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🤜‼️💥
I'll Teach You
It's been a while, but since @diegobrandos-wife politely requested this, I'm posting my newest Ivan Drago imagine from Rocky IV.
I hope you will all like it, I know this fandom is very small.
Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17
@mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @shypy92 @nikfigueiredo @sabsthedoll @rach2602 @itshamleth @ladespedidas @devilslittlehelper @buckslifeline @wanniiieeee @jaydaaasworld @theelementofsurprisee @andrewgarfieldislife @lover-rep-fanfic @spideysimpossiblegirl
Main Masterlist
Summary: When one of his daughters starts getting taunts at school because of Ivan's rising stardom in fights, he decides to teach his girls how to train with him so they can be strong.
Enjoy.
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The excitement within Ivan could barely be contained as he walked through the front door. The bags in his hands were dropped to the floor, carelessly forgotten compared to what was present at the front of his mind.
His eyes roamed wildly but he barely stepped away from the door before his sights set on one of the four people he was desperate to see, and that melodic voice flooded his ears.
"You're home!"
Ivan's lips curled into a wide grin that bared his teeth and his arms reached out just in time to catch (Y/n) when she barrelled into him.
Love him so much 🥰❤️
Ivan Drago x Reader
- Strict Machine
(You are a personal nurse working for Ivan Drago's team. Just returning from USA after a victory match, he desperately needs your service)
Photos from @nana-lundgren & @my-gunnar-jensen
-----------------
Upon hearing Ivan Drago's victory in America on the USSR national radio, you were overjoyed. Alas, after the fresh snowfall of the Russian winter, you were struck down by a cold and couldn't accompany him to the competition. The cancellation of the American trip left you deeply disheartened. However, it seems the opportunity cost was mitigated by the fact that your opponent's injury necessitated his immediate return home to avoid controversy.
According to the medical wing's fax from the chief doctor, Ivan sustained minor abrasions to his face and bruising around his biceps.
With Eastern European propaganda departments once again mobilising for his triumphant homecoming—involving numerous events and magazine photo shoots—restoring his handsome visage to perfection was imperative. With colleague Daria on vacation in Ukraine, you alone were tasked with this tantalising yet arduous mission. By the time Ivan's private jet touched down at Moscow airport, you had already procured a substantial quantity of American-smuggled medical supplies and ointments through the black market. After repackaging the assorted bottles and jars in the pharmacy, another fax arrived from the chief doctor – this time delivering news that sent your pulse racing.
"Time is exceedingly tight; the team will not return to headquarters recently. Captain Drago has specifically requested an in-person appointment, advising the nurse to remain by his side unless necessary."
As you hurriedly packed your belongings and dashed from the stadium headquarters to the Palaces for the People (metro station), you recalled only spraying on a touch of Fleur Magique spring floral perfume, slipping into your cotton skirt and white Persian stockings, and even forgetting to don your leather hat. Arriving at the military-reserved Stalinkas to register with the doorman, the cold air had already induced stomach cramps and nervous palpitations, making your hands shake uncontrollably and nearly spilt the inkwell. Unlike the Khrushchevka where you live, the ceilings here were noticeably higher, perhaps because these tall, broad-shouldered officers couldn't tolerate cramped spaces.
As you pressed the doorbell, you feel a little suspicious. Logically, his wife Ludmilla should be living with him. Yet outside, you saw only a pair of size 45 military boots, polished to a mirror-shine. And the door was even unlocked.
"You're too early..."
Just as you turned to close the door, a wave of warmth—alcohol and cedarwood cologne—suddenly invaded from behind. No need to guess; it was American stuff. Glancing at the doorframe, you saw a shadow covering most of it. Startled, you dropped the leather suitcase you were holding. It had been half a month since you meet him last time. Though your mind had wandered boldly in the days apart, that anticipation faded significantly upon actually facing Ivan. Only fear remained, mingling with a hidden desire that sank deep into your belly. He was in a bathrobe, hand braced against the doorframe, blocking your path. Half his pale chest gleamed bronze under the warm glow of the lights. With all the curtains drawn, the dimness hid his expression, revealing only the half-open, luminous sapphire blue of his eyes. Before you could fully take in the sight, he spoke again, stepping closer to trap you completely in the entryway. This time, you caught the scent of alcohol—not vodka, must be American champagne.
"Where's Daria? Only you today?"
