#sylph.writes

[siilvan]

HELLOOO! I hope your requests are open, if not take this as a (filthy) plot suggestion

you and price were alone in the middle of nowhere for a mission. It went pretty good and it ended quickly. the evac would not come until morning, so you found a safe house to settle for the night. you weren't an official couple yet, but it was obvious that there was something between you two. since there was nothing to do, you began joking around and laugh at stupid jokes, and jokingly you you sat on his lap, to jokingly flirt. he got immediately excited but he didn't want to admit it. so you show him that it was effectively like this 🤭

dusk

characters: john price

summary: you decide to take advantage of being alone with the captain for the night.

genre: general, explicit, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, reader is shorter than price, grinding, fingering, riding, unprotected piv, lotsa praise

word count: 4.2k

note: sorry i didn’t post for a month do you guys still like me

i’m also sososo sorry if the quality isn’t up to par, i wrote this over like 4 weeks— i hope the semi-longer chapter makes up for it <3

"come on, inside." price’s gruff command guides you through the wooden door and into the apartment. while shaking off the grime and lingering adrenaline, you take in the interior. laswell’s description was spot on: modest, discreet, and unfit for long-term usage. as if reading your thoughts, price huffs out a laugh from next to you.

"it’s not much, but it’ll do for the night," he says, stepping further into the space. the slightly rotted floorboards creaked under his heavy boots, as if rejecting your very presence. "we’ve camped out in worse places, haven’t we, lieutenant?"

you hum while considering your response. "suppose we have, this place at least has a bathroom." he follows your eyes as you nod towards the door at the other end of the room, left open to reveal a humble bathroom. "hope it has hot water, i’d murder for a warm shower right now."

price shrugs before motioning in the same direction. "feel free to try it out, then. just be sure to keep your voice down if you’re displeased."

"should i invite you to join if i’m pleased, captain?" you ask, blinking up at him with a small smile on your lips. the question is laced with faux curiosity - you’re already well aware of what his answer will be.

"perhaps a cold shower would be better for now." he responds, stepping closer to you. the distinct scent of cigar smoke and dry wood cologne invades your senses as he holds your chin in a gentle grip, angling your head upwards. "what d'you think, sweetheart?" the rough pad of his thumb runs across your bottom lip, forcing you to part them and effectively wiping the smile off your face.

"i think…" you murmur, lifting your hands up to press them flat against his vest. "…that i’ll try to leave some hot water for you, since i’m so nice."

his eyes narrow as your palms slide upwards to his chest; a sensation he couldn’t quite feel through the thick material separating the two of you, but it sent heat through his veins and pooling in his stomach nonetheless.

you step back and disappear into the bathroom without another word. price’s eyes follow you the whole way, and a low sigh escapes him once the door is closed behind you. he shakes his head and tugs on the front of his vest, right above where your hands had rested just moments before.

"yeah, a fuckin' angel’s what you are." he mutters, sarcasm and fondness equally mixing in his tone.

the water felt like ice on your skin, much to your chagrin. the relaxing shower you had hoped for was instead a quick rinse followed by a grumbled string of curses as you toweled yourself off. despite your disappointment, you were just thankful to be clean.

price’s voice, albeit slightly muffled, was audible through the door. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted to listen in on his conversation, so you do what any curious person would do: crack the door open just enough to hear him clearly.

"everything’ll be fine, kate. you don’t need to worry about us." price says with a short chuckle. he starts to speak again, until a voice in the radio interrupts him. you push the door further open, desperately trying to make out what the other voice - laswell, you presume - says in response, but to no avail. whatever she says pulls a frustrated noise from his lips.

"we’ve never had any problems before, have we?" the distinct sounds of old furniture groaning under unwelcome weight signals that he’s sitting now. "i’ve heard this speech a hundred times already, you don’t need to repeat it. we’re both adults perfectly capable of staying on-task for one night."

thoughts of what price could possibly be talking about swiftly flood your brain, pulling your attention from the ongoing conversation. ever since meeting the captain, it was obvious that there was something between you two; "fast friends" soon turned into a mutual attraction that neither of you were willing to firmly acknowledge or deny. innocent flirting had evolved into an agonizing tension, slowly driving you mad while simultaneously drawing you in deeper.

at this point, you’re ready to follow the man to his quarters and cut the tension yourself because, despite his straightforward nature in all other fields, price refuses to take the first step with you. leaving yourself to speculate on why only leads to more questions, so you choose to focus on ways to make him finally snap instead.

there’s a knock against the doorframe, making you jolt and let out an embarrassing yelp. through the sizable crack in the door, you can see price eyeing you down with a sly smile adorning his face.

"have a good shower, lieutenant?" he asks with a tilt of his head. he knew you were listening, that much you could tell.

you open the door fully, allowing him to lift an arm to lean against the frame, his body cutting off your only escape route. still, you try to avoid his gaze. "it was cold," you concede with a grimace. "you and laswell having problems, captain?"

price chuckles to himself, shaking his head. "i wouldn’t call it 'problems,'" he pulls back and straightens his stance, somehow making himself look even bigger than he did leaning over you. "she thinks we’re not to be trusted overnight."

you would be offended by the claim, if it wasn’t completely true. standing in front of him only serves to flood your mind with things you could do while alone together, completely disregarding your training that commands you to stay on-guard. at this moment, you felt more like a hormonal teenager daydreaming about her crush than a soldier.

"i have no idea why she’d think that." you scoff dramatically, feigning shock. "we’re professionals, we can handle ourselves for one night." you manage to shoulder past him and back into the main living space. with an innocent smile playing on your lips, you settle on one side of the couch.

"proving her wrong, eh? we can do that." price follows your example and takes up the other half. your eyes are practically glued to him as he shifts and gets comfortable, legs spreading while his arms settle on the back and the arm of the couch. the dark fabric of his uniform is slightly strained in his current position, perfectly showcasing his hulking, athletic physique under the layers of clothing.

you really wouldn’t complain about being crushed under him.

"tell me a joke," you mutter after clearing your throat, thighs squeezing together as you attempt to get your thoughts back on track. "laswell never said anything about jokes being inappropriate, right?"

price’s head lolls back against the cushion as he pretends to genuinely consider your question. "no, she didn’t. suppose there’s no harm in having a little fun, is there?" he says, sending you a cursory glance and a small smile. his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he shifts again to face you.

"all right, i got one." he chuckles to himself and leans forward. "what do you call a shipment full of military-issued t-rexes?"

you give him a tight-lipped smile and a soft 'hmm?', already slightly regretting your decision. just slightly, though. the smile on his face morphs into a cheeky grin before he continues.

"small arms."

you groan and shake your head in disapproval. "that was awful, price. i think i’d rather listen to ghost’s puns over that." you complain amidst the occasional chuckles leaving your lips. despite the awfulness, he still managed to make you laugh.

"ah, don’t be so quick to defend him. he’s who i stole the joke from." price confesses, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as your shoulders shake softly from subdued laughter.

"i should’ve guessed, that has 'two goldfish in a tank' written all over it." you shake your head once more and look at him again. you blink in surprise when you realize that his gaze is already on you, practically burning against your skin. there was something there, swimming in his pale irises whenever he looked at you. the naivety inside you called it yearning, and the cynicism called it meaningless lust.

still, you wanted him. physically, and perhaps even more. you'd hate yourself for letting an opportunity like this slip by.

"since you're no comedian, sir, why don't we try something else?" you close the short distance between the two of you and toss your leg over his knee, settling yourself on his lap. "we're both professionals, so surely a little... closeness, wouldn't be an issue for us, right?" your hands come up to rest on his broad shoulders as you lean back, keeping a respectable distance despite your current position.

price stares at you wordlessly for a few seconds, his clenched jaw and softly furrowed brow being response enough. you decide to test the waters, shifting forward and back gently, playing it off as an adjustment for comfort. his hand immediately leaves the arm of the couch and lands on your hip, rendering you motionless above him.

"you wanna test me, is that it?" he asks. a shiver racks your spine from the low timbre of his voice, the question practically leaving his lips in a growl. "get yourself a win, so you can brag for a week about beating the captain?" the hand still resting atop the back cushion leaves it to join the other on your hips.

you shrug nonchalantly, fighting the urge to melt under his touch. "your words, not mine. all i want to do is be close to my dearly beloved commander - we are alone in foreign territory, after all." you fight against his hold, trying to move against his thighs.

you'd rather die than admit that you're already soaking through your underwear from just this. you don't need price to gloat about winning, you need him to fuck you stupid. unbeknownst to you, the man was currently fighting every urge to do exactly that. he could feel himself getting hard inside his slacks, his cock straining hard against the material.

he doesn't fight when you bend your upper body forward, hands sliding from his shoulders to his chest, as you speak softly next to his ear. "what if i get scared or cold, sir? won't you take care of me, since you're so kind to me?" your breath brushes against his skin as you whisper, earning a firm squeeze that most definitely leaves crescent-shaped marks on your skin.

it was a losing battle, anyway.

you let out a surprised yelp when he suddenly pulls your bodies flush, your chests pressed together with only your hands to separate them. his hips buck up into you, pulling a shameless moan from your lips. you respond in kind, hands fisting in his uniform as you grind against the imprint on his pants.

"price–"

"you’re a fuckin' tease, y'know that?" price huffs, a low noise escaping him while you rock back and forth. he starts pushing and pulling you along meanwhile, pressing you down harder against him and pulling stuttering breaths from the both of you.

"tell me what you want, love."

"want your cock–"

"you haven’t earned it yet."

you let out a frustrated groan at his response. price merely chuckles and holds you still again, preventing you from even trying to chase the high you’ve been craving for what felt like an eternity.

"i want you to be a good girl, and get yourself off on my thigh." he ducks his head to press a kiss against your jaw, forcing you to tilt your head back to make room for him. "i’ve seen you stare at them before, i know you’ve thought about it, love."

he drags his lips upwards, his coarse beard prickly against your skin, until he reaches your ear. "go on. show me just how badly you’ve been wanting this."

like a good soldier, you take orders well. you waste no time in lifting yourself up to straddle his large thigh, biting back a moan as you rub your clothed core against him. price groans and leans back to watch with hooded eyes as you buck your hips, enraptured with the sight.

"c’mon, wanna hear you– don’t go quiet on me, now."

"fuck, captain–"

"attagirl." his hands move from your hips to drag your shirt up and over your head. he tosses it somewhere across the room, his attention shifting to your newly-exposed skin. he moans, guttural and deep, at the sight, and the sound only adds to the arousal already dripping from your core.

you grind down hard against his thigh, soaking through your underwear onto your uniform pants. you're sure price’s cargos are getting soaked as well, but you're not willing to get off him to check.

price moves with trained precision as he pulls your bra off, leaving your upper half completely bare under his hungry gaze. he draws one of your hardened nipples into his mouth and lets out a satisfied hum against your heated skin. one of your hands tangles in his short hair while the other clutches his shoulder for stability as you desperately rock back and forth, gasps and lewd moans spilling from your lips.

"wanna cum– please, sir–" you whine at the painful ache in your cunt, the layers of fabric only serving to block you from reaching your release. "need you– need you to make me cum."

"i know, pretty girl. i'll take care of ya." he groans softly after releasing your nipple, moving to leave a trail of wet, sloppy kisses from your collarbone to your neck. he reaches for your waistband at the same time, popping the button open and unzipping your pants. his rough thumb pad presses against your clit through your underwear, rubbing small and quick circles around the sensitive bud. your hips stutter and jolt forward into his touch as his name and another whine falls from your lips.

"there you are, just like that– that's my girl, you're doing so good for your captain." price mumbles praise and leaves open-mouthed kisses against your pulse, his cock rock hard and dripping pre-cum that was surely staining his briefs.

you can feel your release building up, months of teasing and agonizing tension spurring you on as you grind into his leg and his touch. your hands tug at the fabric of his shirt, bunching it up as you whimper out complaints. he sucks dark marks into your feverish skin meanwhile, ignoring your complaints and pathetic attempts at removing his shirt yourself.

"off." you whine, successfully untucking his shirt from his slacks but failing to get any further. price bites down hard on your shoulder, laving over the indents with his tongue a few seconds after, before he travels up to your parted lips.

"patience, sweetheart."

you huff and lean in, brushing your lips against his and letting out a soft whimper of his name in an attempt to sway him. a moment passes, the only movement being your hips rocking back and forth, and you silently think that you’ve convinced him.

his radio, which has sat on the table next to the couch silently until now, suddenly goes off and distracts you from your haze. price’s hand squeezes your hip again, forcing you to sit still as he grabs the device. he sends you a quick look of "be quiet" before answering it.

"go for price." he clears his throat immediately after, his voice slightly strained and thick with frustration and lust. you sit as still as you can, willing yourself not to move despite being so fucking close before you were interrupted. you can hear a familiar voice on the other end, but paying attention to it wasn’t even an option with how worked-up you were.

something about tomorrow’s exfil, you manage to piece together despite being wholly uninterested. you couldn’t hope to focus, anyway, with price’s eyes trained on your teary-eyed expression during the entire conversation. you’re so distracted with him that you don’t notice his hand sliding past your waistband and into your underwear, until a finger starts circling your puffy clit.

before you can stop yourself, you gasp from the unexpected sensation. one of your hands flies up to cover your mouth, muffling the breathy moans that pour from your lips as price starts to rub harsh circles around your clit and bounce his thigh under you.

"what was that sound?" the person that he was talking to - laswell, of course - asks after a beat. price shushes you softly before responding.

"just the lieutenant. she got startled by a mouse." he chuckles, sounding completely unbothered whilst sending you to cloud nine. the conversation ends shortly thereafter, and he tosses the radio to the other side of the couch before turning his attention to you again.

"nearly got us caught there, love." price pulls your hand away from your mouth and captures your lips with his own, greedily drinking up your moans. "you want the team to find out about us, yeah? want them to know what you let your captain do to you?"

"'s your fault i made noise–" you pull back just enough to argue, rocking your hips in sync with his leg's movement, panting like a bitch in heat every time your cunt was rubbed just right. price revels in your debauched state, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smile as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

his finger leaves your clit and moves south, easily sliding through your folds before adding another. he groans when you grind against his fingers, coating them in your arousal as his name tumbles from your lips. he teases at your entrance for a bit, until he shoves the two fingers inside you without any warning. your jaw goes slack as he suddenly thrusts his thick fingers knuckle-deep, stretching you out and stopping your hips dead in their tracks.

"thought you needed me to make you cum– changed your mind all of a sudden?" price cocks his head to the side. you try to respond, but can only release another moan as he curls his fingers upward, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"no– need more, need you," you can feel fat tears gathering at your waterline, threatening to spill over. his free hand guides you, forcing you to ride his fingers as they twisted, stretched, and thrusted into you at a brutal pace. "fuck, fuck, fuck– gonna cum–"

you clutch onto his shoulders for stability, holding his uniform tightly as you whine and moan freely. your orgasm hits you like a train, wave after wave of pleasure flooding through your body head to toe. his fingers keep thrusting into you, thumb circling your clit, effectively dragging your pleasure out as long as he could.

when you finally come back to earth, price is carefully pulling his fingers out of you. he brings them to his lips and eagerly sucks on them, cleaning your orgasm off with a pleased hum.

you shift in his lap and feel his cock fighting to escape his slacks, drenched and utterly ruined by you. slowly, your fingers glide down his chest and torso, coming to rest just above his belt. you fiddle with the buckle, the heel of your palm brushing against the sizable tent in his pants.

he immediately responds, a grunt escaping him and only serving to spur you on. you undo his button and zipper before shifting your attention to his hardened cock, massaging it through his layers of clothing.

"fuck, sweetheart," his gravelly moan is like music to your ears. his hips lift upwards, chasing your touch like a moth to a flame. "you gonna let me fill up that pretty little cunt of yours?" he asks, his eyes trained on you despite the pleasure washing over him.

you nod frantically, already reaching into his cargos and pulling his cock out. it comes to rest at your entrance as you line yourself up and start to rub your cunt against his length, dragging it through your dripping, sensitive folds. you moan in tandem, rocking your hips against his length while he drips pre-cum that mixes with your excess arousal. it makes even more of a mess, but you can’t be bothered to care.

with a hoarse growl caught in his throat, price buries himself deep inside you, pulling your hips down to meet his. the air is knocked out of your lungs as you struggle to accommodate his size, feeling a slight burn despite your prep.

"fits like a fuckin' glove. knew you would– my sweet girl, taking me so well. like you were made to take my cock."

you paw at his shoulders and moan when he starts with shallow thrusts, barely pulling out before slamming back in. the burn quickly fades into pure pleasure as he ruts into you, hands roaming all over your body, struggling to find purchase. you cling to him as you lift your hips and drop back down, trying to time your movements with his thrusts.

his shirt came off at some point, but you were too blissed-out to notice when. you happily admire the view as best as you can while bouncing on his cock, panting and moaning his name every time he hits that perfect spot - which, he does. often.

your head falls forward, forehead pressing into his and rapid breaths co-mingling. his hands circle your middle and hook around your thighs, using them as leverage to move you on his cock like a toy. your nails dig into his shoulders and create ugly red marks on his skin, nearly breaking it and making him bleed. his hands are holding your thighs in an iron grip, leaving behind similarly-shaped bruises for you to find in the morning.

all you can focus on is price and his cock bullying its way deeper inside you. you feel so full, stretched out on his length and struggling to catch your breath every time he thrusts up into you. the distinct sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room, your cunt drooling around him and making wet noises that sound downright pornographic.

"love– ah, fuck– y'feel so fucking good," he pulls back and drops his head to rest on your shoulder, muffling his throaty moan against it. "so good, so perfect– wanna fuck you like this every day, feel this perfect cunt wrapped around my cock– fucking hell, i want you, need everyone to know that you're mine."

your stomach tightens, burning with the rapid approach of your second orgasm. the noises coming out of price were animalistic, barely coherent after he buries his face in the crook of your neck while frantically fucking up into you.

"none of those boys deserve you, love. they can't– fucking christ– they can't please you, can't satisfy you. y'need a real man, someone who'll keep you nice and full."

"price, fuck–" your head was spinning, dizzy from pleasure. your walls flutter and pulse around his cock, forcing a whine out of the captain. "'m yours, sir. please, i wanna cum– want you to cum inside."

you feel yourself getting close, teetering on the edge. your pelvis aches from the force of price's sloppy thrusts as he loses rhythm, rutting into you like a man starved. despite the countless nights spent fantasizing about him, you never expected him to be so feral. it's like he's an animal trying to breed you, to stake his claim on you.

the thought sends you over the edge, cumming with a debauched moan of his name. price keeps fucking you through your orgasm, his cock hot and heavy inside your cunt. his thrusts were erratic, desperate, as he chased his own release. you try to ride him despite the overstimulation, practically going limp in his arms as he drags you along.

"gonna cum, love– inside? y'gonna let me fill you up like a good girl?"

you nod your head, sniffling and blinking back hot tears. "yes–! want it inside, please, i've been so good–"

"agh, fuck–" price grunts and presses his hips flush to yours. he cums a second later, burning liquid spilling into your fluttering cunt. he shallowly thrusts into you, making some spill out onto your glistening thighs and his ruined cargos. after a couple more thrusts, he falls back against the cushion, hands sliding up to rest on your hips.

you two sit in silence for a few moments, catching your breath. price presses chaste kisses to your shoulder and the side of your throat while his thumbs rub gentle circles into your sweaty skin. you lazily play with his short hair, dragging your fingers through it and massaging his scalp. he groans softly and shifts under you, making you whimper from the ache between your legs.

"guess we can't be trusted alone," you mumble and sigh, a satisfied smile playing on your lips.

price hums and chuckles softly. "i think we handled ourselves just fine. i had an eye on the door."

"i''ll take your word on it," you huff and lean against him, your heart skipping a beat when his arms wrap around you. "i won, by the way."

"sure you did, love."

taglist: @sofasoap , @rohansregret

[siilvan]

sun showers

characters: kyle "gaz" garrick

summary: gaz warms you up after you get caught in the rain.

prompts: 2. "do i make you nervous?"

genre: fluff, very light angst, roommate!gaz, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, light cursing, brief references to canon-typical violence, like one innuendo at the end lol

word count: 1.5k

note: learned about gazfest and proceeded to speed-write a drabble-fic to celebrate :) big shoutout to @glitterypirateduck for curating this!

wrote half of this in one day and the other half the next. the quality drop is very obvious lol. i promise i've got better gaz fics planned for the future </3

"y'look like you just went swimming."

you slam the front door behind you, dropping your bag on the floor unceremoniously as you glare daggers at your roommate. kyle is lounging on the sofa, hot cup of tea in hand, sending you an amused look after tearing his eyes from the television.

"there wasn't any rain in the forecast today," you grumble in response, kicking off your sopping wet boots. you can see kyle set his mug on the table and rise from his spot, casually strolling into the small kitchen you shared. you figure he's going to grab a snack for himself and ignore him before trudging to your room to change clothes.

when you emerge again, in dry clothes and with a slightly better attitude, you're immediately greeted by your designated mug sitting on the countertop, filled nearly to the brim with steaming tea. you glance over and see kyle standing at another counter, busying himself with building a small plate of snacks, quietly humming a random showtune under his breath.

you carefully pick up the cup and take a sip, a comfortable warmth flowing through you, chasing away the bone-deep cold that you couldn't seem to shake even after arriving home. your eyes squeeze close briefly as you revel in it, and you miss the way he glances at you with a smile on his lips.

"figured you could use a little pick-me-up," kyle says, catching your attention. he brushes past you gently, carrying the plate to the coffee table and setting it down. "c'mon, you're probably still freezing." he adds, patting the spot next to him after sitting on the couch again.

"sometimes i forget how sweet you are." you shake your head and settle in next to him, carefully lifting your cup as he tosses a blanket over your legs.

he turns whatever show he was watching back on - some history documentary, you realize - and munches on one of the cookies from the plate, quietly relaxing next to you. you, meanwhile, are sipping on your tea, split between paying attention the show and watching him from the corner of your eye.

moments like this were truly rare for you two, despite your living situation. you came home at the end of every day, but for kyle, that wasn't a guarantee. he'd be gone for weeks, sometimes months, at a time, leaving you to care for your flat until he returned. you've never said it aloud, but you've grown to dread him leaving. the place felt lonely without him, like there was something important missing.

the way he reassures you before leaving and the check-in texts you receive daily while he's gone makes you think he knows already, despite you never saying a word to him about your feelings. he's attentive to a fault - you wouldn't be surprised if he knows you just as well as you know yourself.

"you okay?" his voice interrupts your train of thought suddenly. you jolt, almost spilling your tea, and hastily set it down on the table before turning to him. kyle's gaze is already on you, and your eyes quickly dart anywhere but his face as a warmth slowly creeps up the back of your neck.

"yeah, of course." you wave him off, pulling the blanket closer around yourself. "just chilly, is all. i'm already starting to feel better."

he hums, and you can still sense his gaze on you when he goes quiet. you desperately avoid eye contract, electing to stare at the television whilst not comprehending a single thing on the screen. anything to convince him that you're not having an internal war over whether you like him as a roommate or as something more.

a minute passes, and you think he's dropped it. until his voice, dropped to a near whisper, suddenly speaks right next to your ear.

"do i make you nervous?"

you jump, again, and whip your head around to look at him. kyle's leaned in close, a kind yet nervous smile on his lips, his arm swung over the back cushion to face you properly.

you quirk a brow at him. "nervous?" you ask, gaze finally flicking up to meet his. "no, not at all. why?"

he shrugs his shoulders and chuckles, visibly relaxing at your reply. "i don't know, i just– i'm not here often, i guess. didn't know if i was overstepping or something." he waves his free hand as he talks, trying to find the right words.

"kyle, you're probably the person i feel the safest around." you remark, scooting just a bit closer to him to emphasize your point. well, and to steal some of the heat radiating off him.

"i get that you feel safe, but–" he drops his hand to his side and sighs. "maybe i'm misunderstanding, but you looked like you felt off. just wanted to check in."

tell him, your brain shouts at you, seeing the opportunity. he already knows, all you'll be doing is giving him the reassurance that he always gives to you. the worst thing he can say is no; you'll lose your best friend and have to find a new place to live if he rejects you. that isn't a terrible risk, right?

except, it is. you worry the inside of your cheek and leave the comment hanging in the air for far too long. just as kyle opens his mouth to say something, you interrupt him.

"i don't like when you leave for work," you start, hands fidgeting in your lap. "the apartment feels empty without you– i feel empty without you. i was thinking about that and how much i'll miss stuff like this when you leave again."

for a moment, he just stares at you. it doesn't help with the nerves at all, and you mentally squirm under his scrutiny. your discomfort seems to snap him back into the present, though. kyle's face lights up, practically beaming with joy as he finally responds.

"i'm not going anywhere, not right now." he cups your cheek when you attempt to look away, keeping your focus on him with gentle fingers holding your head in place. "i hate leaving you. if i could be in two places at once, i'd be here around the clock. seeing your smile fall every time i walk out the door hurts like nothing else."

you stifle a small laugh and place your palm over his. "kyle, you've been shot. pretty sure that hurts worse than seeing me sad."

he purses his lips, thinking, before making a noise of disagreement. "ah, think i'd rather take a bullet than see you cry." he counters with a pensive nod, sending you into a fit of bemused giggles.

when you manage to compose yourself, mouth split in a wide grin, you meet his gaze again. kyle's mirroring your expression, though his attention is very clearly elsewhere. his eyes narrow, head dipping ever so slightly as his eyes flit between your own and your lips. it's a subtle gesture, a quiet way of asking for something without pushing you in any particular direction. your tongue darts out to wet your lips, an action that he watches with great interest, and you take in a calming breath before making your next move.

you lean forward, hands finding purchase on his shoulders, and press a kiss to his barely-parted lips. he hesitates for a moment, taken aback, but the reluctance is short-lived as he responds in kind, his hand sliding from your cheek to wrap around the nape of your neck. he pulls you in closer as his unoccupied arm slides off the back cushion, snaking around your waist.

the kiss was saccharine sweet from the start, but as you both pour every pent-up emotion you've suppressed into it, it almost becomes too much.

keyword: almost. it's not enough to make you want to stop.

kyle pulls back just enough to talk a few seconds later, resting his forehead against yours. "that, uh... you have no idea how long i've been dreaming about this." he mutters, chuckling.

"dreamed about anything else?" you ask, lips ghosting over his. he leans in to the featherlight touch, chasing it, forcing you to tilt back with an amused huff. he groans under his breath and straightens his back, giving your words some thought.

"yeah, loads of stuff. about you, though?" he pauses, clicking his tongue as he recalls the aforementioned dreams. "not sure if you're ready to hear those yet. most of 'em are probably best saved until after a proper date."

"there's going to be a date, then?" you ask, draping your arms over his shoulders.

with a lighthearted roll of his eyes, kyle nods. "'course there will. several dates, if you'll have me long enough." he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, muffling your pleased hum.

your reply is a mere whisper fanning against his skin. "i'll have you as long as you're around. i'm already yours."

taglist: @sofasoap, @rohansregret

[siilvan]

bloodsport – interlude

prologue | one | two | three | four | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: while waiting for your answer, makarov ponders on your unusual relationship and his yet-unknown motivations.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, makarov’s pov, he’s a bit fucked up mentally, light obsession?, couple mentions of sex, it's like a character study idk

word count: 2.4k

note: shit's officially hitting the fan in the next chapter, so... enjoy this sorta-kinda character study? dive into makarov's very odd "romantic" side? idk what to call it. hope you like it! (￣▽￣)

"i suppose i could protect you."

"i'm not joining your side, even for this."

vladimir makarov has never been a patient man. when he wants something, he takes it. strength, respect, power— he's razed cities and ended lives for less than that.

but, he's learned patience. his time in the military proved fruitful in this endeavor; being a captain forces a person to wait for things, to work smartly and plan for the future. ever since he left those days behind, he's continued to learn, and now proudly declares himself a master of self-control.

few things can break the restraint that he's put on himself. few people can.

makarov examines the board tacked up on the wall across from him. he leans back in his arm chair and reaches for the tumbler at his side, the whiskey in the glass sloshing against the sides as he lifts it to his lips. he furrows his brow, his attention flitting between the images on the board.

the one-four-one. the task force he technically has to thank for his ascension to the top of the ultranationalists - well, he mainly has his own efforts over the years to thank for that, but he won't deny that the group made things easier by eliminating zakhaev's incompetent heir back in verdansk.

pictures of the members of the squad - and, a handful of allies - stare back at him. his longtime enemy, captain price, ghost, soap, gaz, "nikolai," commander karim...

and, yourself. lieutenant petra. your real name briefly flashes through his mind as he shifts in his seat, his focus now solely on you.

his eyes linger on the photo of you pinned alongside your teammates' portraits. he's well aware that his personal vendetta against price causes him to act irrationally, but you... for whatever reason, makarov is easily influenced by you. he'll die before admitting it aloud, but he's become somewhat enamored with you.

why?

makarov sets the glass aside once more and stands, crossing the small space and stopping in front of the board. he all but ignores any information not pertaining to you. his eyes find you in group photos, he relentlessly scans dossiers and files of information on your professional and personal lives, he reads through your messages with each other and replays the conversations you've shared...

his mind drifts back to your first meeting, just two weeks ago.

