#maybe something more like a callsign

[churchyaoi]

drew my multiplayer spartan from halo infinite. he needs a name

[beloveds-embrace]

Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

[ddejavvu]

I’d love to see a jake seresin x secret wife au. The dagger squad doesn’t realize he’s married until Phoenix invites reader out to the bar with them! Thanks you’re the best!!

You're reminded just how little you know Natasha when she invites you out for drinks, and you end up at the bar adjacent to the naval base. You've been inside only once with Jake before, when you were still dating and he was going through training at top gun. Now he's a graduate, and the place brings back fond memories. You've chatted, of course, when she stops by for breakfast at the bakery you work for, but you've never discussed her career before.

"Hope you don't mind we're close to base," She grins, "My friends wanted to meet here, and I get free drinks 'cause the bartender likes me. They have this bell system to embarrass all the assholes here, and I think I ring it more than she does."

"I've been here before," You admit, tentatively grabbing her arm as she weaves through the crowd, "My husband and I came here once, a long time ago. I don't think the bartender was a woman, though."

"She just bought the place a few years ago," Natasha nods, sliding onto a stool at the bar, "Careful, don't put your phone on the bar."

You tuck the device safely away in your pocket as a brunette woman turns to you, a sweet smile on her face as she recognizes Natasha.

"Hey, Phe," She hums, and you don't have time to ask what the nickname means, "Brought a friend?"

"I'm Y/N," You introduce yourself, noting that they seem like close friends, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Penny."

You nod and beam at her when she offers you an identical bottle of beer to the one Natasha takes. You decline, though, ordering your usual instead. Jake's out with his friends tonight, but he's pledged to be a responsible drinker in case you need to be picked up from your girls' night.

"Can I get, uh," Natasha peers through the crowd, turning back when you assume she's found her target, "Five more?"

"Fanboy's got one already," Penny hums, taking four chilled bottles from beneath the counter, "You want help carrying them?"

"We're good!" You wrap one hand around two bottles, trusting Natasha to lead you towards her friends in the hectic crowd. You don't remember it being this busy when you'd come with Jake, maybe the new management really helped.

She treks you all the way over to a pool table along the wall, where a few men in jeans and t-shirts are huddled. You're taken by surprise, though you're not sure why. You'd automatically assumed her friends would be women, and you wonder if that's concerning. Possible internal bias aside, you smile at the men who stand to greet you.

"Hello," You wave, handing off beers to the two that meet you first,"I'm Y/N, you're Natasha's friends?"

"We are," A tall man grins, holding a hand out for you to shake now that it's not wrangling beers, "I'm Reuben. But you can call me Payback, if you want."

Natasha still has one of the beers in her hands, and you hear the man beside her, who she greets as Fanboy, mention something about the bathroom. Apparently you still have someone to meet.

You refocus on Reuben, "Payback," You tilt your head slightly to the side, "Is that a callsign? Are you a pilot?"

"We all are," The man who'd taken the other beer from you nods along with Payback, a burnt red mustache on his lip, "Natasha's is Phoenix. And I'm Rooster."

Your stomach drops.

"Wait, uh- Rooster? And- and Phoenix, and Payback," Your head spins slightly with recollections of Jake's crazy work stories, and you take a step back, "Are you- you're all stationed to this base?"

"Temporarily," Rooster frowns, "Hey, are you okay?"

"My husband-" You don't get the words out before he emerges from the bathroom, stopping dead in his tracks with a furrow in his brow that wrinkles his forehead.

"Darlin'?" He calls, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Jake?" You're equally incredulous, "I- these are the friends you're going out with?"

"Yeah, I-" He wanders closer, still at a general loss for words, "You know Phoenix?"

"Natasha gets breakfast at the bakery," You breathe, now that he's close enough to hear your dumbfounded murmur. You have an audience, but you don't care, not as Jake's confused expression melts into a sheepish smile.

"Well, small world. You look stunning tonight, honey."

"Thanks," You grin bashfully, keeping one hand on your drink and using the other to cup his cheek, tugging him down into a quick kiss. No matter how chaste it is, it gets a reaction.

"Oh," Fanboy gawps, "You're- her husband? You- Hangman, dude, you're married?"

"I am," Jake hums, ringing an arm around your waist and taking the beer from Natasha that she's too shock-stricken to hand to him. He pops the cap off on the edge of the pool table, bringing the fizzing mouth to his lips for a swig. He swallows, "Six years and counting."

"You're married to Hangman," Natasha- er, Phoenix repeats, "You married him?"

"Uh, I did," You laugh, twisting the ring on your finger.

"He never wears a ring," Rooster narrows his eyes at Jake accusatorily, "What, you're keeping her hidden away or something?"

"No," Jake scoffs, "It kept getting dirty when I was doing maintenance on my jet. I keep it on my dog tags, Bradshaw."

He brandishes the chain with both his ID and wedding band on it, and Rooster takes a swig of beer in response.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that, man? I don't stare at your chest in the locker room."

"Well you're missin' out," Jake drawls, turning to grin at you, "Ain't that right, honey?"

"Jake," You hiss, "Not here!'

"Oh, don't get all fussy. Most of these guys have seen my dick," He waves a dismissive hand in the air, nearly spilling his beer. You swear you hear someone mumble, 'unfortunately', but Jake drowns them out, "They don't care if we flirt. Hey, whaddya say we sharpen up those pool skills of yours?"

"Alright," You nod, letting him lead you over to the table, "Natasha, can you hold my drink?"

She takes it like it's her duty to protect you, even though your big strong husband has just bent you over the pool table. It takes you a few tries to be able to hit the ball at all with your clumsy grip on the cue, but when it finally cascades the colorful targets around the table, Jake whoops, landing a congratulatory smack to your ass that his friends groan at.

"Nice goin', darlin'. Gonna beat Bradshaw into the ground in no time."

[charliemwrites]

Still thinking about yesterday’s post and the dynamic that fucking snatched up my brain worms in a vice grip.

Reader who is perfectly capable, has a well earned spot on her team. Who has safety net after safety net provided by the mere presence of the rest of 141. So much so that she doesn’t even remember what fear is. Living in that invincible bubble of “we’re the best because we look out for each other and we’re not going to let anything happen to each other”

And the day that bubble pops and you don’t even realize it yet. A chance encounter with a KorTac operative and you stole his kill right out from under him. Made eye contact in a shower of blood, maybe even threw him a cheeky grin, high on stims as you were.

You didn’t realize that you’d stepped outside the metaphorical bounds of your little safe zone, stepped right into the territory of a feral, untamed creature with sharp teeth and the scent of you cloying in his nose. A scent that made his blood sing a siren song of want.

It’s not just happenstance that you cross paths again. (Not that you know that). Hes been seeking you out, taking mission after mission in a dogged attempt to see you again. To see if it was more than a fluke.

And his impatience, his persistence, is rewarded with the silhouette of you, breaking a man’s neck with your thighs. (If the man weren’t surely dead, he’d wish he was for the crime of having your attention, of being smothered by your thighs, of being that close to your cunt.)

In your precious stealth gear, sleek and deadly, eyes sharp on the path ahead, not the shadow gathering behind you. He just watches you for a long while, soaking you up like a dry earth in a squall, letting you take root deep, deep within his being, in the place a soul should be. (You’re better than.)

He’s got your callsign now, whispered by one of your team members as their path intersects with yours. Narrowed eyes at the (too) friendly shake given to the hard mask covering your mouth and nose, the way your cheeks rounded with a grin beneath.

What was an interest has evolved instantaneously into an obsession. (Or devotion. Or love. They’re all the same to him, all the same kind of possession.)

He loves watching you fight as much as he loves watching you kill. He’s hard in his tac pants experiencing it this close, getting to feel each unforgiving strike in all the openings he leaves for you - invitations you always accept because you’re his good girl and you can’t resist, of course not.

He purrs when he gets you pinned to the wall, your eyes big, sparking with that animal knowledge that you’ve been bested by a bigger predator. That you’ve been won, claimed. To the victors go the spoils, and the only thing he’s lost is his restraint.

You’re panting and squirming beneath him, and he’s hypnotized, unable to do more than press closer, press harder to get you wriggling against him. Moaning softly when your heel digs a bruise into his calf, how you go still with a sort of realization.

“Again,” he rasps into your ear, “go on, pretty little hunter. Keep going. You’re so strong.”

But before you can, something over his shoulder steals your attention. Your eyes flick away from, where they should be. And he realizes that he been so consumed by you, intoxicated, that he missed the intrusion on your moment together.

In the aftermath, his gear smells like you. The place where he slipped his thigh between yours and pressed he swears smells like your cunt, heady perfume. He’s breathes it in as he fucks his tight fist, high on the memory of your strength testing itself against his.

He imagines the scent of him all over you in return. Going back to those men with his claim in your armor, wishes you’d taken the blade with you, his blood smearing your gloves, your shirt, your pants, staining your skin.

He cums to that thought, thick spurts all over a grainy print out of you from the op he first met you on, milky drops on the ink that forms your mask.

Soon, it’ll be reality.

[uglygirltrying]

May i request Soap and Reader dry humping eachother when LT ghost walks in??🥺🥺

[yes i saw the post and ITS A NEED, only if u wanna ofc <3]

Yes ofc! :))

I'll make an assumption and just continue from that thought :P umm i didn't want to give the reader a callsign im sorry if that makes this bad😭🙏

ghost didn't sleep well most nights. most nights were made of pacing around, or zoning out by the common room's television. and that was his plan that night as well.

he thought that it would be peaceful like any other night, and maybe even more so, if his two sergeants had got worn out from their ride.

but as he made his way down the hallway from his room, and got closer to the common room, strange noises hit his ear.

now, with hesitance, but also curiosity, ghost slowly walked to the end of the hallway.

and he certainly wasn't expecting the scene in the common room.

his two sergeants. his two soldiers, rutting against each other, on the common room's couch. the lieutenant had to hold back a chuckle at the sight, the pair were going at it like desperate animals.

unsurprisingly, soap was making noise like a whiny puppy. not like his pretty sergeant wasn't whimpering at the feeling as well. the dirty mutt soap, was ruining his pretty sergeant. making her pussy wet, without enough effort to make her cum.

ghost couldn't quite see, but he could bet there was soaking wet spots on their uniforms.

soap was moving carelessly, thinking with his cock, and only for his cock. his dog brain couldn't process what a pretty thing he was rutting against. what a pretty cunt, that deserved to have her fill as well.

the scotsman was only getting louder, and closer to his release. ghost felt his cock throb in his sweatpants. god, was he hard. but he couldn't just watch from the side, as his pretty soldier was getting neglected.

soap should be thankful. he should be on his knees, begging to get a taste of their pretty girls pussy.

but no. the mutt didn't have any manners. he needed to be put in his place.

neither of the dummies noticed when he walked closer, too distracted for their own good.

ghost's big, calloused hand quickly reached out, and grabbed onto the scotsman's sweaty mohawk, yanking his head up to look at him. soap immediately stilled, a confused and spooked.

"l-lt... hey..." soap nervously chuckled, still panting.

ghost glared down at soap, his cold eyes focused on his. ghost kept a tight grip on his hair, and looked down at his pretty sergeant, laying beneath soap. she looked just as frightened as soap, scared of being in trouble.

"selfish, ain't he?" it was more of a statement, than a question. soap pouted at his lieutenants words.

ghost smirked, as his pretty soldier shyly nodded her head. his free hand reached down, and brushed strands of her hair off her forehead.

ghost just looked down at her for a moment, before turning back to soap. he yanked on soap's hair again.

"get off of her, sergeant." ghost murmured deeply.

soap scrambled to back away from in between her legs. there was a obvious bulge on his cargo pants, with a wet spot forming on top.

ghost meanly chuckled at his submission. the lieutenant turned his head down again, looking down at his pretty sergeant. his hand traveled down, cupping her crotch. it was warm, a little moist too. most of it probably from soap.

his pretty soldier whimpered at the touch, shyly curling up.

"bet yer wearing something pretty underneath..." ghost murmured into her ear, his hot breath hitting her skin.

ghost turned to glare at soap. "and he didn't even think to take a look..." he continued.

soap was panting at the other end of the coach, his dick hard in his pants, as he tried not to touch himself. his lieutenant had caught them. he had caught his sergeants, rutting against each other like animals in heat.

and he didn't yell. he didnt file for transfers. he didn't punish them... well, this probably was soaps punishments, to watch from the side, while their lieutenant touched the precious girl's pussy.

ghost opened his pretty sergeant's pants, and pulled them down her thighs. underneath, she was wearing pretty, white panties. ghost chuckled at the sight. a wet patch on the panties, making them transparent, and revealing her sweet pussy. nice puffy lips, and a little bush above her hard nub.

ghost looked up at soap again. "take off 'er trousers, sergeant." he commanded him.

soap scrambled to pull down the other sergeants pants, as his commanding officer stared down at him. once her pants were thrown to the side, soap was face to face with her white panties. before he even knew it, ghost's hand had pushed his head down, his face down against her clothed pussy.

their pretty sergeant squealed at the sudden feeling of soap's nose pressing on her clit, with his hot breath hit her fluttering hole.

"lick it, mutt." ghost's commanded in his deep voice.

the scotsman's tongue immediately got to work, licking up and down the panty covered pussy, the wet patch only getting bigger with soap's saliva. he didn't care if he couldn't breathe properly, he'd gladly die just there.

ghost had to hold down their whimpering soldier, as she squirmed around. her chest moved with her heavy breathes, her legs twitching at the feeling of a hot tongue on her pussy.

"l-lieutenant..." she whimpered. ghost reached down and brushed her cheek with his thumb.

"good girl. ya wanna cum?" ghost asked, an amused smirk behind his mask. she nodded franticly and desperately, making ghost chuckle. soap must've been listening, his tongue moving faster on her. her pretty, white panties have long gone transparent from his dirty spit.

the lieutenants dark eyes averted for just a moment, only to see his sergeant humping the coach underneath him. what a dog.

both of them were near again. only this time, ghost was here. somebody to make sure, that both of them were taken care of. his own dick was hard as fuck too. he almost couldn't wait to go back to his room, and rub the hell out his cock.

but in this moment, he needed to only focus on them. they were too stupid for their own good. they were lucky it was him who caught them. this could've gone so much worse. they were lucky he was even letting them cum.

ghost snapped out of his thoughts, as his sergeants only got louder. they needed to be over with this quickly, it was only the matter of time, until somebody else walked into the common room.

ghost pushed soap's head down again, his big nose hitting her hard clit. that did it for her, making her cum. arching her back, whimpering, and shaking. soap wasn't far behind. his hips stilled, as he came in his pants. soap lifted his head, his face moist with the mix of her juices and his saliva. their pretty sergeant laid there, twitching and breathing heavily, almost limp.

soap sat up, the front of his cargos, soaked with his cum. ghost chuckled at the sight.

"how's the adrenaline rush now?"

idk i dont have the smut talent that these kind of writings need😭

[withahappyrefrain]

The 5 Times You Flirted With Bob + The 1 Time He Picked Up on It

Summary: You've fallen for your friend and have decided to drop some hints that you're flirting. Unfortunately, Bob doesn't realize that immediately.

Warnings: Language, no y/n, female reader, reader has a callsign (Honey)

Thank you to @dissonannce for this amazing idea. Thank you @acewritesfics for the dividers!

"Your hands are so big."

It took Bob a moment to register that you were in fact, talking to him.

"Oh! Um yeah. My ma made me do piano because she felt I was given the hands for them," Bob wiggled his fingers for extra effect, "Y'know, since they're so long."

Yes, they were quite long. It was one of the first things you noticed about Bob. Well, after you noticed his beautiful blue eyes, his endearing lopsided smile, the way he was so considerate of everyone else, so gentle, and yet there was an underlying confidence about him. He was sure of himself, but he didn't feel the need to brag.

Who could blame you for falling head over heels for him?

You flashed him a smile, hand reaching towards his.

"It's just, your hand is so much bigger than mine. See?" You propped his arm up, allowing your palm to press against his, both your fingers spread out to showcase the difference in size.

"See? My hand is so small compared to yours," You giggled. Bob looked down at your hands. Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching, dying to entwine with his.

"Yeah, there is quite a difference in size," Bob said, giving you that small smile you adored so much. That smile gave you the confidence to entwine your fingers with his.

"I think they fit pretty well together, see?" He wasn't letting go. He was still smiling as he looked down at your hand holding his.

Maybe this was finally it, he'd finally realized that you liked him and would-

"I'm gonna go get some more peanuts, can I get ya anything?"

You mustered up a smile, trying to cover up your disappointment, "I'll take a water. Thanks Robby."

As soon as he left, you shot Jake a dirty look, "Seresin, you said that shit would work!"

Jake, who had been pretending to play a game of pool with Bradley, Javy, and Mickey, put his hands up in defense, "Because it usually does! Everyone knows when a girl compares hand sizes it means she wants you!"

"Everyone but Bob apparently," Javy muttered.

"Maybe you just need to be more obvious?" Mickey suggested.

You sighed. You knew Bob. The last thing you wanted was to be so blunt it would overwhelm him. But at the same time, you two had been doing this whole 'friends but also more than that and I'm pretty sure we're flirting?' for the last month and you were getting annoyed with it how seemed to be going nowhere.

Perhaps Mickey was right. You were going to have to be a bit more obvious.

"Bee? You ready?" Bob called out from your living room. Bob's nickname of your callsign (Honey) always brought a smile to your face, as well as heat to your cheeks.

"Almost! Can I get your thoughts on this top?" You asked as you walked in.

"Yeah, I'm sure you look-oh." Bob's eyes widened as he took in the green top you were wearing.

It was tighter than the shirts you normally wore, highlighting your breasts. The fabric stopped right at the end of your rib cage, showing off your stomach and bringing attention to your high waisted jeans, which according to Jake "did wonders for your ass".

"What do you think?" You clasped your hands together, the action causing your breasts to stick out even further.

"Um the uh, the color is really great on you. B-brings out your eyes," Bob said, his eyes looking everywhere except you.

With the way his cheeks were bright red, it gave you confidence to step forward, your body now inches away from his, "I was hoping it would bring out something else besides my eyes Robby."

"I mean you you look great in everything you wear! So mission accomplished," Bob said quickly, his hands fidgeting with his car keys.

"Anything else you want to say about the outfit Robby? I really value your opinion." You stood on the tips of your toes, bringing your chest closer to Bob's face.

It was the first time since you walked in that his eyes landed on your chest. He cleared his throat, as if he was gathering up the courage to say it.

"You should grab a jacket, it's supposed to go down to the low sixties tonight," He said, turning around to head out the door.

God damn it.

You grabbed your phone, quickly texting the group.

Honey: We need to go to Plan C.

Rooster: Plan C?! You're saying the top didn't work?

Bagman: Dude, your tits were like out.

Rooster: Maybe they weren't out enough?

Coyote: If they were out any more, Honey would be getting a public indecency charge.

Phoenix: Maybe we shouldn't use clothes to express our feelings? Just a thought 🤦🏽

Fanboy: Yeah Nat, that's plan C.

Payback: Can we not blow up the group chat tonight? The finale of Insecure is on.

Your right leg bounced up and down in nervous anticipation, your eyes never leaving the entrance to the Hard Deck.

"You don't think this is too much, is it?" You asked your friends/coworkers.

"Nah, it'll be perfect!" Mickey reassured you.

"You and Bob are going to walk out of here holding hands by the end of the night, guarantee it," Jake commented as he lined up the balls for a round of pool.

It took all your strength not to jump out of your seat when you saw Bob walk in. His iridescent blue eyes scanned the room, landing on you. He always seemed to search for you, which had to be a sign that he wanted more, that he felt the same way as you did.

You greeted him with a smile, patting the empty seat next to him.

"Hey Robby! I got something for you!" You called out.

Bob just smiled as he sat down, "I see you got my signature: water and peanuts. Thanks Bee!"

You giggled, shaking your head, "Yes, but that's not just it. These are for you!"

Bob stared at the bouquet of flowers you were holding out for him.

"For me? These are for me?" He asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Yes! I was just thinking, like why is giving guys flowers not a thing? Because it totally should be! And no one deserves these flowers more than you Robby," You explained, a hopeful smile adorning your face.

Bob gently took the bouquet, admiring each flower.

"I thought they would go well with your eyes-that's why a most of them are yellow," you explained, trying to hide how nervous you were.

"These are perfect," Bob said before leaning down to smell the flowers.

"Really? Each flower has a different meaning," you began, hoping that by fidgeting with your hands, you'd be able to conceal your nerves.

Bob simply smiled, his face the epitome of saccharine, "Oh, I already know."

Your breath hitched, "You do?"

Bob nodded, "Oh yeah! Alstroemerias symbolize support, sunflowers are for loyalty, and violets stand for intuition!"

He wasn't wrong. You couldn't tell if you were upset by that or the fact that Mickey forgot flowers can have more than one meaning.

Time for Plan D.

"Hey Robby! You ready to watch hot people make poor decisions?"

"Ready as I'll ever-that's new," Bob said softly, taking in the new loungewear you had on for your biweekly Love Island watch.

"Oh this? I think I got it last week," you said as you let Bob into your apartment, "It's super comfy and it has pockets!"

It also was cut low, showing off your cleavage, as well as the tops of your thigh.

"Yeah, the uh, color looks really good on you Bee," Bob commented. The compliment brought a smile to your face. He noticed you, noticed you were wearing something new, and seemed to be noticing your now exposed skin.

"Well, let's go see if these folks gain any common sense," you grabbed his hand, practically beaming at how your hand fit perfectly in his.

"Somehow I doubt it," Bob chuckled.

When he offered to hold the popcorn for while you two watched, you weren't disappointed. Sure, it meant you weren't able to hold his hand. But it did mean you could move closer to him, your thighs practically touching.

"I really hope he doesn't take her back," Bob muttered, his eyes glued to the screen.

"He will. They always do," you sighed, gently moving your head so it rested against one of his broad shoulders.

If your action had any effect on Bob, he didn't show it. Which was the problem.

"I would pick you in the recoupling," You revealed, hoping that would be enough, would finally be enough.

Bob smiled, placing a hand on your knee, "That's kind of you Bee. But I think friendship couples go against the nature of the show."

It took everything in you not to scream.

The rest of the night was just a typical Love Island watch night, no touching, no initiating, no declarations of love, and ending with Bob giving you a friendly hug goodbye.

With a sigh, you flopped onto your bed to check your messages.

Bagman: Bee, please tell us it worked and you're marking sweet love to baby on board

Phoenix: you're disgusting Seresin.

Rooster: why would they stop fucking just to text you Bagman?

Bagman: so we can pop some champagne to celebrate

Fanboy: Why the fuck is would we do that?

Coyote: It's a big event! Bee told Bob how she feels AND Bob's getting laid!

