#mw3 makarov

[artistcalledbella]

for zakhaev

[diejager]

Could you please do a platonic yandere Vladimir Makarov with teenage daughter reader? Where he finds out that he has a daughter and is watching her but after awhile he decided to kidnap her to keep her safe from anyone and anything.?

Cw: DARKFIC, protective dad, kidnapping, spoiling, isolation, platonic yandere, tell me if I missed any.

He hadn’t expected his drunken one night stand to come back to him seventeen years later, at the peak of his revolution and power in the world. It had left his mind by the end of the week, where he spent a night with a pretty woman that he’d approached in the joy and mirth of winning a seat in the political image of Russia, his seat secured and power promised. He was - felt - unstoppable at that point.

Then he learned he had a daughter, a sweet girl that looked like a perfect mix of him and your mother. Thrust into the beginning of your adulthood and the closing chapter of your childhood, you had grown so prettily, adorable and loving. You were perfect in his eyes. Receiving the love of a mother, being pampered by her with the little amount of money she could scrounge to send you to school and provide for you. She truly cared for you despite being a mistake, a regret that reminded her of their coupling years ago.

While he believed in receiving motherly affection, he didn’t like the way you lived. So poor and hungry, denied the riches and luxury of his name and money. He wouldn’t have you live like that. So he took you, flew down to your quaint home, dressed finely and followed by his entourage while he stared down your mother, waiting for you to come back home from school. He’d forgotten her name - your mother - but all that mattered was you. He knew your name, your hobbies and preferences, but he’d like to hear them from you, to know you by your own words and acts rather than the video surveillance and all the digging he had his men do. 

And when he saw you in person, standing anxiously before him, you looked much more beautiful before him than through his screen. He saw the apprehension in your eyes, the small frown that pinched as you fussed about your mother’s fearful expression, using yourself to protect her from him and his men, ignoring her pleas for you to stand behind her, to let her protect you. But you were fiercely protective and loyal, something he expected from his daughter, yet was still surprised by the depth of it, blindly loyal and faithfully protective to a fault. 

“This…” she didn’t know how to explain this situation, he could see it as plainly as the blackness of his suit, “He’s your father, sweetheart.”

Your face broke between pain, shock and disbelief, but none directed at her, only to him whom you glared so powerfully. You were still so determined to protect your mother, knowing that she hid him from you and had never tried to reach out to him —not that he could blame her, he wasn’t a merciful man, neither easily reachable, nor easy to face. 

He gave you his name and smiled, pulling the sweetest grin he could, seeming soft and tender for a ruthless man like him. All for his daughter, the gem that would inherit his empire. Ever so polite, you muttered your name, voice slightly shaky. You took after your mother, taking her last name rather than his, one that screamed power and danger, but he’d have it changed, no daughter of his wouldn’t be given the name Makarov.

He was satisfied with this, and with little need to stay here any longer, he stood and approached you, his hand calling yours to have you accompany him home. He would have you brought home, where you rightfully belonged. On a throne by his side, dressed in the best silk and fabric his money could gift you, given the best education and taught by the best academic in both English and Russian, and if possible, you’d be taught other arts: literature, ballet, piano, theatre and language. 

But he was… somewhat disappointed that you shook your head, declining his invitation to come willingly. He understood that you’d have to start over again, uprooted and starting anew in a strange world without your mother. Truly, he knew how that felt, but he’d grown, he became better and wanted the same for you: to be better and deserve better. 

“Mom!” your cries and scream hurt him, the sound chiseling at his heart, fighting him to return o your mother’s side.

His men held your mother back, careful not to harm her as per his words, he didn’t need her health jeopardised. He had plans of paying her for caring for you, giving her a monthly cheque to support herself, eternally grateful that she sacrifice everything for you. You were now under his care, protected under his watchful eyes and international spread of allies and influence.