⋆⋆⋆

the al-mazrah sun is violent overhead, beating down on him and his men. makarov's grown accustomed to the heat, but the few mumbled complaints that he overhears from his soldiers threaten to make him snap.

he would, if not for the good news overriding the frustration being imposed on him right now. everything has been going to plan— the few bumps in the road have ultimately done little to deter him from reaching his goals. the only worry is the task force in the city; shadow company is an annoyance, but the one-four-one is a true threat to makarov's plans.

when he comes across the scene of destruction, it's almost as if his prayers for the team's elimination are answered. three members of it are in the area; the two men - sergeants gaz and soap, he recognizes fairly quickly - lay pinned under rubble or incapacitated, while the third member stares at him in a daze from a spot closer by.

makarov fights back a twisted grin when he notices the fear gloss over your disoriented expression. you can hardly stay conscious, much less put up a fight, and as one of your teammates frantically shouts for you, he realizes he may have an opportunity here.

you're already fading in and out of consciousness when he orders his men to remove any of the wreckage covering you and, by the time makarov crouches down to gather your mangled body in his arms, you're out cold. the only resistance he faces are weak protests from the sergeants.

in his benevolence, makarov decides to spare the two. they'll dig themselves out of this or succumb to their injuries - either way, it's not his concern.

you, however, take in shallow, ragged breaths in his arms, and he knows that you require care if he intends to keep you alive. the squad accompanying him are soldiers, not doctors— they can do nothing to help, but he can stabilize you in the meantime. that's what he tells himself as he orders his men to evacuate, clutching you close to his chest until the transport plane arrives. he lays you across a section of the seats, barking at one of the soldiers to grab the medical supplies, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows with a heavy sigh.

he's no medic himself - quite the opposite, in fact - but makarov knows enough from his years in the field.

he ushers his men away from you once the supplies are delivered, forcing them to huddle up at the opposite end of the plane as he works. your injuries are severe, but still remarkably mild compared to what they could have been. it's a small miracle that every limb of yours is still intact.

you don't stir at all, even as he peels your gear off and carelessly discards it on the floor, before dragging your shirt up to your chest and examining the sizeable gash running down your side. steady hands clean and disinfect the dirt-stained wound and stitch it closed before his focus shifts to the burns starting to bloom on your skin.

it's a nasty sight, but it hardly fazes him. makarov rolls your sleeves above the afflicted areas on your arms and loosely wraps them in gauze, making a mental note to put you in something with shorter sleeves once you arrive at the prison. he's hurried in wrapping the burns covering your back; not because he is impatient, but because he can sense the prying eyes desperately trying to peer at your partially uncovered form after he removes your shirt.

if they weren't still flying above contested territory, he'd punish his men for their lack of diligence.

makarov carries you into the prison and to the small office that the doctor was permitted after finally arriving. tarkovsky sends him a curious look when he sets you down, already pulling on a pair of sterile gloves and preparing his equipment.

"i trust that you will give her the best care, doctor," makarov utters, stepping back from the operating table. "i will accept nothing less."

tarkovsky hums in acknowledgement as he carefully cuts your uniform open and looks over the freshly completed work. "you've never brought me a prisoner in a condition like this," he replies, referencing the dressings that he starts to unravel. "is she a special target, commander?"

"one-four-one." he says, curt. the doctor seems to understand and nods in response, already beginning to tend to your wounds.

"she will receive nothing but the best, commander makarov."

it barely takes a day for you to awaken, a fact that surprises even makarov himself. he personally handled delivering you to your cell, not trusting any of the depraved prison guards with such a task, and occupied himself with other matters until he received the news that you were awake.

you were as spirited as he expected from someone of your caliber. stubborn, confident, and competent in what you do. it took you over a week to finally kill one of his men, and the one you did kill...

he was pleased with your performance, and he did not spare the rod with the guards assigned to your surveillance.

makarov had been in the middle of dealing with one of the general's men that managed to slip under his radar. he was attacked after a private meeting with his council, earning several cuts from the man's blade before he successfully disarmed and pinned the agent to the floor, beating him into submission. his fists were bruised and smeared red from the force behind each swing, perhaps a bit excessive, but he didn't pay it any mind.

until another man came sprinting down the hall, briefly pausing at the sight of his commander standing over an "ally" beaten to a bloody pulp, only snapping out of his shock after makarov turns to face him. the soldier opened his mouth and practically vomited out his words, something about "the prisoner attacking the doctor."

the sight that he was greeted with upon arriving at your cell could only be described as stimulating.

you, the ever-disciplined lieutenant, disheveled and staring back at him with a wild look in your eyes, refusing to falter even as you're outnumbered and backed into a corner with guns drawn and pointed at you. makarov tore his gaze from you and allowed it to fall to the man lying dead in a heap - the younger, less experienced doctor that tarkovsky insisted on keeping around despite knowing that his commander wanted to wring the brat's neck.

needless to say, he wasn't disappointed with your choice of victim.

⋆⋆⋆

"i'm assuming you're not here to share the fun story behind those obvious self-defense wounds?"

if he didn't know better, makarov could almost mistake the question as coming from a place of concern rather than contempt. you have no reason to feel anything but hatred for him, though - nor does he have a reason to feel anything but the same for you.

still, he steps back from the board and reaches for his drink again, beginning to pace around the room as the interaction plays in his head. your sarcasm and attitude only serve to wear out his carefully-crafted patience— but, the way you responded when faced with almost certain death, the blood smeared across your skin, the proficiency that you maintained despite your condition...

he stops in the center of the room, fingers clenching and unclenching around the glass.

fuck, you were beautiful.

his jaw tenses, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down the unfamiliar sense of desire that sits thick in his throat.

it's not like makarov is unacquainted with this side of himself. he's bedded a fair number of women in the past, he is far from a virginal saint. he seldom spends nights with company, however. it's just more convenient to deal with his needs alone and get on with his work; he's never wanted anything more.

but then, there's you.

you make his blood boil and frustrate him like no other. not even the captain, his sworn enemy, can rile him up as easily as you do. he's fascinated with you and the rage that you seem to awaken from somewhere deep inside of him. he feels nothing but anger towards you— even as he sits alone in his quarters, bringing himself to his peak, imagining you before him, under him, pleading for more.

a sudden pain in his hand distracts him from his thoughts, roughly yanking him back to reality. makarov looks down and blinks at the sight of blood pouring from his palm, unceremoniously dripping onto the floor below. the tumbler that was nestled comfortably in his grasp now clatters to the ground in pieces, leaving behind a small collection of shards embedded in his skin.

the amber whiskey mixes with the crimson that slowly pools at his feet, a sickening color combination that brings a smile to his lips.

this is your fault. he flexes his fingers, brow twitching from the pain that shoots through the area, and revels in the misery that you've indirectly caused. he wants more of it.

you are loyal to your team, loyal to your cause— on one hand, he admires it. on the other, it only tempts him to see how far you're willing to go, how far he can push you before you break. everyone has their weakness, even you. all he has to do is find it.

he could see the hesitation in your eyes the last time you spoke - in a collapsed building in the middle of a war zone, with enemies and allies both scattered in the streets, surrounding your location. you were covered in a layer of dust and ash, having narrowly escaped the collapse with your life, and all he wanted to do after coming face-to-face with you on the battlefield was push you to your limit.

as always, though, he restrained himself. you won't give in like this. makarov has to play his cards right and take his time with you. he's unsure of the role you'll play in his grand plans, but there is one thing that he knows for certain: you'll be his greatest accomplishment yet.

you're already wavering, standing over the edge and staring into the abyss. all he has to do is convince you to take the leap.

he clenches his hand into a tight fist, savoring the pain that binds him to you. every matter is easier said than done, he reminds himself. you may teeter over the edge, but it's clear where your allegiances lie - with the captain, not him.

for a reason that he can't quite place, that angers him. it's to be expected— no amount of information given in good faith can make up for the fact that he's your enemy. even so, he feels like he deserves your fealty, your skills, your attention; the lack of it makes his skin crawl. it's a thought that refuses to leave his head, a pit that settles deep in his stomach and twists like a poison-tipped knife whenever he's reminded of it.

vladimir makarov does not chase. he does not ask for what he wants. nothing will change that, not even you. he'll find a way to make you seek him out. he doesn't care what it costs, both in funds and lives, it's all the same to him. it's only a matter of time.

a buzzing from his phone on his desk catches his attention. makarov approaches it in a lazy saunter and picks it up - with his uninjured hand - and reads off the name on the caller id. your real name flashes across the screen, staring back at him. a low chuckle escapes him before he answers the call and lifts the phone up to his ear.

"i'm surprised you've called so quickly." makarov concedes with an amused huff. "have you come to a decision?" he asks, cruel satisfaction swiftly displacing any of his prior emotions.

you inhale and exhale deeply, audible over the phone. he can imagine how you look— eyes held tightly shut, hand clenched into a fist at your side, your thoughts entirely consumed with him.

after a long moment of silence, finally, you speak.

"i have."

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⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <3)

[siilvan]

bloodsport – II

prologue | part one | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: you never realized how boring captivity could be. you hate to admit it, but makarov is the only interesting thing around, and perhaps the closest thing you have to an ally in this place.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, inaccurate medical procedures, reader gets harassed :/, reader kills a dude, russian written by a non-russian speaker (please correct me if it's wrong!!)

word count: 3.7k

note: the temptation to write the filthiest makarov/reader/yuri fic is slowly taking over my brain. i'm begging activision to reveal my ex-war-criminal husband already bc i have two hands for a reason

true to his word, you don't see makarov for the rest of the day. after you're brought back to your cell and locked away, you take the time to rest and gather your thoughts. the lumpy bed provides little comfort as you try to sleep, but it's better than the cold floor. you manage to drift off eventually, even with every voice and sound in the corridor stirring you awake.

when you finally drag yourself out of bed the next morning, blinking away any lingering exhaustion and gently stretching your sore muscles, the sky is still dark. the storm that was raging all night had subsided for now, and through the single barred window on the back wall, you can see groups of soldiers outside. running drills, training in marksmanship, transporting supplies, patrolling the grounds - it reminds you of the bases you've visited with the team.

the team. you trudge over to the only other furniture in the room, the metal chair that you moved to sit near the window, and plop down onto the seat unceremoniously. with how muddled your mind has been since the conversation with makarov, you've hardly had time to think about them.

they're alive. you just need to keep telling yourself that. they'll come for you as soon as they can. all you can do until then is keep faith and survive.

as a pair of boots stomps down the hall towards your cell, you begin to ponder if taking matters into your own hands is the only way you'll escape. you're just as capable as the rest of your team, surely you can find a way out of this crumbling prison.

you turn your head at the sound of keys jingling. a guard is standing at your door, unlocking it, before looking at you. "let's go," he says, thick accent lacing every word. "you're on a schedule."

with a small wince, you rise from the chair and cross the room. the guard starts down the corridor, heading in the opposite direction that you went yesterday. you follow close behind, clammy palms wringing together. it almost feels like you're restrained again, with metal cuffs digging into your wrists and binding you, keeping you from struggling or defending yourself.

after descending a staircase and passing a few corners, you reach wherever the guard was taking you. he pushes a door open and ushers you inside, revealing a sizeable shower facility. you send him a cursory glance, confused as he motions for you to step further into the space.

"shower." he mutters, standing by the door. you wordlessly turn to the showers, then back to him.

"do you mind?" you ask, nodding towards the door. "i'd like a little privacy. it's not like i can tunnel my way out."

he shakes his head at first, refusing your request, until you decide to do the same, silently staring at him. a beat passes between you until he spins around, grumbling something along the lines of "hurry up," and exits the room. once the door slams shut behind him, you let out a relieved breath and walk over to one of the many stalls.

you scan the area before carefully undressing, paying close attention so as to not mess up your bandages or strain any of your healing injuries. you quickly dive past the thin curtain and toss your clothes over the curtain rod.

a string of curses fall from your lips when you twist the knob and cold water pours out of the shower head, prickling like ice against your skin. cleaning yourself up whilst protecting your bandages is a difficult task, but you manage to keep them relatively dry. you were in need of a fresh set, anyway. grains of sand and dust leftover from al-mazrah is washed down the drain, and as you start to adjust to the freezing temperature, some of your muscle aches follow suit.

a few minutes of relief pass by as you try to relax, though the bliss is short-lived when you remember your conversation from yesterday. you hate the thought of listening to makarov of all people, but did he have a point? are you truly just as bad as him, even with good intentions being your motivation?

you're well aware of what your job entails. as captain price so bluntly puts it: we get dirty, and the world stays clean. you know that some missions leave a sour taste in your mouth and a doubt in your mind. are you truly doing the right thing? can you do better? is there a way to save everyone?

as you shut off the water and attempt to dry off with a clean towel left on a small bench nearby, you realize that you're giving makarov exactly what he wants. he brought up the topic with the intent of messing with your head. he's trying to break you - for whatever reason, you're not sure. all you know is that you can't give up. you have to stay strong for the team.

you pull your clothes back on, nose scrunching at the uncomfortable feeling of damp gauze sticking to your skin. the guards seemed to bounce between civility and cruelty depending on the moment; perhaps you can catch someone in a good mood and request a replacement.

the door swings open and you jolt, spinning around to face the intruder. the man from earlier is standing in the doorway, a look of disinterest evident even through his balaclava. "you are done, yes?"

clearly he isn't the person to ask, you think, following him into the corridor. he leads you back down the same path as earlier, through winding halls and up a set of stairs, stopping once you arrive at the cell you call home. you keep an eye out for anyone along the way who looks to be doing well, searching for a person to seek help from.

no one catches your attention, leaving you only one option: the guard currently locking the door behind you.

"uh– can i ask you a question?" you turn around to look at him, wrapping your hands around the iron bars. he sends a small glare in your direction, but pauses nonetheless.

"what?" he murmurs, standing up straight.

you lift your arms, showing off the damp and gradually loosening bandages. "any chance i can get these changed?"

his eyes flit down to your arms, then back to your face. he sighs, heavy and deep, and grumbles out a reply. "i will get the doctor."

with that, he leaves your sight, lifting a hand to his radio and saying something that you can't understand. "should've agreed to those fucking russian lessons from price," you mumble, staggering across the room and sitting on the bed while picking at your loose gauze.

it feels like an hour passes by before you hear someone coming down the hall again. by this point, you were assuming that the guard had forgotten about you.

you sit up from your slumped position against the metal frame and are immediately greeted by a new person on the other side of the door. an older man, nicely dressed and carrying a heavy bag that you fear will topple him over, regarding you with a grin that feels out of place in this shithole.

"you must be petra," he starts, pushing the door open and letting himself inside. he keeps his distance, both hands visible and wrapped around the handle of the bag in front of his body. "doctor tarkovsky." he continues, introducing himself. you nod, watching closely as he approaches you and places his bag on the bed next to you. the chair is dragged over, much like the other day, and he sits.

"the work you did... you saved my life, doctor." you mutter, allowing him to take one of your arms into his gentle hold. he hums in reply, taking great care in undoing the dressings.

"спасибо, but it was not me that saved you." he chuckles softly, eyes briefly lifting from your arm to meet your gaze. "the commander was responsible for that. by the time you arrived here and into my care, he had managed to stabilize you."

he mumbles something to himself about "his military days" while dropping his gaze back down to your newly exposed skin. your eyes follow his, and you wince at the sight of burn marks and stitched lacerations. a cold breeze enters into the room through the window and stings as it sweeps over you, making you clench your hand into a tight fist.

"the commander? you mean makarov?" you ask, forcing yourself to look away and stare at the wall behind the doctor. the same man that put you here is the one that kept you alive. go figure. you glare holes into a random brick, trying to make sense of it. based on the few interactions that you've had with him, as well as the many things that price had to say, that kindness seems out of character.

the fact that he hasn't tortured you to the brink of insanity is odd enough.

"yes, he demanded that i give you the best treatment. said he wanted you alive and in good condition." the doctor rummages through the bag next to you and begins to clean your wounds and apply new dressings, deft hands making quick work of the process. you remain silent as he wraps your arm in a new set of bandages, waiting for him to finish.

you finally speak once he's halfway through rewrapping your other arm. "is he always so... touchy?" you murmur, almost a whisper.

"touchy?" he repeats the word.

"i think i pissed him off yesterday," you say, tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips. "ended up slammed against a wall. is he always so quick to anger?"

after securing the bandages on your arm, the doctor leans back and shakes his head. "commander makarov is usually the calmest person in a conversation," he replies with a surprised huff. "whatever you said or did must have struck a nerve, made him lose his temper. even the soldiers working under him struggle to do such a thing."

you furrow your brow at him. he waves off your befuddlement and gets started on treating your other injuries - namely, the large gash on your side and the burns on your back. as he's loosely wrapping your back in gauze, he makes another comment.

"it could be that you angered him, rather than what you did."

"i angered him?" you parrot back to him, craning your neck to look at him over your shoulder. the doctor nudges you forward again and hums affirmatively.

yet another thing that doesn't make any sense, you think. besides your affiliation with the one-four-one, there's nothing about you that should stand out to a man like makarov. you don't possess any top secret intel or really hold any importance to anyone outside of your team; so, why is he treating you so strangely? is it a game he's playing, trying to mess with his real enemy, the captain?

are you merely a pawn, a bargaining chip between two forces much bigger than yourself? makarov is dangling your life like bait, hoping to catch a better prize. you squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath, considering your options.

makarov would only hold onto you for one reason. drawing out captain price. that means price is alive, at least to makarov. if you stay here, you might be able to confirm this plan for yourself. however, if you can escape and deliver all the intel you've collected so far, you could prevent the plan from advancing any further. no matter which option you choose, rotting away in this prison cell won't help.

as kind as the doctor is, he's still one of makarov's men. you can't trust him. you're on your own.

"so, is it going to scar?" you inquire with a smile, fixing your shirt after he pulls away. he moves to gather his things, reaching into his bag and handing you a dose of painkillers.

he sighs and sends you another smile of his own. "the burns aren't deep enough, thankfully, and the lacerations shouldn't scar so long as they're properly cared for. you are very lucky."

"guess i am. thank you, again."

you swallow down the pills - dry, much to your chagrin - and give him a small wave as he exits the room, the iron door closing behind him with a soft clunk. the guard from earlier reappears to lock it moments later, leaving you trapped in the cell once more.

⋆⋆⋆

another five days pass by, and you mentally curse whatever higher power put you here. your routine remains largely unchanged: at roughly seven o' clock, one of the guards stops by to take you to the showers. by seven-thirty, the doctor arrives to change your bandages. you're given your only meal around noon and left to your own devices until eight in the evening, when the doctor arrives to change your bandages again.

you are slowly beginning to heal, at least. the lack of nutrition was stunting the process, but according to the doctor, you were still on the mend. it won't be long until you can get the stitches taken out.

you've spent several of these past one-hundred-and-twenty hours wondering if that's what makarov is waiting for. he wants you alive to torture, to indulge in breaking something fixed by his own hand. maybe the doctor is in on the plan. you wouldn't be surprised to discover that he's reporting your healing process to makarov, giving him a countdown of sorts.

as you rest on the cold, hard stone floor, with your back propped up against the side of the bed, tossing a rubber ball that you pocketed at the wall, you question if your paranoia is getting the better of you.

the rubber ball rolls across the ground after you throw it at the wall. it starts to come back to you, before bouncing off the edge of your boot and heading towards the door. you lazily follow it with your eyes, until you notice a person standing at the other side of the bars, their gaze transfixed on you.

it's a man wearing an outfit similar to the doctor's, though you can easily tell that he's substantially younger. in his late thirties to early forties, you estimate. he carefully kicks the ball out of his way after entering the room. you watch him like a hawk, an uneasy feeling washing over you.

"i'll be handling your care today." he announces, plopping his similarly-designed supply bag on the mattress. you pull yourself up to stand and dust yourself off, taking a healthy step back from him.

"something happen with doctor tarkovsky?" you ask as the younger man rummages through his bag and slips on a pair of latex gloves. he shakes his head, not even bothering to look at you, and continues searching through his supplies.

"tarkovsky is busy," he responds, motioning for you to sit. you hesitate for a second, but ultimately decide to shake off the nerves and follow his orders. "i'm going to start with your back today." he adds. you nod, moving to face away from him and lift your shirt up.

he's silent while replacing the gauze, and you're not sure whether you prefer that or talking. his touch is slightly less gentle, which you chalk it up to less experience. eventually, he moves on to the gash on your side, settling in the normal chair with an expression that you find hard to decipher.

your unease is suddenly validated as he cleans the stitches. his unoccupied hand comes to rest on your thigh, just above your knee, catching your attention. your eyes fall from the wall to his hand, then to the open bag at your side. laying near the top of it is a scalpel - small, but lethal in the right hands. you clear your throat and shift, bouncing your knee under his hold, testing the waters.

instead of removing his hand, he slips it just barely higher. you squint, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, debating on acting now or waiting a little longer. maybe he doesn't realize it.

as his hand slides higher, though, gloved fingertips digging into the plush of your thigh, that notion goes out the window. you slowly lower your hand closest to the bag and place it on the mattress next to it. the younger doctor pulls back, examining his work, his thumb rubbing languid circles into your skin. you act while he's distracted.

with trained proficiency, you grab the scalpel from the top of the pile and shove the man forward, slicing across his neck in one swift motion. he stumbles backwards, reaching up to desperately grasp at his throat as he chokes on the blood pouring from the open wound.

"don't fucking touch me again," you seethe, fixing your shirt and holding the scalpel in a white-knuckled grip. the sounds of him tripping over the chair and falling to the ground alerts the guards stationed in the corridor, who immediately rush through the door with their guns drawn and pointed at you.

they're shouting at you, but you can't make out what they're saying over the blood pounding in your ears. you turn away from the dying man and stare them down, unmoving from your spot in the middle of the room.

after a brief standoff, the guards suddenly look over their shoulders and shuffle away from each other, revealing a familiar face. one you haven't seen in almost a week, and assumed you wouldn't see for a while longer.

makarov steps to the front of the small group as the ringing in your ears begins to subside. his eyes dart from you to the man lying on the ground, having choked to death shortly before he arrived at the scene. he chuckles, low and controlled, and turns to the guards.

"убрать этот беспорядок," he mutters, waving towards the corpse. the men holster their guns and move past him, lifting the body up and carrying it out. as the group disappears down the hall, you find yourself alone with makarov. the scalpel slips from your fingers and clatters against the floor, pulling his focus back to you.

"well? are you going to punish me for that?" you ask plainly, the pool of red still visible in your peripheral vision.

"should i?" he counters, casually sauntering across the room. his gaze flits from yours to your cheek, which you soon realize is wet with the man's blood.

you shrug, shoulders drooping. "i killed one of your men. most people would punish a prisoner for less."

he wipes the blood off your cheek with his forefinger and huffs softly, seemingly pleased with the situation. it's only now that you notice his slightly disheveled appearance; his white dress shirt is untucked and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms that are covered in a light layer of dirt. minor cuts and bruises bloom on his skin, resembling self-defense wounds.

"i could never expect a member of the one-four-one to accept capture quietly," makarov remarks, picking the chair up off the floor. "i'm surprised it took you this long, if anything. i was expecting to receive reports by the second day."

he raps his knuckles against the seat twice, urging you to sit. you end up mirroring your first interaction after he sits on the bed across from you, elbows resting on top of his knees.

you grab a set of cleaning wipes from the bag forgotten at the foot of the bed and offer them to him. "so, i'm assuming you're not here to share the fun story behind those obvious self-defense wounds?" you tilt your head to the side, regarding him with a sarcastic smile.

"like i said in our prior conversation," he takes the pack from your outstretched hand and haphazardly wipes his arms clean, the lack of care enough to make you inwardly flinch at the potential pain. "once traitors are found, they are dealt with."

"seems like they got to you first," you snort.

besides a pointed glare, he doesn't dignify your comment with a response. instead, he takes your arm into his hold, removing the old bandages with almost the same level of indifference that he treated his own injuries with.

"ow." you grunt, a bit overdramatic. in truth, his touch isn’t any less gentle than the doctor you just killed.

"stop complaining." he responds bluntly.

"maybe be more careful, then." you snap, tugging your arm back. you're being intentionally difficult, pushing his buttons, but you deserve to be a little shitty to the man holding you hostage.

makarov grabs your elbow, one of the few relatively uninjured parts of your arm, and yanks you forward, until your free hand slams down onto the space next to him to catch yourself from falling. he leans in, your noses nearly touching, and sneers.

"this is the extent of my kindness, petra." he tightens his hold when you try to create some distance, locking you in place. "do not tempt me to withdraw it." he whispers, dark eyes boring into yours.

you swallow back a whimper as his grip tightens again, blunt nails digging into healing skin, nodding in reply. he releases you a moment later and resumes his previous actions, quickly yet effectively rewrapping your arm. you grudgingly decide to cooperate for the other set, making it go by much faster than the last.

"tarkovsky said you're usually pretty calm," you mumble as he secures the bandages in place. "is it the one-four-one that frustrates you so easily? or, am i just a special case, hm?"

makarov, clearly interested in continuing the running theme since your first meeting, does not respond. you really should get used to it. you say nothing more as he stands up and grabs the discarded supply bag, walking towards the door. he pauses, holding the door open, and you nearly miss the words said to you over his shoulder.

"anyone else would be dead already."

translations:

спасибо (spasibo) - thank you

убрать этот беспорядок (ubrat' etot besporyadok) - clean up this mess

taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual, @miss-nob0dy, @woodeelf, @fbs-fc-ur-mommy, @soap-mactavish, @itsyellow

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <;3)

[siilvan]

bloodsport – III

prologue | part one | part two | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: after a successful escape, you try to convince yourself that the prison and makarov are behind you. things just never seem to go to plan, though.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: not proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, poorly written combat, allusions to trauma and stress, mentions of typical murderous behavior from makarov (∶__∶), OG mak's backstory bc we don't know shit about the reboot lol

word count: 5.9k

note: my birthday's on the 3rd, so pls take this as a gift from me to you :) the support on this series has also been insane 😭 you guys are so sweet!! <33

also big shoutout to @roosterr bc i completely copied the way she writes texts in fics LMAO i hope it's okay with you bestie ilysm

"anyone else would be dead already."

what the hell does that mean?

you're lying on your back, absently staring up at the ceiling, those words replaying in your mind over and over again. yet another week has passed since "the incident," as the guards in the corridor so kindly put it.

clearly makarov had given his men a new order after you killed the younger doctor. not only did they avoid touching you, but they hardly even looked in your direction outside of required monitoring. doctor tarkovsky was singlehandedly providing your medical care, as well. the next time you saw the doctor - the morning after the incident - proved to be an interesting experience. while treating you, he made a comment about "the commander seeming angry."

you add it to your ever-growing list of questions.

blaring alarms interrupt your somewhat peaceful pondering. you shoot up, instinctively reaching for your belt to grab your gun, only to be reminded that you're unarmed. the guards in the hall are shouting at each other, appearing just as surprised as you are.

carefully, you rise from the bed and cross the room, trying to listen to what they're saying. if there was one benefit to your captivity, it was the small bit of russian that you've picked up on. amongst the frantic chatter, you can make out a few words:

attack. small team. breached. combat. prisoner.

your chest tightens as you step back from the door. the base is under attack, and whomever is leading the charge is enough of a threat to raise the alarms. a small team could never hope to contend with an entire ultranationalist stronghold, though. there's only one man, one team, that could succeed despite being so heavily outnumbered.

the one-four-one.

it has to be them. they're the only ones bold enough to stage an attack, and the only ones capable of pulling it off.

even if it's someone else, they're your ally now, and your only hope of making it out of here alive.

you can see the guards scrambling outside your cell, frantically following whatever orders were being barked at them through their radios. for now, they seem to disregard your presence in favor of organizing their forces to combat the threat, but you know it won't last. contrary to the size of the prison, you're the only captive being held here; any mention of "prisoner" is referring to you.

the area quiets down as most of the men rush to aid their fellow soldiers, leaving only the alarm to keep you company. you mentally curse as you consider your very limited options. without a set of keys to escape this cell, you're stuck here.

a purposeful set of footsteps rapidly approaching makes the decision for you. quickly, you dive just out of sight of the door, pressing your back to the wall. the person stops just outside and grumbles to himself as you hear the sound of keys jingling in the lock. the iron door swings open, and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep quiet as he stares into the empty space, confusion evident in the grunt that leaves him.

a second passes before he steps into the room, scanning the far side of it. your eyes fall to the knife on his belt, easily removable if you're fast enough, and you dive for it before he can turn around.

you tear the blade from its sheath and swiftly plunge it into the side of his neck, ripping a strangled cry from the soldier as he reacts too slowly to save himself. you pull him to the ground and lay his body flat, releasing a sharp breath once you confirm the kill. temporary relief floods your system, hastening your movements as you collect as much of his gear as you can.

immediately after you secure the last strap of the armor vest, you hear voices calling out from somewhere close by. searching for the guy you just killed, you assume. with one final gear check, you move to the same spot against the wall and wait for the group to get closer.

the first of the bunch steps into the room and freezes at the sight of the other man, and you take the opportunity to drop him with the rifle you had collected. the remaining members, two or three men, are quick to respond once the gunshots ring out. you peek around the corner as they rush forward with their guns drawn, electing to start the gunfight yourself.

you manage to shoot one down before the others notice you. a bullet whizzes past your head as you aim down the barrel and shoot another, forcing you to duck back into cover.

"you're cornered. come out and i'll let you live." the final soldier says, frustration lacing his command. you sit still, lying in wait until his impatience overpowers his better judgement. a tense silence fills the air between you, only broken by the soldier groaning and coming to you instead.

he circles the corner, weapon at the ready, but scans the room in too wide an arc. you finish him off and peek out into the hall again, finding it completely vacant.

the radios on the soldiers bodies suddenly come to life, and you hear a familiar voice on the other end. you pick one of them up and attempt to decipher the question to no avail. however, there is one word that you understand. prisoner.

"you should've sent a bigger group," you speak into the radio, feeling your lips twitch into a smile at the way makarov stops short.

he merely chuckles, though, and the smile drops. "you continue to impress me, lieutenant. let's see if you can escape." he replies, relaxed as ever. he switches channels, and the radio goes silent.

you travel down the path you took the first day, when makarov was accompanying you. there's little resistance beyond a few stragglers that you dispatch with ease. most of the forces are focused on the invaders, too busy to properly deal with you as you attack from behind. the number of enemies ahead of you increases the further you go - a sign that you're heading in the right direction.

eventually, you reach an exterior door and push it open.

to say the situation is chaotic would be an understatement. soldiers are hurrying across fields, arming themselves and their allies, shouting out various commands and information. you duck low and stick to the shadows, doing your best to avoid a firefight now that the enemy solidly has the advantage.

you make some distance and perk up at the sounds of gunfire. you've stumbled across the main battle. with a renewed sense of hope to push you forward, you go towards it, ending up crouched next to an APC as you search through the chaos for any friendly faces.

one of the nearby vehicles erupts into flames moments later, catching you off-guard and stealing your attention from the fight. scrambling to your feet, you stiffen as something smooth and cold is pressed against the back of your skull. the barrel of a gun. you raise your hands in surrender and pray that the person holding the weapon can be reasoned with.