Payback: Can I just get one night of peace? Just one night?

You: No one's doing anything bc it didn't work!

Rooster: Not trying to be rude, but weren't you like almost naked?

Bagman: Like 52% nude.

Phoenix: JFC, we're going to plan E folks.

Coyote: Is that when we just lock them in a closet?

Bagman: No that's plan G

"Hey Bee!"

The cheerful, charming voice always brought a smile to your face.

"Hi Robby!" You greeted him with a hug, the comforting scent of rosemary filling your nostrils, "You smell really nice."

"Oh um thanks," A hand flew to the back of Bob's neck, a nervous (and also adorable) habit, "Wanted to smell nice after doing all those pushups out in the sun."

"Well it worked, you smell great," One of your hands reached up to the nape of his neck, toying with the hair that had curled at the end, "Look great too."

The tops of Bob's cheeks were now a dusty pink, "It's just a white Tshirt."

You took a step forward, placing your hands on his chest, "It's a good look Robby. Shows off your muscles. I like it on you.

Bob's lips parted, then promptly closed.

"Uh, t-thanks Bee." He had to know now that you were flirting with him. It was clear as day.

Feeling confident, your hands trailed down to his, grasping them, "We should dance!"

You didn't wait for Bob to answer, dragging him out to the middle of the floor. The sounds of Bradley covering Frankie Valli (begrudgingly, as apparently Jerry Lee Lewis was better) filled the bar.

After a few minutes, Bob's shoulders visibly relaxed, a smile spreading across his face. You threw your head back laughing as he bust out a goofy dance move.

Everyone thought Bob was shy, but that wasn't the case. He was observant, determined to get a good read on someone so he knew how to approach the situation accordingly. Once he was comfortable, his personality shined and he was a sweet, goofy man who you adored with all your heart.

The grin you had was so wide, your cheeks were beginning to hurt. But you couldn't stop, not when he was twirling you around.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" You asked, having to say it into his ear so he could hear your voice above the music.

Bob shrugged, "I come from a big family. When you know you're going to a lot of weddings, knowing how to dance helps. That and my mom made me do cotillion."

"Well, all that practice paid off. You're a great dance partner Robby." You rested your chin against his broad chest, looking up to meet eyes bluer than the ocean.

In that moment, all you could do was focus on him. The way the corner of his eyes creased when he truly smiled, his comforting scent, his pink, thin lips that you were dying to feel on yours.

You wondered if he could hear your heart pounding, if he could feel it since your body was practically on his.

His hands found their way to your arms, gently placing themselves on your biceps. Was this it? It had to be.

So you stood on the tips of your toes, your lips now closer to his. Your eyes began to close as you leaned in to-

"I gotta go. Jake stuck his foot in his mouth again."

This wasn't a lie. But it still didn't dull your disappointment. Nor did it sedate your growing frustration at this whole situation.

Perhaps you didn't need Plan G or H Perhaps it was time to go with your original plan.

The next time you saw Bob was when Nat threw a small get together to celebrate the end of a long week.

He was wearing that damn white Tshirt again. Whenever he brought his cup of water to his mouth, the fabric stretched across his bicep.

Was he doing this on purpose? Did he know? Consciously or not, that you had fallen for him ever since you two first met at training?

Either way, you were tired of this game you had been playing for the past month.

"Are you sure about this?" Natasha asked.

You simply nodded before taking a shot of vodka. A little liquid courage was always nice.

"Nat, he's oblivious. Honestly, I don't know why we didn't do this the first time," Jake commented as he took the shot glass out of your hand.

"Because we didn't expect him to be that oblivious," Mickey countered.

"Well everyone, wish me luck." You walked out of the kitchen to find Bob still sitting on the couch, glass of water in hand.

His eyes met yours and he gave you a smile sweeter than honey. Your legs began to wobble, whether it was from that smile or your nerves, you couldn't say.

You walked over, making a beeline for him. Bob's eyes widened, his fingers gripping his cup. Your gaze was so intense.

"Hey Bee-oh!" Bob froze as you sat down in his lap, your thighs straddling his lithe hips.

"Hey Robby," your hands found his shoulders, fingers toying with the thin cotton fabric of his shirt.

"Uh Bee, there's um, there's a seat right there," Bob weakly pointed to the empty space next to him.

"I don't want that," you leaned forward, your forehead grazing his, "I want you Robby."

His eyes widened once more, as if he just saw an incoming train, "M-me?"

"Yes. Wanted you ever since that first day of training, when you offered me a mint," you told him.

"I uh, you looked sleepy and mint is known to wake you up and," Bob paused, "Did you say since the first day of training?"

You nodded, smiling at how you were able to see him process this information.

"The first day of training?" He repeated.

"Yes Bob, all you did was offer me a mint and smile to make me fall head over heels for ya," your fingers now went up to the back of his neck, twirling the curled ends of his hair, "Been trying to tell you that for the last month."

Bob opened his mouth, then promptly closed it, his brain still processing everything.

"You good Rob-" You never got to finish your sentence, as Bob decided right then was the best time to press his lips against yours.

His lips were soft and tasted faintly of vanilla, no doubt from the chapstick you watched him reapply. His touch was gentle, his thick fingers ghosting over your thighs, trailing up to your waist. Every move, no matter how small, made your heart fluttered.

Being so close to him, you could smell his aftershave, a mix of eucalyptus and sage. It was intoxicating and you wanted to be surrounded by it all the time, wanted to kiss him all the time.

When he broke away for air, you had to hold back a whimper, your lips desperate for more.

"FINALLY!"

You turned your head to find Bradley, along with Mickey, Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Reuben standing by the doorframe, in perfect view of you and Bob.

You smiled and opened your mouth, ready to make a quick remark. But Bob's fingers hooked underneath your chin, turning your head back to meet his lips again.

Unlike the first kiss, this one was bolder. His lips moved against yours with more confidence. Your whole body felt warm, as if you were floating. His hands now cupped your jawline, which is how you learned that Bob's hands practically covered your whole neck, a discovery that sent you reeling.

Your hands trailed up to his head, desperate to feel his sun kissed locks, desperate to find out if they were as soft as they looked. But just before you could, Bob broke away.

"What?" Anxiety came rushing back, dragging you away from Cloud Nine, your previous location. Did he regret it?

"Let's go."

He moved your body to the empty space on the couch, quickly getting up. You took his hands, allowing him to help you get up. You held onto one hand as he led you to the front door.

"Bob! What are you doing with my backseater?" Javy called out.

"Making up for lost time!"

Maybe you should be a little embarrassed. But how could you? You had finally kissed the man of your dreams, he kissed you back. He wanted to leave with you.

The sounds of the house party fainted, becoming soft background noise as you went outside.

Bob stopped, turning around to face you. Before you could get out a sound, his lips were on you again. His hands pulled your body to his, closing the gap in-between.

You couldn't help but moan when you felt his tongue slide against your bottom lip, immediately granting him entrance. You could hear Bob's breath hitch, his hands roaming across your body, touching your soft skin.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you desperate for more.

"Why do you keep doing that?!"

"I...." His face was flushed, "I meant to ask you if if you drove yourself here. But you looked so kissable. You still do, God I just wanna kiss you again."

"I'm not stopping you Robby," you grinned, stepping towards him, "I'm not stopping you at all."

"Oh don't tell me that darlin'" his Midwestern upbringing laced his words. You always loved his accent, having found it not just unique but also comforting.

Somehow, despite his lips pressed against yours, Bob was able to walk you back to his car, your back meeting the cool metal.

His broad body draped over yours, his tongue frantically exploring your mouth. Your fingers reached up, grasping his hair. It was soft and much thicker than you expected.

What else was there about Bob you had yet to learn? What kind of toothpaste he used, if he drank tea or coffee in the morning. Did he fall asleep to rain sounds or silence? How many pillows were on his bed?

You wanted to know everything.

But right now, you just wanted to kiss Bob.

Your fingers tugged on his hair in an attempt to pull him closer to you. Despite his chest being pressed against yours, it wasn't enough. You wanted all of him.

"We should get in the car," He said, voice breathless. With the way his chest was rising, one would think he had just ran ten miles.

Bob began moving towards the driver's side of his truck, but he stopped, turning back to you.

"I want to take you home," He stated. It sounded like a confession with the way guilt laced his eyes.

"I would love that Robby."

Instead, he just shook his head, "But I shouldn't because you deserve more than that. You deserve a nice date, like that Italian restaurant we always pass when we go to Bradley's. You deserve that and flowers and a lovely dinner with candles and wine that's older than both of us-"

You cut him off by gently pecking his lips, "It's okay Bob. You could take me to that diner up the room from your place tomorrow morning and I'd be elated because I would be with you."

He shook his head, clearly torn between continuing to talk and continuing to kiss you, "But....it's the least I should do. I mean, after all the hints you were dropping. I thought you were just being friendly and-"

"What friend asks another friend to look at their chest?" You asked incredulously.

"I thought maybe we were just really close! That you were really comfortable around me, which is why I didn't think anything regarding what you wore when we watched Love Island. I mean," his face reddened, "I did think about it. Um I thought about it a lot and if you ever want to wear it again, I would not mind-"

"Bob," you stepped forward, placing your hands on his chest.

"I mean, you got me Violets! Those mean loyalty and devotion, as well as delicate love! And believe me I wanted to kiss you at the Hard Deck, but that is entirely Jake's fault-"

"As most things are."

"And looking back it was so obvious and I can't believe I didn't pick up on it," He paused, "Sorry, I I had to get that out. I can take you home or back to my place, whatever you want."

You giggled, delighted by his ramblings. You wanted to hear more of it.

"And now I just want to kiss you. Like all the time," He confessed, his lips moving closer to yours.

"Robby, get in the car," you instructed.

"Oh, um, okay," Bob unlocked his car, moving towards the driver seat.

"No Bob. Get in the back of the car," you instructed.

Bob's brows knitted together in confusion, "But then how will I drive-oh!"

Who knows if you were going to make it back to his place or yours. All you cared about was getting your lips and hands back on Bob Floyd.

[writing-until-i-drop]

First Time | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader | wc: 2,226

No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings! Oral (fem receiving), unprotect p in v (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, mentions of rough oral (male receiving), lmk if I missed anything

Ao3

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

You picked at your nail beds, anxiously waiting for the familiar blue Bronco to pull into the parking lot. You had been on a blind date from hell, arranged by one of your well-meaning co-workers. The guy had been late, flirted with the waitress, had ordered for you, and worst of all, had gotten your name wrong twice. Well, maybe that wasn’t the worst part but after the rest of the night, it had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

You had excused yourself to the bathroom once the bill came out and called Bradley, begging him to come get you. Now, you were behind the restaurant, hoping your date didn’t come looking for you. 

“Thank God,” You sighed, rushing to the Bronco. Bradley scolded you for not waiting until he was in park but his whining stopped when you launched yourself across the bench seat at him. He gathered you in his arms without hesitation. 

“I've got you, honey,” Bradley whispered into your hair. You thought you felt him press a kiss to your temple but the feeling was so fleeting you couldn't be sure.

“I'm never going on a blind date ever again,” You whined. Bradley chuckled, rubbing your back. He hadn't been too keen on you going out with a stranger in the first place, making his displeasure known but also acknowledging that you were a grown woman who could do as you pleased. It annoyed a part of you that he didn't try harder to stop you. 

“You know I hate to see you sad, honey. What can I do to make tonight better?” Fuck me? Your first thought was not a viable response and you knew it. You and Bradley were destined to be really good friends, the type of friends others looked at and assumed there was something more. You would and had denied it in the past but secretly…secretly you were in love with your best friend. 

How could you not be? He was handsome, kind, attentive, and his mustache? You had cried the time Jake and Javy had convinced him to shave it and were inconsolable until it grew back a few months later. 

“Can we have a movie night at your place? And get pizza?” 

“Food wasn't good?” Bradley reached around you, buckling the middle seat belt over your lap. He normally insisted that you sit in the passenger seat, since it had the cross-body seat belt, going on and on about your safety.

But tonight, he didn't mention it, he also didn't mention what he was thinking when he draped his arm over your shoulders after switching into gear. Not willing to look a gifted horse in the mouth, you rested your head on his shoulder. 

“He ordered for me without even asking and it was awful, Lee.” His fingers, which had been tracing patterns on the exposed skin of your arm, froze when you used the nickname.

Normally you just called him by his first name and occasionally his callsign. The one time you had addressed him by rank and he fell down Mav’s front porch steps, which had given you enough reason to never do that again. Even if Bradley had promised that the two incidents were unrelated. 

“I'm sorry, honey.” 

“No you're not,” You rolled your eyes. “You didn't even want me to go on this date in the first place.” Bradley sighed. 

“Was I happy that you were meeting a strange man? No. But I also would never wish for you to have a bad night, so, yes, honey. I'm sorry.”

“God, I wish I could clone you,” You mumbled softly. 

“What was that, honey?” 

“Nothing.” 

When you got back to Bradley’s place the first order of business was getting out of your dress and heels. 

“I’ll order the pizza,” Bradley said, offering you a pair of sweats and one of his tee shirts.

“I thought we went over how ordering for a woman is a bad thing,” You teased and Bradley rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well unlike that douchebag, I know exactly what you like.” This time, it was impossible to miss the kiss on the temple that turned your cheeks pink. “There’s makeup remover in the bathroom.” 

“Pick a movie, I’ll be down in a minute,” You squeezed his forearm, moving past him into the bathroom. In the medicine cabinet was your brand of makeup remover and it made your stomach twist with butterflies, of course Bradley had your brand, he must have seen it when he visited your apartment. But why was it in his medicine cabinet and not stored away? It was like he was expecting you to be there, looking through his cabinets for it.

Once changed, you went downstairs. Bradley was sprawled out on his sofa, sipping on a beer, your favorite drink was waiting for you on the coffee table. You paused at the base of the stairs, taking in the sight before you. It was everything you wanted but didn’t think you could have. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, honey?” Bradley held out a hand, beckoning your forwards. You moved without thinking, letting him pull you on the couch beside him.

“Just thinking,” You answered noncommittally. Rooster chuckled, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“What are you thinking?”  Did you take a chance? Did you run this risk of ruining the relationship that meant the most to you?

“Nothing,” You muttered, moving out from his immediate grasp. Bradley didn’t let you get far though, pulling you back to his side. “Bradley.” 

“Does this have something to do with you wanting to clone me?” So he had heard that, you groaned, which was answer enough for him. “What about me isn’t enough that you want two of me?” 

“That you don’t want to sleep with me,” The answer tumbled out before you could stop it. You went to pull away again but Bradley stopped you, moving you onto his lap, reminding you just how strong he was. “Lee, I-” 

“You don’t need a clone to have that,” Bradley’s eyes were molten, staring into yours with an intensity that you had never experienced before. His grip on your hips tightened when you didn’t say anything, “I’ve been crazy about you for a long time. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

You closed the gap, pressing your lips against his in a soft kiss. Bradley didn’t waste time, kissing you back with a desperate need, one hand slipping beneath your shirt, pressing against your back gently.

You arched into him, letting him deepen the kiss. Kissing Bradley was like having a roman candle explode inside your chest. Explosions and excitement shooting through you as he buried his other hand in your hair.

You tugged at his hair, relishing the loud moan he gave. Your hips ground down, feeling exactly why they called him Rooster. Bradley pulled back, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pulling moans and whines from you.

“Still think you need a clone to get the job done?” He nipped at your pulse, “All you have to do is ask, I’ll give you anything you want.” You tugged at his shirt, Bradley chuckled. “Talk to me, honey.” 

“I want you to fuck me, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” You saw the moment when Bradley’s brain stopped working. He blinked a few times, swollen lips parting in surprise. “Then I want you to tell me how you know what makeup remover I use.”  

“Can you say that again for me, baby?” You giggled, pulling off your shirt.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, I want you to fuck me.” Bradley groaned, pulling you in for another kiss. This time it was harsh, all teeth and tongues, noses knocking against each other. He shifted you onto your back, settling between your legs. “Lee,” You moaned as he palmed your breasts roughly.

“Love it when you call me that,” Bradley pulled at your sweats and you lifted your hips to help. You giggled as they went flying across the room, “No one else calls me that.” 

“Good,” You moaned, hands threading into his hair as he kissed down your chest.

“How attached are you to your bra?” He asked, tugging at the flimsy straps.

“The bra’s expensive,” You undid the clasp yourself, tossing it towards your sweats. “Panties aren’t.” The sound of ripping fabric filled the room but your protests were non-existent as he began lavishing your breasts with attention, licking, sucking, and biting both of them until you were a squirming mess.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” He kissed his way down your stomach. “And all mine. All fucking mine.”

“Lee,” You cried out when he licked you without hesitation. Bradley ate your pussy like a dying man, his mustache brushing against your sensitive clit. “If you ever,” You grunted as he slid a thick finger into you. “Shave your mustache again, I’ll key your Bronco.”

Bradley’s response was to double his efforts, adding a second finger, scissoring them to open you up for him. You felt your orgasm building, the coil in your stomach tightening painfully so.

“Come for me, baby.” He sucked your clit hard, the coil snapping as the orgasm washed over you. 

“Lee,” You moaned, vision going fuzzy. Your legs tightened around his head but Bradley didn’t slow down, elongating your orgasm until another one caught you off guard. 

“All fucking mine, baby.” Bradley gave you one last lick then kissed you, giving you a taste for yourself that had you moaning into his mouth. You barely heard the loud knock at the door, Bradley grabbed a blanket and covered you. “Stay covered, I don’t share.” 

“Noted,” You sighed, exhausted from two back-to-back orgasms.

Bradley quickly paid the man and abandoned the pizza in the kitchen, he scooped you into his arms. “What are you doing?” 

“Following orders,” Bradley grunted, squeezing your ass. He kicked his bedroom door shut behind you, placing you on the bed. “You think you’re ready for me, baby?” 

“If you don’t fuck me, Lee, I’m calling Hangman.” Bradley growled, pulling off his sweats and boxers in one go. You gulped, he was huge. 

“What did I just say about sharing?” 

“You might have to remind me,” Bradley was on you in an instant, kissing you hard until you were dying for air. “Bradley,” You scratched his back.

“What don’t I do, baby?” 

“Fuck me, apparently,” He bit down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pulling a load moan from you.

“Keep it up with, baby, one of these days I’ll fuck your mouth until you pass out.” Your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought of it, “Now, who’s the only one who gets to touch you like this.” 

“You,” You pulled him in for a kiss. “Now, please, please, please, fuck me, Lee.” 

“Condom?” You shook your head,

“Clean and on birth control. You?” 

“I’m clean,” You felt him notch himself at your entrance. “Ready?” You shifted your hips upwards, urging him to hurry up. “Words, baby.”

“‘Ready.” He pushed forward, his thick cock stretching you out until you were gasping and whining his name with every inch he gave you.

“Halfway there, baby.” Halfway? You groaned, digging your fingers into the sheets.

“Fuck, Lee, you’re huge,” Bradley chuckled, distracting you from the pain by playing with your nipples. He stilled when he bottomed out, giving you time to adjust. You felt so full of him and of pleasure, you knew it would only get better once he started to move.

“How do you want this to go, honey? You’re in control here,” You settled your hands on his broad shoulders, squeezing his strong muscles.

“Ruin me, Lee. We can do it slow and sweet after dinner,” He gave you a peck on the lips.

“Whatever you want.” He pulled back then snapped his hips forward, hitting a spot that had you crying out. He pace was relentless and exactly what you wanted, Bradley fucked you into the bed like a man possessed. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Squeezing my cock like a good girl,” You squeezed around him. “You like that, huh? You like being my good girl? Words, baby.”

“Yes, shit,” You scratched your nails down his back. “I’m your good girl, just don’t stop.” 

“Give me one more, baby,” His calloused fingers set a quick pace, rubbing your abused clit until you were screaming. “That’s it, come for me.” Your third orgasm hit you harder than the two before it, incoherent babbles spilling from your lips. “Think you can give me another?”

“No, no, no,” You whined but when he pulled his hand back you forced it back down. Bradley chuckled, happily working you up again.

“We’re going to have to work on your communication skills, baby,” You kissed him, nipping at his bottom lip. Bradley’s thrusts became erratic, he was close. “Come on my cock while I fill you up, baby.” That was all it took, you came and Bradley followed right behind you, spilling inside of you. 

“I think,” You panted as Bradley all but collapsed on top of you, “I think you broke me.” He chuckled, kissing your face all over as he shifted off of you, pulling you both onto your sides.

“How does a bath sound?” 

“Pizza first.” His stomach rumbled in agreement,

“Whatever you want, baby.”

a/n: this fic got away with me, it was supposed to stop when the pizza got there

Want to join the taglist? Just ask!

Taglist: @wanderingsoul6261 @halflifejess @kyemna @alipap3 @yutangwl @teacupsandtopgun @glenpowellluver @closetspngirl @that-one-fangirl69 @starshinegrl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @shanimallina87

[cyberrose2001]

Under Pressure

MTMTE Rodimus x Reader

GRAHH SURPRISE!!!!

Relic and I have been... discussing... very hard about an ask they got a couple days ago so I wrote this eheh (THANK YOU FOR DISCUSSING THIS WITH ME AND LETTING ME WRITE THIS ILY)

Also please yell at me if I forgot any warnings!

Loosely based of this ask over on @callsign-relic's blog

Warnings: Human reader, Giant/Tiny, Dub-Con(?), Nocturnal emission, Crack fic(?)

Word count: 1,887

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Rodimus denies it every time, but he's a heavy sleeper. He snores like a congested rhino; he constantly sets twelve alarms that only barely stir him from his slumber. Despite being captain of the ship, his sleep schedule is far from tip-top shape.

And no, you're not a stalker. You're just Rodimus' observant little 'pet' human, always there, with a California king on his bedside dresser. Yeah, you're treated like royalty by an incredibly hard-to-deny hot alien robot.

So, as the ship ventured further into deep space and the nights got colder, you whined and begged to stay with him.

Rodimus was very hesitant to let you join him in the berth. As much as he cared about you and would kill an army for you, he didn't want to accidentally kill you, which was very much a possibility in any scenario on this ship. But he caved. You had mastered the sad, wet cat look, and Rodimus had the willpower of a rock.

Relishing in victory, you're curled up comfortably against Rodimus' lower plating for the third consecutive night in a row, warmed by the large servo of a sleeping giant. The entire palm of his hand covers your back in subconscious protection, and every so often, you feel a twitch of one digit. It's tranquility and a rare comfort, the touch of another you haven't felt since being on earth.

Until he rolls over.

Rodimus, choking on his snores, flips over onto his stomach and nearly tosses you off the berth if not for the grip he has on you. Despite almost winding you and making an audible 'Oof' sound, he doesn't wake up, his unconscious body assuming another comfortable position.