“Don’t cry, милая,” he cradled you, seated on his lap as he wiped away your tears, his hushed but steady voice trying to soothe you, “We’re going home.”[darling]

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[squelshi]

this too way too long

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

I said I wouldn't, but here we are -_-

Fucking bastard

[pricescancerstickk]

Vladimir Makarov x Reader

(C.w mentions of death, tell me if I missed any, au different than the game.)

W.c : 1.0k

It was a shocker how you’d been those receiving gifts. The writing in russian had given it away, You’d think he was trying to hide the fact it was him but really, he seemed like he was toying with you. You knew he wasn’t the type of guy to write or send letters, Makarov preferred luring in his victims, but to you he was making it obvious it was him

He haunted you for so many years.

The way the screen cuts to the next scene just made you wonder. If he was dead or alive. But the one with a gift box and a note attached to it?

That note in russian. It was too much to bear. Makarov was alive and out to find out where you were and get his revenge against 141. But for you, this was a warning to be on your guard too. For you.

Makarov couldve been anywhere in the world. You thought to yourself. But how would you know? That bastard knew you. You were hiding-. If makarov finds what he wants. There is no stopping what he would do. He was a cruel bastard. And he probably would not only want revenge. That was in his nature the man had only known destruction his entire life, with a bleeding heart and hadn’t shown any guilt for the killing of bystanders

It brings you to his partner in crime almost, Ivan

ivan. A trained mercenary in the group of elite killers that Vladimir had. If you were captured by someone like him. Then you would most likely be dead within the day if not the hour. Ivan, the ultranationalist. The second most important man to makarov’s group. But even he hadn’t a clue where your location was. You had been in hiding for quite some time after 141 disbanded. But makarov had the ability to get you in some sort of way. Whether by his men, or himself. Ivan... He was makarovs partner in crime to a certain point. You had seen him before. But one that wasn’t as dangerous as makarov. It was ivan who got you, but makarov who is sending the notes and the warnings. Ivan, ivan can’t track you. He is just a soldier. But makarov? He is a leader. He probably knows where you are already..

That bastard would probably be coming after you himself now. You needed to keep hiding. If not that, then run. He probably knows more about you than you think. Makarov could be hiding in a forest and then he could pop up right behind you in an instant. You thought to yourself. But you know. You would never run. Even if it meant you could be dead.. You would not run.

You only remembered Vladimir to be the same guy who was selling carpets back then,,

a carpet seller. A carpet seller was the man who was the cause of everything...a simple carpet seller. Makarov a simple carpet seller. It sounded a bit foolish but at the same time you had been living in the arab world for most of your life, so it made sense that such a thing could happen. But makarov? He was supposed to be a good man, an honest good man who did not mean any wrong. But he had been wrong from the start. So wrong. It was all a front. Atleast that was where you had first met him. His little carpet shop. A man in the east world selling carpets. Nothing wrong with that. Was he an honest man though? Now you question those very words. Was he really? It was all a facade. A facade behind all the atrocities that he must’ve been doing. All the people that have suffered under his cruel reign. All the people he had sold weapons too. The soldiers that he had killed. That he himself was hiding away and making himself out to be a saint.

When really he was the devil in disguise, you were hiding in the dark corner of the warehouse. He had seen you. And you hadn’t known what had happened. You felt his gaze upon you. So you kept to that corner. Waiting for the opportunity to get out and away. But you never got that opportunity. The base was now in flames and 141 was no more. It had been the end of days for them. But it had also been the end of days for you in a way, you were a hunted girl. With no friends or anyone to turn too.

You had no one to turn to. It was that night he had you in the corner of the wall That night he had you in the corner. So many other things had happened. But the image of him was burnt into your mind. The memory of him seeing you had been seared into your brain. His stare. The cruel look in his eyes. The look of a predator, like a lion stalking its prey. And the prey had found itself cornered. The prey was you. The hunted. Hunted yet again. You had nothing against the Russian. Albeit, yes he was the enemy. He killed millions and was responsible for the lives of them, you didn’t have anything personal against him, but even if that was that, he still needed to get rid of.