"wait," a deep voice, husky and all too familiar, speaks from behind you. "petra? 's that you?" the man, captain price, lowers his gun, allowing you to spin around and look at him.

you're almost ready to shed tears upon seeing his face, equal parts concern and relief etched into his hard expression. he grabs ahold of your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as you nod, silently answering his question. a dark figure emerges from behind one of the vehicles at price's back and catches your eye.

the stark white skull mask instantly gives away his identity: ghost. he stops at your side, eyes crinkling behind the mask, and you can tell that he's giving you a happy look.

your eyes leave the pair and scan the area, hunting for the last two members of the team. there's no movement aside from the fighting and chaos in the distance. your gaze flits back to price as a lump begins to form in your throat and every scenario that you've cooked up during your captivity floods into your mind.

"where's soap and gaz?" you ask, voice sounding meek compared to the way you spoke earlier. price, clearly sensing the deeper meaning behind your words, pats your shoulder in a comforting gesture before withdrawing his hand.

"they're here, no need to worry," he starts, motioning for you to follow him. "the sergeants are protecting our backsides, making sure the chopper has a clear path. we're gonna meet 'em at the southside of the prison and exfil from there."

you fall in line with the two, muscle memory all but taking over as you repeat your prior strategy; keep to the shadows and only engage the enemy if absolutely necessary. the location that price described isn't terribly far and shouldn't be difficult to reach, so long as you don't get caught up in too many fights.

ghost contacts the sergeants as you move, updating them on your position. you learn through the conversation that the team came for you, and only you - makarov isn't a concern of theirs, even once you inform price of his presence. we'll slot the bastard once you're back on your feet, he says.

"we're gettin' close, it's just up here." ghost mutters lowly. you tighten your grip on your gun, anticipation steadily building inside of you the closer you get to the rendezvous point. you're this close to freedom, this close to putting this hellish place in the past and reuniting with your team. al-mazrah, the missile, your capture, makarov– all of them would sequester themselves to nothing more than memories.

a black hawk flies overhead before touching down at the designated spot. one of the back doors swing open just as it lands, revealing gaz's smiling face. he steps aside to allow the three of you to board, giving you an eager side-hug as you shuffle past him.

"petra, happy to see you in one piece!" soap's exclamation startles you as much as it overjoys you to hear, and you're suddenly swept up into a bone-crushing hug by the scotsman upon passing gaz.

"soap–! johnny, you're squeezing me too hard–!" you gasp out, still attempting to hug the man back despite your bones being turned to mush from the pressure. he releases you almost as quickly as he scooped you up and mutters an apology. said apology barely registers in your head due to the sight he greets you with, though.

there's a nasty scar over his left eye, jagged and obviously still in the process of healing. soap hardly seems to care about it, instead grinning at you like you were revived from the dead. you tap the area below your own eye to signal to him, brows furrowing in confusion. his hand mirrors your action and his face lights up, an audible "oh" falling from his lips.

"got it in al-mazrah," he says, waving off your worried look. "makes me look pretty cool, right?" he adds with a glance around the cabin, earning an affirmative hum from price and a shrug from ghost.

gaz snorts, slumping down on one of the seats and giving him a thumbs-up. "looks wicked, mate."

you collapse into another seat with a breezy laugh. "i'm just thankful that you're alive, all of you. i was starting to doubt whether you'd come." you confess, sharing a somber look with the rest of them.

ghost breaks the mood with a shake of his head. "'course we came. we're a team, no man left behind." he keeps his gaze locked on you as he talks, bringing an appreciative smile to your lips. your attention shifts to the window at your side, watching the stronghold fade away as the helicopter lifts off the ground and departs. you refuse to tear your eyes away until it disappears over the horizon, allowing you to take a deep breath for the first time in weeks.

⋆⋆⋆

upon arriving in safe territory, you're almost instantly pulled into a brief, but strong hug by laswell, who was waiting on the airstrip as the team landed. you're ushered into the base's medical wing by her and price for a proper checkup, which, thankfully, goes by swiftly. you've had enough of doctors and medicine to last you a lifetime.

"you're sending me home?" you ask, practically jumping up from the examination table you were sitting on. your gaze darts back and forth between price and laswell, irritation boiling under your skin as they try to placate you.

"y'need to rest, petra. you've just been through two weeks of hell." price responds, putting his hand on your shoulder and urging you to sit back down. you shrug it off and shake your head.

"captain, i was given a clean bill of health!" you argue while waving your arms in front of yourself. your wounds from the missile had mostly healed, reduced to minor marks on your skin and a raised scar on your side that was gradually fading. "i just want to get back in the field– i've been out of commission for weeks!"

laswell steps toward you, meeting your gaze with a sympathetic look. "it's protocol, lieutenant. you may be fine enough to work for now, but we can't put you or the team at risk." she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. "you need to recover." she adds a second later, earning a frustrated huff from you.

you know you'd be saying the same thing in their position. if it was price, ghost, soap, gaz– if any of them were captured, you'd be forcing them to take time off, too. you can't shake everything that's happened, though. you don't have much to show in the way of torture-related injuries, but the isolation alone was enough to make your head spin. you never felt safe, always waiting and anticipating makarov's next move. the longer you went without seeing or hearing about him, the more your suspicions grew.

a break would give you the chance to collect your thoughts and break yourself out of the doubt that's been stewing in your head ever since that first meeting. in the field, you need to be confident and decisive. there's no room for hesitation and self-doubt.

"we'll keep you updated," price starts, regarding you with a reassuring smile. "and, this won't be forever. just long enough for you to get your head on straight, yeah?"

you deliberate on it, eyes falling to the floor, and nod slowly. he's right. you're not reliable in this state.

"okay." you concede, focus shifting back to the two.

you're heading out again by the evening, saying your goodbyes to the squad on the very same airstrip that you landed on earlier in the day. soap nearly crushes you in another hug, forcing price to yank him off before you suffocate, gaz reminds you about ten different times to call if you need anything, and ghost runs down a lengthy list of relaxation techniques whilst loading your bags in the helicopter.

it's nigh-impossible to be upset about the situation when it's made clear that they don't want you to go, either. after two weeks of constant stress, everyone just wants to be together again.

you get so caught up in your impromptu partings that you fail to notice the unidentified soldier watching you from across the field. even the ever-attentive captain price misses the soldier dialing a number on his phone, his eyes narrowing as the chopper lifts off with you inside.

⋆⋆⋆

you step foot in your flat well after the sun's gone down. it's silent, save for the soft padding of your socks against the floor after you kick off your boots. your bags are abandoned at the end of your bed, something you'll unpack later, and you shed your jacket before tossing it on top of the pile.

makarov... what's his story?

with a low sigh, you rub at your tired eyes with the heels of your palms and try to erase the question that's been plaguing you for longer than you'd like to admit. between laswell's intel and the stories price has told, you can paint a picture of who the man is.

a person ruled by his ambition, you've determined. while price's stories were more focused on his own experiences with makarov and his allies, what laswell provided was concrete: he massacred civilians like it was nothing. what could possibly drive a man to that point?

the trip back home proved fruitless, with most results online simply listing information deemed "safe" for the public. you need to know more about him - you need a source that isn't going to sugarcoat or hide the ugly truth. most importantly, you need someone who can get you personal details.

you fish your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your contacts list. laswell is an option, but she's not likely to give you anything while you're supposed to be taking time off work.

a name - or rather, a codename - pops up in the list. your thumb hovers over the contact, debating on whether or not to call.

you give in and click the "call" button after a moment's consideration. the line rings until a cheerful voice greets you.

"ah, lieutenant!" nikolai beams, sounding far too energized at this hour. "price told me about the successful prison break, congrats on surviving the ultranationalists."

"thanks, nik." you chuckle at his enthusiasm. "is there any chance i could ask you for a favor? i need information, stuff that i think only you can get." you nervously shift your weight while asking the question, worried that you might be hitting a dead end.

"information? about what?"

"makarov."

nikolai goes quiet, and you think he's going to deny your request. but, just as you open your mouth to justify it, he speaks.

"you want private informaton, yes?" he mutters, causing you to let out a deep breath. "price hasn't told you everything, and you want to research the man that captured you. that is to be expected."

"give me a little time, i'll send you whatever i can find." he continues. you can hear typing in the background after, signaling that he was following through with it. you tell him goodbye with a small "thanks" and hang up, an immense weight lifting off your fatigued shoulders.

a hot shower would be nice right now. you haven't had one in weeks, and nikolai said that gathering everything would take a while. you might as well use the break instead of sitting around and twiddling your thumbs while waiting for him.

you trudge to the bathroom and turn the water on, stripping out of your clothes and leaving your phone on the counter. you hop in the shower and feel your aching muscles relax as soon as the warm water washes over them, soothing weeks of pain and discomfort. when you get out and wrap a towel around yourself, you finally feel relatively at ease for the first time since your escape.

your phone buzzes from nearby, and you blink at the screen after picking it up. a message from nikolai stares back at you.

sent what i have, hope it helps 22:43 pm

thanks, appreciate it! 22:43 pm

i'll let you know if i find anything else 22:44 pm

you quickly dry off and get dressed in more comfortable clothes, grabbing your laptop as you stroll into the living room and get settled on the couch. it only takes a couple minutes to access the files that nikolai sent, and upon seeing a page of folders to look through, you're left shocked at the sheer amount of information he gave.

it's overwhelming, just how much makarov has done in his career - if you can even call international terrorism a "career." you decide to begin at the top of the list, shaking off the uneasy feeling that settles in the pit of your stomach.

the contents of the folder go from typical, almost expected, crimes from someone like him, to acts that make you understand why price is wary of him. you sift through each file, studying the contents as if you're going to be quizzed on them, each word acting as another nail ripped out of your coffin.

the list of crimes seems endless. kidnapping, torture, trafficking, bombings, assassinations, mass murder... not only are you lucky to be uninjured, you're lucky to be alive. the privilege of being a "special" target, you presume. if not for your position in the task force, you'd be lying dead in a ditch or tortured to the brink of insanity. your stomach churns at the thought.

eventually, you reach a folder named "personal." it lives up to its name, as when you access it, the files are all details about the man himself. some of the basic information is known to you already, but most of it is entirely new - stuff you're sure was intentionally hidden away from curious eyes.

what you can find of his life before he began his reign of terror both answers your questions and adds more to the list. he was a paratrooper, a captain in the spetsnaz, regarded as a master in the field despite the list of complaints on his file. many of the men under his command considered him a natural leader; charismatic, cunning, but harsh in his methods. he received several comments from the higher-ups about his alarming behaviors, but it all came to a head when he was investigated for war crimes. he left the military to avoid the charges.

somehow, the crimes that got him discharged seem mild compared to what he's done since. you can't wrap your brain around why makarov treated you so... kindly, given everything you've read. he should have ended your life or made it a living hell, but instead, you got regular medical treatment, decent conditions, and mostly left alone during your imprisonment.

you sit back from the screen, sluggishly running a hand down your face. makarov didn't fight to keep you captured. if anything, he was happy to let you escape. it doesn't make sense. he went through the effort of capturing you alive and gained nothing from it. for a man that favors the zero-sum game, he's not playing it well.

unless this is his gain. getting in your head, confusing you, forcing you to think about him when you should be focusing on recovering. he's bogging you down, preventing you from being reliable for your teammates.

or, maybe you're looking into things too deeply. overestimating just how clever one man can be.

your phone buzzes from its spot on the cushion, and you blink at the bright screen, squinting to read the notification. it's a text message from an unknown number. a few different people flash through your mind, potential allies that could have changed their numbers recently, but no one stands out. you exhale and click the notification to open up the message fully.

feeling well? 12:35 am

you stare at the message for a minute. it can’t be price or any of the boys, you already have their phone numbers. you highly doubt that laswell changed hers without updating you, and nikolai probably hasn’t change his in the two hours since your last conversation. just as you go to type a response, two more messages pop up.

recovering at home is preferable, isn't it? 12:36 am

much more comfortable than a medical wing. 12:36 am

who is this? 12:37 am

take a guess - m 12:37 am

a chill creeps up your spine as the realization dawns on you. it's makarov; not only does he have your phone number, but he knows you're not at base. he's managed to track your location in less than six hours.

you drop your phone on the coffee table and shoot a wary glance around the room before checking to make sure your front door is locked. once you're sure of it, you start to pace around the room, wringing your hands together. the smart decision would be to call someone - price, laswell, one of the boys, someone that can get here quickly or send a person in their place.

you're not defenseless by any means, but there's no telling what makarov knows. he could be halfway across the world or in the very same city, and you have no way of finding out without putting yourself at risk. you may have gotten lucky in al-mazrah, but you can't rely on luck.

your phone lights up again, and from your position a few feet away, you can just barely make out what the screen says.

let's talk, lieutenant. 12:40 am

no fucking way. you're not entertaining the madman that you just escaped.

you need to get out; take a walk, clear your head. makarov knows where you are, but that doesn't mean he's actually here. for all you know, it could be a lucky guess. you throw on a jacket and slip on a pair of shoes before shoving your phone in your pocket, hastily stumbling out the door. the crisp night air hits you the second you step out, making you draw your jacket tighter around yourself as you start down the sidewalk.

your brisk - practically panicked - walk does little to calm your nerves initially. you have to force yourself to slow down, strolling along at a more leisurely pace. after a couple minutes, your shoulders droop and the panic begins to dissipate.

the late hour means that you're the only person out right now. all you have for company is the occasional breeze that sweeps past, and you think that you prefer it this way.

until your phone buzzes. you stop dead in your tracks and pick it up, letting out a relieved breath at soap's name flashing on the screen. you answer the call with an easy smile.

"hey! i didn't expect you to pick up," soap laughs on the other end. "realized how late it was after dialin' your number." he adds, pulling a chuckle from you.

"haven't been able to sleep, so i figured i'd take a walk." you shrug, as if he can see you.

"ah, figured you'd pass out the second you landed." he concedes while you absentmindedly toe at the ground, eyeing your surroundings. "just wanted to check in– make sure everything is going okay with you."

for a moment, you debate on mentioning the messages from makarov. logically, it's the right thing to do; your team needs to know about any potential threats. however, there's a little part of you that hesitates to say anything. you feel the urge to keep it a secret, to wait and see what happens. makarov's given you useful intel before, maybe you can get more out of him.

"yeah, i'm doing all right," you mutter, reassuring soap. "just want to get back to work as soon as i can. i miss you guys."

soap gives you an appreciative hum. "y'just gotta heal up quick, l.t.! we're all missing you here. ghost and price are meaner than you are."

"they're not 'mean,' they just don't tolerate as much nonsense from you and gaz as i do." you counter with a playful laugh, pulling a groan from soap.

"it's not nonsense, it's– what?" soap suddenly stops talking, and you hear a voice in the background of the call. he says something to the person before exhaling dramatically and speaking into the phone again. "sorry 'bout that, it was price. apparently we've got somethin' to handle– a wrecked shadow company transport, i think. i'll send a message after we're done, yeah?"

you wave your hand while talking, again, as if he can see you. "don't worry about it, just stay safe out there. let me know how it goes."

the two of you exchange quick goodbyes and you end the call with a smile still plastered on your face. your brows furrow as you immediately receive another call, though. the number that flashes across the screen makes you grip the phone tighter, your knuckles turning white from the strain.

makarov, of course. you decline the call with an irritated sigh and spin on your heel, heading back to your apartment. another one comes through seconds later, which you choose to simply ignore this time. you speed up the short walk to your front door and slam it closed behind you, locking it just as quickly.

"you are surprisingly difficult to get ahold of, petra."

you whip around and press your back to the door, locking eyes with the man you tried so desperately to avoid. makarov stands in the middle of the room, a smug grin on his face, his arms loosely crossed over his chest as he stares you down.

"how the hell did you find me so fast?" you sneer at him, hand tightening around the set of keys in your palm. he's wearing a thick vest and armor plates - they won't save you, but the keys might buy you enough time to reach the gun in your bedroom.

"i have my ways," he tilts his head to the side, moving to lean against the back of your couch. "i needed to speak with you, and you weren't answering the phone. this was my only option."

you scoff at the claim, briefly loosening your grip. "no, you also have the option of leaving me alone." you argue, stepping further into the room. "besides killing you, we don't have any business to discuss."

"is that so?" makarov chuckles, glancing over his shoulder. you follow his gaze and land on your laptop. it's turned on again, with one of the pages detailing his personal history displayed on the screen. "you'll be very interested in what i have to say, lieutenant."

you bite your tongue, shifting your weight and dragging your focus back to him. "fine. tell me, then."

makarov straightens, his gaze flitting back to you. the edges of the keys dig into the skin of your palm, the bite of the cold metal keeping you grounded as he stalks toward you, like a predator approaching a prey animal. those alarm bells start going off in your head again, every instinct screaming at you to preemptively strike or run.

when he's a few feet away, you lunge. jabbing your keys forward, you try to hit one of the weak spots of his vest, aiming for the one of the gaps near the straps.

the training he underwent years ago is made readily apparent as makarov easily grabs your wrist and twists it, disarming you in one smooth motion. you try to use your other hand to break free, only to end up with both hands in his iron grip. you're spun around and shoved against the wall with your hands behind your back, trapped between your bodies.

you struggle, but that only encourages him to tighten his grip, firmly pinning your hands. he presses forward, using his own body weight to prevent you from fighting him off.

"you're predictable, petra," he mutters, the comment making you thrash against him. "you can't see past yourself– i am freely offering you information that your allies would die to gather themselves. take advantage of this generosity."

"i hate you," you seethe, writhing and trying to break free of his hold. he doesn't budge even a little, chuckling softly next to your ear as he leans in closer.

"good. i like that." makarov murmurs, his voice low and controlled, warm breath fanning over your skin. heat floods through your veins when he speaks, which you attribute to anger towards him.

until he nudges you again, his upper body falling almost perfectly in line with the curve of your back, his hands loosening slightly and providing your red-marked wrists with some relief. it just now occurs to you how close he is, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your spine forcing your own staggering breathing to calm itself and match his. his cropped hair tickles the side of your ear as he hovers next to you, his side profile visible in the edge of your vision.

you bite your tongue again, though for a different reason than earlier. holding any feelings but hatred and contempt for your enemy - you might as well mark yourself as a traitor if that happens. you can't allow yourself to fall for the games that he's definitely playing with you. the task force needs you, and they need whatever intel makarov can provide you with right now.

"i can be civil," you concede, barely above a whisper. "i won't attack if you don't." you add a moment later, pursing your lips.

you can see the edge of his lips twitch from the corner of your eye. makarov releases your wrists after a beat and steps back, giving you enough space to turn around and face him, pressing your back flat against the wall.

"do you trust the commander of shadow company?" he asks, bluntly. you narrow your gaze, huffing at the thought.

"graves? not by a longshot. i can trust him enough to shoot your guys before he shoots me, but that's it." you reply in an equally blunt tone.

"do you believe he is attached to the general's plans?" he says, and you deliberate before shaking your head. it wouldn't make sense, given graves' recent allyship with urzikstan. makarov continues, appearing satisfied with your answer. "you're correct. the shadow is not aware of shepherd's plans any more than your team is."

"how does this help me?"

"you will need him to cooperate in order to take down general shepherd," makarov asserts. you tilt your head curiously, urging him to elaborate. "which means, unfortunately, that you will have to work with him. my men can handle the general's lap dogs, but commander graves is the only person that can locate the general himself."

of course. your catalogue of enemies that you have no choice but to work with just keeps expanding.

"i see." you mumble, fingers twitching at the prospect of working with graves. tolerating his soldiers is one issue, but the commander is a whole other ballpark. "i still don't understand– why are you giving me all of this?"

makarov finally tears his gaze from yours for the first time since you separated. he walks over to the front door, right next to your spot against the wall, and unlocks it with a small twist of the lock. he turns toward you, though his eyes do not lift to yours again.

"the enemy of my enemy is my friend," he utters, swinging the door open. "we'll be in touch. do not ignore me next time i contact you."

you nearly miss his eyes flicking up to your face, the action so short that it feels like a trick of the light. he walks out of your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud, stopping you from watching him as he disappears into the night. you don't think you want to know where he goes, but one thing that you can say for certain is that it won't be the last you see of him.

you'll be seeing him even sooner than you can imagine.

taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual, @miss-nob0dy, @woodeelf, @fbs-fc-ur-mommy, @soap-mactavish, @itsyellow, @johfaam0, @cumbermovels, @chxe-zdechnac, @imagineswritersblog, @emorgz33, @k4rthon, @ponyboys-sunsets, @frazie99, @chensipstea

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <3)

[siilvan]

bloodsport – V

prologue | one | two | three | four | interlude

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: after a talk with price, you decide to make a risky move. keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, mentions of canon-typical violence, makarov's usual bs

word count: 4.3k

note: a very sincere thank you to everyone who sent support and waited so long (a month) for this update :') not super proud of this ngl, i'll try to make the next chapter better and sooner lol

"something to confess?" price utters, brows furrowing as he stares you down with a confused look.

you wring your hands together, feeling the perspiration on your palms even through your gloves. "yes, it's about makarov—"

what's left of the building around you rumbles, pieces of the wreckage crumbling into smaller pieces and falling apart. price tears his gaze from you and glances around before patting your shoulder.

"whatever it is can wait. we need to get out before the rest of this collapses on top of us." he says while turning away and motioning for you to follow, graves and the shadows already starting to move ahead. you huff to yourself and jog after him, sticking close to his side until you reach the sizeable breach that he was leading you to.

you try in vain to talk again once the team is safely outside, but graves speaks up the second you go to open your mouth.

"we need to find where they moved that control center," he says, one of the shadows nearby already grabbing his radio – communications expert, you realize after a moment. "i'm wiling to bet it's still in the city, probably a smaller base."

price nods to graves from where he's standing next to you. "might be in an entirely new spot. tell the squads to keep their eyes peeled." he looks at the communications expert at the end of his warning, directing it at him, and gets a thumbs-up in reply.

"captain, i—" you start, before getting interrupted again.

"we'll discuss this after the mission, lieutenant." price mutters, giving you a tight-lipped smile. "i promise."

you bite your tongue and try to swallow down the lump in your throat, giving him a confirmatory nod of your own. the team moves on from the derelict building, with graves and his shadows splitting off after one of the strike teams radios about a suspicious spot. price and you end up assisting the bravo team with the second-largest base; for once, you're happy to see enemies in a location.

most teams clear out their sectors without much issue, securing canisters of chemical gas and weapon caches, but the supposed nerve center isn't anywhere to be found.

after hours of searching under the scorching sun, price and graves come to a mutual agreement: cut your losses and extract with what you did manage to get your hands on.

the flight back to base is quiet for the most part. everyone's too exhausted to fuss over anything, allowing you to sit in relative peace as you debate on what to say to price. the intel from makarov – the mole within your group – replays in your head over and over again, adding to your ever-growing level of stress. if anyone notices your leg bouncing practically the whole ride, they don't comment on it.

you're chasing the captain to his office the moment you touch down, pushing the heavy door shut behind you as his eyes fall on you.

"never seen you this frazzled, lieutenant." price remarks with a soft chuckle, moving to rest against the front of his desk with his arms loosely crossed over his chest. "what's bothering you?"

you blink at him, the words that you've been wanting to say suddenly dying on your tongue. you want to tell him, you really do, but what will he think of you? what if he takes you off the team for this? brands you as a traitor for working with the enemy?

"petra? y'okay?" price asks, leaning towards you.

you wave the question off and clear your throat. "yeah, i just, uh..." you trail off, before taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly, resigning yourself to your fate. "i've been getting intel from makarov."

shock briefly crosses price's face before it returns to a somewhat neutral expression – alarmingly neutral. you know the look, you've seen it a hundred times.

he's calculating his response.

"it started when i was captured," you stutter out, trying to explain. "it was just the information on shepherd at first, but then he showed up at my apartment after you sent me home— there's a mole in our team, whoever it is put a tracker on my phone, and now shepherd knows that we're onto him—"

"lieutenant." price interrupts, his voice as cold as the ice in his stare, shutting you up with little more than a startled whimper in reply.

he pauses, his jaw tight. you stare at him, wide-eyed and waiting for a furious response, but when he speaks again, his voice is soft.

"tell me everything you know. everything."

you draw in another breath and nod your head slowly. "one of the new recruits – someone who arrived recently – is working for shepherd, keeping tabs on us. his men are targeting the one-four-one; after the building collapse, one of them tried to sneak up on me. makarov found him before i did and took him out, but—"

"wait, he was there?" price all but growls, his arms falling back to his sides as his hands clench into fists against the tabletop.

you nod, again, shrinking under the barely-kept tension rolling off him in waves. "i didn't know he'd be there, it wasn't planned," you say, gaze falling to the floor. "but, he's not important right now. what is important is stopping shepherd before he uses the conflict in al-mazrah and urzikstan as an excuse to start a global war."

price doesn't reply at first, but you can see the gears turning in his head. evaluating, scheming, doing what he does best. a painful beat of silence passes between you, prompting you to speak again, uttering words that will earn you a medal, a grave, or life behind bars.

"makarov's given me intel before, captain. he has eyes in places that we don't, more resources than us, more freedom to act—"

"petra—" price cuts in, but you keep talking.

"—if you let me go undercover," you pause, staring into his eyes, searching for approval in his gaze. "i can get the information we need and act on it. shepherd, makarov... we can eliminate them in one fell swoop. i'll use makarov's resources, then take him down from within his own group. we can't do this clean. the gloves need to come off."

you step closer to him, lowering your voice to a quiet murmur that hardly reaches him. "you said it yourself: at the end of the day, somebody needs to make the enemy scared of the dark."

price clicks his tongue before shaking his head, an amused chuckle tumbling from his lips. "this is risky, you'd be inserting yourself right into his inner circle," he comments, tilting his head at you. "do you really think you'd be able to fool him?"

"he's already offered me protection," you say. "i'll figure out a way to gain his trust." you add, grimacing.

"normally i wouldn't approve something like this, but... for whatever reason, he seems to want you on his side. we might as well use that to our advantage." he concedes, earning an affirmative hum from you.

"i'll give him a response, then. you won't regret this, captain."

⋆⋆⋆

"i'm surprised you've called so quickly." you can hear the amusement in his voice after he answers the phone. "have you come to a decision?" makarov asks.

you let your eyes flutter closed and inhale deeply through your nose, hand clenching and unclenching at your side.

"i have." you reply after a long moment. "are you really wiling to offer me protection from shepherd?"

the grin on his face is evident despite you not seeing it. "i am. all you have to do is help me kill him."

you stifle a surprised laugh. "you're asking for a miracle like it's a small favor." you mutter, to which he sighs, heavy through the speaker.

"i'm confident in your abilities, lieutenant. i will arrange a meeting point and send you the coordinates and time. don't be late."

"punctual. i look forward to it." you respond, sealing your fate as you end the call.

once again, just as you return, you're departing again. you haven't stayed anywhere for longer than a day since escaping the prison, and yet, here you are, preparing to deliver yourself to the maw of the beast. it's almost poetic, just how quickly you've leapt back into danger after weeks of wanting nothing more than to get away from it.

true to his word, you receive a set of coordinates and a time from makarov shortly after the conversation. the only goodbyes you give are rushed words shared with the captain before you take off in an unmarked helicopter, leaving behind promises to explain the situation to those who matter and to get you home as soon as possible.

the location isn't anything of significance, that you're sure of as soon as the helicopter touches down. it's a road just outside of a quiet city, unassuming aside from the sleek black car that sits pulled over to the side. as soon as the gravel crunches under your boots, a man emerges from the vehicle to greet you in a gruff murmur of your callsign. you nod once, unmoving from your position, studying the man as he remains still several feet in front of you.

dressed in painfully normal clothing, a black shirt and a pair of dark weathered jeans, you almost think he's a civilian until your eyes find the patch hastily stuck onto his sleeve, the annoyingly familiar snake skull curving around his bicep as if to taunt anyone who sees it.

he's a mercenary, no doubt. probably someone makarov hired to handle the work his soldiers are above – like this.

as you follow the man to the car, settling in the backseat as he sits in the passenger and vaguely motions to the driver, you briefly wonder just how large makarov's forces are; how far does his influence reach?

you're also left curious about the lack of soldiers. a sign of trust, perhaps? you doubt it, but he's not a man whose decisions are easy to understand. maybe his goal is making you question every little thing that he does, forcing you to stay alert until you exhaust yourself and he has the chance to strike.

the car pulls back onto the road, leaving you to stare out the window as it travels away from the city. the forest surrounding you isn't terribly dense, but enough so that you have to squint to see anything through the passing trees. the winding road heading steadily up a mountain makes it no easier; you searched the coordinates during the flight and saw nothing of significance in the area...

where are they taking you?

the man mumbles something to the driver, catching your attention despite not hearing what he said. the response he receives is in russian and, again, words that you miss due to how quietly they're uttered. once the trees start to thin, however, you assume the sight ahead is what they were discussing.

a villa. a grand one, at that. it's not far from the city, you glance at your watch and time the drive as a half-hour, but the location is secluded, sitting on the cliffside overlooking the population below. it's gated, with armed guards staring the vehicle down as it approaches the entrance; like a stronghold, a private residence barred from any unwanted visitors or influence. it reminds you of las almas, of el sin nombre's villa.

the sun starts to set behind the villa as the car passes the gate and comes to a stop in front of it. the door next to you is suddenly pulled open, yanking your focus from the building as you meet the eye of the soldier, clad in a dark uniform and balaclava, staring you down while holding the door open.

wordlessly, you climb out and narrow your eyes at him, watching as he slams the door shut behind you. there's something familiar about him, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

as his eyes meet yours, it clicks.