It takes you a few moments to register what the fuck just happened, but you realise that you're now underneath Rodimus. Almost his entire body weight is now pressed against you and pins you to the berth.

Oh god, you think to yourself.

This is less than ideal; this was not supposed to happen. How the hell are you, a tiny ass human, supposed to get out from under him? You probably shouldn't even be alive right now with how restricted your breathing is, not to mention how hard he flopped on top of you. But thankfully, with how Rodimus' legs have fallen into position, it leaves you with just enough room for your chest to rise and fall.

"God." You whine, muffled as your cheeks squish against his abdominal plating.

Your mind runs wild as you try to think of a way out. Maybe he'll just roll over again soon? God, you hope so; you can handle only so much weight, and Rodimus feels like he could hold down a cargo ship. Probably because he can.

But until then, however long that may be, you need to try something at least.

"Rodimus?" You try to wiggle but to no avail. He has you pinned pinned, and you use what little breath you have to yell out to him, "Hello? Are you awake or what?"

A loud, seemingly exaggerated snore replies to you. He's still deep in recharge, ruining any chance you have of waking him up yourself. You try to use your nails to scratch the surface of his frame, hoping it would tickle him or something, but that doesn't work either.

"Great." You roll your eyes, only you would ever end up in this type of situation. If only you had listened to Rodimus when he first said no, then you wouldn't be currently experiencing a near death experi-

"Y/n..." Rodimus' hoarse voice crackles above you, sending vibrations through your bones.

"Oh, thank god," You sigh in relief. You attempt to wiggle around some more, hoping to get his attention this time, "Listen, can you get off me now? This kinda hur-"

You squeak softly in pain as his sharp pelvis presses against you, and you hear your name again. This time, though, the tone of his voice came out as a whine, like a soft plea.

Because of where you were positioned before you became a pea under a princess' tower of mattresses, Rodimus' lower panels rested right against your stomach. This means you can feel his panels start to bulge slightly.

Oh no, you think to yourself bleakly once again. You're not sure how similar Cybertronian anatomy is to humans, apart from a crude explanation by an engex drunk Swerve. Still, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're feeling him getting hard. Putting two-and-two together using two out of the five senses, you've realised that Rodimus is nearly boner deep in a wet dream.

And not to assume, but you're thinking that the star of the show is you.

It's also the wrong time to cackle to yourself about getting crushed by your crush.

You might have some issues to work out after with Rung.

"Oh fuck," You reasonably panic, trying to push against his heavy frame weakly with your pinned arms, "Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck-"

You start to thrash against Rodimus when your arms fail, your tiny body rubbing up against him. This doesn't help at all, you've come to realise but actually digs you in a deeper hole as he begins to rock his pelvis into you.

Rodimus moans your name again as he sleepily grinds against you. Whatever he's dreaming of, it must be an insanely hot pornographic fantasy of you. The bulge grows bigger, pining you down further into the berth. He shutters and lets out a soft groan before his plating shifts, and you feel a very thick, very hard, and very hot object slide up against you.

Oh god, it's his dick.

Swerve might not have told you all the details, but he seemed to conveniently leave out how fucking huge Cybertronian cocks are.

As if you thought this couldn't get any more debilitating, you now have the head of Rodimus' spike pressing against your face. It's as if the Alaskan bull worm had slithered up between yourself and Rodimus to give you a kiss. The behemoth of baggage has already started leaking what you would believe would be the Cybertronian equivalent to pre-cum, smearing all across your face.

At this significant turn of events, you've realised you have come to a crossroads.

Either struggle and continue to wiggle and wrangle your way out from under him, but risk pleasuring him, whether or not he could feel you squirming against him anyway with how small you are compared to it. Or, the more realistic and obtainable outcome, lie still and take it until he wakes up from an orgasm.

Who are you kidding? You don't have much of a choice at all. Both options risk you drowning in alien robot cum. It's wishful thinking as Rodimus starts to rut against your entire body again.

"Y/n..." He whimpers again, though very garbled and unintelligible. Every roll of his hips causes more pre-cum to dribble against your face and down your chest, and with each, it spreads all around in between yourself and his train-sized spike. Making an absolute mess of you.

If you weren't getting humped up against right now, you would indeed find a way to kill him for ruining your only set of pajamas.

"Rodimus-" You gag as a spurt of pre-cum falls into your mouth, "Guh- Rodimus stop-"

His work of venting increases, and so does his rutting. The comatose mech gasps and hitches his breath, oblivious to your cries and pleas for him to stop. He pushes up against you in heated desperation, fucking into your soft body like a grind pad.

"Rodimus! Wake the fuck up!" You start to heat up yourself; the increased pressure and friction of his plating will give you a fucked up version of carpet burn if he doesn't wake up. Sweat drips from your skin, adding even more lubricant to his incessant grinding.

"Wha- Oh, Primus!" Rodimus rears his drool-covered helm and cries out in equal confusion and unrestrained pleasure. He's woken up by his overload as he shoots his load up against you, flooding the minimal empty space left between you both with hot transfluid.

"Oh god-" You couldn't close your mouth in time when a spurt of transfluid hit you in the face, causing you to cough and spit it back out, only for more to splat you in the face.

Rodimus moans tiredly, shuttering violently as his spike pulses and leaks the remainder of his overload against the berth.

Or what he thought was the berth. Since when did he use a self-service mod on his spike? Especially when he shares a room with-

"Hey!" Cough, "Are you done?"

His optics slam open in horrific realisation.

"Oh no," Rodimus rolls over onto his back, his softened wet spike flopping against his abdominal plating, "Oh no, no, no..."

He looks down where he once lay, and his face plates flush a bright blue. Laying in a puddle of his transfluids was you, his little human, sopping wet with a highly unimpressed look on your tiny face.

"Oh Primus, Y/n," Rodimus scoops you up in his servos, gently tossing you from hand to hand as he wrings them off his transfluids, "I am so sorry, I- frag what was I thinking!" Rodimus babbles and holds you to his face, "Are you okay? God, I'm so stupid-"

"Ughh," You lay limply in his palm, exhausted and out of breath, "After that... I don't know anymore."

Rodimus hides his blush with a servo before pinching the bridge of his nose, "I'm glad you're okay, but what were you doing down there?"

"Great question," You lift your head up to deadpan him, then eventually drag yourself to sit up. Sticky, pink transfluid drips down your body. Your face, and hair, are all drenched in him, "It's not like you rolled over in your sleep and had me pinned for nearly half an hour. What the hell?"

Rodimus blinks, and his face turns a deeper shade of blue as he rubs the back of his neck, "Oh, so that's why I had that dream about you..."

Is he serious right now?

"Oh, you think?" You wipe your lip when it starts to drip into your mouth, "I think I could tell when you started moaning my name in your sleep."

"Well, you're just so tiny and soft and-" The red and yellow mech bites the knuckles of the servo not holding you in embarrassment. "But what was I supposed to do, huh? Hold it in?"

God, he is.

"I'm literally gonna kill you, Rodimus." You shiver, his transfluids cooling against your skin. You can't believe he dares to look you in the eye, "I am never begging to nap with you ever again, or maybe at least warn me next time."

"No offense taken," Rodimus nods in agreement for once, watching you wring your hair out, "I'm sorry, Y/n, I really am. I can help clean you up? As a sincere apology from yours truly?"

"As long as I don't come into contact with more of this stuff," You flick a bead of transfluid off your finger into his direction, "And you better be sorry, or it'll be a long time before I might actually let you fuck me."

"Wait, you'll what-" Splat, "EWUGH!!"

[tojisun]

you're breaking my heart with him who we love and i absolutely adore it!!!! (っ◔︣◡◔᷅)っ ❤

may i ask what johnny (and maybe even simon?) would do if reader - after feeling left out for so long - finally decided to move on and/or find someone else? maybe she gravitated towards kyle and/or john bc they’re sweet and gentle with her and her affection is finally being reciprocated?

and please feel free to ignore this if it doesn't interest you. no pressure at all!

ohn my god no bc im so so glad so many of u are brainrotting w me again about 'him who we love' <33 i could not stop thinking about it on our way home yesterday

!! vague descriptions of an injury and an attack; mentioned callsign for reader but its not important!!; and its so so rambly so do forgive me ): // divider by @/plutism <3

id love to see this happen after that mission mishap with simon and the reader. it takes an explosion; an acrid burn peeling his flesh from his back and you sewing him together with such vitriolic desperation that ghost almost, almost, felt bad for the way he’s treated you; and an apology murmured from the softest lips he’s never really noticed for simon to—

feel his chest twinge.

the denial sits on the tip of his tongue, razor-sharp and blisteringly sour. it waxes, and simon heaves from something more than the pain burrowing deep into his being. he trembles from something that isn’t the agony he feels for returning to johnny as more of a ruined man who is unable to bury the fear of anything that is set ablazed.

(he remembered the day when he finally came to, groggy eyes peeling open before snagging a fracture of liquid orange—fire, his mind screamed, pulsing because: i’m not gonna be able to come back—and lurching out of the bed only for his body to collapse, and he fell with a choked yell, pain blooming from all of his synapses almost like a beast coiled deep into the fabrics of his very existence.

you ran into the room, yelling his name, and something about the way your voice was so raw with worry and anguish, simon was able to calm down. almost like a part of him realized he was safe now, with you; like it knew that you wouldn’t let anything happen to him, not then and not ever.

while you helped him back on the bed, he turned his head to try and see what it was that set him off—

simon’s breath hitched, his eyes straining as a lump lodged itself into his throat because it was—

the fire was—

it wasn’t fire.

there, bouncing off a glass vase, were serpentine rays of the afternoon sun rippling across the walls and bathing him in warm light.

“is there, uh, something you need?” you asked, trying not to hover but unable to truly leave him be.

simon swallowed, running his tongue on the back of his teeth, before murmuring, “shut the curtains.”

you turned to the windows, your brows furrowed, and simon clenched his teeth, bulldozing through the shame curling in the pit of his stomach and added, “please.”

you did what he asked without prodding, and simon swallowed down the rawness of his vulnerability, watching you with something pretty fluttering in his chest but he tried to stomp it down because—

he despises you, remember? so why…)

but the feeling bloats and simon spends the rest of the exfil in silence, watching you—he’s always been watching—but this time it’s without malice. instead, it’s with bubbling interest, pushing at the back of his mind, and rising ever so slightly like a tide.

he thinks of johnny, of the way mactavish had danced around the idea of something more with the three of you, and finds that he’s not too opposed to it anymore. instead, he looks forward to the change.

-

no sooner after the bird touches down on the base, price pulls you into his office. simon’s been wheeled into the sick bay and was stranded there, doctor’s orders, so he only learns about what happened later into the night when mactavish finds him, sorrow so heavily etched on his face.

“tavish?” he asks, ignoring the way his voice comes out as a croak. “what happened?”

“hyde’s gone,” johnny says, slumping into the seat beside simon’s bed and burrowing his head into his palms. “they apparently requested to be assigned somewhere else. cap’n won’t say where.”

“when?” he asks although simon can’t even feel himself move, his mind trying to reconcile the events that happened because there’s no way this occurred in the fly; not when, he remembers, you looked so resolute on the way back like you knew what was going to happen the moment you two returned.

like you had planned this for a while now—

“when’d they ask?”

johnny shifts, meeting his eyes, and simon’s heart crumbles at seeing the weight of johnny’s anguish painted on his face. he sniffles, and rasps out, “probably two months ago, s’what garrick said.”

two months ago—the same night when you managed to find a way to contact the base. the same night when simon’s realized what it must be that he feels for you.

(the same night when you’ve shyly asked him what about mactavish did he like.

“the six inches that you so intimately know,” he replied, cheeky and teasing.

you rolled your eyes, groaning at how disgusting he was, and he piped back how he’s a patient and has all rights to be as gross as he could.

you laughed, chucking a balled paper towel at him and simon remembers the way you looked so…at peace bantering with him that he couldn’t even fathom you were thinking of leaving.

what changed for you? what was it? why couldn’t you have waited—

why didn’t he realize sooner—

whywhywhy?)

notes: tbh i dont think hyde would gravitate towards price n gaz bc their affections for ghoap, particularly for ghost, was so intense. also, even before this ask ive always planned for hyde to leave. their feelings could potentially risk the team morale, which price even talked to them about in the prev works (mentioned in passing)!

[meowmeowriley]

Unhinged and unnecessary HC to rationalize the punk Ghost skin incoming!

It's not Ghost. Ta da! Listen. Listen. I understand. Ghost, being someone devoted to the crown, wouldn't wear the anarchy symbol. And if given the comic backstory (as I always will) Ghost most likely would hate punk music because of his father.

So why punk Ghost? It's not Ghost. It's his son. His and Johnny's. Maybe he's blood, maybe not. Doesn't really matter. They raised the boy. He's theirs. And he resents the crown and the military for how it broke his fathers. Maybe he lost them both, either together or at different times. Maybe they died in the field, or in the hospital due to complications from an injury they got on the job. Maybe they didn't even die, they were injured and dismissed and tossed aside like trash. Whatever the reason, he's angry.

So he joins up with some men who stand for everything his fathers didn't. Fuck their militaristic peace bullshit. It starts small, protests and parties mostly. But then as he finds himself getting closer with the others, he's asked to take part in some extracurriculars. Raids on police and military caravans. Harmless, he tells himself. Good even, they're preventing those in power from enforcing their tyranny, he rationalizes. Things get more radical the longer he's in. Things escalate. He's in too deep. They're a resistance group. They fight back. He looks back on the combat training his fathers pushed on him at a young age more fondly now, as it served him and his purposes well.

He doesn't see how he's exactly like his fathers, won't let himself. But he is. Just a man who follows orders and fights tooth and nail. But he does love his fathers. He misses them. He takes up Simon's mask and Johnny's hairstyle, incorporates them into his look. Makes them his own. An attempt to honor them, despite their different stances on how to do good.

A mission, he's stopped hating when they're referred to as missions a while ago, has himself and his team breaking into a military research facility to investigate and destroy what they found. A new weapon to hurt innocent people, he was sure. Except it wasn't, exactly.

Teleportation? Couldn't be real. He read the files with an air of disbelief. He was distracted, rookie mistake, a scientist gave him a shove, he fell into the teleporter. The man shouted something about finally having a human test subject and slapped his hand down on a button. A flash of blinding light enveloped him, and suddenly he found himself in a hallway. Disoriented, he walked about, trying to figure out where he was.

A man in a bucket hat rounded the corner ahead of him and stopped, looking him up and down with an exasperated sigh. "Ghost what the fuck are you wearing this time?" Ghost. His dad's callsign. This man thought he was his dad. What would his dad do in this situation.

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. That should do it. Thankfully his sleeves were down covering his tattoos. They were different from Simon's and could've given him away.

"Whatever. Come on then." The man kept walking and he did his best to imitate Simon's walk. His mind raced, an obvious military man thought he was his own dad was worrisome, as the old man was gone, and he needed to get away without arousing suspicion. He'd have to play along then.

That plan went tits up the second he followed the bucket hat man into a room and found himself face to face with his fathers. His fathers who were able bodied and young, same age as himself.

The teleporter hadn't just sent him somewhere else, but had sent him back in time as well.

Johnny roughly ripped off his mask and slammed him against the wall. "Who the FUCK are you?!" Simon menacingly slid a knife out of his sleeve and deftly twirled it around his fingers. Right. They weren't his dads yet, just the crowns attack dogs.

[paige1722]

So Much for a Safe House

Summary: You go on a mission with 141 and end up taking shelter in an abandoned building. The place is haunted, and you are all trapped inside; creepy things are happening. (Ghost of War-inspired)

Callsign: Spark because it was all I could think of.

Warnings: scares(?)

Also, this is my first fanfic since my one-direction days, so please be kind. 

Chapter One: Shelter

In the freezing weather, you and your team hiked through the thick pile of snow to make your way to the abandoned house at the top of the mountain. Soap recalled seeing it on your way to the supposed enemy weapons cache in the middle of nowhere that turned out to be a dead end. Though when you all tried to radio command about the false information that it turned out just to be an empty plot of land in the dense snow-ridden forest, was when it was discovered that all forms of communication were not working; Ghost even tried scaling a tree with impressive speed, to see if a signal could be found that way but to no luck. 

“A few miles back, there was a house that looked to be abandoned. We could make our way back to it and come up with a plan there instead of standing around waiting to get hypothermia or become somethings next meal,” said Soap, his voice mumbled through the mask he wore to protect himself from the cold, making his accent more difficult to decipher. 

 Seeing no other option and rather than freezing to death, Price agreed that the best course of action would be to rendezvous there and wait for further instruction from Laswell, whenever the radio wanted to start working properly again.  

That is how you found yourself trudging through the thick snow in below-freezing temperatures for what seemed like 20 miles, but in reality was more like two. Once the abandoned house came into view, did you try to break the silence beside the occasional curse, that had fallen over your task force. You decided to theorize about the abandoned, dilapidated house that you could see in the distance, which quite honestly looked more like an asylum than a house. 

“So, where do you think they hid the bodies? The basement or maybe inside the walls?” 

Soap let out a breathless laugh, slowing his step to fall into line beside you, “Oh, definitely in the walls. It is like a given, right, horror movie 101.” Throwing an arm around your shoulders, he pulled you into his side and lowered his voice to sound more menacing, “The real question is, Bonnie, this far out, no one would be able to hear you scream.” 

Feeling a shiver go down your spine at the creepy comment, you turned your head to face Soap, seeing the crinkle by his eyes as he was smiling like an idiot underneath his mask. 

Rolling your eyes, you pushed him away, scoffing, “You spend too much time online, go and touch some grass.”

“Alright, you two, that is enough. We won’t be there long; just need to regroup and wait for the exfil.” Huffed Price from behind you both. 

“Sorry, Captain. Just trying to lighten the mood and distract myself from the fact that my entire body is becoming a popsicle,” you muttered while rubbing your hands up and down your arms, trying to get some feeling back in them. 

Gaz nodded in agreement, “I don’t care what is in the walls or the basement. As long as I can make a fire and get out of this snow, I will be happy.” 

Walking up to the house's main doors, you could see the state of disrepair everything was in huge holes could be seen on the roof where snow was falling in, busted windows, and rotting wood on the steps and door. Price grabbed the door handle, using his body to force it open. The door swings open, nearly falling off its hinges. Quickly, Ghost and Gaz march inside to sweep the area. Standing in the main foyer of the house, you got a clear view of just how run down this place had become; gusts of wind from the busted-out windows and holes throughout the house made an unsettling groaning occur. From where you, Soap, and Price were standing, you noticed that this place was actually a lot smaller on the inside than it seemed on the outside. There were only three rooms downstairs; it looked like a kitchen, dining area, and a small living room with stairs leading up the second floor right in front of the door. The stairs looked warped, like one wrong step, and you would quickly find out if there was actually a basement here or not. All that could be heard were your teammate's heavy footsteps and the groaning of the wood. You walked over to peer into the rooms Ghost had already cleared. From what you could see, the entire place was bare, except for the dining room, that had a few old wooden chairs that would probably break if you tried sitting on them, and a small dinner table. The kitchen had cabinet drawers that were barely hanging on its hinges with spider webs and a thick coating of dust on the counters.

“All clear up here,” Yelled Gaz, as he made his way back down the stairs, carefully planning where to step next.

 “Clear, first floor. Guys, come check this out.” yelled Ghost from the living room on your left. Side-eyeing Price, you all turn to make your way to where Ghost is waiting. The first thing you noticed was a massive fireplace; running excitedly and throwing your gear down next to Ghost’s, you stuck your head into the fireplace and looked up the chimney. “Let's make a fire before I become one with the snow.” 

Grabbing your shoulder and pulling you out from the fireplace, “First, you got to get out of the fireplace, Spark. Also, we need to find something for firewood. See what you can find while I get this cleared out and ready.” Ghost ordered. 

Looking around the barren room you were all currently in and not seeing anything useful but a raggedy carpet on the floor and scraps of cardboard piled in the corner, you make your way into the dining room. Seeing the old wooden chairs that had seen better days, “This will do, but first..” you grab one of the chairs and proceed to break it into pieces to use for the fire, by throwing it to the ground with as much force as you can muster. 

“Epic,” you say as you stare at the chair which has broken into smaller pieces, which allows you to be able to stomp on it, creating small sticks of wood that would be perfect for the fireplace. Reaching down to pick up the pieces to bring back to Ghost, a small notebook catches your eye, peeking out from underneath the dining room table. Grabbing the small red notebook and running your hand over the raised symbol on the cover in the shape of what looks to be an upside-down cross with a ‘c’ shape on the bottom, turning the book over in your hands to open it when you hear Gaz yelling, “Have you found anything yet, Spark? It’s bloody freezing in here!” 

“Yeah, I’m coming!” you replied quickly, shoving the notebook in your pocket to look at later, grabbing the remains of the chair, and running back into the room with the rest of your team. Walking into the room, you see that Gaz has joined Ghost in preparing the fireplace while Soap and Price are trying to secure the window with pieces of what looked like cardboard and duct tape, probably trying to keep the cold out. Once you reach the fireplace, you place the scraps of the chair inside while Gaz gets out his case of emergency lighter, which he mainly carried around for when Price lost his and wanted a cigar. He lights the piece of fabric Ghost is holding out to him to use as a firestarter; he places the lit fabric in the base of the wood, and you hold your breath, hoping it works. Seeing the wood slowly start burning and letting off a warm glow, you release the breath and finally relax, sitting back on your knees. 

“That should about do it. It’s not perfect, but it should help with the wind and snow.” Price said while clapping Soap on the back, “Now lets see if we can figure out what to do about the radio.” 

They both made their way in front of the fire as well, where everyone was now huddled together, waiting to unthaw from the harsh weather. 

Pulling out the radio, Price tried once again to reach Laswell, “Laswell, you copy.” crackling static was the only thing that could be heard in response. He grabbed the knob and tried changing the channel to the emergency line, “Laswell, you copy.” again, nothing could be heard. Sighing, he continued messing with the radio as Gaz tried to help, trying different ideas to make it work. 

Ghost had pulled over the gear thrown down and was rummaging through it, pulling out MRE rations, emergency blankets, and first aid; he looked like he was taking inventory of all the supplies we had with us and creating plots for us to sleep. As you move to make yourself more comfortable in front of the growing flames, you feel the small red notebook in your pocket. 

Pulling it back out again, Soap looks over, “Aye, what do you got there?” 

“Hmm, some sort of diary, I guess I found it in the dining room when I was getting the wood. It has this weird symbol on it.” flipping open the book, you and Soap start going through the pages, seeing lots of frantic scribbling that neither of you could decipher and pictures of what looked like some sort of creature, who only got more gore-filled as you filled through. It was difficult to make out the writing, but on some of the pages, it seemed to be pleas for help about needing to make ‘it’ stop and go away. 