Somehow, you felt uneasy inside, unsure if he disliked you or if your usual attentiveness had become a nuisance to him. Seeing him seemingly entangled in alcohol and not quite sober, you are more brave this time. You placed your hand on his shoulder and pushed him away firmly, taking the opportunity to feel the texture of his bicep. Not bad—still firm and solid.
Freed from his grasp, your view widened. Beneath his left eye and at the corner of his lips, dark purple bruises were crusty with dried blood, stark against his porcelain-white skin. His opponent hadn’t held back. But remembering how this man had beaten someone to death just for a win in business match, a chill ran down your spine.
"She's still on vacation. I thought you ask me to come over?"
Ivan didn't respond. He just leaned over to grab the half-empty bottle of champagne from the coffee table. You glanced down and saw an empty vodka bottle lying on the floor. Mixing drinks like that is terrible for the liver. You wondered if he was doing it for the sake of his late rival, but given his usual haughty, you doubted he felt any remorse for that poor guy. Still, if he was nursing a hangover, you would be in big trouble.
Considering of that, you took away his champagne, though luckily he seemed in a good mood. Coaxed and nudged back onto the sofa by you, he let you peel off his bathrobe, merely frowning as he watched you retrieve the medicine box from the suitcase by the entryway. The floral wallpaper inside had cracked slightly from the dry heat of the radiator. You quickly removed your snow-dampened leather boots at the entrance and hung your heavy suede coat on the coat rack. Sure enough, there were no slippers prepared for you. Fortunately, Ivan was not into those kind of dusty carpets, but the wooden floor still felt a bit cool through your Persian silk stockings. You ran your fingers through your hair, deliberately undoing two buttons on your blouse.
You got the medicine box and poured him a glass of ice water to sober him up. You offering him the water, but Ivan didn't take it. He merely lifted his eyelids to glance at you as you sulkily put the glass back on the coffee table. Kneeling on the floor, you spread out the sterile isolation sheet on the table and soaked the cotton balls in iodine. His gaze made your ears burn. Usually, you were the one peeking at him, while he never care about your presence. Now, suddenly being on his whole attention, you felt flustered and could only lift your head, offering him an awkward smile. Seeing he hadn't looked away or responded, your whole body is almost burning.
Fortunately, the basic procedures were already second nature to you. This prolonged gaze didn't last too long. You stood up and applied the saline-soaked cotton ball held with tweezers to his wound. He cooperated and resting his head against the sofa cushion. You tentatively lifted his chin, then gently cradled his cold, pretty face, which was tinged with a faint flush. As the cotton touched his wound, you saw him flinched a little. His eyelashes trembled slightly beneath his half-open eyes, red lips parted ever so slightly, and his thick golden brows furrowed—a picture of delicate, pitiful vulnerability. You found yourself utterly captivated by this painting-like beauty, and staring blankly for several seconds. Snapping back to reality, you hurriedly sped up your work, silently berating yourself for neglecting these mundane treatments for so long that you nearly lost your medical integrity. The scab had already formed firmly, though the bruising and swelling remained. After cleaning the wound, you turned to dip a cotton swab in ointment. Glancing back, you saw him slumped forward as if drunk, his head about to fall onto the sofa. You inwardly cursed—the freshly disinfected area was about to be contaminated. Rushing forward to adjust him, you stumbled, perhaps tripped by your own stockings, and fell straight into the arms of this Soviet officer.
You kneel with your legs spread open, pressed against his crotch concealed by the bathrobe, creating an intensely sensual scene. His legs were far thicker than yours, bulging with muscle. The flimsy skirt offered no defense. Instantly, you felt the heat radiating from his alcohol-warmed body, the contours of his thigh muscles, and even the outline of that thing underneath, all searing your own soft curves. This brought a tremendous shock to you—both psychologically and physically. Before you could fully appreciate the perfect muscles beneath you, you bite your lips, frantically debating whether to scramble up and apologize immediately or pretend nothing happened and return to work. As you hesitated and dithered, the man beneath you seized your neck first. You gasped in alarm—now not only was escape impossible, but your breath was being stolen too.