"are you the guard from the prison?" you ask, his tired gaze bringing you back to your imprisonment. it's barely been a day since your escape, and yet that place – the injuries that left you in near-constant misery, the prying eyes watching you, the all-too-kind doctor, the other doctor, your enemy being the only person you could even begin to trust – it all feels so distant, despite being so recent.

the soldier huffs, scratching the side of his jaw through his mask. "i have been a guard in many prisons, you will have to be more specific."

you cross your arms tightly, his voice becoming more recognizable as he speaks. thick accent, perpetual disinterest worn like a badge, treating you with indifference despite not walking away.

"i hope the trip wasn't too difficult, lieutenant." a voice pulls you away, making you turn your head to the side as a "friendly" figure emerges from the set of doors nearby. makarov regards you with a small smile, something akin to pride and a more sincere emotion – relief? – glimmering in the dark recesses of his gaze.

you shrug, standing stiff when he stops in front of you. "i think the trip was the easy part." you mutter.

"you underestimate my sense of hospitality," he chuckles, taking in your fatigued state. "you've had a long day, i'll keep the tour brief tonight. i'm sure you have a lot of questions, hm?" his head tilts to the side for a second, emphasizing the question at the end of his remark.

his behavior is… unexpected, to say the least. you were expecting cold apathy like you experienced in captivity, but instead, makarov seems eager to have you here. you're sure it's all part of a plan that you're unaware of, bigger and more important than yourself.

"that's putting it lightly." you reply, walking two paces behind him when he motions for you to follow him inside. the masked solider follows you after a nod towards makarov, accepting a silent order from his commander.

the interior of the villa is equally as extravagant as the exterior— your breath catches in your throat as your footsteps echo against the tile floor, eyes flitting to the art dotting the walls and the furniture that you're certain costs more than your apartment.

"it's all a bit excessive, don't you think?" you murmur, sending a glance to the man in front of you.

makarov hums, hardly sparing his surroundings any attention. "i think it's fitting," he says, leading you to an elevator. "konni is not like the other crude, second-rate paramilitaries you've encountered, petra... we have a goal, organization, leadership—"

"—that leader being you?" you chuckle, stepping into the elevator and facing him. makarov waves the soldier off and presses one of the buttons on the wall, leaving you alone together when the doors slide shut.

"do you doubt me?" he asks, brows furrowing. "need i remind you who is shouldering the burden of protecting you?" he adds, leaning closer as his voice lowers just slightly. you recognize the look, the intent behind the way he moves closer, forcing you to take a step back to create some distance.

"let's get one thing straight," you mutter, trying to keep your tone steady despite your back meeting the wall. "i don't need protection because you're any better than me. you just give me the freedom i need to move against shepherd without putting my squad at risk."

you pause, wetting your lips, before opening your mouth to continue. any words you planned to say leave you in a short breath as you're literally cornered in the small space, though, blinking at the man in front of you. makarov holds your gaze, amusement clearly written on his expression as his arm lifts, caging you in with a tight fist on the wall next to your head.

"you need me, petra. that is what matters." he leans closer still, shifting to rest his forearm against the wall instead, his lips twitching up in a crooked smile. you try to avert your eyes, to stare at the wall past him, but his other hand comes up to stop you with a firm grip on the sides of your jaw, keeping your head still. "i strongly suggest you find it in yourself to cooperate instead of fighting me. this is a very unique opportunity for us to help each other."

"you..." a frustrated sound escapes from you, only serving to encourage him to tighten his hold, leather-clad fingertips digging into your skin. you need to gain his trust if the plan you discussed with price has any chance of succeeding. we get dirty, world stays clean. killing shepherd is the mission; makarov comes later. play your cards right and you can take out them both.

"fine... i guess i owe you civility, at the very least." you concede, one of your hands shooting up to grab his wrist. "just get your hands off me." you grumble with a pointed glare.

makarov's hand retracts before the complaint even fully leaves your lips. "clever girl. you've made the right choice." he murmurs.

he moves away as the elevator reaches the floor and the door slides open again, immediately revealing a corridor dotted with soldiers – some conversing, some standing guard, others approaching the elevator as makarov steps out with you in tow.

"we'll have time for a proper tour later. in the meantime, if you need help navigating the grounds, any of my men will be happy to assist." he says, marching ahead.

"don't have any more room in your busy schedule for me?" you utter, trailing behind him.

he rounds a corner and keeps walking. "not at the moment, unfortunately." you arrive at a door, where he turns to you once more. "i have matters that require my attention, otherwise i would stay longer. i've arranged a place for you to sleep. i suggest you rest tonight. once we have the general's location, you will be needed."

you nod, admittedly taken aback. "i'll... do that, then. thank you." you stutter out.

"don't mention it." he says, already backing away from you and heading back down the hallway. you try not to stare as he disappears from your sight, intentionally fixing your attention on the door he led you to.

so eccentric, you think.

⋆⋆⋆

you let out a contented sigh as you pull your shirt down over your head, standing in the middle of the sizeable bedroom after your shower. a glance out the window tells you what time it is before you even check— the sun set over the horizon about an hour ago.

when you pick your phone up off the nightstand, there's a message from price waiting for you.

status report? 19:05 pm

you look to the door, debating on a response.

all settled in. nothing significant to report yet. 19:15 pm

good. keep your guard up. 19:15 pm

laswell got into contact with alex earlier. potential base in verdansk. 19:16 pm

need me to handle it? 19:16 pm

no. focus on makarov for now. we'll take care of it. 19:17 pm

copy. good luck. 19:17 pm

save some luck for yourself. stay sharp. 19:18 pm

you shove your phone into your pocket and send the door another look, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. makarov said he would be busy, but... there's something telling you to seek him out, some horrible feeling bubbling in the pit of your stomach. you have a lot of questions and very few answers, things weighing on your mind that, to your chagrin, only he can ease.

"fucking fantastic," you say to the empty room, shaking off the feeling and heading out into the corridor. after getting directions from a handful of soldiers and a short elevator ride, you find yourself up on the penthouse floor, standing in front of the set of doors leading to his personal office.

you knock before you have the chance to psyche yourself out, three short taps in quick succession, your shoulders rigid until you hear an "enter" from the other side.

when you step in, letting the door softly click shut behind you, makarov lifts his head from the papers on the desk in front of him. you don't move immediately, standing with your back pressed against the smooth wood, your eyes flitting around the neatly-kept space before meeting his.

before you can say anything, he lifts a hand to stop you, bringing your attention to the phone next to his ear.

"i don't care about the weather, alexi," he mutters into the speaker, his focus never shifting from you. "you are leading a group of soldiers, not children, they can handle a storm. communicate the old-fashioned way if you're so worried about signal issues." he continues.

you awkwardly linger in your spot, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. his jaw tenses as his gaze narrows, and for a moment, a small part of you worries that the ire might be directed at you for intruding at an inconvenient time.

"i can come back," you whisper, hand already reaching for the knob behind you.

"stay." he replies, making you freeze. "no, not you, сволочь— just deliver the gas according to the schedule. i won't accept anything later than that." he grumbles into the speaker before hanging up the call and dropping his phone onto the papers, sighing heavily and moving to rub the fatigue from his eyes.

gas? as in, the chemical gas you saw in al-mazrah?

"pleasant conversation?" you tease, earning a pointed glare.

he stands from his chair with a soft groan. "what are you here for?"

you step further into the room, watching as he circles around the desk to meet you in the middle. "not sure. care to educate me on the gas you were talking about, though?" you smile, folding your hands in front of yourself.

makarov eyes you down, scrutinizing you, but gives in after a brief staring contest that you arguably win.

"after we succeed in urzikstan and the kremlin realizes what must be done, we will move on to their allies." he begins, speaking slowly. "my soldiers are making the preparations as we speak, planting it within each target nation."

as he continues, that prior feeling returns tenfold, and you mutter, "the gas used in al-mazrah and vondel?"

he nods, unchanging, even as your expression freely gives away the unease and anger steadily building under your skin. "exactly that. this is just the first step."

there's an emotion on his face, something haunting that makes your chest tighten. total apathy, as if the consequences of his actions mean nothing to him. they don't, your reasonable side is well aware of that, but the sheer wrongness of the situation nags at you, pushing you to try to prevent it in whatever ways you can.

"okay, i know you don’t care about innocent lives being lost," you start, crossing your arms over your chest. "but, i do. i'm not going to stand by and watch you destroy the world over some... bullshit hunt for glory! if you use that gas, i'm backing out." you assert. he steps back from you, creating a comfortable distance.

"i thought you were here for a reason, petra. unless, you've changed your mind?" makarov asks with a curious lilt, turning to face away from you.

your arms drop to your sides as your hands clench into fists. "we both know how deadly that gas is – it can kill millions. i'd rather take my chances with the government than assist you with that."

makarov hums in acknowledgement, standing in front of his desk now, and you watch as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey and empty tumbler sitting near the edge.

"are you seriously pouring yourself a drink right now?" you pause your rant, positively fuming while he pours the liquid into the glass. is this all some kind of fucking joke to him?

"i find it easier to listen when i have a drink," makarov replies. he produces a second glass and fills it up, before turning back to you. "but, you do raise a fair point, lieutenant. these plans can be delayed a little while longer." he says, holding it out to you in offering.

you take the glass slowly, confused. "just... like that? so easy?" you hesitate, distrustful— for good reason, too.

the amber liquid swirls in makarov's glass when he moves his hand, dismissing your concerns. "there are still steps between now and then. having you as an ally is far more important in the present."

"wh... just like that?" you parrot, gawking at him when he hands you his glass and walks past you, heading to the door. you spin on your heel and stare at the back of his head as he twists the knob and swings the door open.

he barely acknowledges you when he waves over his shoulder, again, dismissing it. "don't spend too much time on it. focus on the situation in the present."

as he disappears into the corridor, leaving the door to the very private room wide open behind him, you're completely dumbfounded. you came to him for answers; instead of getting that, all you have are more questions.

focus on the situation in the present.

it just sounds like a long-winded way of saying, "direct your anger at anyone but me."

from a tactical standpoint, it's hard to disagree. you're allies with this man, even if it is temporary. no matter how harsh his methods and unreasonable his beliefs, you'll have to learn to tolerate it. your eyes fall to the untouched glasses in your hands, then to the desk behind you, and finally back to the door.

"what the hell have i gotten myself into?"

translations:

сволочь (svoloch) - bastard

taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual, @miss-nob0dy, @woodeelf, @fbs-fc-ur-mommy, @soap-mactavish, @itsyellow, @johfaam0, @cumbermovels, @chxe-zdechnac, @imagineswritersblog, @emorgz33, @sparda-ly, @ponyboys-sunsets, @frazie99, @chensipstea, @thriving-n-jiving, @preciouslittlecreature, @infinitewhore, @jade-jax, @caramlizedtomatoes, @ohworm-writes

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <3)

[siilvan]

bloodsport – IV

prologue | one | two | three | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: your first time back in the field is a whirlwind of emotions, especially after being forced to rely on yet another enemy. new information is revealed, and you realize that a drastic action may be the only way to fix this mess.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, poorly written spec-ops, allusions to trauma and stress, reader has a bit of a breakdown, graves lol

word count: 6k

note: giving a quick PSA here— please be mindful about what y'all write. i know this fic is about a very controversial and problematic character, but i try to be mindful about how i portray him and his actions. don't romanticize things that should not be romanticized, and be respectful to people. COD as a whole is problematic, but that doesn't mean we need to be a shitty community. support real victims, don't spread hate. easy peasy.

also, yes, i changed my formatting. the little text is too hard to read without my glasses, so... yeah. hope it's not ugly now :)

you spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, trying but failing to will yourself to fall asleep. soap texts you shortly before the sun comes up - a picture of himself and the rest of the team, posing for the camera. they're covered in dirt and ash, exhaustion apparent in their eyes, but the image is enough to make you crack a smile.

you give them a few hours, pulling yourself out of bed after sunrise and occupying yourself with mundane tasks around the house, before picking up the phone and calling price.

"hey, captain. sorry for calling so early." you chuckle, leaning against the arm of the couch.

"don't worry about it," price clears his throat, hoarse from fatigue, and you wonder for a second if he was asleep before you called. "was just finishing some paperwork. what d'you need?"

a low sigh escapes from you. "i know it's only been a day, but... can i come back? i really want to get back to work."

you can hear papers shuffling from his end. "i know you want to work, but we just can't take the risk—"

"there isn't going to be any risk," you assert, raising your voice slightly and interrupting him. you pause and wet your lips, speaking in a softer tone again. "please, captain, i know i can handle it. i just want to get back to normal already."

the line is quiet for a long moment, with price silently deliberating over your request. you shift nervously, gripping the phone tighter as you wait impatiently for a response.

finally, after you shift for the umpteenth time, he exhales deeply.

"i'll see if i can convince laswell, okay?" he concedes. you can hear his chair creaking as he leans back - you're assuming, at least. "pack your bags. i'll send a transport helicopter in an hour."

⋆⋆⋆

that's how you ended up at base again, with the team welcoming you back with open arms. laswell initially rejected the idea, stating the same concerns as before, but price managed to sway her after some discussion.

so, now you're in a meeting room, gathered around a table with lists, blueprints, names, pictures— any and all of the intel that the task force has gotten their hands on, scattered across the surface. you blink when price raps his knuckles against the tabletop, drawing your attention.

it's laswell who talks, shooting a glance around the table to address the group. "as you're all aware, shadow company has been a target of the konni group in recent times," she starts, sending you a cursory look, asking you for confirmation. you nod, and she continues. "not only have they been fighting the group head-on in al-mazrah, but there's been several incidents with undercover konni operatives in their ranks."

"good, let 'em fuckin' deal with it." soap remarks, earning noises of agreement from gaz, ghost, and yourself. price and laswell aren't as entertained by it.

"general shepherd, commander graves, and their men betrayed us." laswell pauses before letting out a heavy sigh. "i know none of you were happy about the ceasefire, and i know that you were furious when graves resurfaced. but, besides farah's forces, shadow company is our strongest ally."

"—and the only one capable of making any strong moves without risking an all-out war." price adds, shaking his head. everyone's displeased with the situation, that much is obvious.

"where are you goin' with this?" ghost asks. a tense silence fills the room for a long moment, making you shift awkwardly.

laswell motions towards the door on the far side of the room with her head. you cast your gaze in the same direction, watching as the door is pushed open.

as if on cue, the very man that should've been buried in flames in las almas walks into the room. the shadow himself. philip graves.

"oh, fuck off." soap growls at the man, looking ready to lunge at him from across the table. ghost steps forward and, if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was reaching for his sidearm. gaz and price are eerily quiet while glaring daggers at him, and you immediately feel the blood rush to your ears as every nerve commands you to shoot him yourself.

"i know this isn't ideal," laswell attempts to placate all of you, though the cold stare she regards him with betrays her calm demeanor. "but, for now, we're allies. we have a bigger threat to worry about."

"yeah, those konni guys are, uh..." graves perks up, languidly sauntering up to the table. he purses his lips for a second, thinking, before clicking his tongue. "real troublesome. i've lost a lot of good men thanks to them."

"good." ghost mutters, straightening himself next to soap.

price cuts through the tension with a wave of his hand. "alright, none of us want this, but we've got no other options." he grumbles. "konni's moving towards urzikstan. if we want to stop 'em, then we need to cooperate."

you eye graves from your peripherals, recalling the information that makarov gave you a couple weeks ago. graves isn't in on shepherd's plan, but he's likely the only person who knows the general's whereabouts. you need to say something while you still can. how will he take the news, though? he's betrayed you before, he'll do it again if it benefits him.

"petra, you listening?" laswell's voice abruptly interrupts your thoughts. you divert your attention back to her and notice that everyone's focus is on you.

"i have something i need to say," you blurt out. you need to bring up the general before he potentially ropes graves in.

you receive a collection of interested stares, urging you to go on.

"when i was captured, i managed to get some information," you drop your gaze, narrowing your eyes at the documents laid out. "we're not just fighting konni and al-qatala. some of the forces occupying al-mazrah are under shepherd's command."

the silence that falls over the room is almost deafening. the group balks at you with shock and confusion written on their expressions, until graves huffs out a laugh.

"general shepherd's 'forces' are my men. i can assure you, petra, that none of my shadows are workin' with konni." he says with a lopsided smile, confident as ever.

you turn to face graves fully, grimacing. "i'm not talking about your shadows. shepherd has another group under his command."

"what group?" price asks.

"cia operatives. ex-soldiers, specifically." you turn back, eyes flitting between price and laswell. "he's sending men undercover. the unmarked mercenaries that we keep encountering? that's them."

laswell shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. "where did you get this information?"

you freeze. your mouth opens to say makarov's name, but for some reason, you hesitate. with a deep inhale, you blink away the odd feeling and force the words past your lips.

"makarov. i'm not sure why, but he told me about it."

yet another unbearable tension befalls the group; you're getting close to ripping your hair out over it. as if reading your thoughts, gaz speaks up.

"you know about this?" he says, directed at graves. he's tight-lipped, glowering at him.

graves doesn't respond, letting the question hang in the air. he looks just as surprised as the rest of you - makarov was telling the truth, then. shadow company isn't in on the plan. shepherd has effectively betrayed his strongest ally, to your knowledge.

"i'm sure there's an explanation," graves utters, chuckling to himself. "war's a dirty business. there's good reason to send men undercover."

"he's got part of the special activities division in his pocket." laswell says.

"isn't that where you pulled alex from?" price hums, earning a nod in reply. it's a bad situation, to say the least.

you regain everyone's attention and continue. "i don't know the full plan, but makarov suspected that shepherd's doing this to put himself back on top. start a war, get himself marked as a hero, reap the rewards."

graves raises a brow at you, amusement written on his face. "and, we should trust the judgement of a terrorist?" he says while searching the room for support.

price keeps his gaze on you, though the distant look in his eye tells you that his mind is elsewhere. "i'd trust this one's judgement." he mutters, jaw clenching.

"well, there's no point in standin' around, is there?" graves seems to bounce back quickly, shrugging off the news. "we've got a job to do and a terrorist to catch. let's focus on that."

"i'll contact farah and see if alex knows anything about the men under shepherd's command." laswell says as you all break away from the table and start to file out of the room.

"keep us updated," price nods to her before turning to the rest of you. "wheels up in thirty. we'll debrief on the way."

you breathe out a relieved sigh once everyone breaks off, heading off to finish any last minute preparations before takeoff. you linger in the corridor, running a hand down your face and groaning into the palm of your hand. of course, you have no choice but to work with an enemy whilst relying on intel from yet another. at least you can be open with your team about this one.

shepherd and makarov are your targets. graves comes after. take down all three, and your headaches are gone. no more doubting yourself, no more questions, no more nights spent looking at lists of crimes that make you feel sick. you can resume your not-so-peaceful life with the rest of the task force and celebrate the world being a somewhat safer place.

your phone buzzes in your pocket, distracting you from your pondering and pulling you back to the present. you frown at the name on the caller id.

it's a single letter: 'v.'

after your conversation - if you can even call it that - with makarov last night, you saved his number. putting his name in your phone is basically shooting yourself in the foot, so you saved it under a name that gives you deniability in the event someone sees it.

you duck into an empty rec room nearby and accept the call, keeping an eye on the door as you lift the phone to your ear.

"you actually picked up the phone this time." makarov remarks upon you answering. your frown deepens, brows furrowing.

"if you don't have anything important to say, i'm hanging up."

he chuckles, far too casual for your liking. "i have an update. something that i'm sure you'll be interested in."

you shift, leaning against the back of one of the couches. "what is it?"

"in case you're planning to return to al-mazrah, just know that shepherd's men have been given strict orders to target and eliminate members of the one-four-one."

a chill creeps up the back of your spine. it's an unsurprising order, but you still rack your brain as to why he gave it. does shepherd somehow know that you know about his plans? it shouldn't be possible— until the meeting that finished just minutes ago, the only people privy to the knowledge were makarov and yourself.

of course, shepherd's allies are aware of it, but the only ally of his that you've contacted is graves. you doubt that he's talked to the general in the short amount of time since, which eliminates graves as a possibility just as quickly as you suspected him.

there has to be another source. someone feeding him information, keeping the one-four-one under watch.

"shepherd's got a mole in our group." you reply, pinching the bridge of your nose. "fucking hell. he knows that we're onto him."

"'we,' lieutenant?" he comments with an amused lilt in his tone.

"my team, asshole. he's got men undercover in your group and in my squad. he's watching all of his enemies."

makarov hums, voice dropping a little. "you have a keen eye, petra. have you asked the shadow about shepherd's whereabouts, yet?" he asks, brushing past your frustration.

"haven't had the chance," you mutter. "based on his reaction to the news, i doubt he'll give it away, though. we might have to get the location ourselves."

he exhales, audible through the phone. "it would be more convenient if you could convince him to tell you."

you roll your eyes. "yeah, of course it would. just don't expect any miracles. aren't you the one with all the mysterious ways of gathering information, anyway?" you grumble sarcastically and move away from the couch, starting to pace around the room while keeping your gaze on the door.

"i can get his location if necessary, but that would eliminate your usefulness in this operation, wouldn't it?"

he's right, and you hate him for it. "you still need me to kill him." you counter bluntly.

"i can do that, too. your team wants revenge for his betrayal. this is me being charitable - don't disappoint."

makarov ends the call before you have the chance to argue, leaving you to huff to yourself in the empty room. a moment later, a head pokes around the doorway, startling you and nearly making you drop your phone when you jump.

gaz is regarding you with a sly grin as he fully reveals himself and steps into the room. your palms immediately moisten with sweat as worry floods your mind - how much did he just hear?

"so, who you talkin' to?" gaz cocks his head to the side, teasing. he's relaxed, standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets.

you pocket your phone and flash a calm smile. "that depends. you have any guesses?"

he chuckles, lifting one of his hands to playfully stroke at his chin as he thinks. "let's see... i know you weren't home for long, but—" his grin morphs into a lopsided smirk as he eyes you suspiciously. "y'got a boyfriend?"

dear god, no.

you resist the urge to gag at the thought and shake your head. "nope, it's just a... friend of mine."

gaz leans forward, an inquisitive 'ah' tumbling from his lips. "a friend, eh? they got a name?" he asks.

"he, uh... just goes by 'v.'"

"'v?' like the letter?"

you answer with an affirmative "mhm," patting gaz on the shoulder as you brush past him. "it's a nickname i gave him. don't worry about it."

gaz groans in exasperation as you stroll towards the door, trying to ignore the way your heart races. lying is a normal part of the job, but lying to your team? generally not recommended.

"most 'just friends' don't have exclusive nicknames, you know!" gaz calls out from behind as you round the corner and start down the hall, leaving him alone.

a sick part of you finds the sentiment - makarov, being anything more than an enemy - entertaining, but your better judgement steers you back on track. you've got a mission to prepare for, and the likelihood of something going wrong is as high as ever. you need to focus on the mission and getting graves to give up shepherd.

⋆⋆⋆

shadow company's gunship is a familiar sight as you climb aboard, slipping past the groups of shadows and finding your teammates gathered around what you can only describe as the command center. graves is standing close by, though the tension is palpable as you approach.

after the aircraft lifts off is when graves talks, addressing the soldiers lining the seats of the craft.

"alright, now i know we've had our problems in the past," he starts, briefly acknowledging your group before turning back to his men. "however, none of that matters right now. the one-four-one is our ally on this mission; treat 'em like your own. copy that, shadows?"

johnny snorts from next to you. "where have we heard this before?" he mumbles.

there's a resounding "yep-yep" from his men, accompanied by several nods and looks in your direction. graves pats one of the soldiers on the shoulder and looks to price.

"think you can lay out the rest, captain."

price starts down the middle row, his voice booming even over the sounds of people checking their weapons, gear, and anxiously shifting in their seats. he moves slowly, practically stalking down the length of the gunship.

"the mission is simple: konni and al-qatala have set up bases across the city. they're using gas, heavy artillery, and stolen weapons to protect themselves." price stops for a moment and lets his gaze drag over the soldiers staring back at him. "i don't think i need to remind you shadows of what konni's done to your brothers in arms. we're going to break off into strike teams - eight men - and destroy these bases. alpha team will take the nerve center in the heart of the city. you already know your assignments."

graves speaks again once price goes quiet. "the commanders are not likely going to be in any of these field bases. but, if they are, then each and every single one of you has execute authority." he announces. "first man to bag an HVT gets a reward." he adds with a smirk, earning light laughter from several of his men.

when the speeches conclude, you settle back in your seat.

alpha team includes yourself, price, graves, and five of the shadows that graves handpicked. ghost, soap, and gaz are leading the bravo team, charged with the largest and best-guarded of the field bases. the commanding chain within shadow company are leading the other groups tasked with the bases scattered around the city.

you fish your phone out of one of your vest pockets when it buzzes, reading the notification on the screen.

there's an agent in your group 11:06 am

not a shadow. special forces. 11:06 am

you frown, angling the screen back and quickly scanning the group. everyone seems to be engrossed in conversation, giving you a chance to respond.

do you have a name? 11:07 am

not yet. he's a rookie. 11:07 am

he's stationed at the base you're staying at 11:07 am

check the files. should have transferred recently. 11:08 am

thank you. 11:08 am

don't mention it. 11:09 am

you're quick to tuck your phone away again, jolting when gaz suddenly addresses you.

"texting your boyfriend, eh?" he laughs, catching everyone's attention.

soap snorts and turns to you. "since when did you start dating?"

you wave them off, sitting up again as all eyes fall on you - even ghost, who is usually horribly uninterested in gossip.

"what are you two, schoolchildren?" you ask, earning playful noises of offense. "he's just a friend. not even a close one."

you're getting yourself caught up in a lie. a shitty one, at that. all it's doing is making people more interested in who you're talking to. at this rate, you'll get caught by the end of the day.

"bullshit— no one in this job talks to a person this much if they're not special." gaz counters, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

price chuckles. "c'mon, gaz. come off it," he lightly scolds the sergeant before looking at you. "just make sure he treats you nice, yeah?" he adds, both teasing and sincere at the same time.

"he's not my— yeah, okay. i'll remember that." you concede, slumping back in your seat.

the topic is dropped not long after, leaving you to relax as people talk around you. after a couple minutes, you can feel your eyelids start to droop, reminding you of how restless last night was. the trip's going to take a while, you might as well get some sleep while you still can.

⋆⋆⋆

everything is so hot. the sun, the ground, your clothes, the air— you.

you don't have any protective gear on, your sidearm secured in your loose grip as you stumble through the ruins where a city once stood.

that's right, you think. the city was destroyed in all the fighting. reduced to nothing more than rubble. you remember when there used to be buildings here; half-toppled and abandoned, but they stood as evidence of life nonetheless.

you falter, landing on your knee and hissing as it hits the solid ground below you. your vision starts to blur as your eyes water, forcing you to rub at them with your free hand in a desperate attempt to clear them.

when you blink rapidly, trying to force back the disorientation and bleariness, you notice a figure directly ahead of you.

an ally. a friend. someone that can help.

you force yourself to your feet and stagger towards them, sucking in a hopeful breath when they start to rush to meet you. the harsh sun— fuck, it's so hot— makes you squint, preventing you from making out a face until they're already pulling you into their embrace, strong arms holding you close to their chest.

"it's okay." their voice— his voice, reassures you softly, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head, cradling you impossibly closer. "i took care of it, my dear. you're safe now."

hot tears streak down your cheeks, dirty with sand, dust, and ash, as you wrap your arms around his middle. you try to speak, but all that comes out is a hiccup and a pathetic sob, so you resolve to burying your face in his shoulder to muffle your cries.

you're tired. exhausted, actually. for once in this career, you want to be selfish. you want to be the protected one. fighting, losing allies, killing— it never ends.

he shushes you, but even in your state, you can tell the action is unnatural. gentleness, empathy, tender care... it isn't who he is.

you manage to lift your head enough to look at him, eyes glassy with tears.

makarov stares back at you, his callous gaze betraying the way he holds you. it makes you pause, confused, as you slowly recall why you're even here.

you were fighting konni operatives. there was a missile— no, something bigger. something that decimated the city and would have taken you along with it, had you not ducked into a shelter at the very last second. when you emerged, shaken and dazed in the aftershock, you encountered al-qatala and konni mercenaries alike.

bodies scattered in the streets, men wheezing for air despite blood displacing the oxygen in their lungs and leaking from every orifice, some still trying to fight even as they collapse in heaps of pure agony, writhing on the ground alongside their brothers in arms.

you wince when his fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, his forefinger hooking under your chin and forcing you to look into his eyes after your gaze drifts away.

"their lives mean nothing," makarov whispers, barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding against your ribcage. "not compared to you. you're better, stronger, than them. you will serve me well. you will help me usher in a new age."

he runs the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, slightly chapped from the dry heat. on instinct, you part your lips, and he moves his hand to cup your face before leaning in to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

it's wrong. this is wrong.

you shouldn't be here. you shouldn't be doing this.

the kiss is a distraction, keeping you occupied as his other hand falls from its spot on your hip. you don't even notice the change until a gunshot rings out, and pain equally as burning as the kiss courses through your veins.

you can't even muster a proper cry as you pull back, one of your own hands flying to the epicenter of the pain, right in the middle of your stomach. your fingers brush against the spot, and you whimper when you lift them back up to your face. dark red stains your skin, dripping down your wrist.

"i just need to fix you first. under my guidance... you will be perfect, my dear." makarov mutters, catching you and holding you up when you crumple against him. he coos at you, sympathetic yet mocking, as he scoops you up in his arms, the world around you going dark.

⋆⋆⋆

you wake up with a start, shifting to the edge of your seat as you frantically rub at your eyes. there's an ache deep in the pit of your stomach, making you press your palm against the same spot as your dream.

this time, when you look down at your hand, you see nothing. a shaky sigh escapes from you at the sight - or, rather, the lack thereof.

"y'all right?" ghost asks, eyeing you from the seat across from you.