You and Soap share a nervous glance, flipping to a new page; you let out a gasp. On the page was what looked to be a warning, ‘there is no way out, it has them, I can hear their screams, I am next….. Don’t let it in.’ 

Turning to look at Soap, you could feel your blood run cold, and you knew your fear could be seen on your face. Soap laughs nervously, saying, “It’s probably just some silly story trying to scare us.” Nodding in agreement, you closed the book and placed it back in your pocket, turning back to face the now roaring fire. 

Trying to distract yourself from the creepy notes and pictures, you start listening to your team-mates talking idly amongst themselves; whether it be trying to fix the radio or the supplies, you slip into one of the spots Ghost created and close your eyes, trying to clear your mind and catch a few minutes of sleep hoping everything would be fixed when you woke up. 

Price released an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands up in the air, “I don’t know why the bloody thing isn’t working. It is like something is interfering with our signal.” He sets the radio down near the gear, Ghost had set out.

 He walked over to where Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were sitting. He looked over to where you were sleeping near the fire to keep warm; turning back to look at his teammates, he rubbed his face, saying, “It seems we will just have to wait out the weather and head to the exfil point then and hopefully will be able to radio Laswell. In the meantime, why don’t we follow in Spark’s footsteps and get some sleep.” 

Ghost grabbed his gun, placed it in his lap, and moved to sit in the corner between the window and fireplace, “I’ll take the first watch. We still don’t know what’s out there.” 

“Or what is in here,” mumbled Soap as he and the others made their way near where you were sleeping to find a spot for themselves. 

Gaz cleared his throat, turning to Ghost, “Yeah, well, anyways, I’ll take next watch. Wake me up in two hours.” he laid down, pulling his toboggan to cover his eyes. Soap and Price following in suit. 

After about an hour and a half of nothing happening except the occasional groan from the house settling, Ghost notices the radio Price had placed near the gear begin to static; thinking that it might be command trying to get into touch with them, he makes a move to go over to it, but before he could get near it. A piercing sound comes from the radio, like a shrieking noise. 

Everyone startles awake, “what the fuck is going on?” you exclaimed, all eyes turning to Ghost for an explanation. 

“Hell, if I know, it was dead silent a minute ago, and now the bloody thing won’t stop making that noise. Somebody turn it off.” 

Gaz reaches for the radio and flips the switch on it to turn it off. When the noise stopped, a thundering bang was heard from above you all. It was so loud that it shook the walls, causing dust to fall down.

 Ghost reaches for his gun, as does the rest of you. Pointing your weapons towards the door, waiting to see if you could hear anything else or if it was just a noise an old house makes in the middle of a snowstorm. From behind you all, you hear the radio, which you could have sworn Gaz just turned off begin to crackle with life. Slowly turning around to look at the noise, a voice comes from the radio: “It is here now.” A cold wind came down from the chimney, extinguishing the fire and plummeting the room into darkness. 

Chapter 2: Hunter's Moon

[jolalibrary]

post-mission

simon ghost riley x f!reader | cod: ghost masterlist

summary: what do you need? three letters, one word: you. aka the time you fuck ghost after a bad mission.

wordcount: 2k warnings: smut. like post-mission fucking, kind of smut. an: look, i blame replaying the mw2 (2022) campaign. but this has been rotting me and it could have died in the drafts or i could post it. the latter won.

It takes a bad mission for things to move from stares and almost touches into something else.

You're fucked up. Your skin aching from how you’ve tried to scrub yourself in the shower until the water cooled and your skin turned goose-pimpled. At least your brain feels empty. A blessing; a gift.

Exiting steam and dressing in fresher clothes as a shell of a person, dragging yourself for food, feigning normalcy, routine. Tiredness plays a part, on more sleep the outcome of the mission wouldn't eat away at you.

You still choose to not let it win, the what ifs and buts. Even if they're scraping out whatever sense you’d usually have. Leaving behind autopilot, allowing existing but with little purpose—feeling drained, yet wired.

Fork scratching at your plate, you shift the veggies and protein around as the dull grumble of conversation happens around you. Hearing your callsign, offering a smile. It's muted, but present.

You remind yourself present is at least good.

It's not until you leave your tray do you wonder if you've taken a bite, even if half of the food is gone and you can taste peppers on your tongue. A thing you mull over. Turn. Feet moving, shifting like an aimless figure down corridors until you’re stopped, halted. A gloved hand on your shoulder, turning you until you face the hulking figure you’d already suspected, but find confirmed.

He says your call sign before he whispers your name. Like it's a dirty secret. It makes you smirk.

You good? It's a simple question, one whispered in the quiet corridor. He follows up with another as though understanding. One all but offered, provided, a granted opportunity:

What do you need?

Ghost, or Simon, won’t share that he’s worried. But it’s there, hanging like fairy lights in his eyes. Just like he doesn’t say that he’s followed you, because the evidence is already stacked on that. But he burns the same question into you as he did when you disembarked from evac, as though you’d unspool all your answers. You didn’t then, wouldn’t now.

You’re not sure what you want, what you need.

But your chest is tight and your bones feel heavy. He reads you, must do, because his frame begins to cage, a hand on the wall making you nurse your lower lip between your teeth. On other days, you’d wish for this, for a moment alone, to push his buttons and watch his eyes shift in the slits of the fabric that shields his face.

“Jus’ tell me.”

Thoughts—thick and hurrying—flood. A reply, words that could, and maybe would string into a sentence bubble on your tongue, ones like: to have looked over the plan again, to have used a second of critical thinking—

But thick fingers take your chin, lift eyes to one’s shrouded in darkness—beacons of something, safety, a chance.

“Read your report.” You make a noise, before swallowing—feeling his gloved fingers skate further along your jaw. “Y’did good.”

It’s easier to snort, to try and dip your chin and fight his hold. Blink back tears and not appear weak and slide down the wall in front of him.

You know what you wrote, and you know what you thought. That it was an out-of-your-hands situation that you watched burn to the ground on your elbows and back. Shitty information, bad intel, it lucky that those who went in somehow came back alive, with limbs and stories. Pen scratching at the paper, anger infused between the nub and the words you cut into it.

“What do you need?”

Three letters, one word. It croaks out, important, weighted.

Unbeknown what corridor you are on, until he opens a door and you find yourself willingly shoved inside of it. Dark, eyes adjusting to outlines of things and furniture, but knowing it’s his. You can smell it.

Gunsmoke, tea leaves and earthiness.

Things which have clung when the two of you have stolen moments next to one another. When idle chatter became tinged flirting, when your eyes dragged themselves south of his face, lingered, fuelled by adrenaline, I think I could take it, Ghost. It was a crossed line, but his frame hadn’t moved from leaning against yours, stars twinkling above, the bellowing of the others inside. Knowing you, you’d die trying.

He wasn’t wrong, never is.

Always seeing, spotting—forever seeing you.

A thing that has made your hand dip between your underwear in the middle of the night, fingers not even close to the thickness of him as you sought pleasure, gratification. The scent of him having nestled into your nose months ago, in some bar in the middle of fuck knows, his elbows close to yours—a glass in your palm, one in his. The answer to his question acidic on your tongue: what makes you think I like you? The ice had clanged against the glass, staring, bolder than you’d been prior. Don’t see you undressing Gaz, Lt.

He’s undressing you now.

Removing every basic item on your skin until you’re naked and aiding him in the removal of his belt, of his issued trousers and the rest. The final is the balaclava, the thin one he wears on base. A thing you don’t motion for, but his hands guide you to, silent permission given. An offering of trust. A different kind of exchange—him needing secrecy from you, you needing this from him.

The terms are agreed upon as you slide it up past his chin, his mouth; you sign it non-verbally as you lift it up over his nose, before it’s over his forehead and in some corner.

A pause, a chance to back out—waiting, and waiting for him to tell you to get the fuck out.

It never comes. So you snake a hand around the back of his sweat-tacked neck and pull his mouth to yours.

You find that kissing him is like fighting a fire. Unpredictable, warm. Skin is licked and burning as he forces you flush against him, groaning, almost moaning into his mouth as he deepens it. As his tongue slides past your teeth and he takes as you give, and you take as he gives.

It’s not an exchange for pleasure, but control. A means to an end, a way to sign away your rights to him for exchange for gluttony.

“Wanna ruin you—“

“Fuckin’ do it then, Ghost.”

It’s a grunt, somewhere from the back of his throat. Deep, desperate, carnal and ravenous. He looms more until the back of your thighs connect with the bed, it creaking and protesting as the two of you fall down onto it, thighs spreading on instinct, cool air brushing over your already wet, slick wanting cunt.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You almost shy from it, his compliment. A thing you’d convinced he didn’t think, never mind feel. The only reason you don’t is due to the slither of light from between the curtains—off-white, dewy, likely from the moon. It slides in a line across his face, illuminating his eyes and the bridge of his nose, proving honesty, truthfulness and factualness.

No bullshit.

No more of him exposed, on show. As though the night is doing him a favour, granting him another semblance of privacy as your hand slides between your bodies, as you tease yourself, dip two fingers into your heat and whimper when his eyes follow where you’re touching. Your eyes are growing used to it, the surroundings, making out his outline and limbs moving, like his own arm moving for his hand to wrap around his cock. The slither of light slipping to his collarbone, to his broad chest—seeing the muscles ripple under his movements, the scars that tell a thousand stories.

“Thought you were—” Your slick-soaked fingers glide to swirl circles on your bundle of nerves. “—gonna ruin me, I‘ve not got all day.”

He emits a growl, low, almost inhuman and ruthless as he plants a palm down by your head, hinging back over you, hulking, dwarfed entirely by him.

As soon as his tip notches at your entrance, you feel you should gasp. Hold your breath. Still.

Instead, you nip at his jaw, push—all but insistently—until your lips part around a soundless moan. Each inch stretches you, forcing everything out of your skull except his name, the feel of him, how you want to claw at him to both bury himself to the hilt and go slower.

“Knew you could take me.”

You’re not sure if you curse in your head or out loud, air punched from your lungs. Distantly aware of the sheets under you, his arms caged on either side of you now, warm breath fanning over your neck and chin. But you just feel stretched, an ache blooming under it as you adjust, as you begin to will and want and crave for him to move.

“You thought about it, then?”

Your voice high-pitched, the question wrapped in a pant.

“Yeah, I have.”

And he moves without you even murmuring for him to do so—and each drag is bliss, luscious. Keeping your thighs spread, increasing the pace, making your skin ripple with each thrust as you arch against his sheets—as you grasp at his thick waist, as you grab for stability.

“This what you wanted?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

He snorts, loud, punchy. Hooking your knee over his hip as he leans over you, lips close to your own as he finds a new angle, discovers a new place that has you whining and pressing your palm to his cheek.

He fucks you as though his life depends on it, his body anchoring you. Thrusting in a rhythm as his fingers, press at your lower lip. You know, without him asking. Your tongue swipes against them, sliding over the two he’s presented before he’s pulling them back, slipping his hand between your bodies and pressing them to your clit. He draws shapes, letters, and lines. Likely fucking patterns of the next mission right against your bundle of nerves until he’s making you gasp, good girl, he grunts.

Your brain just struggles with forming his name as his cock repeatedly kisses that spot inside of you.

Thank you, you almost say. But you can’t, don’t.

Muscles both taut and loose all at once, clenching around him as you near coming and he groans, murmurs something akin to fucking hell, but it’s bitten back, mostly restrained.

“Touch yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s then you open your eyes, expecting a glare, but find his chin dipped, eyes focused on where the two of you meet, watching you swallow his cock, taking him, transfixed as though not able to believe the sight. And he moans. Guttural, deplored.

It’s the final push you need, the sight of him in awe of you that makes you snap.

Pleasure rips, rippling throughout you, all white-hot, rushing. It darts and courses as though trying to find a place to dig and bury itself. Your back arched, whines thick and plentiful escaping until his hand muffles your mouth. Then you bury his name against his skin, mark it in desperate breaths as you shatter as his cock continues, thrusting, fucking into you as though its new mission is to push you to come again—hearing him, praising, more talkative than you’ve known him outside of barking orders.

And it’s overwhelming, and makes your body tingle even more than it did a few moments ago. Fingers scratching at his shoulders and neck before you slide his mouth to yours. Write gratitude against his lips, slide your thankfulness against his tongue as he croaks your name.

Not your title, not your nickname, your name.

Before he’s filling you, hips twitching, releasing his own pleasure before you’re both left panting, sweaty.

It’s a few breaths more before he collapses next to you, the slither of light sliding over his arm over his face, the thick vein in his forearm throbbing as his chest rises and falls heavily.

You don’t speak as you dress, as you fix yourself in case you see anyone between here and your room. He says nothing when you crack open his door, glancing back to find him watching—lifted up, glistening in that slither of light that cuts across the tip of his nose and chest.

Silence is easier, better.

At least till morning, when you have to see him for briefing.

[writingonleaves]

i've been yours since you stepped through the door tonight - andrei svechnikov

pairing: andrei svechnikov x original female character

warnings: swearing, drinking alcohol, lotta fluff, inaccuracies regarding anything athletic trainer related (timeline of training, terminology, etc), proofread maybe once, mentions of injuries, author has never been to raleigh, mostly based off the first hald of the 2023-2024 season but i couldn't be bothered to keep track how often svech had been in and out lmfao

title: "almost touch me" by maisy kay, also inspired by "lowkey" by NIKI

word count: 16k

author's note: this idea's been swirling around my head for awhile now, but @wyattjohnston's summer fic exchange 2024 inspired me to really revive it. @callsign-denmark, this is for you, my friend. i hope you enjoy it!

~*~*~

“Chrissy!”

Christina turns around from where she’s restocking ice packs in the training room. She nods at the smiley Russian. “Svech.”

He walks to her and swings an arm around her shoulder in a friendly side-hug. “Good summer?”

“It was alright,” her summer back home in the Delaware suburbs wasn’t anything to write home to. And Andrei Svechnikov is technically a coworker who doesn’t need to know everything. “Good to be back though.” 

“I know what you mean,” he says. Andrei leans back against one of the treatment tables. “You graduated, right? College?”

She blinks. When did she ever mention that to him last season? “I did. Back in May. The week after playoffs ended.”

“Congratulations.”

She smiles genuinely, turning to face him completely. “Thank you. Did you need something?”

“Nope,” he says with a smile that somehow still stuns Christina even after a season of seeing it so much. “I just wanted to say hi and welcome back.”

“Well, welcome back to you too.” As he’s turning away to go to fitness testing, she calls out. “Hey! Come back after you’re done. Should check on the knee before you go home.”

He halts, turning back around with a raised eyebrow. “Is that part of my regimen to get back to playing?”

“Has Doug told you?”

“Told me what?”

Clearly not then. Trust her boss, who’s lovely but also like a purposefully annoying father, to leave it to her to break the news. “They put me in charge of you this season.”

“Me?”

“Well, your recovery. And not completely. Obviously, Doug will still have final say. But if anything’s going on, I’m your person. Especially as you’re getting back into it.”

“Oh?” Andrei smirks and Christina refuses to be affected by it. 

“Is that gonna be a problem?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Of course not. I trust you.”

“Then I better see you before you leave today.”

“Deal.” He shoots her one last smile. “Bye Chrissy.”

“See you later, Svech.” Andrei brushes shoulders with Brady and they exchange excited greetings. She waits until Andrei leaves the room and smiles. “What can I do for you, Brady?”

“Got any tape?”

“Plenty.” She heads to the cabinet. “Take a seat.”

Christina Hawthorne feels very fortunate to even be back in this training room. After a co-op with the Hurricanes last season with their athletic training team, she graduated from UNC Chapel Hill in the spring. They liked her enough to offer her a position on the team for this season while she prepares for her certification test in January. They’re putting an immense amount of trust in her, and she couldn’t be more grateful. 

She loves the guys, so it’s nice to see that they seem to like her enough to keep her around. 

When she has a few free minutes with no players trailing into the training room, she wanders over to the gym. She may have had dreams to be a professional ballerina when she was very young, but actually working with professional athletes everyday is definitely a humbling experience. 

She’s sure to stay out of the way as the players are getting tested, leaning against the wall and sorta zoning out. She takes note of Andrei’s visible frustration at himself for not getting some of the results he wants. She knows that he won’t be ready for the first few games, and he knows too. But she’s sure he’s not happy about it. 

As promised, Andrei does come back to the training room after his fitness tests. She wrinkles her nose as Sebastian ruffles her dyed blonde hair in thanks for helping him stretch out before he leaves. She brushes her fingers through her hair to try and tame it. “Oh good, you’re back.”

“I promised, no?” He takes a seat on the table and puts his leg up. 

“How did today go?”

He huffs. “Fine.”

She presses her thumb against a particular part of his knee and he hisses. She immediately stops and does the same to the other side. No reaction there. She quickly turns to scribble something down in her notes. “I know this is annoying. But you’ll be back on the ice soon.”

“Not frustrated at you,” Andrei says, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Just myself.”

“Don’t be,” Christina says, gesturing for him to lie down. “Have you been doing the stretches you’re supposed to be doing?”

“How do you know what I’m supposed to be doing?”

“Because I look over your notes and your trainers and the medical staff are in constant contact.”

He chuckles. “Right. Yes, I have been.”

“You lying to me?”

“Never.”

She bends his knee against his chest. “Then believe me. You’ll be back on the ice soon.”

“Okay,” he replies simply. “I believe you.” 

She twists slightly. “Any pain?”

“No.” 

Christina grins, then twists it the other way. “How about now?”

“No.”

“Music to my ears,” she gestures for him to sit up. “You’re good to go.”

“You sure?”

“Unless there’s something else you want me to look at.”

He shakes his head. “No. I think I’m good.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gets up and flashes her a smile. “See you, Chrissy. Thanks. As always.”

She waves him off. “Just doing my job. Have a good night.”

…..

College was hard, but having a full-time job while trying to study for a certification is a whole new game. Trying to fit in study time while doing a job that already has weird hours is also another thing. Christina’s lucky that the athletic training and medical team understands and lets her study when the players are on the ice or she’s not needed. She even has her own little table in the trainers’ office this year, where she’s often found pooling over textbooks and scribbling notes. 

Training camp and pre-season is a chaotic time for a lot of reasons. There’s more players to keep track of and people are dusting off their rust. No one ever wants to get hurt of course, but especially not during pre-season. Which means everyone is also taking extra precautions. With new faces comes new routines and an adjustment period. 

Christina has a few moments of quiet, the last pre-season game occurring later that evening against Nashville. Players aren’t coming into the arena for at least another hour, and she pours over a chapter in her textbook. She has a pink highlighter in her mouth and a blue one in her hand when someone knocks on the wall. 

She looks up to see Andrei, who looks amused. “Sorry. Are you busy?”

She spits out the highlighter gracefully and caps them both. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“Are you sure?” He nods over to her books. “You look busy.”

“What’s up, Svech?” She repeats. 

He takes the hint. “Can you stretch out my hamstring?”

“Is it-”

“No. It’s not bad enough to need Doug. Just a little tight. And you said I should go to you whenever I need something.”

She stands up as they both head into the training room. “I did say that, yes. Which one?” He points at his right hamstring and she starts. 

“What were you doing earlier? With the books?”

“I’m taking a certification exam in January.”

“For what?”

“To become an official athletic trainer.”

“You’re not one already?”

“I am not,” she says. “Don’t worry. That’s why Doug and the rest of the team do all the nitty-gritty stuff.”

“I’m surprised,” Andrei says. “I thought you were, like, official. You seem to know everything.”

She chuckles, feeling a knot and focusing on that area. “That’s kind of you. I definitely don’t though.” She sees his breath hitch and grimaces. “Sorry. Just a few more seconds.”

“It’s your job,” he says in a strained voice. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Well, I still feel bad when my job elicits pain in others,” she says. After two minutes, she nods. “Need more?”

He moves his leg around and shakes his head. “I think I’m good. Thanks.”

“Of course.” She looks at the clock hanging up on the wall and furrows her eyebrows. “You’re in early.”

Andrei shrugs. “I like to come in early.”

“I know,” the right side of her lip quirks up as tilts her head to the side. “This is really early though, even for you.”

“Well, you’re in too,” he says. “So why can’t I be?”

She chuckles. “I’m not saying you can’t, Svech. I’m just saying I didn’t expect to be seeing any hockey player for at least another hour.”

“Was feeling too restless at home,” Andrei says. 

She suddenly gets an idea. “Are you busy right now? Am I keeping you from anything?”

Ha shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Wanna help me study?”

“I don’t know if I can be much help.” Nonetheless, he follows her back into the offices. 

She pulls out a chair for him to sit in and opens her textbook back up. “I study best when I can talk to someone and describe a concept or topic and they tell me it makes sense. I would be a shitty athletic trainer if I can’t tell the athlete what I’m doing.”

“So all I have to do is sit here and listen?”

“And ask questions if I’m not making any sense,” she bites her lip. “Again, if you have other places to be, I get it. This isn’t the most interesting stuff but-”

“No, no.” He assures before smiling widely. She has an urge to poke her finger in his dimple. “I’d love to help.”

Christina smiles in satisfaction as she flips through her pages. Andrei sits back and makes himself comfortable. 

Yeah, she’s glad to be back. 

…..

Every year, the players, coaches and staff head out to a bar in downtown Raleigh before the start of the first regular season game. It’s to stir up excitement and camaraderie before the season starts. Christina couldn’t make it last year because she had class, but as she’s looking at herself in the mirror —a fitted white t-shirt under a green leather jacket she rarely gets to wear that her sister bought her for Christmas and light washed flare jeans — she tells herself to call the damn Uber before she backs out. 

It’s not that she doesn’t like her coworkers. She really likes them, actually. But seeing them outside of work in a social situation where she could make a fool of herself is a bit anxiety-inducing. 

Once she thanks her Uber driver, she steps out into the swanky rooftop bar that has her tapping her foot as she waits for the elevator. Once she steps up, it’s easy to find the Canes crew, various familiar faces crowded around a specific area of the spacious rooftop. Taylor, the head of social content, who Christina’s become good friends with, sees her first and waves her over, and soon Christina is enveloped in exciting chatter. Taylor, the saint they are, pushes a White Russian, Christina’s favorite drink, in her hands. 

Christina can’t feel too bad. The organization is heading the bill tonight and she’s gonna milk that for all it’s worth. 

A bit later, when she’s on her third drink of the night and feeling comfortably tipsy observing the people around her, she feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns around in her stool and immediately beams. 

“Andrei!”

Andrei laughs and returns Christina’s enthusiastic hug before he leans his hip against the bar counter. “Hey Chrissy. You having fun?”

“Plenty.” She giggles. “Especially now that you’re here.”

