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."
151 notes
·
View notes
anyway, Elden Ring is about love and hope
Marika burns everything she has build out of sorrow
Ranni banishes the Outer Gods and also fucks off the Lands, giving agency back to the normal beings of the Lands
Fortissax endlessly fights Death for his friend/lover
Melina burns herself and Erdtree in hopes of a better world in the hands of the Tarnished
Blaidd fights against the very reason he was created out of love for his sister
Ranni and Rykard always keep an eye on their mother, protecting her
Radahn evokes so much love from his troops that they organise a whole festival to give him a honorable death even in his madness
Radahn learns an entire new school of magic in order to still ride his favourite horse
Boc's love for his mother, his mother's love for him
How all but two endings are build on the hope that this new era (whatever it might be) will be good
Miquella attempting to create an whole new world-tree to host the forsaken and the damned
Miquella turning on the faith he was raised and even believed in to an extent, when it was unable to cure his sister's curse
The Cleanrot's loyalty to Malenia and their endurance of the Rot, only to stay in her service
Malenia marching through the entire continent in search of her brother
Finlay traveling all the way back on her own, carrying the incapacitated demigod on her back
Tanith's love for Rya
Dialos' entire questline
Edgar being driven mad after his daughter dies
Vyke embracing, to a point, the Frenzied Flame in order to save his finger maiden
or you know, that's just how I see it
1K notes
·
View notes