"yeah, yeah—" you respond, shaking off the lingering effects of the dream. "we almost there?"

price comes over, having been talking with graves some feet away, and pats your shoulder in acknowledgement. "about to touch down, actually. let's go."

you disembark alongside the rest of alpha team, taking up formation with price and graves, with the few shadow company operatives behind the three of you. reaching the building isn't a difficult task despite the many mercenaries standing between it and your team; as much as you hate to admit it, the shadows are skilled in the field, even with their misgivings.

the building is another high rise, like the one you infiltrated weeks ago, half-crumpled from the effects of the fighting in the city. price leads the group as you all enter it through a sizeable hole in the wall, clearing out the first floor with trained precision.

the group of shadows form a perimeter just outside as you investigate the interior with price and graves, finding it... empty?

"thought you said this was the nerve center," you mutter, turning to the men as they search around, equally as perplexed as you. "there's nothing here."

price shakes his head, standing up from where he was crouched over some rubble. "there was something here. they must've moved."

"they knew we were comin'." graves says with a frustrated huff. "probably just protecting it to keep up the charade. the real control center could be anywhere in the city."

the two start for the exit with you in tow. "could be outside of it for all we know. we need to contact the other squads." price replies before pausing at the threshold and angling his head upwards. you stop several feet back and send him a confused look, before a low rumbling echoes throughout the building, sending dust and small debris falling from the floors above.

the rumbling stops for a second, until a louder, harsher one follows. larger pieces of wreckage start to loosen and threaten to fall, small bits clattering against the ground.

"shit, the building's too unstable— it's gonna collapse—!" price shouts as a metal beam crashes into the ground less than twenty feet away from you.

while price and graves are able to duck out amidst the falling debris, you're forced to dive backwards after a piece of the floor above falls right into your path. you search for a way around it, but as the violent shaking increases and sends more collapsing down all around you, you realize that cover might be your only option.

you scan the room quickly and dive under a pile of slabs and beams, sturdy enough to not collapse under the weight of falling wreckage, but with just enough room for you to squeeze in underneath.

it's only seconds after you find cover that the thundering sounds of heavy rubble crashing down all around you fills your ears, forcing you to cover them with your hands as each crash makes you flinch.

the worst of the destruction is short-lived. a couple minutes pass by before you're willing to move, the occasional piece of the upper floors still collapsing around you every now and then. you let out a trembling breath once you emerge, pure adrenaline coursing through your veins.

the exit. you hastily search for it, but all hope drains from you when you find it and see that it's completely blocked by the wreckage.

"petra? can you hear me?" price's voice crackles through your radio.

you go to respond, coughing harshly due to all the dirt and dust floating in the air. "i hear you— i'm all right," you tear your eyes from the exit and look for another path. it's a big building, surely you can find something. "just stuck in here." you grumble into the radio.

"we're gonna try to find another way in, see if you can meet us somewhere." he says. you can hear graves barking orders at his men in the background. "be careful." price adds in a rushed tone.

you drop your hand from your radio and clutch your gun close as you carefully traverse the field of debris, mentally thanking whatever higher power that the building only partially collapsed on top of you, instead of crushing you completely.

every movement out the corner of your eyes makes you stop and aim your weapon at it; it's highly unlikely - but not impossible - that you're not alone. anyone could've snuck in after the collapse, or hidden themselves like you did. al-qatala, konni, shepherd's men— you have a lot of enemies and very few allies in the area.

you spin around at the sound of something shifting, but only see a few pieces of wood hitting the ground. you're getting too paranoid. you try to steel yourself, breathing deeply, before a smooth voice makes you choke on the air that gets caught in your throat.

"you are very unlucky, aren't you?"

you turn again, gun drawn and finger on the trigger, but stop short upon seeing a friendly...

well, you see makarov standing across the room. it's an enemy that doesn't seem all-too interested in killing you - for now, at least.

"how did you..." you trail off, lowering your weapon.

apparently understanding your question, he vaguely motions behind himself. "there's a breach." he says, glancing over the destruction as he approaches you.

you squint at him as he draws closer, briefly tightening your grip on your gun. he stops several feet away, though, so you allow yourself to relax just a bit, lowering your weapon.

"i figured you'd be staying far away from al-mazrah, it's an active war zone after all." you comment, earning a dismissive look.

"i don't mind getting my hands dirty," makarov utters with a lofty grin tugging at his lips. "besides, we need to talk."

you cock your head to the side, curious. "and, you couldn't call or text me about this? that's been working out so far." you chuckle softly.

he steps closer again, standing a little over an arm's length away. "i happened to be close by." he responds. "this is also something better discussed in person."

you nod, hesitantly slinging your gun over your shoulder to cross your arms over your chest.

"after our last exchange, i managed to gather more information from my... source." he punctuates the last word with a half-assed attempt at a conciliatory smile. "the mole planted within your group reported to shepherd recently; he's aware of our communication." he continues, before you interrupt him.

"wait, no one knows about this, not even my squad." you assert, taking another step closer to him. you're just under an arm's length away, now.

"there was an agent within the group assigned to your care when you were captured. one of the two men that accompanied us on the first day - he listened in on our conversation and delivered the details to the general." makarov speaks in a hushed tone, one you can just barely hear over rubble crumbling somewhere nearby. "the agent on your end tracked you after you reunited with your squad. something of yours was bugged, they heard us that night."

how could he... most of your belongings were clothes, which you know for certain weren't bugged. the only other item that traveled home with you is your cellphone—

"shit," you mumble, practically tearing your vest pocket open and grabbing your phone. there's nothing obviously wrong with it at first glance, but once you pop the case off and check inside, your suspicions are confirmed.

there's a small tracking device flashing red at you, mocking you, and you rip it out before tossing it on the ground and stomping on it.

"he's heard everything," you say, twisting your boot to scatter the broken pieces. "fuck, if this gets out— i can explain this to my team and make do with the judgement, but if shepherd tells any of his friends in their cushy government positions, i'm dead."

makarov shifts, looking past you, but you don't even notice the action thanks to the adrenaline reflooding your system. "that would be an issue," he mutters, reaching for the holster at his hip. "i suppose i could protect you."

you snort, dragging your gaze from your boot to his face. "i'm not joining your side, even for this."

a thin string of red light shines from the darkness behind you, aimed at the back of your skull. makarov follows it to its source, all but ignoring your rejection, as his fingers wrap around the handle of his desert eagle.

a loud gunshot rings out, echoing against the walls. you instinctively reach for your stomach, preparing yourself for the pain you felt in that dream, body tensing up as it flies into survival mode.

the pain never comes. a heavy thump makes you turn, however, watching as a soldier collapses to the ground. unmarked uniform. one of the general’s men.

"shepherd has not earned your blood. if anyone is going to kill you, it will be me." makarov lowers his gun and meets your muddled gaze. "i suggest you reconsider my offer, petra, and give me a call when you make up your mind."

you’re left in that state as he sidesteps and saunters past you, seemingly disappearing into the darkness himself. you’re sure there’s another exit that you missed, one he’s taking to avoid running into your squad.

his offer. joining him for protection.

you'll never follow makarov or his ideals, much less join him for such a selfish reason. if you can kill shepherd, then you can destroy any evidence and get yourself out of this mess. with graves' cooperation and your team to help, that possibility is well within your reach. the only crime you'll have to answer for is severely disappointing your teammates, but they'll understand.

except, there's no guarantee that graves will help, and the rules of engagement prevent you from taking effective action against shepherd. he may be on the run, but he's an american general - killing him could land the one-four-one in hot water with the government.

that'll only lead to more restrictions, more eyes on you, more questions— there's nothing you can do to stop it.

you need someone without limits. someone the government doesn't have their hands on.

you need makarov.

a series of heavy footsteps alert you to a new presence, snapping you out of your trance. you lift your head in time to see price, graves, and the shadows appear from around a large pile of debris in the same direction that makarov originally approached you from.

"petra!" price calls out, jogging ahead of the group and stopping just in front of you. "you broken?" he asks, placing a firm hand on your shoulder and dragging his gaze across your form, searching for any injuries.

"no, i'm fine. nothing major." you mumble, struggling to find your voice all of a sudden. "just, uh..." you lose it again, your tongue darting out to nervously wet your dry lips.

"something wrong?" he murmurs, quiet enough that graves and his men can't hear from their positions farther away.

you can feel every beat of your heart, rapidly thumping against your ribs to the point of making your chest ache. only price can give you approval to do something so risky, so stupid. he'll understand. he knows the job isn't perfect, but you do what you have to do—

"i have something to confess, captain."

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[siilvan]

proximate

characters: rodolfo “rudy” parra

summary: an undercover operation goes awry, leaving you and rudy in a tight spot – literally.

prompts: 3. "first one to make a noise loses" & 19. "the choice is yours"

genre: general, fluff, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: not proofread (i'll do it later </3), cursing, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, classic stuck-in-a-closet situation 😏, like two spanish words since i'm still a beginner lol

word count: 1.9k

note: RAHHHHHH RUDY MY LOVE‼️‼️🗣️ once again, shoutout to @glitterypirateduck for curating this event!!

also wrote most of this while fighting off sleep so if it's bad, i'm sorry, i have another rudy fic on my WIP list <3

things can't get much worse than this, right?

right?

"a simple mission," he said. "just a quick in-and-out." he said.

you swear, you're going to to kick alejandro with the heels that you're wearing if you come out of this alive.

as you go to round a corner, a few voices make you stop dead in your tracks and tuck yourself back against the wall. it's a small group, no more than four men, and you hold your breath as they stroll right past you without even sparing a glance in your direction.

if there's anything to be thankful for, it's the lack of discipline in the guards. they're all too worried about getting drunk at the party still raging elsewhere than catching the "agent" in attendance.

you let out a soft sigh as you watch them disappear down the corridor, until footsteps quickly approaching from behind make you jump and spin around, preparing to face the would-be attacker.

before you can even turn, though, a pair of gloved hands grab ahold of you, one coming up to cover your mouth as you let out a surprised yelp, and the other pressing you into the wall again. it's an instinct when you fight back, lifting your foot and stomping on theirs, praying that the heel of your shoe is enough to force them to loosen their grip and give you a chance to escape.

the grunt that leaves them – him, you realize – sounds all-too familiar. you hesitate, which gives the man enough time to yank his foot back and lean closer, mumbling something into your ear despite the pain lacing his every word.

"it's me—!" he says through a pained groan. the dots finally connect in your head and you crane your neck to look at him over your shoulder.

the man stares at you through a black balaclava, but his eyes are unmistakable. it's rudy.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, voice slightly muffled against his palm. rudy pulls his hand away and steps back, giving you space to face him properly. you mutter a quick apology upon seeing him stumble a bit, obviously sore from your attack, but he brushes it off with a casual wave of his hand.

"heard about the situation over comms, figured you could use some help." he shrugs as your gaze drops, dragging over the dark suit that sits snugly on his form. "we need to move quickly. the security's scattered right now, but it won't be long until they find the body." he adds, tapping your shoulder gently as he moves past you.

you follow close behind as he starts down the corridor that the group of guards came from earlier. "i'm assuming you mean the guy who's clothes you're wearing – did you not hide him well?"

rudy pauses at another intersection, holding a hand up to signal for you to stop behind him. "didn't have time to. i was more worried about you."

with the way he says the words so casually, you know that it's nothing more than work to him. helping a fellow soldier, assisting you in the field for the sake of the mission, doing his job as the second-in-command. still, you don't miss the way your heart skips a beat at the thought of rudy rushing to your aid for a different, more personal, reason.

after a mumbled "come on," he's continuing down the hallway with you right behind him, the distinct sounds of your heels clacking against the floor with each step and his leather oxfords echoing off the walls.

you nearly slam into his back when rudy suddenly stops in the middle of a hallway, opening your mouth to protest, until you hear aggravated grunts and conversation coming from further down the corridor. before you can react, though, rudy's grabbing your shoulder to guide you as he swings open a nearby door and hastily shoves you inside it.

he slips in with you and lets out a heavy breath as the door softly clicks shut behind him, leaving you in almost total darkness. you press your back to the wall and flinch when the handle of a broom brushes against your spine, making you shuffle forward a bit to get comfortable in the cramped space.

unfortunately, "comfortable" equals standing so close to rudy that you worry about him hearing the rapid beating of your nervous heart.

you're in a small room, some kind of broom closet, with one of your superiors confined and standing just inches away from you. the shadows obscuring your face end up being your saving grace— if he could see the way you're reacting to the close proximity, you'd probably die from sheer embarrassment.

"they were heading our way?" you manage to ask, whispering through the pitch blackness.

you can make out some movement in the shadows akin to a nod. "party guests aren't allowed in this area. it's safer to hide and let them pass by." rudy mutters in reply, shifting. his hand, covered by a dark leather glove, grazes your arm lightly, his touch leaving behind a faint heat that slowly spreads through the rest of your body.

he lifts his arm fully and finds something that you can barely make out: a string, hanging in the air between you two. rudy gives it a single tug and suddenly you're squinting, eyes adjusting to the dim, artificial light that fills the small space from the bulb at the center of the ceiling.

seeing him semi-clearly again is enough to make you stare, eyes greedily drinking up his disguise as he keeps his attention trained on the little bit of space at the bottom of the door. you manage to tear your gaze from him after admiring the way the balaclava clings to his focused expression, clearly outlining strong features that you know will make you melt all over again once the mask is removed.

fleeting shadows obscure the light coming in from the crack, signaling that the group from before is passing by. you remain quiet, practically holding your breath as you watch the last person's silhouette appear and disappear under the door, the group's conversation gradually fading as they continue down the hall without a single alarm raised.

rudy goes to open the door, hand firmly wrapping around the knob, but when he tries to twist it open, you're both a little shocked at it not budging. he twists it again, but to no avail.

"mierda," he whispers harshly, fidgeting with the doorknob. "it's stuck." he adds, shooting a glance in your direction.

you briefly meet his gaze and blink at him, swiftly understanding the implications.

you're alone, very lightly armed, and trapped in a stuffy closet with your second-in-command whilst surrounded by enemies. somehow, things did find a way to get worse.

the two of you fall into a tense silence as you take in the situation: rudy, testing the strength of the door once more, and you, carefully listening for anyone nearby with an ear pressed against the wall. catching a guard's attention isn't ideal, but two or three men shouldn't be too difficult to take out discreetly.

you don't hear anything for what feels like ages. no footsteps, no voices, not even a peep from your ally. with a frustrated huff, you pull back from the wall and settle for staring into the minimal space between you and rudy.

at some point, he pulls off the mask, allowing you to drag your gaze up to his uncovered face. you can see thoughts swimming behind his dark irises, plans being formed off the cuff, preparation for any and every possible outcome. if rudy's anything, it's meticulous and levelheaded, even in a bad situation. he's everything a leader should be, and you commend him for it.

the silence lingers heavy in the air, settling like an uncomfortable weight on your shoulders. you swallow down the lump in your throat awkwardly, wracking your brain for an excuse to break it.

"first one to make a noise loses," you mumble, sending him a cursory glance.

rudy chuckles softly, his shoulders drooping slightly. he meets your gaze and seems to relax, lips twitching into a small smile. "i think you lost when you said that."

you roll your eyes half-heartedly. "that doesn't count." you lean in, mirroring his smile. "you lost by responding, though."

he concedes, lifting his hands in a mock surrender. "you got me, i guess you're the winner." he says, before letting his hands fall to his sides once more.

you're left staring at each other again. the tension dissipates with those few words, however, and you let yourself bask in the warmth of his gaze. it isn't special, you know that rudy looks at all of his allies with the same warmth, but a part of you clings to the hope that his affection is reserved for you. it's silly – juvenile, even – to think of your teammate like this. what you have is just a schoolgirl crush, feelings that he'd never reciprocate—

"you look beautiful," he utters, nearly inaudible despite the lack of other sounds. "i, uh... wanted to tell you that before the mission."

did you hear that correctly?

you keen under his praise, muttering an equally soft "thank you" before mentally kicking yourself for the awkward response and opening your mouth to speak again. "you look handsome. maybe you should've been on this mission instead." you add with a laugh.

"you were handling yourself just fine." rudy says, eyes narrowing when you shake your head.

"there's a reason why you had to step in. besides—"

"—besides, why would i miss out on this view?" he asks. you stop short, jaw practically going slack. again, did you hear that correctly?

you blink at him, dumbfounded. "that's bold."

another mental kick makes you flinch at your own reply.

gloved hands wrap around your own, guiding your hands to sit between yours and rudy's bodies. he squeezes them gently, a comforting gesture that sends a shiver coursing down your spine.

"maybe this isn't the best place to say this," he starts, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "and, maybe that's exactly why i finally can say this, but... i've always thought that you're beautiful." he continues, voice dropping from a quiet timbre to a whisper.

"i want to be more than just teammates, if you'll have me." he quickly says, his grip tightening as his eyes search yours for an answer.

"rudy..." you trail off, before he speaks – again.

"the choice is yours. i'll respect your decision, no matter what it is."

if you didn't know better, you'd tell yourself that you're dreaming. it's not an ideal confession, not in the slightest, but there's something about it that's so very him. your chest tightens in the best way as you slide your hands from his, fingertips dancing up his arms until you cup his cheeks and bridge that final gap.

the kiss that follows is chaste and saccharine sweet. strong arms circle around your waist, drawing your body closer to his, grounding you in the moment as you threaten to slip away in the pure bliss of it.

after a few moments, you manage to pull back enough to give a verbal answer. "if we get out of here, then it's a date."

rudy chuckles, warm breath fanning against your lips. "keep your weekend open, cariño."

[siilvan]

navi. we've talked enough about jealous!makarov. but what about jealous!petra?????🥹🤭 poor girl won't even know how to feel at that strange feeling on her chest when she sees him casually talking business with another woman, i wanna hear your thoughts🫡🤍

ohhhhh jealous!petra?? i haven’t even considered that… 🫢🩷

i think it’s probably easier to show, not tell… just pretend we’re a little further down the storyline 🤭 as always, this drabble is not indicative of what’s to come, it’s just based in the bloodsport-verse teehee

(and by drabble, i mean 1.6k... some jealousy with a happy ending and mildly spicy stuff BTC, enjoy <3)

мое небо/moye nebo – my heaven

you don't consider yourself a jealous person. sure, you've been jealous in the past, but who hasn't? it's a natural emotion, like anger, joy, sadness... there's no point in pretending like you never feel it.

except for right now.

you're eyeing the man of the hour from across the sizeable terrace, your back pressed against the pillar behind you as you watch him converse with a woman you faintly recognize. milena romanova. one of konni group's employers, stationed in vondel.

their words don't reach your ears due to the distance and the soldiers idly chatting nearby, but still, your gaze narrows at the pair. makarov is all business— standing tall, stone-faced, hands clasped neatly behind his back. romanova is far more relaxed, one hand on the railing and the other wrapped around the stem of her glass, the burgundy wine nearly spilling over the edge when she laughs at her own comment on something.

you should have expected a party to be lively. there's a healthy mixture of soldiers guarding the compound and government officials conversing with mercenaries, swapping stories and intel that you should be keeping an ear out for.

no, no. none of that catches your attention the way they do.

makarov's expression shifts, a hint of a smile showing on his face for a moment, before it drops again. romanova seems to catch it almost as quickly as you do, because her hand leaves the railing to gesture while she says something along the lines of, "i knew it."

"for special forces, you are not very subtle." a voice perks up from your side. you jolt, letting out a sharp gasp before turning to the person next to you. warden stares back from behind her mask, her head cocked to the side.

you shake your head, looking away from her again. "i have no idea what you're talking about, garanina."

she hums, following your gaze back to the pair. you both watch as makarov moves, crossing his arms loosely and leaning back against the railing. he's facing you, with his head turned to focus on the woman he's talking to.

an unwelcomed feeling blooms deep in the pit of your stomach, a cold burn that has your eyes narrowing and brows knitting together. on any other day, you'd have no qualms about putting her in cuffs or delivering a bullet through her skull. she's the enemy as much as the man next to her is. however... you need to be on your best behavior.

there's a whisper in the back of your thoughts, a voice telling you that his attention should be on you. his eyes, on you. his smile, as rare as it is, directed at you.

"jealousy, is it?" warden asks, pulling a frustrated scoff from you.

"shouldn't you be doing something?" you mutter, dragging your gaze back to her. she shrugs, prompting you to continue. "well, you're wrong. it's not jealousy."

the stifled laugher is audible even through the thick fabric. "romanova is employed because she's loyal to commander makarov and the cause. he keeps you around despite your loyalties being to the opposite side." she lowers her voice, eyes crinkling behind the mask. "don't get cocky, but remember who he chooses to have here."

warden gives you a nod before stepping past you, heading elsewhere and leaving you alone once more. you blink at her as she disappears into the crowd, your head slowly dropping after you lose sight of her, eyeing a scuff on the floor several feet away.

that feeling climbs up your torso like a vine, winding around you from the inside and branching out to every corner of your body and mind. you lift a hand and hold your throat in a gentle grip, the air suddenly seeming heavy, the vines choking your lungs for every last drop of oxygen as the air itself tries to suffocate you. the thorns dig into your brain, piercing, displacing the reassurance and injecting it with pure poison; thoughts of them.

his hands on her, pressing her down into his bed, touching her, holding her, whispering words of praise, clothes abandoned in scattered piles on the floor, bodies flush, moving in perfect sync—

the cool feeling of leather practically tears you from the mental scene. a thumb presses into the spot below your lip as a finger hooks under your chin and forces your head to lift, meeting a pair of dark eyes, familiar, heat persisting within the pools of deep bistre.

it isn't until another hand is placed on your shoulder that you take in a breath, slow and ragged, and realize how you must have looked. your heart is pounding against your ribcage, throat sore from breathing so rapidly, your chest painfully tight.

makarov says nothing as he stares you down, his expression unreadable as always, making you stiffen and fight the urge to shrink under his scrutiny.

"come," he murmurs, barely audible over the voices of the partygoers and soldiers all around you, as he releases your chin and guides you to walk alongside him, his hand sliding down to rest at the small of your back.

you keep your gaze low, focusing on the comforting warmth – too comforting, your rational side insists – that his touch brings, creeping up your spine and chasing away the cold that built its home inside of you. makarov marches you towards an interior door, his hand shifting again as his arm circles around your waist and tucks you into his side, the crowds you're passing through dispersing as soon as they see him approach.

there is some sick sense of pride that swells in your chest, replacing the heavy weight that sat there moments ago as people glance in your direction. it's like he's parading you around, holding you close in a public declaration.

that is, until you reach the door and he pushes it open, ushering you inside. he lets go of you once you're past the threshold and closes the door behind himself; you perk up when you hear the lock click softly, your gaze flitting to him in the dimly-lit parlor room.

"what happened?" he asks, breaking the silence.

you lean against the wall and huff, still shaking off the adrenaline that found its way into your veins. "nothing. just got overwhelmed, i guess."

he moves to stand in front of you, trapping you in your spot. "you're lying. tell me the truth." he mutters, jaw tensing.

"it's nothing, really," you pause, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. you miss the way his eyes carefully track the movement, nerves setting in as you try to search for a believable lie. "any of those people would have killed me if they caught wind of who i am and i freaked out, that's all—"

"petra." he says, succinct.

"i was jealous, okay?" the words escape before you can stop yourself, tumbling out so quickly that you flinch at it. even makarov is struck by the admission, brows lifting for just a moment. "i saw you talking to that woman, clearly having a good time, and i got fucking jealous. happy now?" you continue, the truth continuing to spill out like water after the splintering dam finally breaks.

you two stand there for what feels like minutes, locked in a staring contest that neither person is willing to break. you're not sure what's worse: the embarrassment setting your skin ablaze, or the lack of response.

you try to work up the courage to speak, to cut the tension in the air, but you're left speechless. you don't dare to move, even when the sound of gloves being pulled off and tossed aside reaches your ears.

there's no hesitation in the way makarov closes the distance between you, his mouth crashing onto yours as his hands fly to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. the shock that courses through you lasts only a second before your arms are looping around his neck, a noise that's as much a soft breath as it is a groan escaping him when you respond in kind.

the kiss is a mix of teeth and tongue, desperate and hungry as his hands roam, one coming up to cup your face as his thumb caresses your skin in an uncharacteristically gentle act, the other smoothly gliding past the hem of your shirt and flattening against the curve of your back.

skin on skin for the first time.

blunt nails dig crescent-shaped marks into your skin when your fingers skim down his chest, sliding under his suit jacket and toying with the buttons holding his dress shirt closed. the subtle reaction is all the motivation you need— you pop the bottom button open and keen when he presses himself closer to you. you move up the line painstakingly slow, smiling into the kiss when you graze his skin and feel him tense up under your touch.

your fingers immediately go to explore his newly-exposed skin as soon as the final button is undone, nails lightly scraping along the ridges of his abs and forcing a small shiver down his spine.

he tears himself away shortly thereafter, leaving you breathless as a needy whine passes your swollen lips, earning a low chuckle in reply.

"does that answer your question?" he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours after they flutter open again.

"what question?" you mumble, feeling dizzy, the only thing keeping your head from spinning being his skin on yours.

makarov indulges you when you send him a pleading look, pressing his lips to yours again, softer this time. it doesn't last long before he's separating just enough to whisper something into the kiss.

"no one compares to you, мое небо."

[siilvan]

bloodsport – I

prologue | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: day one of your imprisonment brings you face-to-face with the enemy.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, minor descriptions of blood/injuries, light manipulation?, makarov fucks w/ reader's head (╯д╰)

word count: 3.3k

note: listened to makarov’s voice reveal while writing this and felt my brain chemistry change immediately <3

the first thing you notice after waking up is how uncomfortable the bed you're sleeping on is. the mattress is thin and bare, sitting low to the ground on a wrought iron frame that had seen better days. your body aches, muscles burning and begging for reprieve as you pull yourself up to sit. you carefully swing your legs over the edge of the bed and wince from the effort.

you're not in a hospital, not even a temporary clinic set up for emergency treatment. the walls are made up of weathered stone and brick, akin to an old prison built to withstand a siege, and the iron bars across the room confirm your suspicions.

you've been captured.

the air surrounding you seems to grow thicker, heavier, threatening to steal the oxygen straight from your lungs. during your career, you've dealt with a great number of challenges: being shot, stabbed, abandoned, betrayed, and even nearly killed. you've been captured as well, but only for planned operations. torture was never a threat.

several parts of your body are neatly wrapped in surprisingly clean bandages, reminding you of the incident that led to your capture. the missile, konni's presence in the city, makarov. did he take the sergeants captive, as well? are they here with you?

you force yourself to stand and try to ignore your knees almost buckling as you cross the room, heading towards the door. a glance through the bars provides little information - the cell across from yours is empty, and the only sound you can make out is meaningless chatter between the guards patrolling the hall. they're speaking in russian, preventing you from eavesdropping on their conversations. it's probably nothing important, anyway. while searching, you start to consider the worst case scenario.

soap and gaz may not be here. they could be lying dead in the sand, either killed by their wounds or by the enemy.

you shake your head and step back into the middle of the room, not even daring to entertain that train of thought any longer. you can't afford to doubt your team at a time like this. they're alive, either in cells of their own or recovering somewhere else.

the voices in the hall suddenly go quiet. they're soon replaced by footsteps, languid yet purposeful, expensive shoes padding against the stone floor and steadily drawing closer. your eyes stay glued to the door, unmoving from it despite your instincts telling you to run. you have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. your only option is to face the person approaching directly.

advice from your team swims through your mind. although the sergeants have never been locked up and tortured, price and ghost have. you can remember price's stories clear as day, as if he told them only yesterday. ghost was more private about his experiences, but after las almas, he slowly began to open up about his past. the two echoed the same advice to the sergeants and yourself.

do whatever is necessary to make it out alive.

you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply, attempting to calm your buzzing nerves and racing heart. panic will do you no good in this situation. when you open your eyes, you're immediately greeted by one of the guards - a man in black clothing and gear, his face obscured, unlocking the door at the far end of the room. he steps away a second later, leaving you staring at the man you dreaded meeting through the bars.

his gaze is trained on you, dark eyes burning holes into your skin, rendering you immobile. you try to maintain a confident demeanor nonetheless, refusing to give him the satisfaction of intimidating you.

"turn around," he says, his voice flat as he gives you the simple command. "hands on the wall."

you hesitate, pride briefly overtaking your rational senses. after a short-lived staring contest, however, you silently concede and turn to face the wall. you press your palms to the cold stone and listen as the door creaks open and shut. gloved hands wrap around your wrists shortly thereafter and pull your arms backwards, forcing them behind your back. cold metal replaces his touch and binds your wrists.

"seems a bit excessive, don't you think?" you ask. your voice wavers just slightly, hoarse from lack of use. "i'm already out of commission, thanks to these injuries."

he gives you no response, though you catch a glimpse of his apathetic expression when he reaches past you to grab a metal chair that rests in the corner of the room. it scrapes across the floor as he drags it away, and you turn once more to watch as he sets it down a few feet from the side of the bed.

"sit down." he looks at you and motions to the bed. you wordlessly follow the order and stumble forward before settling on the edge of the mattress, hands clenched into tight fists. he sits on the chair across from you and leans back, looking completely at ease while taking in your current appearance.

"do you know who i am?" he speaks again, eyes flicking back up to meet yours. you feel like a prey animal locking eyes with a predator, waiting for them to tear you apart. you don't dare to look away.

"makarov." the name leaves your lips in a low murmur. "leader of the ultranationalists. konni's commander. the 'world's biggest threat,' according to some. i've heard plenty about you." you stiffen as the edge of his mouth twitches, an eerie smile playing on his lips.

"i'm sure captain price had a great deal to say, lieutenant." he folds his hands in his lap, nodding towards your bandaged body. you're still in your uniform, albeit without your dirty and damaged outer layers, and your gear is long gone. you feel vulnerable under his gaze. "my men found you in quite an... unfortunate state. i must admit that i'm impressed. surviving a direct missile strike is no small feat."

"where is my team?" you demand, fighting against the restraints. they don't loosen in the slightest, of course, and makarov merely tilts his head to the side at your struggle. "there were two men with me. where are they? what did you do with them?"

he blinks at you, refusing to respond. you open your mouth to repeat the question, before he interrupts you. "they didn't put up much of a fight. it was disappointing, really." his hands unfold and he shifts in the chair, chuckling to himself. "i expected more from price's so-called 'elite task force.'"

his comment pulls an involuntary gasp from you, a stuttering breath falling from your lips. "they didn't... you killed them?" you ask, voice dropping to a near-whisper. it can't be true. soap, gaz– surely they're still alive. they have to be.