Maybe it’s her tipsy self or the bar lighting, but she swears his cheeks become redder. Pair that with his button up shirt that has the top buttons undone and a pair of dark jeans and Christina needs to chill. “I’ve been trying to get to you all night,” he says. “You’re a popular woman. I saw Coach laughing at your jokes.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, leaning her chin on her palm. “I’m a funny gal, what can I say?”

“A confident one too,” he says, nodding to her empty glass. “What are you drinking?”

“You do know that the tab is on the Canes tonight, right? You don’t need to butter me up with drinks.”

Andrei rolls his eyes playfully and Christina bursts out into giggles. “I’m not trying to..butter you up? What does that even mean?”

“Like, uh, flatter me or whatever to get something. Like you’re doing something only hoping that you’ll get something out of it.”

“I’m definitely not trying to do that. I’m just trying to be nice. So what are you drinking?”

She offers a toothy grin. “A White Russian, please.” She pokes his shoulder. “Kinda like you, I guess.” Andrei snorts before waving down the bartender to order her drink. She squints at the drink in his hand. “Just a beer?”

“Don’t feel like getting too drunk tonight.”

“How responsible of you.”

He smiles, and Christina is suddenly overcome by the urge to kiss him. But she shakes her head and refocuses back on whatever he’s saying. He leans in closer to hear her response and she has to swallow roughly so her voice doesn’t crack. 

Talking with Andrei is always so seamless. The conversation may shift between three different topics in two minutes but it feels natural. Christina never has an urge to overthink when she’s talking with Andrei. He’s funny and sweet and makes her feel like she’s actually being listened to. 

In a world where she’s surrounded by men on a daily basis, it’s stupidly rare to feel as heard as she does whenever she speaks to the star winger of the Carolina Hurricanes. 

After she finishes her drink, she realizes she should probably start thinking about going home. They all technically have work tomorrow, even if it’s a later start, and people are starting to filter out, having come by to say goodbye to the both of them in the last 10 minutes. 

She starts to stand up and immediately sways on her feet. “Woah,” Andrei says, immediately putting a hand on her waist to steady her. “Slowly.”

“I’m fine,” Christina says, slapping his hand but ultimately grabbing onto his wrist as she steadies herself. “I should probably get going.”

Andrei’s eyebrows furrow. “You didn’t drive here, right?”

Christina snorts, “Of course not. I took an Uber.”

“Where do you live?”

“The Six Forks area.”

He pinches their empty glasses and puts them on the bar counter, nodding in thanks to the bartender. “You’re on my way home. I drive you.”

“Where do you live?”

“North Hills.”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m not that drunk to know that that’s definitely not on your way. You’d be overshooting.”

“I don’t care. It’s late, and I’d feel more comfortable if I just drove you home rather than you taking an Uber.”

“Andrei.” She deadpans. “I’m a grown woman. I can get home myself.”

“I know. But just let me drive you. Please.”

She huffs. “Fine. Thank you.”

He grins, “Anytime. Let’s say goodbye to everyone and then we head out.” Christina stumbles again and his hand is immediately back on her waist. “Slowly,” he repeats. 

“I’m fine,” she repeats. 

After they both say goodbye to everyone who’s still at the bar (Taylor eyes her with a smirk, gaze shifting between Christina’s eyes and Andrei’s hand that’s hovering over her back. Christina just rolls her eyes and discreetly flips them off), Andrei leads her to the parking lot. 

Christina’s nose crinkles at the sight of the lamborghini as Andrei unlocks it. “I forgot you drive this.”

Andrei lets out a loud laugh before opening the passenger door. “Don’t worry. I drive extra safe with you in the car.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, climbing in. She’s heard about his questionable driving. She hopes she doesn’t regret this. 

The engine roars to life and Christina rolls her eyes at the sound. Andrei just shoots her a smile before backing out of the spot. He unlocks his phone and hands it to her. “Put in your address.”

She hums, typing it in before putting his phone in the center console. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, before turning her head so that she’s facing him, leaning on the headrest. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“You’re telling me you don’t like me as your personal Uber?” Andrei asks. She watches as he turns the wheel with one hand and rests his other hand on the center console shift. “You feel okay? I can open a window if you need.”

“I’m okay, Svech. Just don’t accelerate like a mad man.”

He laughs and she can’t help but giggle along. “I won’t. Promise,” he says. “You like to talk when you’re drunk.”

“Not drunk,” she mutters. 

Andrei’s hum blends in with the engine. “Sure.”

“Not drunk,” she repeats. “Especially not in front of you all. That would be unprofessional.”

“Why you afraid of being unprofessional? The staff loves you. The team loves you.”

“I’ve worked hard to get here,” she says, forcing her eyes back open so she doesn’t fall asleep. “But the fact that I got this job in the first place is a blessing. I’m not gonna do anything to fuck it up.”

He nods. She closes her eyes. He gently jostles her awake when they’re parked in front of her apartment. He insists on walking her up to the door, and she leaves him with another ‘thank you,’ a tight hug and a sleepy smile. 

He doesn’t move his feet until after a minute of staring at her front door.

…..

Opening night is always so thrilling. Of any sport. Christina has to tell herself to stop grinning so widely when the team is getting announced, making sweater paws with a Hurricanes crewneck she found on Etsy. She rocks back and forth in the tunnel, trying to stay out of everyone’s way on the side while simultaneously trying to see the ice and crowd. 

Once the game is about to begin and the arena lights come back on, Christina shakes her head at herself to focus. It’s go-time. Like last year, she’s not with Doug on the bench — the day she gets on the bench will be the day her heart rate explodes — but she’s closeby in the tunnel or in the training room, making sure everything’s all good and she’s not needed. 

“Hey.”

She turns to see Andrei, in his gray plaid game day suit coming from the bench where he was during player introductions. She smiles, “Hi. Happy season opener.”

“Happy season opener.” He grins. “The red earrings are back.”

Christina automatically reaches to touch the red rose earrings she has on tonight. She puts on a red pair of earrings every game day, whether its a flower, a cool design or ruby studs.

It’s something she just does for fun. For herself. She’s surprised that Andrei has noticed. 

“You heading up to the press box?”

“Yeah.”

They’re interrupted by Bob, the head equipment manager, greeting them with a grin “Miss you out there, Svech.”

“Soon,” Andrei promises. 

Bob turns to her with a playful raise of his eyebrow. “That true, Chrissy?”

Christina grins. “That depends on him,” she jokes. “No, he should be good to go soon. Let me know if you need any help tonight..”

Bob waves her away. “Of course. Can always count on you. See you both later,” He then heads back to the bench. 

She takes one last look at the bench to see if anyone needs anything. No one does. She turns back to Andrei. “Thanks again for driving me home last week.”

“Of course. Did you wake up okay?”

“I don’t get hungover.”

“Lucky you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Are you heading on the road trip after this?”

“I’m not, actually. I should be on all the other ones though.”

“Why not this one?”

She chuckles. “Funnily enough, because of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s my job. I also think it’s because it’s early in the season so I’m not really needed yet. Hopefully.” She grimaces, “I just jinxed it, didn’t I?”

Andrei laughs, while nodding a greeting at one of the assistant coaches passing by. “Maybe. I feel bad you can’t go on the road, though.”

“There'll be plenty of other chances. You can make it up to me by helping me study again,” she jokes. 

“I will do it,” he says seriously. 

“I was kidding.”

“I will do it,” he repeats and clears his throat. “I should head up.”

She nods. “Enjoy watching from above.”

“Thanks. I mean it. I will help you study while you put me through painful stretches.”

“The stretches shouldn’t be that painful otherwise you’re not ready to go,” she admonishes. She internally wants to cringe at her tone switch, but she can’t help it. 

Luckily, he just grins, a twinkle in his eye. “I know, I know. I’m teasing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Leave. I have work to do.”

He laughs, “See you later, Chrissy.”

…..

Last year, when she still had school, she couldn’t go on road trips either — until it came to the playoffs. So she knows what it’s like to come to the rink when no one’s really around. 

Christina’s planning just to come in for a few hours in the morning to gather her own notes and to organize a few things. Also, she might study for a bit, wanting a different environment than her apartment. Andrei also texted her — she got the number of every single player at the start of the season — saying that he’s planning to come in to work on some things with Steven, one of the other assistant athletic trainers who’s also staying behind this road trip. 

She taps her ID to get in, sipping her iced latte as she strolls down the hallway. She smiles and nods in greeting to a few staff members who she passes. Heading into the office, she sets her stuff down and immediately pulls out some of her notes, along with going through notes that the team has been sending on their road trip. 

She hears Andrei before she sees him, the sound of him and Steven talking echoing through the hallway. They come to the office and she gives them both a wave. 

“Good morning.”

Andrei and Steven both grin. “Morning,” they respond in unison. 

“Did you get Doug’s notes last night?” Steven asks. 

“Yeah. I’m in the middle of putting them in.”

“Amazing. Thank you.” Steven pats Andrei on the shoulder. “You’re all set this morning, Svech. Just remember what I said.”

Andrei nods as Steven leaves the room. “Thanks, Steve.” Steve puts his hand up in acknowledgement. Andrei pulls over a chair and sits down. She saves her work. He looks at the pair of old pointe shoes on her desk that she had just remembered to bring in. “What are those?”

“Old pointe shoes.”

“Well, yeah. I know what they are. Are they yours?”

She goes to play with one of the fraying ribbons. “They are. These are the last pair I wore before I left for college. I brought them in as something to put on my desk.”

“I didn’t know you danced.”

“Well, you don’t know that much about me.”

A pause, before the most beautiful smile spreads across Andrei’s face. “What makes this pair so special?”

Christina smiles bittersweetly. “I was pretty good. Like, went to international competitions good. Could’ve maybe done it for a living good. And I loved it so much. But I fucked up my ankle pretty badly when I was 15 and was never the same after that. I still danced and I made a full recovery, but, you know. At my dance studio, every graduating senior got to perform a solo at the yearly showcase and I did mine on pointe. It was a big moment for me.”

“And you did it in those shoes.”

She nods. “Yup.”

“Was professional dancer the first dream?”

“Yes and no. I think as I got older I realized I had other dreams and wanted to do other things. That didn’t fully sink into me until the injury. But it would’ve been cool, you know, be on a stage for a living.”

“Do you still dance?”

“When I can. UNC didn’t have a ballet company, so I tried to take classes out here in Raleigh. I’m a bit too busy these days, but I’d like to get back in a class at some point.”

Andrei hums, reaching to pick up a shoe. He hesitates, looking at her for permission and she nods at him to go ahead. “I just know you’re a beautiful dancer.”

She tries not to blush. But from the knowing glint in his eye, she knows she fails. He places the pointe shoe carefully back on her desk and she looks at the well-worn satin briefly, wondering what that life could’ve been like for her. 

But then her attention is brought back to Andrei as he asks a question relating to his recovery, and Christina knows she’s right where she wants to be. 

…..

The next day, when she’s not scheduled to go into work, she still somehow sees Andrei. 

Christina has just finished grabbing lunch with a college friend and decides to wander into a nearby cafe, its flowery and vine covered entrance enticing her. With a book in her tote bag and taste buds that always welcome coffee, she orders a latte and perches herself at a table by the window. 

She’s staring out the window lost in her own world when she hears his name being called out by the barista. She whips her head towards the counter. There’s not a lot of people you run into in Raleigh named Andrei. Before she knows it, she makes eye contact with him. She hates that he literally lights up before briskly walking over to her. 

A backwards cap and a gray henley has never looked so good before. It’s almost infuriating. 

He stops abruptly in front of her table, right hand bracing the chair across from her and left hand holding his coffee. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“Not at all.” She grins as he sits down. “Even on my off days, I can’t escape.”

Andre laughs, putting his coffee down on the table. “I come here all the time but I never see you here before.”

“I was in the area meeting up for lunch with a friend and the flowers outside convinced me,” she says. “Now that I know this is your spot, I’ll avoid it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t do that.” He nods to her open book. “Reading?”

“Trying. Been trying to read a bit more because I never had time in college.”

“Did you like college?”

Christina smiles. “I did. Part of it was interrupted by the pandemic, but even then, I had a great time.”

“Are you from Raleigh?”

“No, I’m not. I grew up in Delaware, and my family’s all still there.” 

“Where’s that?”

She chuckles. “A small state around Maryland, Pennsylvania and New Jersey. The closest NHL teams would be the Caps and Flyers, probably. But my family are more football fans. Dad loves the Eagles.”

“So no hockey?”

“Not really. I honestly didn’t really get into hockey until working with the Canes.”

“So now what? You’re a Canes fan?”

“Because I work for them, sure. And you guys aren’t so bad off the ice either.”

Andrei laughs and it’s such a delightful sound. She puts her chin on her palm and listens as he continues talking.

She was hoping not to have to talk to a single person for the rest of the day. She ends up at that cafe with Andrei for over an hour.

…..

Christina grimaces at her TV as she watches the game end, the Hurricanes now on a three game losing streak. It’s still early in the season, but no one likes losing. She glances at her phone as it buzzes, knowing it’s a text from Andrei. They’ve been texting sporadically all night about the game that he’s also watching in his own home. He hasn’t outright said it to her, but she imagines it’s frustrating for him because he can’t be out on the ice with his teammates. 

Christina looks at his response with a quiet laugh, shoots back a text and tosses her phone a few feet away from her with a deep breath. 

The thing is, when she lets herself really think about it, her and Andrei’s professional relationship from the start has always been different compared to her relationship with the other players. From the first time she introduced herself and saw his smile, she knew this was gonna be tough. 

The athlete part of him doesn’t faze her — she’s danced with and been taught by world renowned ballerinas and she worked in the training room of various teams at UNC. It was his ingenuity and kindness that reeled her in. The accented voice paired with his ability to make things look so easy when she knows it’s anything but, always with a smile on his face. 

Christina would be lying to herself if she says she hasn’t ever considered her and Andrei as…more. She’d be an idiot not to. Obviously, she knows Andrei is incredibly handsome. She’s known that from the very first time she saw him in the training room last season. And it doesn’t help that he’s also so nice with no pretense. Nice just to be nice. 

But it would never happen. Could never happen. He has the entire city of Raleigh falling at his feet and she works with him. 

One night when she was a bit too wine tipsy in her dorm last year, she pulled out the contract she had signed and found the tiny section that addressed romantic relationships among “any members of the Carolina Hurricanes organization” and found some super vague shit basically saying that it was okay in most instances. Which it is. One of their assistant coaches is married to the head of the PR department. 

But she has an inkling that players are a whole different subclause. 

So while they developed a good rapport last season, Christina purposefully kept her distance a bit, sparing little details about her own life and always turning it back to him. To be fair, she was careful around everyone last season, not wanting to get in the way and just wide-eyed overall. But now she’s (hopefully) gonna be around for a bit and will try to let her personality shine a bit more. Push herself to be more casual and comfortable with the staff and team. 

Like texting Andrei about things that aren’t related to his recovery. 

It started with Andrei texting something funny about one of the pregame photos of Brady that had been tweeted. His comment made Christina snort out her tea as she quickly replied back. It’s not like they’re texting often, but it always puts a smile on her face whenever his name pops up on her phone. 

She knows she needs to be careful. But before anything else, she’s just glad to have another new friend. Someone at work she’s comfortable enough to joke around with. 

That’s enough for her. 

…..

Andrei’s long-waited season debut has the fans, his teammates and the whole staff excited. But no one’s more excited than Andrei himself, who’s bouncing around all day from the moment he walks in for his daily check-in.

As she watches him skate around for warmups, she grins at his infectious happiness. He picks up a water bottle and squirts water on her when he comes back to the bench for a moment and she wants to flip him off so badly. She totally would if there weren’t cameras around and if also wasn’t, you know, unprofessional. He’s lucky she’s wearing a black sweater today. Jordan reaches to pull on the ribbon in her hair and that’s when she makes her way off the bench, causing Doug and the other staff to laugh. 

Once the game starts, she does grimace a bit as she’s watching footage of the game from the training room when she sees Andrei go in for a heavy hit. She hears the cheers from the fans and she gets it, but he’s literally just coming off a season ending injury. Yes, he’s a professional athlete, but she’s (almost) a certified athletic trainer. 

They win 3-0 and everyone’s pumped. She’s busy documenting notes as the athletes start leaving the arena. Andrei, as instructed, comes in and she makes sure everything’s okay with his knee. 

“Hey,” she calls out before he leaves. He turns back around with an expectant smile. She beams. “Good game. Glad to have you back.”

“Thank you,” he says with a grin. “Good to be back.”

…..

When you work in such a team centered environment, there’s always someone around. Always someone to talk to and joke around with. She loves it. The collaboration of the work she does is probably her favorite part. 

But she also loves time by herself. So she vows to herself that on every road trip, after some studying, she’ll take the time to explore wherever she is by herself. Whether it’s simply grabbing a coffee or walking around whatever city they’re in or just sitting outside, she’ll carve out some time for herself, while exploring cities that she’s never been to.

The first mini road trip she goes on is to Philadelphia and New York. In Philadelphia, she heads to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Her younger sister Layla is a graphic design major at Carnegie Mellon so she’s filtered some of her love and knowledge to Christina. With her airpods in, she wanders through the exhibits on her own. 

That’s another thing about post-grad. Learning how to do things alone. 

New York has a lot more options. She only has one full day she isn’t working and another half day. During the full day when she’s actually in the city, she meets up with a friend from high school for a nice walk around Brooklyn before dinner. On the half day, after morning skate in Long Island, she wants to just people watch outside for a few hours on a weirdly warm day for November. 

The elevator doors open and Andrei comes walking out, looking down at his phone. When he looks up, a grin spreads across his face and he locks his phone. “Hi Chrissy.”

She nods. “Svech.” The elevator doors close. That’s fine. She’ll catch the next one. “Where’d you just come back from?”

“Just grabbed some lunch with the guys after practice. Where you off to?”

“Honestly, probably also gonna grab a coffee and then sit outside by the water and just daydream. I brought a book, but we’ll see if I’m in the mood.”

Andrei laughs. “Sounds like a great day.”

It is her alone time, but she asks anyways. “Would you like to join?”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Oh. I don’t want to intrude or-”

“You wouldn’t be. I’m asking you.”

“Oh. Well, um, yeah, then. Sure. Give me a minute to use the bathroom?”

“Take your time.” He shoots her a thankful smile as he briskly walks to his room while she waits by the elevators, shifting on her feet. A few minutes later, he comes back out, this time with a backwards hat on. He shoves his hands in his off-white sweatshirt and she presses the elevator button, purposefully not looking at him.

There’s something about a backwards hat. It’s actually really annoying how attractive it is.

“How’s your first road trip been?”

Christina smiles as they step into the elevator. “Good. Went to an art museum in Philly. Saw a college friend in Brooklyn and just walked around the city. The rest of the time I’ve been with you guys.”

“You like art?”

“A bit. My sister’s studying graphic design, so her love for it has bleeded into my life.”

“That’s sweet. Are you two close?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if we’re as close as you and your brother though.” She teases, and she swears she sees his cheeks tinge pink as they walk out of the elevator and out of the hotel. “She’s much cooler than I am, just started her second year at Carnegie Mellon. I was actually just texting her because she’s trying to figure out flights to Raleigh for Thanksgiving.”

“She’s coming down?”

“Yup,” they start wandering to the nearby park. “Usually, we’d go back home to Delaware. But since we have games the day before and after and they’re at home, they’re all coming down to me. First Thanksgiving in Raleigh. They’ll probably come to a game or two.”

“That’s really nice.”

“How about you? Is your mom or dad coming to visit anytime soon?”

“Not sure yet, with Geno now back in Russia. My mom was mainly here to keep me company when I was injured. I’m sure you’ll get to meet her soon though.”

They see a cafe ahead of them and she suggests they pop in to grab something. He opens the door for her and also pays for her, which is really annoying and she takes note of his coffee order so that she can get him back once they’re home. Once they receive their coffees, they’re back outside and in the park, sitting and people watching while petting the dogs that occasionally come up to them.

“Do you miss dancing? Like, at the level you were before getting injured?”

A sad smile automatically appears on her face. “All the time. But it’s changed. It used to be more painful and frustrating to think about. Now it’s more of looking back at the good memories.”

“My grandma used to dance as well. She took my brother and I to a ballet in Moscow once. I honestly don’t remember much of it. I was too young.”

Christina chuckles. “Yeah, it’s not for everyone.” She lets out a deep breath. “God, I haven’t seen a ballet in ages.”

“Can I ask how bad your injury was?”

“A recurring stress fracture that required surgery,” she says. “I don’t know if they could ever actually diagnose it officially because it was so fucked up. Or maybe I just block it out of my brain because it was such a painful time.”

“Even after a full recovery, there was no chance to go on as intensely as before?”

“There might’ve been. But I made the choice that I didn’t want my ankles wearing down on me by 25 and like I said, I had other dreams.”

“That must’ve been a hard decision to make.”

Christina swallows. It’s been awhile since she’s talked about this with anyone. “It was. I was heartbroken, honestly. It just felt like my life was over, you know? Obviously, it wasn’t. But I didn’t know that at 15. But if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have thought about going the athletic training route, and in a way, what I’m doing now connects to my dance background, so I’m happy where I am now.”

His eyes light up with hope. “Do you have a video of you dancing?”

She laughs. “I actually do.” She gets her phone out and searches for a particular video. “This was around a year ago. A little across the floor combo we were doing in a class.” She hands him her phone and looks over his shoulder to watch with him. It’s a short video, only about 20 seconds long, but it combines a bit of everything — waltz, pirouettes, leaps and footwork. 

He replays it again. She has no idea what to make of that. “I was right.”

“Hm?”

“You’re a beautiful dancer.”

“Oh. That’s kind of you. Thank you.”

“I mean it,” he says. “You have beautiful…lines? Is that the right word?”

“Yeah, actually.” He gives her a triumphant smile and she can’t help but laugh. “Thank you. That's really sweet. I appreciate it.”

He watches the video again. She stares at the side of his face, trying to see what he’s seeing. She can’t quite place it. The only thing she can place is her faster than normal heart rate.

…..

A loss against the Panthers at their barn, a win against Tampa on their ice the next day and then a loss against Philly at home. Andrei still hasn’t recorded his own goal, and Christina knows it’s eating him alive. 

It’s funny, because he’s trying not to let it show, especially in front of media. But Christina knows better, especially when he starts pushing himself on the ice even more. 

She’s not usually on the bench during morning skates. More often than not, she’s in the training room or her office, studying or doing miscellaneous tasks until players file in during or after practice for various needs. But once in awhile, she likes to walk out to the ice. Today, she’s taking her studying out there to see if the crispness of the air and the sounds of hockey keep her focused. 

She’s reading over a passage in her textbook when she sees a shadow fall over the page. She looks up to see Andrei drinking some water. 

“If you spray water on this book, you’re paying for another one,” she warns. 