Necessarily, he wasn’t planning on killing you, but then it really struck him when you were bold to try and infiltrate their base, but he had caught you that night.

Makarov was a vile man, the damage he caused was immense and it began with a carpet shop?

“убери от меня руки!” You begged , pleas falling on deaf ears as he made his way around to you. He was mocking you with how slow he was going, harsh nails digging into your wrists, slamming you down on the floor pinning you down, the harsh stare in his eyes burned through you, it was engraved into your mind. You wrists had turned red it ached like hell

“So my little whore knows Russian?”

Your knees began to tremble at the sound of his voice alone. That one sentence was enough to shake you to the core and cause any confidence you had left to be stripped away from you. You wanted to cry and shake in fear. But instead you froze. Your knees trembled. And you felt as though you had just walked into the belly of the beast, you despised him, you wished the nightmare would be over, he was responsible for the death of all your friends.

But he was still after you, you didn’t know why. You wouldn’t know. If it was put more into summary,

He thought of you more as a toy then a enemy.

[makarovstie]

 ☨ Religious Makarov HC

 † He once carried black and red rosaries in his suit pocket when he was younger , but once they broke during one of his attacks , he swore to himself that god was never real and he was a fool for ever thinking he was. (Yet even after he still questioned if he was or wasn't)

 † Cried in a church once when he was early adulthood due to him being almost envious of other people being able to easily believe in god and live in bliss , also cried questioning god if he'd ever be forgiven for his sins.

 † He used to go to church with an older neighbor he had , and often he would sit and observe other people instead of paying attention to the prayers and gospel being spoken.

 † Got into an argument with Yura when they first , Yura having brought up Christ and Makarov told him to never speak of such "dumb things" around him. In actuality , Makarov was confused and often thinking of religion annoyed and scared him.

 † He grew up around religion (It being very common in Russia at the time) especially with his father yet he always felt disconnected. Almost like everyone was just on a different head space compared to himself.

 † Although he is unsure of his own standing on religion and refuses to speak more into it , he never gives Yura a hard time about it. He always ensures Yura has time and space to pray if wanting to and respects his ideology and foundings of his comfort in religion  

 † Art is done by artistcalledbella

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

How successful would Vladimir Makarov…

[cas-backwards-tie]

The Long Road Masterlist

Vladimir Makarov x Reader

Summary: After your fiancé’s murder, you’ve come up with a plan to avenge him. Now in Russia, you’re thrust into a country, a language, and a fake identity you know next to nothing about. Forcing yourself into his life was easier than you’d anticipated, now the only problem is you’re worried someone’s catching onto your lies.

Chapters: In The Dead Of Night | Expectations Erased | A Date with the Devil |

Warnings: Violence, Guns, Death, Major MW3 Spoiler, Main Character Death, Grief, Loss, Angst, Anger, Hatred, Revenge, Dark Themes, Yelling, Degradation, Humiliation, Murderous Thoughts

Mentions of: PTSD, Dissociation

[coffeemakerwriter]

Riley ramble

Second go at the Riley ramble :(

Makarov’s is definitely the ‘touch them and I’ll kill you type’ with his partner

Made a big rule with his konni soldiers that they aren’t allowed to touch his partner, if they do he’ll find a way to make their life miserable (or end if we’re gonna be honest).

He’s very possessive with his partner, has very possessive body language (hand around the waist, pulling his partner closer etc) he’s the only one who can touch his partner

He makes it known his partner is his too. He makes it known especially to his soldiers. Despite him making it well known that his partner is his and his alone he keeps his partner private. Only letting those in close command with him (Nolan for example) see his partner and very rarely lets his soldiers see them.