"i never said that," he replies, shaking his head in a low-effort attempt to placate you. "whether your teammates still live is not my concern. my men left them to their own fates."

your eyes narrow, though your shoulders slump just a little at his answer. they could still be alive. "what is your concern, then? i doubt you've taken me captive just to talk." you remark, racking your brain for any reason why he'd take you over the rest of the team. convenience, perhaps? you were defenseless, and of the options readily available, you held the highest rank.

"nothing gets past you, does it, lieutenant?" makarov leans forward, prompting you to sit up straighter in order to keep a comfortable distance. his voice lowers, as if he was hiding his next words from any curious souls just outside the room. "i think we can help each other. i have information that you need, and your allies have the resources to take care of a constant thorn in my side."

"are you saying we have a common enemy?"

he nods, reaching into his pocket. "it appears we do." he pauses, pulling out a cellphone and scrolling for a moment before turning it towards you. you lean closer, studying the image on the screen as he continues. "this should look familiar to you."

you furrow your brow at the blurry picture, but the subject still stands out. it was a man laying dead on the ground, wearing combat fatigues that looked out-of-date, surrounded by several corpses dressed in similar, yet mismatched uniforms. their bodies have no visible identification, reminding you of the americans you encountered working with konni and al-qatala.

"i remember them. we thought they were random mercenaries hired by your men," you say, shifting your focus back to makarov. "i take it they're not working for you?"

"the men you encountered were not mercenaries. they worked for a man, not a company. your team knows their employer well." he pauses long enough for you to nod your head, urging him to speak. the satisfied smile that briefly crosses his face is enough to make your blood boil beneath your skin - he's enjoying making you beg for information. "the american general. shepherd, was it?"

"what?"

"did you really believe that you could trust him, petra?" he asks with a quirked brow. hearing him utter your callsign in such a casual tone only serves to make you feel hotter, practically burning with rage; at shepherd or makarov, you're not sure.

the situation doesn't make any sense. why would shadow company launch a war with konni, only to ally with them in secret? based on the intel that laswell gathered during your time in las almas, about shadow company losing the missiles to the group, shepherd should want to burn the organization, not assist it. you frantically search for an answer, but come up with nothing. grudgingly, you look to the man sitting in front of you.

"tell me more." you mutter, managing to subdue your anger for the time being.

instead of elaborating, he stands from the chair. you watch him cross the room and stop in front of the door, casting a glance in your direction. "we can discuss the details in due time. for now, come."

you stare at him, confused, before rising to your feet and following him. he leaves the cell and starts down the hallway with you in tow, doing your best to keep pace as the momentarily forgotten pain quickly settles in again. a pair of guards follow the two of you from a small distance, close enough to intervene in an emergency but far enough to not indulge in your discussion.

if you can even call this a "discussion." a madman and his captive audience is a more accurate description.

you try to take in your surroundings. the corridors greatly resemble the cell you were in, dark stone and brick walls that looked in dire need of repairs. the barred windows you pass look out onto different fields, courtyards turned into vehicle and weapon storage. you have to restrain yourself from gawking when you see a small collection of tanks in one area, accompanied by smaller APCs scattered about.

makarov has a small army that somehow slipped under your radars. you're well aware of konni and his affiliation with other powerful groups, but you've always assumed they were disorganized, using guerilla tactics and thrifted gear. this is something else entirely, you think. he's preparing for war.

you hear a soft rumbling in the distance. at first, you mistake it for one of the vehicles, until the sound disappears. it reappears seconds later, and you quickly realize that it's thunder.

"petra," he addresses you suddenly, drawing your attention. "tell me, do you consider yourself a good person?"

your brows knit together at the question. it feels out of place, and you wonder for a moment if you misheard him. your step falters, causing one of the guards to grumble something about "keeping up" until you catch up again. "i, uh– i guess i do, yeah. what are you getting at?"

there's a storm approaching, the thunder sounding closer now. the sky grows dark as grey clouds begin to form and block out the sun, casting shadows across the exterior grounds. it's a melancholic scene, although fitting considering your circumstances. you reach a set of doors that another pair of guards pull open, allowing you to step outside.

a cold breeze sweeps past you almost instantly, forcing a shiver down your spine as goosebumps rise to the surface of your exposed skin. makarov says something to the guards that you don't quite catch and the doors shut behind you, leaving you alone with him. you're standing on a small balcony overlooking a bustling area full of soldiers and mercenaries alike, training and organizing their forces.

"you consider yourself good, even though you're responsible for innocent lives being lost?" he remarks, stepping towards the balcony's edge and placing his hands atop the stone ledge.

"innocent lives– you are the one responsible for that!" you exclaim, striding across the balcony and glaring daggers at his profile. "my job is to save people, and that's what i do. i've spent years hunting down threats just like you with the sole purpose of making the world safer for the innocents!"

he turns to face you with the same apathetic expression as earlier, when he first entered your cell. he doesn't look at all affected by your words, dark eyes staring straight through you. if you didn't know better, you'd think he was seeing into your very soul. his response - or rather, the lack thereof - is enough to make you go quiet. a beat of silence passes between you, only broken by the encroaching thunder and sounds of his soldiers training in the field below.

"what of the missiles used by your allies? the ones that they lost." he mutters, earning an exasperated sigh from you.

"you mean the missiles that your men killed them for?" you flex your hands in the restraints and shake your head. "i'm not allied with the shadows or their commander, but even if i was, those missiles were going to a good cause."

"and, where were they going?"

your eyes flit from his own, focusing on the distant horizon. you can tell exactly where he's going with this line of questioning, but the frustration continues to build up inside of you.

"if i had to guess, they were probably heading straight for your doorstep." you grumble, shifting from one foot to the other. standing for so long is nothing short of agonizing, given your current state.

he clicks his tongue, making a 'tsk' sound at your reply. "you cannot claim to be fighting for a good cause, if said cause considers civilians another price of war." makarov huffs. from the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze still firmly locked on you. "the lives that you save will never outweigh the damage you've done. they'll never cleanse your hands of the blood that stains them. every time your allies fire off a missile to kill someone like me, so, too, are they killing innocent–"

"you're one to fucking talk–"

the words tumble from your lips as your back is slammed into the wall, your skull knocking against the stone from the force. you wince, eyes temporarily falling out of focus and head spinning from yet another injury. makarov leans in dangerously close, one of his hands wrapped around your throat uncomfortably tight, restricting your airflow. you can still breathe, but just barely, sucking in short gasps of air.

"watch your mouth."

the warning is a low growl next to your ear, his voice dripping with such an intense venom that it makes your skin crawl. you try to nod your head despite his hold, finding it impossible to form any words with your lack of oxygen. your brain is firing off warning signals, desperate pleas to eliminate or escape the threat in front of you.

after a couple seconds, his grip loosens, allowing you to fully inhale and exhale, chest heaving with each ragged breath. he's still standing unbearably close, enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. it's an unwelcomed reprieve from the damp breeze that makes your weary bones ache.

finally, he releases you and steps back, giving you space to come down from your brief adrenaline rush. you blink away any remaining disorientation and fix your gaze on him, sinking down on your heels and slumping against the wall.

he looks completely calm - a stark contrast to his demeanor from just moments ago. an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach as you watch him collect himself, fixing the rolled cuffs of his dress shirt and straightening his suit jacket.

"you wanted to know more about general shepherd." he mutters, eyes finding yours and holding your gaze. you worry the inside of your cheek and nod in return.

"the men working for him are not mercenaries, nor are they from any private military group. they're ex-soldiers." he begins, crossing his arms behind his back. "operatives from the CIA, to be precise. he has attempted to send several men undercover, and he's failed every single time. once discovered, they are... taken care of."

you lower your head and squint, struggling to follow. "i understand sending one man undercover, but why more? what is he trying to accomplish?"

"come on, you can figure that one out."

you want to sneer at the condescending tone, but instead you close your eyes and try to think. shepherd is still in the wind after las almas, and the only person that has a chance of knowing his location is graves. judging by the latter's cooperation with urzikstan, however, you can safely assume that shepherd is lacking in resources.

"he's attempting to start a war. reestablish himself and shadow company as an invaluable military asset," you mumble to yourself, suddenly feeling apprehensive about revealing this to the man in front of you. "if he can prove his worth, he can find forgiveness for his crimes. he'll try to use his position to pin it on the one-four-one, too."

"very clever, petra. i'm impressed." he chuckles at the glare you shoot his way, clearly annoyed with his praise.

you bite your tongue and push yourself off the wall. "i need to relay this to my team as soon as possible. shepherd can't be left to his own devices." you roll your shoulders back and mentally prepare for the uphill battle that the you'll be facing. the one-four-one's relationship with shadow company is already fragile, and you're left to ponder if graves knows about this plan. he could very well be involved.

"no need to fret over that. i have people for matters such as this."

makarov saunters across the balcony and places his hand on the door handle. you narrow your eyes at him, confusion plainly written on your expression.

"i thought you said we could help each other."

"haven't we?" he asks, swinging the door open. "ah, i can see what that pretty little mind of yours is struggling to understand. you believed i was going to let you go, didn't you?"

a bright flash emerges from the storm clouds blanketing the sky, illuminating the crooked grin on his face. you stumble towards him, fatigued body threatening to collapse under its own weight. you should have known better, you shouldn't have trusted that the situation would end in your favor.

"you– you fucking asshole–"

before you can lunge at him, use the last of your strength to do something, the guards from before appear in the doorway and restrain you. their hands dig into your skin, aggravating fresh wounds and setting your sensitive nerves ablaze, ripping a pathetic pained whimper from your lips.

"as much as i would love to stay and indulge myself," makarov starts, stepping aside to allow the guards to force you back inside the stronghold. "i have somewhere i need to be. as do you."

"go fuck yourself–!" you snap, fighting the guards in a last-ditch effort to free yourself. as they drag you down the hall, back to the prison cell you had already grown to hate, he keeps his gaze on you.

"i look forward to getting better acquainted with you, lieutenant."

taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist!

[siilvan]

soap headcanons

characters: johnny “soap” mactavish

summary: general/romantic headcanons!

genre: fluff, gn!reader (no desc.)

warnings: none! :)

note: been dealing with a lot recently, so here’s a low effort fluffy headcanon post with one of my favorite boys— i know it’s bad, but i just threw it together while fighting off sleep and didn’t bother to proofread it </3

his love languages are physical touch and acts of service.

⋆ as i’ve said before, it’s no secret that soap is a touchy guy, especially with the people he likes.

⋆ that being said, a casual high-five or side hug is vastly different from the way he touches you. instead of friendly taps and sarcastic banter, there’s a certain fondness in his gaze whenever he reaches for you.

⋆ doesn’t bother hiding his favoritism. if you or anyone else comments on it, he simply shrugs off the claim and drapes an arm across your shoulders. "i think you’re just jealous of 'em," is what most people hear after bringing it up.

⋆ big on acts of service as well!! soap loves doing things for you, no matter how big or small it may be. never demands acknowledgement or repayment for his acts, either - your comfort and happiness are his top priorities.

⋆ getting up early to surprise you with breakfast in bed, running to the store when you need something, handling the household chores so you can sleep in… soap takes every chance he can get to help out.

⋆ if you’re both in the 141, he revels in getting to do things for you while in the field, even after price and ghost chastise him for focusing on you too much. if you’re a civilian, however, soap can’t help but feel guilty every time he leaves you. knowing that you’ll potentially be without him for months, worrying and wondering when he’ll return, having to do everything on your own; the mere thought of it makes him hold you that much tighter every single night.

when he loves, he loves hard.

⋆ soap is a passionate guy, both at work and in his personal life. when he loves someone, he does it with his whole heart and soul. his love is all-consuming and full of warmth, just like the man himself.

⋆ there were plenty of sleepless nights before he confessed to you, hours spent obsessing over what to say and what to do, desperately trying to figure out how to express his feelings. drawings of you filled the pages of his journal– some were more refined, with great care put into each detail, while others were sketches that he snuck in after assignments, when you were too exhausted to notice his eyes flicking between you and the charcoal-covered page.

⋆ if you’re ever in danger, pity the fool that put you there. this man would move heaven and earth for you without a second thought or a single complaint, and there is nothing on this planet that could possibly prevent him from doing so.

⋆ leading off of that– soap is very protective. not unbearably so, he’s not the type of guy to control you or treat you like some kind of property, but he will take any opportunity he can to care for and protect you. he basically appoints himself as your personal bodyguard, regardless of how capable you may be.

⋆ simple things like holding your hand, guiding you through crowds, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, giving you his jacket, and calling or texting you to check in is his bread and butter. if he can’t physically be with you, chances are you’ll end up with someone he trusts by your side. he knows first-hand how dangerous the world is, and soap has no plans of letting you be put in harm’s way.

he is a massive flirt.

⋆ look me in the eyes and tell me he doesn’t know how attractive he is. i’m not saying that soap is a cocky bastard - far from it, in fact - but he’s well aware of the effect he has on people.

⋆ once he discovers something you like, he utterly abuses it. your eyes linger on him whenever he braces himself against the doorframe? well, suddenly it’s the most comfortable way to stand! your mind wanders off to a certain place when he speaks to you in a low voice? my, my… he just remembered another story that he simply must tell.

⋆ once he’s sure that the feelings are mutual, soap is bold. cornering you just to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, placing a hand on your knee or thigh just to watch you squirm, casually slipping cheeky remarks and subtle innuendos into your conversations in front of the team. if you respond in kind? even better. he’d love to go back and forth, to challenge you and see who breaks first.

⋆ unsurprisingly, his resolve crumbles first. despite his confidence and desperate attempts to break you, all it takes is a single ghosting of your lips against his to send him over the edge.

⋆ it’s nigh-impossible to not be confident while in this relationship. soap loves, loves, loves complimenting you at every chance. it doesn’t matter how you look or how you feel; you’re always attractive in his eyes. if you ever try to disagree with him, he’ll just grin and shake his head with a simple, "none o' that, love. you’re perfect just like this."

taglist: @sofasoap , @rohansregret

[siilvan]

like real people do

characters: yuri

summary: after a mission goes badly, yuri comes to you to air out his frustrations, and what was a complicated situation ends up becoming something more.

genre: explicit, light angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: cursing, mentions of canon-typical violence, brief mentions of blood/injuries, friends w/ benefits situation, soft dom!yuri, slight possessive!yuri, oral (f!receiving), fingering, lil' hand kink, tattoos <3, unprotected piv, creampies, overstimulation, manhandling, praise, some references to religion, idk yuri's a simp, he's drowning in guilt and pussy

word count: 5.3k

note: this is going to get zero notes, but do i care? no. i'm writing for yuri and forcibly shoving him in everyone's faces until people love him. he's my favorite character and that is going to be VERY obvious here. i have more fics planned. so many. everyone thank @froglights-and-pearls for reminding me of who i am.

aaaand a big thank you to @sofasoap for proofreading this <33

"well, that was a fuckin' bust, yeah?" soap comments after collapsing into a seat, earning pointed looks from the rest of the group as you all boarded the transport helicopter.

gaz slumps down next to him and exhales heavily, shaking his head. "think that's putting it lightly, mate." he chuckles, tapping soap on the shoulder.

ghost takes a seat on soap's other side, rolling his neck to stretch out sore muscles - he took a nasty hit during the mission, his mask partially torn on the cheek and revealing bloodstained skin. you end up sandwiched between price and yuri, tilting your head back to rest against the wall as the adrenaline coursing through you dissipates.

to say that this operation went horribly would be an understatement. you all managed to escape with your lives intact, but the valuable cargo that you were hunting down was lost. you fought to get this lead in the first place, and now you're returning to base with nothing to show for your work other than damaged bodies and morale.

your head rolls to the side, and you end up staring at yuri's side profile. he's hunched forward slightly, a pensive look on his face, brows knitted together from clear frustration.

it’s been a few months since nikolai introduced yuri to the team. after laswell brought up makarov in that chicago bar, everything seemed to move at the speed of light; the invasion of al-mazrah, calling a ceasefire with shadow company, teaming up with farah's forces, mobilizing again before you could even catch your breath... the only good thing to come out of this hectic situation was your newest ally.

yuri was an interesting case from the start. nikolai claims that the two go way back and, after hearing the way he talked about the man prior to your first meeting, you're inclined to believe him when he describes yuri as "one of his best."

his status as a member of nikolai's faction is enough to pique your curiosity - you find out that he's ex-spetsnaz as well, but what catches the entire squad's attention is the offhand comment that the pilot makes.

"he's the only person i know that hates makarov more than you, price."

none of you get the chance to ask him to elaborate, and you've since reached the point where his explanation doesn't matter. yuri fit into the team fairly easily, and trust was quickly built upon after a few missions together. he seemed to understand the enemy just as well as the captain, if not even better. soap made a joke about yuri knowing him a little too well at one point, which he brushed off with a dismissive shake of his head.

the sergeants were the first ones to warm up to him, with price and yourself on their heels. ghost, always wary of anyone new, is a little slower to trust, but after yuri took a bullet in the leg for him, ghost was quick to welcome him into your group.

your lips twitch into a tired smile when yuri glances at you from the corner of his eye, his shoulders dropping slightly upon seeing your face. his hardened expression softens for just a moment, and you mentally celebrate the small victory while nudging his foot closest to you with the side of your boot.

the ride back to base is mostly quiet, save for price updating laswell on the situation over the radio. you're all dejected over the loss, even after price reminds you to not let it get to your heads.

yuri seems especially upset over it, though. you doubt the rest of the team picks up on his mood, but it's clear as day to you.

you've spent a fair number of nights under the man, after all. you'd be ashamed if you couldn't read him by now. the subtle flexing of his fingers wrapped around his gun, the way his pupils dilate as he loses himself in his thoughts, the clench in his jaw - you recognize the signs faster than your own reflection in a mirror.

he's angry. pissed off, actually. yuri doesn't often let his emotions show, preferring to keep up a façade of cool collectedness, but it slips out on occasion.

and when it does, you catch it. you always do.

the chopper touches down on the airstrip eventually, and you relegate yourself to the back of the group as you step out onto the tarmac. price excuses himself to his office while ghost heads off to the medical bay, and the sergeants make a beeline for the showers as soon as their boots hit the ground.

you watch as yuri wordlessly sets off towards the training grounds. it's a habit he has: airing his grievances out on a target.

you, meanwhile, loosely trail behind the sergeants and hop in the shower, rinsing off the grime from the battlefield and willing the loss to wash away with it. you stop by the mess hall for a bit, running into a patched-up ghost, before heading off to your room.

the base that the task force is currently staying at is a bit odd compared to most, in that you have more privacy than normal. while most places offer you cramped barracks or small dorms, the team was given proper rooms in a separate wing. privileges, gaz joked upon your initial arrival.

you're left to your own devices until a while after the sun sets. there's a knock at the door that you almost immediately recognize. you've heard it before, always after night has fallen and the sky is blanketed in darkness.

you trudge across the room and swing the door open, revealing yuri standing on the other side. his gaze stays low, not quite looking at you, but not quite looking away, either. you instinctively move to the side, allowing him to step into the room. the door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you staring at him as a silence hangs in the air between you.

"need something?" you ask, breaking the silence with a soft voice. his eyes finally flit up to meet yours. there's something swirling in those pale eyes of his, an internal conflict that you've never been able to understand or pull out of him.

"company," he mutters, and you know what he means from that single word.

"destroying a few more targets didn't help, huh?" you chuckle, coming to stand in front of him. you slowly slide your hands up his arms, skimming over his shoulders and cupping his jaw gently. "you look angry, yuri."

he huffs, warm air puffing against your cheek. you can smell the tobacco on his breath. he's been smoking, yet another habit that he tries to avoid showing, especially after you commented on it.

"the only thing that will help is you," he replies, hands settling on your waist. calloused fingertips carefully dig into your flesh underneath your clothes, pulling your body closer to his. "only you can make the anger go away." he adds, thumbs tracing gentle circles into your skin.

you hum, keening at the subtle praise. your palms slide down and press flat against his chest, his heartbeat thrumming strong under your fingertips. you two established a set of rules at the beginning of this arrangement, and you've both been rigid in keeping to them. no kissing, no marking, no "i love you's," no jealousy—

no feelings. this is purely for pleasure, for keeping each other sane outside the battlefield. feelings would only serve to complicate things, and you already have enough on your plates as-is. the rules of engagement were clear, though there were those rare times that the lines blurred.

such as yuri's lips dragging across your sensitive skin after his head drops to your neck. he wouldn't kiss you, he wouldn't suck or bite, but the featherlight trail that he would trace might as well be a mark of its own. you angle your head back, a low sigh falling from your lips. his heartbeat speeds up just barely under your touch, your own picking up speed to match.

you let him walk you backwards toward the bed, the backs of your knees pressing into the edge of the mattress. he lifts his head and leans in close to your ear, his next words mumbled against your skin.

"on your back."

you obey without complaint, pulling your hands away and crawling up the bed, laying on your back and propping yourself up on your elbows.

you watch as he stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes never straying from yours while he pulls off his gloves and drops them somewhere behind him. the gauntlet on his forearm goes next, and you stare with great intrigue as he easily undoes the straps holding it in place and tosses it aside, the hard material carelessly clattering against the carpet. your eyes fall from his, landing on the various tattoos that adorn his hands and forearms, the ink telling a story that you're sure would send your adrenaline rushing.

he sinks to his knees after a second, blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs as he pulls your body across the duvet towards him. like clockwork, he slides your uniform pants and soaked underwear down your legs before grabbing your thighs and spreading them, leaving your core completely exposed under his heated gaze.

he doesn't give you a chance to blink as he dives in, hot tongue licking a stripe up your slit and sending your head flying back against the bed. you push your hips up towards his face as he laves over your folds, fucking dripping the second his eyes landed on you after showing up at your door, pulling a shameless moan from your lips.

contrary to his usual generosity, yuri entirely avoids your clit as he stuffs your cunt with his tongue, greedily lapping up your arousal before pulling back and making wide circles around the sensitive bud. he teases it with a small flick and dips his head to plunge into your sopping hole again, humming and sending vibrations coursing through you.

you whine, fisting the duvet and squeezing your eyes tightly shut. "fuck, yuri— stop teasing—"

he lifts his head from your cunt and groans, throaty and utterly debauched. "patience," he mutters, heaving one of your thighs over his shoulder and digging his fingers into your hip. "you know i'll take care of you."

you choke on a sob when he flattens his tongue against your clit, circling around it and drawing it into his mouth. he sucks on it before delving into your heat once more, his nose nudging the bundle of nerves and making your back arch off the mattress. the lewd sounds filling the room as he fucks you with his tongue light a fire under your skin, covering your body in a thin sheen of sweat as you moan and clamp your thighs around his head.

he moans into your cunt, hands gripping your thighs as his hips jolt forward, eating you out like a man starved.

"yuri— oh, fuck—" you gasp. "please, please— 'm so fucking close—" you're not sure what you're begging for, what you always end up begging for, but as the coil in your stomach tightens, you can't find it in yourself to think about it any longer.

your jaw goes slack, mouth falling open as his tongue swipes up your arousal, his nose pressing into your swollen clit and dragging a stuttering moan from your parted lips.

"oh my— fucking god... yuri—" you whimper as your cunt pulses and spasms around his tongue, gushing into his mouth with another moan of his name that bounces off the walls of the room. he groans into your wetness and eagerly laps it up, working you through your orgasm as you grind against his face, chasing the sweet pleasure.

after your legs go limp on his shoulders, yuri resurfaces from your cunt, hands massaging your thighs while your breaths come out in pants, chest heaving.

"just like that," he whispers, smearing your slick across your inner thigh as his lips drag across your skin. you look down at him, seeing his steely gaze already trained on your blissed-out expression. "you can give me another, hm?" he asks, brows briefly raising with the question.

his voice has dropped low, his russian accent thick and heavy, words slightly slurring together as he stares up at you. his pale irises are hardly visible around pupils blown wide with lust, and you swallow back a pathetic sound at the sight.

"you can give me another." yuri echoes, more as a statement of fact than a question this time. he knows he's right— you know he's right.

you suck in a breath as two fingers prod at your aching heat, sliding up and down your glistening folds and gathering a mixture of your slick and his saliva.

"fuck, just— please—"

your pleads are cut off by his fingers plunging into you, sinking right up to the knuckle and making you writhe against the bed. they're thick, stretching you open as he curls them inside you, scraping against your gummy walls and teasing that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back in your skull.

a third digit prods at your entrance after a moment, leaving you moaning and frantically searching for purchase on the bedsheets after he adds it in, pumping three fingers inside you.

"taking me so well..." he grunts, pressing his thumb to your puffy clit and circling it in tight, fast motions.

you buck your hips into his touch, legs shaking as your cunt clenches around his digits like a vice. his unoccupied hand releases your thigh and skates up your side, wrapping around your wrist and distracting you from his ministrations for a second.

he suddenly yanks you towards him, making you sit up and stoop over him. one of your hands lands on his shoulder, holding yourself upright as he continues fucking his fingers into you.

"look at yourself— look at how good you're doing for me." yuri sighs, holding your wrist tight to keep you from falling back. you whine, forcing yourself to tilt your head and stare at where his fingers disappear inside you.

the noises coming from the spot are obscene, lewd squelches accompanying every thrust in and out of your dripping core. you admire your own mess until your attention shifts to him— his fingers, his hand, working you open and sending you to cloud nine.

you've been horribly attracted to his hands ever since he first touched you with them. they're calloused, rough, experienced like you'd expect from someone in the field; but, the ink adorning his skin is what catches your eye. there's crosses on his fingers— holy symbols— and you watch as they drip with your arousal, black ink shining with the wetness coating them and dripping down his wrist.

it feels sinful, like you're fucking in the pews of a church. the rush of it makes your body grow hotter, heat flooding to your cheeks as you bite back a moan.

"take off your shirt." he says, eyes fixated on your drooling cunt.

you manage to tear your hand from his shoulder and slip your shirt over your head, your bra quickly following suit and landing in another small pile of clothes somewhere nearby. yuri's gaze flits up and lands on your breasts, a groan rumbling deep in his chest.

he mumbles something in russian before leaning in, drawing his tongue across one of your nipples and taking it into his mouth. you moan as he greedily sucks on it, your hand cradling the back of his head and holding him close.

it's risky— you two are toeing the line, pushing the rules you established at the start of this relationship.

he moves to your other nipple a moment later and lavishes it with the same treatment, reducing you to a needy, whiny mess. by the time he pulls back from your breasts with a wet pop, there's dark hickeys left in his place.

that's a rule broken.

his head dips back down and his mouth replaces his thumb, hot tongue swirling around your clit as you're suddenly brought back to the present with a loud moan. his hand squeezes around your wrist, reminding you that he only let go long enough for you to strip off the remainder of your clothes. you twist your arm, forcing him to loosen his grip—

he places a few more licks to your clit before wrapping his lips around it, and you moan as the vibrations bring you closer to your second orgasm of the night. you escape his hold only to search for his hand, blindly reaching for it as the pleasure forces you to screw your eyes shut. you fumble after finally finding it, but yuri's quick to help, interlocking your fingers and allowing you to squeeze his hand in a near-death grip.

fuck, this is getting too intimate. he's already broken one rule, and you're just about ready to break the rest. he mirrors your action, holding your hand as you teeter over the edge, your orgasm rapidly approaching.

"so close— 'm so close, yuri. fuck, please—!" you moan, trembling like a leaf in the wind as your orgasm slams into you.

he pumps faster still, letting you ride out the waves of pure bliss until you're whimpering and attempting to move your hips away. yuri lifts his head and hunts for your gaze, locking eyes with you as you hazily look down at him. he pulls his fingers from your folds and hums, satisfied, before pressing them to your lips and cocking his head to the side.

you know what he wants. you take his fingers into your mouth and lave your tongue over them, tasting yourself as you clean your release off of them. he watches you, shifting as his other hand releases yours and reaches for his belt.

"tastes fucking heavenly." he utters softly, sending a shiver down your spine.

he pulls his fingers out and chuckles at your pout, before nodding at the pillows behind you. "get comfortable. we're not done yet."

he sits up on his knees and starts to unbuckle his belt as your tongue darts out to wet your lips. instead of climbing up the bed, however, you reach out and start pawing at his shirt, tugging at it with a small noise of complaint.

yuri lets you undress him, a quiet sigh escaping him as your nails gently scrape down his chest and stomach, trailing over rigid muscle and old scars that he hesitated to tell the stories behind and often disregarded whenever you'd ask about them. you toy with the waistband of his cargos, earning an amused huff and yuri pulling your hands back.

"lay back," he commands in a warm tone, lips twitching into a small smile. "let me take care of you."

your gaze narrows at him, but you comply nonetheless. "thought you came to me for stress relief, not spoiling me."

you hear fabric hitting the floor before he's moving on top of you, caging you in with his hands on either side of your body. "spoiling you helps relieve my stress." he replies, giving you a look as if what he said was an obvious fact.

"lucky me, then." you laugh before cutting yourself off with a sharp inhale as the head of his cock prods at your entrance, dragging through your folds and coating itself in your arousal. his cock sits heavy against your core, a firm weight grounding you in the moment.

yuri grips the base of his shaft in one hand as the other rests next to your head, a tight fist in the sheets. you raise your hips slightly and let out a whine, lifting your arms to grasp at his shoulders as his cock slowly pushes in. a deep groan escapes him as he sinks deeper and deeper inside, your gummy walls fluttering and pulsing around him.