Ivan saw through you from the very start. That gaze—so hungry, so predatory—he'd seen it countless times in the eyes of those officers' or executives' wives at events. But you usually handled things with such meticulous care and gentle grace, far better than those no-nonsense army nurses. So he endured that hidden heat. Since Ivan became a national sensation, his wife Ludmilla had been consumed with managing sponsorships and investments from wealthy people. Juggling her share of the pie inevitably entangled her with powerful figures, which gradually distancing her from him. Last year, she'd even moved out of this military housing altogether, relocating to the heart of the capital. In the prime of his youth, fueled by competition, he'd taken too many steroids. With his sex hormones surging, the pent-up fire had no outlet except for midnight solitude by himself. Though women never lacked for suitors, his high self-regard and need to protect his reputation kept him guarded. Neither he nor his wife came from wealthy families. They relied solely on his youthful talent and physical appeal. If he abandoned these principles and let anyone able to touch the bottom line too easily, this cutthroat arena would devour them whole. Though he harbored resentment over Ludmilla's growing distance these past years, he still believed she had no choice. Thus, unless absolutely necessary, he wouldn't betray her.
But you're just a little nurse—supposedly no threat at all. Yet your eager attentions are so blatant it makes him want to tease you a little longer. When he occasionally approach you under the pretense of fetching medicine, you react as if facing mortal danger, smiling nervously and tiptoeing around him as if afraid he'll discover your lewd thoughts. This inexplicably brings a flirtatious pleasure to Ivan's dull and tense life. Most of the medical staff around him either treated his body like a Party-State trophy to be guarded and protected, or pushed him to meet fitness goals just to earn praise from those executives. Only your desire and affection for him were genuine. It was hard to admit, but those subtle gestures—like loosening a few buttons on your nurse's uniform, or deliberately holding his arm while applying ointment to his wound—made him feel a touch of smug satisfaction beneath his irritation.
But today, taking advantage of his drunkenness, you've gotten too far. Accustomed to vodka's fiery kick, he has let down his guard against the sweet, smooth glide of American capitalist champagne. Before he knew it, a whole bottle had gone down, leaving his face flushed. Yet even so, with the drinking stamina honed during military meetings, he's still more than capable of handling you.
The two-week trip to LA broadened Ivan's horizons in matters of romance, but the forced, decadent nightlife left him somewhat jaded toward those stunning American blonde. Today, seeing your attire upon arrival and your ears flushed crimson from the cold, he found you exceptionally pure and lovely. He had planned to invite you for a glass of the celebratory champagne he'd brought back from the conference after you finished your treatment of his wounds. Then, on the indoor balcony, with Tchaikovsky's symphony playing on the national radio, he would ask you to dance. Later, before sunset, he'd kiss your neck down to your collarbone while slipping off your blue dress, leaving you only in those white lace stockings, and fulfilling the scene you'd dreamed for so long. But he truly hadn't expected you dare to take advantage of him. That small, soft body, mingling the scent of perfume with the faint smell of Lysol, sliding into his embrace, pressing tightly against his hips. He nearly lost control and kissed you then and there, feeling the alcohol-warmed blood rushing southward until his cock rose up completely.
It was rare for him to muster the courage to act like a gentleman, yet all those romantic plans he'd spent half the day devising went down the drain. Worse still, you beat him to it with your clever little scheme and took full advantage. Since that's the case, he intends to teach you a lesson before letting you have your way. Oh, wait—maybe combining the two would be more effective on someone like you?
"Сука, is that part of the service Y/N?"
You were too frightened to look at him, his sudden grip on your throat and threatening tone almost paralyzing you. This whole situation was inexplicable. To have angered Ivan over such a misunderstanding left you feeling wronged and panicked. After all, he was practically your supervisor—a single word from him to transfer you out of the capital would be the end of you. Yet you couldn't deny that having his knuckled hands half-grip your neck while enduring his low, murmuring scolding against your ear sent a thrill through you. Could it be you truly harbored some strange kink?
To enjoy your feeble excuses, Ivan spared your pitiful throat, instead yanking your hair to force you to look up at him. His other hand slid down to your trembling hips, idly pinching and twisting. Your mind was entirely occupied with excuses for your rudeness, and you didn't notice his movement. First it was the stockings slipping, reducing friction. Then it was the overpowering alcohol fumes—just one whiff made you dizzy. Staring into those almost inhuman blue eyes felt like peering into an abyss, the stress was too debilitating. So you simply closed your eyes, and waiting for your punishment. Instead of a scolding, what came was lips filled with the sweet taste of champagne and triple-layered cologne, his high-bridged nose nearly crushing yours. Then came the breath-stealing invasion of lips and tongue. Long since desiring that perfect lips, you immediately returned the kiss with equal fervor. Savoring plump lips, your hand slid beneath his bathrobe to caress those sculpted abs you'd coveted for so long.