If he see’s a solider of his touch his partner he’s not going to be kind about it. At the very least (and this is going to be merciful by his standards) he’ll just make their life miserable, if not then- well you’ll figure it out I’m sure

But if a person whose against him goes after his partner? That’d be a huge mistake- he’s make sure they wouldn’t make it out alive.

His help those who touch them tbh-

He’s very much touchy with his partner in subtle ways in public. His leg against his partners, hand resting on their knee, etc.

End of the Riley ramble (for now)

[lululandd]

Makarov? Please? Pretty please?

ive never drawn male nsfw before but i guess he could be the exception

[soapyghost]

i have writers block or smthn help me decide what to dip my toes back in with before i try and continue my firefighter fic thx

[artistcalledbella]

happy (late) valentines day <3

[diejager]

it's always girl dad König or girl dad Simon but girl dad Makarov whose little princess gets away with everything

Cw: mention of assassination, protective behaviour, father!Makarov, tell me if I missed any. nnote: every dialogue in italic is spoken in Russian.

“- could provide you with-” 

“Papa, ” you poked your head through his office room’s door after giving it three light knocks.

You knew your dad was in his office, a worker of the house had told you where he was after you asked her, the old lady’s face wrinkling up with her gentle, saying that she saw a Bolivian man escorted to his office, but didn’t know if he left or not. Wanting to try your luck, you crossed the mansion to get to his office, built on the left side of the house, while your bedrooms and study rooms were on the other end of the mansion. He liked to separate his work life and his life with you, for better protection and keep your from knowing the dangers of life —or so he says. 

A man sat across him, the bald head of the Bolivian man Old Baba mentioned, wearing a suit sewed in fine looking silk, of rich and luxury that even your father never wore around so carelessly. It would catch people’s attention, right or wrong, he didn’t need any of that, he would rather wear the same black and white attire, clean and normal enough to be unnoticeable by the mass. The dichotomy between the fat man and your father was laughable, a scene you’d only see in your comedy novels or a movie. Your abrupt entrance had cut the man’s proposition in half, turning both their attention towards the door where you blinked owlishly, partly in guilt for barging into his meeting and in shock at the bald man’s heavy perspiration. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were still talking,” you bowed your head, ready to excuse yourself for barging in, “I’ll come back later, papa.”

“It’s fine,” Makarov waved his hand, nodding his head to let you know he wasn’t mad, your father would never be mad at you, you listened so well and never fought him on anything. You were a gem in his eyes, something precious and untouchable to all but him, “I’ll have someone call you when I’m done.”

When you closed the door, Makarov’s attention turned back to his potential - well, past potential - ally, his eyes darkening after he caught the man whispering something horrid about your interruption. His business was yours as much as it was his, you might’ve been kept in the dark at most time, but you knew enough to know he was a dangerous man. He kept you sheltered, but not naive.

And after half-heartedly listening to what the man had to provide, Makarov dismissed him, giving him a cold apology about those needs being fulfilled by a prior contractor, someone who already provided him with the material he proposed. He didn’t need a rich pig that stupidly flaunted is money, it would attract to many eyes and he didn’t need that if he wanted to reach his goal and build a better world for you. 

He flicked his wrist, opening his phone and mindlessly dialling a number, pressing the screen to his ear as he watched the man amble down the stairs, struggling to make his way to the car he had a chauffeur waiting for him. The person on the other side picked his call within seconds, a cool and monotone voice ready to receive his order from Makarov, the unbothered tone at his fury, a personal and petty thing that clawed at his mind. 

“Make it known that I will have no one disrespect my daughter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[squelshi]

09 makarov religious headcanons go

[theshadybunny]

Soap fans, don’t kill me. But this snake skin design is absolutely killing it. I had someone ask if I made a Makarov tumbler so here you go!

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Texting:

Ghost: You're such a piece of shit, Graves.

Makarov: You have the wrong number.

Ghost: Is this Phillip Graves?

Makarov: No, it’s Vladimir Makarov.

Ghost: My bad.

Ghost: You’re such a piece of shit, Makarov.