"fuck," he rasps, bottoming out with one final push. "missed this— it's been too long. needed you under me days ago."

you breathe out a moan, tossing your head back against the pillows when he dips down to your neck, panting against your feverish skin. he pulls out, dragging back until the tip just barely slips past your entrance, before snapping his hips forward and burying himself to the hilt.

you're already fighting back a sob as he sets a brutal pace, bullying his cock into your aching cunt, your hands clinging to him anywhere you can find purchase. his shoulders, back, arms— your nails dig into his skin, leaving angry crescent-shaped marks wherever they land. the bedframe creaks under your shared weights, headboard knocking against the wall with each pointed thrust.

after seconds of searching, your hands end up sliding up to his jaw, and you nudge him until he moves from your neck, his face hovering just above yours. your fingertips trace over his jawline tenderly as his forehead comes to rest against yours, your breaths co-mingling. it's too much. you manage to catch his gaze, eyes locking while the tips of your noses brush together. it's not enough.

"what are you doing?" yuri whispers, voice hoarse. he doesn't make any move to pull away; he seems to soften under your touch, if anything.

fuck it.

you surge forward, closing the small gap between you. his movements almost immediately stall once your lips connect and, for a split second, complete terror floods through your veins as the severity of the act hits you.

his hand flies to your face, cupping your cheek and holding you in place as he deepens the kiss with a quiet moan. you squirm under him, your hips pinned to the mattress and flush with his, impatiently seeking out more.

more stimulation, more pleasure, more him.

"we shouldn't be doing this," he mutters against your lips after prying himself away. "the— the agreement—" he adds, though the words die on his tongue as he kisses you again, hungry, like he's been starving up until this point. you try your best to keep up, even as the sheer possessiveness of the kiss easily steals all the air from your lungs.

you break from the kiss only when you're forced to, taking staggering breaths while his hand leaves your face and trails down your side slowly, landing on your thigh once more. he kneads the flesh before pulling your leg to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock to push in that much deeper.

"you deserve better than this." yuri says, pressing his forehead to yours.

with an airy chuckle, you shake your head. "i want you—"

yuri lets out a sound akin to a whimper and a moan, his iron grip on you only tightening when you roll your hips into his. "i'm not— hah, fuck— you feel like heaven… i'm not worth it. i don't deserve it."

you shush him softly, thumbs stroking along his cheeks as you press your lips to his. "let me give you a little peace." you murmur, letting out another heady moan after he starts rocking into you again, his cockhead brushing against that spongy spot inside you that has your back arching off the mattress.

"i only know peace with you in my arms." he replies with a choked sigh. the pressure in the pit of your stomach rapidly builds - between his words and his cock practically rearranging your guts to fit itself deeper inside, you're rendered little more than a breathless, desperate mess pinned underneath him.

it doesn't take much longer for you to reach your peak, barely having the chance to give proper warning before it's washing over you.

"fuck, m'gonna cum—!" you cry, fat tears gathering at your waterline and threatening to spill over.

yuri groans, gravelly, drowning in his own pleasure. "that's it, just come undone for me... show me how good you feel— how good i make you feel." his voice drops, a near-growl lacing his words by the end of the command.

"please, любимая— i need it, i need to feel you..." he says against your lips. "you can do it, i know you can, just one more for me."

that's all it takes to send your next orgasm crashing over you, your legs shaking and mouth falling open in a broken moan of his name. he keeps fucking you through it, hands grasping and kneading at your soft skin hard enough to bruise in the morning, pressing his body flush to yours as he chases his own release.

"good, good... i knew you could do it, my good girl," yuri utters, thrusting sloppily into your heat. "almost there— going to fill you up, nice and full— you've been so good, done so well for me. so proud of you."

he finishes with a guttural moan, pressing impossibly closer to you as warmth floods your insides, some of his cum spilling out of your overworked cunt as he gives a couple more thrusts before stilling, both of you breathing heavily. you stay there for a few seconds, yuri's hands running over your flushed skin as yours run along his shoulders and back, silently basking in the moment.

"i don't deserve you," he says, voice quiet as he kisses a small trail to your ear.

you trace abstract shapes into his skin, smiling to yourself at the way he leans into your touch. "we wouldn't be in this position if you didn't," you angle your head and pepper the side of his jaw with chaste kisses. "we are really bad at following our own rules, though." you add with a chuckle.

he hums, agreeing, and pulls back enough to look down at you. a beat passes before your spent pussy throbs, feeling his half-softened cock start to harden again.

"just one more?" he asks, watching intently as your eyelids droop at the sensation.

"no, yuri— i can't—"

"you can, you've done it before." he reassures you, capturing your lips in a brief, but sweet kiss. "just one more, okay? i promise, just one."

he sits up and drags you along with him, sliding out of your cum-soaked cunt and turning your tired body over as you whine and grumble about it. your front is laid flat against the pillows and your hips propped up, his hands massaging them while he shushes you gently.

yuri presses into you again, his cock sliding past your folds with little resistance and nestling deep inside you with a single push. you whimper from the overstimulation, clit throbbing and legs shaking as you try to hold yourself up.

all it takes to make you moan and bury your face in the pillow is a sharp thrust, his pelvis slamming against the backs of your thighs as he starts a pace you weren't at all expecting. how does he still have so much fucking energy?

"see? i told you— my good girl, my perfect girl, you can give me another one." he muses, rutting into you and savoring each lewd sound that leaves your mouth and soaking wet cunt.

"i can't— 's too much, yuri—" you sob, tears finally spilling over and streaking down your cheeks as he tugs you closer, your tired body sliding up the mattress every time he slams back into you. "please, 'm gonna fall— too weak, too much—" you babble between sniffles and ragged gasps, fisting the bedsheets.

one of his arms circles around your middle and pulls you back, forcing you to sit up on your knees as he holds you to his chest. your head falls forward almost immediately, struggling to keep upright, and his free hand wraps around your throat, carefully but firmly moving your head to rest against his shoulder. he's not choking you, he's not even applying enough pressure to affect your airflow, but it made your breath hitch nonetheless.

"you can take it. just one more, just cum for me one more time," yuri says, dipping his head to press wet, sloppy kisses to your shoulder and neck. "my perfect girl, my sweet fucking girl— want to fill you up, милая. make you drip with me." you wince when his teeth sink in to your skin, leaving painful marks that he soothes with a lick and another kiss, before sucking dark hickeys wherever his mouth can reach.

you frantically grab onto his arms for stability, laying your head back on his shoulder as his hand leaves your neck and travels down your front. it lightly skims over your bruised nipples and makes you shiver, before sliding down your stomach and reaching your clit. he settles two fingers on it, grunting against your pulse as your abused walls clamp down around his length like a vice.

you're dizzy, head spinning as you feel your climax approaching, the pleasure coiling deep in your stomach and causing you to cling to him that much harder.

"yuri... i'm gonna— fuck, please, i wanna cum—"

"i know, i know—" yuri buries his face in the crook of your neck, biting down to muffle the animalistic sounds pouring from his lips. "cum for me, just one more. you can rest after, i'll take care of you, just give me one more—"

you break with a sob, his name falling from your lips like some kind of mantra as your cunt gushes and spasms around his cock.

your body might as well be boneless with how much you're trembling, held up entirely by yuri's arms around you and his own body supporting you. true to his word, he lays you down again, your upper half limply resting on the bed as he grinds into you, barely pulling out before slamming back in.

his pace is frantic, uneven, as he literally fucks you into the mattress, and you don't even have the energy to help him get off like you want to. all you can do is moan and look at him with half-lidded, glassy eyes from over your shoulder, watching as he nears his own peak.

"please, want it inside... please, yuri—" the words slip out, almost inaudible over the sounds of your shared panting, the bed creaking, and the arrhythmic knocking of the headboard against the wall. you'd pity whoever has the room adjacent, if you could even remember any names other than yuri's.

your begging seems to be what finally sends him over the edge, his cum spilling into you again as he lets out a broken moan and a string of curses in russian, your slick walls fluttering around him and trying to milk his cock for everything it has.

he nearly collapses on top of you after a few more thrusts, his body falling in line with yours as he lets some of his weight rest on you. you're both spent, taking in greedy gasps of air as you gradually come down from your highs.

yuri's the first to move, pulling his cock out of you and shifting to hover just above your body, his upper half still comfortably pressing into yours. a gentle hand runs along your side as he peppers your shoulders and the back of your neck with tender kisses, his warm breath fanning over you.

"we, um..." you clear your throat upon hearing the hoarse tone. "we're screwed, aren't we?"

he chuckles, leaning in to kiss the spot below your ear. "yes, we are."

"i think i prefer it this way."

"so do i."

translations:

любимая (liubimaya) - my love/beloved

милая (milaya) - dear/darling

taglist: @sofasoap

[siilvan]

bloodsport – prologue

next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: all it takes is a chance meeting.

genre: general, angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, minor descriptions of blood/injuries, military/spec-ops inaccuracies, lieutenant!reader, not much makarov in this chapter sorry </3

word count: 3k

note: never thought i'd reach this point. but, here i am, thirsting for my formerly least favorite character. all because they gave him tattoos and showed his tits. enjoy! <3

also totally didn't use my oc's callsign for this. ur crazy bestie. (this is still 'x reader', no backstory/personal info is given to reader)

your head is spinning, the world around you a haze as your eyes fight to regain focus. there's a constant ringing in your ears, deafening you, and you wince once the pounding in the back your skull becomes apparent.

everything slowly begins to come back to you. the operation in al mazrah, the warning from HQ, the explosion, the floor collapsing below your feet. you're laying on your back now, aching from head to toe. the building that you were in with soap and gaz is reduced to rubble, lying in pieces around you.

you manage to turn your head to the left and see soap laying motionless a few feet away. farther away is gaz, struggling to push what used to be a metal support beam off his trapped leg. you blink furiously at the pair, trying to clear the dust and sand out from your eyes, and breathe a ragged sigh of relief at the subtle rise and fall of soap's chest. you attempt to call out to gaz, but all that leaves your throat is a weak noise and a wheezing cough.

price and ghost are probably on their way already. you just need to wait for them. the mission was doomed from the start, you all know that, but it won't end in your deaths so long as you hold out.

the ringing in your ears slowly fades, and you can hear footsteps approaching from your right. it was a small group, judging by the heavy footfall - had price and ghost found help somehow?

you carefully turn again, expecting to be greeted by the familiar sight of your teammates. the harsh midafternoon sun sits in that direction, forcing you to squint in the bright light as you try to make out the group of silhouettes.

the first sign of trouble was gaz's panicked shout of your name. the person in the front of the pack blocks the sun's light upon reaching you, casting shadows in their path and finally allowing you to glimpse at their face. you blink again, angling your head to identify the person hovering over you. it takes several seconds for your foggy mind to recognize them but, when it does, your blood runs cold.

makarov.

⋆⋆⋆

you're woken up by someone shaking your shoulder, a gentle voice calling out to you. with a whine, akin to a child being disturbed by their mother in the morning before school, you bat their hand away and force your eyes open.

"y'not get enough sleep last night, lieutenant?" gaz asks, sitting on the couch next to you. the harsh fluorescent lights on the ceiling make you squint and rub at your tired eyes for relief. "bad dream?" he adds a second later, taking note of your dazed state.

"yeah, just a bad dream. nothin' to worry about." you assure him with a downturned smile. according to the watch on your wrist, it was ten o' clock. you'd be setting out for al mazrah in about half an hour.

gaz woke you up for the mission, you realize. soap was located nearby, occupying himself with last-minute gear checks, and ghost soon enters the room with his arms full of supply crates. anything from ammunition to water and food was packed in, ready to be loaded into the transport helicopter that you'd be taking into the city. price was hunched over a table filled with scattered maps, blueprints, and gathered intel from your allies in the city.

"alright, let's go over the mission one last time. this needs to be a clean operation - we've got no room for error." price stands straight and glances around the room, personally scrutinizing each of you. the four of you gather around the table alongside the captain, the fatigue quickly dissipating as you focus on his words.

"the city's a mess right now; there’s civilians in the north, enemies to the south, and allies scattered in the wind." price flattens a map of the city with various locations circled and marked against the tabletop. "ghost and myself will offload with the supplies in the north. petra, gaz, and soap will touch down in the east and make their way south to the target building. once we're done up north, we'll link up with our allies in the city center and secure the district surrounding you."

price nods towards you and the sergeants. "should buy you enough time to get the job done."

"we'll do it in half the time," gaz boasts with a self-assured grin, crossing his arms over his chest. soap mirrors his confidence, and both earn pointed looks from yourself and the other two men.

"there's a reason you three are working together on this," price says. he pulls a cigar from one of his vest pockets and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger - a nervous habit you picked up on a long time ago. "you sergeants are fast and damn good at clearing a place out, but if left unchecked, you get yourselves into trouble. petra's good at keeping you two in line, so you're going in together."

"we're a small team in contested territory, it's essential that we have each other's backs." ghost speaks up, sending the two a cursory glance. the sergeants nod, and you continue to listen as price details the rest of the plan.

⋆⋆⋆

the helicopter ride to the city was almost relaxing enough to lull you back to sleep. keyword: almost.

a little while after takeoff, laswell's voice comes through your radios, claiming to have some new intel. you assumed it would be something related to the ground forces, be it enemy or ally, until the word missile echoes throughout the cabin.

price attempted to pry more information out of her, only to be shot down - "i don't know" was all she had to offer in response to his questions. laswell's never been one to panic, even in the face of sure death, but the concern in her voice was palpable. if her intel was accurate, than there was a missile being prepped to launch, and its target was the very city you were fighting in.

you've never seen the team look so solemn during a landing. laswell assured you that she was working to locate and disarm the threat, but she could make no guarantees. you couldn't back out, either; the mission was too important to abandon now. as you disembark alongside soap and gaz, price gives each of you a single bullet from his handgun.

"for luck," he said.

as you stealth your way through eerily silent city streets with the sergeants in tow, you ponder on his choice of words. the bullet sits safe and sound with the rest of the ammo for your own sidearm, ready to be loaded in case of an emergency. if it comes down to your final bullet, though, you might as well consider yourself dead.

after some time and several blocks, you locate the target building. it's a high-rise, a sore thumb sticking out against the surrounding local businesses and low-rise buildings, making it easy for your group to identify it.

"captain, we've got the building in sight," you say into your radio. soap and gaz peak out from your current hiding spot, studying the security and forming their own plan to infiltrate. the two are the team's resident experts on CQB - if anyone can fight their way into enemy territory without breaking a sweat, it's them.

the thought allows you to take a calming breath and relax your tense shoulders.

"solid copy. we just finished up here, so we'll be headed your way soon." price replies. you can hear idle chatter in the background, likely the civilians. "we'll talk again once we're close or you reach the target. whichever happens first."

"copy all, sir." you silence your radio and follow the sergeants' gazes, eyes landing on the building again. considering your objective, the security detail was lacking in numbers. either a fake-out to make you lower your guard or a result of the incoming missile, you presume. no matter what the reason may be, you hold your gun close and try to keep your head clear.

"what exactly is the target that we're going after, l.t.?" soap mutters from next to you, tearing his eyes away from the scene. you shake your head before turning to him.

"did you not listen to the debrief, soap?"

"i did, but price never said what we were goin' after!"

"he totally did, dude. you just weren't listening." gaz perks up, prompting the former to stutter over his words to make a defense. after a minute of bickering between the two, you shush them.

"we're just screwing with you, soap," you concede, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "price told me what it was earlier. some kind of scrambling device that's been screwing with people's tech and causing periodic blackouts. we need to deal with it before it causes something worse than a communications loss."

gaz lets out an amused huff. "yeah, like a helicopter fallin' out of the sky."

"actually, i'm pretty sure it's just you falling 'outta the sky." soap chuckles, earning a lighthearted glare from gaz. you shush the two again and start towards the building, sticking to the shadows so as to avoid being spotted.

it takes no time at all to dispatch the guards surrounding the entrance, and soon you're methodically clearing out the ground floor alongside the sergeants. gaz takes point, whilst you stay in the middle and soap follows close behind. the enemy forces appear to be disorganized, you notice after moving up to the second level. they're wearing mismatched gear and using guns of vastly different origins; some even appear to speak different languages. you catch pieces of arabic and russian amidst the group, but what really shakes you is the english that you hear.

"are some of these fuckers american?" soap asks from behind you, looking over a tango he dropped moments prior.

"appears so," you mutter, examining another body near your feet. he wasn't wearing any sort of identification, so you had no way of figuring out what PMC he could be affiliated with. "they're not shadow company, at least. graves may be a bastard, but he's got his own vendetta against these guys."

"could be random mercenaries - guns for hire, y'know." gaz says with a shrug, clearly unconvinced of his own suggestion.

you hum, rising from your crouched position next to the body. "been seeing more of those popping up recently. wouldn't surprise me if al-qatala hired some of them as security." you refocus and motion for the two to get back in formation, nodding towards the stairs nearby.

"device should be on the sixth floor. let's pick up the pace."

the third and fourth floors are relatively the same: rooms full of randomly assorted, underprepared mercenaries that struggle to communicate with each other. you expected to find the same on the fifth floor, only to be stopped again by a peculiar logo taped above a set of office doors.

a snake skull with a sword. konni. you were aware of their presence in the city, even fighting some in this very building, but the logo stood out to you for some odd reason. with an affirmative nod sent to your teammates, you move to investigate it. at best, you'd find new intel about their operations, and at worst, you'd have another room to empty out.

upon opening the set of double doors and carefully entering, though, you come face-to-face with something far worse.

"holy fuck... is this all gas?" gaz mumbles, standing to your left.

the meeting room is filled floor-to-ceiling with gas containers, bright red barrels marked with konni's logo and cyrillic script plastered across their fronts. you take a closer look at the letters and, with the extremely limited knowledge of russian that you've gained from price and nikolai, manage to work out what they say.

"it's the same stuff zakhaev used in verdansk a few years ago," you glance towards the sergeants. you try to disguise your gradually creeping apprehension behind a firm look, rubbing the back of your neck as a bead of sweat rolls down into your shirt collar.

soap steps forward, taking a closer look at the stock. "wasn't zakhaev the one supplying it, though? i thought price took him out."

you sigh, wiping the sweat off your glove against the front of your thigh. "i think he had a supplier, but even if he was making it himself, that isn't stopping someone else from producing more. konni's probably buying it from whomever that is."

"wonder who that could be." gaz says, turning his attention to the large window at the far side of the room.

you open your mouth to reply, but soap beats you to it. "everyone in this situation is friends with makarov, right? price and laswell said he was gettin' active again."

the name sends an uneasy chill down your spine. you've never met the man yourself, but based on what price had to say about him, you're thankful you haven't. if he's working behind the scenes, than you need to be careful. any small mistake could end in disaster.

again, you try to respond, and again, you're interrupted. "uh– y'guys might want to look at this." gaz calls out over his shoulder.

your gaze turns to the sight outside that he was vaguely motioning towards. a bright light sits somewhere in the distance, quickly growing in size and luminosity. you squint, trying to figure out what the light could be coming from, until you remember laswell's warning.

the missile had fired.

"steamin' bloody jesus..." soap utters under his breath, snapping you back to the present.

"we need to find cover - fast!" you usher the two back from the glass and out of the room, sprinting down the stairs three steps at a time. although laswell didn't have much in the way of information, she did provide the team with a key piece of intel: there were bunkers constructed throughout the city, installed before the ballistic missile containers were offloaded in the area. one such bunker was located a short distance from the building you're currently in.

if you hurry, you might be able to make it.

as you descend, you can hear voices steadily drawing closer. gaz and soap hear it as well, and you all prepare your guns upon reaching the second floor.

as expected, there's a group waiting for you when you arrive. you take cover and try to thin out the crowd, but each second ticking by only serves to increase your level of impatience. eventually, you pull a flash grenade off your belt and toss it into the crowd, giving yourself and the sergeants a chance to finish off the remaining soldiers.

the three of you make another break for the exit. as the light outside the windows of the building grows blinding and a deafening explosion is heard, though, you wonder if you could have done something different. the floors above collapse and crash into your team, destroying the floors below you and knocking you off your feet.

somewhere in the chaos, your world goes dark.

⋆⋆⋆

when you come to, your head is spinning. there's a pounding in the back of your skull, muted thumps amidst the violent ringing in your ears. you blink away tears and dust, fighting to make your eyes focus as everything slowly falls into place around you.

you didn't make it to the bunker before the missile hit. gaz and soap are somewhere in this rubble with you - alive or dead, you're not sure. your body aches, muscles screaming at you as you try to move, forcing a pathetic wheezing cry from your lips.

after some struggle, you manage to turn your head to the left. laying several feet away is soap, covered in pieces of rubble and fighting to stay awake, blood pouring from an open wound on his head. farther away is gaz, desperately trying to get his leg free from under a broken metal beam. you call out to them, but all you can muster is a pained noise that leaves you coughing.

midafternoon sunlight beats down on you. price and ghost are somewhere else in the city, and you pray that they're still alive. it's all you can hope for at this point, considering your inability to move.

you hear voices drawing closer. heavy boots stomping through the sand and rubble, footsteps uniform yet distinct from one another. price, ghost, and your allies in the city immediately cross your mind, making you let out a relieved sigh.

when you look to your right, however, the silhouettes are distinctly different from what you expected to see. instead of your teammates, you see a group in familiar, yet unfamiliar, clothing and gear. you try to piece together what you recognize despite the fog in your brain.

when gaz's shout of your real name pierces your ears, it suddenly comes to you. pictures that price and laswell acquired from her global counterparts flood your mind, and you realize that you're looking at a group of ultranationalist soldiers. konni's leader and supplier, al-qatala's strongest ally, and the group that he leads with an iron fist.

ignoring the immense pain as a fresh wave of adrenaline courses through your system, you scramble for your sidearm. the last fight and the building collapse made you lose your rifle and drained you of most of your ammo, but you still had the bullet that you loaded into your handgun before the missile hit.

price's bullet.

one shot is all it should take.

you reach for your holster, but find nothing in its place. you frantically feel around the nearby area, searching for it, but still come up empty-handed. you lost your handgun in the crash and had nothing to defend yourself with. as the group nears, the reality of your situation dawns on you.

your luck had run out.

the leader of the pack blocks the harsh sunlight, casting shadows across your body as he stands over you. slowly, your eyes adjust to the change in light. you blink up at him, feeling a pang in your chest and a pit in your stomach form once his face becomes clear.

makarov.

taglist: @sofasoap, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @roosterr (ty for being the reason i wrote this lol)

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist!

[siilvan]

IT'S GIVING JEALOUS-IN DENIAL-GRUMPY-SIMP!MAKAROV I- im crying

oh god i've never seen that first pic, the way he's leaned back and sorta manspreading… good lord i need him in ways disastrous to feminism. till he forgets his tragic past. gonna make him forget he wants to take over the world, save humanity frfr

*ahem* this, uh… i'm not responsible for this drabble, loosely bloodsport-based but more or less just simping, enjoy bestie 🤭

(little bit of suggestiveness BTC, y'all have been hungry for him anyway <3)

ангел – angel (pronounced as written, with a hard 'g' lol)

мое небо/moye nebo – my heaven

he is not a man often annoyed by the "small things" but this, this sight has his blood boiling beneath his skin.

you're standing across the room, about fifteen paces away, chatting with one of his captains. a loyal soldier and a fine field commander, often successful when fulfilling his orders, and makarov's willing to admit: not an unattractive man by most standards. the captain is allowed to walk behind him for a reason, he's pleased with his work.

but, he is just a captain. he holds only a sliver of the power that makarov holds. of the people in the room, he is a mere ant, something that he could crush under his boot in a fit of rage and the only quarrel would be disposing of the body. why are you so interested in him? are you not drawn in to the strength, the pride, the influence that makarov has?

he shifts in his seat, leaning forward and letting his eyes narrow at the sight. your back is to him, but the captain— oh, the captain knows very well what the look makarov sends his way means.

you've encroached on my territory.

makarov doesn't hear the next words quickly stuttered out by the man, but it's shortly after that he nods in farewell and darts out of the room. like a child being scolded; the smile that pulls at the edge of his lips gives away his feeling of cruel satisfaction. no matter how esteemed any of his men may be, he stands alone at the top.

you blink at the door after the captain darts out before visibly shrugging and shaking your head. you turn around, eyes immediately finding his, and some unfamiliar sensation tugs at makarov's heart when he catches the glimmer of familiarity in your gaze.

he shifts again, leaning back into a more relaxed position. with your attention on him once more, he can allow his shoulders to drop, his rigid posture to soften. just keep your eyes on him.

"let me guess – that excuse of 'i need to clean my knives' was actually meant to mean, 'my commander is glaring daggers at me?'" you ask, crossing the space in a leisurely stroll, far more collected than when you first arrived several weeks ago.

he chuckles, lifting a hand to signal to his soldier standing nearby. "warden, give us some space."

the masked woman's gaze flits between you two, before she responds with a single nod and a clipped "yes, commander." she marches out of the room and the door clicks shut behind her, leaving you standing alone in front of him.

"if he has time to chat, he has time to work." makarov says, his hips briefly lifting as he adjusts his position, head lolling back just slightly to look up at you.

"that's a shitty way to boost morale," you comment, mouth briefly twitching up into a bemused smile nonetheless. "why did you really send him away?"

he dismisses your question, shaking his head. "i suppose i shouldn't be surprised that a woman of your position is observant, should i?"

you smile, again, wider and longer this time. "no, you shouldn't." you mutter.

for a moment, you two are left in that position, locked in a stalemate of neither person wanting to make the next move. observing the other, attempting to read their thoughts through nothing but minimal body language. you shift your weight from one leg to the other, hands clasping in front of yourself as you tilt your head to the side slightly, barely noticeable.

your next move.

makarov says nothing more as he pats his knee, silently giving a command. it's not a question, not a request— there is no uncertainty in the action.

he catches the flash of hesitation that crosses your face, and in reply, he offers his hand. the red light cascading over the room could almost be mistaken for an omen, a sign of what is to come in the distant future as soon as you place your hand in his.

he pulls you forward, gently, urging you to close the distance yourself. take the final leap.

carefully, you step forward and place your legs on either side of his, knees pressing into the plush cushions of the sofa as you let your weight rest on his thighs. your free hand, originally awkwardly sitting at your side, comes to rest on his bicep before lightly skating up to clutch his shoulder, the crisp fabric of his suit soft under your touch.

he draws you closer still, arm moving to circle around your middle, bringing you forward until your chests are flush, your rapidly-beating heart a contrast to his own, thumping steadily as he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing an uncharacteristically chaste kiss against your skin.

"he is not worth your time, ангел." he murmurs, lowering your hand.

"and, you are?" you ask, brows lifting curiously with the question.

"by birth right, i am," he replies quickly, voice low but confident. he isn't hiding the confession, he's reserving it for your ears alone. "no matter how many men may catch your eye for a fleeting moment, no matter how many think they stand in front of me in the queue for your hand, i will always be at the front, even if i must eliminate the competition to do so. i was born superior, i alone am worthy of your grace, мое небо."

a small part of you wants to argue, to tell him no, he has to earn that privilege, but a far larger part of you keens at his words, at his hands on you, gloved fingertips dancing along your spine and digging into the plush of your hip.

"you seem awfully confident for a man silently begging to be touched." you mutter, a sharp exhale escaping you when his hand leaves your hip to slowly slide up your side, thumb trailing along your front and stopping just below the curve of your breast.

he chuckles, dropping to a gravelly whisper as his lips hover mere inches from yours, dark eyes boring into yours and rendering you immobile.

"kiss me, then." he says, unabashed. "please, ангел." he adds after a beat, tongue darting out to wet his lips. the darkness in his gaze gives way to hunger, like a beast eyeing prey, waiting for it to run so he can give chase.

you draw in a breath, metaphorically and physically swallowing down the hesitation that bubbles up again. he has you right where he wants you, caught in his trap, but as his hands push you down, his hips raising again to press right into your clothed core, you find that you suddenly don't care.

you practically fall into his embrace, cupping his jaw and pressing your lips to his, matching the predator in hunger; like a rabbit leaping on a wolf instead. his firm grip becomes almost painful as he tugs you impossibly closer, his hand coming up to the nape of your neck, holding you in place against him.

you should have expected him to take over, to reclaim his spot in control. the most makarov will ever do is share, which alone is an honor, but he will never completely give his control away.

you're falling deeper, watching the light fade as you burrow farther into the earth, further into the pitch blackness that is him. it's hard to care, nigh impossible to think about anything else when you're so far down the rabbit hole.

worry about his touch, his lips, the satisfied rumble in his chest when he practically purrs your name against your lips. everything else can wait.

[siilvan]

aqua regia

part two | part three

characters: nikolai

summary: you’re sent behind enemy lines to disrupt a chemical weapons smuggling ring. the plan goes awry, and you’re cut off from the team - all except one.

genre: general, fem!reader (bravo 0-5)

warnings: semi-proofread, sorta suggestive moments, cursing, canon-typical violence, nik’s a flirt, reader’s a bit of a mess, reader is shorter than nik (he is 6’4”), i tried my best to research russian nicknames please spare me

word count: 3.7k

note: i will kiss you on the mouth if you get the title reference– also, i want to be nik and price’s controversially young gf. enjoy <3

the stones and gravel crunching under your boots kept you grounded as you traversed the thicket surrounding the compound. it was tucked away, inland enough to be hidden from passing ships, but close enough to the shore to access an easy escape during an attack.

you ducked down low as a spotlight crossed over the tree line, using the greenery to your advantage. with bated breath, you watched closely as the light crossed your path before continuing down the line.

"bravo 0-5, do you copy?"

price’s voice came through the radio, slightly distorted due to the distance and the constant rain that had been pouring ever since you started your miserable trek.

the mission was simple, really. infiltrate the factory inside the compound, locate the chemical weapons, set them off, and extract. the group guarding them was local paramilitary - inexperienced mercenaries that’d run off with the product if they knew its worth.

you raised your free hand to the radio on your shoulder, clutching your gun close with the other. "copy, captain. i’m just outside the facility." scanning the outer wall, you didn’t spot any targets.

must’ve gone inside after the rain started.

"good," price started again. "i’ve got good news and bad news, which do you want first?"

the slight chuckle that followed his question meant that the "bad news" wasn’t so terrible.

"you know what i prefer, bad news first. give me something nice to cling to at the end."

he chuckled again, and you heard voices in the background. the rest of the team, probably. while you were sent to the compound alone, they were busy securing intel and evacuating a nearby town that could be affected by the fallout.