Just as you decided to touch his thick golden hair, Ivan suddenly pushed away your hands with tremendous force. You instantly lost your balance and fell straight backward. Then darkness descended like a mountain crushing down. He leaned forward, shielding the back of your head from hitting the floor with his hand. At the same time, he lifted your head, took your lower lip between his teeth, and continued to bite it until you feel the scent of iron spread inside your mouth. This disparity in strength and size made you instinctively afraid. Your heart, already pounding wildly, felt like it might leap out of your mouth. You couldn't tell if your terror stemmed from the surge of adrenaline or the excitement of sexual tension.
Oxygen, breath, and control over your body were all stripped away by his overwhelming victory. The numbing pain from his bites on your tongue and lip lingered, while your cheeks tingled as if brushed by his long eyelashes. The dizzying sweetness of champagne, chaotic gold hues, intricate patterns on the vaulted ceiling, and the stifling heat from the radiator—everything felt as hallucinatory as a fever dream. Your helplessness and terror only fueled Ivan's conquest instinct, the same drive that consumed him when facing opponents on the stage. Years of medication had made his mind hypersensitive to stimulation. The scene, still fresh with blood and cheers from days past, flashed before his eyes—Apollo's agonized face etched into his memory. Gritting his teeth to suppress the explosive force that even he feared, he released the fingers pinching your jaw and turned to retrieve the ice water you'd left on the coffee table.
The heated sensation within the room subsided once more, leaving only the woman's barely audible breaths. You couldn't fathom why he'd stopped so abruptly. Therefore, you lifted your gaze to appraise the smooth, defined line of his jaw as it flowed down to his Adam's apple, undulating like a range of mountains. Two droplets of water trickled over those peaks, silently slipping beneath the last bit of fabric covering his crotch. Only after tracing the droplets' path did you begin to slip off the nearly ruined dress, but your attention was swiftly diverted by the scene of Ivan fully open his bathrobe. You gasped in awe at the sight of something more magnificent than any sculpture forged from steel and blood—a grandeur and intensity that was both profoundly beautiful and utterly pristine. He gazed down at you, mesmerized, every movement halted in admiration. That pride instantly sent blood rushing down to his lower body and made him rock hard.
A splash of icy coldness on your face snaps you out of your dream. You can't believe he actually splashed the remaining water on your face. Before you could complain, the ground vanished beneath your feet. Ivan lifted you off the floor with just his right arm, slamming you onto the mattress within seconds. The window of his room opened slightly, cold air rushing into your trachea. You couldn't keep up with his rapid pace. In the time it took for you to blink and look around, you were already completely naked, your legs clad only in lace stockings resting on Ivan's solid, broad shoulders. It was half past five, and Orpheus Radio was playing the First Symphony in G minor. Unusually, you noticed the corners of Ivan's firm, serious mouth stretched slightly into a grin, as if he was really satisfied by this most ordinary of melodies. Then he offered you a long-missed, warm smile. Beneath his sapphire eyes, laughter carved tiny wrinkles and dimples. The slanting evening sun streamed in, blending with his handsome face to wash over you like a rare spring breeze in this frigid northern land. For a moment, you couldn't tell if this cold statue was angel or demon. Though you hadn't touched a drop of alcohol, you were already intoxicated by his charms. Certain you were thoroughly wet and ready, Ivan took advantage of your distracted state. Maintaining that wicked grin, he adjusted his grip on your hips and slid deep into your tight, slippery folds. Without mercy, he began manipulating your body, pounding you up and down under him.
He returned to being that lofty statue, coldly observing your ethereal face as it shifted between joy and pain under his control. More tears streamed down, blurring your vision. Seeing your tears, a low, cold chuckle echoed from his chest. Ivan pressed closer to your trembling body, whispering filthy sweet talks learned in America into your ear while his hands squeezed your soft and smooth breasts. The white lace stockings you'd worn for him brushed against his shoulder, tickling him slightly. His calloused hands, hardened from bench presses, traced from your thigh to your knee, where the stockings began. He undid the decorative bow on it and, right before your eyes, placed the small ribbon into the dusty jewelry dish on his wife's bedside table.
"Nurse, are these lovely stockings included in the dress code?" Ivan murmured, lifting your left leg. His soft and pursed lips brushed against the stockings covering your calf. The scene before you was utterly beyond comprehension. Blushing with shame and arousal, you turned your face away, burying it in his pillow—only to find his scent permeating every inch of it. Seeing you ignore him, Ivan raised an eyebrow. His hand slid back into the crook of your thigh, thumb circling your tender core on your clit. He watched your arching back, noting how your pelvis lifted and dipped with each thrust as his cock thrusting deep inside you.