“Of course,” he says with an easy smile. 

“I hope you’ve been stretching out your knee,” she says. “With how hard you’re going at during practice.”

“How do you know how hard I’m going in practice?”

“It’s part of my job,” she responds dryly, backing away and glaring at Seth as he reaches out to mess up her hair. 

“Coming out here to study now?” Andrei asks.

She shrugs. “Trying something new.”

“Is it working?”

“It was,” she says pointedly. 

Brady skates to a stop in front of them and laughs. “That’s her telling us to stop annoying her.”

“You could never annoy me, Skjeisy.” Christina grins. 

Andrei pouts. “What does Skjeisy have that I don’t?”

“The most beautiful smile,” she grins charmingly. Andrei playfully narrows his eyes and Brady shoots her a wink. No one’s flirting. Christina’s met Gracia a few times and those two childhood friends are very in love with each other. But it’s worth it to see Andrei squeeze water out of his water bottle in Brady’s face. 

“When’s your exam again?” Brady asks.

“January 7.”

“That’s soon.”

She sighs, staring down at her book. “Don’t remind me.”

“You’re gonna be great,” Andrei assures her. 

“Sure, if you all actually practice and leave me to study.” As if on cue, a whistle is blown and Christina waves her hand at them. “Shoo. If Rod blames me for distracting you, I’ll be out of a job.”

She takes some notes for a few more minutes before giving up and closing her books. She puts her elbows on her knees, resting her chin on the palms of her hands as she watches them focus on winning board battles and protecting the puck. Practice is more intense than usual today as Christina loses herself in the focused energy in the air, eyes tracking the puck and the players and how they’re positioning themselves around the puck. She almost laughs at herself at how hockey she sounds. Her football loving uncle would be proud and a bit confused. 

Practice is over, and Christina decides to stay on the bench until everyone clears the tunnel, knowing that if any players need treatment, Doug has it. He would text her a random emoji if he needed her anyways. Last game, he took a liking to the red-headed fairy. 

She squints at Andrei, who’s the only player on the ice now, as he takes shot after shot from the blue line. She just observes him and the determined look on his face, the smoothness in his shot. 

As if he can feel eyes on him, he turns around and laughs, before gathering the pucks and skating over to her. “Stalking me?”

“Observing,” she corrects. “How do you feel? Physically?”

“Good.”

“Good,” she says. “You look good.”

“Oh?”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.” She trails behind him as they head to the trainers room. “Don’t forget. Doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

“I swear you’re my personal calendar.”

“That’s actually my second job” she says flatly, a smile peeking out after he grins at her. “Go get your protein shake or whatever disgusting thing you like to drink.”

“Sassy today.”

“I want to go home,” she deadpans. “I’ve been up since 5 a.m.”

To his credit, he looks concerned. “Why so early?”

“Studying.”

“Oh,” he says softly. “Well, make sure you sleep. Sleep is important.”

She has to chuckle. “Thanks Svechy. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flicks his hand. “Go home.”

“I don’t think you have the authority to tell me that. You’re not my boss.”

“But I am,” they both turn to see Doug peeking out of a doorway. “Get out of here, Chris.”

She narrows her eyes playfully. “You schemers.” 

“Go sleep,” Andrei says, pulling at her ponytail lightly. She whacks his hand away. 

The last thing she sees as she walks into her office is his smirk. 

….

The day before Thanksgiving, she’s preoccupied with her parents and sister flying in for the first half of the day. She picks them up from the airport and takes them all to one of her favorite lunch spots before she has to head to work and they go sightseeing on their own. She offered to get them tickets for the game against Edmonton, but they waved her off. They’ll enjoy their time at a game on Sunday. 

Thanksgiving morning is peaceful, with the Macy’s Parade on the TV as everyone is just relaxing. In the afternoon, as Christina and her mom are taking charge of dinner, someone’s knocking on her apartment door. Immediately, Christina is confused. She’s almost positive her dad and Aimee grabbed her keys before heading out for a quick walk. She calls out a “coming” as the person knocks again. 

“Andrei?” 

He shifts from side to side, flashing a quick but genuine smile. He looks extra cozy in a brown sweatshirt and a backwards hat. “Hi Chrissy. Happy Thanksgiving. I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“Not at all. Happy Thanksgiving. What are you-what’s up?” 

He holds out a cake container. “Uh, I’m heading to Staalsy’s for Thanksgiving at their place, and I made ptichye moloko, which is a cake my mom makes for me back home in Russia. I made two. I was wondering if you wanted the other?” 

Her mouth drops open. “Oh, Andrei. That’s…you didn’t need to do that.” 

“I wanted to,” he replies. “And honestly, I hope it’s good. It’s my first time making it and I had to call my mom for help. I made too much batter so, two cakes.” 

She laughs, propping her hip against the doorframe, easy smile on her face. “I bet it’s delicious. Thank you. You’re so-you really didn’t have to do this.” 

Andrei shakes his head. “I wanted to-“

“Honey?” Marianne’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “Who’s at the door?” She doesn’t bother waiting for an answer before appearing. 

Christina internally sighs. “Andrei, this is my mom Marianne. Mom, this is Andrei. He’s one of the guys on the team.” 

Andrei balances the cake on one hand while reaching out to shake Marianne’s hand with the other, easygoing smile on his face. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hawthorne. I apologize for showing up without warning.” 

“Oh, no apology necessary!” Marianne smiles, and Christina can tell immediately that her mother is charmed. She wants to roll her eyes. “Are you staying for dinner? You’re more than welcome.” 

Andrei shakes his head. “No, though thank you for the offer. I’m on the way to our captain’s house. I just wanted to stop by and drop this off.” 

Marianne takes the cake from his hands with a delighted smile. “That’s so sweet of you.” 

“He made it himself,” Christina chimes in, smirking in his direction. “Hopefully it doesn’t poison us.” 

Andrei laughs. “Hopefully.” 

The door opens again, and her dad and sister are back from their walk around the block. Christina swallows. Guess he’s meeting the whole family today. 

“Andrei, this is my dad Mark and my sister Aimee. Father and Aimee, this is-“ 

“Andrei Svechnikov,” her dad finishes for her. He and Andrei shake hands and a weird feeling appears in her stomach. “I watch the Canes games from time to time.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” He then turns to Aimee and shakes her hand with a small smile. “You too, Aimee. Your sister talks about you all the time.” 

Aimee shoots her sister a look. Christina telepathically tells her to shut up. “Does she really?”

“She does. All good things.”

“It’s good to see you back on the ice again,” Mark says. “How’s the knee?” 

“Knee is good,” Andrei says, before casting a smile in her direction. “All thanks to Chrissy here.” 

“He’s lying,” she deadpans. “I just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Aimee asks with a hopeful look.

Christina shakes her head. “I wouldn’t subject him to that. He’s going to Captain Staalsy’s.” 

“Lame,” Aimee says. Christina elbows her. 

“Chrissy mentioned you all were coming to a game?” Andrei asks. 

“Yup. We’ll be going Sunday.” 

“Have you ever been to a Canes game?” Mark shakes his head. Andrei grins. Christina wants to poke his dimple. “Well, hopefully we put on a good show.” 

She snorts. “Alright, Andrei. Better leave before Dad starts grilling you on the powerplay.” Expectedly, Andrei’s eyes light up. He turns to her as she rolls her eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna stay for dinner?” Marianne asks. 

Andrei grins. “I’m sure. Thank you though.” He looks back at Christina. “See you tomorrow?” 

“Bright and early.”

He turns back to her family with a warm smile. “It was nice to meet you all.” 

Christina nods to the door, “I’ll walk you out.” She catches Aimee’s smirk and rolls her eyes. She puts a shoe in the door so that it won’t shut on her as she faces Andrei. “Thank you for the cake. Seriously.”

“Careful,” he teases, and if butterflies flutter in her stomach from his tone that’s no one else’s business. “It could be awful.”

“It won’t be.” She grins and gives him a quick hug before she can overthink it. She pulls away before she wants to. “Happy Thanksgiving. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you again.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

She watches him disappear from the hallway before she lets out a deep breath.

…..

The crowd at the PNC arena goes nuts with Andrei scores with less than two minutes left in the third against Columbus. Christina herself bounces around on her toes in excitement, her parents and sister somewhere up in the box seats. What a way to get your first of the season. She feels weirdly proud of him. 

She only catches him as she’s heading out a bit earlier than normal to drive back with her family. And by catch him, she only means by eye contact as Andrei’s swept up in media. She stops for a moment and just leans against the doorway of the locker room, watching him answer questions

Christina’s about to push herself off the doorway when Andrei’s eyes meet hers. He’s still talking, but his smile widens, and she just shoots him a thumbs up and a grin of her own before walking to the parking garage. 

…..

Christina groans as she skims the email from the management of her apartment complex. Fixing the water pipes will shut down water for 24 hours. It’s not the end of the world, but how inconvenient. 

She leans back in her chair, mentally going through her mind to see where she could crash for a whole day last minute. The one friend she would go to immediately is away on vacation right now. 

She’s twiddling her fingers as she walks to the locker room, needing to check in with Andrei. But weirdly, he’s nowhere to be found. She’s about to walk out of the room just as Andrei walks in. 

“Oh, perfect,” Christina says. “I was looking for you.”

“Were you?”

She tries not to roll her eyes as he follows her back to her office. “Get your ass on the table.”

He laughs, following her instructions as she works on his shoulder. She must sigh without realizing because his eyebrows furrow. “Everything okay?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she waves him off. “The pipes are getting fixed in my apartment building for a day so I gotta figure out where I’m crashing for the night. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “That must be annoying.”

She shrugs. “It is what it is, but the friend I usually would stay with is away right now, so that kinda has me scrambling. I probably will have to get a hotel room for the night or something.”

“How about you stay with me?”

Christina has her back towards him to take some notes, before she spins back around and raises an eyebrow. “Andrei, no. I can’t-”

“I have a guest room. Multiple guest rooms, actually,” he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s no problem. Serious. It would be like I’m not even there.” She opens her mouth to protest but closes it again, weighing her options. Like he senses her hesitation, he barrels on. “You don’t have to drop money on a hotel. And only for a night, right? Just stay with me.”

She bites her lip in thought. It would save her a lot of trouble. And he’s right, it’s just for a night. “Are you sure?” She says. 

“100 percent,” he promises. 

“Okay,” she says gratefully. “Thank you. I owe you big.”

“No worries,” he says. “I text you my address. Come over whenever you’re ready. I text you the garage code too in case I’m not home.”

She’s a bit surprised that he just blindly trusts her so much, but he trusts her to handle his body and recovery, which is arguably the most important thing for a professional athlete, so staying in his home is next to nothing. 

But it’s a big deal to her. She’s reminded of that when she drives home to grab some things. She’s reminded that her phone buzzes with a text from him, the garage code like he promised, along with what her sushi preferences are — anything, it’s her favorite food. She’s reminded of that as she drives over, immediately feeling overwhelmed at how nice this neighborhood is. 

She forgets often that these players are earning more than she ever will. Andrei is a multimillionaire. The cost of his living room alone is probably worth more than a year of Christina’s current monthly rent. 

It doesn’t phase her necessarily. It’s just an observation. 

As she pulls into his driveway, she sees Andrei coming out of his garage. He perks up with a wave, waiting for her to park her car. He approaches her as she comes out of her car with her backpack.

“Just in time. I grabbed dinner.”

She glances at the bag in his hands and she tries not to gulp at the familiar (expensive) restaurant logo “I could’ve grabbed it on the way here.”

He waves her off as they walk through the garage, him swinging her backpack over his shoulder. “You’re a guest in my home. Why would I make you do that?”

Christina’s not used to this. The chivalry. The acts of service. It all feels a bit too much, especially as he gives her a brief house tour and shows her the guest room. It’s all so minimalistic and clean and expensive and she was not prepared to be staying the night in Andrei’s house today. Or ever.

She jumps in the shower really quickly to wash off the day. It takes her a moment to figure out how to control the temperature. She’s afraid to mess anything up. When she walks back out into the main room, Andrei’s just finished setting up the table. When she spots the familiar label of her favorite wine, she blinks. 

He notices her silence and chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I asked Taylor what your favorite wine is.”

“You could’ve asked me,” she says softly. 

He shrugs. “I wanted to surprise you, I guess.”

She hoists herself up on the stool of the island, trying to control the butterflies in her stomach. “Well, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Being with Andrei in his home is expectedly intimate. She feels very comfortable at work to poke fun at the players and staff. But it’s different sitting for meals in the kitchen at the office compared to sitting across a kitchen island eating sushi that Christina only has when her parents foot the bill. Something as simple as Andrei’s sushi plopping into his soy sauce and her bark of laughter feels almost too much, especially when he chuckles with her at his misery. Because it’s just the two of them in his home and it’s almost too much. 

But even if it’s too much, she doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. In fact, it’s probably weird how comfortable she does feel, as her and Andrei chat about everything from the team to his brother to her college days. When his dimple pops out and his brown eyes brighten with curiosity, she has to remind herself that she works with him. They’re co-workers at best. Friends possibly. 

She gets up to clear their dishes away, but Andrei’s quicker and pushes her shoulder down so she’s sitting again. She gives him a look. “Andrei. Come on. You bought dinner and you’re letting me stay for the night. I can wash dishes.”

He shakes his head, “You don’t need to do anything but sit there all pretty.”

She just blinks and sips her wine because what the fuck. 

They debate putting on a movie or show, but end up just hanging out on the couch and continuing to talk because he’s just so easy to talk to. Christina stops herself after her third glass of wine when she remembers she has work tomorrow, and she thinks he’s so sweet for grabbing her a glass of cold water without her even asking. 

When they’re winding down for the night, he hovers by the door of the guest room, making sure she doesn’t need anything. When she assures him that she’s all good, he leaves her with a “goodnight” and the cutest smile and Christina knows that she’s fucked. 

The next morning, she wakes up to the smell of coffee. When she walks out, yawning and rubbing her eyes, she sees two plates of waffles. 

“Good morning,” she says with an air of surprise. “This looks great.”

He chuckles. “Eat it first before you say anything.”

She hums, making sweater paws with her UNC sweatshirt and smiling when he slides over a mug of coffee. 

“You sleep well?”

“I did, thank you. You have a very comfy mattress.”

His dimple pops out and Christina can feel herself falling. “You’re welcome anytime.”

That statement doesn’t help either. 

After they finish their breakfasts, she yet again isn’t allowed to help with dishes, so she wraps her hands around her coffee and watches him. “Thank you, though, Andrei. Seriously. For letting me stay over. You saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Of course,” he says over his shoulder, catching sight of her packed backpack in the living room. “Are you heading out so soon?”

“Yeah. I have to get into work earlier than you do, remember?” She teases, as she finishes her coffee, hands him the mug and goes to grab her backpack. “I also wanna stop by my place to drop this stuff off and pick some stuff up before heading to the rink.”

He turns off the faucet, wipes his hands and walks over to her. “I was gonna say I’ll miss you, but I see you in probably an hour.”

She laughs, not quite processing what he just insinuated. “Probably.”

“Can I ask you something before you leave?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“Would you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

Her jaw drops open a bit. Oh. “Oh.”

He backtracks. “You can say no. I won’t be hurt. Or, well. I just want to ask to see if you give me that chance. I really like you, Chrissy.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…Andrei. We work together.”

“I know, I know.”

She lets out a sigh, tipping her head back and squeezing her eyes shut. “Andrei-”

“One date,” he practically begs. “Let me take you on one date to prove that this is real to me.”

She swallows, her resolve starting to crumble down from his pleading eyes. “I could lose my job.”

“You won’t. And I wouldn’t let that happen.”

She can’t help but snort. “Carolina loves you, but not that much.”

He pouts before taking her hands. “Christina,” he says sincerely. “Just one chance. And then if it doesn’t go well, we stay coworkers and friends and this never happened.”

“And if it does go well?” She bites her lip.

The dimple appears on his cheek again. She wants to kiss it.  “Then we figure out where to go from there.”

“There’s just, it’s not- you’re wonderful and kind and sweet, but I’m putting a lot on the line here.” She feels vulnerable, her voice shaking at the edges. “I’ve worked too hard to have this fall apart on me.”

“I know. I understand.” And huh, Christina thinks. He actually probably does understand more than most, because if Andrei is anything, he's a hard worker. He gently places a hand on her waist and she can’t fucking think. “I wouldn’t ask you just to ask you or risk anything.”

“You like me that much, huh?” Christina jokes weakly.  

Andrei squeezes her waist lightly “I do.”

Oh. Okay. 

A few more seconds pass with Andrei staring at her hopefully and Christina blinking rapidly. He’s so gentle with her it makes her wanna scream into a pillow. 

“One date,” she relents. His eyes sparkle and her smile grows with his. “You have one shot, Svech. Use it wisely.”

“Oh believe me, I will.” He says confidently. “When are you free?” 

“My work schedule is the exact same as yours.” 

He lets go of her hands to dig into his pocket for his phone, checking the Canes schedule that’s synched up to his calendar. “When we’re in New York. Two weeks from now.” 

“New Year’s Eve?”

“Yeah. I know we’re already all going out at night but during the day. Just you and me.”

Immediately, her mind goes into planning mode. “Sure, yeah. That works. I have some friends who live in the city I could ask for recommendations for-”

“No,” she tilts her head in confusion at his firm tone. “You don’t worry about anything. I take care of all of it.”

“Andrei.”

“I take care of it, Chrissy.” he repeats, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “All you need to do is show up.”

She opens her mouth and closes it, before, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Will you at least tell me what to wear?”

“Anything. You always look beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes at the fact that he’s already loading on the charm and they’re not even on the date yet. “Nice try. I’m not wearing my work attire to our date.”

“Seems like you already know what you’re wearing, then.”

She huffs before softening. “Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

Andrei clicks his tongue. “Of course. I see you later?”

Christina chuckles. “Yup.” 

They walk to his front door, and he hesitates for a second before leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. She’s absolutely floored. “Get home safe.”

She gives him one last smile as goodbye. It isn’t until she’s in her car when she leans her forehead on her steering wheel and smiles into it does it fully sink in. 

She has a date in two weeks.

…..

No one likes a loss, and even if Christina is kinda immune to it by now, it’s not fun. But the holidays are near and her heart feels light as she packs up her things. Her flight takes off early in the morning, so she’s hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before then. A knock on the doorframe has her looking up to see Andrei dressed back in his game day suit with a light smile on his face. 

“Hey,” she greets. “Everything alright? You need treatment?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m okay.” He says, shuffling in and looking a bit sheepish.

Christina hesitates. She’s not sure how Andrei is after a loss, if he likes to talk about it or forget about it. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” 

“Okay.” She looks down at his outstretched hand holding a box she didn’t see at first. “What’s that?”

He clears his throat. “It’s, uh, your Christmas present. You fly back home in the morning, yes?”

“Yeah,” she shakes her head. “Andrei, I-I don’t need…I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay.” The annoying thing is that she knows he means that. She tentatively takes the box out of his hand and opens it. Inside is a pair of silver dewdrop earrings. 

“Andrei.”

“Uh, I asked Taylor and they told me you wore silver and gave their approval. But if you don’t like them, I can return them and exchange them for-”

“Andrei,” he halts as she looks at him. “They’re beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to.”

She chuckles shakily, closing the box. “We haven’t even been on our date yet.”

“So?” he shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. But it is a big deal. “You’re important to me. I get everyone important to me Christmas presents.”

Christina wants to melt at the soft look in Andrei’s eyes. She’s a bit at a loss for words, so she just gives him a tight hug. She lets herself fall into him as his arms wrap around her securely, resting her chin on his shoulder and letting her eyes fall shut at how safe she feels. 

She reluctantly pulls away and puts some space between them. They are still at work after all. “Thank you. Seriously. You’re so sweet.”

“I’m glad you like them,” he says with a light in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

He shakes his head. “No need.” She gives him a look as he chuckles. “I promise. A date with you is enough presents to last me a lifetime.” Jesus Christ. Where does he pull this shit out of? He just grins. “You heading out? I walk you to your car.”

She swallows and nods, packing up the last of her things, carefully placing the box on top. She makes sure she’s not looking at him when she says her next statement. “You’re way too nice to me.” Silence for a bit besides her rustling her things. Once she’s ready to go, she looks back at him, who’s staring at her thoughtfully. It throws her off guard. “What?”

“I’m not too nice to you,” Andrei says, eyebrows furrowed adorably and sincerely. “I’m just..how I am.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Christina quickly assures him as she flicks off the lights. “I just, uh, am not used to it? None of my exes have ever even treated me this nicely.”

“That’s a shame,” he says. “You deserve someone being kind to you. No such thing as too nice.”

She just swallows as they head down the hallway and to the parking lot. Because what can she say to that? Andrei has always been sweet and polite since the day they met, but she didn’t expect him to be so sincerely earnest. 

She slides into the passenger seat of her car and he leans down, resting his hand against the hood. “You’ll be good to go home?”

“Yeah.”

“Merry Christmas, Christina,” he says with a grin.

“Merry Christmas, Andrei.”

…..

Andrei gets a hat trick against Montreal and looks right at her as his teammates converge upon him. She has no idea how he even finds her so quickly considering she’s not standing where she usually would be, but he finds her anyway. 

She grins at him and he gives an imperceptible nod paired with his signature charming smile.

Three more days.

…..

Half an hour before Andrei’s supposed to be at her hotel room door, Christina is already ready. 

She hadn’t managed to squeeze many details out of him, because he insisted that he would take care of it. It’s not like she doubts him, perse. But she’d at least like to know how to dress so she doesn’t feel out of place. She told him that, and he caved, saying “not a sweatshirt, but a nice sweater or dress will be fine, but not overly fancy,” which, actually, doesn’t say much. But she could work with that. 

And she did. When packing for this mini-road trip, she put thought into what she would wear today. She’s settled for a black-neck long sleeve with her favorite dark green pants, paired with black ankle-high boots and her favorite brown peacoat. 

As she sits on her bed and waits, she starts becoming more fidgety. She’s nervous, yes, but not because she doesn’t know him. She has a feeling that he’s going to be the perfect gentleman and the date will go well. 

She’s nervous that it’ll go too well and she’ll get ahead of herself. 

Before she knows it, she hears a knock on her door. With a deep breath, she grabs her bag and walks over to open the door. 

She swings it open and swallows. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Andrei says softly. She takes a moment to look at his outfit — a navy blue button up with a gray jacket draped over his arm. With black dress pants and sneakers, she’s thankful that it seems like their outfits match on the formal scale. He clears his throat. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she says softly. “You look great too.”

“Shall we?”

Christina reaches into her purse to make sure she has her room key, phone and wallet before nodding. “Where are we headed?” She asks as they walk down the hall. 