"alright, i’ll give ‘ya the bad news; the weather’s only going to get worse. you’ll probably be seeing some lightning pretty soon," as if on cue, you saw a flash in the distance. "it’s not looking like the storm’ll let up any time soon. tomorrow morning, at the earliest."

you let out a sigh. fantastic.

"what’s the good news, then?"

"you’ve got a friend on the inside." price’s voice cut through the static again. "nikolai managed to infiltrate earlier. said he’d set up in the factory, all you have to do is make your way to him."

it was your turn to huff out a laugh. "our hero, as always." you holstered your gun and went prone, inwardly cringing at the mud you’d be getting on your gear. you could strip off your outer layers once you made it inside. "i’ll update you when i reach him, shouldn’t take too long."

"solid copy, 0-5. good luck."

getting inside the outer wall was easy enough, thanks to the patrols heading inside. you scaled a shorter wall - which was easier said than done with soaking wet gear weighing you down - and encountered a pair of guards nearby.

sticking to the shadows, you waited for one to break off. their conversation continued on for a few more moments before they finally separated.

one headed your way while wiping some of the water from his face. you ducked behind a set of crates and waited for him to pass by, your fingers wrapping around the handle of your knife. just as his back was to you, you silently lunged.

a quick stab to the throat as you yanked him down was enough to neutralize the first guard. you dragged his body to your former hiding spot and pursued his companion. he was busy fiddling with a lighter and a cigarette as you approached.

another silent kill, another body hidden.

you continued to make your way towards the factory in the middle of the compound. the storm may be an inconvenience, but it helped provide some cover as you dispatched the small patrols.

as you finally took down the last of the guards in your path, an ear-piercing shriek of static and feedback caught you off guard. you dropped to your knees and let out a string of curses, quickly reaching for the radio and turning it off. the air went silent again, and you breathed out a sigh of relief as the ringing in your ears began to subside.

the relief was short-lived; the few remaining patrols likely heard that, even over the rumbling thunder steadily approaching.

you got to your feet and made for the factory, approaching the side door and drawing your gun. the heartbeat scanner attached to the side flipped open and showed zero targets, so you headed inside, keeping your gun up just in case.

there were three guards waiting for you on the other side. you managed to dispatch them, but only after catching a bullet in one of your armor plates.

"is this fucking thing broken?" you mumbled to yourself, attempting to fix the scanner after the room was secured. with a frustrated groan, you snapped it closed and decided to leave it for later.

nikolai’s still waiting on me, you reminded yourself.

hesitantly, you reached for your radio and clicked it on again - the soft buzz of static filled the air. at least one thing fixed itself.

"i’m in the factory. can you read me?"

silence.

"captain, i’m inside. do you copy?"

still no response.

you clicked through the channels, trying to find any that the team could be on. "this is bravo 0-5, in the blind. can anyone hear me?"

after a beat of literal radio silence, you turned it back off with a huff. guess it wasn’t fixed, after all.

you traversed the factory halls, making your way to the target: the storage area located in the center of the building. your heartbeat scanner and radio may be broken, but at least the silencer on your gun still worked as expected.

after descending a few flights of stairs, you reached a set of industrial doors - strangely unguarded, you noted. a quick search for corpses brought no results, so you kept your gun close, still, as you slid one open just wide enough to slip through.

the harsh fluorescent lights granted you with total visibility of the storage bay, which sat suspiciously empty, as well.

adding to the list of oddities was the sheer silence that seemed to fill the room. the only sounds you could make out were your own quiet breaths, your boots padding against the concrete floor, and the occasional shifting of your gear as you walked.

glinting metal caught your eye, and you swiftly aimed your gun at a set of shelves filled top-to-bottom with boxes to your left. slowly, you approached the source of the light - armed guards, surely.

a beat passed without any movement from the offending party.

"there’s no point in hiding, i know you’re there." you called out towards them, anxiously adjusting your grip as you awaited a response.

"promise you won’t fire, then?" a deep, accented voice replied. russian, you recognized it immediately.

a relieved chuckle left your lips as you lowered your gun. "should’ve known it was you, nikolai," you said as the man left his hiding spot, greeting you with a self-satisfied smile. "you really cleaned up house, eh? guess we should be calling you 'soap' instead."

"i appreciate the compliment, lieutenant," he started, eyes carefully scanning your form as he took in your state. "but, i think the sergeant would get jealous if i took his name."

your eyes met after a pause, and you blinked at the intensity of his gaze. you’ve had the pleasure of working in the field with nikolai before, but one thing that never failed to bemuse you was the look he’d always get the moment he got to work.

dark and heavy, like he was seeing straight through you and all of your defenses.

"did, uh– did you lose comms, too?" you cleared your throat and shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling pity for his past enemies. he nodded his head and blinked, but his gaze remained on you. "a little while ago, yes. i was hoping the issue was just interference, but it appears i was wrong."

he laughed lowly, following close behind as you turned towards the chemical supply. "i’m sure the signal is just being disrupted by the rain," he stated, holstering his gun to kneel down and check the charges attached to the barrels in the middle of the room. "it should clear up once the weather does." he added after a pause.

"i hate to be the bearer of bad news, but before i lost comms, price said the weather wouldn’t be clearing up until tomorrow morning."

nikolai stopped his work to shoot a glance in your direction. you could see the gears turning in his head as he formed a new plan on the spot - a skill of his you greatly appreciated.

"there’s a small building deeper in the forest," he said as he resumed. "a cabin. it used to be owned by a local hunter, but has since been abandoned. it’s a safe distance from the affected area." he stood up and grabbed a remote from his belt.

"a convenient safe house, then. how’d you find out about it?" you questioned as he handed it to you.

"i know everything, принцесса." he set the device in your outstretched hand and tapped the corner of it gently. "detonator. be careful with it."

you nodded in response, being extra careful as you attached it to your belt.

"i’ve got a small question, nik."

"what is it?"

you smiled at him and crossed your arms over your chest. "'принцесса,' you’ve called me that before. why do you do it?"

"princess" is what it meant.

admittedly, you did understand a little russian thanks to nikolai himself. mostly phrases that you might need in the field or working undercover, with some more "fun" phrases - curse words - in your vocabulary, as well. you had managed to translate the word on your own, but were still confused over it.

"well, i think the nickname is quite fitting, no?" he tilted his head to the side, crossing his own arms to mirror you.

"i don’t hate it," you conceded. "i just thought that russians were a little, uh… particular, about nicknames and such."

"particular?"

you stuttered a bit while finding an alternative phrase. "i mean… i thought that nicknames like that were reserved for people special to you."

"you are special to me, принцесса."

heat rushed to your face at his words. you were used to nikolai’s playful flirting, you even flirted back on occasion, but you never thought to prepare for him saying something like that.

there was nothing you could do other than stare at him, dumbfounded. his smile only grew the longer you stared, until he took mercy on you and nodded towards the barrels, reminding you of your objective. "you brought a gas mask?"

your hands practically flew to your belt, searching for the mask. unhooking it and quickly checking for any damage, you responded with an affirmative hum. "uh, yeah– yeah, i’ve got it."

"good," he started for the exterior doors. "let’s get moving. the guards have probably started searching for their missing already."

you made your way out of the compound together, dodging the patrols searching the areas you had passed through earlier. nikolai’s intuition was spot on, as always. the two of you scaled the outer wall again and ducked into the tree line, sliding your gas masks on.

"on your go, lieutenant." he spoke from next to you, his voice slightly muffled through the mask. the detonator was held tight between your fingers as you watched the panic slowly spread through the facility below. you took a breath and flicked the switch.

an explosion erupted from the factory, throwing any of the nearby guards off their feet and no doubt killing several more. even from your position, you could feel some of the shockwave.

mission success.

"beautiful work," nikolai praised you with a satisfied laugh. "that will send a message." he continued, patting your shoulder proudly.

you turned away from the chaos, facing him and adjusting your mask. "we shouldn’t stick around, i feel like i’m being fucking waterboarded in this." you messed with your mask, attempting to breathe around the rain-soaked fabric.

"understandable. follow me," he nodded towards the forest. "the safe house isn’t far, we can stay there until the storm lets up."

you followed nikolai through the dense trees, silently noting to yourself that the weather had gotten worse; the thick layer of clouds was constantly illuminated by lightning, and you jumped more than once at the loud cracks of thunder that followed the brighter flashes of light.

during your second miserable trek of the night, you heard a familiar sound from the radio - someone was trying to reach you. shortly after you clicked it on, a voice cut through the static.

"finally managed to reach you," price’s voice came through. "do you copy, 0-5?"

"solid copy, captain." you replied, tilting your head towards the radio so he could hear you. "we lost comms for a good while because of the storm, but the mission went without a hitch otherwise. things okay on your end?" you let out a soft grunt as you clambered over a fallen tree.

"everything’s fine here. i’m assuming 'we' means you and nik made it out together?"

"correct," nikolai answered, offering his hand to you after encountering a second fallen tree. "we can’t extract in this weather, price. there’s a cabin nearby that we’ll be staying in until it clears up."

you accepted his offer and grabbed his hand, using it to pull yourself up and over the tree. you let go as soon as your boots were on solid ground again, much to the man’s chagrin. it was near-impossible to see his disappointment under the mask, though.

price released a crackly sigh. "i understand. we’ll send someone out your way as soon as we can. let me know if you need anything."

"copy all, captain. we’ll keep in touch."

after what felt like ages of walking, you reached the cabin. you immediately pulled off your mask once you were through the door and internally thanked whatever gods you could think of for being able to breathe clearly again.

"you should get out of those clothes," nikolai said after removing his own mask and dropping it on a small dining table near the kitchen. "i’ll see if i can start a fire and warm the place up."

as he walked towards the fireplace, you made quick work of your outer layers, stripping down to just your slightly damp undershirt, pants, and boots. "are you sure it’s safe to start a fire?" you asked, taking a seat on the small, worn sofa and starting to remove your boots.

"we’ll be fine, the enemy is too busy falling head over heels to worry about us." he reassured you as the fire sparked to life, illuminating the room in a warm light. nikolai stepped back from the fireplace and walked over to where you were sitting, kneeling in front of you with a soft, "allow me, принцесса" falling from his lips as he gently batted your hands away and took off your boots himself.

you watched as he grabbed the back of your ankle and guided your heel to rest atop his knee, carefully unlacing your boot and pulling it off. he repeated the process with the other, setting your boots to the side and slowly dragging his gaze upwards. it landed on your face, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks again under his stare.

his hand, which had settled itself on the back of your calf, circled around and came to rest on your knee. "feeling better?" he murmured, sonorous tone doing little to soothe the burning sensation you felt.

"i, uh…" you whispered, voice suddenly abandoning you. a beat passed, and you moved to get up. nikolai removed his hand and leaned back, allowing you to escape. "i’m feeling fine, thank you. just need to get these dry before morning." you practically scurried over to the pile of soaking wet clothes you had left, attempting to lay them out to dry.

he hummed in response. even with your back to him, you could feel his eyes burning holes through you. whether the shiver that ran down your spine was caused by him or the cold clinging to your moist skin was a mystery to you.

"if you’re cold, you should stay by the fire," nikolai suggested with an amused huff. you turned back around in time to see him stand up and start undoing the straps and buckles holding his gear in place, setting each piece on the low table in front of the couch. his jacket came off once the gear was removed, leaving him in a slightly damp black shirt that clung to his upper body.

you weren’t typically one for staring, especially at any of your teammates, but… god damn. it was easy to forget just how big he is - tall, muscular, even his aura was something that could make you feel small.

"enjoying the view, lieutenant?"

nikolai’s cheerful question snapped you out of your trance, flicking your eyes upwards to see the pleased smirk plastered on his face.

"enjoying the heat, actually," you responded as you purposefully walked over to the fireplace, sitting cross-legged in front of it to warm up your still-shivering body. he joined you a moment later, quietly settling in next to you and resting his elbow on his raised knee.

the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the steady crackle of the fire as the storm raged on outside. the constant rumbling of thunder was a decent source of white noise, until a loud clap of thunder made you jolt and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

if nikolai noticed the noise startle you, he didn’t comment on it. you, however, took notice of how cold you still felt afterwards, even with the fire doing its best to keep you warm.

he looks perfectly content, you thought, glancing at your companion from the corner of your eye. the longer you thought about how cold you felt, the more you realized just how much heat he was giving off. even more than the fire, somehow.

suddenly, you understood what price meant when he joked about nikolai being a "human furnace." you tried to inch a little closer, to bend into the heat he was giving off, hoping he wouldn’t notice if you moved slowly enough.

"still cold, милая?" he leaned closer and whispered, the sincerity in his voice sending more heat through your body than the fire did.

"i am," you confessed while wrapping your arms around yourself. "but, you’re warm." you added, looking up at him with pleading eyes. hopefully he’d take mercy on you again.

he chuckled softly. "come here, принцесса. i have plenty of heat to spare." his outstretched arm invited you in, and you gladly huddled closer, a contented sigh filling the air between you when he pulled you into his side and tucked your head against his shoulder.

"better?" nikolai murmured, leaning in once again. you nodded affirmatively. "much better. i should start finding you when the heater breaks at the base." you replied with a small laugh, feeling his lips curl into a smile against the top of your head.

"i will never deny you."

"even if you’re working or talking to price?"

"especially if i’m doing either of those things."

"you’re too kind to me, nik."

"like i said earlier - you’re special to me, милая."

"i’m starting to believe that." you pulled away just enough to look up at him again. his eyes followed you as you did, leaving you staring at each other once more.

this was far from the first time you two had worked together; it wasn’t even the first time you had camped out, just the two of you. you’ve even made flirty remarks, teased each other, acknowledged that the other was attractive in the past. it was nothing more than banter between friends, something to lighten the mood in an otherwise shitty profession.

as you lost yourself in your own thoughts, you were pulled back to earth by a familiar warmth against your cheek. you blinked, realizing that it was nikolai’s hand gently brushing against your skin. he cupped your face carefully, as if he was worried you’d break under his touch, and ran his thumb along the apple of your cheek.

a moment passed by as he gave you the chance to back away. instead, you leaned into the touch, lifting your hand up to rest on top of his. he started to lean in slowly, and you did the same. your eyes fell closed just as your lips brushed. so close, you thought.

a loud crash forced your head back as you jolted. frantically, your eyes searched the room, looking for the source of the sound - then, you realized exactly what it was.

fucking thunder. again.

your head fell forward against his chest as you let out an exasperated sigh. nikolai’s amused laughter interrupted your short-lived moping, his body shaking with each chortle.

"i didn’t know you were so scared of thunder, милая!"

"i’m not!" you argued, balling your hand into a fist against his chest. "i am reasonably on-edge since we are still working!"

"if this is my job, i think i would like to work overtime."

"flirting won’t make me forgive you."

nikolai cheerfully pretended to wipe tears from his eyes after his laughter settled. "okay, okay. i’m sorry for laughing, принцесса."

"you better be." you grumbled, still tucking yourself into his side despite your lighthearted annoyance. he tightened his grip on you and angled his head down to press a kiss against the top of your head.

after the thunder "incident," you started to feel the effects of the mission. a wave of exhaustion settled in your bones, forcing your eyes closed as you relaxed in nikolai’s hold. he said something to you, but you didn’t quite catch what it was. you could ask him in the morning.

everything could be discussed in the morning.

translations:

принцесса (printséssa) – princess

милая (milaya) – dear/darling

taglist: @sofasoap

[siilvan]

Could you please write a platonic fic with reader and Nikolai? Maybe with a little bit of peril involved so they are both worried for each other?

crash site

characters: nikolai

summary: after your pilot crashes in the middle of a war zone while trying to extract you, a reverse rescue mission ensues.

genre: general, gn!reader (bravo 0-5; no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, mild descriptions of injuries, inaccurate medical care, nik and reader get hurt, mutual worrying, i wrote this w/ a migraine i’m sorry

word count: 3.2k

note: anon i hope you know i love you for requesting something that i already sorta wanted to write

also so sorry this took so long, i hope you enjoy <3

you instinctively raise your gun when a bullet flies past and pierces the half-destroyed concrete wall just in front of you. various shouts in a language you can’t understand soon follow, and your heart races as you spin around to confront the enemy.

the mission was supposed to be simple. get into the city, take out the target, and get out without being compromised.

the first two objectives went without any trouble, but your escape was compromised the second the target’s body hit the ground. that’s how you ended up in this situation - with a single magazine in your gun, a city of armed men pursuing you, and no signs of backup in sight.

not to mention the approaching sandstorm, you mentally add to the list, blinking back tears as rough grains of sand whip around and obscure your vision.

you manage to take out the group actively giving chase, which then leads to your next problem: you’ve completely run out of ammo. even your sidearm was emptied as you fought through the small militia, and you lament the speech that price is going to give you about "being prepared" once you make it out.

vaulting over the short wall brings you to a city square. you crouch low near a stack of crates and building supplies, hoping that the chaos of the situation and the sandstorm would mask your presence to the various search parties nearby. you scan the area for any weapons while moving undercover; the last thing you need is to be caught without a way to defend yourself.

if you had a nickel for every time things did not go to plan today, you’d be rich enough to retire. a yell and a bullet landing near your feet signaled that, despite your best efforts, one of the parties spotted you.

you rise to your feet and lift your hands, praying that a surrender would buy you some time. the square fills up, and soon you’re stuck in place as several dozen guns are pointed right at you. there was no way you’d be getting out of this, even if you did miraculously find a weapon during your brief search.

the apparent leader of the group steps toward you, repeating some command - or, perhaps a question, you couldn’t tell - while the others slowly form a half-circle around you. several of the soldiers look antsy, hands twitching as they adjust their grips and rest their fingers against the trigger, like they were just waiting for an excuse to open fire. your stomach churns at the thought of someone getting a little too anxious.

your radio suddenly crackles to life for the first time since you confirmed the target’s death. at the same moment, a distant silhouette in the sky catches your eye. you focus on it and squint, trying to make it out through the ever-increasing cloud of sand, before a familiar voice catches your attention.

"0-5, get down!"

before you can even register who the voice belongs to, you follow the order and drop to your knees. the sound of heavy gunfire surrounds you immediately after, forcing you to lift your hands in an attempt to protect your head as every other person in the city square was gunned down. you bite back a panicked noise when the men closest to you are dispatched, worrying that whomever was in control would accidentally hit you, as well.

when the dust settles, both literally and figuratively, you cautiously lower your hands and lift your head again, scanning the area once more.

as expected, every soldier around you laid dead. some laid on their stomachs due to the unexpected ambush, others were on their backs after attempting to confront the source. your eyes flicked back to the sky, towards the silhouette you had seen before.

even through the sand and dust, you could make out the all-too familiar helicopter hovering near your position. it was a little unsteady, clearly a victim of the intense wind and debris in the air, but you grinned at the sight nonetheless.

"ace shots, nikolai." you let out a relieved laugh after reaching for your radio. "i’m surprised you can fly in these conditions."

"not for long, so let’s make this quick," he says, and you watch as the chopper attempts to land on one of the nearby roofs. "the storm will be here any minute. seems like i got here just in time, no?" he adds with a smug chuckle.

"i’ll be sure to send a thank-you card after this!" you huff and rush to the building he was landing on. for the first time today, things seem to be going according to plan; a ladder inside leads directly to the roof, which you quickly ascend with renewed vigor, and wait impatiently for the chopper to touch down.

you aren’t sure why, but a wave of cold dread washes over you once you reach the rooftop. your attention shifts from your escape to the nearby buildings and streets as you give your surroundings a once-over. surely it’s just adrenaline, you tell yourself.

you spot a figure in the window of a house just a block away. they’re kneeling behind the edge, eyes trained in your direction, pointing something directly at the building you were standing on top of. you stare at the mysterious object in their hands, until they carefully shift their aim a little higher. directly at nikolai, you realize just a second too late.

"watch out–!" you frantically shout into your radio. even if the weapon, which you now recognize as an RPG, hits the building and damages it, your chances of survival were far superior to nikolai’s own.

before your warning can reach him, however, a rocket is fired at the helicopter. you can only watch helplessly as it connects with the tail and sends the vehicle spiraling out of control. despite the damage, nikolai manages to maneuver it upwards while attempting to regain control. a second rocket is fired shortly after and hits the engine, stripping the pilot of any control as the vehicle practically falls from the sky. it crashes into the ground a decent distance away, and your stomach drops at the scene.

you scale the side of the building at breakneck speed and start towards the crash site, completely ignoring the eminent threat at your back as you pray for his safety. you didn’t care about empty guns, failed escapes, or compromised assassinations - you’d take a hundred of each before losing any of your teammates.

you’re swiftly given a cold reminder of your situation during your mad dash to nikolai. you duck into an alley and press your back against the wall as a team rushes down the street, no doubt heading to the same place as you. with a deep inhale, irritating your throat as sand and dust contaminates the air, you push off and follow their path.

come on, nik… you mentally beg the man. this is no way for you to die.

the combat knife tucked in your vest, your last line of defense, finds its home in the neck of one of the soldiers when you attack him from behind. you grab his rifle and dispatch the nearby soldiers, silently thanking the sandstorm for finally hitting the city in full force. it was impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you, but such was the same for the enemy.

"0-5… can you hear me?" a strained voice comes through your radio and just barely cuts through the raging storm. nikolai. thank god.

"i hear you– nik, what’s your status?"

a pained grunt and the sound of creaking metal answers your question. "i don’t think we will be flying out of here–" he cuts himself off with a sharp hiss. "i’m not sure i can even stand."

"i’ll get us out of here," you tuck yourself into the shadows again as a patrol passes by, the lights on their guns permeating through the dust cloud and highlighting their position. "just stay put for now. get to cover if you can, i’m on my way."

"the enemy will have me surrounded within minutes, 0-5. you cannot fight a militia alone."

you click your tongue and shake your head from side to side, as if he could see you. "i’m not leaving you, nikolai. i’ll sooner drag you out by my teeth than abandon you." a stiff laugh and a muttered comment about your "stubbornness" was his only response.

the group that previously passed you was now stopped in an intersection, exchanging words with another small party. you squint at them and manage to count eight in total. difficult, but manageable. you had the benefits of stealth and surprise on your side, at the very least.

with a slow inhale and exhale, you open fire on the group. you take out two of them before the others start their search, frantically pointing their guns in every direction. once again, the lights gave away their positions; your rifle didn’t have a flashlight, allowing you to stay concealed as you picked the remaining members off one by one.

you reach for your radio again after you confirm the kills. "still doing okay?" you ask, continuing towards his location.

a second passes before you get a reply. "i am still alive, at the very least," nikolai grunts softly, and you recognize the sound of not-so-distant voices through his radio. "they haven’t found me yet. too worried about you to conduct a proper search, i assume."

"hopefully i can reach you, then. it’ll be difficult, but it’s not impossible to slip by." you notice the crash site after rounding a corner and running a few more blocks. it was yet another area that resembled a plaza, with several soldiers dotting both the inside and the outskirts.

"be careful." he speaks slowly, and you push down the worry that stems from his tone. instead, you try to reassure him. "always am, nik. just try to keep your blood in until we get out of here."

you approach the entrance and quietly dispatch the trio standing in your way. judging by the sounds of panic that followed, the gunshots weren’t entirely drowned out by the winds. that’s fine, you inwardly boast. even if they investigate the noise, they’ll come up empty-handed; you move on before the alarm is even raised. weaving through their sights is easy enough, thanks to the soldiers’ scattered and uncoordinated paths. nonetheless, you take out as many as you safely can.

before long, you come across debris from the crash, and you follow it until the main body of the helicopter is visible. you physically cringe at its ruined state until a whisper-shout of your name from somewhere nearby catches your attention. doing your best to follow it, you shove some metal scraps - hot to the touch, even through your gloves - out of the way.

you have to choke back a relieved sigh when you finally locate nikolai, leaning against more of the wreckage while clutching his side.

"never been so happy to see you," you chuckle and reach for his free hand. with a soft grunt of effort, you pull him to his feet and guide him to rest his weight against you. "i’ve got you, just lean on me."

"we need to hurry…"

nikolai’s words are brushed off by your gentle shushing as you make for an exit - easier said than done with the state he’s in. "i know, i know… we’re almost there, just need to get out in one piece."

"you don’t understand–"

his warning is cut off by bullets whizzing past your legs. you regret brushing him off as your adrenaline is sent into overdrive, and you practically carry him out of the plaza. you search for cover before your eyes settle on a small house with boarded windows; inconspicuous, but you really don’t want to back yourself into a corner.

an acute pain in your shoulder makes you reconsider the latter concern. you stumble forward, tightening your grip on nikolai as he nearly collapses from the sudden movement, and resign to your fate.

your lungs are burning by the time you reach the building. you shove the door open and haul the both of you inside before kicking it shut again. cautiously, you scan the interior, fingers twitching as you prepare to grab the rifle slung over your shoulder. the house was meager, you realize; a small sitting area bordered an even smaller dining room, with a modest kitchen that was surely emptied a long time ago.

you stagger to the torn-up sofa in the sitting area and maneuver nikolai to lay on his back, apologizing under your breath at every pained noise that left his lips. the rifle is leaned against the wall as you shove a tall wooden shelf across the room to block the front door, creating a decent barricade.

well, "decent" was a generous description. it would buy you a precious few seconds, at most.

the sharp pain in your shoulder bleeds into an agonizing throb from the effort, and you desperately try to shake off the feeling. your minor injury didn’t matter right now.

"we don’t have much time," you say while shifting your focus back to nikolai. "i’ll patch you up as much as i can. no point in escaping if you bleed out, yeah?" you add with a forced chuckle, trying to ease the both of you. the only interior doors lead to a bedroom and bathroom, and you search both for any supplies.

following the apparent theme of this mission, the only useful items you find are fabric, some foam, and a basic first-aid kit. the kitchen and dining room are equally as frugal, with a half-emtpy bottle of alcohol and a pair of small metal rods as your only rewards.

"you’re not a medic," nikolai says, staring at you from the corner of his eye while you gather the supplies on a nearby table. you huff and begin looking over his injuries. "it’s me, or a grave. pick your poison." you briefly meet his gaze and smile. he concedes and remains silent as you continue the examination.

considering what he had been through so far, his injuries were surprisingly minor. the worst of it was a laceration on his forearm and a fracture below his knee. there was also the bruised and broken ribs, but you couldn’t do anything about those. the smaller cuts just needed to be disinfected and bandaged, depending on the severity - all things that you were perfectly capable of doing.

despite the bad luck, you managed to gather just enough to make a splint for his leg. a shitty splint, but it’s better than nothing.

you start with the fracture, doing what you can to stop the bleeding and disinfect the wound. he hisses in pain when you try to move his leg to apply the padding, and you mumble another apology. the rest of the process goes as smoothly as it can, given the circumstances. you manage to make the splint and wrap his lower leg with the cloth you found, securing it in place.

after checking the splint, you move on to his arm. the first-aid supplies included a suture kit that you were already loathing having to use. your hands shake as you prepare it and clean the wound, taking a deep breath and internally recoiling at the scent of blood.

the stitching is about as torturous as you expected, for nikolai more than yourself. he is remarkably calm, though the occasional grunt or groan still escapes his tightly pressed lips. you finish the procedure as quickly as possible for his sake, tying the thread off and cleaning the area again before wrapping it in the leftover bits of cloth.

"it’s not much, but it’ll suffice for now." you send him another smile. he breathes deeply and nods his head, inspecting your work.

"you are a better medic than i thought," he confesses and nods again. "i’ll definitely put in a good word with the captain." he chuckles softly. his gaze shifts to you, and you’re reminded of your own injury.

before he can say anything, you stand up and grab your gun from its spot. "i’ll be fine. we’ve already spent too much time here, anyway." you sling it over your uninjured shoulder and head to the wall opposite of the front door. the planks boarding the windows were weather-damaged and easy enough to pull off. you detach one and peek through the gap.

the street was quiet, thankfully. the soldiers must have lost track of you after you ducked into the house - at least, that’s what you hoped for. further down the street, you spot a car. your escape.

"see anything?" nikolai asks. you turn back and hum affirmatively.

"there’s a car down the road. if it has fuel, we can drive out of here."

"the militia won’t follow us outside of the city."

you nod towards him. "exactly. i’ll head over and check it out."

nikolai jolts upwards, before grunting and clutching one of his various injuries. "you’re not heading out there alone. the enemy could easily ambush and overwhelm you like they did before."

"it’ll be far faster for me to look at it alone," you argue while pulling the other planks off the window frame. "you can’t walk on your own, let alone fight, nik. this is our only option."

you swing one leg over the edge of the window and shoot a glance towards him. "i promise i won’t be gone for long."

the storm immediately takes you off-guard again, and you clutch your weapon close as you jog towards the car. it was an all-terrain vehicle, left behind by one of the militia groups. you check the fuel gauge and sigh a breath of satisfaction at the half-full tank of gas. best of all, the keys were left in the ignition.

must’ve abandoned it during one of the skirmishes, you think. those weren’t so unlucky, after all.

you head back to the house and find nikolai trying to lift himself from the sofa. "so impatient," you comment, pulling his arm over your shoulders and offering yourself as a support once more. "seems like the car is going to work. just a little further, nik."

he mutters something in russian that you assume is positive, based on his relieved tone, as the two of you head for the exit. both of you stumble towards the car together, fighting against the storm and your own exhaustion that is slowly but surely creeping in, ignoring the painful ache that plagues you from head to toe.

you get nikolai settled in the passenger’s seat before circling the hood and turning the keys in the ignition. the vehicle sparks to life, and every horrible twist and turn is all but forgotten as you speed down the street. the edge of the city isn’t terribly far from your current location, you can make it.

"it’s funny," you say, barely audible over the turbulent winds. "usually you are the one driving and saving our asses, but now the roles are reversed."

nikolai shakes his head. "one save does not make up for a hundred, 0-5. you still owe me." he replies with a self-satisfied grin, earning a frustrated curse from you as you cross the city border.

sure enough, the captain had his speech prepared before you even left the medical bay.