Finally, you couldn't hold back any longer and released from his pillow, begging for mercy. Ivan pressed you back into the classic missionary position. That beautiful face once again filled your vision—still as impassive and cold as ever, only his cheeks held a blush. Growing weary of your whimpering complaints, he withdrew his hand, pressed it against your lips, and gently shushed you into silence, wiping away the tears from your cheeks.
"I left the window open. You don't want the neighbors hearing your moans, do you? Hmm? Let me remind you, this is military housing for officers and their families."
Ivan mocked in a teasing tone,
"Taking advantage of a married officer during work hours? How utterly shameful of you."
Seeing you flushed with shame and anger, your delicate brows knitted together and eyes reddened with hurt, he finally relented and kissed your slightly parted lips once more—this time without biting. After licking your lips clean, he noticed your hips beginning to grind against him impatiently. With a soft chuckle, he patted your thigh, signaling you to turn your back to him.
"You really have no patience, do you? Perhaps I should remind you of your place, my nurse." Handsome man's threat only made you wetter. You laughed excitedly at the threat, then got the slap on your ass you'd been hoping for.
So filthy and vile—the thought that you might be admiring, even arousing yourself to, his pain and resilience as if they were works of art made Ivan feel rather displeased. He shoved his finger into your mouth, digging into your lips and tongue, slicing your moans like a throat-slash. Simultaneously, he thrust deep into your pussy, stretching you fully until he almost hit the cervix. Being tall and big, he only needed to grip the back of your neck and pull it back slightly to see your eyes roll back with over-stimulation. Regaining control satisfied him greatly. He released your mouth. And catch his breath in the cool air above, closing his eyes as he thrust steadily and powerfully. Holding your petite, full of fat, yet plump buttocks, he felt the warmth and wetness clinging tightly to his dick. The fluid of your climax, triggered by the intense stimulation, trickled down from your folds, dampening his half-shaved golden pubic hair.
After being thoroughly bottom out by this boxer, you finally giving up to dominate the situation, no longer fidgeting with that aching waist. And simply buried your head in his pillow, whimpering softly for mercy.
Unfortunately, Ivan quickly pulled you up, refusing to let you slack off. You had no choice but to obey his command, slipping off those stockings and climbing onto his crotch to move back and forth. This time, he endured your wandering hands on his moobs and abs, letting you caress him, and still wearing that thoughtful, wicked smirk.
Having feasted your eyes and mouth, and touched those perfect, dream-worthy breasts, you found yourself chuckle foolishly at Ivan's handsome face again.
Just as you prepared to taste the sweat glistening on his handsome cheeks, he grabbed your chin, pulling your face back. Your breasts took several more slaps before he suddenly hoisted your body. The world spun violently. Then, the lace stockings you'd just removed found a new purpose—he swiftly wrapped them around your neck. Choking your throat wasn't just the suffocation, but also the spasms triggered by the deep thrusts that plunged all the way inside you. The collision, more intense than anything you'd ever done to yourself, shattered what little sanity you had left. Pleasure crashed over you like a relentless tsunami.
He breathes on the sensitive nape of your neck, squeezing your heaving breasts, relishing every tremor and spasm you give him—as if this were payback for your past brazen stares; At the same time, he taste your small, plump lips—twisted with pain and pleasure—into his mouth, licked away the tears streaming down with the tip of his tongue, as if this could make him sink forever into your warmth and tenderness.
You hear his captivating, desperately restrained breaths grow increasingly ragged. A rolling wave of heat engulfs his entire body, making the already prominent veins bulge into the arcs of a work of art. You open your eyes, clinging tightly to his broad back, desperate to see Ivan's cold face rendered vulnerable for you. Yet his thick brows merely quivered slightly. As the hot surge filled your body, he resumed his resolute, upright, and distant demeanor. His chiseled features and icy eyes resembled the depths of Lake Baikal before spring thaw.
You consider him as the nation's proudest machine and the nature of his existence, fighting and killing over and over, to win countless victories for the glory of our motherland, and all while looking so pretty.
Before drifting into unconsciousness, he seemed to whisper something in your ear, but you couldn't figure it out what he had said.
All you remember is his embrace and his hair, now scented with citrus soap, while Orpheus Radio had already switched the music to Swan Lake.
(omg, can't believe I write soo much.
Please leave comments if you like it 🥹)
This video made people mad on tiktok im crine