“We’ll have to head on the train a few stops to Lincoln Center.” Lincoln Center? She furrows her eyebrows. He clears his throat as they step into the elevator, him leaning against the wall. “Today’s the last day they show The Nutcracker. With your dancing history, I figure, I don’t know, maybe it would be fun?”

Suddenly, a frog appears in her throat. It’s probably the most thoughtful first date she could go on. She looks into his earnest eyes, as if he thinks she’ll hate it or not wanna go. 

“It’s perfect,” she manages to get out. He’s perfect. “I-I haven’t seen a ballet in ages.”

“I know,” he responds. “You told me, remember?”

Oh. She did. And he remembered. She bites her lip to keep herself from blurting out that this might be the best date she’s ever been on and they just stepped out of the elevator. 

She can tell he’s a bit nervous, quieter than usual. They’re not quite holding hands, but their fingers keep brushing and she feels the ghost of his hand on her lower back as they head down to the subway and onto the train. 

“When’s the last time you were in New York City?” He asks. 

The train lurches and Christina takes a second to find her footing. “It’s been at least two years. I used to come up here for, funny enough, dance intensives and camps when I was in middle and high school.”

“Are you planning on getting back to classes now that it’s been a few months?”

Again, she’s impressed with the things Andrei actually remembers. She shrugs. “I definitely think I’m still too busy during the season. But maybe in the off-season.”

More people pile onto the train, causing the two to move closer towards each other. She can smell his cologne. She looks up in shock at the feeling of a feather-like kiss on her forehead. 

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Saying yes. This will be the best date of your life, I promise.”

She just leans her head onto his elbow as the train runs on its tracks. 

As they walk into Lincoln Center, all Christina can do is gape as they find their seats, Andrei leading the way — in the first row of the second wing. It’s a perfect view of the stage with all the formations, lighting and sound. Andrei plays with her hand the whole time and it feels so good to see a dance performance again. During intermission, she gushes over the choreography and costumes as Andrei just smiles, listening intently to her observations. When she suddenly stops and apologizes for rambling, he tells her to keep going. (“I love how much you love dance.”)

Afterwards, they head to a nearby dessert place and share a bowl of shaved ice and ice cream. She’s having such a good time talking with him that it isn’t until the sky becomes dark does she realize they both have to head back to the hotel before anyone questions them and they can get ready for the team and staff New Year’s Eve party tonight.

She swipes her keycard, closing the door as he steps into her room. “Thank you for this. I had a really good time.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, biting her lip with a small smile. “I did.”

“A good time enough that you want to do it again?”

“I think so.”

“Yeah?” His eyes are practically sparkling and Christina’s elated that it’s because of her. “I didn't blow my shot?”

She chuckles, “You did.” She doesn't want to tell him that if she’s being honest with herself, he had her from the very start. 

“Great,” he grins. “Great. I’m glad you had a really good time. I was really nervous.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh,” she says, walking closer to him and instinctively wrapping her hands loosely around his neck. “You didn’t have to be.”

“You-you always make me a bit nervous, even if I don’t show it,” he admits. 

Christina’s stomach tingles. “Can we go on another date when we’re back in Raleigh? Maybe after I take my exam?”

“Yes,” he rushes out. “Of course. Yes.”

She catches his eyes flickering to her lips for a split second and decides to just bite the bullet. She presses a delicate kiss on his lips, and backs away to see a light pink dusting his cheeks. “I’m gonna go get ready for tonight.”

He chases her lips, causing her to giggle. “Bye,” he mumbles against her lips. “I see you in a bit.”

As soon as her door shuts, she lets out a little squeal into her hands. Happy New Year’s Eve to her, indeed.

…..

Christina’s certification exam happens to fall on a rare week where the Canes have no games, which she’s grateful for because she doesn’t want to miss out on any. There are some practices, but she’s excused from those to study. 

The day after her exam, she feels a large weight lift off her shoulders. She won’t get the results for a few weeks, but she feels confident that she did well and she can pat herself on the back for a bit. 

She comes into practice in high spirits, having gotten a coffee and pastry from her favorite cafe on the way as a treat. She takes congratulatory messages from all the staff and some players with a smile. When Andrei skates up at the start of practice to her on the bench, he just smiles at her, shooting her a quick wink before skating off. She hopes she’s not blushing. 

He’s left her alone in the meanwhile while she’s been studying, but she’s hoping to catch him before he leaves the rink today to see when they can go out again.

Unfortunately, the team is in the video room as Christina heads to her office to pack up for the day. She guesses she’ll have to talk to Andrei tomorrow. She could just text or call him, but that doesn’t feel good enough. 

When arriving at her car, she stops short and squints. There’s a bouquet of flowers wrapped in brown paper tucked inbetween the door handle, red roses and sunflowers to be exact. 

“Oh good, you haven’t left yet,” she whips around to see Andrei jogging towards her. 

She turns back around to her car, staring at the flowers as he stops beside her. “What’s this?”

“A little gift. To congratulate you on finishing your exam.”

She swallows, suddenly emotional. “They’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful flowers for a-”

She whacks him lightly. “Don’t finish that sentence, you sap.”

He laughs. It’s becoming one of her favorite sounds. “But I mean it.”

“I know,” she finally turns to look at her and grins. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Are you around this week to grab dinner or something?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “You know my schedule more than anyone.” She rolls her eyes as he chuckles. “Of course I am. We’ll find time.”

She hums. “Okay.”

“What should I tell the guys for now?” A sudden flurry of anxiety flashes through her veins. Andrei must see her face change, because he continues quickly. “I don’t have to say anything. We can keep it quiet.”

“Would you mind if we did? Just because it’s so…”

“I don’t mind,” his dimple pops out. “Promise. Let’s just go on another date first. Sound good?”

She bites her lip with a nod. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he repeats. His hands itch to reach towards her before he remembers that they’re just outside of the rink and that anybody could walk out at any minute. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow. Thank you for the flowers, seriously.”

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he says, backing away. “You’re so smart and you worked really hard.”

She looks down at her shoes, warmth spreading through her body. “Thanks. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

(When Christina goes home and arranges the flowers in a vase, she sends Andrei a picture. He responds immediately with the heart-eyed emoji, and she feels the excitement of something new starting.)

…..

Christina’s a smart girl. When she gets a text from Doug a few weeks (and more than a handful of dates with Andrei) later to come to one of the conference rooms, she has a feeling it’s about her and Andrei. Though who would’ve said something? 

Her stomach drops on the walk over, her palms sweating as she fiddles with her staff badge. When she walks in, she sees Doug, Mary, head of the HR department, Coach Brind’Amour and Andrei himself all around a rectangular table.

Mary offers a warm smile. “Hi Christina.” 

Christina tries to smile back while shutting the door behind her. “Hi Mary and everyone.” 

“Please take a seat,” Mary says. The only empty one is next to Andrei. Christina gingerly sits down. “I guess we’ll just cut to the chase. It’s come to our attention that you and Andrei here are in a romantic relationship.” 

She blinks. Well, yeah. But-“From who?” 

“From me.” Andrei says. She whips her head to look at him and he grimaces. “I’m sorry. I know we planned to go together next week, but I slipped up in front of Coach this morning and…yeah.” 

“Of course you did,” Christina mutters. She hears Doug trying to cover a snort. “Um, yes, uh, we are. Seeing each other. Together. Whatever you wanna call it. We were going to come to your office next week. We weren’t gonna hide it or anything, I promise.”

“I understand,” Mary says. “First of all, your job is not in jeopardy. You’re not going to get fired because of this. Especially because it’s obvious you two weren’t trying to hide anything. ” Christina knows that, but she would be lying if she said that she wasn’t a little bit relieved. “Workplace relationships occur all the time. However, as I’m sure you both understand, your particular situation is a bit different. I have to ask when you two started this relationship.” 

Christina lets Andrei take the lead, partially curious about what he’ll say. He doesn’t hesitate. “New Year’s Eve.” 

She smiles internally. It’s nice to know he considers their first official date as serious as she does. 

“You do understand that in the workplace, there are boundaries.” 

Andrei and Christina both nod. Christina continues, twisting her fingers. “Of course. I’ll obviously continue with my responsibilities as I have been since I joined the organization and continue to do the best I can do with every player and staff member. Our relationship won’t affect that at all, I promise.”

“And I also understand the boundaries,” Andrei adds. “This will also not affect my performance on the ice and off. I continue being professional with all staff.”

“You both understand that no matter what happens that your professional relationship comes first?”

“Yes.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you both understand that when you come into work, you’re at work and focused on work?” They both nod. Mary looks around the room. “I mean, that’s really all I got. It seems like you two understand. I’ll draw out the paperwork and get it back to you two in a few days. Doug?”

Doug clears his throat. “First of all, I called this and Steve owes me $50.” Andrei lets out a surprised laugh but Christina isn’t even fazed. “Only thing I got is that I should probably take you off as the main person of contact for Svech for his general recovery regime we started in the beginning.”

She kinda saw that coming. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Andrei about to protest but she kicks him underneath the table. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“No worries. I’ll just take over. There’s not much to that anymore anyways, right?” She nods. He grins. “Great. As long as you keep doing the good work you’re doing, no issues here. Coach? Anything to add?”

Christina swallows looking at Coach Brind’Amour, but she breathes easier when he smiles a bit. “Nothing really from me. Svechy, you know what I expect from you. That doesn’t change. And Christina, you’ve done your job wonderfully thus far and as long as that doesn’t change, which I’m sure it won’t, no issues here. Do your teammates know, Svech?”

Andrei smirks. “Some of them have probably picked up on it. Nothing for sure though.”

Coach grins wryly. “You can be the one to tell them then, should you want to.”

“You’re gonna get chirped like hell,” Christina snickers, making everyone in the room laugh. 

Andrei looks over at her with a small pout. “And you won’t?”

“A little. But you’re the one playing with them. I’m just an lowly assistant trainer.”

Doug cackles. “Chrissy, I think you underestimate how much the boys like you. Get ready for comments everyday.”

“But not too mean,” Andrei says. 

Christina snorts. “Down, boy.” She turns back to Mary, Coach and Doug with a smile, feeling more comfortable now. “Is there anything else?”

Mary shrugs. “Besides the paperwork I’ll get you two to sign later, nope. You two are free to go. Thanks for coming in."

They all file out of the conference room while Christina and Andrei linger. Once everyone is out of earshot, she playfully shoves him. “Really?” She deadpans. 

“I’m sorry!”

She chuckles. “It’s fine. At least it’s out of the way. Would appreciate a warning next time though.”

He nods solemnly. “I know. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She swallows, before leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek and going their separate ways. 

(Andrei lingers to watch her turn the corner of the hallway, a big smile on his face. Rod watches him)

…..

three years later 

The times that Christina is on the bench has gotten higher and higher the longer she’s been here. Hell, she’s one of few women to this day that has been on an NHL bench as a trainer, which is ridiculous since it’s 2027 and she’s just doing her job. Doug’s son is getting married this weekend so Christina knew she’d be taking over head duties for this game against the Rangers long before. 

It’s thrilling every time though, being on the bench. Everything’s so much louder and things seem to move so much faster, even though she’s been doing this for three years. Since puck drop, she’s been in the zone and thankfully so far, not needed. 

Until Andrei gets checked. Hard. Which rarely happens since he’s the one usually doing the checking. 

Fights break out on the ice, whistles are blown and Christina doesn’t need the ref’s signal — or anyone’s — to know that she needs to scurry out there fast. She’s praying that it looks worse than it is. 

She bends down next to Andrei, who’s crouched over in pain and places a gentle hand on his back. “Hey, baby. It’s me. Can you tell me what hurts?” He’s breathing heavily and doesn’t respond for a few seconds. “You have to tell me what hurts so I can help you.” He mumbles something in Russian and while Christina is 90% sure of what he’s saying, she can’t take any risks right now. “English, baby, please.”

“Chest.”

Okay. Lungs. Maybe ribs. He’s talking and breathing fine, even if heavily. “Okay,” she nods, going through her mental checklist rapidly. “Can you skate off by yourself?” He nods and she just rubs his back, giving him a few seconds. He eventually gets up on his own, which is a good sign, and she tries not to eat shit as they both get off the ice and go straight down the tunnel. 

Once he’s sat down on a training table, she puts her hands on his cheeks. “Drei. I need to hear the words from you.” 

Even in his injured state, Andrei knows. “I’m okay, solnyshka. Just hurting a bit.” 

“Okay. Let’s get your gear off and see what’s going on, yeah?” She helps him get off his gear until he’s completely shirtless. “Lie back for me.” She does her routine, pressing in specific spots and seeing how he reacts. She winces every time he hisses, even though it’s helping her determine what’s wrong. She goes through her questions, quickly determining if he’s done for the day or may be able to head back out. It's the end of the second period anyways, so they have more time to assess. 

“You got your shit rocked.” She says bluntly. She smiles lightly when she gets the reaction she wants, which is a snort out of him. 

“Yeah, which is fucking annoying.”

She swallows. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Think it was more of just an impact hit.”

“Good, good.”

“What are you thinking, Doc?” Andrei jokes. “Am I good to go for the third period?”

“That really depends on you,” she says. “Like you said, it seems like it was more just an impact hit. Beside soreness and tenderness, nothing’s out of place or broken or sprained. But it’s all about how you feel.”

“Then why do you sound unsure?”

“Because I’m trying to talk to you like your trainer, not your fiance.”

Andrei softens and she has to look away. “Talk to me like you’re my fiance, solnyshka.”

“It was just a scary few seconds there, when you didn’t get up. That’s all.”

She swallows as he puts down the ice pack and puts his hands on her cheeks to make her look at him. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She waves his apology away. “It’s okay. Getting hit is part of the gig. I know that by now.”

He rubs his thumbs on her cheek. “Still. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just hard sometimes. Seeing you go down. Keep icing,” she instructs, backing away. Christina’s not afraid of being caught with PDA nowadays. Everyone in the organization knows they’re together after three years. But she still prefers keeping up a level of professionalism at work. 

“I think I’m gonna go back out, but I do limited minutes.”

She furrows her eyebrows. That doesn’t sound like him. “Limited minutes?” He just shrugs. “Andrei.” She deadpans.

“It depends on me, right? How I feel?” He says, throwing her words back at her as he starts putting his gear back on. 

“Yes. But you’re Andrei Svechnikov. You don’t know what the word limited means because you have no sense of self preservation.”

“Limited minutes,” he says firmly. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“The ring on my finger kinda indicates that I’ll always worry about you,” she responds dryly. 

He laughs, standing up. “Only for tonight, to be safe.” They hear the boys about to head out for the period and start walking out of the room. “Thank you for taking care of me.” 

“Just doing my job.”

He pulls her in to place a quick kiss on her lips. “And you do it well.”

“Good luck out there. Love you.”

“Love you more.” He runs back onto the ice with his teammates as she follows slower behind.

“He all good?” Coach Brind’Amour asks when she’s back on the bench.

“Yeah. Up to him if he wants to take every shift, but he’s cleared to go.”

Coach nods, “It never gets easier, does it?”

“Hm?”

“The look you had on your face when Svechy went down. It’s the same look I have when my son goes down. Still. And he’s been playing his whole life.”

She shrugs, trying to be casual. “It’s part of the job I signed up for.”

“Sure. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

They both watch as the teams skate to center ice to take the faceoff. No, she thinks. It most definitely does not. 

It’s close to midnight when she and Andrei are walking out of the arena together. She yawns as she leans into him and he puts an arm around her shoulder. Luckily they have the day off tomorrow. Maybe she’ll force Andrei to try a new recipe for dinner together that she found online.

It’s not until she’s in bed, listening the shower run as Andrei quickly rinses, does she see her notifications. Fifteen texts from six people.

She clicks Layla’s first. It’s a link to a short Twitter video. She clicks on it. 

It’s a short clip of the broadcast right after Andrei’s injury, a replay she winces at, cameras showing her running out and all the chaos before they head into the tunnel. But it’s what the commentators are saying that Layla — and all her other friends who sent her messages — are freaking out about. 

“Svechnikov seems to be alright, able to get up on his own and slowly skate to the bench, which is always a good sign.”

“Christina, the Hurricanes’ assistant athletic trainer is out there with him, with Doug, the head trainer out for a few games for family obligations. Fun fact, she’s one of the few female athletic trainers in the NHL. Fantastic at her job and an incredible person as well.”

“Another fun fact to those who may not know, Christina and Svechnikov are engaged, getting married sometime next year. And that’s a beautiful Canes love story if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I can imagine it isn’t easy to have to see your fiance go down like that, even if it is a part of her job. They’re both heading down the tunnel now, so we’ll see if he comes back out for the third period. Hopefully he’s okay.”

She locks her phone. It’s been known to the general public that Andrei is engaged. He had posted on Instagram when he proposed. But it had been a silhouette shot and he hadn’t tagged her out of respect for their privacy. Christina’s Instagram is private too, so very few people they don’t personally know had put it together. 

Until now, that is.

“You saw it too?” Andrei says, coming out of the bathroom.

“Yeah. A bunch of people sent it to me.”

“And?”

“They didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. What do you think?”

He slides under the covers and kisses her forehead tenderly, “I love being known as your fiance. I’d ask you everyday to marry me if I could.”

“Sap.” She feels him laugh as she leans her head on his chest, drawing circles on his bare skin. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m always gonna be okay. I have you.”

She kisses his lips before yawning, and he reaches over to shut off the lamp. 

(When Christina goes into work the next morning, Taylor’s waiting for her in her office. With no greeting, they set their laptop down and press play on a video. It’s a compilation of her and Andrei’s little pre-game ritual they had started a few months after they started dating. 

It’s Andrei, usually in his game day suit, and her in the hallway of whatever arena they’re in. He grabs both her hands and kisses her three times. Twice on the lips. Once on her forehead. She always adjusts his collar even if it doesn’t need to be adjusted, and then they’re both off to their separate ways. 

Christina had no idea Taylor had been filming this. For years, apparently, if the description in the bottom right of the video indicates anything. 2024, 2025, 2026 and this year, 2027. 

“I was gonna originally ask you if I could post it the day of your wedding,” Taylor says as the video ends. “But I also would never post it anywhere without you or Svech’s permission. I’m perfectly prepared to just keep this in the archives and never let it see the light of day.”

“You’ve been filming that all these years?”

Taylor smiles softly. “I have. The clip from last night is everywhere, with the broadcast talking about you two while you’re helping him on the ice. Twitter’s going crazy.  And I was thinking, and no pressure at all, but I was thinking that we could post this today. Everyone always loves behind the scenes content, like Marty screaming Svech’s name. I have a feeling everyone’s gonna love this little ritual too.”

The video has been replaying automatically and Christina can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. If you think it’s a good move, I trust you. You’re the social expert.”

“Well, perfect,” they grin. “I’ll catch Svech when he comes in to ask for his permission too.”

Christina snorts. “He’s not gonna say no, I can promise that.” 

He doesn’t. Taylor posts the video three hours later. The internet goes nuts. Andrei surprises her with dinner when she gets home after him, two plates of delicious-looking pasta on the table with a candle lit and a vase of fresh flowers. But the most beautiful sight is his dimpled smile. 

She kisses him. Hard. It feels like the first time again.)

~*~*~

tag list: @ru-kru, @bunbunbl0gs (lmk if you wanna be added!!)

[b1rds3ye]

Radio Silence

The mission required you to separate from the rest of Task Force 141 but when the operation is compromised, all he can do is listen to the panic through the comms until everything goes silent.

Pairings: Captain John Price x GN!Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader Reader Aliases: Breeze (Callsign), Bravo 1-5 (Squad-Member Code) Genre: Angst (open-ended), Drama Warning: Descriptions of violence/crashes, blasphemy/religious references, (probably) inaccurate military terms Word Count: 3k (~1.5k each)

Captain John Price

The captain was not a superstitious man, but when you’re on the battlefield, you take all the good fortune you can get. With age he’s picked up a range of small habits and lucky paraphernalia to get him through the mission; an aged penny in his left breast pocket, a four leaf clover stored in another, he finds himself reciting the lord’s prayer even though he’s not particularly religious (and if there is a god he’d like to personally go up and sock them across the face).

When you noticed his little rituals, you added on a good luck charm of your own - his favourite by far. A quick peck on the cheek followed by a teasing little “good luck, captain” in his ear. Price swears there’s something divine in your affection, it does wonders for his morale and efficiency. He thought nothing of it the first few times, but when he realised that this little gift of yours was here to stay, he started to reciprocate in kind when the others weren’t looking. His soul has become tainted over the years - if anything a kiss from him should be a bad omen - but your beaming smile in response convinces him that maybe he’s given you some luck your way.

And perhaps that’s why, after your ritual good luck kiss, he feels a little more than bothered when Laswell calls you away before he can reciprocate. You notice the slight furrow of his eyebrows and laugh, telling him not to worry and that you’ll see him on the other side. The hold you had on his arm disappears as you pull away, bidding him and the rest of the Task Force good luck as you join your own squadron. Price then returns to commandeering his own men, but the thought lingers in the back of his mind. Perhaps you need that extra little bit of luck today.

Price hates how good his intuition can be.

“Bravo 0-6, do you copy?”

With his squadron grounded and on the perimeter of the site, he stiffens at the tone of your voice. That’s not how you usually sound like over comms, that hint of uncertainty didn’t suit you.

“Loud and clear, in position of Site A.”

“Copy, we’re at the compound but… we’ve got company.”

“Al-Qatala?”

“No, looks like Al-Qatala is buddy-buddy with some mercs and- shit.”

“Breeze, what are you seeing?”

“How’d they get us surrounded…?” You mutter more to yourself than to Price but his blood runs cold regardless.

“Bravo 1-5 you are to fall back and wait for backup-”

He’s cut off by various layers of static but he’s learnt to decipher them. The deeper base of the rustle of fabric as you manoeuvre, the sharp trill of gunshots all overlaying the white noise of distant shouting.

“Price, our exits are blocked, they knew we’d be here, how’d they- Corporal! Fuck, stay with me! We’re dropping like flies here. Bravo-1, we’ve got no choice, we have to push through, full offensive!”

He hears the screams of nearby soldiers. While he’s grateful none of them are yours, he knows that the ride back to base will be a rough one regardless. He feels the eyes of his subordinates burn holes into him and the walkie talkie. Gaz, who was beside him, was the only one moving, animatedly talking to Laswell and filling her in on the situation.

“Bravo 1-5-”

There’s an audible sigh on your end that shuts him up.

Through the time it has taken for Price to become captain, he’s learned a lot the hard way. One of the most important things he’s learned is that earning Lady Luck’s favour is more crucial than any skill for the battlefield. Some of the best he’s ever seen has fallen because they pissed her off somehow, but he still never expected her to shun you.

“Just my luck…” your voice starts off quiet as you curse to yourself. A gulp breaks up your panting as you stabilise your breathing. Your next words are far too calm.

