.”
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The second video isn’t as modest as the last, you’re still in bed, post-sex and Makarov’s fingers gently stroke your hair, coaxing you into a state of half-sleep.
“Still want to save her?” he murmurs to the camera, his voice low. “I think she’s safer here.” He smiles when you turn your head, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
He turns off the camera and leaves you alone. Its his routine, some kind of torture where youre left alone in this room to reflect on what you two were doing. Guilt ate at you, you hated yourself for giving into him every time.
Even if you did get rescued, what was the point? Every time Makarov got in between your thighs you felt like you were betraying them.
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You couldn’t hear anything other than the crunching of twigs under your bare feet. You didn’t bother grabbing any shoes, you were focused on escaping.
You didn’t understand why Makarov left the bedroom door unlocked but you didn’t question it either. You took the chance and snuck passed the guards, the attack dogs.
Your feet hurt, your lungs burned, and your heart slammed against your chest. Even you were surprised by how long you lasted. Running for what you assumed was more than ten minutes. You were sure you were far enough. Sure you’d made it far away from him. Until you felt metal press against the back of your neck, followed by a click
He pressed the barrel of his gun a little firmer into your skin, “You surprised me.” he whispered. “You got far.”
“Now, come home, малышка”
You didn’t move. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was defiance. But the barrel of the gun was replaced with the feeling of his arms wrapping around you. He hoisted you up effortlessly—one arm beneath your knees, the other behind your back. “You could catch a cold running barefoot.” he muttered, beginning the walk back to his estate.
You tried to fight back, kick him, hit him but your punches were weak, your body was hurting. After weeks of not training your body was weak.
“I hate you, fuck you”
You glared up at him, your face flushed with fury. You spat in his face. He stopped walking. Slowly wiped it from his cheek with a gloved thumb. Then smirked. “There she is.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The door slammed behind him, he didn’t waste any time in getting you in his bed. You shoved him first—palms flat against his chest, teeth bared. “I hate you.”
He didn’t move, he grabbed you, tossed you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. “How many times do I have to fuck you for you to understand you’re mine?” he whispered, tearing your clothes off.
His mouth crashed into yours—no warning, no softness, just heat and hunger and fury. His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back to deepen the kiss. You bit his lip in return and he groaned against your mouth, pulling your body closer to his.
When he finally pulled away, lips swollen, his breath was ragged. “Still hate me?” he rasped, forehead resting against yours. You didn’t answer. You dragged him back in.
Neither of you moved gracefully, you unzipped his pants quickly and tugged them off too roughly they bunched around his ankles. He groaned and tugged at your hair. “Careful, малышка.”
When there was nothing left between you but heat and bare skin, he paused. Just long enough to let you see how much he wanted you.
And then he pulled you. Legs thrown over his shoulders until you were bent all the way and his tip was at your entrance. “Already so wet for me,” he teased, getting a hold of his cock and slapping your cunt tauntingly.
“Makarov, I swear–” you huffed as he chuckled. “What are you going to do? I’m the one whos got you bent like a pretzel.”
“F-fuck you” you huffed.
“Oh, well in that case”
He thrusted into you, deep, fast. He didn’t wait for you to adjust to his size, he pumped into you with a pace that had you seeing stars. The mattress creaked under you as he slammed his hips against yours.
Moans and whimpers spilled from your mouth as his cock rubbed against the most sensitive part inside you. You sounded pathetic but you’d grown to not care because the way Makarov fucked you was like nothing youd felt before him.
Like he needed to prove something—to you, to himself, to the world—that you were his.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Your team did everything. Rescue missions, satellite sweeps, intelligence briefings—nothing. There was no trace of you, like you had never existed. Weeks blurred into months. And finally, another video was sent to them. They expected to see what they'd seen before. You, his bed. But instead everything in the video was different.
You’re in a kitchen, in a black shirt that sits just right above your knee. It’s Makarovs. And he's standing behind you, hands on your waist as he kisses your temple, whispering sweet nothings to you.
It’s clear that you’ve given in, you lean into his touch now instead of pushing him away. And though your feet are scarred you’re not hurt anywhere else.
Makarov picks up a piece of fruit from the cutting board and holds it to your lips. You eat it without hesitation and he wipes the juice from the corner of your lips. “Messy girl,” he mutters fondly.
After a few moments he picks up the camera and points it at you. “Малышка, smile” he tells you—and you do.
“Beautiful,”—he whispers—“Tell them who you belong to.”
You blush and hug him, the camera pointing at the counter when he wraps his arms around you. “Vlad,” you giggle, and that's more than enough to make your team know you don’t need saving.