“I’m sorry, Price.”

“Sergeant.” Price’s voice was low, cautious. A warning. He knows how you fight, he knows you don’t do anything extreme unless the situation he calls for it, and once again he’s praying to the unknown that it hasn’t come to that.

“I said next time we hit the pub with the 141 that the first round will be on me but I don’t think I can make that.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Breeze.”

“The merc company goes by Order of Ashes.”

Your words are becoming harder to hear as the explosions seem to be getting closer and closer. Gaz is becoming louder, literally screaming into his comms as he near begs for an evac for your squadron. The rest of his team is becoming restless. Price’s grip tightens impossibly tight on the walkie talkie, any tighter and he could probably crush the metal.

“Rain hell on them for me, yeah?”

Price starts calling for your name, only to be interrupted by a deafening static that has him reeling from his own technology. Inexperienced privates that surrounded him flinched at the sound while Gaz fell silent. Soon Price’s walkie talkie falls silent too.

He brings his hand up to activate communications again, a tentative check in.

“Bravo 1-5, do you copy?”

He waits for a moment.

“Fuck. Breeze? Do you copy?”

The next time he calls out to you is the first time he’s hesitant, to the untrained ear he sounded as strong as ever but to him he recognises how his own voice wavers. A gentle call of your actual name, the last resort.

Silence.

Price gives you a few more seconds to answer, each moment more damning than the last. Gaz sends a concerned look his way but words fail him. He’s a good sergeant but his inexperience is showing. He hasn’t fully mastered the poker face, not like Price has. 

Eventually he lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, counting each racing heartbeat it takes until it has marginally slowed.

Gaz instinctively straightened up, he didn’t need to see Price’s face to know his captain was transforming before his very eyes. Price adjusts his hat, looking at the rest of his team under the brim.

“Alright, we’ve got double the work and half the manpower. No time to lose, I want this site cleared within the hour, and then we're finding our other half."

With affirmatives all round, the soldiers get to work and so does Price. To the untrained eye, he’s calm, eerily so. As captain, Price can’t afford to lose his cool, it’ll bleed over and smother his team, blanket them in a tense atmosphere of panic and uncertainty. So he stays resolute, acting as the team’s anchor as he guides them towards the objective with precision.

The only emotion that breaks his facade is anger. Pure, unbridled rage that casts a frightening glaze over his eyes. His allies can see it as Price stomps towards the entrance of the site. Al-Qatala most certainly feel it as their lackeys are pummeled to the ground, bones cracking against stone and tiles. They’re not gifted the mercy of a quick bullet, but the pain of slowly bleeding out with broken bones, bruised bodies and limbs jutting out in all the ways they should not. Every bruising punch, every bullet delivered does little to quell the raging storm within him. It brings him closer to the mission objective but it doesn’t bring him closer to you, and that’s the only thing that matters right now. There’s no hostages, no chance of salvation for his enemies. Any form of good will in Price was taken away when you were taken away from him. He hopes whatever god that sees the carnage he’s inflicted knows that it is only a taste of what to come if he ever meets that poor sod.

When his side of the operation is done and the squadron is now leaving the site, Price returns to his comms. He needs to address the other half of the mission, you. Suddenly his tongue feels thick in his mouth as his throat tightens. His collar is suffocating.

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher-1 do you copy?”

Laswell’s voice rings out.

“Affirmative. We’ve already dispatched birds to Bravo-1’s location, we’ll do what we can and sort out that compound.”

“Do me one more thing. Find me everything you can on the ‘Order of Ashes’. I want names, locations, families, the whole fucking mile.”

“Can do. … Is this for Breeze?”

“Breeze wanted me to rain hell on them…”

Price’s voice is low as he puts a cigar in his mouth. He lights it up, even when the cigar smokes he keeps the lighter on. His eyes narrow at the flickering flame, fixated on it for a moment longer. He’s never been a particularly superstitious man, but he’s asking for Lady Luck to be on his side once again. For the slim chance that you’re somewhere out there, breathing. He’s never been worthy of her favour, but you damn well are so surely she’ll put that into account. She’ll consider that you still have a lot to do, you still have a good luck kiss that Price needs to return. He puts his lighter away.

“... and I intend to deliver.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost preferred his quieter missions. Others feel safer when in a team but more people mean more variables, and more variables mean more fuck ups, and heavens know he’s had enough of those. For Ghost, the less, the better. And yet, when it came to 141, and in particular to you, he’d pick company over going solo in a heartbeat.

Reconnaissance missions were a personal favourite, they were quiet, less violent if done right and often required only a few people. Of course his first person of choice is you, even if you’d always call these missions an “impromptu date” and then chastise him for not planning something more extravagant just to rile him up.

Even now, when you two were starting on opposite sides of the target site a good few kilometres apart, you were connected through communications. He’d listen as you ramble about anything and everything on your mind when the mission gets quiet. It was endearing, it was soothing. Ghost never thought he’d find someone like you with the power to give him a respite even when on duty - or if he ever deserved such a thing. And yet here he was, sitting against a wall, waiting for further instructions from Laswell as you started the purely hypothetical debate on who in the 141 would best survive the zombie apocalypse.

“Honestly, with a mask like yours you could probably blend in with the horde. 10 out of 10 you’d last your entire life like that.”

“Surrounded by brain dead morons? Already have that.”

He heard your laugh that you tried to mask as an exaggerated scoff.

“How long do you think I’d last?”

“One hour at most.”

“Oh come on Ghost, have a bit more faith in me.”

“All Bravo to Watcher-1, we’re awaiting further action, copy.”

As Laswell replies, Simon can already imagine your offended expression as he changes the topic.

“Bravo-1 this is Watcher-1, you are all clear to close in on the perimeter. Do not engage, just tell us what you see.”

“Watcher-1 this is Bravo 1-5, I’m already seeing hostiles.”

Ghost stills, his hand reaching back up to the comms. You’ve always managed to keep it cool but he heard how your sentence ended with a slight waver. It was too early for speculation, but the alarm bells were already going off in his head. The enemy should be clustered within the site, nowhere near where you currently are.

“I’m counting a dozen men, a couple of trucks and- that’s looking like some impressive cargo.”

There’s some extra static as Ghost finds his pace increasing. He won’t be able to reach you soon, but it doesn’t stop his legs from moving towards the site.

“They’re moving quickly, they’ve got an agenda.”

“Stay frosty, Breeze.”

“Got it, Simon.”

Your voice is more of a whisper now, almost blending in with the static. Was the enemy that close to you already?  Usually, he loved when you used his actual name. Everyone calls him ‘Ghost’ even off-duty, but you were proper enough to at least always call him by his callsign in battle. You were getting spooked and he was too far away to even try and comfort you.

It was a strain to unclench his balled fists. He wasn’t going to have a mission go wrong, at least not one that involved you. He’d be damned if something took you out before him, because he refused to return to a life where you weren’t yapping his ear off.

“Breeze, head back to exfil.”

“Fuck, they’re heading this way.”

If you found a good place to hide, Ghost could reach you before any enemy did. He had to.

“I’m heading towards your position. E.T.A 20 minutes.”

“Ghost, my spot is now crawling with hostiles. I know you’re a one man army but I think you’re pushing it this time.”

Your laugh was different this time. It wasn’t as hearty as the one he heard before, it was a weak wheeze. Half-hearted, the sound of a bitter and quiet defeat. He could hear your rugged breathing against the end of the mic. If he was actually with you, he’d stand beside you in moments like this, letting you put your body weight on him discreetly as he anchored you to the world. His gloved hand instinctively curls as he imagines himself holding onto your arm.

“Breeze, stay with me. Focus on the objective.”

“You owe me a proper date after this, Ghost.”

“Then make sure you get back in one piece-”

The comms are disrupted with a voice that Ghost can’t recognise, with you returning an indistinguishable shout and a curse. He can’t help calling your name into the comms, only to hear the static of indescribable commotion, bodies shuffling and the harrowing crack of broken bones and limbs. It escalates into a deafening crescendo spanning only a few seconds before the grand finale of a thump of a fallen body. The transmission ends with a damning click. He stops in his tracks before he returns to the comms.

“Breeze? How copy?”

The line has gone dead. Ghost slams his fist into the nearest wall, but it does little to quell the pain from within.

“Bravo this is Watcher-1, what’s your status?”

Ghost pauses at Laswell’s request, he wants you to be the one who replies on his behalf, you usually do. Never did a moment feel so heavy, outweighing his military gear and weapons, almost bringing the hulking man to his knees. His hand reluctantly comes up to activate his walkie talkie. He takes his sweet time, giving you the chance to interrupt. When he finally speaks, his voice is slow as he draws out every syllable, every pause a desperate invitation for you to speak up.

“Bravo 1-5 is M.I.A.”

Laswell is silent on the other side. Ghost lets his head tilt back until it rests on the wall beside him, the guilt made his skull too heavy. With that sentence alone he felt like your executioner, as if he just brought the possibility of you being gone into reality. The only thing he can hear now is the slight rustle of grass against the wind, a backdrop to the rhythmic bass of his pounding heartbeat. This was a typical ambience for solo missions, and Ghost was used to being alone.

But lonely? He had forgotten how it felt ever since you barged into his life. And now that the feeling has returned, he forgot just how utter shit it feels.

“We’re sending immediate backup to their position. We’ll meet you there.”

But by the time he and the squadron make it to your position, there are only the remnants of a battle left in your wake. A few unrecognised bodies are slumped against the walls, furniture is overturned, and dried blood paints the floor as a macabre dye. Most - if not all - of this must have been your handiwork, and if it was any other circumstance Ghost would feel proud, but you’re not beside him for him to praise you. That being said, there is no sign of you, and that leaves him optimistic, but the other soldiers seemed to think differently.

“You know, they say Al-Qatala never takes prisoners,” one jittery private said to another.

“What’re you trying to say? I've seen the Sergeant. Breeze is tough.”

“I’m just saying, even if we can’t find their body they’re probably d-”

“That’s enough,” Ghost snaps his head to them, eyes alight with a rage usually reserved only for his worst enemies. His voice is near unrecognisable, more akin to a growl than any human sound. He will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of you or doubting your capabilities as a soldier. He tells himself he does it for your honour, nothing more, nothing less. He disregards the selfish need for you to return to him as it wittles him down to the bone and contorts his face to a scowl concealed under his mask.

The soldiers hurriedly salute before exiting the room, leaving the lieutenant alone, shoulders and chest heaving before he moves to continue the search.

The team returns empty handed, but that means nothing to Ghost. Even as he’s issued new missions he does not falter. He fights with the same brutality, killing his enemy before they can kill him because he needs to return home. Return home so he can organise a covert mission of his own - retrieving you. No matter the rank or squadron that separates you, no matter if you’re shipped out to the other side of this godforsaken earth, you two are a team. Combat has hardened Ghost into a brutally honest man, many would call him a pessimist, but a stubborn voice in the back of his mind refuses to believe that you’re gone. You’ve always been a tough nut to crack, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be dating him. He’s seen you stare death in the eyes only for you to stand back up beside him. And so he faces forward and doesn’t look back. Because until he has to rip off the freezing metal of a dog tag from your neck, he swears on his stone cold heart that you’re still out there. Maybe a little tattered, perhaps even broken, but living.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[brokenpieces-72]

*taps mic* lion hybrid reader and horangi shenanigans? That is all *trips over the mic wire while trying to walk away* - 🇰🇷 anon

🇰🇷 anon you have unlocked a new reader character... and I wasn't sure what to name the reader here, but I'm gonna make them gender-neutral.

Lions and Tigers

TW: Financial troubles/abuse, I think that's all there is.

Horangi had been on edge since getting back from a mission. He's on high alert for some reason, and he wasn't sure why. A new hybrid was on base, he could smell it. Of course he tried to maintain the cool and relaxed facade, keeping his arms crossed or giving the smug cat like smile he was known for... except his mask was over his face so it was hard to tell. When he went to the briefing room as requested, the new scent was stronger. Konig had joined him, and noticed his partner was standing straight, rather than sitting or leaning against the wall. Konig could smell the newcomer as well. It was a little humorous seeing the man who was completely unphased by his percht, seem so nervous about someone who could hardly be a threat.

Then you walked in with their boss. You stood tall, but relaxed, fully aware of the dominating presence you give off. Your body while not as big as Konig's, had more muscle than Horangi's, your core peeking out underneath your tight shirt. Your lion tail flicked behind you while your golden eyes roamed over the two masked operators.

"This is Y/N, callsign Leo." Their boss said. "They will be working with you two on missions for some time. I recommend treated them with respect."

Horangi's jaw clenched. A haetae was capable of many things, a spirit from ancient times, but a lion. There was a reason lions are considered rulers of animal kingdoms. You may have be the dominant cat in the room but Horangi was intent on wiping that smug look off your pretty face....wait...

The next week or so went by with little issue, as you familiarized yourself with the base and how everything worked. The haetae had been avoiding you, and you assumed it was out of intimidation. One disadvantage about being a lion hybrid is that you can rub people the wrong way. Either hybrids want to fight you or avoid you. Horangi seemed to want to avoid you. Until you saw him in the breakroom.

"Tea?" he offered. You tensed a little, not expecting the friendly offer. The steam wafted from the cup and holy... wow that smelled good. No joke you wanted to bathe in that brew. You sat down accepting the offer. You couldn't stop smelling the cup, feeling so relaxed by the cup in your hands. It was sweet and minty, your tail swaying behind you. By every god in existence it was so nice!

"What kind of tea is it?" You asked, trying to keep your eyes open. You yawned, covering your mouth with your hand. Maybe it was a brew Horangi had brought from his hometown or something. Then you noticed his tail flicking, and while he had his face mask on, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"It's a sleepy time sort of tea, especially good for cats." He hinted, sipping his own. Did this motherfucker drug you!? But you hadn't sipped it yet. "Take a sip."

You take a sip of from the cup and nearly choked realizing the contents of the tea. This asshole had drugged you, but not the way you thought. Oh this little shit, was snickering now, no wonder he still had his mask over his nose when he was drinking his own. He was trying not to smell it himself.

"You are a bastard." You said drowsily.

"At least you're actually relaxing. As soon as you walked in, I thought you were going to ask me to do something." He said sipping his again.

"Catnip? Re-really?" You asked, yawning again, your nose still hovering in the cup. Horangi gave your sleepy state a small giggle before you gave in and drank your tea. It wasn't that bad, and he had a point. You'd been working hard, trying to maintain a strict routine for yourself, despite being in a PMC of mercenaries. Maybe this was his way of saying you needed to relax.

"Damn it, my neck is stiff." Horangi complained. You'd just come back from a small mission, where Horangi had to strain his neck in human form. You finished getting your combat gear off before going over to him. He was still rubbing at his neck when you reached out.

"What are you doing?!" He asked a little panicked.

"Relax, I'm trying to help." You told him before swatting his hands away from his neck. He tried to protest as you turned him around, placing you thumbs on the back of his collar bone and started to rub. Horangi's protests were silenced as he groaned softly, finding your touch to be soothing.

"Is it helping?" You asked, your other fingers rubbing the sides. The tiger's tail flicked in enjoyment. And then you heard it. You had to bite your tongue to not laugh. Holy shit, Horangi chuffs? Like tiger chuffs? In human form?!

Horangi's head tilted into your touch, and you can feel the vibrations from his throat. You snickered and that's when he stiffened, whipping around at you. Was his face red? Horangi held up a finger as if to lecture or warn you but his mouth just kept opening and closing. You spoke up instead.

"It's nice to know someone trusts me." You said. Horangi's embarrassment seemed to let up a little, in fact, he seemed less tense. You gave him a toothy grin and he can't help but smile. He had to admit, he did feel comfortable around you.

You and Horangi were about to head to shooting range, when you got a call from home. Damn it not this again. You excused yourself which tipped off Horangi. The two of you don’t bother with pleasantries really, usually it was straight to business. When he overheard the conversation with the caller he knew something wasn’t quite right.

“Yeah I’ve sent the money over… I know it’s less than before.… I don’t have any I can spare, I’ve used it all on necessities… I needed some new gear and I-no no it wasn’t just for the gear, and it wasn’t that much.… I’ll send more for the next one to cover what I missed.… yes… yes I’m sorry. I’ll see what I can send over, I have to go to training-… fine I just need to let my partner know.… no not like that, just for work. Okay… bye.” You hung up and Horangi was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed.

“I take it training is postponed today?” He asked, making you jump and whip around. You eased a little, before holding up your phone to show what you were doing.

“Need to do some stuff.” You explained.

“Debt collectors can be nasty.” He commented. You give a half hearted chuckle.

“So can family.” You added. Horangi started to put some pieces together about the past few weeks. Some days you would only eat something small, or you’d fret about the prices of items when you went out with him for some chill time. During an op, you’d gotten tangled up with another hybrid can had clawed your vest from the front, leaving deep marks. The vest was too dangerous to use, leaving weak spots that a well trained sniper could take advantage of. You had looked everywhere online for tutorials to repair it, or cheaper alternatives. Horangi had walked in on you scouring the internet for more options, only a couple days before the next mission. Even asked if he had a spare you could borrow. Now he knew why you went quiet when he insisted you buy a new one.

“Never that simple is it.” Horangi said standing up straight.

“Nope.” The two of you stood in silence, eyes flicking around the room for a change in topic, tails gentle brushing over the air or floor. Horangi was paying debt collectors to protect his family. You were paying your family like they were debt collectors.

“… I’ll make you some tea.” Horangi said. “Meet you in… wherever I find your scent.”

With that he slid around the corner of the door way and down the hall while you stood there with your phone still in your hand, that still had left over notifications for angry text messages.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing rather than training, after stressing over bank statements and paying bills ahead of time. You sent what you had left over from your pay check to your family and then Horangi took over. He got you to make a new account, and made sure you went to KorTac’s financial department ensuring they send a small portion of any jobs to the private account. It wouldn’t be much but at your family couldn’t know about it.

Horangi had gotten orders to go to a SpecGru base with Konig. The amount of time was undetermined and you wouldn't be going with them. There was a dragon hybrid on base, which meant there would be some conflict with your presence there. It sucked, because you felt like a kid being told you couldn't go on a class trip.

"So what are you gonna do when I'm not here?" Horangi asked you. You shrugged not really answering. When Horangi noticed your tail was slack and still it was easy for him to know how you felt. You'd only gotten close with Horangi, and maybe with Konig a little bit. Now he was leaving. Horangi just smirked, getting a smug look on his face. "Aww, is the big kitty gonna miss her playmate?"

"Shut up." You said, your tone confirming he was right. He chuckled and walked over to you, putting a hand on your back. You don;t make eye contact at first, instead letting out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm going to be fine if that's what you're worried about. For a lion you can be a real pussy when it comes to me."

"Okay if this is your idea of reassurance, it's coming off as insulting." You said, looking up at him. Horangi gave you that smug cat smile.

"I'll miss you too. Don't get yourself killed before we can come back." He said. You sighed. Then you grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him closer. Horangi's eyes widened in surprise a little. You would never let him forget how much stronger you were than him, physically.

"You better fucking not." You warned him. He nodded.

It had been maybe a month or so that Konig and Horangi had been gone. You sat at your desk, looking at the personal account which had cumulated a pretty high sum. You'd stood up to your family and lowered their allowance despite their threats. Reminding them that kicking you out of the family would mean losing your financial support, regardless of the amount got them to back off a bit.

To top it off, Horangi had kept in touch, even if it was infrequent. Konig was doing better, which was good. Horangi had gotten into some trouble but the guys at Specgru seemed to take care of it. Your tail was sweeping against the floor as you scrolled through past messages. Horangi probably didn't see you like that, but could it hurt to take the step? You could always step back if you wanted, but earlier you were trying to think of what to say in your text. What kind of a message would tell him you wanted to meet up with him and maybe call it a date?

You didn't need to worry for long, because he sent you a cheeky text.

H: You up?

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[kaeyinx]

hey guys more thoughts on the hangman can see ghosts because it’s all i’ve been thinking about!

jake’s dad had always been, and will always be an asshole; that’s something jake knows for sure. he also knows that his behavior only got worse once his mom died when he was just 15. you’d think that jake would see her ghost, that she would at least have the decency to stick around to look after her son in the afterlife. but no—jake has never once seen her. it used to not make sense to him, why she would just out right abandon him. the fact that he can see ghosts and knows his mom chose to leave him again hurts. as he gets older, he begins to understand that maybe she felt guilty for letting her husband treat their son the way he did. that she couldn’t watch his mistreatment get worse after she died. that doesn’t make it any less painful for jake though.

when jake and bradley finally get engaged, ice and mav fight over who gets to walk who down the isle. jake’s mom is dead, and he hasn’t spoken to his father in years. bradley’s parents are also both dead. insert mav and ice who have always loved bradley like a son, and have grown and learned to also love jake as their own. ultimately maverick ends up walking bradley, and ice walks jake.

however—something only jake can see from where he’s peeking out from behind closed doors, is that nick is walking with bradley too. and oh, suddenly a wave of emotions hits him like a truck. there he is, nick “goose” bradshaw in all his glory. still in the same flight gear as the day he died. and isn’t that a sight to see? jake cries for the fact bradley will never know his dad walked him down the isle. he cries because it’s such a beautiful moment to witness. most of all, he cries when nick turns right back around once he’s walked with bradley to the front, and makes a beeline for jake.

he can write it off to ice as he’s just emotional over him and bradley finally tying the knot—but really, it’s because for years and years he hated having this gift, this ability to see ghosts. knowing his mom left him, knowing he could see the ghosts of the two people he’s killed. it’s because in that moment, jake had never been more grateful for it. he’d never been grateful for anything more in his life than knowing his soon to be husbands father loved and accepted him enough to walk by his side as he approached the alter. he may not be on good terms with his father, but somewhere along the line he gained three amazing dads.

-please take note of me calling him jake’s father because he was never really a dad to jake but mav, ice, and nick get the title of dad!!

-also don’t ask me where carole is i don’t know either. if i did she would be walking bradley down the isle too but i didn’t think that hard about this

-one more thing: no jake doesn’t tell anyone he can see ghosts. not for a lack of wanting to, or for thinking they’ll all think he’s a nut job. he just knows there’s no way to prove nick is actually there as a ghost, and he doesn’t want to bring of all that pain of the past for something only he can see. however he does tell bradley that he just knows his dad is there with them in spirit.

-OKAY ONE MORE THING jake calls ice and mav ice and mav because that’s all he’s ever know them as. but he calls nick, nick because he never knew him as a naval aviator, just as bradley’s deceased dad who’s name was nick. also jake knew bradley as bradley first, and then he becomes rooster, but in jake’s head he’s still always bradley:)

@callsign-hummingbird more jake can see ghosts!!!